Misprision: (pronounced, miss-prizz-ee-on); adjective; Middle English, a mistake, misdirection or a misunderstanding, deliberate concealment or deflection in the release of information - from Old French 'mesprendre' to mistake, ... was still in common usage in 16th century England.
Emily Dickinson
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant---
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightening to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind---
Chapter Twelve
Milton Graaf proved no more help than Spender when Mulder and Skinner tried their interrogation techniques on him. The look on his face though was priceless when they told him that they could actually manage to piece together the answers just fine without his help, that all they were trying to do was offering him a chance to redeem himself. Graaf's demeanour changed from aloof arrogance to horrified, especially when Mulder hinted in a lightly veiled manner at what might await Graaf in prison, but he still refused to help them in any way. Clearly, no matter how horrified he was at being exposed for his work, nothing could induce him to turn on Spender and his allies. Disgustedly they left Graaf cuffed to the chair and locked in.
Mulder decided to check in on the guard they'd left in the CCTV control room whilst Skinner returned to the room where they had first found Krycek. Skinner looked around in distaste at the accoutrements of torture. He remembered the smell of burning flesh that had hit him as they'd entered this room. He didn't think he would ever forget the revulsion of seeing Krycek in the full rictus of orgasm caused solely by the electric shocks to his body. The agony on Krycek's face had made him squirm. It had been so reminiscent of the agony he'd felt when the nanocytes were activated. He looked at the small desk in the corner of the chamber. There was a large desk diary there with written entries cataloguing tests and 'medication' administered to 'subject K2'. Each day was full of meticulous notes on the 'subject's' reaction to certain chemical and physical stimuli. The tone of the observations was far from the dry clinical objectivity one would expect from scientific records. Graaf's gleeful joy at the way his test subject responded to 'treatment' shone through in every word. Skinner felt sick.
Turning to the first entry date he noted that it was exactly one week after Mulder and he had gone to Oregon. Was it possible that Krycek had been here all that time? Checking through each dated entry he concluded that his erstwhile agent had indeed been held in this facility for just about eight months.
His face grew dark with anger as he came across entries cataloguing a list almost as long as his arm of disease pathogens which had been given to Krycek. No matter how much he had disliked Krycek's behaviour over the past years nothing could ever convince him that the man deserved any of this, and what fuelled his anger further was the fact that never once in their documentation had Spender and Graaf bothered to refer to Krycek by name. Skinner would not have wished Spender and Graaf's little double act on his worst enemy. He slammed the book shut and put it under one arm. Grabbing the bunch of keys which were also on the desk he took a last look around the chamber before leaving to go back and see how Conrad's treatment of Krycek was coming along.
Mulder entered the room to find the guard awake and struggling with his bonds. He stopped when he saw Mulder who regarded him dispassionately.
"Who the fuck are you?" The guard ground out. "Where the hell did you come from?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Mulder smirked. "Must be getting a little sloppy there pal. I mean, such overconfidence that you turned off all the external monitors. Whatever was Spender thinking of? Did he really think that he was invincible? Or was it more that you really couldn't be bothered to monitor the exterior when there was something more interesting to watch inside?"
The guard's guilty flush told him that this assessment was right on the money.
"So you sick fuck, who did you get your rocks off to? Was it the woman or were you more into the gladiatorial pursuits. You get turned on watching some other bastard getting his nuts toasted is that it? He asked, leaning very close to the restrained man.
"What is it to you?" The guard asked. "You fancy one of them yourself or are you into threesomes? Sure is a fine looking woman, if you like that sort of thing. Maybe if you asked her real nice she'd spread her legs for you. Hoity toity bitch. Still she hasn't got laid in a while. I bet you could have her screaming and begging for more, big boy like you." And he licked his lips, lasciviously.
Mulder backhanded the man hard. Anger blazed in his eyes.
"I'll thank you to talk about my sister with a little more respect, though I suppose a bottom feeder like you probably never learned how." He spat.
"Hey man, I didn't mean to disrespect her. She's not my type anyway." The guard said hurriedly.
"Uhuh." Mulder grunted. "So it's the guy who floats your boat then, or is it the action that turns you on?"
"Who says any of them gets me going?" The guard leered. "I mean neither one of them is here with me, how can you think I'd cosy up to either of them?"
"No one said you had to," Mulder replied, "but if you don't want people to know you're in here jerking off, instead of watching out like a good soldier, then you need to clean up after you come and get some air freshener, not to mention turning the air conditioning up."
The guard shook his head.
"Shit! No one ever comes in here but me anymore. I get bored in here. Spender never comes in here and since he got rid of the other guards I have nothing else to do. I'm only human after all."
"So you sit in here and jack off to the sight of Krycek getting his ass busted?" Mulder asked incredulously.
"Hey, each to his own. I mean lots of guys jerk off to porno tapes - this is the nearest thing I've got - and the guy has a great ass. Besides, he's been top whore around here for longer than I've been around, and that's a long time. Anyhow, there's nothing I can do about him getting his assets busted by Graaf and Spender. The guy always though he was so superior to us mere guards, so now I get to watch him get his and I make the most of the entertainment. You telling me you're any better?" The guard said defiantly
Mulder looked at the man as if he was some kind of repulsive reptile.
"I may jerk off to porno tapes, but even if a man was my mortal enemy I wouldn't find the sight of him being tortured a turn on." he said. "I guess some of us just have more heightened sensibilities that others."
"Huh," the guard responded, "we'll see. So anyway you didn't come in here to chew the fat, what did you want?"
'I was just curious to see what kind of a guy takes a job like this," Mulder sneered, "and now I know."
"That's it?" The guard said, incredulously.
"Well, that and a little matter of checking out the lay of the land. That door there obviously leads through to the place you store your security tapes." Mulder said indicating a door in the corner of the room.
"Since you've worked it all out you don't need me to help you." The guard said. 'I'm not anybody you want, you could just let me go."
"What, and let you miss all the fun?" Mulder said. "I couldn't possibly deprive you of that." Mulder said as he checked the bonds that held the guard were still firm, satisfied that the man was going nowhere he opened the connecting door and entered the room beyond.
He'd expected a few shelves of tapes, but not the vast array that were on display here. There were taping machines whirring away. Mulder went to the machines and stopped them. Extracting the tapes from within he noted that each one was clearly labelled with its location and dated. He noted also that each tape was larger than normal and was geared to record for up to forty eight hours of activity. Knowing that there was evidence on them that Conrad would need, he grabbed them all and then turned his attention to the shelving units. Each rack went from floor to ceiling and was neatly labelled with the room number and date. One set of shelves, amounting to twelve stacks in all, were labelled 'K 1 & 2'. The tapes were dated from October 1964 to the present day and were neatly stacked in order. At the end of the last stack was a date book with indexed information about each of the tapes. From this book he gathered that the K2 referred to was one Alexander Krycek whilst K1 was Nicholas Krycek. There were tapes dealing with both subject together and then separate tapes for each.
Mulder was stunned. He'd always assumed that Krycek had been recruited by the consortium either at Quantico or shortly after his graduation from there. Now it seemed there was proof of his involvement from much earlier. Evidence, it would seem, that the consortium and Krycek had a lifelong involvement. The fact that the consortium had records of Krycek dating from before his official date of birth gave him pause at first. Was it possible that Krycek was older than his FBI file had stated? It didn't make an sense. The consortium took better care to ensure their operatives weren't caught out in such facile lies. There was, however, precisely forty weeks between the first entry in the archive and Krycek's officially recorded date of birth. That would seem to indicate that there was consortium involvement in Krycek's life from his conception to the present day.
Over the years he'd learned that the consortium's attitude to the sanctity of human life was somewhat cavalier, to say the least. The clones, Emily, the facilities where elderly men and women had been used to test the vaccine against the black oil, the alien bodies in the box car in the dessert in New Mexico - not to mention the vast numbers of alien foetuses in the offices of Zeus Genetics - all of these examples served to reinforce the consortium's perfidious amorality. It would not be out of keeping with their other activities therefore, to have deliberately bred Krycek or rather 'K1 & 2', for their own nefarious reasons. He could imagine only too well, the cold and impersonal way in which the two Krycek's had been raised. For the first time ever he felt pity towards his ex partner.
Alex could not tell at first if he was awake or dreaming. He felt inordinately heavy, as if someone had weighted each limb. Perversely, he also felt as though each part of his body was floating free of the rest, totally independent of each other and out of his control. He felt completely strung out. His muscles ached and trembled with fatigue as though he'd been giving them a thorough work out. Gradually he became aware of sounds around him and of a bright light shining in his eyes. His head felt fuzzy and hot, it throbbed slightly and he began to feel queasy again. Then, like a diver finally surfacing, he felt reality rapidly reassert itself.
Pain. That was the one sensation he was acutely aware of. It seemed that no part of his body was free from it. He began to struggle to move, still feeling as if he was weighed down. His head finally lifted from the pillow and all at once his vision blurred. Swallowing heavily, and with is heart beating a tattoo within his chest he closed his eyes briefly as he let his head settle back again. Carefully he opened his eyes once more and regarded his surroundings.
He was still in the room they'd moved him to after taking him out of the chamber. The sandy haired man was examining a thermometer. As he heard Alex move, and caught the change in his breathing, he turned his head a concerned gaze in Alex's direction. Alex was struck by the fact that this man seemed to be really worried about him. It did not seem to fit with his previous assessment of the situation. Yet he had a vague recollection of this man cold-cocking Graaf and cutting the electric current that had been coursing through him.
He tried to speak, but found that his voice was harsh and rasping so that all he managed to produce was a hoarse and painful sounding cough. This made his chest and stomach muscles cramp and produced a fiery pain in his abdomen. His eyes widened at the red hot sensation and he gurgled in a sick parody of a scream. Sweat covered his body and his breathing became quick and shallow as he panted in an attempt to get some measure of control over the agony that threatened to overwhelm him.
A cool hand was placed gently on his forehead, grounding and soothing him.
"Easy Alex. Don't try to move too much. You have some serious injuries and I'm sure that they are extremely painful. Unfortunately at the moment I daren't increase the level of painkillers in your IV because I'm still not entirely sure what other chemicals might be floating about in your bloodstream. As soon as I can I'll do my best to make you more comfortable OK?" The sandy haired man said.
Alex nodded, slowly and carefully to avoid restarting the cycle of pain. He looked at the man who was leaning over him. His brow wrinkle in confusion as he tried to remember the man's name, and failed.
"Who?....." He managed to croak.
"Shhh! Just rest. My name is Doctor Conrad Borrachio. I am an old friend of Walter Skinner, and I came along here to help him find out what kind of heinous practices were being conducted here. I guess I found out." He said wryly.
"Hmmm." Alex agreed, not really trusting that Skinner was there for any other reason than because Spender wanted him to be. However he was more concerned about Spender himself and what his plans were than about anything else. His confused memories seemed to suggest that he had been rescued but he couldn't quite bring himself to trust in such a thing.
"Spender?"" Alex croaked, grimacing as his throat protested this much use.
"Spender is in our custody," Conrad said, as he watched Alex's face register surprise he continued, " he will not be allowed to harm you again in any way nor will he be allowed near you. Samantha and I are working on repairing the damage that has been done to you." He paused as he saw Alex startled face.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
"Is she OK?" Alex rasped.
"She's just fine." Samantha's voice said as she entered the room, pausing to give Conrad a printout she leant over and gently bussed Alex on the cheek. "More importantly Alex, how are you?" She said standing back to observe him a little.
Alex shrugged as best he was able.
"Mmmmm fine." He managed.
"You are so full of it Alexander," Samantha said, sighing, "but I guess it's not your fault. You were raised that way after all."
Alex glared at her, but gradually his expression changed into a wry, sheepish smile.
"Ummhmm." He agreed mildly.
Conrad moved towards his patient with a glass of ice and water in one hand and a straw in the other.
"Here." He said. " Let's get your throat lubricated and try not to talk. Your throat has been severely strained and damaged. You need to rest is and give it a chance to recover. This should start to reduce any swelling as well as help to restore your body's hydration level."
Alex took the offered straw in his mouth and began to drink gratefully and greedily. His throat felt as though it was lined with sandpaper and the blessed cool liquid filled him with a sense of ecstasy. He almost groaned when Conrad pulled the straw away.
"That's enough for now," Conrad said gently, "you can have some more in a few minutes. If you have too much at once you'll be sick and we definitely don't want that, apart from the unpleasantness it would add to your dehydration."
Alex grimaced at that thought, though he looked longingly at the glass as Conrad put it on the side table.
"I need to talk to you about your wrist." Conrad said. "I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that it is badly broken and some of the bones are beyond repair. Also as the bones have moved they have trapped the major nerves, this compromising them. I need to operate on the wrist in order to restore it to any level of functionality. However, there is still a chance that such an operation will leave the wrist below par. I can tell you though that if I do not operate there is a ninety percent likelihood that you will lose the hand all together, due to nerve death and gangrene." He looked at Alex gravely.
Alex shuddered at the thought and swallowed heavily. He'd adjusted to life with one hand, more or less, over the course of the last year. That did not mean that he found it easy or that there was not one day when he did not, internally, bitterly bemoan his loss. Not to mention the damned phantom pain he suffered in the lower half of the limb, and the actual pain in the stump. To lose the other hand as well was beyond his imagining. The thought filled him with terror. He would no longer be able to live an independent life. To be reduced to the level of invalid was an idea he could not begin to deal with. He never wanted to have to experience it. He took a deep breath and looked Conrad in the eye, appearing outwardly much more calm than he actually was.
"Do it." He managed, in a hoarse whisper.
"I will, the only other thing is - given this list of drugs Samantha has found still circulating in your blood, not to mention some of the other pathogens Graaf had coursing through your system, I can't give you a general anaesthetic when I operate. This toxicology report shows large amounts of muscle relaxants were administered to you over the last seventy two hours and that the amounts of carbon dioxide in your blood indicate that the pressure capability of the chamber you were in must have been used several times recently. So even if they had not used such massive doses of pre operative medication on you, I would not dare to risk a general anaesthetic because of the high risk of inducing Pulmonary Oedema or Embolism."
"Dexamethazone," Alex said croakily, 'Graaf....."
"Graaf gave you Dexamethazone?" Conrad said.
Alex nodded, grateful for the interruption.
"There is a small amount present in your blood still. How many doses did he give you?"
Alex shrugged, he was not certain that he had not been given the drug several times when he was unconscious, but he had no real idea.
"At least one." He husked.
"Well I would have to check his notes to see for certain, but even so I really can't risk the general anaesthetic. So I propose to proceed under local anaesthesia, but that would also mean immobilising you physically with straps, since we can't give you more drugs. I realise that this is a less than ideal scenario, but I do need to operate soon or you will lose your hand." Conrad said.
Some choice, thought Alex. Yet Conrad's tone of voice and body language inspired confidence in him. Alex had never felt any such sense of ease around Doctors before, and he wondered at it now. It could not be denied that he needed his wrist taking care of. It hurt like a son of a bitch and the pain was getting harder to deal with. When it came right down to it, he'd rather let this man lose on his body with surgical instruments than Graaf or Romberg. He shuddered at the memories of what both men had done in the name of medical science to his body. This man had been different, all his actions had been to induce comfort and reduce pain, not to mention the fact that Samantha trusted him. In the end he had no choice but to follow her example and trust Conrad Borrachio too.
"OK," he said," do it."
Conrad sighed with relief.
"Good, I'm glad that's settled. I will need and assistant." He said looking at Samantha.
"Absolutely," she nodded," I'll make sure we have sterile instruments and tell the others to keep away, there is a set of scrubs and some hibitane in the closet there."
Conrad smiled as he looked down at this patient.
"She's some lady." He said
"Mmmm." Alex agreed.
"Ok, I'll get scrubbed up and ready and we can give you some more water and make you comfortable whilst we are waiting." Conrad said.
Alex's heart lurched. Even if this all turned out to be a cruel hoax, he would always be grateful to this man for showing him some care and concern at a time when he desperately needed it. He was horrified to feel his eyes fill with tears, and to feel the lump in his throat, but he was powerless to prevent either one. His eyes shone with gratitude as he accepted the straw from Conrad again.
Conrad recognised the naked emotion in Alex's eyes. The poor bastard is exhausted and strung out, he thought. And no wonder at it. When he'd read the report Samantha had brought back, and realised just how much this man must have been through in the last three days alone, he'd had the urge to grab Graaf by the scruff of the neck and strap him down in the pressure chamber where they'd found him torturing Alex, and leave him there while inducing a vacuum in the chamber. Killing him was a huge temptation for the Marine. He'd been combat trained and tested. He had no qualms about killing an enemy, but he was, when it came down to it, a doctor. He would not kill Graaf, but he would do his best to ensure the man never saw the light of day again.
Some of this must have shown on his face, because Alex's expression began to change from one of exquisite ecstasy to one of anxiety, one might even say terror. He pulled the straw away again and gently stroked Alex's forehead.
"I'm sorry Alex, I was letting my anger run away with me there. I look at what 'Doctor' Graaf has been doing to you and it makes me want to rip his head off. He swore an oath, like me, to do no harm....and yet he allows himself to be used by men like Spender, and actually seems to enjoy it. I can't conceive what inducements could ever have made him betray his calling like this."
Alex nodded in understanding, and sighed a little.
"You will Doc." He rasped. "You will."
end of chapter 12
Many thanks to Ursula for sterling efforts to kill the typo....above and beyond the call of duty. Any mistakes still remaining are definitely my fault and not hers.
Feedback is welcomed at any time
sharonmarais@sam27.demon.co.uk