Classification: TRHA

Rating: PG (and really, only a few bad words here--this is Byers in here, for God's sake!)

Summary: This is my chance to take a few potshots at some of my favorite targets, and I'm going to let the Gunmen do the dirty work.

Spoilers: Small ones. "Unusual Suspects."

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not going to be. Can I go now?
 

Basanistes

"We're running guns to a holy war
For soldiers of the soul
Where right and wrong come apart at the seams
And fear is on patrol
In the mad mad world
Of a lost newsreel
Little children sing
A blues for Buddha, Buddha
The dollar is our king."

"A Blues for Buddha" by Jimmie O'Neill, Copyright 1988 BMG Music/Used
without permission.
 

Same Night, Later On
 

"Sumatrin, right?"

"That would be the stuff."

He looked pale now. "I'm having it analyzed by a chemist I know at Johns Hopkins. It's going to take a little time to have the contents verified."

"You know, your initial find of the asthma inhalers was ten years ago," I added.

He shook his head. "And it's gotten worse."

"What do you mean?"

"Inhalers have been one of the primary devices for testing chemical and biological weapons on the American public for years."

"I'm finding that a little hard to swallow, By--John. Pardon the pun, by the way."

"Bad puns always forgiven. I've been guilty of them myself. But let me ask you to look at this: pharmaceutical companies are in business to make a profit."

"Businesses generally are, John."

"And only a very few drugs make it to market. So you're a manufacturer of pharmaceuticals. It's taken you ten years to develop a drug. It's going to take time to recapture the cost of that drug. So what can you do to maximize your position?"

"Sell more of it."

"Absolutely. And how do you think that's done?"

"I don't follow the reasoning here. You make it sound as if the pharmaceutical companies are deliberately making us ill in order to maximize their profit position. I mean, it sounds logical in terms of the way you've structured the argument, but the actual argument itself...would appear to me to be flawed."

"Because that's not the entire argument. Let's take a company like Polonis, which manufactures the medication you take for migraines. Polonis needs not only to make money on their migraine medication--"

"Which in DC should be easy," I stuck in.

"--but they have other lines of drugs that they have already developed or are in the works. Why not create a set of symptoms not directly related to the medication dispensed and thus require more drugs? For example, they have an antidepressant drug they are trying to grab more market share on. So why not, just for the sake of the argument, put chemicals in Sumatrin that would make the individuals using that drug clinically depressed?"

"I see a problem with that. Some people have migraines several times a week, and they use the inhaler each time they have one. Others, like me, might use it two or three times a year. So you don't have a matched set here."

"Not exactly, but consider how many people do have to use the medication constantly. Think about how this drug, taken constantly, would affect them. Think about how it affects you, even as an occasional user."

"I tend to stay away from it because it makes you fly off the ceiling, and then when it wears off, you crash to earth with a bang."

"Consider how someone taking this drug, let's say three times a week, is reacting. Half the time they can't sleep, the other half of the time they can't stay awake. And if they don't use it, they spend much of their lives in agony. I've watched Mulder suffer with these headaches, and I know that they're not child's play."

"They can be pretty serious."

"Agreed. So you have a substantial population of chronic users of this medication. And they become very depressed. So they complain and get a prescription for the antidepressant that Polonis makes. And most doctors prescribe whatever their detail people shove on them, so that's likely to be what you'll get."

"Don't you think most people would figure out the connection?"

"Highly unlikely. The original medication might be concocted in such a way that a direct correlation is not likely to be determined. If you look up the information on Sumatrin in the PDR, there is no mention of depression as a side effect."

"They do mention restlessness."

"The restlessness that accompanies the drug is inevitable based on its particular chemistry and bioactivity. The other symptoms are not. Those symptoms are a direct, but subtly incorporated, result of the formulation of the drug. And let's not forget that much of the funding for new medicines comes from our government."

"That I don't have a problem believing."

"Look at cancer research and treatment. The government pours money into it, but we're still doing slash, burn and poison after all this time, and not very well at that. It's a monstrous machinery, with everyone from the top on down having a vested interest in not seeing cancer cured. So we throw money at it, and nothing happens."

"People do make breakthroughs here and there."

"And many of them are silenced. Mostly by the medical establishment and the pharmaceutical companies, but also by our own government."

"And you have confirmation of this."

"In many instances, we do. And we've written extensively on the subject in TMB."

"I'll have to check the back issues."

"And it flows into other aspects of the health-care delivery system as well. Managed care is part of this whole scenario. It's not just about cost containment, although that does play a major part. It's all about personal and social control."

"Back up. You're losing me here."

"You belong to an HMO, don't you?"

I gave a short bark of laughter. "You know that."

"Okay, you're a migraine sufferer. You make an appointment with your HMO. What happens?"

"You wait for two hours, you're seen for two minutes, and you get a scrip and you're sent home."

"Right. What are the implications of such a system?"

"You can see a lot of people in not a lot of time, for one."

"And what's likely to be the result of this?"

"Well, in my experience, the physicians you see don't know much about you, and it's so fast you can't ask them any questions."

"Exactly. Keep the populace docile and deny them the opportunity to investigate their condition."

"I think it's the money thing."

"The cost factors are a large part of it, but the people running these organizations have a vested interest in the design of the delivery of care, as it exists. Think about the people who run these organizations."

"Most of them are disgustingly wealthy."

"They are indeed. And how do they get that way? They determine who gets what kind of care and who is denied. There are lists in these organizations, indicating what treatments are acceptable and which ones are not. If a patient is not too old, and recovery can be accomplished in a cost-effective fashion, then treatment will be offered. If not, the patient will be denied treatment and in the case of the elderly and terminally ill, they will be forced to die." He smoothed a thumb over his beard.

"If that's not a form of social control, I don't know what is. And all of the data we have observed absolutely supports this argument."

"I take it you have your sources on this."

"We do indeed. We use the data from the HMO's themselves, which, of course, they never publicly distribute. Most HMO's in this country are privately owned, meaning that they do not have to reveal their data. The standard argument, of course, is that no lay person would properly interpret the statistics, which is utterly absurd."

"I have to agree on that. It's not like interpreting a statitistical model is all that difficult if you're given the parameters."

"But how often is anyone given the actual parameters? You can create a model to say whatever you want it to say."

"True. And you can do the same thing in your research."

"We can. But if we're trying to get the truth of the matter out there, what would be the point?"

"Truth as you see it. Believe me, I'm not a fan of HMO's, and I'm attempting to defend their positions in any way. I'm just positing that you could build models the same way most researchers do and skew the results in a similar fashion. If I sound as skeptical of you guys as I do of everyone else out there, well, I don't think you can blame me."

He smiled slightly. "Now you're learning."

***

July 15, 1999

Byers and Frohike bailed around 3:00 a.m., and Langly and I decided that the problems of the world could wait until the next morning.

"I'm surprised that with all this gear, you guys didn't clear the bed out," I grumbled as I stubbed my toe on a power cable.

"Now what fun would that be?" he grinned lasciviously.

We opted for fun.

***

Being woken out of a sound sleep by the phone was getting to be a habit.

Langly actually stirred first. "God, get some friends who keep reasonable hours already." He reached over me to grab the cordless. "Yeah, what?" "Mulder, you fuckrag. Don't you know what time it is?" "So? Just because you get up at some godforsaken hour doesn't mean the rest of us do!" "Yeah, she's here." He handed me the phone. "It's for you."

"Hello?" I was still 90 percent comatose.

"Anything you can do about that boy's phone manners?"

"Hi, Mulder. No, not likely. I don't think he's trainable."

"Funny, Scully says the same thing about me."

"Uh-huh. What's up?"

"Remember I told you I'd need you to do some sign language classes?"

"Yeah, I do. Still want me to do them?"

"Yeah, we've got our new recruits."

"What're their names?"

"First one is Ellen Sternberg. She's got a fair bit of expertise in paranormal issues and police experience to boot. Originally planned to be a rabbi, but decided she'd be able to do more good as a cop."

"Talk about a career change."

"She's fantastic. And she's really eager to be involved in this."

"What's she like personally?"

"Really good-looking--"

"No, Mulder. Is she married? Does she have kids? Does she have a life?"

He gave a good laugh. "Yes to all of the above. She's married to a rabbi, which I guess is the next best thing to being one. She's got two kids. And from all indications, she has a life."

"That certainly separates her from the likes of you, Mulder."

"Hey, I have a life now."

"Which from what I understand is a pretty recent development. Who's the other poor unfortunate to fall under your spell?"

"Mark Smullen is our other new person. Former homicide detective on the Baltimore PD. His wife is an agent in the Baltimore field office. Got a baby son. He and Ellen hit it off right away, both with Scully and me and with each other."

"Wow. You actually chose people who have things other than work in their lives."

"Well, since Scully and I got...together, I've decided that having other things in their lives might make them better agents. So we deliberately stayed away from people who seemed to live for the job."

"You'd never have hired yourself."

"No, I wouldn't have, that's for sure. I still wouldn't if I had a choice, but since I'm dragging me around, I guess I'm going to have to."

"So Mulder, when do I start teaching these fine folks ASL?"

"How about Monday? We'll go 10 to 12 on Monday, and then we'll do 8 to 12 the rest of the week, then cut back to two hours a day depending on how they do."

"Skinner okayed this?"

"Yep. Didn't even argue with your hourly rate."

"I'm shocked."

"Hey, cut the man a little slack, okay? I know he always seems to bring you
bad news, but that's really not what he's about."

"I know, I know. And he was really nice at the wedding."

"Okay, great. So Monday?"

"Monday it is. Can I come casual?"

That got a good laugh out of him. "Allison, I haven't seen you comply with the dress code yet. What should make me think you'd start now?"

"I'll take that to be a yes."

"Shirts and shoes required, beyond that, I don't care. I'll have your pass at the information desk."

"Thanks. Appreciate it."

"Hey, no problem. Scully's looking forward to having you hanging around again. She misses you, you know."

"I know. We need to get together and do some girly stuff."

"Now you're talking. Hey, any chance of speaking with the asshole who answered your phone?"

I covered the mouthpiece and turned to Langly, who was now wide awake. "Says he wants to speak to the asshole who answered my phone."

Langly took the cordless from me and grinned. "Sorry, you'll have to speak to me instead." "What?" "So you want us to check this out?" "Sure, okay, whatever." "Mulder, you're a great one to talk about spending the day doing the horizontal bop." "Mulder, you are so full of shit." He clicked off the talk button, laughing.

"Hey, at least he's amusing."

"That's why we keep him around. That, and he's even weirder than we are." He yawned. "Jesus, it's not even 9:00! I'm going back to sleep!"

And the phone rang again.

***

It was still near him, so he picked up again.

"Mulder, now what the fuck is it?" "Mulder? He's a...friend." "Who's calling?" He covered the mouthpiece and looked totally alarmed.

"Jesus fuck! It's your mother!"

My stomach fell into my feet. My mother had no knowledge of my current...romantic life, and this was a hell of a way for her to find out.

"Mother, hello," I said as nonchalantly as possible.

"Allison Ruth Rausch--"

"Gerstein, Mother. I'm still using it."

"What in the hell is going on here?"

"What do you mean, what's going on?" I was trying to play somewhat innocent here.

"Allison, that was a male voice that answered your phone!"

"Yes. And?" I was trying to stay calm, and not doing a terrific job of it.

"Just what do you think you're doing, anyway?"

"Mother, I am almost 44 years old. I don't think I need to explain my actions to anybody," I said softly, struggling not to explode at her.

"You're sleeping with him, aren't you?"

"Mother, that's not your business, or your problem."

"I cannot believe this. Your husband hasn't been in the ground a year, and here you are, sleeping around like--"

"Mother, in case you've forgotten, you hated Eric's guts."

"That doesn't make what you're doing right!"

"Mother, this conversation is over. I'm going to hang up now. Call me back when you feel better." I clicked the talk button off. I was shaking.

"Let me guess. I just had my first close encounter with the wicked witch of the west," Langly smoothed his fingers over my hair.

"Now you see why I've never been eager to introduce my dates to her."

"Ah, she probably just forgot her meds. She'll chill out."

"That's right, you know she's bipolar."

I snuggled up against him. He wrapped a long arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

"Does sort of explain how you got the way you did, though."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, she's totally off the wall sometimes, right?"

"Sometimes. Particularly if she's been drinking, which she's not supposed to do, but she does anyway, and sometimes in copious quantities."

"Well, you just sort of talk softly to her and wait and see if she chills out. If she doesn't, you just hang and wait for her to get rational again."

"Got a better suggestion?"

The phone rang again, and I tried to reach for it.

"No." He pressed the talk button. "No, Allison isn't coming to the phone right now." "This is Langly." "Langly." "Yes, I am her lover, since enquiring minds want to know! What are you gonna do about it?" (Oh God. I was fucked now). "No, you listen to me. If you ever, and I mean EVER, talk to her that way again, I will make your life so fucking miserable that
you'll wish you never reached out and touched someone!"

He calmly pressed the talk button and ended the call.

"Langly, that was probably a really bad idea."

"No, it wasn't. Nobody ever tells that bitch off. It's high time she figured out she should treat you with a little respect. From the sound of things, she hasn't done that so far."

"She does love me in her own way."

"Look, she's not gonna dis you that way. Not ever. I don't give a fuck what her net worth is. I don't care if she's God's gift to the card-playing world. And I don't give a fuck if she's the most brilliant woman on the planet. She will.not.talk.to.you.like.that." His hair was partially covering his face, but for the first time I had seen, the light blue eyes
were dark with fury. "Nobody will treat the woman I love that way. Period."

The woman I love. Langly may have had the social skills of a sewer rat, but when he got it right...

"She probably won't talk to me ever again."

He pulled his long hair back from his face. "Oh, she'll call. And you can bet she won't try to give you shit next time."

"Don't bet on that."

"Oh, I would." The phone rang again.

"You get it," I told him.

"Might as well. Nobody's gonna let us go back to sleep today."

END OF PART 15