That night, the USS Elliot was steaming south at ten knots, just making headway against an approaching tropical storm. Her width and speed kept the deck level enough for a helicopter takeoff. But the bulk of the ship was visible only as an eerie gray mass, for all the lights were out in accordance with wartime procedures.
Dana couldn't tell what had her rattled the most. Proceeding into a hazardous area was bad enough, but doing so in a blacked out military chopper was sickening. And she was gathered with the rest of the team in the mess hall just fore of the flight deck. And despite the close quarters, no one spoke as they were drilled on the proper use of their biohazard suits.
Mulder was somewhere at the back of the room, out of Scully's field of vision. They hadn't seen one another in hours, and hadn't spoken since she'd left him behind in the cargo hold. Now it was beginning to appear that this state of affairs would last a while.
She hoped he remembered to take the anti-nausea medications she'd given him. Vomiting in a sealed suit was a method of insuring an ugly death.
The team suiting up consisted of sixteen members. Agents Mulder and Scully were the first two, and the Air Force officer came next. Then the three man USAMRIID team, and the ten Navy SEALs. All were clad in glossy olive drab suits that covered them from head to toe. They each had goggles and a face mask connected by two hoses to an airtank on their backs.
Once Scully finished sealing the rubberized zipper and side flap, she could barely hear over her own breathing. The small microphone and earpiece she wore were connected to a radio, and through it she could hear what a microphone outside her suit picked up. She could also hear the rest of the team.
Her hands were thick and clumsy in the oversized gloves, and she fumbled with her holster, trying to enlarge it to fit over her suit. A similarly gloved hand covered hers, and she looked up, startled. She couldn't see the man's face, but he was several inches shorter than Fox. He pulled the gun and holster from her, and removed them from her shoulder rig. Tossing the rig aside, he clipped the gun to a web belt, and handed the assembly back to her. It fit well, and she wished she could smile at him.
"Thanks." Her voice sounded odd to her own ears, and she wondered what he heard.
"No problem, ma'am. It's part of the service." The name on his suit read 'Peirson.'
Then there was no more time for talking. A short man briefed them on their insertion, and extraction by helicopter. Captain O'Byrn wished them good luck and Godspeed. And two sailors then led the team out single file to the helicopter. All through this, Scully felt as though she were spinning.
The Blackhawk looked darker than the night itself as it crouched on the flight deck. Its thick rotor blades were already whirring about over the heads of the team members clambering into it. A soldier, faceless behind the black visor of his flight helmet, strapped Dana to the left side wall of the machine. She was wedged between two huge men, and not enjoying the takeoff in the least. The nose of the craft tilted down suddenly, and with a sickening leap the helicopter left the Elliot. Dana's hands were slick against the rubber gloves but there was nothing she could do about it.
Breathing fast from airsickness, Scully began examining each teammate around her. She tried to distract herself from her nausea. The two men on either side of her were SEALs, she was sure of that. They had several pouches for explosives, and carried CAR-15 assault rifles, like most of the others. The CAR-15 was a short, brutish version of the M-16, and designed for close fighting. It still remained a fully automatic weapon.
She saw the USAMRIID team strapped down across the chopper's hold from her. They were loaded down with medical gear, and their suits had blue stripes across their upper arms. Scully smiled when one of those dark shapes waved to her.
Up near the nose, was where the rest of the SEAL team crouched down. None of these men were strapped down, and most held on to grips near the open doors. All these young men carried CAR-15s, save two. One held the much longer M-16, with some type of wide-mouthed barrel slung underneath it. The second carried a Steyr AUG, something she'd only seen in movies. The casing was a smooth impact-plastic, and it held a monstrously huge clip, oddly placed behind the pistol grip.
Behind her, in the rear two seats, sat Mulder and the officer who still hadn't given his name. They were easy to tell apart; Mulder's suit bunched under the shoulder rig he wore for his pistol, while the other man carried an MP5 over his shoulder. The MP5 walked the middleground between sub-machinegun and pistol. It was small enough to be fired one-handed, but the kick was tremendous. It put out a rate of fire comparable to the squad's machineguns, and still fit snugly under one arm. It was an ugly, terrorist's weapon, and Glad wore it comfortably. He'd slung the strap over his head in a way Scully could not have known was made popular by Israeli commando teams. The black thing in Glad's hands made Mulder look fairly naked beside him.
Fox never looked once at the man beside him, or at Dana. His attention was firmly fixed out the window. It was if he'd shut her out completely. Scully wanted to talk some sense into him, but the radios were open; if she tried, everyone would hear her.
With nothing else to do, Dana stared out the nearest porthole. She no longer minded looking out the windows, for the uniform blackness masked their height. But the bouncing of the helicopter itself upon the marine winds still unnerved her.
Her microphone came to life with the static-charged voice of the pilot, "Heads-up people. Thirty seconds to touchdown."
There was almost no motion in the cramped hold, but Scully felt the energy ramping up. It was as if the approaching landing charged everyone with the sense of danger. Dana's heart was thudding like a triphammer in her chest. She swallowed tightly, and glanced back at her partner. He still looked away.
"Nine meters." Through the windows, Dana saw the scaffolding of the derrick rise over them like burnt bones.
"Three meters." The helicopter pitched nose up sharply, and everyone hung on tightly. The soldier behind Scully steadied her with a hand below her ribs.
"Down and clear." At the pilot's words, the Blackhawk bounced down against the steel deckplates.
"Move out. Two and two." The squad leader never looked back as seven of his nine men followed him quietly out of the chopper. They were out and against the buildings in less that three seconds.
With a rush of air and noise, the Blackhawk ripped free of the landing platform, and dove off the derrick. Dana's stomach shot into her throat as the pilot yanked hard on the collective controls, leveling off a few feet from the wave crests. Then he began circling the rig.
With a start, Dana realized that the two soldiers next to her hadn't left with the rest of the team. She looked up, startled to find the masked face looking down at her.
"We'll be right here, ma'am. We're going in with you all." It was Peirson.
With that the chopper beat its way into the air again, only to hold itself over the rig. Scully's hand shot to her stomach.
"Oh, God." It was that quick, quiet tone used by med students when they start their first autopsy.
"Easy, there. We'll be down in a few." Peirson kept a quiet hand on her arm. It was . . . familiar.
"Nine meters." Now Dana kept her eyes shut on approach, missing the look Fox shot her.
"Three meters." Again the helicopter pitched nose up sharply. Peirson kept a firm hand on Scully, steadying her.
Now the helicopter fairly slammed onto the deck, and Scully heard the whine of the engine die away. Peirson snapped the restraints from himself and Scully, and quickly hustled her off the machine.
Still dizzy with airsickness, Dana could hear the pounding of feet as everybody ran into the nearby shelter. She was oblivious to the sound of the Blackhawk taking to the darkened sky behind her. It wasn't until the door closed behind her, and she pressed up against a wall that she felt human again.
One of the SEALs chimed in over the radio, "Welcome to the caverns, everybody." Dana turned, noting that the square man was named Soun.
Then as her dizziness passed, Scully realized why Soun used the word 'caverns.' The walls were burnt black and pitted, as if by fire. The roof had cracked in several places, through which water trickled. But in the center of the floor was a roughly circular hole six feet across. As she leaned forward to peer down, she saw that the metal flooring had melted and run down into the next level. And the hole continued down three floors.
The entire team was lining the perimeter of the room, eyeing the hole and the walls warily.
The soldier in charge of the SEAL team, Lt. Quiddis spoke up. "We've checked out the upper floors, and the gantries. There's nobody home here. The second helicopter platform is a complete loss, and so's the Coastie's chopper."
Mulder interrupted quickly. "So why move us in so soon?"
Lt. Quiddis never stopped looking around as he answered. "I can't find a serious threat here."
"Well, how about whatever made that hole. I'll call that a threat." Fox's humor was lost on the soldiers.
"Agent Mulder, we have no idea what did that."
Peirson spoke up. "If it was an explosion, the roof'd be gone. Same for a fire. Could be a slow thermite burn through, but why would you use it?" He directed his question toward Dana.
Major Pryce cut through the tense conversation. "Okay, so it's clear up top. So let's set up our lab in the hanger on Platform Two, and you guys can clean out the lower levels. We'll start speculating once we have some information. Snap to it people"
With that, nearly everybody started hustling about. All but the two Agents, and Glad.
The USAMRIID team had co-opted the three people, using them to help set up a rudimentary laboratory on Platform Two. It was set up with a small quarantine box, and material for testing. If there was a bacteriological or virological agent on the rig, they could find and quantify its abilities.
While Dr. Scully worked setting up equipment, she ran over the layout of the facility in her head. Platform Two was the second of the four major sections of the rig itself. Each Platform was some six levels high, and centered over one of the four pylons that anchored the rig to the ocean floor. Down the center of the rig was the scaffolding that ran downward to the oil fields.
Platform Two was mainly for industrial use. It contained machine shops, the generators, the hangers, both helicopter pads, and the dock. This section was heavily fire damaged above the third floor, and one of the two helo pads was gone. Indeed, it was the fire in this section that she'd seen in Fox's photograph.
Platform One was purely living quarters. It took a lot of men to keep everything on the derrick running, and they were given ample room. There were dormer rooms, and recreational areas. Weight rooms, and restrooms sat alongside a small television room, and well-sized kitchen. Where ever these men were now, they had left an excellently provisioned rig.
Platform Three was administrative. Offices for bureaucrats, and a small hospital were set up in this area. Scully had thought this would make a better place to set up a lab, but Pryce had said no. Their hospital would be the most likely source of any infectious diseases.
And Platform Four was mostly machinery. The desalinization equipment and water treatment equipment was set up here. It was squashed into the rig's corrugated walls next to the oil and ballast pumps, and the climate control evaporators.
And a network of corridors, ducts, and pipes connected these sections, strung along the steel beams of the rig itself.
Scully finished laying out the chemical agents, and saw that Mulder was still working. He and Whitman were bolting together the plastic panels of the small quarantine container. Manipulating the tools in their heavy gloves was difficult, and Fox dropped his wrench repeatedly. Presently, he was kneeling inside the lexan box, attaching the airtight interior seals.
Dana looked about the blackened hanger, and saw that the rest of the USAMRIID team was finishing their setup.
She walked up behind Mulder, and tapped him on the back. He tried to shoot to his feet, only managing to slam the crown of his head into the plastic.
Dana jumped back as Fox swore sharply. The headset radios broadcast a few choice imprecations to the other doctors, who laughed softly to themselves.
"Ow. What is it Scully?" Fox didn't sound happy as he rolled into a sitting position.
Scully winced inside her mask. This wasn't starting out right. "I was wondering if you needed any help."
"I do now." Mulder rubbed his head, and held out a hand. "Hey, Whitman. You wanna help an old man up?"
Dana nearly stepped forward to help him before she realized that he wasn't talking to her. It burned her that he would be so deliberate about shutting her out. Everybody in the hanger suddenly became preoccupied with their work.
Whitman pulled Mulder to his feet, and then started across the hanger floor. "Got work to do. I'll help finish up in a minute." He made a quick escape.
"Okay, Mulder. You want to talk now?" She set her feet, her gloved hands folded about her arms.
"We've got work to do. You want to give Pryce a hand while I finish this?" His tone was neutral, but Dr. Scully wished she could see his face through his suit's mask.
Instead she took a deep breath. Mulder's posture was loose, and he kept facing Scully. She reached up, and turned off her radio.
He paused momentarily, then turned his radio off. Dana walked up to him, and the gunbelt settled lower on her hips as she moved. She decided to ignore it, concentrating instead on her partner.
She reached up, and grabbed one of his air hoses, using it to pull his head down to her level. For a moment he resisted, before letting her. She pressed her masked face up to his, and started talking.
"Can you hear me?"
"Barely. But I don't know why." His voice was muffled, strained.
"Conduction of vibration, Mulder."
"No. I mean why all this." She knew what he'd meant. Dana had just chosen to ignore him.
"Mulder, just stop this, all right? We've got to work together here, and I'm tired of your attitude." She knew this wasn't the time or place for this conversation, but there was little she could do.
"Just another reason for you to be tired today, huh Scully?"
Dana stopped cold. Indeed she hadn't slept much recently, and now Mulder was pushing her buttons. She felt genuine affection for this man, and she'd relished every opportunity she had to summon his soft smile. She'd learned to like the double edged humor he protected himself with. But now he had turned that against her.
She pressed her mask against the side of Fox's wounded head. "How dare you! What the hell gives you the right to be involved in my life?"
"You're my partner." Again, he sounded cold and distant as he spoke.
"Yes. And that's it. No less, no more. Got it?" She was absolutely calm, and rock solid as she spoke. But she kept her arms crossed, lest he notice that her hands were shaking inside the gloves.
Mulder pulled his head back, and snapped on his radio. Standing over her in his suit, Fox was a nameless, faceless body. One she didn't even recognize.
Dana's lips were pressed tight, fighting against tears she didn't want to shed. Momentarily, she was thankful for the anonymity lent by the layers of rubber.
Then Mulder spun suddenly, and ran for the door. Scully was shocked to see the USAMRIID team and Glad all following suit. For a long puzzled moment, she was lost. Then the obvious occurred to her, and she flipped her radio back on.
It hissed in her ear. "-again, we found some people. I think."
The radio continued to crackle as Agent Scully drew her pistol, and followed the rest of her team.
The power was out below the fifth level of Platform Two, and when the USAMRIID team threw open the stairwell door, only a black pit awaited them. Scully could see the high power beam from Mulder's flashlight bounce down the stairs.
"We're on level three, north face. And bring the bags; it's rough looking in here." Scully unclipped her own flashlight, and continued down after Fox.
Level three was a mess. Dark metal cabinets hung open on torn hinges. The overhead lights and ducting were shattered. The walls and floors were burned through in places. All the walls were scorched, and smoke still drifted from insulation panels. Dr . Scully was glad she was breathing from an air tank.
"Peirson, pop a flare for illumination." She heard the Lieutenant's orders over her radio as she ran down the hall after everyone. The radio sizzled momentarily. Then she heard Whitman's voice. "Oh God . . ."
She nearly ran into him as he stumbled out of a charred doorway to her left. Dana grabbed his arm, and pulled him around.
"You alright?" She pulled his face down to hers, and tried to peer through his goggles into his eyes in the dark.
"Yeah. Yeah." He leaned against the wall, sucking in deep breaths. As Scully went to walk past him, he tried to grab her arm. "No! Don't go in there."
She shrugged him off and entered the room, finding the entire team transfixed by the sight around them.
The large, open area was still clogged with smoke, and Scully's flashlight played off charred ruins. Sticking up over a fractured pump was the burnt remains of a human hand, still clutching a shotgun.
The walls were warped from the heat, and the peeling remains of blood and paint decorated them like unholy lace. Here and there, the walls were peppered with small burn marks, and many puckered bullet holes. As her flashlight's beam wandered about the room, it showed smoking arms and legs, torn chest cavities, and gleaming bone.
She shut her eyes, and breathed deeply.
Mulder's voice brought her eyes open. "Well, anybody want to take bets on a virus?"
Strewn about the room were the remains of three dead Coast Guard sailors. Only Dr. Scully could tell the number, however. No one else in the room had the presence of mind to add up the number of skulls.