"No, stay with the doctors. We can't let Glad double back!" Mulder was shouting unnecessarily into his microphone as he held the stairwell door open for the SEAL team.
Scully winced along with the rest of the team as his words blasted into her right ear, but her gun never wavered. Instead, she stopped running for the door, staring at Fox as the last man passed him.
Without a word he disappeared through the door, his slick rubber suit blending with the darkness as he descended into the oil rig. Then the heavy metal door closed with a resounding clang.
She blinked sharply. Was this the way they always worked? She couldn't remember just how normal it was for him to leave her behind so abruptly. Could he be doing this solely because of their personal arguments?
Before the echo of the closing door had died, Agent Scully was on the run toward the charred remains. She brusquely lifted the body parts from the examination table, and laid them on the floor.
"Agent Scully, what the hell are you doing?" Pryce started out of the daze he'd dropped into, reaching out to stop her.
Putting her shoulder into it, she spun the table about, until the long side faced the door. Then she heaved it onto its side, narrowly missing Pryce's foot.
"There," she panted into the microphone, "Now we've got a blockade."
She dropped behind the table, and chambered a round into her pistol smoothly. Pryce dropped down beside her, while Hadat and Whitman cleared off another nearby table.
The other table clanged into the hanger deck, and the USAMRIID doctors drew pistols of their own. She looked over, only to find Major Pryce drawing a small twenty-two caliber pistol from his holster. He looked at the weapon he held, and then over at Scully's large Glock, and then back again. She could almost see his thoughts, as though they were louder now that he was encased in a sealed suit.
"I can't hit a target with anything bigger." Pryce then looked away, and tried to ignore her.
Dana turned off the microphone until her giggles went away.
In teams of two, the SEAL squad leapfrogged down the darkened corridors of level two. Mulder was tagging along with the Lieutenant, his service pistol out and at his side.
He remembered to keep his elbows locked, even when the weapon was down. And there was one in the chamber and the safety off, in case he needed to fire.
Fox only hoped that he wouldn't shoot his own foot. It seemed that between his weekend and now, that was the sort of luck he would get.
He pushed his thoughts of his partner out of his mind as Quiddis gestured to him from across the corridor. They'd come to another intersection, and again the three men would blossom out from the corner like a dark flower.
"Team one, alpha clear." The first intersection past the stairwell to the north was empty.
"Team two, fox-trot clear." The intersection to the south was empty.
"Team three, kilo clear." West too was empty.
The El-Tee shook his fist in the air, and counted down from three on his fingers. When he reached zero, Fox swung around the corner. His heart stopped when he saw the shadow slip around the far corner some thirty feet away.
"Team Four," Quiddis called out as his partner chambered a round into his underbarrel grenade launcher. "Movement at November. Prosecuting contact."
Mulder started down the corridor, noting that it was partially illuminated. A single lit neon light swung by one end from the shattered fixture above it. The walls were pocked with bullet holes, and his thick rubber-soled boots slid about on the spent brass casings underfoot. Fox was shaking from the isolation he felt, the dread at hearing nothing but the rasp of his own breathing. The barrel of the rifle that bobbed along just at his peripheral vision didn't comfort him either.
"Team two," The signal was rough with static. "Golf clear."
They came to the next intersection, where they had seen movement. Intersection Oscar. An odd feeling came over him, a sense of deep foreboding. It made perfect sense to him. He'd managed to upset his friendship with Dana, possibly destroy it. And now he knew he was going to die alone. There would be no one to care about his funeral. The thought seized him abruptly, and shook him violently.
He thought of that for a moment, then dove out into the intersection alone. He slammed back first against the far wall, the air tank knocking the wind from him. It seemed the only thing he could do.
"Mulder," Quiddis whispered. "Shit."
Down the hallway, at the far side of the platform, Mulder saw movement. He flicked on his large light, and unclipped it from his belt. He started down after the shadowy form, while his two teammates swung around the corner after him.
They only had time to see his dark shape disappear through a doorway at the far end. The beam from his flashlight bounced, then disappeared.
"Team Two, Fox-trot Clear!" Their radios cracked sharply, fading in and out.
As Quiddis and his rifleman ran, clumsy in their environmental suits, they kept alert. The Lieutenant just kept his pistol covering each connecting corridor as they ran through.
"Team, Mulder's chasing something, we're in pursuit. ID first, shoot later!" He cursed profligately within the confines of his mind, watching his ordered search and destroy pattern fall apart.
They reached the doorway, seeing the blacked out secondary generators looming inside. Here and there, they saw Mulder's light bouncing in the darkness.
Suddenly, the room lit up with strobing light as the staccato cracks of gunfire echoed past them. Squeals erupted from the room.
Almost simultaneously, there was a low explosion from Platform One.
Quiddis dropped to the floor in a crouch, his man alongside him. "Teams One and Two to Point Juliet. Expedite. Teams Three and Five recon Platform Two."
Quiddis didn't wait for the brittle acknowledgments before he ducked into the generator room, and started sprinting.
Boredom is a soldier's greatest enemy. Dana was bored. Even lengthy stakeouts don't train you not to be bored. They train you to be bored, and still pay attention to details. Fighting requires a complete devotion to barely restrained aggression. The capacity to remain for long periods in position, one pound of pull away from firing.
The entire USAMRIID team, along with Agent Scully, had been waiting alone for only ten minutes. But somehow it was enough time to relax.
Scully would never have thought she was relaxing. The sweat had soaked through her shirt, and it was now sticking to her rubber suit, forming uncomfortable wrinkles against her back. She was pressed against the underside of the dirty little table, and her hand burned from the strain of holding it too tightly. Her arm was getting tired as well.
If she'd looked, she would have seen that Whitman had lowered his gun, and Hadat had the butt of his pistol set against his knee. Only Pryce was still ready.
So when they heard the soft explosion through the hanger doors, everyone jerked upright. Scully realized she'd relaxed somewhat, for every muscle in her body had clenched at the noise, forcing a gasp from her throat.
Then, muffled under the echo of the blast, she could hear several pistol-style gunshots from below her. Only the Lieutenant and Mulder were carrying pistols.
She shot to her feet, ignoring the creaks in her knees. She stopped short when Pryce caught her gun arm, and forced it down. He tried to drag her back into cover, but she fought, hitting his knuckles.
"Let go of me!" She sounded very distant, even to her own ears.
"No! There's a firefight going on down there!" His growl cut through the ripping noise of automatic weapon fire.
"And my partner's in it. Let go!" She pulled her arm free, and for a moment brought her barrel toward him. It moved only a fraction, but she was shocked to realized how out of control she was.
"Listen to me. If you go down there now, they will confuse you with a live target. You'll be a blue on blue. You know what that means, dammit?"
She sank down, scared for her partner, and her own temper. "A victim of friendly fire." She was quoting newspaper verbatim. She could see in her head all too well what horrors could be going on downstairs. She knew what Mulder was walking into. And she was stymied.
Whispering, "What can I do?"
"We wait."
Mulder's heart leapt as the muzzle of his pistol climbed skyward. Each round he fired jerked the gun about in his hands, and illuminated the dank blackness of the room with the burning yellow light of a fire fight.
The flashes of light burned into his eyes, nearly blinding Fox in the darkness. His flashlight gripped tightly in his other hand was being used to brace his firing arm. But even without seeing his target, he knew it was there.
It was screaming.
In the darkness of the of the generator room, Fox had caught sight of its gloss black form gliding lightly over the floor, soundless. In the spot of illumination from his flashlight he'd seen something man-like, but covered in a crenelated black carapace. A long, ridged tail sprouted above biped legs, and long spines or tubes erupted from its back. And the eyeless, elongated head it turned upon him had hissed, and bared the tremendous fangs of its two nested mouths.
It was dragging a human body across the floor behind it.
And now as Agent Mulder emptied his clip into it, it screamed. Not the noises familiar to humans, to mammals, but a high pitched noise, something in between a squeal and a hum. It was a terrifying sound, foreign to his ears. Alien.
The gun locked open, its rounds spent. Fox pressed the lever that ejected the clip, and nothing happened. His thick gloves slid off the matte plastic case. Trembling, Fox watched the shadowy form across the room crouch down and hiss. Never looking away from the thing he managed to release the catch, dropping the empty clip to the floor.
It moved silently toward him, faster than a sprinter. Its abnormally long legs clutched the deckplates as it ran, and it pulled itself along the banks of machinery with skeletal arms. Although he could not see it, the thing's long tail curved about it, over it.
He stumbled backwards, vaguely aware that he could in no way outdistance this thing. All that constituted his world was the metal on metal noise of its claws, and the rush of his breath in the confines of his suit. He fumbled inside his gloves, trying to slap another clip into his pistol.
"No! No, dammit, no!"
The sharp report of a rifle slammed the beast against the metal housing of a large turbine. Green fluid sprayed away from it as it squealed in pain and grabbed at the machinery to pull itself upright.
A second burst of rifle fire came from behind one of the generators, knocking it back down. In deathly silence, an arc of its green blood spun through the air, a drop catching Fox's mask. He noticed that the floor about the body was smoking and hissing.
He finally managed to insert the new clip into his gun when he smelled the acrid, choking fumes of burning plastics. His eyes watered, and he realized that a section of his goggles had melted away, exposing him to the outside air. But the fumes were blinding him, choking him.
Quiddis and his partner came around the corner housing to find Mulder silently struggling to tear away his mask and hood.
"No, don't!" Quiddis tangled himself about Fox's arms, thinking he was fighting claustrophobia. Then he caught sight of the green liquid that was dissolving the agent's mask and he fell back in shock.
Fox tossed the mask to the ground, coughing from the smell of melted plastic. With his head freed from the hood, Fox smelled the hold of the rig for the first time. Oil and metal tang mixed with charred flesh and a bitter, unfamiliar smell.
"Eel-tee, look at this!" The soldier called his officer over toward the alien body.
The body fell through the floor, the metal underneath melted through. All around, the spray of the creature's blood had burned holes through the solid steel machinery, etching the creature's death into the rig.
They had found the cause of the holes in the flooring. They came not from fire, but acid.
Mulder pulled a glove off so he could wipe at his tearing eyes. For a moment he thought of the instantly lethal virus Scully had found in the Bounty Hunter's blood. But he'd been exposed to it, and knew that this wasn't it. This was something completely new.
The loud noises of running feet pounding on the deck preceded the rest of the team into the machine room. All were breathing hard, and scanning the room with their eyes and weapons.
Peirson spoke up. "What the hell was that?" He gestured toward the smoking hole next to his commanding officer.
"Yeah, Mulder," Lt. Quiddis turned to face Fox, who retrieved his still functional radio headset. "You mind explaining that thing?"
Still breathing hard, Agent Mulder joined the team at the edge of the hole, and looked down at the body lying one floor below them. He turned his light on it, and was rewarded my muttered curses from the rest of the team.
Fox's sweat-soaked hair stuck up in various directions as he faced the suited SEAL team. "Well, I guess we found our perp."
"That thing didn't come off no satellite, man!" One of the men pushed his way to the front. His suit read 'Hall.'
"No, it didn't." Mulder holstered his gun, glad now that his gloves and mask were off. The sea air felt cool on his face, even down here. He just hoped Scully could prove the absence of a virus. he didn't want any more time in Decontamination.
"So what is it?" Hall seemed deeply upset. Fox could understand why.
"Well, off the top of my head I'd tend to say it's a space monster. Got a better idea?" The smell of the smoke brought back some of Fox's earlier nausea. He shook his head. "How do we get down there?"
Lt. Quiddis grabbed his arm and spun him around. "Get down there? Are you nuts? We're calling in reinforcements. This is seriously out of our league."
"No." Mulder pulled back, aware of the number of military men about him. "I'm not letting this one disappear into a military crate. This time, we keep the body. Now that it's dead, we take it back for the Bureau to examine." He was tense, rigid.
"What? I . . .?" The Lieutenant saw an intensity in Fox's hazel eyes that hadn't been there before.
"Now help me down there, and we can get out-"
Mulder's words were interrupted by the sound of an asthmatic hiss. The sound rose up from Mulder's side, and was joined by another nearby.
Very quietly, Mulder drew his pistol and threw the safety off. "I think we have company."
"Okay team, back to the stairwell, now! We're outta this mission." The Lieutenant circled his hand in the air, and used silent gestures to direct his teams to fall back.
Mulder was absolutely furious. They had a squad of soldiers, more than enough to find the remaining aliens. And they were pulling out, leaving him behind. He tucked the remains of his mask into his belt, and ran after the soldiers.
The Lieutenant drew a radio from his web belt, and snapped it on with a crackle of static. "This is the insertion team, request immediate evac. Over."
He and Mulder kept their eyes open as they ran through the hallways, half expecting another one of those creatures to await them around every corner.
"Roger. I'll be on station in five minutes. Over." The pilot's voice was robbed of timbre by the radio.
"Roger. Warning, it's a hot LZ." The Lieutenant had to smile inside his mask. This brought a whole new meaning to 'hot.'
Col. White ignored the gunfire shattering the night behind him. He didn't care how the SEALs were doing, he just hoped they were loud enough. They were his decoy.
The site doctor had kept a running radio dialogue with a Coastal Navy Hospital for two days. In the sickbay nearby were his notes, and the biological sample he'd kept. He'd been ordered to collect the notes and samples, and torch the rig. The sealed papers in his vest ordered the Elliot to destroy the rest of the rig, and carry him directly to shore.
All he had to do was get in and out quickly.
Due to the sealed suits the team wore, the SEALs couldn't use nightvision goggles. Instead they were reduced to flashlights taped to the barrels of their weapons. Mulder had brought his huge halogen flashlight, and by virtue of sheer candlepower was elected to take point as the team wound their way back to the stairs.
"On three!" Fox stepped to one side, as Peirson took position directly in front of the steel door.
"Now!"
Fox threw his shoulder into the door, and it slammed against the inner wall of the night-black stairwell. When nothing showed itself, Mulder stepped in front of the soldiers, and swung his light about the small vestibule at the foot of the stairs.
He turned, and waved the SEALs through. "Go! It's clear." Behind the hiss of the sealed suits, and the tromp of gas masks, Mulder heard a faint keening sound.
Quiddis was the last into the stairwell, and he pushed Mulder in front of him. "You too. Get up there now!"
Behind him a dark, glistening form dropped to the floor, just beyond the doorway. Mulder's gun snapped up, seemingly in slow motion as Quiddis recognized the shock and fear on the agent's face.
The muzzle of Mulder's gun had just cleared the lieutenant's shoulder when he started firing. There were screams of shock and outrage from the vaguely insectile apparition, but the bullets whined off its hard shell.
Quiddis dove forward, slamming Mulder against the floor and driving the wind out of him. Simultaneously, the alien leapt, and overshot the two men. It landed with feline grace upon the stairwell as its skeletal tail coiled about it.
Lt. Quiddis was up and running, pulling Mulder along by the collar on his suit. They were just out the door when flashes of gunfire lit the darkened stairs in a hellish strobe.
Fox spun, and fired backwards through the door, still bent on killing the thing. But even as his remaining shells bounced harmlessly off its evil hide, he saw it dance jerkily under the impact of rifle rounds. The SEALs poured fire onto it from the floor above, and managed to pound it back into the ground.
But the lower level and stairs disappeared under ropey gouts of its redolent blood. Thick yellow smoke poured out from the acid-eaten crater that had been Fox's escape, choking him. Lt. Quiddis hefted him as he coughed, and shouldered him even as he yelled to his troops above them.
"You get moving! We'll find another way up!"
"But-"
"Go! That's an order!" With that, Quiddis pounded down a service corridor with Mulder slung over one shoulder. He did not look back.
Quiddis' hard shoulder and air tank pounded Mulder's chest and stomach, hurting worse than the rank smell of burning metal. Still coughing through a painfully tight chest, he pounded on the Lieutenant through his thick suit.
Stopping briefly, Quiddis turned and planted Mulder hard, propping him up against the wall. Fox was still coughing as he unsnapped the safety catches holding his air tank onto his back. With the last one gone, it slid heavily from his shoulders and landed hard upon the deck plates.
"You ready to run?" As the Lieutenant spoke, Mulder found himself thinking about the slick black shape that had leapt over them.
"Damn straight. Where to?" Mulder still coughed with a deep bronchial sound.
In response, the Lieutenant turned and ran, his dark suit nearly disappearing into the darkness ahead.
It suddenly occurred to Fox that in the midst of the confusion, he'd dropped his flashlight somewhere down the corridor. Now it was either melted, or in the midst of some hunting creatures he couldn't kill. Mentally he chalked up yet another destroyed light.
In the darkness, Fox nearly ran into Quiddis' broad back. The man was undogging a large hatch on one side of the corridor. The door was too small for Agent Mulder to help, so he dropped the spent clip and loaded a fresh one into his gun. Useless or not, he wanted a gun.
"Okay, this is the loading bay over to Platform One. Move!" Quiddis threw the door open, chilled by the abrupt silence about them.
Mulder leaped through, his Glock at eye level. He was nearly blinded, surprised to find the lights on at this level. But through the light, he saw nothing, and gestured for the Lieutenant to follow.
Quiddis hopped over the high sill of the hatch, and tried to swing the door closed behind himself. But a hand closed over the door edge, and in the bright light, Mulder got a good look at the thing.
There were too many digits on the dripping hand, and the claws at its tip gleamed more of metal than bone. The tendons and cartilage were stretched taut about the surface of the hand, and its grip nearly snatched the door from the Lieutenant.
The sweat on Fox's face ran cold, and he yanked the damaged mask from his belt. Quickly he shoved the barrel of his short pistol into the rubber mask, and brought it up to the almost mechanical hand at the door.
As he did so, the monstrosity brought its face about the door, and Quiddis let out a high pitched gasp as he faced a nightmare from two feet away. Its glossy carapace extended from a grotesque, lipless mouth to the crown of a long, slick head. The sides and peak of its head were ridged, and again it looked as though the beast's very tendons were wrapped about its skin. But horror arose when it opened a slavering jaw, only to reveal a second set of jaws inside its mouth.
Mulder pushed the mask and barrel up against the creature's hand, and his finger squeezed the trigger over and over. Both he and the creature fell away, both squealing. Fox flung the gun and mask as far away from himself as he could from where he lay on the floor, his face a rictus of pain.
The beast pulled back from the door, giving the Lieutenant a chance to unclip a grenade, and lob it though the opening. Then he dogged the hatch, and ran toward Mulder. The heavy sounds of the thing pounding on the door echoed through the room. Then a blast shook the room, denting the hatch.
Quiddis ran over to Mulder, and dragged Fox's hand up toward his own mask. Bright red blood poured down his hand from a gouge along his index finger, but he was otherwise intact.
"It's just a ricochet, Mulder. Get up now!" He grabbed Fox's elbows, and pulled him upright.
"Where are we going, anyway?" His husky voice was now rough and tight from the pain and smoke.
"Up three decks is a gangway to Platform Two, next to the infirmary. We can fix you up there."
With that, both men started sprinting, Mulder cradling his hand to the heavy plastic of his suit. Behind them lay the smoking ruins of a very fine pistol.
Quiddis hoped that this platform was not lit throughout; he didn't want to see another one of those things clearly, ever again.