The Lambs: Part 2 (15/21) by Lamia (AKA so kiss me goodbye) Rating: PG-13 (violence, strong language) Category: S Spoilers: Seasons 1-9, Fight the Future Keywords: William; Colonization Summary: Liam van de Kamp's life changes the day two FBI agents kidnap him and his parents. Author's Note: The Lambs is a three-part story (with prologue). Chapter 25 Easter Sunday April 8, 2012 New Mexico Hands jabbed into his back. Liam's feet tangled as he staggered beyond the curtain into the view of the packed hall. It was his nightmare made real. The stage was lit but the audience was in darkness, their faces hidden. Jaw clenching, he threw himself into his humiliation. Literally. He fell to his knees and clutched at the hem of the cape dangling around Pontius Pilate's bony ankles. "Spare me, oh mighty Governor. One begs of Rome, look favorably on this poor creature." He improvised a wail, and when the audience failed to restrain their laughter, he was encouraged to take it further. "Alas! My poor wives and eleven children - who shall provide for them if I am not? Shall Rome protect my fatherless babes and six maiden sisters? I beg upon you, oh splendiferous Pontius, bestow upon me the grace of true pardon!" Once he got the hang of the rhythm, it was too easy to elaborate on Major Drummond's script. "Up, thief - rabble-rouser. This" - Aaron was a master of the inflection of scorn, sharing a slither of a smile with the audience -"is who you'd have Rome release? What of *this* man?" He swirled his cape. "This Jesus?" Nick was a good choice for Jesus. He slouched serenely off to one side of their makeshift stage, hands bound and drawing every eye in the room at the mention of his name. The audience had been his ever since he opened his mouth; Aaron had teased him for it until it became obvious Nick didn't care - he really liked to sing. Liam didn't. The first rehearsal for Major Drummond's Easter play ended in a ten-minute standoff. Liam's voice refused to participate. The actors stopped and started, stopped and started the same scene seven times. Each time his jaw locked. Major Drummond tried praise, then beration, to goad Liam into action - and when Liam did open his mouth, all that fell out was a strangled croak. The Major had no choice but to recast the role of Simon of Cyrene, whose musical verses acted as a semi-narration of events. Ellie thought Liam was mad passing up the chance to have a "starring role," but never once during rehearsals had he felt any regret. As it was, the Major had his revenge, and Liam found himself with a speaking part. He could cope with that. As Barabbas he had less time on stage and only one line to sing (croak) in a cast number. The threat of that one line was enough to set off his stage fright until Mulder suggested he sing it as though he was the comic relief - which helped him develop Barabbas's back story (which he was careful never to reveal to the Major). Barabbas's line delivered and his future as a free man secured, and Jesus doomed to crucifixion, Liam chose to characterize his exit with a jaunty step and a catchy whistle (one Toby had suggested, and which seemed to fit his character's mood). The whistle was another crowd pleaser - a ripple of laughter went across the room. It had all been so easy he wondered why he had put up so much of a fuss in the first place. It wasn't like the new Simon of Cyrene had been that much better than he would have been. The turnout for Major Drummond's Easter play had exceeded expectations - even Gibson and Rudi, the camp's two most reclusive figures, showed up for seats. They hadn't come to watch the play. Major Drummond's cheeks were straining scarlet when Liam bowled into him behind the curtain off stage. "Think that was funny, boy?" Santa Claus had sprouted fangs. A fleck of spit belly flopped onto the tip of Liam's nose. The Major's face loomed in close. "I'll talk to you. Later." Liam's stomach knotted. He hopped over prop palm fronds and market tables, over the cardboard crucifix, to the wall where the other offstage actors waited. *What did I do to deserve that?* Was a little ad-libbing all that bad? He leaned against the wall. Somewhere, on stage, someone might have been crying. They sounded far, far away. Liam waited in a cold fog while the play unfolded and Simon of Cyrene sang his final notes to finish it off. Liam took his bows with the rest of the cast and filed off-stage to sit on the floor at the head of the audience. The lights came up. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. The Major waited for the clapping to end before he pulled his lectern out. He panned across the audience rows, craning his neck to take in faces in the far corners. "Today we are Simon." A rustle of interest swept the audience. Liam didn't have to look behind him to know backs had straightened. "Today we are asked to shoulder a burden. Today we are visitors in Jerusalem for Passover, plucked from the crowd. Coming face-to-face with this strange, bloodied ... debased man. Compelled to lift up the end of the Cross and stand behind Him as He reels and staggers along the road to Golgotha." The Major's voice beat like a hammer on their anvil ears. His fingers curled around the edges of the lectern as he leaned over it - and over the room. The muscles across Liam's shoulder blades were rigid. "You know Simon's feelings: the confusion, the anger, the resignation, the shame, the embarrassment. You know these feelings because they are your feelings. Because, today, you are Simon. Plucked from the crowd. Weighed down with knowledge, with belief. Asked to take action." Whatever their thoughts or feelings, no one in the congregation moved or whispered. No one in the front row fidgeted. "We have all been singled out. Pressed into action the day we chose to remain here and fight. "Why this burden today? Jesus bought us eternal life, didn't He? Salvation and forgiveness through a supreme act of love when He died for us on the Cross. That was two thousand years ago. Surely that takes care of matters? The battle for our mortal salvation is over. Isn't it? "The Holy Father knows every moment of time, I tell you - He *is* every moment in time. Shoulder a burden today in Christ's name and you are Simon of Cyrene." "On your shoulder, your hands on that Cross." The Major wheeled about and spread his arms beneath the cardboard crucifix which had been rigged to hang from the ceiling. His voice crashed and careened, the emotions in his message hurtling and swooping like a roller coaster. "Shouldering a burden today we reaffirm Simon's act. God is all time. When we place our own hands on the Cross today we reach across time. We heft it on our own back. We share a burden with Christ. "But today's crosses no longer look the same. Today's crosses come in different sizes, different shapes - and carrying them requires not physical strength but moral fortitude. "And today we in this room are faced with our own important cross." This was it - it had to be - the reason they'd all come this morning. They'd been building to this point for a month - ever since he and Mrs. Scully received the vaccine. Had it only been a few weeks ago? Liam had been persistent in checking on her, pushing his luck. "How are you feeling today, Mrs. Scully?" he'd ask. She had tolerated to his constant concern. She knew he was worried about the vaccine, and she took time to consider his questions and answer truthfully. He had been dying to tell her - and still was - she wasn't going through the experience alone. Liam never had any side effects. He had met Dr. Scully everyday so she could check him and record any potential symptoms. He always passed with flying colors. He remembered his final conversation with Mrs. Scully about it. "For the last time, Liam, I'm fine. Never been better," she said. "Arms up." The shirt came over his head. She pinched the material in under his arms. "Have you talked to Major Drummond yet?" "I was kind of hoping Mom would." Little silver flashes flicked in and out as she stitched the shirt. "That's not like you, Liam. He doesn't bite. If you just explain the situation he'll understand. Singing is not everyone's thing - and it would be wrong to be forced to do something when you had no say in it." "Yeah, I guess." "But?" Liam shrugged. "I don't know." He hadn't been able to tell her his real thoughts: that he watched the Major closely; that he felt an inexplicable need to avoid drawing attention to himself (especially after his first disastrous rehearsal). Partly it was because of the vaccine - his worst fear was blurting something he shouldn't - but that wasn't all of it. Mrs. Scully was altering hand-me downs for him. She straightened the seams across his shoulders. "How long before they decide the vaccine is safe?" Liam asked. Mrs. Scully frowned as she checked for evenness. "Not too much longer. No one's had a serious reaction so far, and I don't think we can afford to wait." After Mrs. Scully received her dose, others had lined up to test the vaccine. Dr. Scully had officially been charting the health of six adults. Liam had no doubts about the vaccine. He was convinced it had cured him of his nightmares and would stop anyone else turning into a supersoldier. Since receiving it, his sleep had been uninterrupted and dreamless, and he hadn't sensed he was being watched for weeks. Dr. Scully listened to his assessment gravely but wouldn't comment one way or the other. In the days following their vaccinations, she hovered close around both her mother and Liam. The first twenty-four hours had been the worst. It must have been difficult for her to come up with plausible excuses to stay near him. At night she seemed reluctant to let either of them disappear from her sight, waylaying them both in the mess hall well past his usual bedtime. Liam learned later Dr. Scully had dozed in a chair across from her mother for two nights. When it appeared she would do the same a third night, Mrs. Scully snapped. "I'm not going to allow you to use me as an excuse to ignore your own health - you get some decent sleep tonight." Mrs. Scully's tone had been sharp, eliciting stares from several people at dinner time. She brought the battle to a public place. Dr. Scully reddened but by the time she glared around the room, heads were bowed again over plates. The doctor must have taken her mother's advice; by the third day, with neither Liam nor Mrs. Scully showing any adverse reaction, her face and posture lightened. The strain returned on the fifth day when a second adult received the vaccine, but Dr. Scully bounced back, and Liam sensed her confidence in the vaccine was growing. That had been only a few weeks before Easter. Nothing had been announced to the camp. Until today. Liam lifted his chin on his knees to focus on Major Drummond. "It is no secret we have been trialing a vaccine. One we believe will protect us from enslavement - or worse: extinction." *At last!* "Believers, you might well be asking how extinction could be God's plan." Major Drummond's face roved the room, his eyes bright. "It's not, I tell you. God has blessed us with good minds and tenacious spirits." Liam let out a frustrated sigh. "It can not be by chance that those who are here *are here*. God has called together the people who know what to do with the tools given us. This is the key to facing the biggest threat we will ever encounter." Doubt didn't seem to be a word Major Drummond was acquainted with; day-follows-night, the sun-rises-in-the-east, he believed everything he was saying. *And why shouldn't he be right? Maybe we are special*. Events were stacked up like his mother's fine china collection; too many seemed too aligned, too convenient. How could everything that had happened to him be coincidence? "God does not want us to give in, to accede to this invasion. It's His plan that we should fight it. "We do not face this battle alone. "But we know our heads and hands alone are not enough. More is needed. Without our hearts - without love - our plans will fall apart like sandcastles in the desert." Liam scrunched and unscrunched his toes, pushing his feet into the floor, then lifting them and rocking back. He wished Major Drummond would skip to the good bit. "What of the man who says 'so what?' *He* may say, 'What does it matter? Our immortal salvation has already been secured.'" "Such a man is foolish. Yes, the price paid by Christ has secured our redemption - and yes, the Day of his Return is set. "But who knows the day of that Return? The Old Testament prophets? The modern day clairvoyants and spiritualists?" He paused with a sly smile. "The ancient Mayans?" "People may ask me: 'How can you be so sure Christ will not return on December 22? That this isn't the Day of the Return? I remind myself of Matthew's words: 'About that day and hour no one knows, not the angels of heaven, nor the Son - the Father only knows.' "I do not believe the Day of the Return was revealed to these Mayans; I *do* believe it falls on us to labor and sacrifice until we breathe our last breaths to ensure - as best we are able - others will come after us who can have their chance to choose repentance, to receive Christ's redemption." "I believe God wants us to defend His creation - I have faith in Him. I believe He offered us unfathomable mercy when He sent His only Son to live an earthly life. He valued His creation - and He wants us to value it too." Liam stretched his neck and saw his friends twisting and changing position. Unfolding her legs, Ellie mimed death by boredom. "How much longer?" Major Drummond stepped out from behind his leaning post. His voice carried, deep and ringing. "Jesus was the Lamb of God. His ultimate act of love - His sacrifice - brought us eternal salvation." His words were a threat. Liam, white-knuckled, wrapped his hands around his feet, curling himself up tight. How far was the Major saying they would have to go? The rollout of the vaccine was a gamble but not the biggest risk Liam could see. The Major had talked about sacrifice before. This time, though, his message seemed to go further. The eyes of the small children on the floor next to Liam were as round as flying saucers. How much did they understand? Maybe not everything, but they could tell something was up. *What are we sacrificing?* "We have a vaccine. It has been trialed on six adults. None experienced immediate side effects, none have shown any reaction since. We have no way of knowing for sure the vaccine works. At best we are guessing. Our guesses are educated - yes - but can be nothing more. We have no more time. We must act now. "Who was Simon of Cyrene? No one special. Not a noble man or a wealthy merchant. Not one of Christ's disciples, not one of the many outcasts or ill He cured. "Was Simon forced to carry the cross? Or did he offer to help? We don't know. It doesn't matter. Simon put himself under a wooden cross - that was his burden; our cross is not wooden - but it is no less of a burden. Our cross is made of fear and blindness. Fear because we do not know what we face. Blindness because we can not see what we face. "Today God asks us to put our hands on the cross and walk with Christ. Today we are asked to support Him the only way we can." Liam felt himself shrink from the Major's intense stare which swept over his audience. "Today we are Simon - and we are something else." The Major took a deep breath. "Today God asks us to be His lambs." -o0o- "You got me in trouble." Toby laughed off the accusation and the hoots and jeers from his companions. Cards dropped from his hand next to a small pile of stones on the picnic table top. "What did I do?" Gibson raised an eyebrow. It still unnerved Liam to see him spending time with other people. With the exception of the accountant and one of Eric Hosteen's grizzled old trackers, the men at the table all had to be in their early twenties. It had never occurred to him before, but Liam wondered if they ever sometimes got sick of not having many girls to talk to. He saw a dash of color behind a building and he called to Sal before confronting Toby again. "*Always Look on the Bright Side of Life*?" Toby grinned. "It's a salutary piece of advice." "That's what you got me to whistle." "Everyone loved it - you stole the show." "The whistle?" Shu laughed. "The whistle was very good. Very funny." "No, it wasn't." Liam scowled. "Major Drummond complained to Mom and now I'm stuck doing dishes for a week." "But it was worth it, wasn't it?" Toby was a picture of innocence. Sal trotted to the picnic table and sat beside him and the accountant. They scratched behind her ears. Her tongue hung out, making Liam laugh. "Traitor," he said, but he was grinning too so Toby had to know he wasn't really angry. Toby pushed his cards and stones along the table top. "Shove over, Al - make some space for Liam." They were soaking up the sunshine - Alan was spread across one side of the picnic table bench, an arm bent under his head, which lifted a fraction while he peered out from under his sunglasses. "Hey, Liam. You were awesome, by the way." "*You* were great," Toby said. "Too bad the rest of the morning was bull." Liam climbed over the bench to sit down. "Was the play *that* bad?" "If you hated it so much why did you stay?" asked the accountant (who had a head of gray hair, always dressed like he was heading to his office, and had a name Liam still couldn't remember). "Not the play." Toby let his glasses slip to the bottom of his nose and blew his cheeks out. He picked up his cards and held them to his heart. He tucked his chin into his neck and with a voice that came deep from his chest, he intoned, "Today, we are the lambs!" His expression soured. "Why does everything have to be such a fucking production with that man?" Alan, still flat on his back, let out a chuckle. "You let yourself get worked up over the strangest things, Smith." "Little kids were there today. They did not need to hear that crap." "Liam's a kid - not so little any more but still a kid. He doesn't seem bothered." "I'm not bothered," Liam said with a shrug. "Major Drummond thinks God wants us to sacrifice ourselves to test the vaccine." "Seems a reasonable approximation of events," the accountant said. "I'd agree with that." Gibson was having a friendly day; they were occurring with more frequency. "Two pair." Toby threw his last cards down. The accountant bared his teeth and spread two aces and three kings before scooping up a pile of stones from the middle of the table. The pile in front of him was three times larger than anyone else's. Toby watched the man pat his pebbles into a neat pyramid. "Yeah. Well, Liam's not your average kid. For one thing, he can keep secrets." The silence was instant and Liam felt the force of several pairs of eyes on him. *Not again.* He wanted to roll his eyes. Instead, he bit his lip and nodded. "The Major's an idiot, Liam - I didn't tell you that. He's got some stupid ideas and he thinks he's inspiring us to some great moral victory. He thinks we're fighting on some metaphysical plane. He's not and we're not. He wasn't entirely honest today, and that's what I don't like. People didn't get the whole truth." The table jiggled as Toby shuffled the cards. Sunlight flashed off the shiny rims of his glasses. "Oh yeah?" Cooper eyed Toby. "What's the whole truth then?" "Even if the vaccine is effective, there's no way everyone can be vaccinated in time. We probably don't *need* everyone to be vaccinated - but there *is* a critical number we need to meet. And if we don't reach it, having the vaccine is probably next to pointless." Alan pulled his hat over his face; Shu traced a finger along a crack in the tabletop. "Would you believe it?" The cards cascaded to a standstill. "The infrastructure's there to get the vaccine out. For years groups have been quietly building networks for production and dispersal, developing cover stories to prepare populations for the uptake of the vaccine. We've had a plan - kind of. But we've never really been sure what any of those colonization dates meant. Was it supposed to be rolled out gradually or was it going to happen all at once? No one knew. Now it's looking more and more likely December 22 is a critical deadline for us - and it's simply not feasible to get enough people done in time." The accountant rubbed his head. "That was our whole plan, wasn't it? Mass vaccination to render an invasion pointless. What happens if not enough people get the vaccine?" Toby shrugged. "Ask Drummond. He's the one with the hotline to Heaven." "He's just one man - how'd he get to be here, anyway? Seems strange how everyone defers to him." Toby fingered a card, deep in thought. "Official story? He was a military engineer way back. Quit years ago. I never heard how he got into the church but he was in New Jersey for a long time. I heard" - Toby glanced at Gibson -"something went down there. I get the impression he ran into some trouble - maybe gambling debts? Misappropriation of funds? Who knows? He ended up back *here* because of his engineering background. He set this place up. He's been here since day one." Alan hoisted himself up on his elbows. "He ended up here like everyone else - either he or someone he knew was abducted." "So what was it?" "Wife, I think - he doesn't talk about it." Liam had worked out early on to be careful asking why people had come to the camp. Some brought it up themselves - like the opportunity was a relief; others, like Dr. Scully, were guarded about their experiences. "So that's it? We place our faith in the hands of a vaccine which may or may not work? There's no plan B?" Toby snorted. "That *is* Plan B." His fingers dispensed the cards (skipping Liam) with mechanical dexterity. "The second supersoldier's been gone for weeks. Nobody's heard anything - so we can't pin any hopes on that." The accountant stared at his cards before his lips peeled back in a vicious smile. "Wouldn't it be great if we could, you know, give them a taste of their own medicine? Infect *them* with a virus?" Toby grinned. "*That* was plan A." Was he joking? Maybe he was - the accountant didn't seem to think so. "We've looked into it? And what? No go?" "You've seen one too many movies, bud," Al said from beneath his hat. The man ducked his head. "Maybe. Viruses and nanobots - I suppose it's all too much to ask for." "Nanobots?" Toby's grin twisted. "While we're at it, let's steal the batmobile." "It's not *that* unrealistic," the man replied. "Researchers have been working on them for more than a decade." "You think we haven't discussed it? Before Scully isolated the virus - and that was by pure luck - we had all sorts of grand ideas brewing -" "We had to," Shu said. Al's hat nodded. "A faceless, creeping enemy. Smoking ghosts - how do you fight that sort of thing?" "Some of our ideas were practical, most were just talk," Toby said. "Truth is when we decided to base ourselves here, we made things ten times harder for ourselves. We never stopped playing the what-if game, but ..." Sal nudged Liam in the back, tempting him back to their walk. The conversation had gone somber. "It's not that the nanobot idea is stupid - far from it. At this stage of the game it's out of our time frame. You're talking about years of R and D access to cutting-edge technology. People have been working on the technology - but no one's come anywhere close enough. And now, out here" - he looked to the mountain ranges that surrounded them -"it's beyond *our* reach, at least. Doesn't mean anyone else isn't trying, but here we have to accept there's just no way someone is going to walk into this camp now and say here's a box of nanobots - knock yourselves out." "That would be an unusual stroke of luck," the accountant said. Sal barked and Skinner and Mulder emerged from a door, a basketball under Mulder's elbow. "We're heading that way." Mulder nodded toward the court. "Anyone want to join us?" "Maybe later," Gibson said. The men moved off. When they were beyond earshot, Toby resumed. "Even if someone did turn up with nanobots what are we supposed to do with them?" "That's really our first problem," Al said. "What kills the little fuckers?" The accountant jumped in with an answer. "Use nanobots which can transmit the results back to base so you can study the ship system then tailor a biological response. Remote controlled nanobots - didn't the shapeshifter tell you the ships are made out of some biological-metallic hybrid material?" Al put on a robotic voice. "We are the Borg. Resistance is futile!" "But think! The damage you could do might be limitless! You could solve your problems once and for all!" Toby looked at the accountant with admiration. "You really weren't listening, were you?" "I can dream," the man said, straight faced. Shu tapped his cards against his chin. "Did Jeremiah Smith talk about the Grays' ships? I don't remember." "Doesn't matter who said it; it's a popular theory," the accountant replied. "Some stories describe ships doing crazy things; Rudi's artifact - that's another bit of evidence." Rudi dipped his head at the accountant. "It *was* alive." Cooper scratched his whiskers. "Does it need to be something sophisticated?" he asked. "I've never heard anything that said Grays were immune to bullets. Rudi's group managed to do it - that suggests the Grays are more vulnerable than supersoldiers and shapeshifters. You consider the Trojan horse idea? Load up a crate with firepower and as many man as you can fit, get the Grays to take it on board and let rip." "Wow ... that's so damn obvious I wonder how we never thought of it before?" Toby sneered but when he continued he dropped the sarcasm. "Sneaking contraband onto a spaceship isn't that easy. It took Rudi's grandfather years to pull it off." "And *he* was psychic." Rudi was so quiet Liam would have missed the comment if he hadn't seen Rudi's mouth move. Cooper's shoulders twitched. "Pity." "Yeah." The accountant fingered his pebbles as he examined his hand. "Cooper raises a good point. We must know *something* about the Grays." Liam studied the man. He's *like a dog with a bone*. Sal let out a whine. "This hasn't been a one-way game. The conspirators had years to study them. Didn't Mulder find a boxcar full of gray corpses sometime? Corpses with smallpox vaccination scars -" Toby shook his head. "That doesn't mean anything. All that research? Everything the conspiracy learned? All blew up when they killed the last surviving member." Liam rubbed his neck where sunlight beat down on it. "Alright, alright," the accountant said. "I get it - no nanobots, no intelligent nanobot viruses. It's foolish even thinking about it." Al sat up. "Not foolish, man. Depressing." "Can we get on with the game then?" Toby waved the cards in his hand. Gibson knocked the table standing up. He was looking in the direction Mulder had gone. "I think I'll sit this one out. Thanks for the invite, guys. Catch you later." Rudi was quick to follow. Frowning, Toby watched them leave. "Gibson's not so bad ... but I can never tell if he's getting extra help when we play."