Hi all,

It's me again - Steve, the mad writer.  I was chatting with people on IRC
last week, discussing the USA Today article of 8/12, which mentioned
the possibility of an X-Files spinoff show.  Just for fun, I suggested
"Deep Throat, the Early Years", as well as an Eve-based show.

Of course, none of this is even remotely likely to happen (at least not
anytime soon), but there's nothing to stop *me* or anyone else from 
exploring the idea, so I did.  (I've gots nuttin better to do! :^) )
Note that this is just a fleshing out of a simple idea, and not a
completely-thought out story - so don't expect much.

Here follows "Deep Throat, the Early Years", by Steven Han, 8/1994.
And as always, all comments are welcome.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


November 8th, 1962
5:45 a.m., Eastern Standard Time

The young man peered outside the tiny windows of the plane, trying to make
out some landmarks through the storm.  It had been more than seven 
hours since they had left Langley, and the ride in had been torturous.  
The powerful tropical storm had intensified after the refueling stop in 
Miami, and had been rocking and buffeting the rickety prop plane as if it
were a child's toy.  The punishment had been horrendous, subjecting the 
young man to enough turbulence to make him go through three air sickness 
bags.

Looking pale, Virgil sank in his chair, trying to keep down the bile in
his throat.  He looked around, finding some comfort in seeing others in a
similar condition.

Virgil wasn't his real name, of course.  It was his cover, an elaborately
designed and orchestrated background given to all field operatives in
the "Company".  His new life was so convincing that he had nearly 
forgotten all about his past life, the one he left behind eight years ago.
A smooth-talking recruiter had drawn him in back then, promising all kinds
of excitement and adventure.  And adventure, in one form or another, had
always been with him since then.  And more was to arrive very shortly.

"You exemplify the best qualities we look for in our people", he recalled 
the West Berlin bureau chief saying.  It was at a party celebrating his 
transfer back to the states and into the special operations division.  It 
was a prestigious assignment, one staffed with only the very best field
agents.  "Don't forget about us when you're out toppling governments", his
colleagues had joked.

That had been six months ago, and the time since then had been a whirlwind
of briefings and intense training drills.  He had been exposed to so many
things in his new position, the kinds of things that would make a normal 
person's eyes bulge out.  No one would believe the things he had seen in 
his new job, although the point was moot.  He had been sworn to secrecy; he
would take his new knowledge with him to the grave.

He was now out on his first field assignment since the transfer, and was
keenly aware of the importance of making a good impression on his new
bosses.  He knew that his performance was constantly being evaluated,
and that the first assignment was always the most important.

Thinking about the gravity and responsibility of his new position, Virgil 
let out a heavy sigh.  He wondered about the price he was paying for all
the excitement and adventure he had sought.  He was not married, and had 
hardly any friends outside the organization.  He had lost touch with most 
of his friends from his childhood and from college.  His job had consumed 
his entire life, to the point where he now breathed company air wherever 
he went, seven days a week, 365 days a year.

He began to wonder what he had to show for his life so far.  He had just 
celebrated his 30th birthday last week, and all he got for it was a small
party in his office, attended by a few of his colleagues.  No big 
celebration, no night out on the town.  Turning 30 should be a big event 
in any man's life, he thought.  It marked that important passage from 
being a frivolous youth to becoming a full-fledged adult, with all the 
attendant responsibilities and changes in priorities that went with it.  It
was a time for a man to reflect back upon his life, to consider where he 
had been, where he was, and where he was headed.

Life was like climbing a mountain, he mused.  He imagined himself back
in the Rockies where he had grown up.  The first thirty years of life were
just the start, a leisurely walk up the foothills, up to where a man can 
begin to fully appreciate the task ahead of him.  There, he is up high 
enough to look back at all he has accomplished, and yet still low enough to
understand how far he still has to go.

He drew a deep breath, and imagined himself on a rocky red peak eight 
thousand feet up in the Colorado sky.  Looking back over to the east, he 
could see out for hundreds of miles, the clear plains consuming the horizon.
Standing confidently atop the summit, he swelled in pride as he saw the 
tiny houses in the distance, thousands of feet below him.  He felt like a
giant, towering over the settlements with a youthful air of superiority.  
He imagined shouting in a bellowing voice down to the people on the plains,
boasting of his accomplishments.  It was too bad they couldn't hear him, 
or share in his immense sense of pride.

But then he turned back to the west, and gazed up at the real mountain
standing in front of him, the one that had yet to be conquered.  The 
sinister dark black peak stood there with its sharp, jagged edges and 
snow-crested summit, towering thousands of feet above his tiny figure.  He
suddenly realized how little he had actually accomplished, and was forced 
to put his life into perspective.  The beginning of his journey was now 
over, and he was faced with the snowy peaks ahead of him, the rest of his 
life to conquer.

The plane suddenly dropped a hundred feet as it encountered another air 
pocket, and Virgil felt his stomach rising in his abdomen.  His face turned
yellow as he felt another fit of nausea coming on.  He reached down for 
another vomit bag, and bowled over as he began to heave uncontrollably.

The captain's voice came over the loudspeakers, barely audible over the
beating noise of the propellers.  "Sorry about the turbulence, folks.
We're now over the Brazilian coast, and we'll be landing within thirty
minutes."




6:22 a.m.
On a runway in northern Brazil

Still a little shaken from the flight, Virgil walked down the ramp from
the plane and onto the tarmac.  Looking around in the early morning light, 
he could make out the edges of the forest surrounding the runway.  Looking
towards the terminal, he saw a vehicle approaching the plane.  It stopped
nearby, and a man got out. 

"Mr. Walker, I presume?", said the man, approaching.  He held out his
hand and offered a courteous smile.  It was Phillip, the local field
contact, or Felipe, as he was known to the locals.

"Yes, and you're Phillip Bates, I gather?", said Virgil, shaking the
man's hand.  It was sweaty, just like the thick air surrounding them.
Virgil did not care much for the humid climate.

"That's right, Mr. Walker.  We should get going right away.  It'll take 
about six hours to get to the area, and we want to get there before dark.",
he said, guiding Virgil towards the jeep.  "Oh, and here's the latest file 
on the case.", he said as he handed Virgil a thin manila folder.

Virgil threw his bag into the back of the jeep, and took off his coat and 
threw it in as well.  It was summer practically all year round this close
to the equator, and even in the early morning the air in the Brazilian 
rain forest was stifling.  He got in the back seat next to Phillip, as
they drove off the tarmac.




12:45 p.m.
In the heart of the Brazilian Rain forest

"We have to stop here.  The jungle is too thick to drive in any further", 
said Philip, shaking a still groggy Virgil.  He had made an effort to get
some sleep in the past six hours, but had failed miserably.  The jeep's 
bouncing on the dirt road had been nearly as bad as the turbulence on the 
plane, and he had been unable to doze off for more than a few minutes at a 
time.

Yawning, Virgil got out of the jeep and walked around to the back.  Phillip
and the driver were already there and going through the gear.  Picking up 
his pack, Phillip asked, "So, Virgil, ever been in the forest before?"

Feeling a bit embarrassed, Virgil had to respond, "Well, no.  But I've done
some hiking up in the Rocky mountains when I was a kid."

"Well, this isn't quite the same as climbing a bunch of rocks", jabbed
Phillip.  "But you'll get used to it.  Just watch out for the bugs.", he
said, turning to head into the dense brush.

The driver put on his backpack and added, "Yeah, if the mosquitos get to
you, you can get malaria.  That's bad news."  He turned and followed
Phillip.

Virgil looked over at the pair, thinking to himself - Oh great, that's all
I need.  He wondered why he had even signed up for this duty in the first 
place.  Shaking his head, he turned to follow the pair into the woods.

Phillip led the group, casually swinging his machete in front of him,
whistling all the while.  Cutting through the dense brush was an 
exceedingly time consuming task, and the going was painfully slow.  The 
hot midday sun wasn't helping things either, and Virgil paused to take a 
drink from his water bottle.

"Just how much farther do we have to go?", he asked, removing his straw
hat to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Phillip and the driver stopped and paused to look at each other.  The
driver pulled out his acetate-covered map and examined it closely.  "Not 
far - less than about two miles", he said nonchalantly.

"Come on, Virgil, we'll make it in no time", cheered Phillip, waving his
machete forward.




5:35 p.m.

Phillip cut through a particularly thick section of brush, kicking the
fallen stems out of the way.  It had been a long and difficult trek,
and the men were beginning to show signs of wear.  He planned to suggest 
stopping for a rest just after the trees up ahead.

Just then, he noticed something in the air ahead of him.  It was a tiny 
wisp of smoke, originating from beyond the clump of trees.  He quickened 
his pace, hoping the others would be able to keep up.  He made his way 
through the band of trees, which opened up into a wide clearing.

"Well, looks like we're here, boys", he said, gazing at the sight in
front of him.

Virgil came up behind him moments later, panting.  He bent over, breathing
deeply from the exhaustion induced by quicker pace.  But his heavy breathing 
ceased as soon as he took one look at the sight.

There, not more than twenty yards in front of him, was a large, round and
silvery craft.  It was approximately a hundred feet in diameter, and was
partially buried in the ground.  It resembled a Panama hat, with a bulbous 
circular center section, perhaps sixty feet in diameter, and a broad
brimlike section extending out some twenty feet from the center section.

The craft's exterior had a dull metallic finish, smooth all over except
for the side that was facing the men.  The forward part of the craft, if
any part of the symmetric ship could be labeled as such, looked heavily 
damaged.  The metal had cracked and bent in several locations, and the 
brim was badly mangled where it met the ground.

The ship had apparently impacted the ground at an angle.  Most of the 
front section of the brim was buried in the ground, while the brim at the
other end of the ship was raised nearly ten feet in the air.  Several trees
had fallen on top of the brim on the near side, and others had been 
crushed under the belly of the craft.

Virgil's eyes darted around the ship, overcome by the excitement of a
firsthand discovery of a real life UFO.  His training in the special ops
division had made him aware of their existence, but this was the first
time he had actually seen one.  He had feared he might never get to see 
one in his lifetime, and now that he had, he was mesmerized by it.

"Well, Mr. Walker, what do we do now?", asked Phillip, turning back
towards Virgil.

Virgil shook himself out of his state of wonder and recalled his mission.
Looking back at Phillip, he replied, "Okay, we're supposed to investigate.
But first we should check the radiation readings."

Virgil reached into his backpack and pulled out his Geiger counter.  He
reached down to turn the machine on, and was instantly treated to a
loud, buzzing sound.

Phillip and the driver knew what the noise meant, and didn't like it.
"What's it say? Virgil? are we going to be toast?", asked Phillip in a
concerned voice.

Virgil inspected the gauge's needle, which was pushing uncomfortably
into the red.  800 rads, he figured.  Not very healthy, and not a place
he would want to stay very long.  But they had a job to do.

"It's still hot, gentlemen.  I suggest we don our radiation suits", he 
said, pulling out the gray suit from his pack.

Several minutes later, the three men in their suits walked up to the edge 
of the ship.  Strolling around the perimeter of the downed craft, Virgil
examined the object for any windows or visible openings.  He found none.
Very strange, he wondered.

Just then, Phillip yelled out to him from the other side of the craft, "Hey,
I've found something here!"

Virgil walked over to Phillip's side, and saw him crouching under the
brim of the craft.  The bottom of the brim here was about four feet off the 
ground.  Virgil dropped down to his knees, crawling up underneath the brim.
He turned his up head to look at the underside of the brim, and noticed a 
rectangular hatch.  It was about three feet wide and eight feet long, 
and hinged at one end where the ship's brim met the center section.  The
other end of the hatch, closer to the men, was partially open, and the 
front of the hatch hung down about three inches.

Phillips looked over at Virgil and asked, "It's a doorway, isn't it? Can 
you open it all the way?"

Virgil reached up and struggled to pull the hatch down, but it did not 
budge.

"Phillip, give me a hand with this, would you?", he asked, motioning to
the hatch.  Phillip crawled up next to Virgil, and the two men started
pulling on the hatch together.

After tugging with all their strength for a few moments, they felt
something snap.  Instantly, the hatch began to drop on its own, and the
two men scurried out of the way.  The hatch swung down smoothly, making 
no sound.  It made contact with the ground moments later.

The two men looked at each other, and then at the driver, who had made
his way over to the source of the commotion.  Taking a gulp, Virgil crawled 
back over to the hatch on his hands and knees, and peered inside.

The exposed topside of the hatch was smooth and white, and led up to the 
inside of the craft, also bright and white.  Virgil paused for a moment, 
and looked back at the two men.  They stared back at him blankly, and 
Virgil remembered what he had to do.  Mustering all his courage, he crawled 
up into the hatch, climbing inside the craft.  

Once he cleared the entrance, he found that there was just enough headroom
for him to stand.  Looking up, he was amazed at how bright and white
everything was.  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the intensity 
of the light so that he could get his bearings.

Once the intensity died down, he noticed that the white monochromatic 
walls had subtle patterns on them, markings of some sort.  Looking around, 
he noticed hallways leading away from the entrance, going off in three 
directions.  He randomly picked one and headed off.

Walking along the narrow hallway, he noticed more markings on the walls.
They appeared to be controls or displays of some kind, or both.  The 
patterns reminded him of ancient Sanskrit, only infinitely more complex.  
He realized it would be futile for him to try to figure any of it out.

The hallway took a gentle curve to the left, and led to a junction.  Looking
around, Virgil saw six separate passageways, set at varying angles.  
Apparently the designers of the craft did not believe in orthogonal hallways,
he mused.  He picked another passageway and continued on.

The passageway took a sharp blind turn, this time to the right.  Tensing up,
Virgil slowly turned the corner and was frozen by what he saw.

Lying there in front of him was a strange creature, like nothing he had 
seen before.  But wait, he had seen these things, but only in photographs.
The creature appeared vaguely humanoid, with the equivalent of two arms 
and two legs.

At the same time however, it could not be even remotely human, in that it 
had a huge head that was nearly as large as its torso.  The head looked
like a giant light bulb, big at the top and narrow at the bottom, where
it ended in a short and narrow neck.  Virgil wondered how such a tiny neck
could support such a huge cranium.

Looking closer, Virgil noticed that the creature had two black inset eyes, 
two flat nostrils in place of a nose, and a small mouth.  Below the neck, 
it was wearing a white robelike outfit, with only its hands and feet exposed. 
The hands had a thumb and three long, tiny fingers.  The feet were large 
and flat, with four tiny toes.

Gazing at the creature, it took Virgil a moment to realize that it was
dead.  It was sitting half upright against the wall, its head drooped
slightly to one side.  Upon the realization, Virgil instinctively cringed
back away from the creature.  Regaining his composure moments later, he 
looked back towards the alien and studied its lifeless face.  Virgil 
wondered if it had felt any pain.

Gathering his thoughts, he turned and continued on through the passageway.
He rounded another corner, and then another, and another.  Finally, about 
ten feet in front of him, the passageway opened up into a large chamber.

Virgil looked around in wonder as he entered the circular room.  Remembering
his original bearings, he figured he must now be in the center of the craft.
It seemed logical this would be the ship's control room.  

He looked around and saw other alien bodies slumped over at consoles around
the center of the room.  He saw still more creatures slumped in big 
circular chairs, all the apparent victims of the crash.

He walked around the control room, amazed at the display of alien
technology.  A white cylindrical column rose up from the center of the room,
meeting the ceiling nearly twenty feet up from the floor.  Around the
column were arrayed numerous cylindrical pods, each with dozens of 
glittering white lights atop them.  And around the column and pods were a 
number of consoles arrayed in a circle.  The consoles displayed various 
patterns, always in monochromatic white.  Virgil wondered whether the 
creatures were color blind.

He walked over to one of the chairs that held an alien's body.  The
creature was dressed in white like all the others.  He was slumped over
backwards in the circular cuplike chair, his massive head dangling over
the chair's edge.  Virgil wondered about the time of the crash, whether
the creatures had panicked, what they must have felt during those last few
moments.

Just then, Virgil heard Phillip yelling towards him, "Hey, Virgil! come
here! we've got a live one!"

Turning back, Virgil made his way through the corridors towards the source 
of Phillips' voice.  There in front of him was what looked like a ward of
some sort, with platforms that resembled beds.  On top of one was an alien
creature, lying on his back.  Phillip and the driver were standing beside
it, gazing curiously at the unfamiliar creature.

Virgil approached the creature and examined its face.  It looked so
peaceful, with the soulful dark eyes looking back at him.  It was apparently
injured, unable to move more than its head.  It tilted its head slightly 
towards Virgil, forming its mouth into an expression of curiosity.  It 
made a muted sound, a high-pitched cry of some sort.  Virgil wondered if 
the alien was trying to communicate to him.

Virgil stared at the alien's face, curiously examining it for any signs of
emotion.  He wondered whether the alien knew who he was.  From the 
creature's appearance, Virgil ventured that he was among the younger of
the creatures he had seen.  Probably a young officer, he thought.  Much
like himself.

Virgil wondered whether the alien had also come out here in search of
excitement and adventure.  Venturing off to strange, unknown places,
in the name of duty and service to his people.  Virgil felt a sense of 
kinship with the creature, a common sense of purpose.

Then he wondered whether the creature had a family, friends, loved ones.
He wondered whether the creature had a soul, whether it had a religion.  Or 
whether it felt emotion - joy, anger, or fear.  He wondered if the creature
understood the meaning of duty, of loyalty, of sacrifice.  He sighed in the
realization that he might never know the answer.

Virgil wished the creature peace, then pulled out his gun and ended its life.



THE END