Scully oversaw the investigation. She stood in the middle of Mulder's apartment, yelling at the agents who were working too slow, the agents who were working too fast, and the agents who were getting dangerously close to Mulder's video collection.
"Um…I already checked that cabinet," she tried.
The agent with latex gloves had just stared at her.
"It's clear. Fingerprinted, checked, everything's in order."
"When did you do this?" the agent asked.
"Before you got here," she said a little too quickly.
"Right," the agent said, rolled his eyes, and opened the cabinet. His eyes grew wide when he saw what was inside. "Oh," he said simply.
Scully felt like kicking him in the kneecaps. But instead, she said, "Do you think we can try to keep this under wraps?"
But the man wasn't listening. He had picked up a video, and was grinning widely at it. "Backseat Bed Driver 4…I don't have this one…"
It was Scully's turn to roll her eyes. "Just put it back when you're done with it," she said dryly, and walked away.
Suddenly, Mulder's computer blared a high-pitched tone, and Scully's hands shot up to her ears. She squinted, and was about to order someone to turn the damn computer off when the noise stopped, and Mulder's voice came through loud and clear. "We are not alone."
Scully froze. Her eyes bore into the computer screen, which was simply still on the desktop display. Mulder's voice was gone. It took her a moment to regain her thought process. "Someone get a trace on that signal that came through his modem. I want to know where it came from, and I want to know five minutes ago. Reggen," she turned to the agent in charge of the investigation, "I want Mulder's computer thoroughly searched. I want to know what websites he was on right before his abduction, what email last came through, who sent it, everything."
"Yes, Ma'am," Reggen said.
"Good," Scully concluded with a nod. But instead of leaving them alone to work, she sat in front of Mulder's desk and started going through the drawers that had already been searched. She needed something to do. Fear rising in her chest, she couldn't help but glance at the computer screen every few seconds, wondering if she'd hear his voice again, and if it would be the last time.
"Hey! Hey! I know you can hear me out there! Come on! These things weren't even soundproof in Star Trek, so don't pull that! Come on!"
The annoyed Trekkie in a yellow security uniform turned around, facing Mulder through the strange transparent barrier. "What do you want?" The man asked irritably.
"Some food would be nice. You get HBO in here?"
"Is that all you wanted?"
"And maybe something to read. TV Guide? National Enquirer? Hell, I'd even take Blues Clues Weekly at this point."
That earned a very small, nearly undetectable smile from the man. "You're in here for your own protection, Captain. Getting you a meal, television, and a book might cause you harm."
"I see your point about Blues Clues Weekly, but TV Guide's harmless."
"This conversation is over."
"Wait, don't…" Mulder groaned as the man turned around again. He wasn't getting anywhere. He was alone in a small cell, completely bored, and trapped by a bunch of lunatics while they awaited a futuristic starship to beam them into their cargo bay. It doesn't get much better than this, does it? He thought. Not even Flukeman beats this.
Mulder was about to give up on conversation when the security guard tapped his combadge, and Mulder listened intently to the exchange. From what he could ascertain, he was being moved.
The man had a pair of futuristic-looking handcuffs on him, and he pointed his phaser at Mulder as he deactivated the force field. "Come on, we're going to the celebration and you're invited."
"I wasn't aware prisoners were treated so kindly," Mulder said as the man secured his hands with the handcuffs. "You're not gonna make me eat gagh, are you?"
He pressed the phaser against Mulder's back, and said, "Move." They walked down the corridor of the underground bunker and turned into the Common Room. Mulder was astonished when he saw everyone had changed into dress uniform. Even the children had smaller-sized dress uniforms. They were mingling, like it was a dinner party.
"We're humane on this ship," the security officer told him. "You get to observe, Captain." The man brought Mulder over to a railing on the wall, and brought out another pair of handcuffs. He slipped one circular hold in between Mulder's wrists, and the other onto the railing. Their prisoner was now secured to the railing in such a way that made it uncomfortable to face the room at all.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I can't do much observing from this angle."
"I apologize for the inconvenience," the security officer nearly sneered, and walked away to join the others.
Facing the wall, Mulder sighed. Well, it was better than the cell. He nearly jumped when a siren sounded once over the loudspeaker, and then Admiral Flint's voice echoed through the room. "The time is nearly here," he said joyously. "Let us recite: Space, the Final Frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Tartus. Its ongoing mission," everyone else joined in, making it a large chorus of happy voices, old and young, "To explore strange new worlds. To seek out new life, and new civilizations. To Boldly Go Where No One Has Gone Before!"
Mulder thought it was over, but Admiral Flint started singing the tune to the Next Generation. "Daaa, da-da-da, da-da-da! Da-da-da-da-da-daaa-daaa-daaa, da-da-daaa!" Everyone else joined in, and someone in the room had to have had a guitar…or maybe it was a Vulcan Lute…but either way, Mulder heard the tune played on an instrument. He raised an eyebrow in a very Scully-esque manner, wondering if he was, in fact, asleep. If so, this was a very interesting dream indeed.
A Klingon, the first Mulder had seen in the underground bunker, approached him and said, "I am Klingon Chancellor Mo'Kor. Admiral Flint has agreed to uncuff you if you remain within my reach."
Mulder sized up 'Mo'Kor', judging him to be about the size of an average NFL player. But with FBI training, he knew he could take him. It would be the fact that he was outnumbered that would work against him. And most of these 'Starfleet officers' were armed with whatever weapon they had managed to pass as a phaser.
"Well, Captain, do you want to be rid of your restraints or not?" The Klingon demanded.
"Sure, fine, whatever," Mulder said, before he could stop himself. He smiled inwardly. He was uncuffed, and allowed to join the party. Unfortunately for him, that was right when they brought out the 'synthehol'. One sip of the stuff and Mulder was absolutely convinced there was nothing synthetic about it. It was full-fledged whiskey. And it only confirmed that these people were nuts. Why did he drink something from them in the first place? He had to ask himself that question. It was ridiculously unsafe to do so his situation. Maybe their insanity was rubbing off on him. Maybe he was becoming a Beamer.
Everything was getting fuzzy. The Ensigns were running around, playing with each other. The Lieutenants Hermenez were drinking the synthehol pleasantly. Mo'Kor grabbed his arm, and Mulder thought it was a violent gesture. He hit the Klingon in the jaw, only to collapse on the floor of the spinning room. Mo'Kor appeared unfazed by Mulder's punch, and was now dragging the Captain to his feet. Mulder was led to a chair, where he struggled to stay awake. But amidst what sounded like a Klingon Opera verse, everything started to fade. And then it was black.
SOMEWHERE OVER THE US
Scully had found the file in Mulder's Internet history. Beamers. Some kind of Star Trek cult. He now had nearly 10 MB of memory on them, and Scully had combed through the most important websites and information to find that they were planning a gathering in North Dakota. Who plans a gathering in North Dakota?
It didn't matter. She was on a flight only a half hour later, having used her FBI credentials and the importance of the hunt for her partner to bypass security. It was less than entertaining to try to convince the person at the gate, who checked boarding passes, that she was, indeed, the FBI agent he had been told about. In her rather revealing Starfleet Uniform, she looked like a crazy Trekkie who had gotten hold of a badge and a gun. Although the attendant had been convinced, his facial expressions were, at least, entertaining. Even though Scully wasn't very entertained.
The flight attendant approached her and said, "Ma'am, there's another hour until we touch down. You requested that you receive updates on our status."
Scully looked away from the window, and at the attendant. "Yes, thank you," she said.
The flight attendant remained planted in her place. "Is there something else?" Scully asked.
"Thank you," Scully said, and turned back to the window.
Then, suddenly, the flight attendant sat down in the vacant seat beside Scully, and asked, "I'm sorry for prying, but…I'm a Trekkie too…and…well…I just think it's remarkably brave of you to wear your uniform to work. It really speaks a lot about the power Trekkies have. Especially in your position, in law enforcement. It means people have to take you seriously, and therefore take us seriously."
Scully simply stared at the woman.
"Thank you," the attendant finished. "I'll leave you alone now." She got up, and walked away.
Scully shook her head, and turned back to the window. She really hoped she was right about North Dakota. She'd hate to get on another flight as the only Starfleet Medical Captain FBI Agent.