Subject: Summer 1999 D&D Cartoon On-Line Fan Club Newsletter Part 4!
Date: Sat, 19 Jun 1999 12:06:18 EDT
From: IllyanaAM@aol.com [Unable to display image]
And now, the finale of Players, a D&D/X-Files Story by Maureen O'Brien!
This story is rated PG-13. It begins in 1997; Scully has
recently learned she has cancer. Hope you like it!

Part 8: The Road to All Lands

"I didn't spend all those years playing Dungeons and Dragons and not
learn a little something about courage."
-- Blaine Faulkner, "Jose Chung's _From Outer Space_", The X-Files.

For once it was all going according to plan.

He took a long satisfying drag off his cigarette and reflected on the
usefulness of portals through time and space. Ten years ago young
Krycek had brought back a story and a few fuzzy photos from that
debacle on World Five. He had recognized Agent Mulder but had no idea
how his old friend's son had gone from freshly-recruited Fibbie to the
middle-aged man of the photos, or why he and the missing children were
accompanied by a stunning redhead. He had put down the Mulder in the
photos down as just another counterpart from an alternate universe,
until a few days ago when Mulder reopened the children's X-File.

He took another puff. He'd been notified then, as was standard when
anyone sniffed too close to the Project. He'd called for the old files
and taken another look at the photos. He still couldn't identify the
short man or the one with the batwinged cape whom the technicians had
nicknamed "Bruce Wayne". But Mulder was the Mulder of today, and the
mysterious redhead was the pale, too thin Agent Scully who fought a
losing battle with cancer.

So he had sent a team to the amusement park. They'd kept the agents
under surveillance as the two of them promptly disappeared, thanks
to one of those annoying space/time faults which the portals created
every once in a while and which the Project scientists weren't yet
able to explain, much less prevent. Within a few moments, the agents
had popped out again none the worse for wear and unprepared for
being taken into custody.

The sweepers had enjoyed their easy mission. The scientists were
ecstatic over the readings they'd been able to get, given a little
warning. (Though the faults had been relatively harmless so far,
everyone would be happier if they could be eliminated altogether.) The
only sticky point had, as usual, been the agents themselves. Despite
the best efforts of a psych squad who'd worked on the agents before
during their numerous abductions, disappearances, and bits of 'missing
time', the agents had not answered a single question about their time
on World Five. They could not be persuaded, tricked or forced to do
so. Nor would they speak of the children except as part of the case
they'd followed to the amusement park.

"This isn't just their usual stubbornness," Dr. Ligotti had reported
with a wry smile for his charges. "Someone else has been poking around
in there. I couldn't tell if he left a compulsion, an erasure, or just
your standard memory block, but he was thorough. We've been working on
them for three days, and neither the chemicals nor the hunger, thirst
and sleep deprivation has done any good. If you want them returned in
good shape, we're going to have to start treating them now. We'll also
have to redo all their old memory blocks and cover scenarios. Our
unknown -- we're codenaming him Curious George -- has been poking
around in there, too."

"This Curious George -- could it be Dr. Verber?"

Ligotti snorted. "In his dreams, maybe. Verber's a quack who's
caught a few lucky breaks. Curious George has real talent." He
paused, considering. "When you catch him, sir, if he's still
reasonably intact, I'd like a chance to recruit him for our team. A
little attitude adjustment might make him very valuable to the
Project."

"I'll take that under consideration," he'd told Ligotti, amused.
Then he'd ordered Ligotti to see that the treatment and memory work
repairs began immediately. He lit another cigarette after the doctor
left and considered the problem. Another piece had been placed on
the board, it seemed, and this Curious George could become a problem.
Mulder with his full memory -- or worse yet, Scully -- was a danger
to the Project and everything it was trying to achieve.

But there were other dangers. Like the young people in pseudo-medieval
clothing who had raided five Project facilities and escaped with
valuable Merchandise, including a whole lab: fetuses, equipment and
all. The missing children were all grown up, and they scorned to hide
their faces. They appeared and vanished through temporary portals, and
the scientists kept tracing the portals back to the coordinates of
World Five. But no scientist had been able to open a portal to World
Five in ten years.

They rescued Merchandise, so they would doubtless attempt to rescue
Mulder and Scully. When they did, his people would be ready. He
crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray and picked up the remote.
He thumbed play and began to watch the videocassette that held the
relevant excerpts from the old surveillance tapes. Ten years ago,
their people had not been ready at all.

Static. A warning of the tape's clearance level, which he ignored
except to adjust the tracking. Then the tape began, with an overhead
shot of the children being escorted into the facility by Tom Blake
and his sweeper team. The anonymous architecture could have belonged
to any office building, although the key card locks suggested a
certain amount of security for the time. The timestamp said 23:00.
He lit a cigarette and leaned back to study the tape again.

"No, I don't own the amusement park," Blake said easily. "But I'm
on the board of the corporation that does, and I'm a major
stockholder. So of course the park administration was eager to oblige."

"Wow!" That was the youngest boy, Bobby. "That behind-the-scenes tour
of the park at night was tubular! And that was the first time I ever
got to stay at the park late enough to see the fireworks show."

"I don't know about this," his sister Sheila said uneasily. "Mom and
Dad are expecting us soon."

"I gave them a call to let them know where you were," Blake assured
them, opening a waiting room door and ushering them inside where
another child was waiting. "Please, take a seat. I'll be back in just
a moment with a guide for the rest of the tour. Eric, walk with me."

Eric, Blake's son, looked uncertain but obeyed. The other children
walked in guilelessly and ignored the door closing behind them in
favor of questioning the child already waiting.

"Jimmy Whittaker?" You could hear the disbelief absolutely dripping
from the boy with glasses...what did they call him...ah, yes. Presto.

"Who else would I be? Bet you didn't think you'd see me today. Ha! I
got to go to the amusement park anyway!" His expression changed. "But
this part of it is pretty boring."

The children exchanged looks of dismay for no apparent reason. Well,
other than the obvious one of being forced to breathe the same air
as this twit. He inhaled sharply. He remembered trying to interrogate
the boy. It was entirely too bad that no stray bullet had ever hit
Jimmy Whittaker, and that his genes had made him entirely useless for
hybrid research.

Hank's face took on an expression of concern. "What happened? How did
you get here?"

Jimmy even shrugged insolently. "My parents sent me to bed early. Oh,
and I had a bad dream. You guys were in it, and boy, did you look
stupid!" He stopped for a moment to laugh. The other children's
expressions ranged from resigned to murderous. "Anyway, when I woke
up, these government guys were at the door. They drove me up here."

"'Government guys?'" Hank repeated. "But this is private property!"

"And your parents let them?" Diana looked flabbergasted. "That late
at night? What'd they say?"

"I dunno." Jimmy shrugged again. "I didn't see them. One of the
government guys was talking to the parentals in the living room, but
I didn't pay much attention to what he was going on about."

"Did they show you any ID?" Diana persisted. "Or say who they worked
for?"

"No." For the first time, Jimmy's bubble of self-absorption actually
seemed to pop. "Should they?"

"Of course they should've!" Presto yelped.

"Yeah, Jimmy," Bobby jeered. "Even I know that. Don't you ever watch
TV?"

Sheila shook her head. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"So do I," said Diana. She tried the door. "We're locked in!"

The tape switched to a sequence of views down the hallway as Eric and
his father passed from one surveillance camera's range into another.
Blake walked along briskly, probably to discourage questions. Eric
studied the discreet signs on each door and seemed to find much that
puzzled him. But when they came to an elevator, Eric turned to his
father as they came to a stop.

"So, Dad," Eric said hesitantly, "how've you been?"

"Fine." Blake punched the call button. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, Dad, we really don't talk all that much, so I was hoping that
it might lead to an actual conversation."

"All right, we'll talk." Blake's voice turned cold. "So, what did you
do today, Eric?"

"You'd never believe me if I told you," replied Eric fervently. "It
was incredible! Unbelievable! But I've never been so glad to see you
in all my life as when you pulled up, and as soon as we get home I'm
going to take the longest bath! I'm surprised you can't smell me from
here! And..."

The elevator dinged!  Eric walked in, ignoring the normal taboo
against talking in the elevator in favor of letting his words flow
out of him. "...I'm so glad you've finally gotten to meet my friends.
Hank and Presto, they're great guys, aren't they? And Diana, she's...."

"But what did you do today?" Blake leaned forward, his impassive face
actually taking on a look of interest.

Eric seemed flattered by his concern. "We rode a lot of rides, but
when we rode the Dungeons and Dragons coaster..." Eric paused, seemed
on the verge of saying something, and then ended lamely, "...it was
kinda cheesy, but we had fun."

The elevator dinged!

Even from the awkward angle of the surveillance camera, he could see
Blake hooding his eyes. "I'm disappointed in you, Eric." He stepped
briskly out of the elevator.

Eric hurried after him. "Dad?"

"I thought I could trust you."

"You did? I mean, you can trust me," Eric elaborated, "but I
mean, I didn't think you thought...."

"You're my son. A man should be able to trust his son. I thought
I knew you better than that."

Eric strode faster, trying to catch up. "Now wait just a minute, Dad!
I haven't done anything to betray your trust. Of course, you've never
trusted me with anything. And as for knowing me, well, I'd like to
know how you could. You've never been interested in finding out what
I think or feel, much less what Michael does. We're the only family
you've got, and we do love you -- when we see you, anyway.
Personally, I'd like to see a bit more of you than the occasional
visit to lecture me on how my grades aren't good enough, but...."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, son. Not for a while, anyway."

"Yeah, sure, Dad. Whatever you say."

Blake opened a door and ushered Eric in ahead of him. As soon as
Eric had stepped inside the office, Blake stepped back into the
hallway and locked the door.

Eric must have heard the lock click. "Dad? What are you doing?"
He rattled the handle.

Blake's voice was muffled by the door. "I gave you a chance to tell
me the truth willingly. I'm sorry you didn't take it. It would have
been good to work with one of my sons beside me."

"Dad! Let me out of here!"

"Don't worry. You'll be interrogated, but gently. After your memory
of this incident is wiped, you'll be fine. I won't take you into the
business, of course, but your trust fund should be sufficient for
whatever you decide you want to do."

"Dad! Are you nuts? I told you as much as I could! Really!" He
pounded on the door, but futilely.

"Goodbye, Eric."

Eric pounded on the door some more. After some thought, he backed up
and tried to break the door down with his shoulder. He bounced off,
rubbed his shoulder, and muttered, "Some welcome, huh, Dad?"

"Yeah. He got me, too."

Eric turned to see his younger brother Michael uncurling sleepily
from the office couch.  "Hey, little brother. I see you got back in
one piece."

"Yeah. And then Dad came in with some goons in black to ask me
questions about...There. Dad called it World Five. But how could he
know where I'd been? How could anybody know?"

As with Eric, there was something Michael couldn't quite manage to
spit out. It came up again and again on the tapes of the missing
children. No psych squad had been able to examine the children
before their abrupt departure from the facility, but it seemed likely
that this had been more of Curious George's work.

"Don't ask me!" Eric slumped down beside his brother on the couch.
"I thought that when I got home, all I'd have to worry about was
what toppings to put on my first pizza." He sighed. "Maybe this
isn't really home, just some kind of evil mirror universe. Or
maybe this is all a nightmare and I'll wake up."

Michael pinched him hard.

Eric swatted at him. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Did you wake up?"

Eric growled. Michael looked innocent. Eric sighed and slumped
back into the couch. Michael smiled smugly.

After a moment, Eric looked at his brother. "Did you hear what Dad
said there at the end?"

"About interrogation? And mindwiping?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds like something from a World War II movie."

"Yeah, and Dad's the Gestapo." Eric shook his head. "This can't be
happening! V...he must have taken over his brain or something."

"What are we gonna do?"

"Get out of here somehow and warn the guys."  Eric got up again.
"That door's pretty solid. How about the windows?"

"No windows."

"Well, there's gotta be something...Mike, you search the desk and
see if you can find anything interesting. Check that computer, too.
Maybe there's disks."

"What are you going to do?"

Eric picked a pen up off the desk and took off its cap. "I'm going to
see if I can unscrew these so we can get into the airducts."

"Outrageous! Oh, and what are we going to do about that camera?"

"What camera?"

"That one, in the corner up there."

Eric said some words he shouldn't have, then sighed. "We'll just have
to hope they haven't been tuning in on us so far." He pulled a tissue
out of a box on the desk and brought it toward the camera. After a
moment, the screen turned white.

Well, anyone could have seen where that was leading. If they'd routed
the video to a monitor instead of a VCR. He sighed again. This was
what came of leaving security to the private sector.

He paused the tape and lit another cigarette. The next bit was
interesting and had been the focus of much debate among the Elders.
Psychic power, magic, or merely an advanced technology? In their
experience, very few results from the first two were useful, practical
or reproducible. But of course, that only applied to this world.

The video switched back to the waiting room. Presto was fiddling
with one of those tiny executive Zen gardens, trying to build a tiny
sand castle instead of raking tiny wave patterns around the tiny
rocks. He looked deeply depressed. "He said he could let me have a
used Apple. I can't believe I fell for that."

"We all fell for it, Presto," Sheila said quietly. "Even Eric. I hope
he's all right."

"Jimmy, we already tried breaking down the door," Hank explained
patiently.

"It's time to move on," said Diana. "Now, if we can just get the
hinges off the door, we can get out of here and let Eric know what's
going on!"

Jimmy sneered. "We wouldn't need to, if you guys weren't too wimpy
to bust it down."

Bobby folded his arms and stared at Jimmy. "We aren't wimpy!"

"Yeah, right."

"Fine. I'll just show you!"

Sheila hauled Bobby over to the door. "I've got my housekeys. Maybe we
can use them like screwdrivers," she suggested, pointedly ignoring
Jimmy. Bobby continued to glare at the twit.

Hank nodded. "Maybe...."

Jimmy laughed. "Yeah, and maybe if we clap our hands, Tinkerbell will
save us!"

Presto absently took a pinch of sand and threw it at Jimmy. "Go to
sleep and don't let out a peep." He went back to playing with the
sand.

"Hey, take the keys off the keychain, Sheila," said Diana. "That way,
we can use both of them at the same time."

Jimmy opened his mouth to say something and slumped in his seat. The
children continued to discuss. Presto continued moodily pushing sand
around.

"There's one screw out," Diana said helpfully. "You get the top one,
Hank. How you doing, Sheila?"

"Working on it...."

Hank strained to reach the top of the door. "Can't quite get it.
Presto, give me a leg up, will you?" he asked, turning around.

"I'm coming," said Presto, sighing and setting down the glorified
sandbox. "Hey, what are you staring at, Bobby?"

Bobby's eyes were very wide. "Jimmy."

"What about him?"

"You told him to go to sleep, Presto."

"And?"

"And he did."

The other children's heads swiveled. Then they traded glances.

Presto turned away, shaking his head violently. "No. No way."

"Why not, Presto?" Diana's eyes were lighting up. "Remember when
_he_ was in the amusement park? He was still able to do it."

"But none of ours worked!" Presto protested.

"He wasn't using..." The odd hesitation from Sheila. "...anything
but himself. And I hate to say it, but he and you do have the same
job."

"But I needed...."

"We wouldn't've had them taken away from us if we were still going to
need them," Hank said. He stepped away from the door and began to
pace. "Diana still has the agility she built up. I'm sure I'm still
just as good a shot. Heck, maybe we _should_ have let Bobby try to
break down the door."

"Yeah! Lemme at it!" Bobby agreed.

"And Presto," Diana added, "you did learn how to twiddle."  She
motioned to the twit. "Just ask Jimmy!"

"He'll have to," Sheila added, just a bit of regret in her voice.
"We can't leave Jimmy sleeping when we go looking for Eric."

"Can you leave him asleep when we leave?"

The children looked up, shocked, and chorused "Eric?!"

"In the flesh!" The boy jumped down into camera range, followed by
his brother. "Come on, guys, wake up Jimmy the Geek and let's blow
this popstand!"

Sheila grabbed Bobby in mid-run. "Wake him up, Presto."

Presto shrugged. "Here goes nothing...probably a whole lot of nothing,"
he grumbled. Then he twiddled his fingers. "This test's got no make-up.
Jimmy, you wake up!"

Jimmy yawned and sat up.

"Okay," Eric said, tapping his foot, "_now_ can we blow this
popstand?"

"How stupid are you people?" Jimmy demanded. "You're going to run
away from the government?"

"Yeah, like these guys are really from the government," said Bobby.
"If you want to stick around, fine with me."

"I'm not going anywhere," said Jimmy, crossing his arms. "If you guys
want to get in trouble, that's your problem."

The older children glanced at each other and shrugged.

Hank sighed. "Jimmy, I really think you should reconsider."

"I'm staying," he said again.

"Fine," Eric snapped. "Got any message for Dad, Mike?"

Michael looked uncomfortable. "Tell our dad we said goodbye."

Eric's anger faded for a moment. "Yeah. Tell him to have a good life."
He turned away and dug into his pocket. "Come on, guys. Let's go
home."

"Home...." Hank smiled wryly. "Yeah, I guess so." He put his hand in
his pocket, too. "Hope we get a better welcome there than here."

"Couldn't be much worse," Diana chimed in.

"Just a minute," said Presto. He twiddled his fingers and said under
his breath (as far as the lipreaders could tell, and as the subtitles
announced on screen), "I'm only a wizard and not Sigmund Freud, but
no one questioning Jimmy gets _too_ annoyed." He sighed. "I hope."
He turned back to them. "I'm ready. Let's go."

And they all vanished in a burst of light, leaving only Jimmy behind.
Temporary portals to World Five, the readings said. They read more
portals a bit later, when the excitement was over and most of the
personnel had gone home. Shortly afterward, all the portal machinery
and most of the research files had been stolen or destroyed.
Naturally, there were backups available, but research had been slowed
considerably -- and when the portal machinery was repaired, they had
found that World Five was no longer accessible to them.

They'd covered the matter up, of course. The children had mysteriously
disappeared from the amusement park, everyone was told. Blake was kept
out of the matter, except when he appeared on television, convincingly
frightened, to make an appeal to the 'kidnappers' who had mailed him
a 'ransom note'. He had reason to be frightened. If he had not been so
valuable to the Project _and_ been related to the Roushes of Roush
Pharmaceutical on his mother's side, he would have disappeared as
quickly as his sons had. For simplicity's sake, however, only Eric was
'missing'. The cover story was that Michael had been sent to a
boarding school abroad. Over the years, Michael had attended a private
college, earned his degree, and gone back to Europe to study
literature. They even provided Blake with 'current' photos of his son
to display at work.

The 'ransom note' had turned the disappearance into a kidnapping and
brought in the FBI. Neither the police nor the FBI discovered
anything, and the case was termed cold by the local police and
given an X prefix by the FBI. Only Mulder and Scully, and now Skinner,
had really looked into the case since then.

But Skinner, though not given to Mulder profiling or Scully forensics
skill, was thorough in his fieldwork. He'd been under constant
surveillance since he got to town. He'd spoken to all the children's
parents except Blake, and his results had been interesting. The
parents were helpful and cooperative. They clearly missed their
children and worried about them. But Skinner had seen it as clearly as
he had.  Those parents weren't worried about an unknown. Ten years ago,
they hadn't known anything useful, but now they knew exactly where
their children were and what they were doing. When the surveillance
tapes were scanned frame-by-frame, you could even see microexpressions
of pride cross their faces.

He took a final puff from the cigarette before putting it out. The
parents were all under surveillance now. As soon as the children's
raid began or surveillance detected any odd goings on, the parents
would be brought in for use as hostages, then kept for questioning
once the children had surrendered. Any use of portals would quickly
be detected. The agents were under heavy guard, and would themselves
be useful as hostages. Soon the missing children would be recaptured.

Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Two floors below the room where the man sat smoking, four more
interns were coming into work. The three men and one woman wore
white lab coats over their T-shirts and jeans and carried backpacks.
The guards checked their photos against the most recent photos of
the 'visitors' they'd been told to expect. These weren't them. Their
badges were in order and the photos were right, so the guards passed
them through.

"Kinda young for this work," one commented to the other after they'd
gone.

"Those college kids always look young when they start here," the
other guard said. "But they can do the work and keep their mouths
shut."

"'Cause if they couldn't, we wouldn't see 'em anymore?"

"Something like that."

Neither the guards nor the camera monitors picked up the fifth
person. That was not surprising, since she had been in and out of
the facility once already without causing the slightest alarm.
She gave the stocky young man who led the way a poke in the arm
to guide him toward the elevator. When the already-crowded elevator
arrived, the four carefully made room for a fifth in their midst.
She slid into the elevator sideways so that her presence was less
obvious, and narrowly escaped getting a door in the face. One of her
visible comrades, a weedy-looking fellow, held the door from closing,
then let it go again. "Sorry. Thought I saw someone coming," he
explained. The other employees said nothing but "What floor?"
The elevator buttons were unusual. There was UL3, UL2, UL1 (where
they'd boarded the elevator), and then buttons for LL1-8.  A few of
the levels apparently required keys.

The people in the elevator could have been from any company. Most
wore jeans and polo shirts in honor of the Friday casual day. A few
wore suits and received a bit of commiseration; they had some formal
presentation or meeting today. Many wore labcoats. There was a
company picnic coming up, and while a few hoped it would take place
elsewhere, most were resigned to making the traditional pilgrimage
to the amusement park.  "Borrrring. We could just go up the access
tunnels a few hundred feet and do that every day," one complained.
The others gave him a hard look and he subsided.

The five who'd gotten on together traded glances.

Most of the besuited ones got off the elevator on UL3 -- upper level,
apparently. So did one of the five: a rawboned, red-haired young man.
Nobody gave him a second look as he trundled down the hall in his
labcoat.

The invisible one silently wished him luck.

Back in town, the sixth member of their expedition had gathered
together all of the parents, pets, worldly goods and useful items
which they had spent a week gathering together. Bringing that much
material from world to world required a larger portal than the dice
could create; it needed at least one wizard (preferably more) and some
serious spell-casting time.

They'd found that out the time they'd raided the lab with all those
clones and fetuses in it. They'd assumed it would be a quick matter of
smash and burn, and had been totally unprepared to loot and pillage.
Even their seer hadn't dreamed of such a possibility. The clones had
been more than willing to leave their enslavement. The clones urged
them to destroy the slightly younger victims of the Consortium, but
killing so many living creatures was naturally out of the question.
Despite the logistical difficulties they had found a way. They had
sent a message back to the wizards at the college and found one who
admitted knowledge of the somewhat dubious techniques used to create
chimerical magic creatures. That took care of how to keep the eggs
viable and fetuses and embryos alive until they came to term. It had
also inspired them to keep a very strong watch on the process. There
was no point rescuing people from experiments in one world, only to
let them fall victim to the same thing in another. Still, the time it
all had taken had nearly been their undoing. Five people, however
skilled and well-equipped with magical weapons, were a poor match for
an army of Men in Black, and a worse one for the shapeshifting Bounty
Hunters. Her cloak had done her little good that day; let enough
bullets fly and even the invisible can be hit.

She felt the hands of the watch on her wrist. Their wizard would
begin transport in five minutes. They would begin the rescue
operation at about the same time, thus dividing the enemy's forces.
With luck, they'd all be able to avoid a messy fight.

Even as she thought back on this, the invisible one paid attention to
the feel of the talisman in her hand. The tug of magic in it grew
stronger as the elevator went further down. As they came to LL5, she
felt the pull turn horizontal. She nudged her companions. This was
the floor.

By this time the elevator had cleared out somewhat, so leaving the
elevator was not nearly such a production number.  As they had seen
on the previous levels, at least three different hallways led away
from the shaft.

"Great. A maze of twisty little passages that all look alike,"
groaned the short blocky one. "Hoody hoo."

"Not all alike," she whispered back, still unseen. "The talisman
says they're thataway."

"What if this doesn't work?"

"It'll work. The next turn's here, and then...." At the end of the
next intersecting hallway, two guards stood glowering at them in
front of a door. The four kept walking casually past the hallway,
but stopped a few yards beyond. "I'll take the guards." They could
not hear her silent steps, but they knew she had walked forward and
then run back.  They peeked around the corner. The guards slumped.
"Sleep powder makes me feel so lazy," she said. "But it's useful,
and I'd really hate to have to hurt them."

"Is it safe now?"

"Give it another few seconds to lose potency...yes."

"Then let's move!"

The four hurried down the hallway. They dragged the guards out of
the way and looked at the two identical doors, each furnished with
electronic key locks. "Can you get these open, Sheila?"

A pile of weapons with no obvious means of support paused in the
act of being passed out. "Not quickly. Bobby?"

The darkhaired man did not look at all like the blond barbarian that
the Consortium was looking for, but when a club appeared, seemingly
floating in mid-air, he grasped it eagerly. "Stand back, everybody,"
he warned, then pounded it against the ground until it glowed with
power and slammed it against the two locked doors in turn.

The doors fell like the wargames market.

There were guards within, as they had suspected. The labcoated
warriors retreated, leaving nothing behind but an invisible cloud of
the sleep powder. The guards ran right into it.

"Awww. I was hoping for a fight, Sheila. Couldn't you leave me a
couple of 'em?"

"We're not here for the fun of it. We're here to rescue Dana and
Mulder."

"Yeah, I know."

They waited the requisite time and then peered into the rooms. Each
was identically furnished with a hospital bed and a patient under
restraints: Dana and Mulder, respectively. Sheila took off her hood,
administered the sleep powder antidote, and hurried over to the other
room to give it to Mulder as well. Within a few minutes, the two FBI
agents were both free and conscious again, although looking weaker
than she liked; she'd had to give Mulder her arm just to walk him
over to his partner's room. And all the while she felt the pressure
of time passing.

"Sheila I recognize...barely. But who are the rest of you people?"
Mulder demanded.

"The Consortium knows what we look like," Bobby explained. "But
give Sheila her cloak and us a polymorph spell, and we can waltz in
before anybody knows what happened!"

"Magic works here," Hank's voice explained out of the weedy-looking
man's body, "as long as you have enough magical power of your own,
or the spell is cast in the Realm."

"And even if you've got a magical weapon that only works in the
Realm," Diana explained out of a blond woman's body, "you can have a
wizard make a little...bubble of Realm-ness and put it around the
weapon. Once we learned that trick, we were able to pull all kinds
of stunts."

"And we'd better get going if we want to pull this one off," Sheila
warned from the doorway.

"That's good advice," said the smoking man from behind her. "Too bad
it's too late for you to follow it."

Sheila's hand darted toward her pouch of sleep powder. A bullet
cracked, and the wall beyond her gained a tiny hole. She went still.