Thousands of plastic vials hung on racks in the cold, stainless room. They swung lightly in the breeze of the air conditioning, accompanied in their movement only by the image of a faintly quivering cell on a computer screen attached to the far wall.

Strong, brisk footsteps echoed sharply, muffled by the thick concrete walls. The metal door swung open noiselessly, followed by the steps of the lone figure entering the room. He stopped, took a glance to each side, and seized the vial hanging nearest him. Dissatisfied, he threw it aside. Rifling through the shrink-wrapped packages, he reached the end of the row and ran an edgy hand over his dark hair.

Cursing violently to himself in Russian, he paced to a desk nearby, hunched over the computer, and hastily typed in a series of numbers. Whispering silently to himself, he brought up a file on the screen. He scrolled through the data, and with a quick keystroke, he deleted the file and powered down the computer.

Now hurried, he found another row of vials and surveyed the label on each one. Finally, he came upon one that stopped him.

Dana K. Scully, Test subject #0010471

One nimble right hand unhooked the vial and held it up to the intense fluorescent light. It contained a woman’s ova. So small, so imperceptible, they could create a miracle for the one from whom they were taken, but some would use them against her. Clenching the plastic between his teeth, the same hand retrieved another almost identical vial and replaced it in the empty space on the rack.

Sharp green eyes flicked quickly back and forth. Tucking the prized syringe into the inside pocket of his leather coat, Alex Krycek walked to the door, pushed it open with his prosthetic hand, and left with a last cursory glance inward.