Hello, all!
The following story
is a `crossover universe' story, wherein our two favorite FBI agents get to
meet & have an other-worldly adventure with the characters from an animated
show called "The Real Ghostbusters", a show that ran in the late
`80s. Please note: this animated show's story editor, and frequent
scriptwriter, was J. Michael Straczynski of
"The Real Ghostbusters" has quite a fan-following out there, with many wonderful fanzines filled with stories by very talented writers. Within the fandom, the show is generally referred to as "RGB", for short. This story originally appeared in "Crossfiles" in May, 1995. "Crossfiles" is an amateur fanzine for stories cross-universed with the X-file universe.
If you've never seen RGB, you can use the movie "Ghostbusters" as a quickie short-hand to understanding this story's characters-though they are occasionally quite a bit different in the animated version! So just to help you out if you've never seen the show, here are the bios of the guys from RGB, alphabetically:
Dr. Egon Spengler: Nuclear physicist. Tall, long-faced, deep-voiced scientist whose steady, pedantic manner is somewhat belied by his punky blond hair-do and funky red-rimmed glasses. A bona-fide genius with a wry, dry sense of humor that comes out of left field-has been compared to Mr. Spock.
Dr. Raymond Stanz: Occultist with a vast knowledge of spells and demons. Red-headed, chubby, open-faced, genial, optimistic, always eager; a perfect complement to the dour Egon and a hell of a nice guy. Though he is an `occultist', he is also handy with the machinery of his trade, too. (He and Egon invented all of the Ghostbusters' equipment.) His child-like openness sometimes makes him a target for spirits seeking a terrestrial body to inhabit.
Dr. Peter Venkman:
Sarcastic, sardonic, often annoying; this self-described "kid from
Winston Zeddemore:
Hired by the Ghostbusters when the number of ghosts in
And finally, the story! I hope you enjoy it. Oh... I usually put a funny song line or quote that comments on the action in the chapter at the beginning of each chapter in my stories--sometimes they are fake, sometimes real, often an in-joke. I think got the idea from Robert Aspirin's "Myth Adventure" series. The names at the section headings indicate point-of-view. It was kinda fun to write it that way. Send greetings and salutations (and constructive criticism) to: vecchio at trickster.org
by Celeste
Hotaling-Lyons
Chapter One: "Don't ya, don't ya, don't ya; don't ya know, know, know;
don't ya know that you're drivin' me cra-a-a-azy! Crazy, crazy!" Pop-star
Lin Minmai's "Not A Drive, It's A Short Putt"
Somewhere on the
"What is your problem, you nutcase?!" bellowed Special Agent Fox Mulder, honking the horn of the government-issue, American-made car he drove.
Dana Scully jolted
to awareness and turned a blue-eyed glare on her oblivious partner, who was
staring in disbelief at the city bus that had just cut him off at 65 miles per
hour. Only moments ago, she had leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes;
not tired, but bored after miles and miles of Jersey Turnpike; and had been on
the verge of drifting off, when his yell of outrage pulled her back to the
present. Not that she'd thought he was yelling at her-he'd been
haranguing "those crazy
"I do wish we'd
flown up," she said, regret coloring her words. "It's ridiculous. We
could have rented a car at
"Departmental budget cutbacks; this case isn't high enough on the priorities list to justify the expense of two airline tickets and a rental," Mulder stated, flatly. "...not that X Files is being unduly harassed by the upper echelons...," he added, sotto voce.
"Politics," Scully almost sighed the word, "not your strong suit. Nor mine, when it comes right down to it."
They were headed
for, of all places, the swamps located south of
Suddenly, she grinned briefly, turning her face to the window so that Mulder couldn't see her smile. If he did, he'd want to know what was so funny and would pester her until she told him. She was remembering what he had called the bus driver who'd cut him off. It was certainly a noteworthy occasion when Special Agent Fox "Spooky" Mulder got to call someone else a `nutcase'...
* * * * *
Mid-town
"Peter, I don't like this. In fact, I really hate this!" Ray Stanz slumped in the back seat of Ecto-1, looking uncharacteristically glum. The stocky occultist spoke to the back of the head directly in front of him, but the owner of same, Dr. Peter Venkman, ignored him. Peter pointedly buried his nose in the huge map of the New York City/Northern New Jersey highway system he had spread across the dashboard, making believe he was actually taking his job as navigator seriously-what did these guys want from him, anyway?
The four
Ghostbusters were on their way to film a Special News Report for the WOR 9 News
and, as the superstation was located in Secaucus, were fighting the usual
mid-town
"Ray, what's with you? You've been crabbin' since we left headquarters," the driver, Winston Zeddemore, spoke over his shoulder, keeping an eye on the sea of yellow cabs that seemed intent on playing `bumper cars' with them. "The traffic's bad, but no worse than the usual mid-afternoon nightmare...'sides, you're not the one driving in this mess, I am...Hey! Whatchit, fool!" This last was aimed at an idiot in a red Corvette who was apparently trying to beat Ecto-1 to the red light up ahead and was willing to lose some paint in the attempt. Winston's hands clenched on the wheel in a gesture Peter recognized-he was obviously resisting the urge to fling a one-fingered salute at the yuppie scum.
Ray snorted in annoyance. "Winston, Peter's dragging us down to Secaucus to investigate swamp gas! We all know this is just one of his silly PR schemes! Egon, you of all people should be on my side! Why aren't you complaining?" He jabbed his seat-mate, Dr. Egon Spengler, in the ribs with an elbow as he said this.
Egon adjusted his red-rimmed glasses on his nose and eyed his scientific cohort dubiously, but was otherwise unruffled. "Actually, Ray, I was quite looking forward to our brief sojourn in the Secaucus swamps. It will be fascinating to see how the local factories' toxic discharge has affected the indiginous New Jersian fungi...."
There was a momentary stunned silence, then an unholy wave of protest hit Peter from his left and behind him. "Peter! You tryin' to kill us???! What's with you, man?..." "Toxic waste?!-just how toxic is this toxic waste, anyway?! Peter!..."
Well, Peter thought to himself sarcastically, how nice. They were letting him know how much they appreciated his enterprise, and at top decibel. He was, after all, the most enterprising Ghostbuster. He sighed and pulled the map over his head. Even if traffic picked up, it was going to be a long trip to New Jersey.
Chapter Two:
"There are more things in heav'n and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy..." Hamlet, Act I, Scene V; the prince male-bonds with his main homeboy
Just outside Secaucus, New Jersey 4:07 PM-Dana Scully
"Where does one park in a swamp?" Mulder had pulled off at the exit noted in the directions faxed to their office by the local state police and the two agents found themselves bouncing over a roadway that was little more than a trail. Hubcap-deep in weeds, they drove past abandoned shacks and the occasional smelly, low-lying pool of green gunk.
Dana's sharp eyes caught a flicker of blue and red in the distance and answered his question. "I'd say over by that parked police car." She grabbed her pocketbook off the seat behind her and threw the strap over her shoulder as Mulder parked by the cop car. They disembarked, I.D.s in hand.
"This is Special Agent Dana Scully," Mulder dipped his head in her direction, "and I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder. What do we have here, officers?"
The larger of the two Jersey state cops, a big man with sandy, gray-flecked hair and a sprinkle of summer freckles across his sun-burnt nose, shook Mulder's free hand and nodded politely at Scully. "Sir...m'am? Good to meet you. I'm Captain Tommy Meller, this is Deputy Grimaldi." He indicated the dark-haired, younger policeman, who grinned a greeting. "I'm surprised it was so easy to get a couple of agents up here from Washington...good to see some one's actually taking us seriously."
"Yeah, the hard part's getting someone to take us seriously," said Mulder, straight-faced. "Captain Meller, is it? What brought you down from headquarters on this one instead of just assigning a field officer?"
"Personal involvement, actually." The police captain shyly ducked his head and avoided their eyes. "You ain't gonna believe this, but I've seen the strangest things this past week...."
"You would be surprised, sir," was Scully's dignified reply.
* * *
Just outside Secaucus, New Jersey 4:07 PM-Ray Stanz
Much to Ray's annoyance, Charles `call-me-Chuck' Benson, the 9 News reporter, seemed to fancy himself a director, because he'd been ordering them about since Ecto-1 had pulled over by the camera truck parked on the side of the road moments ago. Now `Chuck' was putting Egon through his paces. Ray thought it was lucky for the dweeb that Egon was such a polite guy, because a genius of Egon's caliber could have easily verbally filleted good, old `Chuck'. In a battle of wits, the reporter was woefully un-armed.
"OK, Dr. Spengler! You're gonna hold out your EKG gizmo, wave it at the swamp and look concerned!" ordered `Chuck' in self-important tones.
"Actually, it's a `P.K.E. meter'," corrected Egon, swatting ineffectually at a small cloud of gnats.
"Yeah, whattever," replied the smoothly-coifed young man, drawing a sharp look of disapproval from the tall nuclear physicist. "Let's do a run-through on videotape, fellas, we might get something good...." The cameraman hefted the vidi-cam to his shoulder and gave a `thumb's up'.
"Now, let's be loose and enjoy this! Let's see some sparkle, Egon," called Peter to the unamused nuclear physicist. "The camera is your friend! Remember that! Sing out, Louise!"
"Good-bye, dignity! They're getting Peter's horsing-around on tape, that video-camera's running!" muttered Winston to Ray.
"So what?" the red-headed occultist shrugged. "We're all gonna wind up on the blooper reel the video editors put together for the Christmas party every year, no matter what we do...." He sighed, martyred; then both Ghostbusters turned to watch the fun.
"This is `Chuck' Benson for 9 News, reporting from the swamplands of Secaucus. Just across the Hudson River, the skyscrapers of New York City glint in the late-afternoon sun; yet here, it is as if time has stopped. This almost primordial land, a mere a fifteen-minute drive from the height of civilization, has been the site of some mighty odd phenomena recently. Lights, wails and sonic booms have become daily occurrences according to the local inhabitants. But help is on the way! The Ghostbusters have been summoned...."
At this, the cameraman swung his vidi-cam over to where Egon stood, P.K.E. meter in hand. On cue, the dour scientist switched on the hand-held, energy-sensing device and swung it in a short arc. But `Chuck' Benson, investigative reporter, never got to finish his sentence, because the meter emitted a piercing, metallic squeal, causing all in the vicinity who could to clap their hands over their ears. Egon looked astonished for a moment, then quickly threw the device as far from himself and the group as possible. It exploded spectacularly before it even hit the ground.
"Holy Malloly!" Ray's eyes danced with joy; apparently there was going to be some 'busting done after all. "That was a little bit of off-the-scale, I'll bet! Egon, didja catch the reading before she blew?"
The tall scientist looked impressed at the smoking crater that had been a half-dead shrub moments ago. "The needle was pinned, Ray. It was off-the-scale." His eyes roved the seemingly innocent woods around him with concern. "Ray, we are in big trouble."
`Chuck' Benson sputtered, finding his voice at last. "Y-y-you mean, this is a n-n-news story after all?! A real news story?"
"Yep," Peter leaned over and threw a friendly arm about the pasty-faced reporter's shoulders, "with danger and jeopardy and hazards and everything. Maybe Gozer's comin' back! What a scoop for you; eh, Chuckers?"
The glassy-eyed reporter shuddered under the psychologist's arm, "...I'd be an anchor by now if I'd stayed in Springfield, safe behind a desk...but, no, I had to move to the coast, to try for the big time."
"That was your first mistake," agreed the psychologist, flippantly. "Hey! Did anyone ever tell you that you look a lot like Charles Rocket?"
Sometimes Peter could be an idiot, thought Ray, but then he always went and did something wonderful to redeem himself. And, ya know, the guy did look like Charles Rocket....
Chapter Three:
"It's the end of the world as we know it; it's the end of the world as we know it; it's the end of the world as we know it an' I feel fine..." R.E.M.'s `End Of The World', perky yet depressing 90's alternative-rock song.
4:20 PM-Dana Scully
"An explosion!" Scully said, tensed to listen. Two FBI agents and two policemen scanned the area, straining their ears and eyes to the limit.
Mulder pointed, "That way, c'mon!" and all four highly-trained officers of the law went loping off in the direction he'd indicated, guns drawn.
One minute, they'd been standing by the cars, swatting at gnats; the next, there'd been a hellacious explosion in a not-too-distant copse of woods. Pranksters with cherry-bombs? Would the case be that easy to crack?
Scully burst through a stand of trees and found herself by a road, in an open, marshy area; her companions came flying out of the woods on either side of her, then pulled up short, as she had done.
"Freeze!" yelled Deputy Grimaldi at the top of his lungs, gun extended. Six surprised people, four of them in coverall-style uniforms, stared at him as if he was The Creature from the Black Lagoon.
One of the men, who wore a flashy suit, his hair heavily lacquered, snapped, "Keep that tape rollin'," to another man carrying an elaborate video camera. He was carrying a microphone and stuck it in Grimaldi's face, ignoring the gun. "And what, may I ask, is the reason for this unseemly use of unreasonable force, officer?"
The police captain was already holstering his pistol. "It's all right, Deputy; I know this guy from TV...uh, Chuck Benson, I think he's on the local news." He jerked a thumb at the reporter. The news hound beamed, clearly delighted at being recognized.
"Hey! It's the Ghostbusters!" Officer Grimaldi apparently didn't recognize `Chuck', but he seemed to know who the uniformed men were.
"The who?" Scully did not catch the reference, but her partner did. Mulder was able to sum up the group's activities for her in short order: "A New York City-based group of itinerant demonologists and occultists who capture and dispose of ectoplasmic and demonological entities for a fee." He smiled at her, as if pleased with himself.
Scully shot him a look of disbelief-did Mulder have the goods on every fringe group on the planet? She had to admit, thought, she did vaguely remember some excitement about the Ghostbusters in the yellow press some years ago. The New York Post had really gone down in quality since Rupert Murdoch had purchased it.
"And a hefty fee it usually is, my friend," one of the uniformed men apparently agreed with Mulder's assessment. "I," he continued with a flourish and a smile, "am Dr. Peter Venkman. These are Drs. Egon Spengler and Ray Stanz, and this is the estimable Mr. Winston Zeddemore. We are the Ghostbusters." He bowed.
Captain Meller seemed unimpressed. "Yeah? I am Captain Thomas Meller of the New Jersey State Police. You fellows got a permit to set off fireworks?" Dr. Venkman's face fell.
"There were no fireworks involved, sir," Dr. Spengler hastened to explain. "We were called in to investigate some strange local phenomena and were attempting to do so, when the P.K.E. meter registered a power overload and blew. Most distressing. The last time that happened, the situation we faced was almost The End Of The World." Scully could tell that he had capitalized the last five words.
"I suppose you think that explains it all...," started the police captain, but his deputy jumped up enthusiastically, interrupting him.
"For cripe's sake, Cap! These are the Ghostbusters! We shoulda called them first, they'll deal with this! At least tell them what you and the kid saw!"
"Don't mind us," said Scully frostily. The red-headed FBI agent put her gun back into her shoulderbag and stood, hands on hips.
"Yeah, what are we, chopped liver?" her partner sided with her, though in amused tones. She was not grateful.
"Who are you two?" Mr. Zeddemore asked curiously, looking them over. His eyes narrowed. "You guys are Feds, aren't you?"
"How could you tell?" Scully was honestly impressed at the Sherlockian identification.
Mr. Zeddemore shrugged. "Nobody else would wear a white dress shirt and tie in a swamp on a day like today," he said, jerking a thumb at her partner. Mulder, who wore a rather expensive suit that now bore traces of swamp ooze on the pants cuffs, nodded ruefully in agreement. She looked down and saw the same muck encrusting her own sensible shoes and pant legs.
"This is all very interesting," Dr. Spengler interrupted, "but I really am afraid that Something Very Bad Is Happening. Right Now."
"Egon, would you stop capitalizing your words and tell us what's going on?" One of Dr. Spengler's companions, Dr. Venkman, was actually beginning to look nervous. He peered suspiciously at the underbrush, as if he thought a boogieman lurked there. She gritted her teeth. Obviously someone was going to have to take charge of the situation, and she supposed that someone was going to have to be her-she'd been getting a lot of practice in talking to border-line maniacs lately.
"Excuse me? We are Special Agents Scully and Mulder, FBI. We were called in by Captain Meller, here, with regard to some lights and noises originating in this general vicinity. Captain, I suggest you tell us your story from start to finish, perhaps we can finally get somewhere."
"Uh, no thank you, m'am," the police captain's reply surprised her. He glanced nervously at the 9 News vidi-cam and shook his head. The lens was aimed practically up his nose. "I don't think I have departmental authority to go on camera and...."
"Sir." Dr. Spengler, the only person there who could match the police chief's height, stepped forward. "I put it to you that if the world ends sometime in the next few hours, there will be no reason for your concerns about being quoted on television."
A silence fell over the group as they digested what the grim-looking nuclear physicist had just said. For the first time, Scully realized that there was no sound at all-no crickets, no birds, no distant animal calls-in the surrounding woods. Even the gnats had disappeared since the explosion. That, plus something in the tall man's demeanor, obviously impressed the police captain, because he began his story despite the presence of the reporter and the cameraman.
Chapter Four:
"Youse guys may not be afraid'a no ghosts, but as for me..." Satch, in The Bowery Boys' Spookbusters
4:35 PM-Dana Scully
"My son, Tommy Junior, and I like to camp out in these woods. Not too far into the swampland, mind you, but deep enough in so we don't have to listen to the cars on the highway. We were camping out last Saturday night and, at about ten PM or so, Tommy had to take a...s'cuse me, m'am...Tommy had to find a bush to do his business in, if you catch my drift. A few minutes later, he comes back and grabs a bag of Reese's Pieces from all the junk food we packed, and he says, "C'mon, daddy, I found E.T.!" I decided to humor him, but I made sure I had my piece on me, loaded, just in case `E.T.' turns out to be something unhealthy."
"E.T.?" Scully's heart sank when she saw the way the story was going. She realized she'd been harboring a tiny flicker of hope in her heart that it was just a gang of vicious, blessedly normal drug dealers or nuclear-waste dumpers causing the problem. At least it didn't sound like the `Jersey Devil'.
"Yeah, E.T. We have the tape. Tommy is about the same age as the kid in it and he loves that movie." The captain continued, picking up the thread of his tale, "So, out we go, into the woods. It was quiet, like now. I'd have given anything to hear a car go by at that point, the hair on the back of my neck was standing up something fierce! But Tommy's cheerfully leading me along, and we come up to a clearing. There's green light in the clearing, and I pull the kid back. I go up and look around a bush, and there they are...."
"Who?!" gasped Dr. Stanz, leaning forward like a kid listening to a camp-fire story. The hope in Scully's heart that this wasn't going to be an `X-file' crashed and burned.
"It was little greeny-gray people. I swear to you, I haven't had a drink since a glass of wine in a restaurant for my anniversary, two months ago. I wouldn't drink, not near my kid, not when I'm wearing my piece. I never even smoked pot in my life-you don't know me, but I am the straightest arrow who ever lived-ask Grimaldi here! But I seen `em. There's these six little people, and they look just like those guys in E.T.! Or, even more, like those guys in `Close Encounters of the Third Kind!'"
"Spielbergian," breathed `Chuck', round-eyed. "This is great."
The police captain did not look happy on hearing this from the news reporter. "Listen, mister, don't be so cheerful! I could lose my job for seeing hallucinations, if somebody in the department really wanted to make trouble for me. But I saw them, I tell you. And they saw me! They came at me, peeping at me, their skinny little arms reaching for me, trying to touch me! I turned and ran, grabbing Tommy as I ran to the car! How I found it, I don't know, but I tossed the kid into the car, jumped into the driver's seat and peeled out! I left all that stuff behind at the campsite, I didn't even think about it. This is the first time since then I've been back. Next day, I started collecting up all the stories of other people who saw-something-like I did. I have a file this thick," he held his thumb and forefinger a full two inches apart, "of reports filed by people who saw lights, heard noises, all in the last couple weeks. A few even admitted to me that they saw little people, but no one would sign a report to that effect."
"Right." Scully traded a look with Mulder, squared her shoulders and faced the group. "Captain Meller, you and your deputy will please escort us to the location of your sighting. I am afraid that I am going to have to ask the civilians to stay behind-no arguments, please!"
"I approve-unless, of course, you are including us in that classification," Dr. Spengler said.
"Yes," responded Scully in unison with her partner's, "No!" and she traded another look with him.
"I assume you mean, `no, you can't come along'?" asked the red-headed agent.
Mulder took a deep breath and turned to her, as if preparing for a fight-which, she supposed, he was. "No, I mean, `no, you aren't civilians, you can come along', do you have a problem with that, Scully?"
"Do I have a problem? Mulder-these people make you look normal...."
While she and Mulder quarreled, the Ghostbusters went to their vehicle, a large, converted hearse; and removed some heavy gear from the back. Scully's angry voice trailed off when she caught sight of the strange equipment. Mulder raised his eyebrows at her in mutual surprise, then quirked his head in the direction of the busy group of scientists, and they sauntered over, intrigued.
"And what are those?" asked Scully, blue eyes narrowed suspiciously at the odd contraptions strapped to the Ghostbusters' backs.
"They're proton packs," answered Dr. Stanz cheerfully. "Don't worry, m'am, the EPA knows all about them." It occurred to her that he hadn't made it clear whether the EPA approved of them or not.
Mulder reached over and pulled on her sleeve gently to get her attention. "Scully, these guys are loaded for bear. We may need them. They've been operating in the tri-state area for some years now, doing some pretty funky stuff and, frankly, I've always meant to look them up. I say, `once more, dear friends, into the breech,' for the lot of us. And there is this `End Of The World' thing to consider."
Scully realized, grudgingly, that he was right, but she wasn't about to give in gracefully. "Hmph. You realize, of course, that if one of them gets hurt, Uncle Sam will probably be sued big time. Or, conversely, they might accidentally shoot us with one of those things...."
"Pretty lady, fear not," One of the Ghostbusters, Dr. Venkman, had obviously been eavesdropping. "We haven't accidentally shot any one in, oh, three, maybe four weeks. We are flawless professionals of the highest caliber. And besides, we have very comprehensive health benefits and insurance."
She smiled back at him, somewhat insincerely. "Dr. Venkman, I had no idea you could get insurance against The End Of The World."
Chapter Five:
"I'll believe there's tunnels under Manhattan the day the Chrysler Building sinks in up to its armpits." A mundane dissing B&B
5:00 PM-Fox Mulder
As it turned out, Deputy Grimaldi was unable to accompany the rest to the site Captain Meller had described-the captain announced that the only way to be sure `Chuck' Benson and his cameraman left the scene was to escort them back to the highway, and assigned his deputy to that duty. The reporter protested fiercely, but Mulder somehow got the idea that he was relieved to be denied a chance to accompany them. After a moment of thought, Mulder grabbed the videotape from the cameraman, much to Captain Meller's evident relief. The FBI agent simply didn't want to encourage gangs of reporters cluttering up the area, and knew the wild tale the captain had told would act on them like honey on flies. The two civilians were stuffed into their 9 News van and sent on their way.
"Just one moment...," said Dr. Spengler from the back seat of the hearse, which the Ghostbusters referred to as `Ecto-1', "...this will undoubtedly prove useful." Stepping from the car, he held out a duplicate of the P.K.E. meter that had blown up a few minutes ago. "I've adjusted the take-up to prevent overload, this meter is far less sensitive than other," he explained to Mulder. Holding the device away from the group, he switched it on...and a steady beep came from it. The tall scientist swung the meter in an arc, and the beeping picked up noticeably.
"Yep, that's the direction," the police captain nodded at the bearing the device showed.
Two FBI agents, four Ghostbusters and a New Jersey State policeman started out through the swamp, heading for the thickest of it.
* * * * *
Hiking through a swamp is not easy, even for a physically-fit Special Agent for the F.B.I., considered Mulder. Patches of squelchy soil, rocky stretches, and scrubby underbrush clutched at his feet, and he was finding it difficult to negotiate the terrain. He'd already written off his shoes. He snuck a look at the four oddballs who made up `The Ghostbusters', and realized that his situation could be much worse-were he to strap what he knew was an illegal nuclear particle accelerator to his back and some ghost-trapping contraptions to his belt, he doubted he'd do as well as they were managing. The team seemed used to the added weight and kept up with the less heavily burdened agents of the law. Captain Meller, who knew the region, lead the way; Dr. Spengler kept pace a step or two behind him, confirming the direction with his modified P.K.E. meter. Mulder and the rest fanned out behind them, making their way through the brush as best they could.
"Here it is!" Captain Meller exclaimed, but it wasn't the infamous clearing of little men he indicated, it was the campsite he and his son had hastily abandoned some three days earlier. The site looked untouched. The police captain knelt down and reached through the tent flap, pulling out a worn stuffed toy. "Tommy's been missing Buddy-Bear something fierce," he shrugged, and stuck the bear in his inside jacket pocket.
"Sir, a bit more alacrity if you please," urged Dr. Spengler. He held out the P.K.E. meter for Dr. Stanz to see, and Dr. Stanz whistled, impressed.
"The needle's moving perceptibly higher!" observed the occultist.
"It's been set to show exponential growth," confirmed Dr. Spengler.
Scully looked liked the question she was about to ask had caused a bad taste in her mouth. "Exponential growth of what?" she inquired dubiously.
"Power. A massive power build up of a sort I can't begin to describe. I'm not even sure it's entirely supernatural, there are overtones...," the blond scientist trailed off, engrossed in the readings. "This way, it's not far." Spengler took the lead, the others puffed to keep up with his long stride. The P.K.E. meter in his hand sounding off so quickly it sounded more like a steady tone than a series of beeps, he led them to what Mulder realized was Captain Meller's clearing.
Mulder glanced professionally around the clearing, searching for...he didn't know what. It looked rather pretty in the light of the waning mid-summer sun; the gnarled trees half in shadow and the green, glossy foliage motionless in the unnatural calm. Dr. Spengler did not stop to enjoy the view, but pushed his way through a bush, seemingly unmindful of the thorns catching at his coveralls, and continued in a straight line across the clearing, disappearing into the gloom on the other side. Mulder traded a puzzled look with Scully and scrambled to keep up, followed by the rest of the group of investigators.
"Where'd he go?"
"Doctor Spengler? Sir?"
"Egon! Where the hell are you?"
The nuclear physicist's deep voice responded to their concerned calls. "I'm here. Just next to the spaceship...."
"WHAT?!?"
Following Spengler's voice, Mulder ducked under a fir tree, pushed through, and straightened...and found himself nose-to-wall with a large, silvery obstacle that gently curved up and away from him on either side. Bizarrely, he could not see any reflections in the otherwise mirror-like wall, lit as it was with an inner glow. Swallowing hard, he ran a hand over the surface, and it slid off as if he'd run his fingers over a vat of quick-silver ball-bearings. "Totally frictionless exterior...," he breathed. The FBI agent inched along the `wall' until he came to the rest of the search party, who stood, staring, crowded near to one another-human beings taking solace in the companionship of their own kind in the face of the unimaginable. Spengler had turned off the P.K.E. meter and the group stared, in silence, at a huge rent in the side of the enormous shiny-silver, teardrop-shaped ship. The ugly fracture was singed and melted, and darkness lay within. Mulder moved carefully over the bumpy terrain to stand next to his partner.
"I don't suppose this could be an abandoned set from a science-fiction movie?" whispered Scully, more to herself than to any one else. "...guess not...." Never taking his eyes from the ship, he reached out and took her hand, giving it a brief squeeze for luck when he realized it was trembling.
"Well, boys `n' girls, fellas and gals, this why we get the big money," Venkman's boisterous tone broke the spell. The psychologist flicked a switch on his proton pack and its whine filled the clearing. The other three Ghostbusters followed suit.
"Somebody has to stay outside...," Mulder turned to the white-faced police captain, "...just in case...?" He did not have to finish the sentence.
Captain Meller tore his eyes from the very special special-effect, to meet those of the FBI agent. "I have no problem with that, sir. I ain't a coward. I've arrested members of chain-wielding biker gangs, and I once tackled a son-of-a-bitch with an A-K 47 in his hands; but let me tell you, if God and His heavenly choir of angels flew down from on high at this very moment and bade me enter, I'm not sure even that would get me to set one foot in that thing there." The big man's voice actually shook.
"You're a sensible man, Captain," Scully pulled her gun and nodded to Mulder, signaling her readiness. He pulled his gun as well and gestured for the Ghostbusters to fall back.
"We go first. Rank has its privileges, gentlemen. Wait for us to give the all clear, then you may enter after us. Though, frankly, I wish we had your weapons." That last was muttered out of the corner of the F.B.I. agent's mouth. He stepped up to the opening in the side of the ship, his partner a half-step behind. The eyes of quartet of disappointed Ghostbusters and a deeply shaken police officer followed them until they slipped through the crack.
Chapter Six:
"...they believe in Santa, but they think I'm nuts!" The little kid in the filksong, `Little Green Bug-Eyed Monster', by T.J. Burnside
5:42 PM-Fox Mulder
Mulder moved from the warm pool of light thrown by the summer sun behind him, stepping gingerly as the floor, though solid, canted slightly down and away. He sensed his partner behind him and to the left. Darkness. He was as good as blind for a moment, but his eyes adjusted slowly and he realized the room was, in fact, illuminated by a soft phosphorescent glow. He stood, silent and tense, for a moment, just listening.
lub!
Mulder jumped when he felt, almost rather than heard, an odd, subsonic sound. It came up through the deck, up through the soles of his feet. Deep, weighty, difficult to define-there were no follow-up sounds, making it impossible to pin-point. Hyper-alert, guns still drawn, he moved away from Scully and paced the room, trusting her to guard his back. After a few moments, when nothing else happened, he relaxed marginally, and turned to her, one eyebrow raised. She merely gave him a quizzical look. He shrugged, and looked around the room again.
He blinked with surprise when he realized just what it was the room reminded him of.
"Scully? Did you ever see the movie `Alien'?"
She wasn't given the chance to answer the question, as the lights snapped on abruptly and the machinery, for it was recognizable as machinery, suddenly came to life with a growing hum of power. "Your voice, Mulder...you spoke, and it all started up," she said in a level tone that he knew disguised her alarm.
Without thinking, he spun about, gun at the ready, and she took the same protective stance, back to back. But there was nothing to shoot, nothing from which to defend themselves. His suggestion that the room was reminiscent of the movie `Alien' was a good one. The German artist, Giger, had wanted to suggest a technology of bio-mechanics in that movie and this room looked as if it had been grown, not built. Vari-colored stations sprouted at intervals from the floor more like elaborate floral structures than computer banks, yet for all that, the room was still discernible as a bridge. A large seat bloomed in the middle of it all, as recognizable as Captain Kirk's own bridge chair. It was obviously the nerve center of the room, as stem-like structures visible under the crystalline floor fed from each station to it. A naturalistic, domed ceiling arched high overhead, it was like being inside a huge cream-colored pea pod. It was possibly the most beautiful thing he'd had ever seen.
"Well?" Scully asked him.
"Well, what?" The power surge had leveled off and it looked as if nothing more was going to happen. The room thrummed softly around them. He put his gun back in its holster and turned slowly, drinking in the sight and sound.
"Well, Mulder, this is your thing. I've been trained to deal with serial killers, drug addicts, kidnappers...but this? What do we do, after you've said, `I told you so'?"
Before Mulder could answer, a cheery voice from behind him interrupted.
"Hi y'all. How're things goin' in here; Tex, Missy-M'am?" The FBI agents spun on their heels to find a smiling Dr. Peter Venkman, humming neutron-thrower at the ready, coming in through the tear in the side of the ship closely followed by his fellow Ghostbusters. "We thought you'd need a hand, so we came in uninvited." Mulder had almost forgotten they were waiting outside, overcome as he was by the grandeur of the fallen spacecraft. The Ghostbusters entered the bridge area, consumed with admiration. It seemed even eyes jaded by the majesty of otherworldly continuums like Gozer's palace could appreciate the design beauty of the craft. Zeddemore whistled appreciatively, and Stanz and Spengler gravitated over to one of the stations. Even the dour nuclear physicist goggled like a kid in a toy store.
"Hey, guys, don't touch anything, O.K....?" was barely out of Mulder's mouth when he noticed an odd gaseous effect beginning to fill the room. "Omigod! What the hell is that?!"
The drifting gases abruptly coalesced into six little beings with long, spindly arms; large heads; and enormous, black eyes. They floated eerily around and around the humans standing on their bridge.
Captain Meller had neglected to mention that his little, greeny-gray people were translucent.
Chapter Seven:
"This is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends-not with a whimper, but with a bloody great bang, bang, bang!" Roj Blake
6:00 PM-Egon Spengler
The modified P.K.E. meter in Egon's hand was silent one moment, then gave off piercing shrieks the next, alternately. "Tobin's Spirit Guide is going to be useless in this situation," intoned the tall scientist. He was not a happy camper.
"...and so's that meter. Turn it off, Egon, before she blows, too," said Winston, and the nuclear physicist followed his advice.
"We don't need the Guide!" enthused Ray. "They flew in, they crashed, they died...it was all so abrupt, obviously they felt they left something undone, so they all became ghosts!"
"That's a big leap of faith, Ray. You can't ascribe human-ghost motivations to these little guys," Peter shook his head, then stepped back as one of the creatures flowed past a mite too close for comfort.
"Are you trying to tell us...this isn't about aliens...and it isn't about ghosts. It's about alien ghosts?" Scully's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline as her eyes widened in disbelief. "That's insane."
"No, it isn't! Why shouldn't aliens become ghosts when they die?" asked Ray, indignantly. "They're people, too."
"Ghosts?" Special Agent Mulder's eyes glowed with the revelation. "They're ghosts? So, all of this...belongs to us?" His partner looked as if she wanted to slap him, to bring him to his senses-or just for the fun of it-but instead jumped back as a pair of wraiths almost blind-sided her. She edged towards the tear in the side of the ship.
"I don't care if they're goopers from the planet Yertle the Turtle-they're ghosts, we bust `em." Peter adopted the wide-legged ghost-busting stance one took to keep oneself from being blown backwards by one's own particle stream and hefted his ion thrower cheerfully.
"Unlikely, Peter," Egon clipped the P.K.E. meter to his belt. "They're not like terrestrial ghosts. The harmonic oscillation they exist on is at a vastly higher frequency than what can be affected by our weaponry...or our traps."
Peter looked at the nuclear physicist, crestfallen expression on his face, and powered down his neutron accelerator sadly. "No blasting today? O.K.-so, now what, big guy?"
The aliens answered that question. They had been drifting delicately about the room, but began to move more quickly, until they surged and swirled around and around like leaves in a hurricane. The humans took refuge where they could, behind the odd furnishings growing out of the floor, helpless. Suddenly, all six aliens seemed to flow together, coalescing into a concentrated ball-lightening form. This `ball' lightening swirled around the room once, twice, three times; then shot straight at Ray, who was peeking out from behind a chair, round-eyed. The energy force struck him on the chest with such power that he was thrown bodily against a wall, hitting it flat out. He slide down the bulkhead, unconscious. The bridge was filled with a stunned silence, which was then broken by the others' horrified cries.
"Raaaaay!!!" cried Egon, heart in his throat, in unison with Peter. They jumped from the stations they hid behind and nearly colliding in their haste.
Winston leapt to their side, "Ray, m'man, speak to me!"
"Omigod; Mulder, I warned you-let me through, I'm a doctor!" The red-headed F.B.I. agent pushed past the three Ghostbusters and knelt down beside Ray where he sagged against the curved wall as if all of his bones had turned to rubber. She felt the carteroid artery in his neck, and snapped, "...thready pulse...", and the fact that his best friend had a pulse at all was enough to start Egon breathing again, once he realized he'd been holding his breath. Gently pulling up one of her patient's eyelids, Scully seemed marginally pleased to see the pupil contract in the light, giving Egon further hope.
Then an odd thing happened. Ray seemed to pull himself together like a marionette on a string. His head lolled; his eyelids lifted of their own accord to reveal a steady, personality-less stare; and his mouth fell open upon his chest. A thin voice, entirely unlike his own, came out. "Ugly bags of mostly water!" shrilled the voice. Scully blinked and jumped back, colliding with Mulder, which stopped her in her tracks. "I'm sorry, what did you say, Dr. Stanz?" she asked him.
Where had he heard that odd expression before? thought Egon in confusion. The phrase was tantalizingly familiar. "Ugly what?" he asked.
"It is in this one's mind that we/I should call you that. We/I do not know what this wordage means."
It was the dependable Winston who cleared up the mystery. "Star Trek! Hey, Egon, they can read Ray's mind! That's a line from a first season Next Generation episode...I hated that episode."
"You hated first season," shot back Peter, "...so, Ray's possessed. The aliens are speaking to us through him. So what else is new?"
Egon straightened and pulled the P.K.E. meter off his belt, holding it to the occultist's limp form, but the meter just continued to give contradictory information. "I don't care what the P.K.E. meter does or doesn't say...I'm more convinced than ever that these alien ghosts simply have a different energy signature than terrestrial ghosts." Ruthlessly pushing aside his fear for the stocky occultist, he concentrated on the fascinating puzzle that presented itself to him for solving. He re-adjusting the meter, changing its parameters to match Ray's biorhythms. "I agree with your prognosis, Peter. I believe Ray is channeling one of these beings-perhaps all of them."
"You mean like that old Trek episode, `The Lights of Zetar'?" Mulder waved a hand in front of Ray's eyes, without evoking a response. "I'm impressed."
"Not you, too, Mulder! Why am I not surprised you gentlemen are all Trekkies?" Scully pushed Mulder out of the way and checked the motionless occultist's pulse again, glancing at her watch and counting the beats. She put a hand to his forehead, plainly trying to estimate his temperature. "Interesting. His heart is beating very, very slowly, and I'd say he's running a high fever. It's as if the creatures inhabiting his body are interfering with his bodily functions. You can have no idea how much I hate to say this, but...well, it's like that old Star Trek episode, the one with, uh, `Sargon' in it?"
Her partner grinned at her, as if he were suddenly terribly proud of her. "Excellent analogy, Doctor. I remember the episode." She looked embarrassed at this, and turned back to tend to Ray.
"I often think we could make more money simply renting Ray out as a medium," remarked Peter to Mulder, "but he won't let me." He jerked a thumb at Egon, who ignored him.
"Talk talk talk! You talk too much to one another! What are I/we am, chopped liver? Shuttup, we/it will tell you something important."
A look of irritation passed over Peter's face at the harsh quality of his friend's voice. "The aliens are kvetching at us-what a concept, alien nags. Tell us, O ye aliens, what you will! Then get the hell outa my buddy before you trash his bod, such as it is!" Egon knew it was typical of Peter to be flippant in the face of the unknown, but the FBI agents stared at the psychologist in horror. Fortunately, the aliens apparently did not take offense.
"Send the Spengler to energy emissions device for measuringmentation. On quarter deck. Blue terminal, your water eyes see blue at station. Energy up soft blue down cold blue. Go now, the Spengler."
Egon leapt to his feet and scanned the stations that grew from the deck near him. Only one glowed with a blue light. "I believe this is the one to which it-or-they refer," he said, looking over the panel, the glow reflecting oddly off his face and eyeglasses, "I can't make head nor tails of this with a mere cursory examination, it's simply too alien! Peter, ask it what I do next."
"The man sez, `What next?'" Peter relayed the question for him.
"Soft blue beep-beep-beep energy up, hard blue steady energy down. Tell us with your eyes, is hard and cold steady?"
"Ya got that, Egon? What the hell is a `hard blue', let alone `beep-beep-beep'?"
Egon's sharp mind raced and a picture began to form-it was beginning to make sense. If only he had more time! "I think I understand, Peter. These beings use hues and shades of color to measure quantity and quality. In this case, if the panel were a cold blue, the energy quotient would be low, if we make the assumption that our eyes perceive color the same way the aliens' eyes do-am I right?" Egon raised his voice and aimed that last question at the spirits possessing Ray.
"Is cold, yesss? Please, is cold by your eyes, say yesss?" The aliens' hope was obvious even through the hiss of Ray's voice.
Peter came across the bridge to look at the panel over Egon's shoulder. "I'm no artist, but I'd say this is a nice, warm, soft blue-oddly enough, it's exactly the same color as your eyes, Ms.-Agent-Scully."
"I would concur-that the color is a warm blue, not about your eyes, m'am-which I assume means the energy, whatever kind of energy it is, is `up'. And by `beep-beep-beep', do you mean `an intermittent pulse', because it's doing that, too." Egon searched Ray's face for the aliens' response.
"Ooooooh. Is not good. Poor hue-maaans. Poooor little hue-mans." Ray's harsh voice softened to a nattering sing-song. Scully looked appalled at the whispery pitch Ray's diction had taken, checked his temperature again. She didn't look happy with her findings. "This man is burning up. I suggest we bring this conversation to a conclusion, gentlemen!"
"I really don't like that," gulped Winston. "Sympathy from an alien and Ray on the edge. Let us in on it, will you, little guys?-but hurry!" he addressed Ray as if he were a telecommunication device.
"Beep-beep-beep is engine-core breach. Matter-antimatter to blow-beep-small span of time-beep-poor little hue-mans-beep-melt. Stand just here, the Spengler. Now!"
Egon leapt from the station to crouch beside his fallen friend. Still moving as a marionette moves, Ray's arm lifted slowly from his side until his hand barely touched the forehead of the nuclear physicist.
There was a bright, white light in Egon's head, and he stopped thinking for a while.