DARK SUNSET by Mort

Frohike stepped into his office and, seeing the younger man who was sprawled in his chair, he frowned with obvious displeasure.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded coldly. "This is *my* office, that's *my* desk your feet are on and, unless I'm mistaken, that's *my* vodka you're drinking."

"And it's very good," Krycek replied, grinning at the small man unrepentantly. "Not as classy as you used to drink in the old days back in St. Petersburg, but I guess you learned to slum it when you were playing American computer geek."

For a moment, Frohike was thrown by the reference. How long had it been since he'd been home? Eight years. Eight long lonely years since he'd been assigned to the project. Eight years since he'd sold his soul and no matter that he'd sold it for good hard currency, for the chance to save the whole human race, it still hurt to look back to his previous innocence. Remembering those days, remembering the fresh-faced idealistic kid that had once lived behind the green eyes that now stared at him with such cold mockery, he suddenly felt unbearably old himself.

It was his fault that Krycek had become a bitter, icy killer. It was *he* who had chosen him when he was still wet-behind-the-ears. It was *he* who had placed Krycek undercover in the consortium, putting the barely-trained youngster in the impossible position of being a triple agent. But what he really regretted was the fact that Krycek hadn't become cruel and cold because it was in his nature, but because he'd been forced to spend so many years suffering Mulder's hatred. 

Frohike hadn't had a choice. When Krycek had come to him, admitting his dawning feelings for Mulder, Frohike had been thrown into a panic.  The Project needed Mulder to be a haunted, driven, lonely man, not one with the security of a lover.  Krycek would have destroyed Mulder's quest. Despite his training, Krycek was still emotionally just a sweet kid at that stage. He would have filled Mulder's empty places with so much puppy-dog adoration that Mulder might have abandoned his solitary quest for his 'truth'. A happy Mulder would have been a virtually useless Mulder.  

So he'd personally refilled Krycek's meticulously cleaned car with cigarette butts and in doing so had thrown Krycek to the wolves. He'd destroyed any possibility of a relationship between the two men by destroying the trust between them. Then, he'd helped Krycek pack for his escape and, although the younger man had undoubtedly known that *he* was to blame, he'd said nothing about it. To this day, Krycek had never mentioned his feelings again. These days he appeared not to even *have* any feelings.

Maybe he didn't.

Yet looking into that cold, green gaze still had the power to make Frohike feel a heavy sense of personal shame and that shame colored his tone with anger as he addressed the younger man.

"I asked what you were doing here," Frohike growled. "You're supposed to be in Kansas."

"I followed the yellow-brick road," Krycek drawled.

Ignoring the quip, Frohike snarled "I assume you *do* have a good reason for coming?"

Krycek toyed with the idea of making another flip comment, then sighed. Not even Comrade Frohikhuin had a sense of humor these days, he decided sadly. 

"There's good news. It was quicker and more reliable to bring the message myself than send it."

"You *are* the only person who makes horse-riding seem a fast form of transportation," Frohike agreed reluctantly. 

"I come from a long line of Cossacks," Krycek smirked.

"The message," Frohike reminded him impatiently.

"You were right. Krenzl brought practically the whole crew of the Mothership down to the surface and neither he nor any of the other Albrecx showed any symptoms."

"And that's the good news?"

"No, that's just confirmation of your suspicions that the Grays only ever saw the female Albrecx as the real threat. The good news is that the bitch flew over to the European Mothership shortly before we attacked the compound.  Although communication with the operatives on that ship is sketchy, the rumors are that she's been struck down by some mysterious ailment. She's too ill to return to the American Mothership."

"Fuck. That's your idea of good news?  The only reason we thought this plan would work is because the retrovirus is only supposed to affect female Albrecx and none were supposed to be among the occupying force.  What if they realize what we're doing and stop the first shipment of the harvest going back to their homeworld?"

"It's okay. Because she became ill on the European Mothership, the Albrecx are assuming whatever has affected her originated on *that* ship so they're looking in the wrong place for the source of the contamination. There's no reason to suppose they'll figure out what's really happened to her in time to stop the shipment. "

"So what's the bad news?"

"Bad news?" Krycek asked innocently.

"There's *always* bad news," Frohike growled, "and I know you too well to believe you've ridden half way across the country to tell me *good* news."

Krycek shrugged carelessly, but his eyes slid away from Frohike's and stared down at the floor before he replied.

"Nearly a hundred of the men who've been put in the milking dorms carry the retrovirus, Frohike. A fucking hundred and not one of them is of any damned use to us because the RNA chains stay dormant unless activated by the nanocytes."

"It had to be that way, otherwise the Albrecx transporter scans would have identified the infection inside them. The retrovirus had to be activated *after* they arrived on board. Forty years of meticulous planning went into this biological weapon, Krycek. We never expected it to be easy. To create those hundred carriers, we sacrificed thousands.  Tunguska's soil is red with their blood. Only a certain genetic type survived the inoculation against the black oil and, of those, only a fraction of the survivors then had the right DNA to transform the 'cure' into the retrovirus. Literally less than one in ten million people were potential carriers. The world only has so many Mulders."

"I know that, but although we've gotten the nanocyte carrying studs onto *all* of the Motherships, all except Skinner arrived too late. None of the carriers except Mulder are still being used as Producers, they were consigned to the milking dorms before their chosen Studs arrived on board. We made a huge mistake, Frohike. All the studs we chose to carry the nanocytes were initially rejected in the first cull. They were either killed at the time or were sent back to the surface like Skinner was. By the time we got them back on board it was too late.  The bottom line is that the only person whose semen carries the live virus *is* Mulder."

"We always suspected that would be the case, Krycek. Although we all hoped for enough time to prevent the Albrecx invading, we always knew this day might come.  Mulder was always intended to be our best line of defense in a Harvest situation. His capacity for self-sacrifice, his bravery and his long-standing belief in the existence of extra-terrestrials always meant he was the most likely candidate to survive. All the other carriers were in too much shock to even pretend to co-operate. They hadn't had the advantage of Mulder's familiarity with the bizarre. As for Skinner, it was you yourself who decided that Skinner should be infected with the nanocytes so he could be used to activate the retrovirus in this scenario. The fact that Stelgar has become ill after drinking Mulder's essence at least proves that the live retrovirus works."

"But only Mulder is capable of spreading it."

"We only ever needed *one* live carrier, Krycek. Once activated, the retrovirus spreads like bacteria. Since Mulder *is* infected, as soon as his semen mixed with that extracted from the other captives, it must have contaminated the whole harvest."

"No it hasn't," Krycek replied quietly.

"What?"

"*That's* the bad news. It turns out that none of the essence of personal Producers ever reaches the holding tanks. It's consumed by the Albrecx on the ships."

"Trimandoblydskiy pizdoproyob," Frohike cursed.

"Exactly."

"You know what this means?" Frohike demanded, his face paling.

"That instead of the shipment of essence being a Typhoid Mary that will decimate the entire female population of the Albrecx, it's just going to be a harmless, tasty snack for them."

"We have to get Mulder's semen into that shipment."

"There's only one way to do that, Frohike."

"I know. I'll send word to the ship. We've managed to get a contact into the stud-cage adjoining Skinner's. It's time to initiate operation 'code-breaker'."

"Can you do that to Mulder?"

"What choice do I have? We're talking about the survival of the human race."

"I said can *you* do that? He's your friend, you ubl'yudok."

"If he were here in this room, if he knew what was at stake, if he knew he was our only hope, do you honestly think he'd refuse?" Frohike asked quietly.

"If you really believed that, you'd forget 'code-breaker' and just tell Skinner the truth."

You do realize that we have no way in hell of getting those codes, don't you? Mulder wrote.

"Are you absolutely sure? The resistance say we can."

They don't know shit. Krenzl doesn't even have a computer access terminal in his quarters.  He's a puppet-figure, and a stupid one at that. The only Albrecx with any technical knowledge live and work in a different part of the ship.

"Without those codes, millions of people are going to die, Fox."

I know that but that doesn't change the fact that only an.. Mulder dropped the pad, his eyes shadowing with thought.

"What is it? What are you thinking?"

Mulder waved him silent and Skinner complied, realizing that his questions were just disturbing Mulder's chain of thought.  Finally, Mulder grinned and picked up the pad once more.

I was about to say only an Albrecx could find out the codes, so we had no chance

"But?" Skinner demanded.

But that's not a problem, because we *have* an Albrecx who will help us. Jax.

"You've gone insane," Skinner snorted. "You seriously are considering asking an Albrecx for the codes?"

Not asking. Trading.

"Trading *what*?"

Essence. Jax has *never* taken essence naturally. He's too low-ranking to ever get the opportunity. I think he'll trade the codes for my compliance.

"Or he'll run straight to Krenzl and you'll be in the milking dorm faster than your feet can touch the ground."

I'll take the risk.

"It's not just *your* risk. You'll be betraying the resistance. Letting the Albrecx know their plans."

Bullshit. I don't have to mention we're immune to the virus. All I have to say is that I want to warn people to get out of the cities before the bombs fall. I don't even have to mention the resistance. I tell him that *I* overheard the plans to sterilize the Earth and I need to try and save people. He won't even feel like a traitor, because as far as he knows the virus would kill anyone who escaped anyway. He'll see it as a win, win situation as far as he's concerned.

"I hate this idea," Skinner growled, then dropped his eyes to the floor before admitting in a whisper, "but I don't have a better one." 

"Kak dva pal'tsa obossat', I knew he'd buy it," Frohike announced, turning off the recording  with a satisfied smile. "Still, I never expected him to come up with such an inventive plan to get the information."

Krycek just glared at him with undisguised hatred.

"Cheer up, the evacuations are going without a hitch. We're deliberately leaving all of the people in the refugee camps in the dark. Their visible presence is preventing the Albrecx from noticing that we're clearing the cities."

"I suppose you justify their deaths by saying they deserve it for voluntarily moving into the alien camps?" Krycek asked coolly, although his eyes were flashing.

"There's an American saying; you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs," Frohike replied, equally coolly. "It's the dawn of a new age, Krycek.  Our civilization is all but destroyed. There's no power, little food and when the Albrecx leave the whole country is going to collapse into anarchy. It's going to be survival of the fittest for a long time before we can get a governmental structure back into place. We can't do that if we are too busy trying to look after people so weak-willed that they voluntarily handed themselves over into the alien camps in exchange for nothing more than food. Besides, there's no point in even attempting to rebuild our civilization if the Albrecx are able to come back and attack us again.  If we try to get those people out of the camps, the Albrecx will realize we're trying to flee the bombs."

"But, like Mulder said, they won't really care because they think their virus will kill us all anyway," Krycek argued. "So you're letting them die for nothing."

"Not nothing," Frohike replied. "Until we know Mulder has gone through with it, we can't risk him discovering that we've been playing him all along." 

Jax regarded his charge with an expression of combined shock and pity. When the Stud had haltingly spoken on Mulder-beast's behalf, outlining the 'trade' the pet wanted to make, Jax had at first decided this was some kind of cattle-humor. Then, as the Stud had expanded on his offer, the young Albrecx had felt sick.  He'd hoped that Mulder-beast hadn't been aware of his own impending demise. It was bad enough that such an appealing creature should end his life in a milking dorm, without him spending his last few days of freedom in the sickening knowledge of his intended fate.

So, although he didn't deny that the thought of tasting Mulder's essence was an almost irresistible offer, the reason he bit his tongue as he was about to say that the cattle on the surface were doomed whether the explosions killed them or not was that it seemed unreasonably cruel to admit it.

What harm could it do? he asked himself,  He *could* easily give them the satellite codes. Since he sometimes covered a shift on the bridge for one of the technicians, he had computer access. He could give the Mulder-beast the codes, let the poor creature at least *believe* he'd helped his fellow-cattle and then, maybe, knowing he'd made Mulder happy for his last few days, he himself would feel less guilty when Mulder was taken  to the Dorm.

"I *would* like to taste you, little beast," Jax admitted, one of his Hrraus snaking eagerly to caress Mulder's buttocks.

Mulder swallowed nervously and looked over at Skinner in sudden panic. For all this had been his own idea, he hadn't *really* expected Jax to agree so easily. He certainly hadn't expected Jax to do it in front of Skinner. His gut clenched tightly as he realized that once Skinner had witnessed him whoring himself in this manner, he'd never be able to look the older man in the face again.

Still, he had no choice. If he backed out now he'd be personally responsible for the deaths of maybe millions of people and, besides, he didn't anticipate having too long to worry about it. As soon as Skinner had passed the codes to the resistance, Mulder was going to beg the older man to kill him. Neither of them had anyway off the ship but, unlike Skinner, he wouldn't be put down when the Albrecx left, he'd be put in the milking dorm.  Although he'd never doubted that Skinner would reluctantly agree to spare him from that living hell, he'd selfishly wanted to keep Skinner's affection until the last possible moment. Yet, now he had to face the fact that it was probably better this way anyway. It would be easier for Skinner to kill a man who disgusted him than one he cared for.

So, although he had to close his eyes to gather his courage, Mulder leant forward and submissively licked the end of Jax's Qwentcha in invitation.

Jax sighed happily and slowly lowered himself until he was sitting on the edge of Mulder's low bed, making it clear that he expected Mulder to continue taking the initiative. Mulder thrust his tongue into the weeping flesh and swirled it around, licking at the bitter juices that began to flow steadily out of the alien's 'cock'. He could feel the tissue inside the Qwentcha, swelling and expanding and he jerked his head back hurriedly as the tentacle unraveled with the speed of a whip and unerringly sought Mulder's groin, swallowing his penis in its gaping mouth and sliding down until it was tightly wrapped over Mulder's swollen ball sac.

Mulder raised himself and opened his legs as wide as his harness would allow, then he reached back and removed his butt-plug to allow Jax to slide his right Hrraus into his ass. He gasped in pain as the thick organ snaked inside him, stretching and filling him until he thought he would be ripped apart. 

Then the tentacle began to ripple and undulate inside him, sending waves of liquid fire through his body and, although he choked back a sob as he looked over and met Skinner's appalled eyes, he couldn't prevent his body from arching in ecstasy as Jax's rippling Hrraus massaged his prostate in time with the Qwentcha that greedily suctioned his cock.

Regardless of the tears of shame dripping down his cheeks as he imagined Skinner's disgust, Mulder couldn't stop his whole body writhing in pleasure at the multiple sensations that assaulted his body.

Shit, I'm really fucked up, he told himself as his body thrummed with delight. This guy holds the fate of the whole fucking world in his hands and all I can think about is how good his fucking tentacle feels up my ass.

"More, little pet?" Jax crooned.

Mulder sobbed, his already flushed cheeks now burning with humiliation as, despite Skinner's presence, he had to nod desperately, unable to resist the Albrecx's offer.  He braced himself as Jax slowly slid his other Hrraus into Mulder's throbbing ass.

The initial pain was unbelievable, as his sphincter tried to resist being stretched so wide, but not as overwhelming as the sheer pleasure as the two organs rippled and writhed inside him. They were so deep inside him that they should have ripped him apart, yet his adapted body simply seemed to make room for their presence.

He erupted into Jax's Qwentcha, a steady furious stream that burned his cock with the speed of its exit from his swollen ball sac. Jax's face screwed up in an expression of pure bliss and he sobbed in ecstasy as he devoured Mulder's pure essence. Somehow, it was the Albrecx's vocalization of pleasure that broke through Mulder's own, almost mindless, pleasure.

Mulder twisted his head in horror towards Skinner, his sweat-drenched face pleading for understanding even as his ass continued to buck against the Hrraus in wriggling ecstasy.  He barely dared meet Skinner's eyes, fully expecting to see disgust and horror on the other man's face. 

Instead he just saw a terrible sadness in the older man's eyes, as they poured tears in a steady stream down Skinner's over-pale face.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed, and waited for Skinner to turn away from him. Instead, Skinner bravely attempted a supportive smile.

Mulder wanted to howl with relief. Skinner understood. Somehow, some fucking unbelievable way, Skinner understood and wasn't angry with him for the way his body was reacting to the alien's touch. Skinner wasn't disgusted by him. Skinner didn't blame him.

And, although he felt guilty because he knew that would make it harder for Skinner to kill him, Mulder decided he had earned the right to grab onto a tiny shred of selfish happiness. He had eight hours before his next scheduled milking by Krenzl. That meant he had only four hours left to live since he had no intention of ever submitting to an Albrecx again now that he'd achieved what the resistance had tasked him to do.

By the time Skinner returned for his next milking, Jax would have given him the codes. Skinner would read them out to the communication device and then Mulder would beg him to kill him.

Maybe they could even work out a way to die together.

"Are you ready?" Krycek demanded, his stony face showing no trace of the gut-wrenching horror that was threatening to tear him apart.

"Yes, Sir. As soon as the communication device is activated, it will trigger a feed-back surge that will alert the aliens of its presence on their ship."

Krycek's eyes flashed and darkened. 

"Do it," he snapped, then turned away to hide his tears.

You have to. Please. You can't let me be put in that place.

Skinner stared at the note until the words blurred in front of his tearing eyes.

"We can't give up yet, Fox. There's still a few days. Anything could happen in that time. Maybe the resistance will use the codes to save us," he suggested, although he knew in his guts that no cavalry was coming to save either of them.

Mulder snatched back the pad and wrote furiously before thrusting it back into Skinner's hands.

You can take that chance. I can't. The worst they will do to you is kill you. Please. If you care about me at all, don't let them put me in the milking dorm. Haven't I suffered enough?

"More than enough. Too much," Skinner agreed, then dropped to his knees and pulled Mulder into his arms. "I guess this is it then. I'll send the codes and then I'll..." his voice broke and he sobbed quietly for a few minutes before composing himself again. "Then I'll make sure no one ever hurts you again," he promised.

Mulder raised his head off Skinner's shoulder. "Thank you," he mouthed, his eyes soft and his expression strangely peaceful.

Skinner clenched him tighter in his arms, squeezing him until Mulder mewled for breath.

"I'm so sorry, Fox. Sorry it ended like this. Sorry I never understood what a wonderful person you are before. I should have found the time to get to know you. I should have learned to love you when we could at least have shared some happy times."

Mulder made an inquisitive sound, twisting in Skinner's arms until his wide, hopeful eyes could search Skinner's face.

Skinner smiled ruefully.

"Yeah, although my timing sucks as always, I *do* love you, Fox. I don't know if that helps at this stage or just makes things worse, but I need you to know that. I need you to believe that.  I never would have believed it possible that I could fall in love with another man and, because you're a psychologist, you probably think it's just because of what we've been through here, that it's just some transference because of the pain we've shared. And maybe in a way, you're right. But it's more than that. I've watched you suffer pain, humiliation and degradation that would have destroyed any one else. I've seen you willingly sacrifice yourself for the sake of people you'll never meet, people who'll never have the slightest notion of what you've suffered on their behalf, and through it all you've never lost your dignity, you've never lost your pride and you've never once let the bastards win. How could I witness that and *not* love you?

"Fox Mulder, you are the bravest man I've ever had the privilege of working with.  I want you to know that it's been an honor to serve with you." 

He wasn't sure whether Mulder's sobs were grief or relief but, as he held the younger man in his arms and rocked him gently, his hands gently soothing Mulder's shuddering back, he finally found some measure of peace himself.  Mulder was right. It was over. They'd completed their mission. There was no point either of them suffering any longer.  He'd send the codes, then he'd take Mulder in his arms and using skills learnt long ago in Vietnam he'd quickly and painlessly snap his neck. Then he'd remove the harness from Mulder's body and use it to fashion himself a noose.

As though Mulder sensed his decision through his trembling hands, Mulder straightened up as much as his harness would allow and gently kissed Skinner on the mouth. Skinner resisted the urge to open his mouth and deepen the kiss. There was no point prolonging this any further.

"You ready?" he asked.

Mulder nodded, his eyes sad but resigned and reached down the side of the mattress to retrieve the communicator from its hiding place.

Bracx hid his glee behind an obsequious smile as he regarded the distraught Imperator.

"I'm sorry to hear that the Princess Stelgar has taken a turn for the worse. The doctor on the European Mothership says that even if we leave immediately there is little chance that she will survive the journey home."

"I'm well aware of the situation," Krenzl snapped.

"And I understand that your grief over her imminent demise is inevitably going to make it difficult for you to make the right decision about this incident," Bracx purred.

"My pet was not involved. My pet is MUTE," Krenzl roared. "Whatever his mate was attempting to do with that device, it obviously failed. Just put the stud down and the matter is closed."

"But Imperator," Bracx replied, "You have to consider the morale of the crew. *Everyone* knows that Stud-beasts are just mindless cattle. It couldn't possibly have been working alone. Either your pet was behind its actions or the cattle somehow managed to bring that device aboard our ship without any of our sensors detecting it.  The latter would cause unwelcome speculation, would it not?"

Krenzl just glared at him.

"Since your pet will be confiscated before the end of the week anyway, I personally advise you to hand him over immediately and end the speculation."

Krenzl sighed heavily. "I would have liked to taste him one more time," he admitted, "but you're right. Send him to the Milking Dorm."

"And his mate?"

"Just put it back in the Stud-pens for now. He can be disposed of with the other cattle when we leave."

Frohike scurried out of the lift and hurried down the bunker towards the conference room. He swallowed before entering to ensure his voice was steady as he announced the news, then straightened his shoulders and marched proudly inside.

"Mr. President, we have won the war," he announced. "I have received confirmation that the  carrier of the retrovirus has been placed in the 'milking dormitory' and has now successfully contaminated the Albrecx harvest."

"Poor bastard,"  the President replied with appropriate somberness. He turned to his chief of staff. "We should probably award Mulder some posthumous medal. After all, he's not only ensured the inevitable destruction of the Albrecx homeworld but the Shrenztl will also leave us alone now. After all, the only reason they tried to invade us themselves was because they knew our DNA was the key to destroying the Albrecx."

Someone coughed politely.

"What?" the President demanded.

"I don't think we can acknowledge Mulder's part in this, Sir. I agree he's a hero, but unfortunately the general population would have difficulty in understanding the whole picture. We can't explain why it *had* to be Mulder without admitting that we'd been grooming him for this role for his whole life. It could make us look little better than the aliens."

"I agree," Frohike said. "We're going to have enough difficulty trying to restore people's faith in the Government without admitting that we fought fire with fire. Unfortunately, Mulder will have to remain an unsung hero." 

Skinner howled with fury and threw himself at the bars of his cage once more, uncaring of the multi-hued bruises that already discolored most of his torso.

Jax scurried over, his expression frantic.

"If you don't stop it, they won't just hit you with the prod next time, they'll put you down."

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE!" Skinner screamed. 

"Please," Jax begged. "You're not helping yourself OR Mulder."

"They killed him, didn't they? Was it YOU?" Skinner snarled. "Did you tell them, you fucker?"

Jax looked over his shoulder frantically.

"Keep your voice down," he pleaded. "It wasn't me, I swear. It's not my fault. Your device triggered an alarm, that's all. They still don't know *why* you were trying to use it."

"Tell me," Skinner snarled, "and don't you fucking lie to me. Did the message get through? Did the codes get transmitted? Was there *any* fucking point to any of this?"

"I don't know," Jax admitted, "but our technicians *believe* the device only malfunctioned after you had been using it for several minutes, so it's probable the message got through."

"So he didn't die for nothing?" Skinner pleaded.

Before Jax managed to come up with an acceptable answer, Skinner read the truth on Jax's face.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he howled.

"I'm so sorry," Jax whispered.

"He's...he's not dead... oh god," Skinner choked, then doubled up, vomiting violently onto the floor of his cage.

Ronxil stormed over to Jax, and the younger Albrecx quivered in fear that Skinner would blurt out his own treachery, but Ronxil gave barely a glance at the retching Stud.  

"The Imperator's wife just died," he announced.

"Died?" Jax gasped in disbelief. Females *never* died of illnesses, only in battle.

"The Imperator has ordered that as soon as we've performed her ceremony, we're returning to Homeworld. I'm leaving you in charge here because all of the senior officers like myself are attending the ceremony on the European Mothership. You've got to make sure all the personal producers are transferred to the milking dorms."

"When are the Studs being put down?" Jax asked quietly.

"There's no time. Just transport them all back to the surface. The sterilization process will do the job for us."

"Yes, Sir," Jax agreed quietly.

"You've got six hours. By the time I return, I don't want to see any of these damned deformed cattle on board."

"Yes, Sir."

Jax waited until Ronxil left, then prodded Skinner through the bars.

"Fuck off and die," Skinner snarled.

"Listen to me," Jax insisted, quickly giving Skinner a translation of his conversation with Ronxil.

"So?" Skinner asked.

"SO," Jax snapped, "You've got to come with me now."

"What's the point?"

"We're leaving orbit and, when we do, we're going to release a virus in those explosives."

"And?"

"There's a cure. I'll give it to you. You can take it back to the surface with you. No one will ever know."

To his consternation, instead of grasping at his offer with both hands, Skinner began to laugh. It was a terrible, hopeless sound that made Jax's hair stand on end.

"What?" he demanded. "I'm trying to make things right. Can't you see I'm trying to apologize for what happened to Mulder?"

Skinner choked back his hysteria. Although he understood that the young Albrecx was genuinely finally trying to do the 'right thing', he was too numb with grief to even try and save Jax's feelings.

"We're immune," he hissed. "We all are. Anyone still alive down there who escapes the explosions IS going to survive. So I don't give a shit whether you're trying to apologize or not.  It's too little, too late."

"You're immune? All of you? Even Mulder?" Jax asked.

Skinner just looked away.

"Answer me, damn you. Is Mulder immune?"

"What fucking difference does it make?"

"IS HE?" Jax demanded.

"YES!" Skinner roared. 

"Then we don't have much time. You're going to have to help me."

"Help you do what?"

"Save him," Jax replied bluntly.

Skinner's face flooded with hope, then just as quickly the expression collapsed back into bitterness.

"The best thing you can do for him is kill him," he snarled. 

"You don't understand. Even though I'm not a qualified Veterinarian, I know enough about Ronxil's equipment to use it for simple cloning. I can re-grow his limbs, I can even restore his tongue. The physiology of cattle like yourself is kid's stuff."

"Are you serious?" Skinner demanded.

"Absolutely. We should just have enough time if we hurry and get him out of the dorm now. It'll take about five hours which *should* give me time to transport you both down to the surface before Ronxil returns. I'll just replace him with another Producer. No one will ever know I've done the switch."

Skinner gulped heavily, hating himself for what he was about to say and praying that Mulder would somehow forgive him.

"I can't let you do that. No matter how much I want to save him, I can't do it at the cost of another human being."

"You're not," Jax replied bluntly. "I'm not willing to put myself on the line for anyone else. All the other Producers *will* be processed. All I'm offering to do is save Mulder-beast."

Skinner swallowed heavily and then nodded his acceptance.

"He's doing fine," Jax assured him, when he turned back to the bed and saw Skinner weeping as he watched Mulder's limbs regenerate. "It's working even faster than I anticipated. He must have an unusually resilient DNA structure."

"He's always healed quickly," Skinner agreed, with a sniff.  "It's not his physical recovery that's worrying me, it's his mental state. I spent ten minutes in that room and I'll have nightmares about it for the rest of my life. How the hell is he going to deal with having spent almost two days on one of those machines?"

"I don't know," Jax agreed sadly. "No beast has ever been removed from a Dorm before."

"He's not a beast," Skinner snarled, then flushed. "I'm sorry, I suppose I ought to be thanking you instead of cursing at you."

Jax just bit his lower lip. "It's okay. I don't blame you for hating me but I couldn't have helped you before, even if I'd wanted to. If Ronxil hadn't given the order to send the Stud-beasts down to the surface I never would have been able to get you off the ship."

"I know," Skinner agreed reluctantly.

"You do understand that although Mulder will *look* fully recovered, I'm not able to reverse his adaptation?" Jax asked suddenly.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because the adaptation is just the process of speeding up natural evolution. You cattle were designed to become Producers. The adaptation has simply pushed Mulder further towards that evolutionary design."

"So you're saying he'll still need to be milked?"

"I've slowed his production of essence down as far as I can, but I can't stop it entirely."

"How far?"

"Perhaps so that he only needs to be milked twice in each of your days. I can let you take one of the personal milking devices but its power supply will eventually run out. You'll have to figure out your own way after that."

"Twice a day," Skinner repeated miserably, telling himself that wasn't so bad and praying that Fox would see it the same way.

"And it's not just the milking. His digestive system has been altered. He can only drink liquids or eat food that has already been partially digested for him. His intestines and bowels have shrunk and what remains no longer has the required amino acids to deal with solid food." 

"It's not going to be easy to keep him alive, is it?" Skinner murmured.

"No," Jax agreed. "But I think Mulder-beast *will* survive. It's not in his nature to admit defeat is it?"

"No," Skinner agreed, smiling sadly at his unconscious lover. "And I'm going to make damned well sure he has every reason to keep fighting."

"I have to go process the other Producers now. I'll lock this door and come to fetch you when it's time for you to leave," Jax announced, but Skinner was so busy smoothing Mulder's hair off his brow that he barely acknowledged his leaving.

 
After all the drama of their stay on the Mothership, their escape from it was thankfully anti-climatic.

Mulder was still unconscious, although his bodily parts had been fully restored. Even his scrotum had shrunk so that although it was still a little larger than normal it was no longer strikingly abnormal. So Skinner carried him as he followed Jax to the transporter room with the last of the other Studs.  They were all silent as they marched through the endless maze of corridors, as though afraid that a single word might break the spell and cause the Albrecx to change their mind about releasing them.

Naked and trembling, the men felt the blue light of the transporter envelop them and then they experienced the sickening rush of transport to find themselves deposited, shaking and vomiting, on the grassy knoll of a hilltop.

It was bitterly cold and there was no sign of any shelter or civilization for miles.

"Fucking bastards," someone cursed. "They've dropped us in the middle of nowhere."

With the breaking of the silence, an eruption of similar curses followed as all the men bemoaned their nakedness and the cruelty of the Albrecx in transporting them into a wilderness.

Skinner just smiled down at the still-sleeping Mulder, kissed his brow, then looked up at the sky.

"Thank you, Jax," he whispered.

And, somewhere in the far-off distance, he heard the first rumbling thunder of explosives. 

The End of Book One of Dark Sunset

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