MISPRISION

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.

Chapter Three

Skinner entered his office to a familiar and hated smell. He groaned inwardly. Damn the man. Of late he'd been aware that the regular annoyance of this man's presence in his office had become more of a rarity than it had been when he'd first had the agents responsible for the X-files assigned to him. Another thing that should have alerted him to the fact that things were not quite as they seemed in the world of the consortium. When Spender had been worried that things were getting out of hand, when he'd come to Skinner in the past, it had always been a sign that they, Mulder, Scully and to a lesser extent he himself, might be getting close - too close for Spender's comfort at least, it was just that they had never known quite what it was they might be too close to.

He'd been free of visitations from the malignant manifestation in his office for some months now, and had begun to hope that the man had met with a serious accident and gone the way of those who had met their end in the inferno. No such luck it seemed, though the fact that he was now in a motorised wheelchair and had resorted to smoking his beastly cigarettes through a tube in his neck did not escape him, and the sight pleased him more than he could say. The thought that the old man was also vulnerable to the ravages of disease, age and accident was comforting at least.

"To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company?" He said, snarling. He was feeling far too tired to deal with this man's machiavellian machinations now, but it appeared he had little choice.

"Why Assistant Director, anyone would think that you weren't pleased to see me."

The dry rasping voice grated on his eardrums. Spender's smirk did little to reduce the tension in the room. Skinner grimaced, he was damned if he was going to play diplomat with this loathsome relic.

"I'm not in the mood to play games tonight Spender, so say your piece and leave. Better still you could just leave now without bothering me further."

"I'm sure you'd like that," Spender replied, "but then you'd wish I had stayed and shared what I know with you."

"What you know!" Skinner blasted. "You've never been straight enough in the past to actually share any real information with me. Orders, instructions, threats, those you are good at - information on the other hand, well in that department if you'll excuse the expression, you suck!"

"My my, Assistant Director, so violent a temper! I am shocked, and surprised that you have lasted this long in your position with so little tact at your command."

"If you mean I'm not prepared to kiss ass anymore just to keep my job, then you'd be correct. I, however, deem this to be an admirable quality rather than a character flaw. Now, unless there was something else?"

He gestured towards the door, indicating that he wished the man to leave.

"Such impatience. Aren't you the least bit curious to know what prompted the bizarre circumstances surrounding the birth of Agent Scully's child?"

"I've seen all I want to of the bizarre events thank you. Of course I'd like to know what prompted them but I have no reason to believe you'll actually tell me the truth about that, or anything else of any use." Skinner said tersely. "As I said, I'm not in the mood for cryptic clues, either tell me what you came to say or leave."

"Very well," Spender said, "but before I go I want you to know this. I've always seen you as a worthy adversary. I look forward to our continued association, and we will be seeing each other again - you can count on it."

So saying he turned his wheelchair towards the door. Before he exited, however, he looked back at Skinner.

"You really should take every step to ensure that the investigation into Zeus Genetics is kept strictly within limits. It would be a shame if anything untoward were to occur to anyone involved. I'm sure we are all relieved that Agent Scully gave birth safely. I pass on my sincere best wishes that the child's health continues to be the most robust."

So saying he left.

Skinner sagged and slumped exhaustedly into his chair. He was really tired of the veiled threats and insinuations emanating from that cigarette smoking bastard. He pulled out his cell phone, not trusting his office line to be secure, and was about to dial Doggett's number when the instrument chirped. Hitting the button to accept the call he held it to his ear.

"Hello." He said, tentatively.

"Walter, it's Conrad." The voice on the line said. "I'm puzzled here, you said this man was shot this evening and that he was about thirty seven years old."

"That's right." Skinner said " Why? What's wrong?"

"Well he is certainly dead, but when I began to open him up to start on that thorough check you asked for there were some anomalies. There's some severe necrosis of internal organs that indicates, or would seem to indicate, a far greater age than that of a man in his thirties. Also, given the time of death I would have expected rigor to have begun to set in at least a couple of hours ago. However the body is still warm, core temperature is 31.6 degrees Celsius, which is again not in keeping with the time of death. There is no discolouration of the body, no cyanosis, the limbs are still pliant and the capillary refill function is unimpaired. In short, despite the fact that this man is to all intents and purposes dead his body is reacting as if it were merely in repose. It's a huge puzzle and I don't know what to make of it. Frankly it's giving me the creeps and that's saying something."

Walter sighed deeply, his friend, Conrad Borrachio, had been his best buddy since their time in basic training in the Marine Corps. He'd stayed in the Corps after Vietnam, unlike Walter, completing his medical training - working his way up the ranks and going on to become head of medical staff at the Office for Naval Research. Like Dana Scully, he was qualified to practice general medicine but preferred working in forensic science and research to the rigours of hospital life. If Conrad said there were anomalies with 'Krycek's' body then it merely served to further fuel his worst suspicions.

"I'll give you one piece of advice Conrad. Secure the body any way you can, and don't stay alone in the building with it. I'll get someone to assist you in guarding it until you finish your investigations. You will continue to look at this for me won't you?"

He was suddenly anxious that he was putting too much on his friendship with this man, and that he might decide that this was too freaky and likely to cause too much of a problem to continue with the search Walter had set him on.

"No need to worry Walter, I may be freaked, I don't mind admitting it, but I am too intrigued to stop now. As for the precautions. If you say they are necessary then I'll take your word for it. What exactly is it that you think I should do?"

"Take the highest precautions you can, treat him as if he were the most dangerous mental patient, out of control, psychotic, a danger to life and limb, you know the kind of thing."

"Shit Walter, you sure know how to brighten my day." Conrad sighed. "If you say so buddy, though it seems a lot of bother to go to for a dead man. Now if I may make a suggestion, you sound exhausted. When I saw you here earlier you looked like shit. Go home and get some rest Marine. I'll call you again in the morning. If you want to send the help over asap I'd appreciate it."

Walter closed his eyes against the renewed throbbing in his head. He did need to go home, he also needed a shower and some sleep but he couldn't actually see himself relaxing enough to get any. For now though he'd at least make the effort, after ensuring Conrad had his protection and that all his 'chicks' were roosting safely.

"Ok Conrad, but I am serious about that security, make sure you use the highest level of restraint on that body. I'll get my Agent or Agents to you within the half hour."

I'm on it Walter," Conrad said, "No go home."

"Roger that." Walter said, and he hung up the phone before beginning the first of a round of calls to get the guarding of 'Krycek' under way. Life, it seemed, was not about to get less bizarre anytime soon.

He awoke again to semi-darkness, and to excruciating pain. Nothing new there but the man working on introducing something into his body by means of a hypodermic syringe was new. He was pale haired, almost albino in appearance, yes there was definitely a hint of pink about those eyes above the surgical mask. He was tall and rangy looking, and was paying his 'patient' no attention, as if what happened to the man strapped to the table was supremely unimportant to him.

Licking his lips and trying to get some saliva into his mouth Alex watched in horror as the needle plunged into his chest. He managed to find his voice this time and, though he knew that questions might be met with violence or - if he were luckier than he had any right to be - complete and indifferent silence, he had to ask.

"What," he paused, as if appalled at the fact that he'd had the temerity to speak at all, "what are you giving me?" His voice was harsh to his own ears, even more husky than usual - from prolonged bouts of screaming, his throat painful and dry.

"Dexamethazone, 8mg. Standard dose," was the brisk response, "The old man doesn't want you fading out on us before things get interesting."

"So if he doesn't want me dead what does he want?" Alex asked, almost cockily.

He couldn't help himself it seemed. Having begin to talk his mouth was running away with him. he almost cringed as he heard his smart mouth take over

"I'm sure when he feels the time is right he'll tell you for himself. No why don't you be a good boy and just lie still and let the programme continue." The pale haired man replied.

"Oh yeah sure, like I'm really going anywhere." Was the swift unthinking response.

The man leaned down and stared at him as if he were a bug on a pin. Grabbing Alex's chin in his hand he tightened his grip.

"You won't be so cocksure of yourself before long boy, and remember, if you don't give the old man what he wants he can always get her in here to take your place."

Giving Alex's head a shake he let go and turned on his heel and left, the airlock making its sucking sound as Alex was once again left alone. He drew in a deep breath, the pain in his chest was lessening since the injection, but his action merely served to aggravate his cough. The bout lasted so long he thought he would pass out again from the choking, restrictive feeling in his chest and throat, finally it subsided leaving him breathless, covered in a sheen of sweat and shaking.

When he managed to get his breathing under control again he thought back with dismay over this recent encounter with Spender's latest medical turncoat. Somehow the colourless man scared him more than Spender and he felt sure the rest of the 'programme' was going to be one of the worst experiences of his entire life, and that was certainly saying something. Sighing, he tried to clear his mind of everything but the fact that he was currently still living and almost in one piece, if you didn't count the lack of a left arm. Somehow it wasn't reassuring in the least.

Chapter Four

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