Free Fight the Future by Chris Carter Page A

Well-Manicured Man's mouth grew taut. "Into what?"
    "A new extraterrestrial biological entity."
    A moment while the men took this in. The Well-Manicured Man stared at Strughold in disbelief. "My god…"
    Strughold nodded. "The geometry of mass infection presents certain conceptual reevalua-tions for us.
    About our place in their Colonization…"
    "This isn't about Colonization!" the Well-
    Manicured Man exploded. "It's spontaneous repopulation! All our work…"
    His voice trailed off, and he turned to gaze at the men around him. "If it's true, then they've been using us all along. We've been laboring under a lie!"
    "It could be an isolated case," one of the others offered.
    "How can we knowV
    Strughold's voice rang out calmly as others joined in. "We're going to tell them what we've found.
    What we've learned. By turning over a body infected with the gestating organism."
    "In hope of what' ! Learning that it's true?" The Well-Manicured Man stared furiously at Strughold.
    "That we are nothing more than digestives for the creation of a new race of alien life forms!"
    "Let me remind you who is the new race. And who is the old," Strughold responded coolly. "What would be gained by withholding anything from them? By pretending ignorance? If this signals that Colonization has already begun, then our knowledge may forestall it."
    "And if it doesn't?" retorted the Well-Manicured Man. "By cooperating now we're but beggars to our own demise! Our ignorance lay in cooperating with the Colonists at all."
    Strughold shrugged. "Cooperation is our only chance of saving ourselves."
    Beside him the Cigarette-Smoking Man nodded. "They still need us to carry out their preparations."
    "We'll continue to use them as they do us," said Strughold. "If only to play for more time. To continue work on our vaccine."
    "Our vaccine may have no effect!" cried the Well-Manicured Man.
    "Well, without a cure for the virus, we're nothing more than digestives anyway."
    All eyes turned to see how the Well-Manicured Man would react to this. He was well respected by the members of the Syndicate. If his was now the lone voice crying in the wilderness, they would still hear him out.
    "My lateness might as well have been absence," he said in barely restrained fury. "A course has already been taken."
    Strughold gestured at the TV and the Cigarette-Smoking Man pointed a remote at the monitor. The tape froze. The Well-Manicured
    Man glanced at the screen to see a hospital cor-ridor, where Mulder and Scully were talking with a young naval guard. "There are complica' tions."
    "Do they know?"
    "Mulder was in Dallas when we were trying to destroy the evidence," said the Cigarette-Smoking Man. "He's gone back again now. Someone has tipped him off."
    "Who?"
    "Kurtzweil, we think."
    "We've allowed this man his freedoms," interrupted Strughold. "His books have actu-ally helped us to facilitate plausible denial. Has he outlived his usefulness to us?"
    "No one believes Kurtzweil or his books," said the Well-Manicured Man impatiently. "He's toiler. A crank."
    "Mulder believes him," someone else said.
    "Then Kurtzweil must be removed," said the Cigarette-Smoking Man.
    "As must Mulder," pronounced Strughold.
    The Well-Manicured Man shook his head angrily. "Kill Mulder and we risk turning one man's quest into a crusade."
    Strughold turned on him with a look of icy malevolence. "We've discredited Agent Mulder. Taken away his reputation. Who mourns the death of a broken man?"
    The Well-Manicured Man met his gaze with one of challenging disdain. "Mulder is far from broken."
    "Then you must taken away what he holds most valuable," said Strughold. He turned to stare at the monitor, where a woman's face now took up most of the screen. "The one thing in the world that he can't live without."

CHAPTER 9
    BLACKWOOD, TEXAS
    (t T don't know, Mulder…" Scully shook J. her head, squinting into the glaring sunlight. In front of her a children's playground rose from the otherwise barren earth,