Hi all,

After seeing "Timecop" last week, the Jean-Claude Van Damme picture about 
the time-traveling law enforcement agent, it got me to thinking.  Why not 
an X-Files story about time travel?  Well, actually, time travel is probably 
too wild even for the X-Files.  But there's nothing to stop us fans from
writing about it.

This story of course rips off "Timecop," but it also rips off numerous other
SF stories dealing with time travel (like T2, Back to the Future, Star Trek,
The Twilight Zone, etc.), so there's really not a single original word in 
the entire story.  Ah well, maybe one of these days I'll write a completely 
original story -- but then again, maybe not.

Here follows "Out of Time," by Steven Han, 9/29/1994.  If you're a 
netpicker, you might enjoy seeing how many logical errors you can spot 
in this story.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------


September 15th, 1996
8:10 a.m.
FBI Headquarters

Scully entered her office like she did every morning, her spirits prepped
up for another exciting day of investigative work.  Unfortunately, the past
couple of weeks had been anything but exciting, with nothing but 
mind-numbing paperwork and two-bit psycho cases coming their way.  In fact,
nothing even remotely interesting in the way of X-Files had appeared in 
recent memory, leading her to wonder if she and Mulder had been 
overharvesting the waters these past three years.

As she hung up her coat, Scully spotted Mulder out of the corner of her
eye, his head barely visible behind a pile of books on his desk.  Strange, 
she thought, that he was not wrapped up in another fringe UFO magazine or 
an adult rag as he usually was.  Perhaps he had found a new case -- and
maybe they would see some action today.  She walked by his desk and cleared 
her throat.  "Ahem."

Mulder peeked out from behind the pile of books, glancing up at her over 
his wire-rimmed reading glasses.  "Hiya Scully," he muttered, barely 
noticing her.

"So what's so interesting, Mulder?" asked Scully, trying to sound aloof
as she continued on to her desk.

Mulder leaned back in his chair and took off his reading glasses.  Placing 
an earpiece in his mouth, he turned towards Scully.  "Better sit down for 
this, agent Scully.  You're not going to believe what you're about to hear."

"Somehow I don't doubt that," responded Scully, not missing a beat.  She
took her seat behind her desk and crossed her arms, looking over at Mulder 
to see what he had dug up today.

Mulder went on, undaunted by her cool attitude.  "Ever heard of the concept 
of spatial and temporal displacement, Scully?"

Scully's eyes narrowed in confusion.  "What, Mulder?  In English, please."

"Temporal displacement, Scully.  Time travel.  It's here.  Now." exclaimed 
Mulder, his eyes lighting up.

Scully rolled her eyes around, then frowned and shook her head in disbelief.
"Mulder, of all the wild theories you've ever thrown at me over the years, 
this has got to be the most..."

"It's not a wild theory, Scully," persisted Mulder.  He leaned forward in 
his chair and waved a pencil to accentuate his remarks.  "It's a fact.  
Someone's actually done it.  Someone has invented time travel."

"But Mulder, that's ludicrous!" began Scully, trying to shoot him down 
before he pushed this idea any further.  "While I may not be an expert in 
temporal theory, I *do* have a degree in physics -- and I happen to know 
that time travel is just a fantasy.  I don't know which of your weird 
friends fed you this story, Mulder, but it's simply not possible."  Her 
tone sounded as if Mulder had suggested the sky was falling.

"Ah, a correction, Scully -- it's not possible under the *conventional* 
laws of physics.  But there's a little-known high-tech company that has 
turned modern physics on its ear.  They've been working under a federal 
grant for the past twenty years, and they've finally succeeded.  They've 
invented time travel, Scully.  I'm sure of it.  It exists, and it exists 
now."

"How're you so sure, Mulder?  Have you seen the contraption at work?"

"No, Scully, but I have inside information on the project.  And what's more,
I suspect the device has already been used, causing a tare in the fabric of 
time."

"A tare in the fabric of time, Mulder?  What's with the flowery prose?"

"Just bear with me, Scully.  Look, let's just theorize for a moment that 
someone, someone unscrupulous, got a hold of the time travel technology and 
used it to go back in time and change history to their benefit.  Just think 
of all the possible consequences, Scully."

Scully was already beginning to tire of this conversation, but her past
experiences with the X-Files led her to bear with Mulder for a while longer.

"Fine, Mulder.  So let's just assume for the sake of argument that 
everything you said was true.  But then, if someone *did* go back in time 
and make some sort of a change, then that change would have become a 
part of history by now.  So sitting here in the *future*, we would likely 
never even know the difference, never know that there had been a change.  
And so the whole point would be moot.  So why bother worrying about it?"

"That's not the proper way to look at it, Scully.  If someone did indeed 
change events in the past to the detriment of our *original* history, our 
original timeline, as it were, I believe it is imperative that we as law
enforcement officers restore the original sequence of events.  To let an 
alteration exist in our timeline would be irresponsible, not to mention 
highly dangerous."

"But Mulder, who's to say that any one timeline is any more correct than
another?  And how would we even detect any such change in history?  For 
instance, what part of our timeline do you think could possibly have been 
manipulated?  Just where is this 'tare' in the fabric of time that you 
mentioned?"

"Well, Scully, I'm glad you asked.  Are you familiar with the Fort Knox
break-in of 1981?"

"Why sure, Mulder.  As I recall, that was the only time Fort Knox was ever 
successfully penetrated.  They believed it was an inside job, because the 
intruders had all the security clearances and passwords.  We learned all 
about it at the Academy, remember?"

"Precisely, Scully.  Now what if I told you that Fort Knox was never broken
into?"

"I'd say you were nuts, Mulder."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time.  But you might not feel that way 
after you hear this, Scully.  About a week ago, Secret Service agents 
caught a group of people in possession of nearly a ton of gold bouillon.  
The serial numbers on the bars matched those of the bars stolen from Fort 
Knox fifteen years ago.  And guess what date was marked on the bars, 
Scully."

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me."

"1980, Scully.  One year before the break-in."

"That's not any proof of time travel, Mulder.  Someone could have been 
hiding that stash of gold for the past fifteen years."

"So, Scully, you'd prefer to just chalk it up to incredible coincidence?
Perhaps you'll feel differently after you hear this last part."

"Which is?"

"The fact that the people arrested with the gold have been linked to Senator 
Johnson's presidential campaign."

"Senator Johnson?  You're kidding, aren't you?  But he's so far behind in
the race, he's nearly dropped out!"

"Exactly, Scully.  He's way behind in all the polls, so he's looking to buy
more TV airtime.  But his campaign is nearly broke, and he's been trying
desperately to raise more funds."

"Now, wait a minute, Mulder.  Are you insinuating that the Senator has gone
back in time to steal gold from Fort Knox, so that he can buy up more 
airtime and get elected president?  Now you're really reaching there, 
Mulder.  I was almost starting to believe you there for a minute."

"Well then, come on Scully -- time for you to see for yourself."  Mulder 
got up and walked over to Scully's desk, pulling her up by her arm.

"But Mulder,..."


              *                *                   *


TempoDynamics Corporation
Outside Princeton, New Jersey

Mulder and Scully flashed their special red passes and walked past the armed
sentry in the lobby.  Turning a corner, they approached a bank of elevators.

Scully whispered to her partner.  "Mulder, just how did you get us clearance 
to enter this place?"

"My sponsor in congress, Scully -- senator Matheson.  He chairs the Senate
oversight committee for this project and controls its funding.  It's a good 
thing to have friends in high places, Scully," remarked Mulder in pride.

The pair took the elevator down to the basement lab where they passed
another security check and stepped through a heavy metal door.  Entering the
lab, they encountered a sea of white coats buzzing around rows of 
computers and electronic instruments.  One of the men in white approached 
Mulder and Scully and looked up at them above his spectacles.

It was a short, modestly built man in his fifties, nearly bald save for
the patches of gray above his ears.  He looked at the two agents and 
exclaimed, "Ahh, you must be agents Mulder and Scully.  I'm doctor Svetnov, 
Research Director.  Welcome to our little company."

Mulder shook hands with the doctor and went right to the point.  "So,
doctor, is it true that you have a working time machine on your hands?"

The doctor cringed at the volume of Mulder's voice.  "Please, Mr. Mulder,"
he said softly, "not everyone in this room is cleared for that information.
Let's go to my office where we can have some privacy."

The three walked through the main lab and out into a long empty hallway.  
Looking around, the doctor responded to Mulder's original question as they 
walked towards his office.

"Yes, Mr. Mulder, we do have a working prototype," he said, pulling from 
his pocket a strange-looking oversized watch mounted on a wide black fabric 
wristband.  "We've only performed small jumps so far, but we have proven 
the viability of the technology."

Scully turned her head towards the doctor, unable to believe what she was
hearing.  "Doctor, you're telling me this technology is actually *real*?
But I thought such a device was impossible?  After all, time is not a 
dimension that can be controlled by physical means."

The doctor turned towards Scully and began as if he were conducting a
university lecture.  "Agent Scully, that's not entirely correct.  You see, 
in the traditional view of the physical universe, time always moves forward
in a fixed pattern.  But in the postmodern theory of temporal mechanics, 
the space-time continuum allows direct movement anywhere within the spatial 
and temporal frames."

"So you mean I can travel back and forth in time as I wish?" asked Mulder,
dripping with fascination.

"Not quite, Mr. Mulder.  For one thing, you can't go forward in time, at
least not past your starting reference frame, because the future hasn't 
happened yet.  To put it another way, the future timeframe does not exist
until it is actually created.  But you *can* go back in time and return 
to your starting frame quite easily."

"So then can I go back ten years and say hello to myself?" poked Mulder.

"Well, no, Mr. Mulder.  Again, you have to obey the laws of physics, in
this case the conservation of matter.  You see, traveling in time is akin 
to traveling in normal space.  No matter where you go, there's only one of 
you.  So as you move backwards and forwards in time, you are essentially 
moving between your earlier and later selves.  That is to say, if you 
travel back 10 years, you will find yourself in your earlier, younger self 
of 10 years ago.  There can never be two copies of yourself, Mr. Mulder."

"Furthermore," added the doctor, "this also means that you cannot travel 
back before the time of your birth, since you wouldn't exist in that 
timeframe.  If you tried to do so, you would simply vanish."

"Hmm, bummer -- so I can't go back and meet Cy Young," muttered Mulder.  
"So what happens if I were to go back in time and change something?  Perhaps
if I were to go back to 1981 and buy a ton of Microsoft stock?"

"Well, then history would become skewed at that point, altering the 
timeline.  When you return to the present day, you'd likely find yourself 
a millionaire."

"But then, if this is true, what would happen to the original 'timeline', 
as you put it, doctor?" asked a puzzled Scully.  "Does it run parallel to 
the new altered timeline?  Does time branch into two separate paths at the 
moment of alteration?"

"Well, no, agent Scully.  Since history would become altered at that point, 
the original timeline would cease to exist, having been completely replaced 
by the new one.  You can no more have two separate timelines than you can 
have two copies of the same person."

Mulder was intrigued. "So can you show me how the thing works, doctor?"

"Now you wouldn't be thinking of going back and dabbling in the stock
market, would you, Mulder?" asked Scully, crossing her arms and raising 
an eyebrow.

"Nonsense, Scully.  I'm an upstanding civil servant."

Ignoring the exchange of quips, the doctor stopped in the hallway and 
demonstrated the device to Mulder.  "Well, this is how it's used, agent," 
he said, pulling Mulder's left hand up towards him and wrapping the 
timepiece around the wrist.

Fastening the velcro closure, the doctor continued.  "You simply put the 
timepiece on your wrist like this.  Then you see this dial on the watchface,
and the five bezels around it?  The dial tells the current date and time,
just like a normal watch.  And you turn the bezels around it to set the 
destination date and time -- the outermost bezel sets the year, and the 
inner bezels set the month, day, hour, and minute, respectively."

"See, let's say I turn the outermost bezel counterclockwise, like this," 
added the doctor, leaning over Mulder's arm and demonstrating.  "Then you'd 
be set to travel twenty years into the past.  You would complete the 
procedure by pressing these two buttons on the side of the case 
simultaneously to make the jump."

"Pretty impressive, doc," noted Mulder as he examined the controls on the
device.

"Now, Mr. Mulder," said the doctor.  "I think we should discuss the matter
of security that I discussed with the senator.  You see, agent Mulder, 
agent Scully, this timepiece is actually one of *two* prototypes."

"And where is the other one?" asked Mulder.

"That's precisely the problem, agent Mulder.  The other prototype is missing.
I believe it was stolen."

"Stolen -- undoubtedly by the same person or people that have been misusing 
the technology to alter the past," speculated Mulder.

"Alter the past?" asked the doctor, gravely concerned.  "Do you have
evidence that someone has used it to change history?"

"Well, doctor, not absolute proof, but...," started Mulder.

Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted as the group heard footsteps 
from down the corridor.  Turning towards the source of the noise, they 
were alarmed to see a group of men with automatic weapons entering the far 
end of the hallway.  And before Mulder and Scully could react, the band 
mercilessly opened fire, spraying the hallway with bullets.

Acting on reflex, Mulder dropped to the ground and reached inside his 
jacket for his Glock.  Around him he felt Scully and the doctor turning 
towards the attackers and reacting, but the confusion amidst the torrent of 
bullets clouded his awareness of exactly what was going on.  He pulled out 
his pistol and turned towards his assailants, just as he saw the doctor 
flinching and dropping backwards on top of him.

Mulder struggled to push the doctor's body out of the way and get a clear
shot at the attackers, when he felt another body falling on top of him.  
It was Scully!  Collapsing on his chest, she turned to him and gasped out
with her last breath, "Mulder!"  

Her head then dropped on his chest, as blood spilled from her open mouth.

"*SCULLY!* NO!!" cried out Mulder, as the realization of her fate struck 
him like a speeding truck.  Overcome by the shock, it took him a second to 
feel the stinging pain, first in his legs and then in his side, as he 
realized that he too had been hit.  

As the blood drained from his wounds and his body turned cold, Mulder's 
mind began to lose its focus.  In the misty haze of his last thoughts, he 
realized he had only one chance left.  Gathering all his remaining strength,
he fought back the excruciating pain and pulled his right arm over to the 
buttons on the timepiece.

Mulder's head began to spin around in dizzying motions, as he sensed that 
his body was detaching itself from its surroundings.  He felt his body 
stretching out into a long strand, then twirling up in knots.  He felt the 
sensation of falling into a bottomless pit, tossing and turning as he 
flailed his limbs about in helplessness.  Finally, his thoughts clouded up 
and faded out, as he drifted off into unconsciousness.


              *                *                   *


Fox Mulder found himself sitting on his living room carpet, legs crossed
beneath him.  He sat just feet in front of the TV, watching an episode of 
"Mary Tyler Moore."  Mary was entertaining Lou, Murray, Ted, and Georgette 
in her new apartment, recounting the events of the day at work.  

Behind him sat his father and mother on the couch, silently observing the
show.  They didn't talk much these days, even though Samantha's 
disappearance had occurred nearly three years in the past.  The pain and 
shock of her loss had severely shaken the family, and the memory of the 
event still haunted them like a ghost.

But little distractions like these TV shows helped them forget about the
pain, if only for a little while.  For the space of half an hour, they could
all forget about the anger, despair, and accusations that accompanied 
Samantha's loss, and the guilt and blames that had driven a wedge through 
the family.

Fox recalled the times that he and Samantha had played together, whether it
was Checkers or Monopoly, or even Stratego as they had played that night.  
He chased the thought out of his head, not wanting to be reminded of that 
night yet again.  It was still fresh in his mind, as if it had only 
happened yesterday.  But that was over twenty years ago...

Or was it?  No, that wasn't be right.  Here he was, sitting in his parents' 
living room, a boy of fifteen.  And yet he felt different, as if his mind
was filled with a lifetime of experiences, the memories of a man more than
twice his age...

Then the images returned.  The sights, the sounds, the motions -- he 
remembered the attackers in the hallway.  He recalled the bullets flying 
towards him, the doctor's lifeless body dropping on top of him, and... 
Scully.  Shivers ran through him as he remembered what had happened to 
his partner, and how he had left her there.

Or had he?  Was all this possible?  Could it all have been a dream?  After
all, here he was, in his home, in his parents' house.  His presence here
was real, as were his surroundings -- the TV, the carpet beneath his feet, 
and his parents behind him.  

Fox turned around and looked up at his mother and father sitting on the 
couch, sitting and staring impassively at the TV.  He was certain that 
at least *they* were real, which was more than he could say about the 
strange memories filling his head.

His mother noticed the curious stare from her son.  "What's the matter, 
Fox?" she asked.

"Uh, nothing, mom," replied Mulder sheepishly, turning back towards the TV.
Perhaps it was all just a dream, a figment of his overactive imagination.  
Imagine that, the thought of running around the country as an FBI agent...

Then he remembered the timepiece.  Was it real?  Did it really exist?  What 
happened to that wristband; did he still have it?  If he did, then it 
really couldn't have been a dream after all...

He felt his neck locking up, as a part of him became afraid of learning the 
answer, afraid of the possibility that it might all have been true.  It all 
seemed too incredible to believe, too outrageous to even contemplate.

But his curiosity got the better of him, and his head snapped down 
towards his wrist.  And there it was, just as he had remembered it.  The 
broad wristband, the big round face with its five concentric rings circling 
the chronometer -- it was all there.  The time read:

  8:15 p.m., Sept. 15th, 1976.

Mulder's mind was overwhelmed by the implications.  The device actually
worked!  It had propelled him twenty year's into the past and into his 
younger self.  He was now sitting in a boy's body, but his memories had 
come along for the ride, if a bit shaken from the trip.

Mulder's mind raced beyond the initial disbelief to the larger implications.
If he was now indeed here in the past, then he would be able to change 
things, change the course of events, the course of history.  But then, that 
was the very thing he had been seeking to prevent in the first place.  To 
prevent any tampering in the historical timeline by the forces of....

His mind was suddenly flooded with the images of the hallway, of the men
that had gunned him down along with Scully and the doctor.  Mulder 
realized they must have been sent there to prevent him and Scully from 
learning about the time machine, to keep them from uncovering the abuse of
the technology.  

But who could have sent them?  There was only one logical answer.  It had
to have been the same man who was responsible for the Fort Knox break-in, 
senator Johnson.

Mulder knew the senator had a reputation as a strong, almost cutthroat
negotiator, but it surprised him that the man would actually resort to such
violence.  But then, the lure of power was something few could resist.

But even as he tried to ponder the questions of altered timelines, thoughts 
of Scully filled his mind and kept him from focusing on anything else.
The image of her body collapsing on top of his, expiring as she called out 
his name -- it clouded his mind, obscured his thinking.  He was overcome 
with pain and despair as he recalled her fate, anguishing in the knowledge 
that his partner, his closest friend, was now dead...

Or was she?  It dawned on Mulder that he had in his hands the power to
change history.  He could return to a time shortly before the encounter 
and flee with her to safety.  It seemed so simple, so wonderful an idea.

But did he dare change history, to tare the fabric of time?  Even for his
partner?  Mulder decided that yes, it was worth the risk, worth the sin of
altering history.  Her death should never have occurred; it was a travesty.  
He was determined to correct the situation.

But then another thought occurred to him.  If he could prevent Scully's
death by going forward in time, perhaps he could go back in time a few 
years and prevent his sister's abduction.

Mulder boggled at the thought of changing such a pivotal event in his life.
Although he was still grieving over the loss of his partner, that particular
event seemed to have less urgency.  Perhaps it was because it hadn't really
happened yet, chronologically speaking.  It would be twenty years from now 
before Scully would be in any danger.  For all he knew, she was alive and 
well right now in this timeframe, living with her family on a Navy base 
somewhere.

But his sister -- she was definitely gone from this timeframe; there was
no doubt about that.  She had disappeared three years ago in the tragedy 
that had torn the family apart.  

No, thought Mulder, he couldn't let this event continue tormenting his 
family.  Although he blamed himself for losing her back then, he now had
it in his power to correct the situation and redeem himself.  With the 
technology he held, he no longer had to rely on fate -- now fate would rest 
entirely in his own hands.

His concerns resolved, Mulder decided to make the journey.  He fumbled 
with the bezels on his timepiece, then took a deep breath and pressed the 
buttons.

The dizziness returned, as did the feeling of weightlessness.  He floated 
about for what seemed like an eternity, as his mind slowly drifted away 
into unconsciousness.  Samantha, he recalled her name, the last thought 
held in his mind...


              *                *                   *


Nov 27, 1973
Chilmark, Mass.
8:53 p.m.

"Mom said I could watch a movie!" protested Samantha.

"Yeah, but Mom and Dad are over at the neighbors' house, and they left *me*
in charge," exclaimed Fox proudly.

Peeved, Samantha ran over to the TV and flipped the channel.

Undaunted, Fox pushed her aside and turned the channel back, then turned 
and glowered over her in victory.  She looked up at him in disgust.

Suddenly, it dawned on Mulder that something was amiss.  The room looked 
familiar, yet strange.  The surroundings were just as he remembered --
the same four walls, the same posters and toys he had seen every time he 
walked into his sister's room.  And yet it all brought back a tide of 
memories, as if he had just returned to the room after a long absence.

Turning his attention back towards Sam, he noticed that she was still 
glaring up at him in anger.  He looked down at her, wondering why she 
seemed so dear to him when she annoyed him to no end.  And although 
he stood towering over Sam, he somehow felt shorter than normal.

Then it dawned on him where he was.  The room, the setting, the 
surroundings.  It was all the same, the same as that night, that night
from his memory.  But why was he here once again?

Then it sank in.  The jump, the jump from three years in the future.  And
from twenty years beyond that on the previous jump.  Mulder noticed that 
the disorientation from the jump was less intense this time.  Perhaps it 
was because he was getting used to the jumps, or perhaps it was because 
this jump had been smaller than the first one.  But in any case, he 
remembered he came here determined, driven by his will to save his sister.  
He was on a mission.

Realizing his situation, his mind raced as he wondered what to do.  Damn, 
the aliens -- aliens will be here trying to abduct her at any moment; what 
should I do?  Should I call the police?  What would I tell them?  That 
aliens are going to abduct my sister?

Geez, this is silly -- why isn't my mind working any better?  I'm not an 
idiot, he thought, but then realized he was trying to reason with the mind 
of a twelve-year old.  Naturally there would be some limitations in working 
with a child's brain.  But he still had to act fast.  

Mulder squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on the predicament, as he 
tried to draw upon his years of education and experience.  Come on, he said 
to himself, trying to pull out the knowledge that was buried somewhere in 
his psyche.  But it was no use, as the thick psychology textbooks and FBI
field manuals only served to confuse his sixth-grade intellect.

Realizing his problem, Mulder pushed aside his education and training and
reached down inside his gut for the answer.  His instincts responded, and 
he ran downstairs to the phone.  Taking a deep breath, Mulder dialed 0.

"Operator," came the smooth female voice from the other end of the line.

"Uh, operator, there's an emergency here, at 3347 Belleview Lane," said 
Mulder hesitantly.

"What kind of an emergency is it?" asked the operator.

"Um, it's a fire!" responded Mulder, marveling at the fact that the 
simplest answer was also the most effective.

"Okay, help is on the way.  Just get everyone out of the house," instructed
the operator.

Relieved, Mulder placed the phone down and ran back upstairs.  Entering
Samantha's room, he stretched out his arm.  "Come on, Sam, we have to go
downstairs."

"Downstairs?  Why?" asked Samantha, clutching a teddy bear and looking up at
him with her big brown eyes.  Mulder noticed she had changed the channel 
while he was gone.

Suddenly, the lights started to flicker in the room.  The lamps began to
shake and the walls began to vibrate as the room turned pitch dark.  A loud 
thumping noise emanated from outside the house, and a bright yellow light 
shone through the window.

Dazed by the light and the noise,  Mulder covered his eyes and looked 
around the room.  He rushed to close and lock the door.

But just as he locked it, the door began to shake and Mulder backed away.  
Streaks of light broke through the cracks between the door and the 
doorframe.  The door handle turned slightly, creaking as it rotated.  It 
turned some more, and then the door flung open, revealing a bright shining 
light.  Shading his eyes and squinting at the open doorway, Mulder saw a 
thin outline of a figure barely visible in the bright backlight.

Suddenly, Mulder heard his sister screaming behind him.  He turned to where 
she had been standing, and his jaw dropped in fear.  She was suspended in 
midair, a beam of light pulling up her prone body.  "Fox! she screamed out.

Mulder turned towards her, but was suddenly frozen in his tracks.  He 
didn't know whether he was paralyzed by fear or by the influence of the 
visitors.  He only knew that he wanted to jump out and grab Samantha, to 
pull her back from the faceless assailants, but he couldn't.  Every muscle 
in his body was frozen tight, unable to move an inch.  He couldn't even 
blink.

Then he heard the sound, soft at first.  But it grew quickly, turning into 
the distinctive sirens of fire engines.  The beam from outside the window
suddenly stopped, dropping Sam on her bed.  The thin alien in the doorway 
also drew back and disappeared.

Mulder was released from his paralysis, and rushed forward to embrace 
Samantha as she wept in her bed.  

"Fox, they tried to take me away..."  She broke into a sob before she 
could finish speaking.

"I know, Samantha -- but they're gone now; it's okay."  Mulder had never
known such an intense feeling of relief, never known what it was like to 
have a loved one returned safely.

The sirens grew louder as the fire engines approached and pulled up in
front of Mulder's house.  Mulder heard voices outside, yelling out and 
clamoring at the front door.  Oh Geez, he thought.  His parents would be 
back soon, and when they see the firemen here, they'll surely go ballistic.
He decided that now would be a good time to make his exit.

"I'll be right back, Sam -- I'm just going to step out for a second,"
assured Mulder to a still weeping Sam.  He hated to leave her alone in her
room like this, but he figured that his younger self would still be here
after he departed.  Too bad he'd get probably get a good scolding for
causing such a scene with the fire department, though.

Mulder stepped out of the room and into the hallway, closing the door
behind him.  He looked around to make sure no one was in the hallway,
just in case.  He carefully turned the rings on his timepiece to return
to the present, realizing what a strange concept that was.  It was actually 
the future that he wanted to return to, not the present.  

Shaking his head, Mulder turned the outer dial to 1996, the second dial to 
September, and the third dial to 15.  September 15th, 1996, his initial
departure point.

But then a thought occurred to him.  He would need time to reorient himself 
in the future and to prevent the attack on himself and Scully.  After a 
moment's thought, he dialed the date back a notch to September 14th.  He 
adjusted the arrival time to 8:30 a.m. - a good time to start the day.

Mulder pressed the activation buttons, feeling his stomach lurching once
again.  He was starting to hate the discomfort that accompanied these jumps,
but figured he could stand it for just one more trip.

		*		*	 	*



8:30 a.m.
September 14th, 1996

Mulder found himself in front of a desk, holding a set of notes.  Feeling
disoriented, he looked around and noticed that he was standing on a 
speaker's platform in a large room.

In front of him was a sea of faces, rows upon rows of young people seated 
in chairs set in an ascending lecture hall.  They all stared at him 
curiously, as if waiting for him to say something.  Mulder instinctively 
looked down at the notes in his hands, which were covered with little 
scribbles about cognitive theory.

Then it occurred to him what had happened.  He had made another jump, back 
from... back from his parents' house, back from Samantha's room.  The 
periods of disorientation had grown shorter with each jump, and this time 
it had taken him only a moment to remember the jump.

But where was he now?  As he struggled to gather his thoughts, he couldn't 
help but feel the presence of the hundreds of pairs eyes locked on him in 
curiosity.  Mulder turned to look at them, but then quickly turned away, 
breaking eye contact.  Turning his head further, he saw a chalkboard 
behind him, full of names and theories.  It was all familiar to him, basic 
psychology he had learned in Oxford.

Scanning the chalkboard, his eyes were drawn towards the top left hand
corner.  There, in large white letters, it read "Psychology 344 - Cognitive
Theory, Professor Fox Mulder."

Then it hit him like a slap in the face.  This wasn't his life!  He had 
ended up back in 1996 sure enough, but not into his former self.
Something had changed, and that something had caused his life to run askew.
He had been something else before, but now he was apparently a professor.
But what had he been, and why was he a professor now?  Why was he here?  
What had gone wrong?  He began to feel dizzy.

Suddenly remembering the students, he turned around.  Geez, they're
probably expecting a lecture from this old professor, he thought.  But
he wasn't about to lecture anyone about anything today, when he wasn't even
sure of who he was.  Or where he was, for that matter.

"Um, folks, class is dismissed for today.  I'll see you next time," he
declared, waving a hand to the crowd.  Some of the kids in the front row 
groaned in disappointment, but most of the other kids jumped up and roared 
in approval and excitement.  Mulder thought back to his own days in school, 
where he himself cheered at the rare days when his classes ended early.

Impatient and itching to find his bearings, Mulder shouldered his way out 
of the lecture hall past the sea of students that were fighting to be the 
first ones out.  He finally managed to squeeze out past the crowd and found 
himself in a hallway, his students pouring out and filing past him.

Darn, what do I do next, wondered Mulder.  Then he remembered that the
building would likely have a faculty directory on the first floor.  But
then, just what floor is this, he wondered, as he walked towards one of 
the hallway windows.

Mulder turned and peered outside the large framed windows overlooking the 
courtyard.  Oak and maple trees leaned into his view, their leaves hewn a 
bright yellow and orange.  Leaves changing color, thought Mulder, about 
right for this time of year.  On an impulse, he lifted his wrist to look 
into his chronometer.  8:35 a.m., September 14th, 1996.  Mulder sighed a 
breath of relief, realizing that at least the time and date were correct.

As he was about to lower his arm, Mulder realized he was wearing a brown 
tweed jacket.  Amused, he raised his elbows and turned them up in curiosity.  
Yup, the obligatory suede patches were there, right where they should be on a
standard issue professor's jacket.  Almost out of a whim, he reached up to 
his mouth to feel for a pipe.  He felt relieved at finding none.

He looked back outside in hopes of finding some signs of his whereabouts.  
He observed walkways in the distance, weaving a path between patches of 
trees and grass.  Students came and went, dressed in barn jackets and long 
black overcoats.  Mulder surmised he was in a small liberal arts school, 
probably somewhere in the northeast.

>From his vantage point, Mulder realized he was likely standing on the
building's second floor.  He turned around and looked up and down the 
halls, searching for a set of stairs.  He found a stairwell in the distance 
and began walking towards it.  

He scanned the walls as he approached the stairs, looking for any possible 
clues to his whereabouts.  The bulletin boards displayed postings about 
new class offerings and part-time jobs, but not much else.

Turning into the stairwell, he descended the flight of stairs and stepped 
onto the first floor corridor.  He saw the building entrance down the 
hallway to his left, and approached the large double doors.

The corridor turned into a Y-intersection at the front door, heading off
in three directions.  Mulder spun around, searching for the elusive
faculty directory that should be nearby.  He found a small glass-encased 
board against a wall, and began perusing it.

'Faculty Directory, Yale Department of Psychology,' read the sign.
Surprised, Mulder ran down the sign to see if his name was really here.

Mayfield... Monroe... Mulberry... Mulder, Fox.  His breathing stopped 
momentarily as he saw his name on the board, the final piece of evidence.  
Taking a gulp, he placed his finger on his name and traced it across the 
board.  Room 544A was his office.

As he turned slowly around, Mulder braced himself against a wall.  The full 
impact of the situation began to sink in, as he realized where he was, and 
who he was.  Prying himself off the wall, he staggered along the hallway 
and looked for a set of elevators.  He finally found them, and noticed they 
were key-activated.

Darned cheap administrators, thought Mulder to himself.  He too had seen
such elevators as an undergraduate, reserved strictly for the faculty.  The
students were left to climb endless flights of stairs.

But wait, I *am* faculty, realized Mulder.  It was his first happy thought 
since he had arrived here, and he fumbled through his pockets for his keys.

Pulling out the jumble of keys, he noticed a BMW keychain.  Hmm, I must
have done pretty well for myself in this new life, he mused, as he began
trying out various keys on the elevator lock.  One of the keys fit smoothly,
and Mulder turned it clockwise.  One of the elevator's doors obediently 
slid open.

Thankful that he could skip the five-story climb up the stairs, Mulder 
stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor.  The 
elevator's door slid shut in front of him, and the ride upstairs began.  
The elevator was an old model and quite slow, seemingly taking forever to 
climb each floor.
 
Standing in the elevator, Mulder began to contemplate his situation once
again.  Memories of his life began to come into focus, the images becoming
clearer and more pronounced.  He had attended Oxford University, earned his 
doctorate in psychology, and accepted a teaching position here at Yale.  
Or had he?  But he thought he was an FBI agent, special agent Mulder, not 
a psychology professor...

It all seemed so hazy, as the details of this life fought to extricate 
themselves from the memories of his previous life.  His previous life... 
that concept sounded so foreign, so alien.  The memories of his life in the 
Bureau.  They seemed like dreams, someone else's memories he might have 
heard in a story.  There was no way he could possibly have lived that other 
life, was there?

It occurred to Mulder that while the minor spatial disorientation 
accompanying the jumps appeared to diminish with each successive jump, the 
memories gathered on each trip seemed to accumulate, piling on top of each 
other in a confusing jumble of images and thoughts.  

It seemed, therefore, that his recollections of his previous life, if they 
were indeed real, had apparently become mixed in with memories of this 
current life, creating a messy stew that was difficult to wade through.

His train of thought was suddenly broken as the elevator stopped to a halt 
and the doors began to slide open in front of him.  But wait, this is only 
the third floor, he thought, looking up at the display above the doors.

Just then, a red-haired woman of about thirty wearing a green sweater 
appeared in front of the open doors and smiled at him.  She stepped in, 
greeting him in a cheerful voice.  "Good morning, Professor Mulder," she 
noted, as she pressed the button for the sixth floor.

"Good morning, Ms..." started Mulder, just as he realized he didn't know
her name.  But yet she seemed so familiar, as if he had seen her every
day for the past several years.  Her name floated around in the back of
his head as he tried to reach for it, to pull it down into his throat 
before he embarrassed himself.  

She was Irish, he was sure of it -- O'something or another.  Suddenly, it
came to him.  He found himself blurting out almost subconsciously, "Good 
morning, Ms. O'Shaughnessey," just in time to avoid serious embarrassment.

"So, professor, I thought you had a class now?" asked the woman curiously.

"Well, um," began Mulder, wondering how he would explain himself.  "It
was rained out.  We'll have a double-header next week," quipped Mulder.
He was glad to see he hadn't lost his quick wit.

Mulder sighed silently with relief as the doors parted open in front of 
him, heralding his arrival on the fifth floor.  He turned and nodded at the
woman, who smiled back at him.  Hmm, somehow she reminds me of someone,
he thought, but then realized the doors were closing.  He dashed out, 
not wanting another chance to embarrass himself in front of the young lady.

Finding himself in the center of a hallway, he looked left, then right.
He spotted a sign on the wall saying "rooms 520-550," accompanied by an
arrow pointing to the right.  Relieved at the freebie directions, he turned 
right and headed down the hallways.  

Scanning the doorways on either side as he walked, he saw the names on
the doors -- Professors Brown, Wilshire, Kim, Riley... They all seemed
vaguely familiar, and yet their memories remained clouded.  

Brushing off the doubts, he approached the door to room 544A.  The black 
lettering on the frosted window in the door read:

   "Associate professor Fox Mulder."

He was amused and impressed that he had at least gotten tenure.  He reached 
down towards the handle and realized that it was locked.  He fumbled through
his keys yet again and opened the door.  He entered, pocketing his keys.

The inside of his office was dark and cramped, each of the walls stuffed 
with cabinets and bookcases.  A lone wooden desk sat in the middle, facing 
the doorway.  A window stood behind it, diagonal rays of morning light 
streaking in through the partially open blinds and landing on the desk.  

A couple of chairs sat in front of the desk, but they were piled high with 
books.  The top of the desk itself was also a mess, littered with books and 
folders.  Mulder turned on the overhead light and walked inside, closing 
the door behind him.

Stepping over the piles of books on the floor, Mulder walked behind his 
desk.  Observing an old wooden chair covered with worn fabric, he sat down.
It felt warmly comfortable and familiar, as if he had sat on it thousands 
of times before.  Which he most likely had.

Looking around on his desk, the mess of papers and books cluttered there
also seemed surprisingly familiar, as if he had just left them there hours 
ago.  He leaned back in his chair, soaking in his new and yet familiar 
surroundings.

So he was a professor here at Yale, eh?  Well, things could certainly have
turned out worse.  But what about his memories of his previous life, the
one of an FBI agent?  Despite all the evidence surrounding him, something 
deep inside him told him that his life in the FBI was his true reality, and 
that all this, this life, was somehow not right, just an aberration.

Mulder leaned forward on the desk, placing his elbows down on the wooden
surface and clasping his hands together, resting his chin on top of his 
knuckles.  He wondered what had gone wrong, why he ended up here.  
Something must have changed; something must have kept him from entering 
the Bureau.  He concentrated on the past, to the decade or so ago when 
he was pondering his future.

It was the spring of his final year at Oxford, and he had been considering
the pursuit of a professorship.  But he had also been entertaining the 
idea of going into law enforcement, drawn by the lure of solving mysteries.

And perhaps the most important mystery of all was the one surrounding 
Samantha's abduction.  He had never admitted it to himself, but Samantha
was the real reason he had joined up with the FBI.  But then, Samantha's
disappearance was in the other timeframe...

Mulder realized what had happened.  By saving Samantha from abduction that 
night, his obsession with her death had disappeared from this timeline.  
That fact had led to his passing over the Bureau and taking this 
professorship.  But that meant that Samantha would still be around! 

Mulder looked around the desk, wondering if he had a picture of her around
anywhere.  He vaguely remembered a small golden frame somewhere, gracing a 
color photo of her.  

And there it was, on the far corner of his desk, hidden behind a stack of 
books.  Mulder moved the stack aside and pulled the frame up to his face.

There she was, Samantha, just as he remembered, only now much older.  The 
woman in the picture appeared to be in her early thirties, and she was not 
alone.  She had a man by her side -- her husband, Mulder suddenly 
remembered.  Along with a little boy and a daughter.  Thank god, she *is* 
alive and well in this timeframe, thought Mulder, as he heaved a mighty 
sigh of relief.

Then an urge came over him to contact her, to see how she was doing,
whether she was still okay.  He checked his pockets and opened the drawers 
of his desk, searching for some information on her whereabouts -- perhaps an 
address book.  He finally found an old spiral-bound notebook with frayed 
corners marked "Phone Numbers."  It seemed somehow appropriate that he 
would keep his important information in such a disorganized fashion.

Mulder opened up the notebook, noticing that it was just about ready to 
fall apart.  Samantha's name was listed on the first page, written in messy
handwriting he recognized as his own.  There were two numbers listed, one
for work and one for home.  Mulder reached for the phone and began dialing 
the work number.

Suddenly, he froze in fear and pressed down on the receiver button.  Did he
really dare call her?  What would he say to her after all these years?  How
had they been getting along in the past two decades?  They had always been
close during the time they had been together, but...

Furthermore, what would be her recollection of the events of that night, 
and of the twenty-three years since?  Mulder felt like he was calling up 
an old friend he hadn't spoken to in a long time.  What would he say?  
What would he ask?  The uncertainty ate at him.

There was only one way to find out.  Gathering up his courage, he pulled his
finger up off the receiver button and dialed her number.

The phone rang once, and a female voice answered.  "Hello?"  

The voice sounded familiar, yet different.  Mulder figured it must just be 
the additional years that had moderated her squeaky voice.

"Hello?  Who is this?" probed the voice.  Mulder's mind snapped back to 
attention as he spoke with trepidation.  "Um, is this Samantha?"

"Fox?  Well, hello Fox, what a nice surprise.  Why, I haven't heard your 
voice in months!  You never call, you buttmunch!"

The playful nickname rang in Mulder's mind like a dinnerbell.  He was
transported back to that fateful night, when the two of them had been
arguing about what TV program to watch, shortly before the incident...

"Well, Fox?  so has anything new happened in your life?  Found a good woman
yet?" teased his sister.

Mulder instinctively looked down to his left hand.  No ring.  He felt
somehow relieved -- perhaps just one less complication to worry about.

Looking back up, his mind returned to his previous train of thought.  Mulder 
felt compelled to ask his sister about that night.  "Samantha?"

"Yeah, Fox?  What?"

Mulder hesitated again, but his curiosity couldn't be restrained.  "Um, 
Samantha, do you remember that night, back in 1973?  Um, when we saw the 
bright light?"

Even through the phone lines, Mulder could almost feel his sister's 
discomfort.

"Fox, I've told you before.  I'd rather not talk about that night," 
responded his sister in a sullen voice.

"But Samantha, please indulge me.  I'd really like to hear what you 
remember from that night."

"Fox," she began, sighing.  "You remember it as well as I do.  There was a
bright light and lots of noise.  I was freaked out for a while, until the
fire trucks arrived.  Of course, they never did find the fire, and we both
got majorly scolded by Mom and Dad for causing so much trouble and stirring 
up all the neighbors.  We lost TV privileges for a month, and Mom & Dad 
never let us alone in the house for years after that."

"That's *all* you remember?" asked Mulder, surprised at her recollection 
of the events.

"What more is there?" asked Samantha curiously.  

If she was hiding something, it certainly wasn't reflected in her voice.  
Mulder surmised that she had simply driven the part about the botched 
abduction out of her conscious memory.  It was a common occurrence for 
victims of trauma to selectively block out such painful memories.

"Um, I guess you're right," muttered Mulder.  He was actually glad she
remembered nothing of the incident; it meant that he could also relax and
forget about the incident himself.

"So, you haven't tell me, Fox -- what's new in your life?"

"Um, nothing much, really -- just wanted to call and say hi.  And how's the 
old man and the kiddies?"

"Oh, David is fine, and Tess & Mark are doing dandy too.  Oh, and I just 
got a promotion at work, Fox -- I'm now Assistant Editor of the 
Entertainment section.  Next thing you know, I'll be chief editor of the
entire paper!"  Her voice bubbled with glee.

Mulder felt intensely happy for her, a happiness and warmth he hadn't felt 
in years.  In over 23 years, in fact.  He had been carrying a gaping hole 
inside him all these years, am empty spot where his emotional attachment
to his sister had been.  And now he was finally whole again.

Mulder suddenly worried his sister might suspect something was not right 
about him, and decided to end the conversation.  "Well, sis, it's been nice 
talking to you, but I've gotta go now."

"What?  That's it?  It's been four months since your last call, and now you
talk to me for two whole minutes?  boy, some brother you are," said Sam, 
sounding irritated.

"Well, you know how it is in a professor's life.  Busy busy busy."

"Still chasing those nubile young coeds, eh, Fox?  I hope you'll take time 
off to join us at Mom and Dad's for thanksgiving."

"Sure -- I'll be there, Sam.  See ya."

"Okay Fox, take care of yourself."

Mulder put down the receiver and leaned back in his chair, sighing in deep 
contentment.  Regardless of all the changes in his life, here was one 
change that was definitely for the better.  He could finally stop worrying 
about his sister and go on to other things.  He picked up his tattered 
address book and began casually leafing through it.

He scanned the first page, seeing the names, addresses and phone numbers of 
people that all seemed vaguely familiar but still distant.  He tried to 
remember something meaningful about each of the names on the page, but had 
difficulty recalling even one interesting fact about any of them.  Perhaps 
this is what happens when you get old and senile, he mused, remembering 
that he was still only thirty-five.

Frustrated, Mulder started skimming through the names on the remaining
pages.  Some were a bit more familiar than others, and a few faces 
registered now and then.  But by and large, they were all strangers to 
him, as alien as his new life and surroundings.

Mulder finally went through all the scribbled names and reached the blank 
pages.  He had gone through all the entries, hundreds in all.  He was 
impressed that he knew so many people in this life, and wondered how 
important a person he was in this timeframe.

But then it occurred to him that there was one person's name he *didn't* 
see in those pages.  His old partner, his friend, his confidant -- Dana 
Scully.  Her image popped up in his head, still as fresh as the day he 
first met her.  Her clarity of focus, her professionalism, her warmth...

Mulder could almost see her sitting at her desk on the other side of
the office, looking back at him.  "Snap out of it, Mulder," he thought he
heard her say.  But it was only his imagination, wishing hard that she was
here.

Mulder felt another aching pain in his stomach, a pang of hunger.  Not a 
hunger for food, but for a missing part of his past, a friend, a loved one 
without whom he could never feel complete.  She had been his constant 
companion those past few years, standing by him during those times when it 
seemed the whole world had turned against him.  She was the one that had 
pulled him through the pain of losing the X-Files, and the one whose 
strength helped him eventually regain the assignment.

Mulder dropped his head on his desk, feeling despondent at the loss of his 
partner, the woman who had given his life meaning all those years.  He felt 
like nothing without her, incomplete, like an empty house devoid of
residents.

Mulder turned his head back up and focused on the far wall, at his framed
Oxford degree and the numerous certificates he had received for his 
scholarly writings.  Somehow those pieces of paper meant nothing, 
meaningless without a person who understood and appreciated him.

Mulder sat back up in his seat and wondered about their separation.  Since 
he had never entered the Bureau in this timeline, they had naturally never 
met.  And never became friends.  And it was logical to presume that she 
never became involved with the X-Files.  So who knows what she may be doing 
now?  Was she doing forensics work, or chasing criminals?  Tracking down
all sorts of evil doers, no doubt...

Then it came back to him, the events of the past time frame.  How they had
discovered the time travel technology and the plot to exploit it.  He 
remembered the discussion with the professor, and how they had been 
attacked in the hallway, and how Scully had... the thought chilled him to 
the bone.

But would that pattern repeat here?  He thought not.  There *was* no X-Files
now, as far as he could imagine.  No one else had shown any interest in 
those cases when he had taken them up in the other timeframe, so those 
files were most likely sitting in a basement cabinet now, gathering dust.

But what about Senator Johnson's plot?  Was he also scheming for the
presidency in this timeframe?  It made sense that he would be, since the
only difference between this timeframe and the one he left was the result of
his actions for Samantha.  That event was not likely to have influenced the
Senator's actions.

Remembering that he kept his old newspapers lying around, Mulder turned and
spotted the stack beside his desk.  He picked up a handful from the top and
began leafing through them, searching for any mention of the Senator and his
presidential bid.

Mulder scanned the headlines from each edition, noticing how familiar they
seemed.  But of course they would be familiar, he thought, since nothing 
else had changed in this timeframe.  Yesterday's story about the impending 
postal rate increase was still the same as he remembered, identical down 
to the last word.  The good old postal service was unaffected by anything 
that might have happened in Massachussetts 23 years ago.

Mulder's eyes settled on a photograph of Senator Johnson on a paper from
four days ago.  His shining politician's veneer, his penetrating eyes, his
look of raw ambition, were all unmistakable.  But the story beneath the 
picture was not the same as what he remembered.

The article declared that Senator Johnson had moved even further ahead in 
the polls, now supported by over 70% of those asked.  The reporter credited 
the senator's innovative new TV campaign for his rise in the standings.

Mulder's jaw dropped in shock as he took in the news.  He clearly 
remembered from the other timeframe that the senator had been way behind in 
the polls, and had nearly dropped out.  But things were clearly different 
here, and there was no doubt what had happened.  

Mulder realized the senator must have gone back in time to commit more 
crimes to raise funds for his campaign.  The timeline that Mulder was in 
had been altered, *after* his own alteration that night in 1973.  The 
timeline had taken a turn at his actions back then, and taken yet another 
turn, perhaps several, as a result of the Senator's actions.  

Mulder's mind boggled at the possibilities.  Given that altering the past 
would alter recorded history, he wondered what the currently accepted 
version of history might be.

He further realized that although he was no longer an FBI agent, he had to 
put a stop to this.  If the senator was using time travel to get himself 
elected president, there was no telling what else he might be capable of.  

Mulder thought back and wondered what the world might have been like if 
Hitler had succeeded in his quest for world domination.  Hmm, just the fact 
that he didn't succeed showed that at least that one fact hadn't changed.

Or had it?  What if Hitler *had* succeeded in his maniacal quest, but 
someone invented a time machine and went back to change the outcome of 
those events?  Perhaps we should all be speaking German right now?

Mulder began to develop a headache from pondering the circular logic.  He
decided that whatever changes might have been made, he would ignore all the 
deviant timelines and accept only the first timeline from his memory as 
the correct one.  He wracked his brain to remember the events of the 
original timeframe.

He clearly remembered sitting in his office and discussing with Scully the 
possibility that the senator was using time travel to improve his chances
in the presidential race.  And the article sitting on his desk now was 
evidence of that fact.  So whatever timeframe Mulder was in, the Senator 
definitely had to be stopped.

But how, thought Mulder.  How could he do anything to stop the senator, 
when he didn't work for the Bureau in this timeframe.  He was no longer a
law enforcement agent, and he didn't have the resources to take on the 
senator.  If only I was still in the Bureau...

Then a thought flashed across his head.  "But I do know someone who *is* 
in the Bureau, even if she doesn't know *me*," he said to himself.  He 
wondered about approaching her, whether she would trust him, much less
help him.  Or for that matter, whether she would even believe any part of
his wild story.  But he had to try.  And he had to succeed.  The stakes 
were much too high for him to fail.

		*		*		*


5:45 p.m.
Washington, D.C.

Mulder sat in his rental car, steadfastly watching the door to Scully's 
townhouse across the street.  He scanned the street again, looking up and 
down the thoroughfare, trying to see if she was approaching.  Not seeing 
her car anywhere, he popped another sunflower seed into his mouth.

Spitting out the seed, he began doubting himself for seemingly the
thousandth time today.  He had been thinking about it all the way here -- 
on the way to the airport, on the plane to D.C., and on the drive here
to Scully's house.  What would he say to her; what could he say that 
wouldn't make her think he was some sort of psycho?  

He remembered that she had routinely treated him with skepticism in the 
other life, even after years of bearing witness to the unexplainable.  And 
here she was in this timeframe, totally green to the wild concepts and 
ideas that he was about to throw at her.  He wondered what her reactions 
would be.

Suddenly, Mulder spotted Scully's dark blue Taurus approaching in his 
driver's side mirror.  The vehicle grew closer as it approached, then
disappeared from the mirror as it parked on the street two cars behind him.
Mulder gulped as he counted the seconds until she would open her driver's 
side door.

Scully exited her car casually, taking out her briefcase and locking the
door.  Mulder could only see her from the shoulders down in his side mirror,
and his view in the rearview mirror was blocked by the car behind him.
He noticed Scully approaching in his direction, then crossing the street
towards her townhouse.  Impulsively, he turned his head to look at her.

There she was, just as he had remembered.  While appearing all businesslike 
in her conservative tan suit, her unbuttoned overcoat flowed around her 
like a robe on an angel.  Her appearance, her expression, all radiated 
sophistication and grace.  He gazed at her longingly as she walked the last
few steps to her townhouse, opening up her purse for her keys.

Gathering up all his courage and determination, Mulder opened the driver
door and stepped out.  He hesitated in getting up, as a part of him wanted 
to jump back in the car and drive away as fast as he could, afraid that 
Scully might dismiss him as a lunatic.  But his better senses took control, 
and he calmly crossed the street to approach her.

"Beep!" honked the car, as it skidded to a stop just inches away from him.  
In his single-minded fixation on Scully, Mulder had forgotten that there 
was still traffic on the street.  Embarrassed, he stepped forward and onto 
the curb, looking back and shrugging at the driver as if to say, "Sorry!"

Mulder turned back around to find Scully glancing at him curiously.  She 
quickly turned back away, however, not wanting to seem impolite.  Mulder
realized that she had seen his encounter with the car, and decided this
might be a good entree for him.

"Um Agent Scully?" he asked hesitantly.

Scully whirled around, her brows narrowing in curiosity.  "Excuse me --
do I know you?"

"Um, no, I don't think you do," replied Mulder, wondering why he was
lowering his voice like a coward's.  He felt guilty knowing so much more 
about her than she did about him, as if he were a peeping Tom.  His eyes 
turned down to the ground as he spoke.

"Actually, agent Scully, although you may not know me, I do have a little
information on your background.  I've uh, been sent here to deliver some
important information."

"Information, you say?  And just who are you, might I ask," said Scully,
skeptical of the stranger.

"My name is um, Fox Mulder.  I'm um, a professor of psychology at Yale
University."  He pulled out his wallet, certain that he must have a faculty
ID on him.  He found it and flashed it to her.

"So what is this information you have to tell me?" asked Scully, glancing
up from the ID with continued skepticism.

"Um, is there a place where we can speak in private, Ms. Scully?"

Scully was uneasy about going anywhere secluded with the stranger.  "There's
a coffee shop down the block, Mr. Mulder.  We can talk there."


              *                *                   *


Mulder bent over the steaming Latte and wrapped his hands around the cup.
"Now Ms. Scully, I realize that what I'm about to tell you will sound 
ludicrous.  In fact, your first instinct might be to have me committed to 
the loony bin.  But I assure you, everything I'm about to tell you is real, 
all of it."

"I'm listening," said Scully coolly, taking a sip of her cappuccino.

"Well, I'm really not sure where to begin; it's all so mind-boggling.  But I
suppose I should first tell you about the technology itself."  Mulder took a
glance around the coffee shop, and not seeing anyone within earshot, leaned 
forward and continued in a hushed voice.

"Ms. Scully, are you familiar with the concept of time travel?" whispered
Mulder.

Scully's face broke into an barely contained expression of laughter behind 
her cup of cappuccino.  Putting the cup down, she picked up a napkin, both 
to wipe her mouth and to conceal her laughter out of politeness.

Observing her weak attempt to hide her expression, Mulder continued.  "I
understand you reaction, Ms. Scully.  I would behave the same way if I were
you.  But do you see this?" said Mulder, extending his wrist forward and 
displaying the timepiece.  "This is a time machine, a real life device
to facilitate time travel."

Unable to control herself any longer, Scully broke out into hysterical
laughter.  "Ha ha ha ha, a time machine!!  Boy, I'm sorry, Mr. Mulder, but 
that has got to be the lamest excuse for a pickup line I've ever heard.  
I've had men claim they were astronauts and secret agents, but a time 
traveler?  Now that's a first."  She picked up her briefcase and got up 
to leave.

"No, please, wait!" urged Mulder, getting up with her.  He was panicked by 
her response, but he realized it was unavoidable.  And besides, seeing her
laugh like this was a pleasant surprise.  He had never seen her laugh like 
that before... she had always been so calm and collected, and his quips had 
never brought anything more than a restrained smile.

Recalling the fond days, he placed a hand on her shoulder to gently ask
her to stay in place.  Scully's response to his touch was an angry scowl,
however.  Mulder instantly pulled back at his hand, realizing he had
violated her private space.  Dammit Mulder, he thought to himself, you're
still a stranger to her...

"I'm sorry, Ms. Scully, for being so forward.  Now please understand, I'm
not trying to come on to you.  Please, bear with me for one moment."

"And why should I?" she asked defiantly.

Desperate for her to stay, Mulder fumbled around in his head and pulled out 
a gem.  "Because I can prove it to you, Ms. Scully.  I know things about 
you that I shouldn't."

Scully put down her briefcase but remained standing.  She crossed her arms
and snorted.  "So tell me one of these *secrets* about myself, Mr. Mulder."

Under the pressure of her glaring eyes, Mulder mulled over the few times 
they had talked about their personal lives.  There must be some nugget 
about her past that I could pull out, he thought.  Then it occurred to him.

"Ms. Scully, your father passed away two and a half years ago.  And it
happened shortly after he left your home on January 7th, 1994.  And your
last words to him that night consisted of your favorite greeting to your
father, which I believe was 'Good Sailing, Ahab'."

Scully's face froze in shock.  Gulping, she asked slowly.  "And what was
his response?"

"Good Sailing, Starbuck."

Scully looked as if she had seen a ghost, and sank slowly in her chair.
Shaking her head, she blurted, "No, no, there's got to be an explanation
for this.  My mother was there that night; she must have told you 
somehow..."

"No, Ms. Scully, it was not from your mother.  And what's more, there was 
something you never even told *her*.  You see, after your parents left your 
house that evening, you had a vision, a vision of your father in your 
living room, speaking to you silently."

Scully's face turned white.  "B-but *how*?  How could you possibly know
that?  I never told anyone that story."

"Yes you have, Ms. Scully -- you told me."

"Told *you*?  But I've never met you before in my life!"

"Not in this life, Ms. Scully, but in another one.  Now, what do you say we
go grab some dinner while I explain all this to you?"


              *                *                   *


Mulder recounted the details of the time travel technology, and had just
begun telling Scully of their partnership in the Bureau when the food 
arrived.  Mulder turned silent as he waited for the waitress to place 
their plates on the table.  As she left, he resumed his discourse.

"As I was saying, Ms. Scully -- or can I just call you 'Scully'?  That's
how I used to address you in the other time frame."

"Well, I suppose.  So what does my other self call you?  'Fox,' is it?"

Mulder thought about the question for a moment.  The name should have 
bothered him, but it didn't -- not anymore.  Still, he preferred to go by
his more familiar label.  

"Just call me 'Mulder'.  That's what everyone calls me."

"Okay, Mulder.  Now tell me more about my previous life," urged Scully, 
clasping her hands on the table.

"Aren't you going to touch your dinner?"

"No, I'd really like to hear about my other life, Mulder.  Can you please 
continue?" asked Scully, her eager eyes sparkling in fascination.

Mulder grinned, putting down his fork.  "Well, okay, agent Scully.  First, 
tell me -- what do you do in the Bureau right now?  Forensics?"

"Some forensics, some teaching, and some field work every now and then.
Nothing too exciting."

"Hm, just as I figured.  Well, you may be surprised to know that in your 
previous life, you and I went on many exciting adventures together over 
the course of the past three years."

"Exciting adventures? like what?" asked Scully, her interest piqued.

"Why, we investigated UFOs, alien abductions, genetic mutants - you
know, your garden variety weird cases."

"UFOs and mutants, eh?  Well, I must admit, Mulder, you're not making 
this any easier for me to believe."

"Well, I wouldn't expect you to react any other way, Scully.  You were
always the cool skeptic, always searching for a rational scientific 
explanation for everything.  You were never one to embrace my views on the
unusual, the outlandish.  You always insisted on exhausting all possible 
scientific explanations before even considering a paranormal one."

Scully's expression turned into a look of surprise, as if Mulder had read 
her a page from her own diary.  "Do you really know me that well, Mulder?"

Smiling back with a boyish grin, Mulder replied, "You get to know a
person really well when you work with them so closely for three years."

Suddenly, Scully looked down at the table and shifted in her seat, as a
blush began to form on her cheeks.  Clasping her hands tightly, she looked 
back up into Mulder's eyes for a moment.  Turning them away quickly, she 
asked nervously.  "Um, Mulder, in this other life, were we... um, you know, 
just how close were we?"

Mulder observed her as she struggled to force out the question, wondering
what was making her so uncomfortable.  But as soon as he understood, he 
relaxed.  With a trace of a smirk in his lips, he responded gently.

"You can relax, Scully.  We were the best of partners, even good friends, 
but it was always strictly professional.  After all, you wouldn't have it 
any other way, would you?"

Scully smiled nervously as she relaxed in her seat.  "No, I suppose not."

Mulder returned to his account.  "Anyway, we spent those three years
investigating all the cases that the FBI preferred to bury in the basement.
We ruffled a lot of feathers, and even got shut down for a while once.
But we persisted, and we eventually got the project back."

"And one day, I heard from my friend and supporter in congress, a certain 
senator.  He was chairing a top secret committee that oversaw the time 
travel technology development project.  He suspected that someone in the 
future had misappropriated the technology to serve their evil aims."

"So in the old timeline, tomorrow morning in fact, you and I went to 
investigate the corporate lab where the time machine was being developed.
There, we met the head of the research project, who showed us the 
prototype, this device that I'm wearing now," said Mulder, flashing the 
timepiece to Scully.

"So what happened then?"

"Well," started Mulder, as he recalled the events of that morning.  But then
he suddenly froze, as he realized he couldn't tell Scully what had really
happened to her.  He didn't know how she would take it.

Scully noticed the look of concern and hesitation on Mulder's face.  "So
something went wrong, didn't it?" she deduced.  She pulled her hands off
the table and gathered them together in her lap.  "What exactly happened 
there that morning?"

"Scully, that's not important.  What *is* important is that..."

"Mulder, I'm not a child.  You can tell me what happened.  I can take it,"
said Scully, her voice starting to crack.

"Well, Scully," started Mulder, looking into her eyes.  Those cool, grey 
eyes, steadfastly observing and collecting information, to be processed 
in that calm rational brain of hers.  If she was feeling nervous about what 
she was about to hear, she certainly didn't show it.  She could take it, I 
suppose, thought Mulder.  Or could she?  Would it upset her?  Just how 
would she react?

"Well, what happened was that we were attacked by a group of gunmen,
presumably sent to thwart our investigation.  They opened fire on us, and 
we were trapped in the hallway.  I saw no way out, so I used the time
machine to escape."

"So what happened to me?" asked Scully, tightly clutching the edges of the 
tablecloth.

"I don't know, Scully," lied Mulder.

Scully looked down at the table, realizing she was pulling down on the
tablecloth and moving the plates toward her.  She released her grip and 
opened her palms, noticing they were covered with sweat.

Gathering her composure, she cleared her throat and asked.  "So who sent 
those gunmen, Mulder?  Who was tampering with the time travel technology?"

"Senator Johnson, Scully.  He's been using the technology to steal money
for his campaign."

"But Senator Johnson?  Why would he need to steal money?" asked Scully,
looking perplexed.  "He's way ahead in all the polls, and besides, he's 
one of the richest men in the country."

Mulder froze as Scully's words sank in.  Oh geez, he thought to himself,
history had been changed again.  His memory told him that Senator Johnson 
had come from a poor background, and that he had been struggling to raise
any substantial funds for his campaign.  But he had apparently changed
all that...

"Scully, what do you know about the senator?" asked Mulder, biting his lip.

"Well, just that he made a fortune in the stock market, then turned his 
attention to politics.  He's become quite well respected through all his 
acts of philanthropy."

Mulder shook his head, then squeezed his skull with his palms.  "No, no, no,
Scully -- this is all wrong!" he said in outrage.  "This is not what was 
supposed to happen.  Senator Johnson never made a fortune in the market, 
and he was never a philanthropist.  And he was trailing badly in the polls.
Or he *should* be.  He's an evil man, Scully, and we have to correct this
situation!"

Scully's expression turned into one of confusion and concern.  "But now, 
wait a minute, Mulder.  How can you tell me that Senator Johnson is evil?  
Sure, he may have somewhat of a reputation in congress, but he's done so 
much good for this country.  And how can you be so sure that he *has* 
traveled through time?  Do you have any actual evidence that things are 
different now?"

"Well, no, Scully, but they *are* different.  This timeline, this existence,
this reality -- it simply isn't *real*, Scully!  It's all a lie!" shouted 
Mulder, growing frustrated.

The patrons in the restaurant heard Mulder shouting out at Scully, and
turned to give him a dirty look.  Noticing their stares, Scully tilted her 
head at Mulder, and the corners of her lips turned downward in a look of 
admonishment.

Mulder crouched sheepishly in his seat as he felt the sea of stares, then
turned back towards Scully to catch her nasty look.  "Uh, no, Scully, don't 
give me that look again."

"What look?"

"That look, Scully -- the look that says 'Mulder, you've got to be nuts.'
You've given me that look hundreds of times before in the other timeframe.  
And in all of those cases, or at least in many of them, I showed you I was 
right in the end.  And I'm right again this time, Scully.  This timeline, 
this history, must not be allowed to continue."

Scully sighed deeply.  "Now Mulder, let's just say for the sake of argument
that everything you told me was true.  But even in that case, what do 
you expect me to do about it?  After all, from the information you've given 
me, you should realize that even *your* history might have been altered 
from what it should have been.  It works both ways, you know.  I might be 
living in the wrong world, but you might also have come from the wrong 
world yourself."

Mulder realized that Scully was correct.  It hadn't occurred to him that the 
history that he remembered, his original timeline, might itself have been 
an aberration, altered by some evil forces that went back and changed 
history even before his own rescue of his sister.  If that had indeed 
happened, then what kind of a world would he be trying to restore?

Determined, Mulder leaned forward.  "You're right, Scully -- all these
timelines may be aberrations.  So there's only one possible solution to 
this confusing mess.  We have to go and destroy it, Scully.  Destroy the 
technology for time travel.  That's the only way we can be sure that 
whatever history originally stood will be restored, and that all these 
changes resulting from time travel will be erased."

"But Mulder, how are you going to destroy the technology?  Even if we
manage to blow up a lab somewhere, the technology is surely diffuse, spread 
out throughout the minds of numerous scientists and researchers.  Simply 
destroying existing samples of technology won't erase the knowledge in the 
scientists' minds."

"Well, Scully, we can only hope that after we destroy the existing 
technology, we can work to enforce discipline on the use of time travel.  
Senator Matheson was trying to do just that before Senator Johnson secretly
misappropriated the technology for his own use.  Hopefully by the time
the technology is resurrected, those controlling it will be more responsible 
about its use."

Scully leaned forward on the table with a conspiratorial smile on her face.
She asked, "so in that case, how do you suggest we get into the facility?"

"Just leave that to me, Scully.  Remember, I used to be an FBI agent."


              *                *                   *


11:55 p.m.

Mulder and Scully had waited outside the facility for several hours,
and decided it was finally time to strike.  They cut through the barbed 
wire fence and stealthily moved towards the modern four-story glass 
building.  Dashing between the trees and bushes, they carried their heavy 
bags laden with plastic explosives and detonators.

Mulder hoped that the munitions they brought with them were enough to
bring the building down.  Scully had gone to great risk in stealing them
from the Bureau's explosives department.  She had been sure that someone 
in the bomb squad must have noticed her multiple visits into the munitions
room, and she'd have a lot of questions to answer tomorrow.  But that was 
something to be addressed in the future.  And if they were successful, 
there would be no future in this timeframe.

Mulder and Scully dashed up to the perimeter of the building and snuck
inside the rows of thick bushes that rang its exterior.  Mulder placed a 
sackful of explosives on what appeared to be the building's main spars on
the corner.  Scully snuck over and planted additional charges on the far 
corner, and the two crept over to the other side of the building and 
repeated the task.

Mulder and Scully then hoisted the remaining bags on their backs and crept 
over to the front of the building towards the well-lit lobby.  They had 
to get inside and plant charges inside the lab, lest some of the records 
survive the building's collapse.

Through the glass walls they saw two security guards sitting at a desk on 
the far side of the lobby.  Scully pressed the buzzer by the front door, 
flashing her Bureau badge through the glass.

The guards looked up at Mulder and Scully, and one of them glanced over at 
the other one, then got up.  He approached the door, inspecting Scully's 
badge through the glass.  He then pressed a button on the intercom.  "The 
building is closed -- state your business," he ordered.

"I'm special agent Dana Scully of the FBI.  I need to check your visitor 
logs.  We suspect that someone has been tampering with the research files 
here."

"Can't it wait till the morning?" asked the berated guard.

"No.  We believe someone may be trying to sell technology to a foreign
government.  It's a matter of urgent national security -- we need to see 
those logs right now."

The guard thought for a moment, then glimpsed back at his partner, who
shrugged his shoulders.  After pausing with a look of uncertainty on his 
face, he opened the door.

"Thanks a lot, officer," said Scully, stepping inside.  Mulder followed,
trying to avoid any eye contact with the guard.  "Now where are those
logs?" asked Scully, approaching the security desk.

"Right here," said the guard, as he pointed towards an open book on the
desk.  "Say, what do you have in those bags?"

"Oh, just some girl scout cookies," quipped Mulder.

"Why don't you just open those bags and let me see," ordered the guard,
growing suspicious.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, officer," said Mulder, as he pulled
out his borrowed Glock and pointed it at the guard's head.

"Mulder!" shouted Scully at his rash action, then quickly turned and 
trained her Walther on the other guard behind the desk.  But it was too 
late, as he managed to press the alarm.  A painfully loud siren blared in 
the lobby, surrounding the group in a mind-bending sea of noise.

Mulder pointed to Scully's captive, then towards his backpack.  Scully 
understood, pulling out a roll of duct tape from his pack with one
hand while keeping her gun trained on her prisoner with the other.  She
quickly taped the two guards together to a chair, wrapping them in several 
layers of tape.  She wasn't sure how long the tape would hold, but hoped 
it would be enough.

Mulder and Scully exited the lobby and raced down the stairs towards the 
lab -- there was no time to wait for the elevators.  They dashed down the 
poorly lit stairwells and crept along the dark basement corridors, as Mulder
felt the way towards the lab from memory.  Finding the lab doors closed, 
Mulder blasted a couple of rounds at the lock, then kicked in the doors.

The lab itself was pitch black, as it was unoccupied this time of night.
Mulder fumbled in the darkness for a light switch, then finally found it 
and turned on the overhead lights.

Mulder's jaw dropped.  The room was empty.  No instruments, no computers, 
nothing.

Scully spun towards Mulder, her face scowling in fury.  "Mulder!  There's 
nothing here!  You lied to me!  None of this was true!!"  She dropped her 
backpack and glared at him.

"Don't be so sure, Agent Scully," announced a voice from behind her.  

Strange, that voice seems oddly familiar, thought Scully, as she turned 
around.  The voice came from a well-dressed man, who was accompanied by 
several men with machine guns.  It was senator Johnson.

"Senator Johnson!  So I *was* right!" exclaimed Mulder.

"Absolutely, Mr. Mulder.  Or should I say, *Agent* Mulder.  You have no
idea how much trouble you've caused me."

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea."

"Unfortunately for you, Mr. Mulder, you're not the only one who can jump 
through time.  I've anticipated your every move, you see," boasted the 
senator, pointing to his own timepiece on his wrist.

"Tsk tsk -- clashes with your suit," quipped Mulder.

"Now wait a minute," interrupted Scully.  "So this plot by the senator, the 
time travel, it's all true?"

"You betcha, Scully," replied Mulder.

"Well, I wouldn't call it a *plot*, Agent Scully," spoke the senator.
"Rather, it's more of a well-crafted vision for the future of humanity --
although I wasn't assured of its success until now.  You see, my men and I 
have had to chase our dear friend Mulder here through time -- not an easy 
thing by any means, but made especially more difficult since Mr. Mulder 
insisted on changing the past."

"You changed the past, Mulder?  But... but what about your speech about
the preservation of the original timeline?" asked Scully, looking up at
Mulder with confused eyes.

"I meant every word of that, Scully," Mulder tried to explain.  "It's just 
that I lost my sister when I was young, and I couldn't resist..."

"Spare us the heartbreaking speech, Mr. Mulder -- you're just as guilty
of altering history as I am.  We're both pioneers, you and I;  we've both
been changing the past to suit our needs."

"Yeah, well, there's a big difference between you and me, senator.  I'm not 
a murderous maniac bent on power."

"But you're forgetting, Mr. Mulder.  I'm not a murderer in this timeframe, 
at least not yet -- although that's soon to change.  Now please raise your
hands in the air, both of you."

The senator stepped up to Mulder and began unfastening the timepiece from 
his uplifted arm.  "You won't be needing this any more, Mr. Mulder, so 
I'll just take it off your hands," he remarked as he pocketed the timepiece.
"And it's really too bad it all has to end like this, but surely you must 
realize -- it was meant to be this way, Mr. Mulder.  It's fate, after all."

A thought occurred to Mulder, as he recalled his own words from the past.  
His fate rests solely in his own hands, he remembered thinking.   History 
is fluid, and mistakes can be corrected.  Mistakes like this man standing 
in front of him.

Realizing the implications of those words, Mulder threw himself forward 
onto the senator.  He grabbed the senator around his chest and spun around, 
pulling both of them down on the floor.

"What the!" exclaimed the senator, as he struggled to free himself from 
Mulder's grasp.  The two of them rolled around on the floor as the 
senator's henchmen stood around dumbfounded, not sure of what to do.

"Scully! help me here!" shouted Mulder, struggling with the senator.

Scully instinctively jumped out towards the struggling pair, diving towards 
the senator's body.  But as the gunmen saw her lunging in the direction 
of the two men, they opened fire on her, ripping bullets into her body.

Mulder saw Scully throwing herself on top of the senator, coughing out as
she landed.  Oh gawd, no, Scully -- thought Mulder, as he saw her lifeless
body going limp.  The sight brought back the painful image of her death from
the previous timeframe, as anguish once again consumed his being.

But this was no time for grief.  Fighting to hold back the emotions, he 
pushed Scully's body on top of the senator's shoulder, pinning him to the 
floor.  He then rolled his own shoulder on the senator's forearm and 
grabbed hold of his wrist.

"Shoot him, you fools!" shouted the senator, as he kicked his legs wildly 
about in an attempt to extricate himself from the two agents.  But try as 
he might, he couldn't pull his arm out from under the weight of the two 
bodies.

Mulder reached for the senator's timepiece, just as he heard the crackle of
bullets flying out.  He felt his legs flinch as a torrent of searing whips 
began to rock his lower body.  Barely able to focus himself above the 
blinding pain, he turned the outermost dial on the senator's timepiece 
a full twist to the left.  Back 50 years, he thought he read.  He hoped it 
would be enough.

Mulder felt the hot pricks crawling up along his body, as he sensed his legs 
going numb.  He felt a wave of shock shooting throughout his nerves as a 
round impacted in his spine.  As his vision faded out, Mulder drew upon 
his last bits of strength and concentration to finish the task.  With great
effort, he moved his fingers across the face of the dial, reaching out and 
pressing the activation buttons on the senator's timepiece.


              *                *                   *


"Imagine that, Scully -- time travel.  And I have it on good authority
that it's close to becoming a reality," said Mulder, leaning back in his
desk.

"Time travel, Mulder?  Come on -- that has to be the most farfetched
idea you've come up with yet." replied Scully, unimpressed.  She picked
up her coffee mug to take another sip.

A small glimmer of a thought surfaced in Mulder's head.  Something made him
curious about a certain senator, a senator something or another -- Johnson,
it was.  "Hey Scully, what's the latest on senator Johnson's presidential 
bid?"

Scully gave him a confused look.  "Senator Johnson?  What are you talking 
about, Mulder?  There *is* no such senator, as far as I know.  And 
certainly no presidential candidate by that name, not unless this is 1964."

Curious, Mulder looked over at the calendar on his desk.  September
15th, 1996.  Hmm, his mind must have slipped on a banana peel, he thought. 
Smiling, his glance traveled across the stacks of papers on his desk, 
landing on a picture frame of a young girl in a dress.  The image of the 
nine-year old girl brought back a tide of sad memories, as he recalled
how he had lost the one person most dear to him.  

Mulder sighed, then returned to the case folder on his desk.



THE END

-- 
Steven Han - shan@nyx.cs.du.edu - finger for PGP key

Insert anachronistic saying here