Rated G.

Summary: Mary Sue & Co. rescue Krycek from the silo.
Follows "Apocrypha."

Disclaimer: The X-Files belong to Chris Carter and 1013.
No infringement intended.

* * *
 
 

Black Crow, North Dakota
Sunday, February 18, 1996

     We pulled up in front of the silo a little before noon. The sun was
high and bright and the air was cool. Merry and I got out of the car
slowly, stretching, carefully checking the perimeter. It looked good: no
sign of anyone else around. The only other car tracks there were several
days old. Looked like our informant had been correct.
     Merry lowered her assault rifle and nodded once. Her eyes were hidden
behind the mirrored sunglasses, but I could read the satisfaction in the
set of her mouth, and the ever-so-slight release of tension in her
shoulders. It looked good to her, too.
     I returned the nod. It wasn't necessary to speak; we both knew exactly
what we were going to do. And the hills have ears, as well as eyes. Just
make this a quick, quiet smash-and-grab and be on our way.
     We approached the door of the silo together. The lock had already been
smashed and no one had bothered to replace it. Why should they? Their
treasure had been locked safely away, eight stories down. We entered the
silo silently and stood for a moment, listening carefully for sounds of any
other occupants. Guards that might have been left, or explorers, or aliens,
or whatever. Nothing. Not even a rat. I smiled to myself at that. There was
=one= rat, anyway -- that was why we'd come.
     I handed Merry one of the pairs of night-vision goggles, and put on the
other myself. No million-watt Xenon flashlights for us, to advertise our
presence to anyone who might be within visual distance. There were small
guide lights high along the walls; they would be enough. We exchanged
another nod and headed off to the right, to where our source said the
elevators would be. It would be a long ride down.

     The sign on the blast door read "1013." As before, we checked the area
thoroughly before going up to the door and peering in through the small
window. There were guide lights on the walls, but not bright enough to
illuminate the area. We could make out the outlines of the UFO, but there
was no sign of our "rat." That didn't mean anything. I took a step back
from the window and began to turn the wheel to release the door. It turned
silently, easily -- the silo's interior had been well-maintained. The door
pulled open just as silently.

     He was lying curled up on his side, on the floor just inside the door.
He stirred as the door opened, pushing himself up onto his hands and
looking up at us, blinking and squinting in the sudden light from the outer
corridor. Backlit and terrible in our night-vision goggles, with assault
rifles and other equipment hanging from our shoulders, I'm sure we looked
like more aliens to him. I pulled the goggles off, grinning. "We're here to
rescue you," I said. <Aren't you a little short for a storm trooper?> the
response played out in my head. I tried not to grin like an idiot. That
wasn't likely to be very reassuring.
     He didn't seem inclined to question it. Slowly, he got to his feet and
stood before us. He didn't take his eyes off us for a second. His hands
were loose at his sides, but clearly poised to clench. He was trying very
hard to stand combat-ready, but it was costing him. He looked like shit --
wavering slightly on his feet despite his best efforts to stay steady;
reddened eyes crusted with oily residue; at least a week's worth of
stubble, grimy with oil. Nothing too serious, though. Nothing some food and
a bath and a good night's sleep wouldn't handle.
     Merry handed him the water bottle. He took it eagerly, but paused a
moment, running his tongue over his lips, and spoke before lifting it to
his mouth. "Who sent you?"
     "Let's just say, your enemies have enemies." I tried to make my smile
as friendly as possible. Not an easy thing to do with an assault rifle
under your arm. And adrenaline always puts a little too much teeth into it.
     But he just nodded and drank from the bottle. "The enemy of my enemy is
my friend."
     "Exactly."
     He took a deep breath, blinked once, and nodded again. "Good enough for
me."
     "Good. Let's get out of here."

     He pushed some of the empty bags and drink cans off the back seat and
settled in with a cocky grin that was only slightly shaky. "I'd apologize
for getting oil on the seat, but it doesn't look like you could tell the
difference."
     Merry and I grinned at each other. Yeah, he'd be okay.

     We drove him as far as Minneapolis. He spent most of the trip dozing in
the back seat, or devouring what was left of our trip rations. He didn't
say much, but that didn't matter. We didn't want to make him nervous with
questions, and we knew everything we needed to know, anyway.
     We dropped him off at a cheap hotel near the airport. I handed him a
wallet with two thousand dollars and a fake passport. "It's not much, but
it'll get you started on your way."
     He looked at the name on the passport and groaned. "Carter Fox?"
     I grinned at him. "It could have been worse."
     He sobered. "Yeah. It could have been a lot worse." He tucked the
wallet into his jacket pocket. Then he held out his hand to shake. "Thanks.
I owe you."
     Merry and I shook his hand. "You may be called upon to repay that debt
some day. But don't worry about it. It won't be anything you won't want to
do."
     He nodded. "I'll be glad to do it."

     Every once in a while the job goes well. Quick in and out, no
surprises, no one gets hurt. And you get to go home at night and feel good
about what you did. Not often, but every once in a while.
     This was one of the good ones.

end.
--
Cody <codyne@netwizards.net>