Burned On The Fourth Of July
or If Mulder and Scully were in ID4

by Michael Weyer
 
 

The X-Files, all rights and properties owned
by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and
the FOX network.
Independence Day, all rights and properties
owned by Dean Devlin, Roland Emmerich and
Twentieth Century Fox.
 

Burned On The Fourth Of July
or If Mulder and Scully were in ID4
by Michael Weyer
 

                         JULY 2: THEY ARRIVE

Washington D.C.
FBI Headquarters.

     Fox Mulder and Dana Scully hadn't been
expected to be called into work on a holiday
weekend. Of course, considering just how
unusual their last case had been, it felt
right. Entering the offices of Assistant
Director Walter Skinner, they were unsure of
what to expect.
     "Sit down," Skinner said, motioning them
to their chairs. He moved over to turn off
the radio, which was reporting the latest on
the mysterious fire-like phenomena that had
been reported world-wide. "I'll make this
brief," he said. "I'm used to unusual reports
from the two of you, but this one takes the
cake."
     "I just reported the facts, sir," Mulder
said.
     "The facts? Agent Mulder, your claim as
to why seven people turned up dead with the
words 'the end is nigh' carved on their
foreheads is that the killer had knowledge of
the end of the world."
     "Well, not concrete knowledge, sir, just
a general hunch. He believed that since the
world was coming to an end, it was his job to
purge the immoral before the Holocaust."
     "If I wanted his motivation, Agent
Mulder, that would have sufficed. But an
eighteen page desertion on the history and
categories of apocalyptic visions was
uncalled for. This is the FBI, not a college.
You want to make these views heard, publish a
paper. Until then, I want the facts. I don't
want theories, I don't want unsubstantiated
claims, I don't want talk of conspiracies, I
want the facts, understood?"
     Before Mulder could reply, a slow rumble
went through the building. The pictures on
Skinner's wall began shaking and the windows
trembled. Confused, the three looked towards
the window, where the sky suddenly darkened,
as if the sun had been blotted out. As one,
they moved to the window, looking up to see
an incredible sight. A massive section of the
sky seemed to be on fire, moving like a wave
towards the city. "Maybe that man wasn't that
far off, Mulder," Scully said in a rare show
of humor.
     Before Mulder could reply, the wall of
flame parted like a curtain to reveal the
ship. It was massive, fifteen miles wide, at
least two miles high, circular, completely
black with exotic designs covering it. In the
middle was a circle surrounded by a series of
petal-like black plates. The ship made it
seem as if a ceiling was covering the city.
Traffic stopped, cars crashed into one
another and everywhere, everyone stopped
whatever they were doing to look up in awe as
the ship hovered overhead. Then people began
moving. Some ran in terror, heading to their
homes, their families, their offices,
anywhere they felt safe. Some ran with no
idea of where to go. Some fell to their knees
and began praying. Some cursed blind chance.
Many screamed. And some just stood and
stared.
     "My God," Skinner whispered, uttering
the same words most of the planet was.
     Unlike Skinner, Scully and most of the
population of Earth, Mulder wasn't looking at
the ship in horror, but with the expression
of a man who has just seen his fondest wish
come true. "Well," he said to no one in
particular. "I hate to say I told you so."

     The ship continued to move, finally
coming to a halt with the center placed
directly over the White House. Inside,
President Thomas J. Whitmore was trying to
organize the chaos of a nation in the grips
of an invasion. He looked up at the ship, not
quite believing what he was seeing. As a
politician, he thought of how his image would
look. As a diplomat, he thought of how he
would approach the visitors. As a leader, he
thought of how he could reach the people. And
as an soldier he thought of what would happen
if he had to fight the beings in the massive
craft above him.
     "Now what do we do?" an attractive dark-haired
woman standing at his side asked.
     "Address the nation," Whitmore said, not
taking his eyes off the craft. "There's going
to be a lot of frightened people out there."
     "Yeah," the woman, Communications
Director Constance Spano, said. "I'm one of
them."

     Inside the Oval Office, the President's
advisors were making preparations for the
arrival. General William Grey, head of the
Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Spacecom division
of the Pentagon and the President's old
commanding officer, was regulating the army
and national guards divisions across the
country, putting units on alert, preparing
missiles and sending in troops to prevent
panic in the major cities. Across the room,
Secretary of Defense and former head of the
CIA Walter Nimziki was trying to organize the
trip for the Joint Chiefs, the Cabinet and
the Vice-President and their families to
NORAD for safety. Amid much controversy, the
President had elected to stay in the White
House to forestall panic. Nimziki and
Whitmore remained behind as well.
     As Nimziki finished his instructions to
an aide, his cellular phone rang. Pulling it
out, Nimziki barked a quick "What?" into it.
     "Hello, Walter," the voice on the other
end said. It belonged to a man sitting in a
small office in the Pentagon. The wrinkled,
grey-haired man took a puff from his
cigarette before continuing. "Have you
briefed him?"
     "On what?" Nimziki asked as he continued
his plans.
     "You know what, Walter. We need to tell
him."
     "You know the orders as well as I do.
Secrecy blanket. Security clamp order. Just
like Hoover wanted."
     "Hoover's dead and the order was waived
years ago, Walter. You never made it public
because you didn't want your rep damaged. I
don't care. Tell him."
     "It's national security."
     "No, it's for the good of the nation,
perhaps the world, that you do tell him,
Walter. He has to know."
     "No President ever has to know. That's
what you said."
     "That's because I never thought they'd
visit us en masse like this. I expected
something smaller, not a full scale invasion.
What's your idea?"
     "I've already recommended a full nuclear
strike against each of the craft."
     "Walter, I want you to think about
something. If you do manage to destroy those
things, and that's a hell of an if, the
debris and fallout will probably kill us
all."
     "Well, that's better then what the wimp
wants."
     "That's because he doesn't know
everything. Tell him."
     "For the last time, you may have been my
boss and my mentor but this is my project. I
decide when to tell him. Your affiliation
with me is over as of now." With that, he
hung up, not even bothering to listen to the
sputtered cough on the other end.

     Mulder had turned the basement office
into a small scale information center.
Borrowing every portable TV in the building,
an easy feat since everyone else had left, he
had every station possible on. All of them
were showing non-stop coverage of the arrival
of the alien fleet. For Fox Mulder, this was
the greatest day of his life. His sister,
Samantha, could walk into the room right now
and he wouldn't be so elated. At last,
everyone knew what he had been saying for
years. Alien life existed and had visited
before. The only thing ruining his day was
the fact that every station was sending
blurry images and the picture kept jumping.
     He glanced up and was more than a little
surprised to see Scully enter. "I thought you
went home," he said.
     She shook her head. "The roads are
jammed. It's the worst traffic jam in history
out there. Besides, I needed to be with
someone."
     "I'm moved, Scully, thank you."
     Scully nodded at one of the TV's. "How
many?"
     "A little over thirty. They seem to be
moving on major cities and capitals. New
York, L.A., London, Paris, Berlin, Moscow,
Tokyo, Madrid, Tel Aviv, Rome, Mexico City,
Melbourne, Bombay, Beijing, Geneva, Hong
Kong, Baghdad, Teheran, Cairo, Capetown,
Buenos Aries, Toronto, they're all over the
place."
     "What's the reaction?"
     "Same as here. Panic, mass exodus,
small-scale riots. The ones taking it the
most calmly are the Japanese. They're going
to work like this happens every day. One
interesting thing." He pointed to one set
that was showing a feed from Los Angeles.
Gathered on the rooftops of the skyscrapers
under the craft were masses of people, waving
signs and cheering. Scully peered at the
screen. "Mulder, what are they doing?"
     "Celebrating the dawn of a new era."
     "I think they're about to commit
suicide," Skinner said as he walked into the
office.
     "Staying here, sir?" Mulder said.
     "The roads out are still jammed. The
only place you can go without problem is
downtown."
     "Anyone else here, sir?" Scully asked.
     "The director just went to a special
meeting at the Pentagon. The bigwigs are
gathering there. Pretty much everyone else is
either getting out of town or trying to get
to their families." He motioned to the TV's.
"Anything else from the White House?"
     "Not since the President's news
conference," Mulder answered. "The First Lady
was talking from L.A. a while ago. She's
urging calm and clear thinking."
     "That's more than her husband's got,"
Skinner said. "Staying in the White House is
a stupid move. He should be at NORAD with the
others."
     "Sir, we don't know that they're
hostile. This may be a peace meeting," Mulder
said.
     "Agent Mulder, a small scout ship with
delegates is a peace meeting. Thirty-five
ships the size of a city are an invasion."
     "I'm sorry, sir, but I just don't agree
with that."
     Skinner sighed and decided to skip the
subject. "Look, everyone else has left. No
sense in us staying around. You two want to
get something to eat?"
     Mulder and Scully looked at each other
in surprise, then back at Skinner. "With you,
sir?" Scully asked.
     "Why not?" Skinner shrugged. "If the
world's going to end, I might as well see it
out on a full stomach."
 
     The trio were walking out of the
deserted building when they caught sight of
an old Plymouth sitting at the curb outside
the building. Seated at the wheel was an old
man with glasses and a worrisome face.
Looking at a blown tire was a tall, lanky man
with a sense of nervousness. "It's ruined,
Dad."
     "So, why blame me? You said go faster, I
went faster. Now look at us. I told you I
couldn't go faster."
     "Sir, do you need help?" Skinner said.
     The man looked at him behind a pair of
wide-framed glasses. "I need to get to the
White House. It's an emergency."
     "I think they're just a tad busy right
now," Mulder said, nodding towards the dark
shape hovering above them.
     "That's exactly it," the man said,
getting more excited by the moment. "They're
going to attack and I need to tell Connie
now."
     "Sir, sir, maybe you should start at the
beginning," Scully said.
     The man took a deep breath to calm
himself before explaining. "All right, my
name is David Levinson. I work for a cable
company in New York. Connie Spano is the
White House communications director and my
wife--"
     "Ex-wife," the old man in the car said.
     "I never signed the papers, Dad," David
said.
     "David, it's been four years!"
     "Three."
     "Three, four, what's the difference?
Move on!"
     "I may not have anywhere to move on to
if we don't hurry," David hissed at him. "My
father, Julius. Anyway, when the TV signals
went haywire this morning, I tried to figure
out why. I managed to hook into the satellite
system and decipher the problem."
     "You?" Mulder said.
     David reached into the car and pulled
out a laptop computer. "I spent eight years
at MIT. Top of the class."
     "Yeah, he can hack into NORAD and what
does he decide to do? Become a cable
repairman! And he wonders why his wife left
him."
     Ignoring Julius, David flicked the
laptop open and began bringing up a screen.
"I discovered that the satellite signals were
being disrupted by a signal. It started out
twenty minutes long and then recycled itself.
But every time it recycled itself, it grew
shorter. But the power level stayed the
same."
     "So, what are you saying?" Skinner
asked.
     "I'm saying that these aliens are
setting up a countdown," David said. "It's
like chess. Set up your opponents, move your
pieces in place, then strike." David saw the
uncertain looks on the faces of his audience.
"Look, these things are hovering over every
major city in the world. They're using this
signal to organize and coordinate their
efforts."
     "And when the signal disappears?"
Skinner asked.
     David looked at him and turned his
screen to show a mysterious binary pattern
decoded into a digital clock set at 58:07 and
clocking down. "Checkmate. When that signal
disappears, I think all hell's going to break
loose."
     Skinner looked at the screen for a long
moment, then turned to stare at the ship
hovering overhead. He gazed at the center
pointed directly at the White House. "Come
on," he said and began running towards the
parking lot, Mulder and Scully behind him.
David grabbed a small bag out of his car, as
Julius tiredly got out. "You know, David,
it's not too late to go to Philadelphia,
where there are no spaceships."
     "Come on, Dad!" David yelled as he
followed the others.
     "Oy, I should have stayed in Queens,"
Julius muttered as he followed.

     "So, you wanna ring the bell or should
I?" Julius asked. The five were inside
Skinner's car, which was coming up to the
White House. Outside, a pack of soldiers
guarded the gates, which were filled with
protesters waving signs and shouting that
there should be no military involvement with
the aliens.
     "Your father has a point," Skinner said.
"I may be AD of the FBI, but that doesn't
grant me access to the White House."
     "I've got it covered," David said, a
cellular phone by his ear. "I'm trying
Connie's phone now." He paused for a moment,
listening to the other end, then reached into
his bag and removed a small dish. "Perfect,
it's busy."
     "Busy?" Julius asked. "How is that good,
you can't talk to her?"
     "No," David said, placing the dish on
top of the car. "But, I can triangulate her
signal and pinpoint her direct position
inside the White House."
     Julius hated to admit it, but he was
impressed. "You can do that?"
     "Yeah, all cable repairmen can, pops,"
David said dryly.

     Inside the White House, things were
happening quickly. At Andrews Air Force Base,
a helicopter had been fitted up with a light
billboard which was set to send a
mathmatecial equation that the scientists
hoped would be interpreted by the aliens.
Whitmore and his advisors were gathered
inside the briefing room, ready to see if
Operation Welcome Wagon would work. In the
hallway, Connie had just gotten off the phone
when it rang again. "Hello?"
     "Don't hang up."
     "David! How'd you get this number?"
     "Look out the window. There should be
one next to you."
     Sighing, Connie walked over to the
window and pulled back the drape. It took her
a moment before she saw David standing by a
car, Julius next to him. A balding man and
two young people stood next to him. "How does
he do that?" she whispered.

     Five minutes later, Connie was leading
the group into the Oval Office. "If I had
known we were coming here, I'd have changed
my tie," Mulder said.
     "I don't think it would have made a
difference, Mulder, I've seen all your ties,"
Scully answered.
     "Okay, David, I'll go get the President,
you can tell him what you've found. But I
don't know how happy he'll be to see you,"
Connie said.
     "I know, we should just leave. He's not
going to listen to me."
     "Why wouldn't he listen to you?" Julius
asked.
     "Well, because the last time he saw me,
we got into a fight," David answered matter-of-factly.
     "You got into a fight with the
President?" Skinner said.
     "You walked into the room and punched
him in the head," Connie said with a hard
tone.
     "You punched the President?" Julius
said, mortified.
     "He wasn't the President then," David
answered. "I punched him, he fought back, we
rolled around, it was a fight!"
     "One that you started. Because David
thought I was having an affair," Connie said
to the others.
     "With the President?" Julius was having
a hard time taking all this in.
     "Which I wasn't," Connie emphasized.
"Look, I'll be right back," she said as she
exited the room.
     "You punched the President?" Julius
asked. Ignoring him, David moved his computer
to the desk and began bringing his display
back up.
     "Look, do you really think this is
necessary?" Mulder said. "I mean, we don't
know that these things are hostile."
     "Better safe than sorry, Agent Mulder,"
Skinner said.
     "Sir, these things haven't traveled
halfway across the universe just to start a
fight. There have to be better motives than
that. I mean, if they'd wanted to attack,
they'd have done it already."
     "No, that's what I'm trying to explain,"
David said. "They can't because--" Before he
could continue, the door opened and Connie
walked in with the President behind her.
Whitmore took one look at David and rolled
his eyes. "I don't have time for this," he
said, turning to leave.
     "Sir, you might want to hear this,"
Skinner said.
     "Who the hell are you?"
     "Walter Skinner, Assistant Director of
the FBI. These are two of my top agents, Fox
Mulder and Dana Scully."
     "Julius Levinson, Mr. President, it's a
honor, I'm David's father," Julius said,
sticking out his hand. Not knowing what was
going on, Whitmore shook it. In the corner
next to the President's desk, David and
Connie were arguing. "Look, he's not going to
listen to me, let's go."
     "David, tell him."
     "He won't believe me."
     "David, tell him!"
     "Let's go."
     "*David, TELL HIM!*"
     Sighing, David put his computer down. "I
know why we have satellite disruption."
     Whitmore looked at him for a long
moment. "All right, go ahead."
     David moved to the desk, took a pen and
began making a diagram on a piece of
stationary. "If you'd wanted to coordinate
efforts between ships all over the planet,
you couldn't send a direct signal because the
rotation of the planet blocks it." He showed
his makeshift diagram so Whitmore could see
that radio waves from the spaceships were
knocked away by the planet.
     "You're talking about line of sight,"
Whitmore put in.
     "Right," David continued. "However, you
can send a signal by bouncing it around
satellites." He marked the satellites on his
diagram and showed it to the President. "I
found a signal hidden in our satellite
signal. It's reducing itself down to
extinction and it's being bounced around to
all the ships around the globe."
     Seeing the uncertain expression on
Whitmore's face, Skinner decided to put his
word in. "Mr. President, I don't understand
everything he's saying, but there is one
thing I do get. These things are using our
own satellites against us. And the clock is
ticking."
     Whitmore took a moment to take this
information in before turning to David. "How
long until the countdown expires?"
     David showed him the readout. "Thirty-one minutes."
     Whitmore was afraid to admit it, but
this made sense. Since the ships' arrival, he
had been adopting a "wait-and-see" attitude.
But if David was right, there wasn't a moment
to lose. He turned and went back into the
briefing room, firing orders the moment he
entered. "General Gray, coordinate with your
commands. I want Washington, New York and
L.A. evacuated immediately. And get those
helicopters away from that ship right now."
     "Mr. President, what's going on?" A
confused Nimziki asked.
     "We're evacuating the White House.
Immediately," the President announced. "I'll
explain as we go. I want two helicopters on
the lawn in two minutes. I want Air Force One
fueled up and ready to leave for departure as
soon as we get there. Someone get my daughter
up here."
     The room exploded into activity that was
suddenly brought to a halt as someone yelled,
"They're responding!" All eyes turned to the
screen as a camera fitted on one of the
Operation Welcome Wagon helicopters showed a
section of the ship opening, generating a
shaft of green light that filled the cockpits
of the helicopters. For a long moment,
everyone held their breath, waiting to see
what would happen.
     It didn't take long.
     Three single balls of energy suddenly
streaked out of the opening, each one going
for one of the three helicopters. The
helicopters were ripped to shreds, instantly
destroyed. The flaming debris rained down on
the ground far below.
     In the briefing room, everyone stared in
shock at the screen as their worst fears were
confirmed. For Fox Mulder, it felt like his
world was shattering.
     "Somehow, I don't think that's their way
of saying 'We come in peace,'" Skinner said,
breaking the silence.

     Three minutes later, one of the
helicopters was taking off from the White
House lawn. Inside were President Whitmore,
his daughter, Patrica, Nimziki, Gray, Connie,
David, Julius, Mulder, Scully, Skinner, a
quintet of Secret Service agents and a small
group of advisors. Even though Whitmore had
declared that only authorized personnel would
be on the chopper, under Connie's request, he
let David, Julius, Mulder, Scully and Skinner
aboard. If what David suspected was true,
they might have saved his life.
     "Is my wife in the air?" Whitmore asked.
First Lady Marilyn Whitmore was in Los
Angeles for a fund-raiser. She had refused to
leave earlier, trying to forestall panic.
     "She will be shortly," Gray said.
"Helicopter will take her to Nellis. She
should be safe there."
     Whitmore glanced back to the passengers,
seeing Mulder, Scully and Skinner all
speaking into portable phones.
     "Just go, Mom, please, get out now."
     "Mom, if you ever trusted me or loved
me, go now. Don't pack, just go."
     "Dammit, Sharon, for once listen to me.
Get out while you can."
     Inside the Pentagon, the cigarette
smoking man lit up another cigarette as he
watched the television before him. It showed
a sight of the White House as the helicopter
lifted off. The commentators' views on why
the President was leaving were cut off when
the bottom section of the ship suddenly began
opening, the petal-like sheets moving away,
revealing a chamber that gave off a greenish
glow. The shaft of light was aimed dead
center on the White House.
     Around the world, the same thing was
happening. In Paris, the shaft hit Notre Dame
Cathedral. In England, it hit the statue of
Nelson in Trafalgar Square. The Emperor's
Palace in Tokyo. Lenin's Tomb in Moscow. The
Vatican in Rome. The Reichstag Building in
Berlin. The Great Synagogue in Tel Aviv. The
Empire State Building in New York City. The
First Interstate Bank in Los Angeles. The
Forbidden City in Beijing. The beams hit at
the same time.
     The helicopters landed at Andrews Air
Force base. Air Force One was on the runway,
set to go. The President held his daughter in
his arms and raced up the steps. "As soon as
everyone's on board, take off," he ordered as
soon as he stepped into the cabin.
     Behind him, his entourage followed.
David looked at his watch. "How long?" Mulder
asked.
     "Not enough," David answered. Hastily,
the group boarded. Gray, Connie and Nimziki
joined the President in the front section.
The aides, secretaries and Secret Service
agents were in the next. In the back were
Mulder, Scully, Skinner, David and Julius. As
soon as David buckled himself in, he opened
up his laptop and brought up the countdown
screen.
     "How long?" Mulder asked. David didn't
answer. "How long?" Mulder repeated. David
looked at him and showed off the screen. As
Mulder, Scully and Skinner watched, the
countdown his 00:00.
     "Time's up."

     From the bottom of the ships, a long,
needle-like structure slowly lowered until
the point of it rested two hundred feet above
the building it hovered over. The petals bent
forward, forming a circle around the needle.
Slowly, then with more ferocity, energy waves
began forming in the chamber. They bounced
around the points of the petals which
directed them to the needle. As the beams
brightened, the point of the needle became
more and more intense. Finally, a beam of
light fired out from the needle.
     The light hit the White House just as
another helicopter of personnel was taking
off. Within two seconds, the White House was
destroyed, vaporized into a million pieces.
The fireball took the helicopter, the
demonstrators, the soldiers and most of the
lawn.
     The pitiful few survivors called what
happened next the Wall of Destruction. A huge
wall of flame, four hundred feet high, roared
from the crater that had been the White
House. An atomic blast combined with a tidal
wave, the Wall smashed everything in its
path. Cars were hurled through the air,
buildings were pulverized and people were
burned to a crisp.
     Inside the Pentagon office, the
cigarette smoking man stared at a helicopter
shot of Washington being destroyed. He could
feel the heat from there. He sat back in his
chair and stared at the screen. Then he put a
cigarette into his mouth and lit up for one
last time. He had time for one puff before
the Wall blasted the Pentagon to the
basement. The Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson
Monuments and the Smithsonian were leveled.
The Capitol was destroyed, taking most of the
Hill with it.
     In Beijing, the ancient treasures of
centuries were destroyed instantly. The Wall
reached all the way to the Great Wall,
blasting a ten-mile hole in it.
     Tokyo resembled its cousin Hiroshima as
it was gutted. The shockwave of the
destruction literally shook the entire
island, causing widespread damage throughout
the nation.
     In Moscow, Lenin, who had been there to
see the modern Russia rise, was there to see
it fall. His tomb was the first to be
destroyed in a wave that left the Kremlin
shattered and Red Square as bare as a parking
lot.
     In Paris, Notre Dame Cathedral, which
had withstood centuries of war, revolution
and cultural upheaval, was blasted back to
its maker. The water in the Champ Elessyes
was boiled to steam. The Lourve and all its
priceless belongings were obliterated
forever. The Eiffel Tower wasn't blasted to
smithereens, it was melted into slag.
     In New York, the Empire State Building
was destroyed in seconds. Broadway was closed
permentaly. Times Square became ground zero.
The blast went as far as Liberty Island,
knocking the Statue of Liberty into the
harbor.
     In Tel Aviv, Teheran, Cairo, Baghdad,
nations long enemies were united in their
mutual destruction.
     Thirty-six of the world's greatest,
biggest and most important cities and all who
lived there were scoured off the face of the
earth within minutes.
     Air Force One had just lifted away when
the Wall tore through Andrews Air Force Base.
The shockwave from the blasts gave the plane
the push it needed to reach altitude above
the blaze, speeding away.
     Mulder stared out the window, shocked.
Scully had tears in her eyes. Skinner was
tight-lipped as he leaned back in his chair.
"What now?" he said to no one in particular.
"The world as we knew it just came to an end.
We're at war with a species whose origin,
powers and purpose we have no clue to. What
in the name of God do we do now?"
 

The X-Files, all rights and properties owned by Chris Carter, Ten
Thirteen Productions and the FOX network.
Independence Day, all rights and properties owned by Twentieth
Century Fox and Dean Devlin and Roland Emmerich.

Burned on the Fourth Of July
or if Mulder and Scully had been in ID4
by Michael Weyer
 

                JULY 3: THEY ATTACK
 

     The shafts of the morning sun came in through the windows
of Air Force One. It had been a sleepless night for everyone. The
passengers were still numb with shock over the destruction. Scully
had her head bent down into her hands. She had no idea if her
mother had managed to get out of town before it happened. Her
mother was the only member of her family that she had felt close to.
Having her ripped away was too much to bear.
     Mulder and Skinner were coping in their own ways. Skinner
had joined the temporary council of war set up by the President,
who was coping himself. No word had been heard of about his
wife. Mulder was helping the satellite controllers gather information
on the destruction. Scully just sat and wallowed in grief.
     "You look like you need to talk," Julius said as he came up
to her.
     "Mr. Levinson, I'd really like to be alone right now."
     "Call me Julius. 'Mr. Levinson' makes me sound older than I
am. And believe me, you need to talk."
     Scully stared at him. "How can you be so calm?" she
whispered. "My god, this is the worst disaster in the history of the
planet. The lives, the environmental damage, the history, all gone.
How can you take this?"
     "Lady, I survived the Holocaust. After that, I spent fifty
years living in New York. If that doesn't toughen you up, nothing
does. All you can hope is that it's not your time yet and cope."
     "Cope with all this?"
     "Hey, it's easier for you. You're young, you've got fire,
you've got your life ahead. You and your boyfriend can make a life
for yourself."
     "Boyfriend?"
     "Yeah, you know. The tall guy, Rabbit."
     Scully smiled. "Fox. He's my partner, not my boyfriend."
     Julius gave a small grunt. "Come on, you think I don't see
the way he comforts you. I saw the same thing between David and
Connie."
     "And they got divorced."
     "All David could think about was getting to Connie. Not to
Washington, not to the President. To Connie. There's love there.
'All you need is love.' John Lennon. Smart man, shot in the back,
very sad."
     Scully gave Julius a funny look.
 

     The photos flopped down, one after another. Each
resembled the ground zero of an atomic bomb explosion. It was
almost impossible to tell them apart, so alike they were in
destruction.
     "Tokyo. Berlin. Hong Kong. London. Moscow. Paris. New
York. Washington. L.A. Tel Aviv." Mulder's voice was a cool
monotone as he recited the facts. "Tokyo took the smallest amount
of evacuees and therefore the largest amount of casualties. Beijing
was second. The rest vary in terms of populace and evacuation."
     Mulder was addressing a small group inside an office-like
section of the plane. His audience, seated in plush seats by a table,
were Skinner, General Gray, Nimziki and President Whitmore.
Whitmore's mood had deepened in the last few hours. As if the
destruction wasn't bad enough, a counter-attack on the city
destroyers had ended disastrously. The missiles fired from the jets
exploded against an impregnable force shield. A battery of bat-like
alien fighters, also shielded, went about methodically destroying the
jets. The fighters also attacked air bases across the country,
rendering American defenses almost irrelevant.
     "What about our forces?" Whitmore asked.
     "We've lost communication with over seventy percent of
our bases throughout the country," Skinner said. "The little
communications we've gotten from other countries indicates the
same response. It's a total world-wide assault."
     "I spoke with the Joint Chiefs after they arrived at
NORAD," Nimziki put in. "They recommended a full nuclear strike,
immediately."
     Whitmore gazed at his Secretary of Defense with a look that
said he though Nimziki was nuts. He had never liked Nimziki. He
only put up with him because he knew where all the bones were
buried. He knew Nimziki only wanted power, the more the better.
But this was going too far. "Over American soil?" he asked. "At
this point we might as well kill a few thousand more Americans, is
that what you're saying."
     "Mr. President, if we don't launch soon, there may not be
much of an America left to defend!"
     Nimziki was interrupted when Scully came running into the
room, Connie and a military aide behind her. "Sir," she said in a
breathless voice. "They've taken out NORAD."
     "What?" Gray asked. The room was shocked into silence.
Unnoticed by all, David, who had spent half the flight in the
bathroom with a major case of air-sickness, crept up behind them.
"My God, the Joint Chiefs, the Vice-President, the Cabinet..."
     "It's gone?" Nimziki asked.
     "One of those destroyers moved over it and blew the whole
damn mountain apart, sir," the aide said. "They never had a
chance."
     "Mr. President," Nimziki said. "We must launch. A delay
now will be even more costly than when you waited to evacuate the
cities."
     Before Whitmore could respond to the low shot, David
burst into the room. "Wait a minute, you can't be serious! Nuclear
weapons inside the atmosphere? Are you trying to kill them and us?
Think about the fallout, the damage."
     "David, maybe you should--" Connie began.
     "No, I'm not leaving! This can't be allowed!" By this point,
everyone was standing and watching David rant.
     "Get him out of here! Shut up!" Nimziki said.
     "*Don't you tell him to shut up!*" Everyone stopped to see
Julius enter the room. The old man was erupting a rage greater than
his size and age would suggest. "You'd all be dead right now,
blown to high heaven, if it weren't for my David!" David was
amazed. It was the single most supportive thing his father had said
about him in years. "I blame all of you for this! None of you did
anything to prevent this!"
     "There was nothing we could do, we were unprepared for
this," Gray said.
     "Unprepared! Don't give me unprepared. Since the 1950's
you've had that spaceship."
     "Dad, don't--" But Julius could not be stopped.
     "Yeah, yeah, that thing in New Mexico, where was it--"
     "Roswell."
     "Mulder, don't encourage him."
     "Yeah, that's right, Roswell! And you took it to that bunker,
that Area 51. Even then you knew and you never told anyone."
     Throughout this, David and Connie were wearing
embarrassed expressions, Gray and Whitmore were exasperated,
Nimziki was curiously quiet and Mulder, Scully and Skinner were
watching the whole thing with interest.
     "Mr. Levinson," Whitmore said. "Despite what you've read
in the tabloids, there's no alien spaceship confiscated by the
government. There's no Area 51."
     "Excuse me, Mr. President," a suddenly subdued Nimziki
said. "But that's not entirely accurate."
     Everyone looked at him. "Which part?" David asked.
     Nimziki took a deep breath. "There *is* an Area 51. It's a
base in Nevada. And it houses an alien spacecraft that crashed in
Roswell, New Mexico in 1947. The military and FBI hushed it up.
It went to the CIA shortly after I became director. The ship and the
remains of its crew have been studied ever since. And if the
descriptions we got from those pilots are true, this ship may belong
to the same race that's attacking us."
     The only people who weren't looking at Nimziki in total
shock were Julius and Mulder, who were wearing the triumphant
expressions of the vindicated.
     Skinner was the first to speak. "Agent Mulder, if you say
anything even remotely resembling an 'I told you so', I will
personally throw you out of this airplane."
     "I'll hold the door," Scully added.

     Area 51 didn't look very impressive when Air Force One
landed at it. It was a few hangers, some runway and a few planes.
An average military base. As Air Force One landed, a platoon of
marines in desert camouflage gear came out in jeeps and on foot.
Heading the group, dressed in the dark blue uniform of an Air
Force Major was a tall, muscular, crew-cut soldier. He stood at
attention as the President and Gray came down the steps and
saluted them. "Sirs, welcome to Area 51. I'm Major Mitchell,
administrator."
     "We're in a hurry," Whitmore said without preamble.
     "Yes, sir, if you'll follow me, sir." Mitchell knew why the
President had come. Despite the short notice, he was ready. He had
half-expected this to come, although not under these circumstances.
He led the President's entourage through one of the hangers and to
a pair of large doors. Opening them with a code key, he ushered
them into an expansive elevator. As the elevator lowered,
Whitmore's anger grew closer to the surface. He gave Nimziki a
piercing stare. Since his admission, the Secretary of Defense had
found himself ignored by everyone and for once had gotten the hint
no one wanted to hear from him.
     The elevator came to a halt and the doors opened. Mitchell
led the group to a pair of glass doors which showed an expansive
lab. Half the size of a football field, the lab was filled with technical
stations, with white-suite scientists studying hundreds of different
items. "This is our main lab, where most of the daily research is
done," Mitchell explained.
     "Let's see it," Whitmore said.
     "I'm sorry, sir, but it's a clean room. We have to keep it
static free. If you'll all go down to decontamination--"
     "Open the door."
     "Sir, the cost of keeping this room clean is quite--"
     "Major, I admire your loyalty and your dedication. But if
you ignore a direct command from your Commander-In-Chief one
more time, I'll have you relieved of your command. Now open the
goddamned door right now."
     Mitchell couldn't get the door open fast enough. Leading
the group inside, he led them down the hallway. The workers at the
stations stopped what they were doing and gawked at the
unexpected sight of the President of the United States walking
through the hallway.
     "Incredible," Whitmore said as he took in the sights. "How
do you get funding for something like this?"
     "What, you don't actually think they spent ten thousand
dollars on a hammer, fifty thousand on a toilet seat, do you?" Julius
said with a slight smile. Whitmore and Gray glared at him.
     "Actually, I think he's more right than he knows," Mulder
said. "For years, the military's been slushing funds off taxes and
Congress in order to pay for secret projects. Obviously, a lot of that
money went here."
     Whitmore turned and looked at Nimziki. "Why the hell was
I never told about this place?"
     "Two words, Mr. President: Plausabile Denibility. If word
ever got out about Area 51, it'd be imperative for the American
people to know that you knew nothing about it. The whole thing
was decided by Hoover way before my time. We were hoping to
get a jump on the Soviets in technology and secrecy was--"
     "Soviets? Technology? My god, man, you're dealing with
something that's trying to kill us!" Skinner shouted. He wanted
nothing more at that moment than to punch Nimziki out. Before the
President could say anything, a man came walking up to the group.
He was wearing a white lab coat, an unkempt shirt and a horrible
tie. He had long gray hair, a pair of glasses, a pocket protector, a
bouncy walk and a huge smile. "He *must* be someone you know,
Mulder," Scully said.
     Mitchell made the introductions. "Mr. President, this is
Doctor Okun. He's been the head of research here for the last
fifteen years."
     Whitmore wasn't happy with meeting a man who had
obviously spent one too many years in underground isolation. His
attitude wasn't changed when Okun grabbed his hand and began
shaking it vigorously. "Mr. President, it's an honor. Sorry, but they
don't let us out much."
     "Gee, I can't imagine why," Mulder muttered.
     "So, guess you wanna check out the big tamale, huh?
Follow me." An eager gleam in his eye, Okun led the group through
a series of security scanners, opening a large metal door. It revealed
a huge hanger, the centerpiece of which was an alien fighter. It was
huge with a thirty foot wingspan. Some loose wiring on the side
indicated where it had crashed and the whole thing looked a little
worse for wear. But it was still intimidating. The thing that grabbed
their attention, aside from the fin-shaped top, was the series of
strange designs covering the entire ship. It looked more like it had
been grown rather than built. For a long moment, everyone just
stared at it. Mulder was the only one who was staring at it in awe.
     "What do these designs mean?" Whitmore asked.
     "Who knows?" Okun asked as if he hadn't thought about it
before.
     "You mean you've had this thing for fifty years and you
can't tell us anything about it?" Whitmore said as he walked
towards the ship.
     "Oh, no, no, no, hell, no, we know tons about them. But the
really cool stuff has only happened in the last twenty-four hours.
See, we can't duplicate their technology or power, so we really
haven't been able to do much with the ship. But ever since these
guys showed up, all the little gizmos have been turning themselves
on. The last few days have been really exciting."
     "Exciting?" Whitmore exploded. "Millions of people are
dead and dying out there! I don't think exciting is the right word for
it!"
     Seeing that the President was still upset about his wife, Gray
intervened. "Doctor, what can you tell us about them?"
     "Well, they're really not all that different from us.
Tolerances from heat and cold, breathes oxygen, needs sunlight,
probably why they're interested in our planet. Hey, would you like
to see them?"
     Taken slightly off-guard by Okun's matter-of-fact attitude,
Whitmore nodded. Before he knew it, he was being led into another
room that resembled a vault. "This is where we keep the bodies. It's
our preservation center. Or, as we like to call it, 'The Freak Show.'"
He chuckled for a moment before realizing that everyone was
staring at him. Swallowing, he turned a key and opened the vault.
The metal partion raised to show a trio of glass containers. Each
one was filled with formuelhyde and contained an alien corpse. The
aliens were small, barely bigger than a child. Their bodies were frail
with a group of tentacles coming from them. Their heads were huge
and pointed, like the tops of their ships with giant eyes.
     "When we found these three, they were wearing these battle
suits. Ten feet tall, a dozen tentacles, ugly looking suckers. These
guys would actually crawl in and control them. Once we got the
suits off, we learned a lot about them. They have no vocal cords, so
they must communicate with some means."
     "Hand signals?" Mulder asked.
     "No, more like telepathy," Okun said in a perfectly serious
tone. "We're not quite sure what they eat, but apparently they do
need water."
     "How do we kill them?" Whitmore asked.
     "Oooh, that's a good one," Okun said, frowning. "Well,
their bodies are just as frail as ours, but you have to get past their
technology which, I'm sorry to say, is far more advanced than
ours."
     The President turned to David. "David, you unlocked their
technology. You cracked their code."
     "When did these guys get on a first-name basis?" Mulder
whispered to Scully.
     "Oh, I don't know, *Tom*," David replied. "I just stumbled
upon their signal, I don't know how much help I can be."
     "Well, see what you can do. Let's see if you're as smart as
we all hope you are."
     David raised his eyes at the challenge. Okun looked at him.
"What code?"

     Skinner was on top, looking over the base. He had no
interest in what was happening down below. His restless nature was
coming back in force. To keep himself busy and sane, he and
Mitchell were examining the base.
     "We're pretty self-sufficient here," Mitchell explained. "All
the troops know of course, and we do extensive checks on all
personnel before bringing them here."
     Skinner was gazing in the distance. "So, you're saying this is
the most secured place in the world?"
     Mitchell nodded. "That's right."
     Skinner nodded. "So, how do you explain that?" He pointed
towards the gates of the base. Mitchell followed his gaze and felt
his jaw drop. Coming towards the hangers was a massive caravan
of vehicles. For a second, both men wondered if the aliens had
landed ground troops. Then they saw that the vehicles were motor
homes, RV's, buses, trucks, vans and all sorts of other cars. As they
watched, an RV and a red pickup roared ahead of the others and
stopped in front of them.
     Standing up from the back of the truck was a handsome,
athletic black man wearing an Air Force uniform. At his feet was a
large shape wrapped in a parachute. The man saluted. "Captain
Steven Hiller, United States Marine Corps."
     Mitchell returned the salute as Skinner gazed at the man.
"Hiller. Weren't you the leader of the attack on the L.A. ship?"
     Hiller nodded. "Yes, sir. I was the only survivor. I ran into
these people on my way here. They're mostly from L.A. and its
counties."
     "Why are you here?" Mitchell asked.
     In answer, Hiller reached down and ripped off the cover of
his parachute.
     "Holy mother of God," Skinner said. Wrapped in the
parachute was an alien in battle armor. A combination of a
cockroach and medieval armor, it was the single most horrible thing
either man had ever seen.
     "Ugly looking son of a bitch, ain't it?" This came from a
man who stepped out of an RV. He was a bearded, unkempt man
who obviously recently had too much to drink. "I should know. I
was kidnapped by these bastards ten years ago."
     "I've got someone you should meet," Skinner said.
     The man smiled. "Russell Casse." He pointed towards the
RV. "Those are my kids. I told everyone I knew about those things.
I told them for ten damn years. No one would listen, now see where
we all are."
     "How'd you do this?" Mitchell asked.
     "I managed to crash his ship during a dogfight at the Grand
Canyon. He was the only survivor. I figured we could use a
prisoner."
     "Good work, Captain," Skinner said.
     "I'll let them know downstairs," Mitchell said, fumbling for
his walkie-talkie.

     "Wonder how much mileage this thing gets?" Mulder asked.
He, David and Okun were examining the inside of the ship. If
possible, the inside was even creepier than the outside. The control
panel contained a set of handle-bar like controls as well as several
screens, each spouting out alien language.
     "We haven't figured that out, but we are making progress
on how many miles it gets to a galleon," Okun replied. Mulder was
starting to like this guy, up to a reasonable point.
     "These aren't the original seats, are they?" David asked. The
three seats inside resembled those of a jet fighter.
     "No, we put those in so we could have somewhere to sit
down. The original seats were they huge gooey body-pod things."
     David took a look at the panels. "The symbols here
resemble the ones that I found for the countdown."
     "So, can you decipher them?" Mulder asked.
     David shook his head. "No, but I'm getting an idea. If what
you're saying is right, all the fighters operate on power given from
that main ship that's flying around the moon. That's why it was
turned off so long. It needed a jump from the main engine."
     "So, we've got it working, now what?" Mulder asked.
     Okun ignored him. "Okay, so we know this panel is a
connection to their main computers. Problem is, we don't know
what the signal is, could be orders, could be their version of FM
radio, who knows? How does that help us?"
     David opened up his laptop and brought up his countdown
formula. "The signal here is operating on sequential order, just like
the countdown."
     "So, they're using this signal to coordinate their efforts,"
Mulder said. "Stop the signal, it stops them in their tracks."
     "You know, you two are really making us look bad," Okun
said with a smile.
     The meeting was broken up when a technician yelled from
outside the craft. "They've got one! And it's still alive!"

     Skinner walked into the main computer center of the base.
Gray had quickly turned it into a center for gathering information
on the alien attack. Every radar screen and computer terminal was
gathering and posting information on the attacks. A large computer
map showed the status of the attacked cities.
     "So, Nimziki, got any more tricks up your sleeve that could
help us?" Skinner asked.
     "That's a cheap shot, director, and you know it," Nimziki
answered.
     "As the former head of the CIA, you knew about this place
for years," Skinner answered in a flat tone. "Exactly when were you
planning on informing the rest of us about it?"
     "It had been deemed classified."
     "Why didn't you say anything when they first arrived?" Gray
put in. His elderly face was drawn so tight in anger it looked like it
would break apart. "How many people died so you could keep your
precious secret? You could have warned us before we launched an
attack that cost us the lives of hundreds of American pilots!"
     "There was no way of knowing how ineffective our fighters
would be--" Nimziki was interrupted when the President walked in.
He took one look at the map and took a huge breath. "Is this the
latest update?"
     "Chicago, Atlanta, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Dallas,
Denver and Boston are confirmed destroyed, sir," Mitchell said.
"Ships are heading towards New Orleans, Houston, Sacramento
and Detroit."
     "They're not moving around blindly, that's for sure," Skinner
said. "We heard from France that right after it blew up Paris, one of
the destroyers blew up NATO headquarters in Brussels. They're
attacking in corridors, sending down fighters to destroy bases while
the big ships attack the cities."
     "They know exactly where and how to hit us," Gray said,
glaring at Nimziki. "They've obviously been scouting us for some
time, planning this whole thing."
     "And our forces here," Whitmore asked. He'd deal with
Nimziki later, if there was one.
     "We're down to fifteen percent," Skinner answered.
     "Taking into account the rate it takes to destroy a city and
move on, we're looking at the world-wide destruction of every
major city on earth in the next thirty-six hours," Gray calmly
intoned.
     Whitmore looked at the map. "We're being exterminated,"
he whispered.
     "Sir, that pilot you wanted to meet is here," Mitchell said,
ushering Steve in. Steve wasn't in the best mood to greet a bunch of
powerful white people, especially the President. Nevertheless, he
saluted Whitmore smartly. "Captain Steven Hiller, sir."
     Whitmore returned the salute before shaking his hand.
"Captain, good work. Where is it now?"
     "Dr. Okun has it in the containment lab, sir," Mitchell
answered. "He's starting his examination."
     "Sir, Agents Mulder and Scully expressed interest in
attending the examination," Skinner said.
     "Any reason?"
     "Well, sir, Agent Scully is a trained medical examiner and
Agent Mulder is the closest thing we have to a alien expert. They
might be of assistance."
     "Sorry, only cleared personnel examine the creature,"
Nimziki said.
     "Have them meet us at the lab," Whitmore said.
     "But sir--"
     "They're attending, Mr. Nimziki. Any problems?"
     Nimziki opened his mouth, then shut it. He was starting to
regret ever getting himself into this position.

     The door to the vault opened and the President, Gray,
Nimziki, Mitchell, Mulder, Scully, Skinner and four Secret Service
agents walked into the observation area. Immediately, they could
tell something was wrong. Warning lights were flashing on the
windows exposing the lab and the entire room was covered in thick
steam. Cautiously, Mitchell approached the window, hitting a
communicator on the wall. "Dr. Okun, can you hear me?" There
was no answer. Whitmore moved close to the window, peering into
the steam. Without warning, Okun's body slammed against the
window, startling everyone. Okun seemed to be pressed against the
glass, his head askew, his eyes wide but unseeing. "Release me," a
deep, guttural voice said.
     Mitchell moved towards the door when Skinner caught his
arm. Looking back, Mitchell could see the steam fading to reveal
the lab in shambles. The table was knocked around, its restraints
broken. Equipment was shattered and a few bodies could be seen
lying on the floor. Suddenly, the alien dropped down. Okun had
managed to open the gigantic head to show the alien sitting inside.
It stood on a pair of spindly legs, with tentacles flying everywhere.
One tentacle held the body of Okun. "Release me, will kill," Okun
said.
     "Wow, you can't even see its lips move," Mulder whispered.
The alien was operating Okun like a ventriloquist, telepathically
giving him his message. "Release me, will kill," Okun's voice said
again.
     President Thomas J. Whitmore moved up to the glass.
Putting on his best statesman's voice, he began to speak. "Where do
you come from?"
     "Many worlds. This is our new home."
     "What do you want?"
     "Air. Food. Water. Your sun."
     "I know there's a lot we can learn from each other, that we
can teach, if we can negotiate a settlement. Can there be peace
between us?"
     "Peace," the alien said in a derisive tone. "No peace."
     Whitmore glanced back at Gray and spoke again. "Exactly
what is it you want us to do?"
     The alien looked directly at Whitmore, its black eyes cold
and malevolent. "Die," it said. "DIE."
     Whitmore suddenly began convulsing. Grabbing his head, he
fell backwards, a pair of Secret Service agents catching him. He
began yelling as the alien invaded his mind, showing exactly what
their plans were for Earth.
     "Permission to take that thing out?" Skinner said.
     Gray turned to Mitchell. "Is that glass bullet-proof?"
     Mitchell already had his pistol out. "No, sir." With that,
Mitchell, Gray, Mulder, Scully, Skinner and two of the President's
bodyguards aimed their pistols at the window and began firing. The
glass shattered under the hail of bullets. The impact of the gunfire
sent the alien flying across the room, landing in a heap in the
corner.
     Mulder, Scully and Mitchell leapt into the room, their guns
ready. Scully moved to the body of Okun, who had been dropped
to the floor. Ripping the tentacle off his throat, she felt for a pulse.
She looked up. "He's dead."
     "So are the other technicians," Mitchell said. Mulder had his
gun aimed right at the alien, who was still moving in pain.
     "Mr. President, are you all right?" Gray asked.
     "It spoke--in my mind," Whitmore said, his breath slowly
returning. "It wanted me to understand. They're like locusts. They
drained their own planet centuries ago and ever since they've been
going from one planet to another, the whole civilization. They
move in, get rid of the population and stay until they've used up
every last natural resource. Then they pack up and move on. We're
next. We're like insects to them, vermin that need to be
exterminated. They're the new tenants and they want us dead so
they can move in."  Mulder looked down at the twitching alien.
His gun hand never wavered. "All my life, I've waited for you," he
said softly. "I've believed in you when no one else has, I've called
out to you when no one else did, I wanted you to come. And when
you do, you destroy everything I've ever hoped and dreamed. My
entire life has been a waste thanks to you."
     The alien slowly moved its head up to Mulder, looked him
straight in the eye and sent him a message. It wasn't as long or
detailed as the one he gave Whitmore, so it was less painful. Mulder
received it to his horror. As soon as the message was done, he
returned the alien's gaze. Tears burned in his eyes as he cocked the
gun. "Get off my planet," he said as he unloaded three bullets into
the alien's skull, blasting it apart.
     "Nuke 'em," Whitmore said. "Let's nuke the bastards."

     The mood in the war room was anticipation mixed with
subdued business. By agreement with what remained of the
militaries of the rest of the world, the Americans would try a
nuclear missile on one of the giant city destroyers. All eyes were
turned to the screen as an observation vehicle showed a Stealth
bomber moving towards the ship that was settling over Houston,
Texas.
     "Most of the major cities have been evacuated," Skinner
said. "Not orderly, but thorough. Civilian casualties should be low."
     "May our children forgive us," Whitmore whispered as the
nuke was launched. They all watched as the missile reached the ship
and detonated. The screen went blank as the mushroom cloud
swallowed Houston. Nimziki leaped to his feet with a cheer. "Got
'em!" he yelled. A few other officers cheered. Whitmore was silent,
waiting for confirmation. It came in another minute.
     "Target is intact. I repeat, target is intact. Jesus, we didn't
even scratch her."
     "Call them back," Whitmore said, defeated.
     "Other bombers might have more luck," Nimiziki said. "We
can't just give up--"
     "Call them back."
     "We'll send two nukes at the New Orleans ship. Three, four,
whatever it takes--"
     "To kill them and us?" Skinner yelled. "The President gave
you an order so follow it!"
     Whitmore sat back into his chair, covering his face with his
hands. This had been their last shot and it was futile. There was
nothing left to do but wait until the aliens began landing and blow
up their colonies. Humanity would die, but it might just take the
bastards with them.
     Whitmore looked up as Connie ran into the room. "Tom,"
she said. "They've brought in your wife."

     "Apparently, Hiller went to what was left of El Toro Air
Force Base to see if his girlfriend was there," Connie explained as
she and Whitmore rushed to the infirmary. Whitmore carried
Patrica in his arms. "Your wife was among the survivors they pulled
out of L.A. It's a miracle she made it here."
     Whitmore was only half-listening. The moment he saw
Marilyn, the worries and weight of the last twenty-four hours lifted
from his shoulders. He set down Patrica, who immediately ran to
her mother, who was lying in a bed with an IV. Before Whitmore
could follow, Scully, wearing a blue surgical coat, stopped him.
"Mr. President, I have to tell you, your wife's condition is critical.
Her helicopter was downed when L.A. was destroyed. The crash
gave her internal bleeding. If we had gotten to her sooner, maybe
we could have--"
     "Wait, wait, what are you saying?" a confused Whitmore
asked.
     Scully took a deep breath. She knew she was about to
destroy a part of this man's life. "The internal bleeding is too great.
We can't stop it. I'm sorry, but it's only a matter of time..." Her
voice trailed off as she saw the horrified look of understanding on
Whitmore's face. He closed his eyes and gave a pat to her shoulder.
"Thank you," he whispered. "I know you did all you could. Thanks
for trying." He slowly moved into the room and asked Connie to
take out Patrica. Scully couldn't take anymore. She turned and
walked away, stripping off her coat as she went. Every step was
spent fighting off tears.
     She stopped in front of a small room. She could hear a sob
coming out from it that somehow seemed familiar. Opening the
door, she entered. The room was cramped, little more than closet
space. The cot inside barely fit. The sole illumination was provided
by a small lamp. Sitting on the cot, his head buried in his hands,
crying profusely, was her partner. "Mulder?" Scully said, coming in.
"Mulder?" She gazed at her friend. She had never seen him this
upset. "Fox?"
     Mulder looked up. His tear-stained cheeks and red eyes
showed that he had been crying for a long time. "I finally found her,
Scully."
     "Mulder?" Scully began to wonder if the events of the last
few hours had finally driven her partner over the edge.
     "Just before I shot that alien, he mentally contacted me.
Remember what that Casse guy was saying? About being
abducted?"
     Scully nodded as she sat down beside him.
     "They've been doing it for years. Research, experimentation.
Casse was lucky. He was returned, alive. Some were sent back
mad. And some were tortured unto death."
     "What did you see, Mulder?"
     "I saw a little girl. Taken from her home, her family. They
probed her, raped her, tortured her, did things to her that no one
deserves. They killed her slowly." He looked at Scully and she was
shocked at the sorrow in his eyes. "It was Samantha, Scully. My
sister, Sam."
     "Oh, my god, Mulder," she whispered. Mulder completely
came apart, sagging onto her. She held him tight, listening to his
sobs. Before she knew it, she was crying as well, all the pain and
anguish of the last day coming loose. "I love you," she said softly.
"You know that."
     Mulder looked at her. A spark of the old fire came back into
his eyes. "I know. I love you too."
     She laughed suddenly. "Oh, god, it figures we'd wait until
the last day of history to admit to each other."
     "Yeah, it does," he said, with a slight smile. He took her by
the neck and gently kissed her. She responded with a passion. They
made love slowly, as if wanting to savor every moment. Because
they were both convinced they wouldn't have another chance.
 
 

The X-Files, all rights and properties owned by Chris Carter, Ten
Thirteen Productions and the FOX Network.
Independence Day, all rights and properties owned by Dean Devlin
and Roland Emmerich and Twentieth Century Fox.
 

Burned on the Fourth of July
or If Mulder and Scully had been in ID4
by Michael Weyer
 

          JULY 4TH: INDEPENDENCE DAY

     A flash of light interrupted Mulder's sleep. He looked up
blearily to see Skinner standing in the doorway. A slight smile
seemed to tug at the AD's face. "Now I know the world's about to
end," he said.
     With a start, Mulder suddenly realized that he and Scully
were lying half-naked on the cot, clothes strewn about. Scrambling
to get his pants, Mulder woke up Scully who nearly leapt in the air
when she saw Skinner.
     "Ah, sir, I know this is difficult to explain--"
     "This may look bad, sir, but I assure you there's a good--"
     "Save it," Skinner cut them both off. "Frankly, I'm amazed
this didn't happen a while ago. Look, there's a big meeting in the
hanger. Seems Levinson's got this idea for turning the tide. Be there
in two minutes. Oh, and nice shorts, Agent Mulder."
     "Sir, thank you, sir."
     Skinner waited until he was half-way down the hall before
breaking into a big smile and letting a rare laugh escape his lips.

     The hanger was quite crowded by the time the two got
there. Gray, Whitmore, Nimziki, Skinner, Connie, Hiller, his
girlfriend, Jasmine, her son Dylan, Julius, Mitchell and several
technicians were standing before the ship, all wondering what was
going on.
     "Folks, I think I may have something," David said, placing a
coke can on the hull of the ship. "Major, can you try to shoot that
coke can off the ship? Just try."
     After an approving look from Gray, Mitchell pulled out his
service revolver and aimed it at the can. Taking careful aim, he
pulled the trigger. Instantly, a blue glow surrounded the entire ship
as the bullet rocketed wildly.
     "What the hell are you doing, man?" Hiller yelled.
     "Sorry, sorry, my fault, my fault," David said, unfazed.
"That can is protected by the ship's force field and we can't
penetrate their defenses."
     "We know that, what's your point?" Nimziki demanded.
     "Well, if we can't get past their defenses, we just have to get
around them." David punched a few keys on his computer. "Major,
try again, please."
     Making sure everyone was ready to duck, Mitchell aimed
and fired again at the coke can. This time, the bullet struck home,
sending the can flying. Everyone was taken aback by this.
     "How'd you do that?" Gray asked.
     "I gave it a cold," David answered. Everyone looked at him.
"I gave it a virus, a computer virus."
     Gray didn't entirely understand or trust computers or the
people who operated them. "Are you saying you can set up a signal
that can disable all their shields?"
     David nodded as he walked to a small board where a
crudely drawn portrait of the mother ship hung along with several
satellite photos. "Just like they used our satellites against us, we can
use their signal against them. If we infect that mother ship with the
virus, it will drift down to all the other ships and disable the
shields."
     "And how do we infect the 'mother ship' with the virus?"
Nimziki seemed amused by the whole idea.
     "Wellll," David began. He knew everyone was going to
think he was crazy. Hell, *he* thought he was crazy. "We'll have to
fly that ship out of Earth's atmosphere and dock with the mother
ship. That should allow us access to the system. We then leave and
set up some explosion to disable it and knock out coordination with
the destroyers."
     "How long would the shields be down?" Skinner asked.
     David shrugged. "Oh, I'd say a few minutes before they
discover it."
     "So, you want to launch a world-wide assault with a
window of only a few minutes?" Nimziki asked.
     "The shields are down, there might be a chance," Gray
argued.
     "Oh, please!" Nimziki said, not believing anyone was
accepting any of this. "This whole cockamamie plan is dependent
on a ship that no one on earth is qualified to fly."
     "I wouldn't say that, sir." Everyone turned to see Steve walk
forward, confident and calm. "I've gone up against these things and
I'm well aware of their flight capabilities." He turned to Gray. "With
your permission, sir, I'd like to try."
     "Not alone," Mulder suddenly said. "You fly, David sets up
the virus, I'll handle any problems the ship might have."
     "You?" Nimziki asked.
     "You?" Scully asked.
     "I spent some time yesterday studying the ship and the
records and notes on it. I'm no expert, but then, neither is anyone
else. Three seats, three passengers. If something goes wrong, an
extra man can't hurt."
     Skinner grabbed Mulder's arm. "Mulder, are you serious?
You really think you can help run this thing? Are you sure?"
     Mulder returned his gaze. "I've never been more sure about
anything in my life, sir."
     Skinner looked at him for a long moment before nodding.
"Good luck, Agent Mulder."
     Nimziki had had enough of this. "Look, that thing is a
wreck. It crash-landed in the '50's. We don't know if it's even
capable of flying."
     "Remove the clamps!" David shouted. A technician pulled a
switch and the metallic clamps underneath the ship pulled away.
The ship hovered fifteen feet over the floor, as if the clamps were
still there.
     "Any questions?" David asked. Everyone looked at
Whitmore. He nodded. "Let's do it." Immediately, the hanger burst
into activity, everyone offering their opinion on how and how not
the operation should be handled. In the confusion, Steve, David and
Mulder moved together.
     "Uh, you really think you can fly this thing?" David asked.
     "You really think you can fly it *well*?" Mulder asked.
     "You two really think you can do all that bullshit you just
said?" Steve shot back.
     The three smiled. They were in for a wild ride.

     Whitmore, Gray and Skinner were walking down the main
lab, making plans for the assault when Nimziki caught up to them.
He grabbed the President by the arm and spoke in an icy tone. "I
know you are still upset over the death of your wife, but that's no
excuse to go off and make another fatal mistake."
     That was the last straw. Without warning and without a
word, Whitmore grabbed Nimziki by the lapels and slammed him up
against the nearest technical console. "The only mistake I ever
made was appointing a sniveling, slimy, selfish, self-centered,
egotistical, power-hungry little weasel like you Secretary of
Defense. But that's one mistake, I'm thankful to say, that I can fix
right now and no longer have to live with. Mr. Nimziki, you're
fired." He shoved the man away and turned to Gray. "Get me every
plane you can find and some goddman pilots to fly them."
     Gray had never been prouder of his boss. "Yes, sir."
     "Now wait a minute, you arrogant little punk, who do you
think you are ordering me--" Nimziki grabbed at Whitmore again
only to be restrained by a grip of steel encircling his wrist. Skinner
twisted Nimziki's arm behind his back and shoved him back against
the console. "He is the President of the United States of America,"
Skinner said in a cold tone Nimziki could only dream of matching.
"If you touch him again, if you talk to him like that again, if you
even come within thirty feet of him again, I will personally, and
with the utmost pleasure, shoot you as a threat to national
security." He shoved Nimziki away and followed Whitmore and
Gray. After two steps he stopped and thought to himself. "Oh, what
the hell?" He spun and planted a fist right smack in Nimziki's face.

     The first ones to get the word were the inhabitants of a
makeshift camp in the Iraqi desert. A group of British pilots were
called in to translate a Morse Code signal. The camp was filled with
hundreds of pilots from Iran, Iraq, Israel, Jordan, Egypt, Saudi
Arabia and a dozen other countries, most of whom would be
shooting at one another on any other day. They had put their
differences aside in order to survive the alien onslaught.
     One of the British pilots was quick to translate the message.
"It's from the Americans. They want to organize a counter-offensive."
     "About bloody time," another Britain said. "What do they
plan to do?"
     The next ones to hear were a contingent of pilots hiding in
the Ukraine. Since any idea sounded better than spending the rest of
the night hiding in the cold, they agreed.
     The morse code signal went out. Soon, the surviving armed
forces were on alert, pledging every available aircraft to the attack.
     "How are we doing?" Whitmore asked as he entered the
war room.      "Better than expected," Gray answered. "Europe's
been hit almost as hard but the Middle East and Asia still have fifty
percent of their capabilities."
     "It's incredible," Skinner said. "A hundred years of
diplomacy gets us nowhere. Twenty-four hours after these bastards
show up, we're all one happy family."
     "What about our forces?" Whitmore asked.
     "Unfortunetly, we're the weak link. The bastards have taken
out every air base west of the Mississippi. We have enough planes
for the assault but pilots are a little short."
     "Then find them."

     An hour later, Gray was giving David, Steve and Mulder a
quick overview of their assignment. A group of weapons
technicians were placing a giant nuke into a launcher underneath
one of the fighter's wings. "We've disguised the nuke as best we
could, but it may still look suspicious," Gray explained. He led them
to a small table and showed them a computer panel imprinted onto
a box. "This is the launch console for the nuke. It will be set up
inside the cockpit. Timer and launch button are highlighted."
     "Like the AMRAMM console on the Stealth," Steve said.
     "Except the nuke will not detonate on impact. You've got
thirty seconds after launch to get your asses out of there."
     Steve looked at his watch. "Shit, David, we're late." He and
David both ran towards the chapel where Jasmine and Connie were
waiting. Steve and Jasmine had decided to get married immediately,
with David and Connie as witnesses.
     "Thirty seconds? That's not a lot of time," Scully said as she
came up behind Mulder.
     "Ah, don't worry, we'll be well on our way out before we
fire that thing. Besides, this Hiller's supposed to be a real hotshot
pilot."
     "Mulder, why do you have to go? They only need two
people to do this thing. It's not like you can do the program or fly
the ship. Why do you have to go?"
     "Scully, when I was twelve, these guys took away my sister.
They engineered the course of my life. The FBI, the X-Files, you.
They all came about because of them. It's a full circle, Scully. They
started this, I'm going to finish it. Trust me."
     Scully smiled at him. "I thought we weren't supposed to
trust anyone."
     He shrugged. "Hey, times change. So do slogans." He
hoped that his nervousness didn't show in his smile.

     By dawn, the jets were ready. Roughly a hundred and fifty
fighters stood on the runway, ready to go. Whitmore, Gray and
Skinner came up to review the troops. There were a diverse group.
Young and old. Fat and thin. Black and white. Experienced and
rookies. Military and civilian. Anyone who knew how to fly was
there. Most had been recruited from the caravan of refugees that
had followed Steve to the base. There were several interesting
figures. Captain Benham, the pilot of Air Force One, was there. So
was one of the President's bodyguards. Russel Casse, the eccentric
abductee, had been a pilot during Vietnam and had spent several
years afterwards crop dusting. A leather-clad man known as Pig
was giving other pilots some pointers on how to handle the jets.
The man had been a cook on an aircraft carrier and was a
motorcycle buff. Whitmore declined to ask him how he learned to
fly a jet, positive he didn't want to know the answer.
     "They're young," Whitmore said as he walked to Mitchell's
jeep.
     "That they are." Gray had changed to a pair of green
fatigues. The old warhorse was ready for battle.
     "They look kind of nervous."
     "That they do," Skinner said.
     By this point, news of the President's presence had spread to
the motor camp and people had gathered to see him. Climbing onto
the back of a jeep, Whitmore took a P.A. mike from Mitchell and
spoke into it. "Good morning." The chattering of the crowd died
away as the pilots and refugees gathered around the jeep. Whitmore
considered the words these people would take into battle.
     "In less than an hour, planes from here will join others
around the world as we launch the greatest battle in the history of
mankind. Mankind. That word should have new meaning for all of
us. If any good has come out of all this, it's the realization of just
how petty all our hundreds of differences are and great are the traits
we have in common. We will be united by our mutual beliefs in life
and freedom. Perhaps it's fitting that today is the Fourth of July and
once again we will be fighting for our freedom. Not from tyranny or
oppression, but from ahniliation. We're fighting for our right to live.
To exist. If there was ever a battle worth fighting for, this is it. And
should we win the day, the Fourth of July will no longer be known
as an American holiday. But it will be known as the day when all
the nations of the world put their differences aside and stood
shoulder to shoulder, side by side and cried out in one voice that
'We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a
fight! We will not lay down and die! We're going to fight back!
We're going to live on! We're going to survive!' Today, we
celebrate our INDEPENDENCE DAY!"
     The crowd erupted into a roar. Cheering, screaming,
shouting, whistling, clapping, whooping, thrusting their fists into
the air, they forgot their fear. One pilot stood up in the cockpit of
his plane and proudly saluted his leader. The pilots would follow
Whitmore through the gates of Hell.
     Whitmore hopped down from the jet and made his way
through the crowd, shaking hand and putting up with several back
slaps. He made his way to a table where a flight suit and jacket had
been laid out. Yanking off his coat, he grabbed them.
     "Mr. President, I'd like to know just what the hell it is you're
doing," Gray said as he and Skinner came up.
     Whitmore smiled. "I'm a combat pilot, Will. I belong in the
air."
     "Sir, maybe you should reconsider," Skinner said. "Think of
what it would mean if the President was killed."
     "Skinner, if don't win, I'm not going to be the President of
anything. Besides, I'm not about to ask these people to do
something I'm not going to do myself." Considering the subject
closed, Whitmore walked off. Gray turned to Skinner, who
shrugged. "What're you going to do? Order the Commander-in-Chief to stay
behind?"
     Gray shook his head. "I trained him too damn well."
     "I think he'd take that as a compliment."

     It was time to go. Each man was dressed in a green flight
suit, ready to fly. Each had something to say before they left.
     Steve gave Dylan a small bag of fireworks. "When I get
back, we'll light up the rest of these, okay."
     Julius handed David an air-sickness bag. "Just in case," he
said. David gave his father a bible and yarmukule. "Just in case."
Julius looked at his son with new eyes. "I'm very proud of you,"
and kissed him on the cheek. There were no words between David
and Connie, just a long hug.
     Mulder and Scully just looked at one another for a long
moment. "Take care of yourself, okay, Spooky?" Scully whispered.
     Mulder smiled. "Same to you, Ice Queen."
     Scully embraced him, closing her eyes. "If you die on me,
Mulder, I'll never forgive you."
     "I don't think I could live with that."
     "Why don't you try your jokes on the aliens? If that doesn't
drive them away, nothing will."
     Mulder smiled as he broke away and followed Steve and
David. Steve suddenly stopped, his hands racing to his suit. "Oh,
shit, wait a minute. Cigars, man. I gotta have some cigars. We can't
go without them."
     "Here," Julius said, bringing a hand out of his pocket. "My
last three. With my blessing."
     "You are a life-saver," Steve said as he took the cigars. He
grinned at David and Mulder. "Almost jinxed the whole damn
thing!"
     Finally, the three men turned and walked to the ship as the
others left the room, which was then sealed up. In the cockpit, the
three got ready. Steve grasped the controls, getting the feel of
them. Mulder ran down a quick checklist of the systems. David
fired up his laptop, which welcomed him with a HAL-like "Good
morning, Dave."
     Steve handed one cigar to Mulder and the other to David.
"These are our Victory Dance. But you don't light up until the Fat
Lady sings. Got it?"
     "Sure," David said.
     Steve looked at him in dead seriousness. "This is
important."
     "Yeah, we got it. Fat Lady. No problem."
     As the clamps released the ship, Steve grasped the controls.
     "Make sure your tray tables are in their upright and locked
positions," Mulder said.
     "I may as well confess, I'm not big on flying," David said.
     "Let's rock and roll," Steve intoned. He jammed the controls
forward and the ship suddenly hurled backwards into a wall.
     "What the hell was that?" Mulder said.
     Steve smiled sheepishly. "Oops."
     "Oops?" David repeated. "What do you mean oops? What is
that? What does that mean?"
     "It's okay, it's okay, some jerk got it mixed up," Steve
shrugged. "Let's try that again, huh?"
     "Yes, this time without the oops," Mulder said.
     Steve gripped the controls again and pulled back. The ship
rocketed upwards, blasting through a tunnel to the surface, going
three hundred miles and hour by the time it reached the sky. All
three men were pushed back in their seats by the pressure of the
acceleration. Mulder swallowed, David felt his breakfast rise up and
Steve was having the time of his life. "I have *got* to get me one
of these!" he whooped. He threw the ship into a barrel roll.
     "Steve, Steve, please don't do that," David said.
     "Hey, I'm just getting the feel of the girl."
     "No, no, just leave the girl alone, okay?"
     "Hey, look, no hands."
     "Steve!"

     Skinner and Gray were in place in the war room when
Whitmore called. He and his makeshift squadron were in the air and
approaching the ship headed for Las Vegas. "Eagle One to Base.
What's the status of our target?"
     "I think our secret is out," Gray answered. "It's headed our
way."
     "Roger. Moving to intercept."
     Scully moved towards Mitchell, who was helping with the
attack coordination. "Major, what happens if that thing gets here
before the virus is set up?"
     Mitchell shrugged as if it wasn't important. "Well, ma'am,
this facility is housed under a mountain. That should give us some
protection."
     "What about the people outside?"
     That got Mitchell's attention. The civilians camped outside
had not even occurred to him. He hadn't considered the
consequences of an air battle over Area 51.
     Within minutes, Mitchell, Scully, Connie and a platoon of
soldiers were evacuating the civilians away from the homes. They
had just begun when the ship peeked out from behind the
mountains.

     In the attacker, David was holding his head. "Oh, god what
was I thinking? What am I doing here?"
     "How should I know? This whole crapshoot was your idea,"
Mulder said.
     Steve watched as the clouds parted to reveal the blackness
of space. "Man, I've been waiting my whole life for this. I've always
wanted to be alive up here."
     "You may end up dead up here, remember that," Mulder
said.
     "You were never one for high school rallies, were you?"
     The men stopped talking when they saw the mother ship. It
was bigger than they had imagined. It was half the size of the moon,
a flat shape with a pair of long pillars coming down from it. It
resembled the head of a cobra ready to strike. The ship floated
towards a giant triangular opening. As soon as they were within a
hundred feet of it, Steve suddenly felt the controls jerk out of his
hands.
     "No, no, don't touch it," David said. "I was hoping for this,
they're bringing us in."
     "When were you going to tell me?" Steve pouted.
     David looked at him. "Oops."
     "We need to work on our communication skills."
     "Don't look now, guys, but we're entering the lion's den,"
Mulder pointed out. The ship entered the opening, zooming along
the main entrance, passing several bridge-like tubes going from one
side to the other. The main area of the ship was a deep green fog,
making it difficult to see. Giant organic pylons and towers covered
the ship, an eerie landscape to travel through. A giant landing bay
lay below them. There, millions of aliens were lined up in perfect
formation, getting into shuttles that appeared to be miniature
versions of the mother ship.
     "What the hell are they doing?" David asked.
     "Looks like they're preparing for an invasion," Steve
observed.
     "Now that the main cities and defenses have been wiped
out, they're going to start landing," Mulder said. "We've got to
hurry."   "Hey, I ain't the one flying this thing, okay?" Steve
said.
     The attacker moved towards a large landing bay where
thousands of identical attackers were docked in mooring bays. The
ship slid into one, the metal clamps locking onto the fin shaped
surface. "Hey, wait a minute, won't they see us?" Mulder asked.
     "Not to worry," David said, flicking a switch. "This thing
comes fully equipped. FM radio, reclining bucket seats and power
windows." A pair of metal shields covered the windows, blocking
the interior from view.
     David immediately went to work. He opened up his laptop
and began entering the access codes. Far faster than he expected a
message came up that said, "Negotiating with host."
     "We're in. Jesus, I don't believe it, we're in."
     "Okay, okay, load that thing up and let's go," Mulder said.
     David entered a few commands and soon the virus was
being uploaded into the system.

     "Sir, they're uploading the virus," a technician announced.
     "Eagle One, the package is being delivered."
     "Roger. Waiting for confirmation."

     A beep came from the computer. "Upload complete."
     "It's done," David said. "All we can do is wait."
     "Anything else?" Mulder asked.
     "Pray."

     "The package is complete. Fire when ready."
     "Roger." In the cockpit of his plane, Whitmore took careful
aim and fired a single missile at the craft. All eyes and ears were
open, waiting to see what happened. Instead of detonating on a
shield a hundred yards away, the missile streaked in and exploded a
section of the craft. "It's a hit! I repeat, target is hit!"
     The war room let out a cheer. "All pilots, fire at will!" Gray
ordered.
     A barrage of missiles streaked out, blasting sperate sections
of the craft. Before another attack could be launched, a swarm of
attackers zoomed out of the craft, firing.
     "Evasive maneuvers! Squadron leaders, evasive
maneuvers!" Whitmore yelled. In seconds a hundred sperate
dogfights broke out. The alien attackers were quicker, more
maneuverable and their lasers caused massive damage. However,
they had relied too long on their shields for protection. Once they
realized how vulnerable they were to missiles and flak, the battle
took on a new ferocity.

     Back on the mother ship, the three men received the signal
that the battle was underway. "Okay, job's done, let's go home,"
David urged.
     "With pleasure," Steve said, gripping the controls. He pulled
them back, only to feel the ship shake around him. He tried again
and again met resistance. The clamp on the fin was tight and
unrelenting. "What is it, what's the problem?" Mulder asked.
     "We're stuck, man, that's the problem. Those sons-of-bitches have
us locked down tight!" Suddenly the doors over the
windows began to open. "Hey, man, what the hell are you doing?"
he demanded, glaring at David.
     David was frantically pounding on his computer. "It's not
me, they're overriding the system!" He looked up at the opening
doors. "Uh, suggestions?"
     "Hide?" Mulder said.
     "Good suggestion, I like it." Immediately, the three
unlocked their belts and dived to the ground. They lay there for a
few minutes, not moving.
     "Think they're out there?" Mulder said.
     "Why don't you look?" David asked.
     "Why should I look? This is your plan, remember?"
     "Yeah, but you're FBI. You're supposed to do
investigating."
     "Yeah, well he's military," Mulder said, hiking a thumb at
Steve. "He should reconnoiter the position or something."
     Both men looked at Steve. "Ah, shit," Steve muttered. He
got up to his knees and slowly peeked over the hull. The first thing
he saw was a control booth a few feet away, filled with a dozen
aliens. There was an attacker floating on each side and above their
ship. Steve immediately ducked back down. "We're surrounded by
aliens!"
     "Are you sure?" Mulder asked.
     "Yeah, man, I'm sure! There's about thirty of them out
there!"   "Did they see you?"
     "Yeah, they saw me!"
     "Then, why are still hiding?" Mulder got up and sat back
into his chair, staring right back at the aliens. David and Steve
followed suit. "Checkmate," David said.

     A group of fighters broke off from the dogfight and flew
directly at Area 51. Connie, Scully and Mitchell were helping
evacuate the last group of civilians when the attackers came in,
firing as they flew overhead. Trailers, trucks and cars began
exploding and flipping in mid-air, fire trailing everywhere. The
survivors broke off in a run towards the hanger as the attack
continued. Scully, Connie and Mitchell hurried the last ones in as
the hanger began collapsing.
     The refugees were huddled inside the main lab as the
ground rumbled from the explosions. Julius had gathered several of
the children in a circle and was leading them in prayer. "Join us," he
said to a man who looked lost.
     Nimziki sat down. His left eye had swelled closed. "I'm not
Jewish," he told Julius.
     Julius smiled. "No one's perfect."
     Above, the fight continued. It was unabridged chaos,
fighters zipping everywhere, lasers and missiles cris-crossing. Most
of the fight took place underneath the ship, although a few
dogfights took place above. Even though it had been hit with
dozens of missiles, the destroyer was still moving in on Area 51.
     "It's no good, we just aren't doing enough damage," Skinner
pointed out. "It's settling right over us."
     The ship halted its momentum, the center coming apart as it
opened to reveal the cannon.
     "They're preparing to fire their primary weapon," Gray
communicated to the flight.
     "Then let's take it out before it takes us out," Whitmore
announced. He threw his plane into a tight turn and fired his last
missile. It flew towards the bottom of the ship and raced toward the
cannon, only to impact on one of the petals moving downward.
     "Sir, all weapons have been fired," a technician gravely
announced.
     "You're out of time, get your ass out of there!" Gray yelled.
     "We're not done yet!" Whitmore shot back.
     "Move it now! That's an order!"
     "Doesn't anyone have any missiles left?"
     "Sorry, I'm late, Mr. President!" Breaking through the
clouds of smoke was a relatively unscathed F-15. "I kind of got
hung up back there!"
     "Pilot, you armed?"
     "Armed and ready, sir. I'm packing."
     In the control room, everyone was in panicked confusion.
"Who is this guy?" Skinner said.
     "Put him on speaker," Gray ordered.
     Mitchell flipped on the speaker. "Pilot, identify yourself."
     "It's me, sir, Rusell Casse! I told you I wouldn't let you
down! Just keep these guys off me for a few seconds."
     "Okay, Eagles 12, 15 and 22, take flanking positions, keep
this guy covered," Skinner yelled.
     "All right, boys, let's give Mr. Casse his chance!" Whitmore
said as two wingmen pulled next to him. "Gentlemen, let's *plow
the road*!" The three fighters began firing flak, laying down a rain
of fire that shredded every attacker that got in its way. Casse took
advantage of the cover fire, zooming towards the center of the
craft. "I've got tone. I've got lock. Eagle seven, fox two." He pulled
the trigger only to be greeted by a sparking sound. "Eagle seven,
fox two!" Nothing. "It's jammed. It won't fire!"
     The wave of disappointment in the war room was numbing.
     Russell looked at the ship, then at the photo of his children
placed on the console. He knew what he had to do. "Do me a
favor," he said softly. "Tell my children that I love them very
much."
     A young man who had been hanging around in the back of
the war room rushed forward. "Dad, what are you doing?" he
yelled.
     "Mugiel? This is something I've got to do, son. Besides, you
were always better at taking care of them than I was, anyway."
With that, Russell tore off his mask and threw his plane into a steep
dive. "All right, you alien assholes! In the words of my generation,
UP YOOOOURS!"
     "Good luck, buddy," Whitmore said as Russell's plane
rocketed towards the cannon.
     "Come on, baby! Come on!" Russell had the plane in a steep
dive, aimed at the cannon. The glow of the energy beam firing up
filled the cockpit. Russell had waited ten long years for this
opportunity. The fact that he had to die for it suddenly seemed
insignificant. "Hello, boys! I'M BAAAAACK!"
     Russell's jet, with its fully armed missile, hit the very center
of the cannon. Instantly, the cannon erupted into flame in an
explosion that filled the entire center of the craft. Slowly, fires
began spreading along the ship. Then, the ship began exploding,
flames bursting out everywhere. It seemed to come apart at the
seams, whole sections falling in flames to the ground as it began
sliding out of control.
     "He did it! The son of a bitch actually did it!" Whitmore
screamed as he led the fighters away from the hastily self-destructing
saucer.
     The war room erupted into cheers, as the officers and
technicians celebrated with the elation that only comes from being
rescued from the jaws of death. They cheered louder when a tremor
indicated the ship had crashed into the mountains. The only person
not cheering was Miguel, who looked at his feet, not believing what
had just happened. Skinner put an arm on his shoulder. "What your
father did was very brave. Thanks to his sacrifice, we've got a
chance to win. You should be proud."
     Miguel smiled. "I am. I just wish I could have told him."
     Gray immediately started giving orders. "Get on the horn to
every squadron around the world," he told the communications
desk. "Tell them exactly how to bring these sons-of-bitches down."

     Back on the mother ship, Steve, David and Mulder were
considering their options.
     "Well, we almost got away with it," Steve said as he pulled
out his cigar and lighter.
     "Funny, I always thought things like this would kill me,"
David said.
     "Well, between dying in space and cancer, I'll take space,"
Mulder said as he lighted up.
     "Hey, it's been a pleasure, man," Steve said.
     "You two," David replied as he shook his hand.
     "What am I, chopped liver?" Mulder asked.
     "Hey, sorry you got yourself into this," David said.
     "No problem. I didn't have any other plans for the evening,
anyway."
     "Well, guess we might as well nuke 'em and call it a day.
Ready?" Steve asked.
     The other two nodded. David fired up his program for one
last tease, Steve made sure the launcher was ready and Mulder
picked up the box. The three of them began waving at the confused
aliens. "Hey, how's it going? How you doing? Look at the
earthlings. Love ya! Take care. Don't forget to write."
     "Think they have any idea what's about to happen?" Steve
said.     David shook his head. "Not a chance in hell. Bye."
     Steve lifted up two fingers. "Peace!"
     In every screen in the entire mother ship, a picture of a
laughing Jolly Roger suddenly filled the monitor.
     Mulder held his finger over the launch button. "This is for
Sam," he intoned as he pushed the button. The missile streaked out
of the launcher and headed straight for the control booth. It
smashed right through it, knocking the aliens aside and continued
forward until it rammed into one of the main computer centers.
     Instantly, the clamp holding the ship released. "We're
loose!" David cried. "Can you get us out of here in thirty seconds?"
     "I don't hear no Fat Lady!" Steve yelled as he gripped the
controls.
     "Forget about the Fat Lady, you're obsessed with the Fat
Lady," David said as he buckled up.
     "You know, that might point to a slight fetish in your
subconscious--" Mulder began.
     "Save the psychobullshit and let me fly!" Steve yelled. He
banked the ship away and sent it full speed back the way they came.
A laser burst suddenly flashed past them. Mulder turned to a screen
and saw three attackers following them. "They're chasing us!"
     "Oh, really, you think?" Steve said sarcastically. He threw
the ship into wild turns and dips, pulling out all the stops to elude
the fighters.
     "We're hit!" David cried when an explosion came by the
window. "We're hit! They've got us!"
     "We're not hit! We're not hit! Stop side-seat driving!"
     "Uh, Steve, could we possibly go a little faster?"
     "I go any faster, Fox, we're going to go back in time!"
     "Look, look, look, doorway, doorway, exit, exit, exit."
     "Where the hell do you think I'm going?"
     "Okay, okay you-you're the man."
     The attacker streaked down the tunnel leading towards the
doorway. A dozen landing vehicles were also heading towards it.
The attacker zipped past them, their pursuers firing as they
followed. Ahead, the massive doorway was beginning to grow
smaller.
     "Shit, they're closing, hurry up!" Mulder yelled.
     "Shut up and let me fly!"
     "Must go faster, must go faster, must go faster..." David
was repeating to himself.
     "Go, gogogogogogogogo!"
     Steve screamed as they approached the doors. With barely a
foot to spare on either side, the ship zipped out into space. Their
pursuers were unable to pull back in time and crashed against the
doorways.
     "YES! Elvis has left the building!" Steve screamed.
     "Thank you very much," Mulder said in the worst Elvis
impression Steve had ever heard.
     "I love you man, I do," David said.
     They had gotten a mile away when the nuke detonated. The
flash of light filled the darkness for miles. The damage was far
greater than they had surmised it would be. The entire mother ship
was completely disintegrated, blasted in millions of fragments. A
slow rumble filled the ship as a massive wave of debris came
rocketing towards them. Before any of them knew what was
happening, the ship was caught in the shockwave and thrown
wildly.

     Skinner was the first to lead the rush of soldiers and
technicians out of Area 51. The tarmac was covered with the
wreckage of vehicles and buildings, but there was still enough room
for the planes to land. Fittingly, Whitmore was first and the crew
broke into cheers at the sight of him. Soon, Whitmore and his
fellow survivors, notably his wingman Pig, entered the lab. The
crowd of refugees erupted into grateful applause at their leader and
the pilots that had saved their lives. There were reunions, perhaps
none so touching as the one between Whitmore and his daughter.
     Whitmore endured another round of cheers when he
stepped into the war room. Gray proudly saluted his old student.
"They're falling down all around the world, Tom. Fifteen confirmed
knock-downs. We've got them beat."
     "And our delivery boys?"
     There was a moment of silence punctuated by the
appearance of Connie, Scully and Jasmine.
     Skinner sighed. "After the mother ship was destroyed, we
lost contact with them. Odds are they didn't make it."
     Before Whitmore could offer his condolences to the
women, a technician spoke up. "Sir, we've got something coming
in!"

     A half-hour later, a jeep carrying Whitmore, Gray, Skinner,
Mitchell, Julius, Jasmine, Connie, Scully, Dylan and Patricia
thundered across the desert. A smoking wreckage that was once a
ship caught their attention. But more so the three figures walking
away from it.
     "I don't believe it," Skinner muttered. "I just do not believe
it at all."
     Their clothing blackened and torn, sunglasses on, a cigar in
their mouths and walking with a swagger that suggested they did
this every day, David Levinson, Steve Hiller and Fox Mulder calmly
walked towards the oncoming jeeps. The instant the jeep stopped,
Connie, Jasmine and Scully leapt out and raced into the arms of
their respective better halfs.
     As Mulder held her, Scully gave a cry of joy. "Don't ever
frighten me like that, again, you got that?"
     "I won't, I won't." Mulder pulled off his glasses. "You
know, it just occurred to me. I'm the only guy who went up there
who isn't married."
     "If that's a proposal, the answer is yes."
     "Agent Mulder," Skinner came up. It was the first time
Mulder and Scully had ever seen their boss grinning. "Good job,
Mulder. Damn good."
     "Thank you, sir."
     "My friends call me Walter. But you can still call me sir."
     "You know, sir, I do have some vacation time coming,
so..."
     "Have it. On one condition."
     "What's that?"
     "I get to give the bride away."
     "I'd be honored."
     Everyone's attention was caught by a series of flames across
the sky. The remains of the mother ship were burning up in Earth's
atmosphere, creating a mid-day show of shooting stars.
     Steve looked at Dylan and smiled. "Didn't I promise you'd
see some fireworks?"