From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW:Strange Horatio 1of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:16:27 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time. Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************************** This is a plain X-Files story; there is no sex; there is some violence. I'd rate it PG. I've taken some liberties with the characters, though not much. You die hard minituae tenders out there won't be too offended, I'm sure. If you are, so be it. Please e-mail your comments, good, bad, and indifferent to: jo440@intele.net. I don't check the usenet group for comments too often, but I get my e-mail every day. I'd like to learn something from my efforts, so please critique, don't bitch. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART ONE OF TEN ****************** DAY ONE It was just before seven A.M. and Fox Mulder was standing by the kitchen sink trying to get excited about breakfast. On the counter sat a bowl of granola with skim milk, and a glass of orange juice. His partner, Dana Scully, was a forensic patlhologist and had described to him in graphic detail the end results of a bad diet. She was determined, he felt, to see him exist on nothing but healthy food. He had to admit that he was entertaining a small and growing fear of an early death due to sugar, cholesterol and salt. But then, again, he thought, if Mother Nature had meant for us to eat healthy food, she wouldn't have invented Big Macs. He looked at the dish again. Looks like cat puke, he thought, and tastes like sawdust. How did they manage to totally remove the flavor he wondered. He stared at it for a few seconds longer, then the granola and skim milk went into the garbage disposal. He picked up the orange juice and drank it down, then opened the fridge and grabbed a chocolate donut. I'm on vacation, he thought, from the office and from the threat of an early death due to cholesterol, sugar, and salt. The phone in the bedroom rang. Shit, I hope it isn't work, he thought. It would be just like Skinner to find an important reason for him to postpone his vacation. Last Time it had been his neglect of the blood drive. Bad form to take vacation the day you're supposed to donate blood. He choked down a mouthful of donut and looked around the kitchen for the handset. No luck. He always forgot to put it back in the charging cradle. By now it was almost a rule he had done it so often. He glanced in the bathroom on the way to the bedroom, no phone. On the fourth frantic ring, he found it in the bedroom on the floor. He hadn't decided to answer it until he actually picked it up. If it was Skinner, he'd be thoroughly pissed. "Mulder" he answered. ""Hey Fox, buddy, I'm gonna be late." It was his vacation partner, Jack Forman. "I prefer to think of it as consistent, Jack, not late," he said jokingly, "What's up?" "They've got some kind of virus playing havoc with the payroll computer. I've gotta go straighten it out before I leave", Jack said. "If it wasn't the payroll, I could probably forget it, but everybody wants a paycheck. I'll get the damn thing fixed and take the flight tomorrow morning. Should be there by early afternoon." "Must be pretty bad if they want the main man to fix it," Mulder said. "Probably got hung up figuring my paycheck; numbers are too small." "Christ Mulder, you don't even cash your checks, we have to call you and remind you. Sorry I'll be late." "Don't worry about it, you're not that much later than usual. See you tomorrow." Mulder hung up. Jack was chronically late for appointments. The odd thing was that he was so apologetic, as if the fifteen minutes to an hour he was consistently late was a big surprise to him. Jack Forman was his fishing buddy. They had met when Jack was teaching computer basics at the academy and Mulder had taken the class to fill a course requirement. Since he was already computer literate, Mulder finished assignments quickly. While the rest of the class figured out the difference between ROM and RAM and struggled in front of their computers, Mulder and Jack spent the time talking. Computers were soon exhausted as elements of conversation and they moved on to other topics of mutual interest. They had discovered they both enjoyed fishing and after comparing fish stories, eventually planned a fishing trip. The trip had been a success and over the years they had spent one week a year at a cabin on a great fishing river in Alaska. This was to be their yearly outing. Other than Scully, Jack was Mulders only close friend. Girl friends came and went, mostly went. He hadn't had a serious relationship since he'd gotten his new partner. Lately, most women found his relationship with Scully too intimidating but that was okay, so did he. They had gotten off to a rocky start. He thought she was much too beautiful to be an effective agent. When he found out that she also had a brain, he allowed that maybe that would make up for looking too good. But the unkindest cut of all was when he discovered her skepticism concerning the unusual and sometimes bizarre subjects of his favorite cases-X-Files. That had been a long time ago, and things had changed. Now he had gotten in the habit of comparing other women to Scully and somehow they didn't measure up. There were more attractive women around to be sure, but the total package never equaled Scully. As for men friends, they seemed to steer clear of him. He always told himself that it was his reputation, that everyone thought he was more than a little eccentric, but at other times, he had the suspicious feeling that his time consuming intensity in the pursuit of various X-Files was the reason. Anyway, he somehow just didn't have the time it took to cultivate friends. Jack was different. Jack had known him before his reputation at the bureau had made him a legend; before he had been nicknamed "Spooky" Mulder because of his belief in unexplained phenomena. When Jack had left teaching, Mulder had helped him get his current job as Computer Operations Manager at the bureau. It was a job with a lot of responsibility , but Jack was good at it and had developed into a first rate manager. They were both busy; Jack with his job and family, and Mulder with X-Files, but they had a good time catching up once a year at the cabin. Jack let him be himself and was the least judgmental man Mulder knew; and Mulder enjoyed listening to Jack talking about his kids growing up. They sounded like a normal family, he thought, not like his had been. Mulder ran his hand over his unshaven face. He was well on his way to looking scroungy. The professional looking, conservative, serious FBI agent was gone, replaced by a man who looked completely at home in the clothes he now wore. The Levis 501's were faded but clean, the Oxford sweat shirt well worn, and the hiking shoes old, but comfortable. This is the real me, he thought, although he did feel somewhat guilty about not shaving. Maybe I'll grow a beard and scare the shit out of Scully. It would last about one day before he was told to shave it off by Skinner. Beards weren't allowed. But Scully would be so disgusted that the look on her face would be worth it. He smiled to himself. That would be fun. He was finally beginning to enjoy this vacation. The last few months had been too damn busy and frustrating. He had been back and forth across the country so many times he couldn't count. He was spending more time running down concourses to planes being held for him than he was on his daily morning jog. On top of that, the two X-Files he was working on were no closer to being solved than when he started. He worked eighteen hours a day and most weeks kept up the pace for six days. Scully kept up with him, but even she had the good sense to quit when she was too tired to be productive. Thank God for Scully. She would hold things together while he was gone. No one else could. If it wasn't for her, he thought, I'd never get any time off. She had literally chased him out of the office on Friday night, threatening to tell Skinner that he was running low on work and would entertain doing some surveillance jobs. In your dreams, he thought. God the woman was ruthless. It was time to get going. The cab would be here any minute. He checked the thermostat, glanced at the VCR to make sure that it was programmed to catch all the games he didn't want to miss, and was feeding the fish when he heard the taxi honk. He looked around the apartment quickly, turned off the lights and grabbed his bags by the front door. The cabbie was an old oriental man who smiled at him and bobbed his head a few times as Mulder folded himself into the back seat with his bags. He gave airport and terminal instructions to the driver but got only a smile and another few respectful bobs of the head in return. In a few minutes he gave up trying to communicate verbally. As a last resort, he spread his arms out to his sides and made a buzzing sound that was supposed to be an airplane. The old gentleman watched him with a large smile on his face, bobbed his head twice, said something in Chinese, and off they went. Hope I'm going to the airport, Mulder thought. Every time he got in a cab, he thought about buying a car. He could buy a new car and pay cash, but he usually had an agency car and didn't need another one. Besides, cars didn't seem that important. His priorities were well defined: the truth was important, Scully was important, X-Files were important, getting laid was important, and, of course, football was important. Somehow automobiles weren't even on the list. It was an infrequent experience, getting to the airport on time. He actually walked down the concourse to the gate and waited twenty minutes before boarding was called. Then he strolled casually onto the aircraft. They weren't holding the plane for him and he didn't have to apologize to the cabin crew for causing take-off to be delayed. Definitely a vacation, he thought. He found his seat, and after settling in, concluded that the aircraft was like most others: his seat smelled like the air sickness bag hadn't been emptied, the reading light didn't work, and the seat back wouldn't recline. They only had to wait ten minutes to get a place in line for take-off. That's got to be some kind of a record, he thought. Take-off was uneventful and as the aircraft climbed, he opened the latest issue of Forensic Technology Review he'd brought from home when he knew he wouldn't have Jack as a seat mate. Luckily no one had taken Jacks open seat next to him. He tried to concentrate on an article titled "Evidence Retrieval in Hazardous Environments", but his mind wandered and he gazed out the small window of the aircraft at the continuous layer of soft cottony clouds. Soon his thoughts drifted to remembrances of his sister. They were so young when she had been taken; so helpless. He could still see the look of fear on her face as she floated out of his life on a beam of light and was gone forever. Earlier that summer, she had wanted him to take her fishing, but he was too much of young man and not enough of a big brother at the time. He had told her "no", that fishing was for men, not little girls. She had stuck her tongue out at him and said, "Then why are you going, Foxy?" He had hollered "Don't call me Foxy", and the fight had been on. He smiled to himself. He had hated it when she called him "Foxy" and had called her "Sammy Wammy" at times to get even, but had never gotten the response he wanted. She was always one step ahead of him even though she was four years younger. He had never lost the belief that one day he would see her again; that he would find out what had happened to her; that he would somehow get her back. He wondered what she might look like now. Would she be tall and slender like him? Would she have their mothers sincerity, or their fathers intensity. Could she still arouse him to anger one minute and uncontrollable laughter the next? Would she even recognize her brother after all these years? Probably not. Christ, he thought, will I ever see her again? He caught himself; I'm doing it again, he thought. This train of thought always makes me depressed and frustrated. He forced his attention back to the technical journal and was soon asleep. A change in the aircraft attitude woke him; he had slept off and on for most of the flight; through four time zones, one short layover in Salt Lake City, two typical airline meals, one boring movie, innumerable packets of snacks and nuts, and almost twelve hours. Remarkable what reading a technical journal could do for you, he thought; the best sleeping pill in the world. The aircraft was turning for landing approach as Mulder rubbed his eyes and looked out the window to see the cold blue-gray waters of Cook Inlet and the city of Anchorage. Alaska was always beautiful this time of year. Summer was in full swing, and with up to seventeen hours of daylight, the fishing would be great. He leaned his head back against the seat and allowed himself to daydream. He'd get up early, make coffee, and drink it while sitting on the creaky porch steps. The birds would be singing and flitting from tree to tree; the morning would be crisp and fresh; and the scent of pine would compete with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. One of the best fishing holes he'd found on the river was just past some dead trees not far from the cabin. More often than not, a good size rainbow trout could be found lurking beneath the overhanging tree limbs. After coffee, hooking that trout would be the second thing to do in the morning. Just then the bump of touchdown and the scream of reversed jet engines brought him out of his reverie. He retrieved his luggage from the baggage carousel and headed for the Hertz counter where he had reserved a Chevy Blazer four-wheel drive. Since Jack was coming tomorrow, he'd take that and reserve another vehicle for Jack. He left a message for Jack that he wouldn't be driving back in to get him. He ask the agent at the Hertz counter to page Jack when the same flight came in tomorrow and see that he got the message and a vehicle. The Blazer was cherry red and had the new car smell he hated. He adjusted the seat and mirror, buckled his seat belt, turned on the radio, and left the airport headed for the freeway. Supplies were the next item on his itinerary ; he would have to stop at the market before heading out. A few miles down the road, he saw the familiar sign for Burts Foodtown in the distance and began moving over to exit. It was their usual stopping place and normally carried everything a hungry fisherman could need...except the fish. An hour later, with the Blazer stuffed full of food and fishing supplies, he was on the freeway exit that would take him away from the city and out into the country. He had bought more beer than was necessary and enough sunflower seeds for hours of sitting on the bank and doing nothing but fishing. God I'm good, he thought. The cabin was miles from civilization, nestled in thick quaking aspen and pine forest. By late afternoon, he had been on dirt roads for the last two hours and was getting tired of bouncing around. He had turned off the last maintained road a half and hour before and the road he was The road he was now on would take him to the cabin. It probably hadn't been traveled by anything but deer, coyote and moose since he had been here last. The cabin was too remote for the average day fisherman, and the area too heavily wooded to fly in. The week that it was rented to Jack and Mulder was probably the only time it was used each year. Some years they had even had to chase the raccoons out of the cabin before they settled in. The only indication of civilization they had see or heard was the occasional bush pilot flying over, transporting someone to a remote campsite. An hour later, he pulled up in front of the cabin. Pine trees surrounded it, towering over the old shingled roof and sheltering it from the ravages of the worst weather. It was darker here and cooler where the sunlight didn't penetrate, and Mulder walked over a springy bed of dried pine needles to the base of the porch steps. His gaze ran over the old cabin, from the shingled roof to the dirty, but intact windows and the rickety porch. It had seen better days, but it was still sturdy and sound. The fireplace had been built from river stone. polished by millennia of cold, rushing river water, and the surrounding trees felled to provide its log walls and shingle roof had been replaced by new growth many times over. Squirrels had taken over the woodpile on the porch, and as he reached for the key above the front door, one of them stood his ground atop the highest log and scolded Mulder, his tail twitching. "Don't worry, little guy," said Mulder, "I may be squirrely, but I'm not going to take over your territory." The little squirrel turned in a jerky movement and was up the cabin wall and on the roof in an instant. Mulder smiled and walked back to the Blazer to begin unpacking. Later on he'd bring some sunflower seeds and bread out for the little devils. He had unloaded the supplies and put them away in the tiny kitchen, taken the beer down the river to cool, laid out one of his sleeping bags and a blanket on the lower bunk bed and cleaned the fireplace and hearth. It was definitely Miller Time. He took a beer from the cooler, opened the back door and leaned against the door frame, gazing down toward the river as he opened the can. It was the quiet time of day when the sunlight was gone, but here in Alaska, the day lingered. As he watched, a doe moved cautiously out of the shadows of the trees and down to the water to drink. It drank quietly, it's head popping up frequently to listen for sounds that might mean danger. Spooky, just like me, he thought, as he enjoyed the serenity of the scene before him. Suddenly the deer raised it's head, large ears swiveling forward to catch some sound carried on the breeze. It stood still as a statue for no more than five seconds, then turned, bounded back into the trees and was gone. Mulder leaned forward and looked up and down the river, but as expected, the trees and undergrowth hid anything he might have seen. I wonder what she heard he thought. He shivered suddenly in the cool evening air; it was time to start a fire. Built early in the evening, a fire would warm the river stones of the fireplace and keep the cabin warm all night. He turned back into the cabin and headed for the wood pile. Ten minutes later he was looking through the kitchen for matches when he heard a knock on the front door. He was immediately on edge, all of his senses alert. In the many years he had been coming here, there had never been a visitor. This was too far out for anybody to be passing by, and he hadn't heard a car or truck come up the short drive. "Just a minute," he called. He walked quickly to the back pack laying on the bunk bed and pulled his Manurhin revolver from its holster. He slid it into the back of his Levis and covered it with his shirt, as he walked slowly to the front window. The wavy old glass was covered with thirty years of dirt and grime, but he could see snatches of movement at the foot of the porch steps. It looked like one person; a man. He could see nothing else but the Blazer in the drive. Cautiously, he opened the door. The man standing there was about twenty-five, wearing the normal plaid shirt, chinos, and multi-pocketed vest found on most fishermen. There was nothing to distinguish him from a million other people; he had the kind of anonymous face that you forget immediately. Just like a good agent, thought Mulder. "I've had car trouble and need some help", said the man, "Can I use your phone.?" "Where's your vehicle?" asked Mulder. "It's back down the road about a mile. My partner's there waiting for me." Wrong answer thought Mulder. Fishermen don't have "partners", they have "buddies" or "friends", but not partners. That was a professional reference. And the cabin was too remote for phones; that would have been obvious to anyone who drove all this way to fish this river. "I'll be glad to make a call for you", he said, stalling for more time to evaluate the situation, "Why don't you give me the number?" "No, I'd rather do it myself", said the man, and started up the steps. Mulder stepped away from the door and began to reach behind him for his revolver. Unexpectedly, the man stopped on the second stair and Mulder saw him glance furtively toward the back door. Instinctively, he turned, slamming the front door and locking it at the same time. As he stepped to the side, he reached again for his revolver, brought it up to firing position and looked toward the back door. What he saw stopped him cold. In the doorway stood an alien, the same thing he had seen at Arecibo. The alien stood there, not moving, just looking at him. Mulders attention was riveted, and for a split second, the rest of the world didn't exist. He took one step forward, still holding the Manurhin out in front of him with both hands. He had hesitated for only a second; a second too long. The front door flew open with a loud crash. Before he could turn and fire, he heard a pop behind him and a sudden blow to his back took his breath away and threw him to his knees, the Manurhin falling from his hands. He knelt there stunned, his hands resting on his knees as pain spread like fire through his back. He couldn't get his breath. The man at the door said something to him, but he couldn't understand it. The room was spinning and there was a growing tightness in his chest. He shook his head to fight the brittle flashes of light around the periphery of his vision; the darkness was closing in, and the pain was getting worse. The old couch was there in front of him and he put a hand out to it and tried to get up, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his vision blurring. The man said something again, but it was only an echo coming down a long, dark corridor. Then he saw the Manurhin only inches from his hand. He reached out for it. So close. Suddenly he was struck from behind; the pain exploded in his shoulder and he fell forward to the floor. His last thought before he lost consciousness was of the alien. He had to stop it; to ask it about Sam. DAY TWO Jack Foreman was late. It was now seven PM and he had told Mulder he'd arrive by early afternoon. He had a good excuse; the rental agency had a Cadillac reserved for him. A reservation made the day before by Mr. Mulder. That was ridiculous, Mulder wouldn't reserve a Cadillac to drive into the mountains. He had refused the luxury car and requested a four-wheel-drive vehicle. Four-wheelers were the vehicle of choice for many travelers in Alaska and he'd had to wait for over two hours when Hertz-and no other rental agency-had one available. Hertz had finally had one brought to the airport from another office across town. The girl at the counter had apologized, told him it must have been a computer glitch, and had given him a free tank of gas to compensate for the inconvenience. He left the airport late, but with several more hours of the long Alaskan summer day ahead. As he drove slowly up the short, rutted drive to the cabin, he could see the red Blazer parked out front, but no Mulder. He's probably still fishing, Jack thought. He pulled in behind the Blazer and grabbed his bags from the seat. As he approached the cabin, the first thing that caught his eye was the cabin door. It was open and hanging from the top hinge. Maybe someone had broken in while Mulder was fishing. He moved up the porch stairs cautiously, looking left and right for any indication of trouble. "Mulder," he called, looking through the doorway. He set his bags down on the porch and leaned in against the open door. "Mulder", he called again. Silence. All he heard was the chirping of nearby birds, the electric hum of insects, and, farther on, the roar of the river. Entering the cabin slowly and glancing around the single room, he could see nothing out of place. Then he saw the Manurhin on the floor. It was Mulders new gun. He had paid an outrageous amount of money for the imported French revolver and it was as distinctive and controversial as its owner. He walked over to pick up the gun. It was then he noticed the pool of blood in front of the couch. It stopped him cold and he turned and looked around the one room cabin fearfully, not daring to move for some reason. Suddenly shaking, he backed away from the blood. What the hell is going on here, he thought. Fear was something he didn't know how to deal with well, and what he had just seen added up to something to be afraid of. He backed out of the cabin awkwardly, his eyes never leaving the blood. He paused on the porch to calm himself and take a deep breath of air, while he tried to figure out what might have happened. The only thing he knew for sure was that Mulder would never lay down his weapon voluntarily and the blood indicated that maybe he had had no choice. "Oh Christ, Mulder," he said helplessly, and ran for the truck and his cell phone. It was a long shot, but worth a try. He flipped open the cell phone, and immediately saw the NO SERVICE light flashing. "Shit," he swore and threw the phone back on the truck seat. He had to get help, but he also didn't want to leave Mulder unaided if he was close by and hurt. Looking back towards the cabin, he was unsure of what to do next. He desperately wanted to get in the truck and drive away as fast as possible. The longer he stayed here the more fearful he became. Yet he couldn't leave until he was sure that he had done everything possible to find Mulder. Friendship finally overcame fear and he cautiously walked the area around the cabin, all the while calling for Mulder and praying silently for a response. After another twenty minutes of searching with no success, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he ran back to the truck. The nearest phone was perhaps fifty or sixty miles away. It was a long drive back to civilization and help. *************** END PART ONE *************** ===================================================================== ====== From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Strange Horatio 2 of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:16:34 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART TWO OF TEN ****************** DAY FOUR God he was thirsty. He hadn't had anything to eat or drink since he had the beer at the cabin. How long ago had that been, he wondered. It didn't matter because his body told him that it was a long time. He inched painfully down the wall and tried to curl up on the floor. The sweatshirt was stuck uncomfortably to his back by dried blood. Trying to pull it away could reopen the wound, and no matter what position he put himself in, he still hurt. Now, in spite of the warming glow of the room itself, he was getting cold. Probably shock, he thought. Just what I need. He finally clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep. Just then he heard what sounded like a soft swish of air and looked up to see the round door begin opening in the far wall. When it was open, a figure stepped into the circular opening. Mulder froze. In the open door stood an alien. It was no more than five feet tall, and had the general shape of a very slender twelve year old child with unnaturally long legs. There seemed to be no features to indicate sex or age. Its large head and thin, supple body were smooth and hairless; the skin an almost translucent white. For some reason Mulder thought of the coloring of a Beluga whale, for it had the ethereal, underwater whiteness he'd so often seen in pictures. It had large almond shaped eyes, no nose or ears, and at the time its small oval mouth seemed to be smiling. In its hands it carried a glassy, opaque, white sphere, slightly larger than a baseball. Stepping through the doorway, it approached Mulder slowly. He watched it intently as it walked toward him, its gait somewhat disjointed but smooth nevertheless. As it got closer, he saw that it didn't seem to have joints in its arms or legs. Holding the sphere up caused its arms to bend, but not like a humans; more like a Gumbo figure that was twisted into position with no sharp bends or turns. It had three stubby, fat fingers with a similar, opposable thumb, and no toes on its feet. Stopping directly in front of him, it crouched down and gently placed the sphere on the floor next to his head. It didn't seem threatening in any way; in fact it stood, backed off three steps and crouched down once more, its arms crossed over its legs. Mulder watched it cautiously for a moment and then slowly pushed himself back up to a sitting position against the wall, all the time keeping his eyes on the crouching figure before him. He tried to settle himself as comfortably as he could, but a slight twist of his shoulder brought a sharp stab of pain and he groaned. At that, the alien extended its arm out toward him hesitantly, then pulled it back, reached down and picked up the sphere. Slowly it handed the sphere to Mulder. He looked at the sphere, and then back at the alien. "What is it?", he asked the alien. The alien cocked its head to one side and smiled, the corners of its mouth wrinkling and turning up slightly. "What is it?", he asked again, and then reached out with his uninjured left arm and took the sphere. It was warm in his hand and smooth, like glass. He looked down at it. There was a hole in the top about the diameter of a dime, and the sphere was filled with a milky white liquid. I guess I'm supposed to drink it, he thought. This creature seemed to mean him no harm, but the conversation he had heard earlier concerning his ultimate fate was still fresh in his mind. He looked back at the alien. It was still smiling at him serenely. Then it lifted it's hand and pointed to his mouth. It was a difficult decision to make and had to be made quickly. Something told him to trust this creature; maybe not the others, but this one. He thought of what he had heard earlier. His sister was alive after all these years and that must mean they knew how to keep humans alive. Maybe this wasn't poison after all. Maybe it was food. He glanced once more at the alien and saw nothing but innocence and concern in its face. He looked again at the sphere. Well, they'll get it in me one way or the other, he thought, whatever it is. I obviously can't fight it. He lifted it to his mouth and drank, but there was no lip on the opening and the liquid dribbled down his chin. "Shit," he said. With that, the alien threw its head back, its mouth open in that strange caricature of a smile and its body shook all over. Mulder was astounded. What the shit is that about, he thought. Then it hit him; the alien was laughing at him; laughing at him for slobbering on himself. For some reason, it was mute; it didn't have a voice like the other one. He couldn't believe it. If I wasn't half dead, he thought, this would be funny. As he watched, the alien stopped laughing. Now it just crouched there smiling. "Jesus, Gumbo", said Mulder, and smiled. After several tries, he managed to get a good portion of the warm, sweet liquid down, the alien watching him curiously all the while. When he was through he carefully handed the sphere back. As the alien reached out to accept it, his hand touched Mulders, and Mulder once again had the feeling that he was touching a dolphin. Just like the floor, he thought. This whole damn structure must be made of the same stuff. The alien now sat looking at him quizzically. Mulder no longer felt the fear he had at first. The last few minutes had made it clear that this creature was not going to hurt him. It was acting more like a mischievous kid. "What shall we do now?", he asked the alien. "I'd offer you some liquid refreshment, but I haven't seen the wine list yet." The alien shuffled a foot closer and stopped. When Mulder did nothing but watch it, it cautiously reached out and touched the dried blood on Mulders back, then put its hand to its lipless mouth and gingerly tasted the dried blood with a long, turtle-like tongue. "I bet you're a real hit with the girls," Mulder said wryly. The alien looked at its finger and then at Mulder with what could only be described as a look of sadness. "Yeah, Gumbo, it hurts," he said quietly. Suddenly the alien turned its head toward the door as if it had heard something. When it turned back to Mulder, it had a look of utter terror on its face. Just then Mulder saw another alien entering the doorway. It looked exactly like Gumbo. Gumbo jumped up and round rushed toward the doorway, not even looking at the other alien. It merely watched as Gumbo passed through the doorway and was gone. Poor bastard, Mulder thought. He knew a response to authority when he saw it. Gumbo was probably in deep trouble and was either going to get a spanking or a courts martial. He didn't know enough about these creatures yet to know which would be appropriate, but he sensed that he was the cause of it. The new alien walked over to Mulder and looked down at him. There was no smile on its face. Mulder looked up at him blankly and said nothing. He didn't want to get Gumbo in any more trouble and this guy was obviously trouble. For a moment, they stared at each other, then as quickly as it had come, the alien turned and left the room. Mulder watched him go. A moment later, he sighed. The milky stuff in the sphere was evidently working its wonders, he thought. He was definitely feeling better. In fact it felt like he had just been given a good strong shot of morphine. He knew that feeling; he'd been shot before. Morphine was the only good thing about being shot. God, the things you learn in this business, he thought. Suddenly sleepy, he closed his eyes and let the morphine do its magic. Sitting in her office chair, Dana Scully glanced once again through the notes she had taken during the morning at the cabin. As she flipped through the pages of her small notebook, she could see again what damn little there was to go on; Mulders blood on the floor, the broken front door and the open back door, the unfinished beer, the fire built but not started. There was no blood anywhere else and no indication of how the blood on the floor had gotten there. If Mulder was hurt-and the amount of blood seemed to indicate a severe, but not fatal blood loss-there should have been more blood somewhere else. He would have had to move to leave the cabin or someone would have had to move him, and that couldn't have been done without leaving blood somewhere. Small bits of information and speculation that lead nowhere. And now Skinner was blocking her every move and she didn't know why. Is wasn't like him at all. He usually ran interference for Mulder. Many times he had gone outside the bounds of his defined responsibility to help. He was a hard taskmaster and not easy to get along with, but never directly interfered with an ongoing investigation. And this was not just a routine case. My god, this was one of his own agents. Exasperated, she flipped to the next page of her notebook. She had spoken by phone with the wife of the owner of the cabin, a Mrs. Agnes Baronson. Her husband, Fitzgerald-they called him Fitz- had inherited the cabin from his grandfather and had never even been there; he wasn't the outdoors type. Mulder and Jack were the only people that had ever rented it and that paid the taxes on it every year. Her husband would be home soon if she wanted to speak to him. With nothing else to go on, Scully dialed the Baronson number again. This time Mr. Baronson answered. "Mr. Baronson, this is Special Agent Dana Scully with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I spoke with your wife earlier today about the cabin your rent to Mr. Mulder and Mr. Forman every year." "Yes, Miss Scully, what can I do for you........." Twenty-five minutes later, Scully was booked on the next flight back to Alaska. DAY FIVE The morphine/milk had put him to sleep. When he woke, he felt somewhat stronger; the rest had helped. There had to be something else in the brew that Gumby gave me, he thought, I don't feel as weak and I'm not hungry. It must have had some nutritional value or I'd be hungry. Gotta get that recipe. He rolled over and pushed himself up to his knees, gritting his teeth so he wouldn't cry out. Surprisingly, the pain wasn't as bad as he expected. He was dizzy, but his head was clearing and he was breathing easier. After a minute the dizziness had lessened and he stood up as far as he could. At over six feet he had to bend over as he walked around the room and it was uncomfortably awkward. Supporting his ribs and chest the best he could with his right arm, he steadied himself by placing his left hand against the wall. It had that strange rubbery feeling to it and he pushed on it gently. It gave a little, but sprang right back. He pushed harder and it sprang back harder. He walked to the far end of the room but there was no indication of where the door had been; the wall looked the same there as everywhere else. He walked cautiously around the rest of the room, but a careful examination yielded no additional information. He was considering what to do next, when abruptly the room began to spin and he suddenly felt very weak. Time to rest, he thought, and determine his next move. He walked unsteadily back to where he had been sitting in the back of the room and carefully sat back down. When he had finally gotten his breath back and was no longer seeing stars, he started to consider what he knew. The information he had was damning, and he would use it to its best advantage. He had heard enough to know that his sister was alive, part of breeding stock the government was providing to an alien race, and that he had been marked for elimination by experimentation as he called it. That was difficult to accept, but the anger he felt about what was being done to Sam was overwhelming. So many years she's been alone; so many unknown fears she'd had to face without him; without anyone. He knew he had to stay alive now. He had to free her from what could only be a lonely hell. If he could get away from here, wherever here was, he would have enough information to coerce the government to release her. He had seen more than they could hide; heard more than they could deny. If he could stay alive, he'd use all of it against them. He didn't like to use the word blackmail, but if that's what it took to get Sam back, that's what he'd do. As unexpectedly as before, the door opened. Two identical aliens entered, one carrying what looked like a shallow, almost flat bowl about twenty-four inches in diameter. From his position at the far end of the room, the bowl appeared to be made of the same material as the sphere. In the bowl were several items Mulder couldn't see clearly just yet. Then, as they got closer, he could make out metal shapes; sharp and silvery looking. Suddenly he felt the same queasy sensation he got in his stomach when he saw the instruments on the dentists tray. Instinct and experience told him that what he saw in the bowl were medical instruments to be used on him He watched intently as the two aliens approached closer. He knew they would want him sedated before they began their experiments, and suspected that was the reason theses two were here. They would put him out or incapacitate him so the experiments could be done. He watched them intently, looking for any indication of their intentions. And could find none. "What do you want?", he said in as non-threatening a voice as he could muster. "I want to speak with the human that was here," he continued a bit too quickly. The two aliens stopped and glanced at each other as if any vocalization was unexpected, then turned their attention back to Mulder. "Tell the other one, the one that speaks with a human voice, that I want to talk to him." Still no response The aliens started toward him again. There was really no time to consider his options, and he acted as much from instinct as from fear. He rolled to a crouch and threw himself at the aliens in a mad rush. The flying tackle caught both of them in the chest. The bowl and instruments flew against the soft wall and made little noise as they dropped to the springy floor. The startled look in their eyes was all he saw as they fell beneath his much heavier body. The breath was driven from his lungs He pushed on the wall and it gave a little, but sprang right back. He pushed harder and it sprang back harder. as he fell and blinding pain made him cry out. For a moment he lay sprawled on top of the two aliens as his breath returned and the pain subsided. Soon he realized that he had grabbed the neck of one of the aliens and was holding it in a death grip. He felt the smooth, rubbery tissue compressed in his hand like a loaf of fresh bread. Suddenly he realized that they weren't fighting back. They were just laying there beneath him, their slender legs and arms flailing about like the tails of a pair of mad white cats. Cautiously he released his grasp. He rolled off the aliens and got slowly and painfully to his knees. The alien whose neck he'd grabbed was laying flat on its back and not moving. The other one was laying on his back across the chest of the first one, his head raised and watching Mulder, a look of fear on his face. He stared at them for a moment, but they made no aggressive moves. In fact they made no moves at all. My god, he suddenly realized, they're defenseless. He couldn't believe it. There was no way they could keep him from leaving, let alone restrain him. "I'm sorry", he said, "I didn't mean to hurt you." What do I say?, he thought, I don't even know if they understand me. Christ, they couldn't hurt me if they tried. How could they be a threat? On an impulse, he reached out and gently touched the lower part of the leg of the alien that still watched him. The alien didn't flinch or pull his leg back. Mystified at the response, Mulder said sincerely, "I didn't mean to hurt you." The alien watched him for perhaps fifteen seconds more, then closed its eyes and turned away. Mulder had the distinct feeling that he had been dismissed; as if his presence was no longer a concern. It was the last thing he had expected and as surprising as everything else he had learned in the last several minutes. His natural inclination was to stay and try to communicate, but by necessity he couldn't waste the time. He turned his attention toward the still open door in the far wall. Beyond he could see what appeared to be a long, oblong hallway. The light seemed to be softer and dimmer in the hallway, but still, the entire hallway looked as featureless as the room he was in. Leaving the aliens in a pile on the floor, he struggled to stand up as far as he could and walked awkwardly and painfully to the opening. Before he walked through, he turned back and glanced at the aliens. The one on the bottom had still not moved and Mulder thought it might be unconscious or dead. He regretted his actions in choking it, but sympathy was fleeting; there was no time. The other alien was beginning to look around at the spilled contents of the bowl, but had not otherwise moved. It didn't seem concerned at all that he was leaving or that tits partner may be injured or dead. Nothing about these creatures made sense or fit his preconceived ideas of what they were. Carefully Mulder stepped over the lip of the round door and out into the hallway. He looked around at this new environment. The flat ceiling was about eight feet above the floor. The walls curved outwardly from the flat floor and were six feet wide at their widest point before curving back in at the ceiling; like a circle flattened top and bottom. The entire hallway seemed to be made of the same rubbery material as the room he had been in, but the color was slightly darker, more of a gray. He walked a few feet further and found that the floor was not as spongy as the walls and seemed to support his weight. In fact it felt like walking on brand new, well padded athletic shoes. He looked around again and further down the hall noticed what seemed to be a small circular indentation in the curved wall. It was perhaps five feet in diameter, an inch deep and eighteen inches off the floor. There was another indentation past that one and another past that. He turned back toward where he had exited the room through the round door. The door had closed silently and there was no indication that it had ever been there except an indentation in the wall which was the approximate diameter of the door. Things were beginning to make some sense; at least out here. You could see the doors from the outside, but not the inside. A cursory examination of the closed door revealed no knobs, buttons, keyways, or palm plates to open it. He shook his head in wonderment, turned back to the hallway, and continued toward its far end. *************** END PART TWO *************** ===================================================================== ====== From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Strange Horation 3 of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:16:40 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ******************** PART THREE OF TEN ******************** The plane would be landing in about twenty minutes but that wasn't soon enough for Scully. She was desperately worried. Once again she had been thinking about her partner. She had spent the entire flight trying not to consider the worst scenarios possible; that he was dead, or that he was injured and couldn't get help, or, worst of all, that he was being held somewhere and debriefed by person or persons unknown. They had joked about the word debriefed. It sounded so harmless, yet in their line of work it had very real overtones of information extraction by force. Mulder had said that tooth extraction sounded more inviting. When someone had the information in his head that Mulder did, forced debriefing would be of little consequence to some people. And Mulder has a distinction of sorts, she thought, he has more enemies in high places than anyone I know. As much as she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to get back to the cabin tonight, but would have to stay in town. Even she wasn't foolhardy enough to make that drive in the dark. She was glad she had called the Baronsons. Mr. Baronson had been very talkative and friendly. He'd told her that he didn't try very hard to rent the cabin to anyone else because of the flying saucers. There had been several nuts that had sworn they saw UFO's in a meadow not far from the cabin. Supposedly these flying saucers came and went with a great deal of regularity. The nuts had complained until the Air Force sent a bunch of people to investigate. The Air Force boys had poked around for several day and found nothing. After a few years, the still-complaining nuts had left, one-by-one, and now the only ones that fished in the area were Mr. Mulder and Mr. Forman. He hadn't told them about the UFO stories because that had been years ago, right after he had inherited the cabin from his grandpa. Mr. Mulder had answered an ad he had placed in a national fishing magazine. He and Mr. Forman had rented the cabin every year since. He didn't know what had happened to the nuts who had reported seeing flying saucers, but Mr. Mulder didn't seem like the type of unstable individual that would believe in that sort of thing. At least in his letters and phone conversations. He pushed on the wall and it gave a little, but sprang right back. He pushed harder and it sprang back harder. Scully had smiled to herself at that comment, but when she hung up, her hands were shaking. There was a connection. She was certain. Even when he didn't know about it, Mulder was attracted to the unusual like a moth to flame and this was definitely unusual. The only way to find it out was what was going on was to go back to the cabin and start looking for the meadow where the UFO's landed. Mulder walked slowly and cautiously down the hallway, one deliberate step at a time. He hadn't gone far when he heard voices. The voices were indistinct, but seemed to be coming from further down the corridor. As he walked further, the voices became more clearer and it sounded like the man in the suit and the alien were talking. Pausing, he tried to ignore the sound of his heart beating loudly in his chest and hear what was being said. Suddenly he heard the soft swish of a door opening, and the man in the suit stepped out into the hallway two doors down. He was facing away from Mulder when he came through the door, and paused to turn back and say something to the other occupant of the room. Mulder froze and held his breath; if the man turned toward him, he knew he couldn't do anything but run, and he was too weak to get very far. The next thirty seconds seemed like an eternity as he watched the man finish speaking to what he assumed was the alien and then turn and walk off down the hallway. e hadn't been seen. He let his breath out in a controlled gasp and rested his head back against the wall, breathing in deeply. Christ that was close, he thought. Pushing away from the wall, he continued slowly down the hallway past the next indented doorway. As he walked in front of it, the door opened with a swish, the aperture radiating out like the first one. He was startled and turned as if to point a weapon, then realized he was unarmed and stopped. Through the open door, he was surprised to see two aliens sitting facing each other on the floor, their jointless legs folded in an ordinary yoga position. One alien was holding one of the glass spheres to its mouth and the other one was just setting a sphere on the floor. They both saw him at the same time. The startled alien holding the sphere dropped it and it bounced silently on the floor, the milky white contents splashing out. Just like the others, they made no further moves, but sat and stared at him fearfully. Their response was becoming familiar and he wanted badly to speculate on what it meant, but his only chance was to keep going. He quickly stepped past the open doorway, and as he did, the door closed with another soft swish. Automatic, he thought. He paused, but the anticipated sound of an alarm did not occur and the two aliens didn't come rushing out into the hallway. He wanted to figure that out, too, but the end of the hallway was his immediate goal and he focused his attention there. The next indented doorway was just ahead. The man in the suit had come out of this one and the alien must still be in there. He needed to determine how to get past it without tripping the opening mechanism. If it opened, he would be seen, and the alien that could speak seemed to be important in some way and might have the authority to initiate an alarm when the others didn't. Approaching slowly he looked again for a tripping mechanism; a beam, a button, anything. Then it struck him, the alien could tell him where his sister was being held. He wasn't thinking straight, he should have thought of that before. Before he could stop himself, he had stepped in front of the door. She had to slow down. Her mind and emotions kept telling her to hurry and that could get her killed. Driving these rough roads was something she didn't do often enough to do safely, even in the daylight. Trouble was, Mulder was somewhere close, she could feel it. Christ, if he heard me say that, he'd never let me live it down, she thought. "Womens intuition, Scully", he'd say, and then laugh at her when she tried to defend herself. The cabin was just up ahead, and the closer she got, the more anxious she became. This is foolish, she thought, I don't even believe in flying saucers and little green men. How the hell am I supposed to find something that I don't believe is there? How am I supposed to rescue Mulder from something that doesn't even exist? She pulled up in front of the cabin, turned off the engine and sat there for a minute, her hands still gripping the steering wheel, her gaze traveling over the cabin. She could hear him telling her many months ago: "Scully, the truth is out there, and we're going to find it." She didn't know what his truth was, but he was her truth and she would find him. She reached for the maps she had brought and climbed out of the pick-up. The door opened to reveal another room of light, and an astonished alien looking at him. It stood behind what appeared to be a low, rectangular, stainless steel table, that immediately reminded Mulder of a morgue slab. He bent down and stepped through the door and it shut quickly behind him. The alien hadn't moved, but stared at him with the hypnotic intensity of a mouse confronted by a snake. Stooped over awkwardly, Mulder glanced around the room and then approached the table. He wasn't sure this was the one alien that could speak; they all looked alike. They all looked like Gumby. Almost stumbling, he leaned heavily on the table, not even pausing to find out if it would hold his weight. The alien jumped back and stood against the wall of the small room, his eyes never leaving Mulder. The walk down the hallway had not been a long one, but it had taken its toll. Mulder was breathing heavily and paused to get his breath; for a moment neither one spoke or moved. "I know you can speak," Mulder said hoarsely, "I heard you talking to the man in the suit." There was no response from the alien; it watched him silently. Mulder knew time was not on his side, he was getting weaker. He had to make the alien respond. "I know you're not strong," he said, "I could break your neck with my bare hands. Tell me where my sister is." The aliens response was minimal, just a slight opening of its mouth, but Mulder saw it. He understands me, he thought, he is the one that can speak. He made an awkward move as if to approach the alien. At the movement, the alien looked from side to side as if it might break and run, then stopped and faced Mulder as if resigned to it's fate. "We mean you no harm," it said in the genderless voice he had heard before. Mulder stopped and leaned back on the table. "You could have fooled me," he replied. "The last I heard, I was supposed to be your next lab rat." "I don't understand" said the alien. "You were going to experiment on me; dissect me like a laboratory animal. You people must have different definitions of harm than Mr. Webster." The alien seemed genuinely confused. "I'm sorry if we have caused you to worry about our intentions," it said sincerely. "In order to help the people of your world , we have need of biological information about humans. You are a human. We mean no disrespect and I am here to reassure you during our information gathering procedures." Mulder couldn't believe what was happening. He was speaking to a member of an alien race. He was standing here having a conversation with a member of a race of beings that did not consider dissection and experimentation on humans disrespectful and yet had said it wanted to help. "What do you mean when you say you want to help the people of this world?" he asked. "We have been told that there are many diseases that damage human bodies. We have the ability to cure the body of many of these diseases, but we need to know how the body should function in order to know when it is not functioning correctly." "We have medical doctors here that can give you all the data you need." "Their knowledge is inaccurate and incomplete. We need information that only we have the ability to collect." "You can't just kill people to get it," he said angrily, "That's worse than letting them die in the first place." "We mean you no harm," the alien replied. Jesus, Mulder thought, somebody's on the wrong track here. Unfortunately, this is not the time or the place to discuss ethics. I don't have the strength, and I'm here to find Sam, not save the world. "The female you have", he said, "where is she?" The aliens gaze traveled around the room and then back to Mulder. "She is not here", the alien answered. Mulder was becoming impatient. "I know she's not here. Where is she if she's not here?" The alien didn't answer immediately and appeared to be considering what to say next. Mulder beat him to it. "I would advise you to tell me quickly, before I break your goddamn neck. I still have enough strength to do it." he said more harshly than he had intended. The alien flinched and suddenly looked like a cornered mouse again. "She is at another facility. I do not have a Terran name for it and I do not have the location. It can be located from coordinates that only my species would understand. Only one of your governments people can read the coordinates. He has been trained." "What's his name; the human who can read the coordinates." Mulder asked. "I do not know", the alien said, "He is not one of my species." "The female," Mulder said, "Is she okay? Is she healthy? Is she happy?" "She is in excellent physical health. I do not know how to answer the other questions." "Who was the man you were talking to? And why can you speak when the others can't?" he asked. "The name of the man is Carson. I have been genetically altered to have an audible voice. My job is to act as a liaison and to communicate with your leaders." The damn thing was beginning to sound like a tape recording and Mulder knew he had gone as far as possible with questioning this alien right now. Sam was alive and well and he would carry that knowledge with him to his grave if he had to. He was getting weaker and needed what strength he had left to get out of here. He couldn't leave the alien here to sound the alarm and he didn't know if it would be like the others and remain silent. "I'm going to leave here and I need your help to show me the way out. You can help me voluntarily, or I can drag you along with me. It's your choice." The aliens eyes opened widely as if astonished at what it had just heard. Its answer was just as surprising: "I will certainly help you if you want to leave. We do not wish to harm you. If it is not your wish to remain here and aid us in our pursuit of information, then of course, you must leave." Mulder stared at the alien in disbelief. This entire conversation was beginning to sound like a page from Alice in Wonderland, Mulder thought. I'm supposed to be a prisoner and this guy is offering to help me escape. He's the one that wanted me in the first place. Jesus these creatures didn't make sense. "Let's go, then" he said to the alien. The alien walked tentatively around the table in his jointless gate, his eyes never leaving Mulder, and proceeded to the door. Mulder stood up as far as the ceiling height would allow and followed. They walked slowly down the hallway, the alien in the lead. Mulder followed, checking the hallway behind him frequently for any sign of trouble. They passed several more doors, but none of them opened automatically. Another mystery, he thought. As they approached the end of the hallway, Mulder said: "Wait. Where does this hallway lead? What's behind that door?" The alien stopped and without turning around, replied: "The door will open and there will be a space, just large enough for a human such as yourself. Once you enter that space, you will be able to see and access the Terran landscape beyond." No shit, thought Mulder, just like that; no long winding corridors and no mysterious passageways to navigate. Why was this too good to be true? "What is the Terran landscape like where we are?" asked Mulder. "There is a small meadow and then forest," the alien replied. "Do you know where we are?" he asked the alien. "This facility is concealed beneath the surface of a meadow; covered with soils and grasses. Your governments liaison, Carson, knows where we are in Terran coordinates. I do not." I wonder if he means facility or ship, he wondered, or if I'm just confused. Christ he was tired. He had to get to moving before he collapsed, but there was one more piece of information that he needed. "Where can I find this Mr. Carson?" he asked. "Who does he work for?" The alien turned to face him, a look of displeasure clouding its simple features. For some reason Mulder felt like he was being chastised for not being polite. The alien had answered all of his questions willingly and as informatively as it seemed its capabilities would allow. "Please", he added somewhat sheepishly. "You will find Carson in his office. He works for the Committee", he said. Just then the door in front of them opened. Mulder had not seen the alien move, but it seemed to have opened the door just the same. He looked up and saw a dark area about the size of a coat closet and beyond that, the bright light of day. He had so many questions to ask and no time left to ask them. The open meadow and freedom were close at hand and his opportunity to escape could be lost if he hesitated. He looked back down at the alien. "You must go" it said. "You have all the information I can give you. I wish you well." That was all he was going to get; there seemed to be nothing left to do but walk out the door to freedom. He was badly injured but still very much alive and with luck would probably make it back to civilization. Should he thank this seemingly gentle being that didn't seem to be an enemy after all? Instinctively he held out his hand. The alien looked up at his face, then reached out and took his hand. "Thank you", Mulder said. The alien looked back at him for a time, then closed his eyes and turned away. Dismissed again. Mulder stepped through the round opening into the space beyond. The door closed behind him. It was dark in this small space, and he put his hand out to steady himself on the nearby wall. It was cold and hard and unmistakably rock. He glanced around at it as he let his eyes adjust to the light coming from outside. He was in an area hollowed out of rock about the size and shape of a small coat closet. The walls, ceiling and floor formed a rectangular chamber just large enough for a good sized human. He could see no tools marks to indicate the area had been hewn out of the rock with picks and chisels, and no raw stone that could be the result of blasting. The walls looked as if they had been this way forever. The door behind him had closed and there was no indication of where it had been. In front of him was a rectangular opening flanked on both sides by large boulders. The boulders formed an inverted "v" shape, and would effectively hide the larger rectangular opening from the outside. Through the rectangular opening and the inverted "v", he could see an open meadow bathed in the soft afternoon glow of the summer sun. The open area of the meadow was covered with green grass and low shrubs; a few yards beyond that was the dark green of pine trees and the dancing green and silver leaves of quaking aspen. He turned and glanced around once more. How the rock had been formed into this chamber was another question in a long line of unanswered questions that would just have to wait. Before leaving the relative safety of the boulders, he studied the periphery of the meadow as well as he could. He didn't want to walk out into the open without a destination. There was no way to see around the boulders to the side, but he'd have to take that chance. Scanning the periphery of the meadow, he saw an opening in the trees that would afford adequate concealment but allow him to move quickly. Leaning his forehead against the cool of the rock wall, he tried to evaluate his condition. The sweatshirt had come away from the wound, but it didn't seem to be bleeding. He could breath okay if he didn't breath too deeply. If he did, it hurt like hell and he began seeing stars. Okay, one plus and one minus. He was weaker than hell. Another minus. Two to one. He had survived worse odds than that many times............Christ, he was fooling himself. Scully was his ace in the hole when it came to beating the odds. She wasn't here this time. He turned his forehead against the rock and looked out once more, then took as deep a breath as he dared and walked out into the sunlight. He was no more than five yards out when he heard the shout: "My god, stop him!!" The fear was instantaneous and his heart beat thunderously in response to the surge of adrenalin that hit his system. He glanced rapidly in the direction of the shout as he started to run for the opening in the trees. If he could get to cover, maybe he could hide long enough for night to fall; darkness might give him another chance. The first chance he'd taken hadn't worked. The far side of the boulders had concealed the man in the suit........Carson! He stood there talking with three men in camouflage military clothing and they had seen him. The men had been taken by surprise and now grabbed for their rifles leaning against the boulder. The first rifle fell, knocking the other two to the ground, and the three men bumped into each other in their haste to retrieve them as Carson shouted orders at them all the while. That small delay was all Mulder needed to make it to the shelter of the trees. He was breathing heavily now, even from that short run, and each breath brought a searing pain in his back and side. He pushed himself forward, stumbling on dead branches and rocks; just catching himself before he fell. He could hear the men behind him entering the forest and noisily making their way through the trees. Light and shadow from the sunlight breaking through the overhead canopy flashed by on the surface of his awareness and were gone. He had to keep running, keep moving. They were getting closer. Suddenly, up ahead, the forest appeared to open up and offer less resistance. Maybe he could pick up some time there, he thought. Just then he heard a loud roar and a bullet pinged past his head. Another roar, and another bullet hit the ground in front of him in a puff of dust and pine needles. Too close, he thought,....can't outrun bullets. He was still moving, but momentum was the only thing that kept him going. Reality was slipping and he knew his strength was running out. Abruptly there were no more trees and no more brush. He was running toward thin air. Just in time he grabbed the trunk of an aspen tree and pulled himself back from the brink of the precipice. The effort cost him dearly and he knew he could go no further. The rocky bank sloped down steeply to a shallow stream about thirty feet below. An adrenaline high was all that carried him now, and he turned quickly to face his pursuers. They had stopped in a cluster of seedling pines about fifty feet away. Unsteadily, he stood back from the tree and faced them. What would happen next was inevitable. They wouldn't hesitate. They were professionals like he was. Only one of the men raised his rifle; professionals didn't waste manpower or ammunition. There was no time to react; his life didn't flash in front of his eyes and he didn't even consider praying. He just stood there, his own ragged breathing the only sound he could hear. Dead calm. Surprisingly, the first bullet missed it's mark and hit him just below the collar bone in his left shoulder, the impact throwing him against the tree. As he sagged against the trunk of the aspen that had just prevented his fall over the precipice a few seconds before, the second bullet hit him in the chest. When he slid over the bank there was no sensation of falling, and when he hit the rocks below and rolled onto his back in the stream, there was no pain. As the darkness closed in, he looked up and saw the sun twinkling through the pine trees high overhead. ***************** END PART THREE ***************** ===================================================================== ====== From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Strange Horatio 4 of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:16:48 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART FOUR OF TEN ****************** Scully studied the topographical map laying on the hood of the pick-up. Sometimes they were all you had to go on in Alaska since many areas were so remote there were no highways. The map showed the road to the cabin but no other roads in the area. If the map was accurate, there were two places that could be what she was looking for. The mountains sloped down to two relatively level areas and if you were going to land an aircraft-she couldn't comfortably say flying saucer-a level area was definitely a necessity. The first area was about a mile from here, and the second one would require her to drive back down the road about five miles. She was considering which one to go to first when she heard the distant roar of a high-powered rifle. She looked up as the echo bounced around the mountains and trees. Must be deer hunters, she thought and turned back to her map. About thirty seconds later there was another shot. Two minutes later it hit her: it's not hunting season, its the middle of the summer! She grabbed her daypack, strapped it to her back, and slung the binoculars over her shoulder. The first level area was in the same direction as the rifle fire she had heard. It was so cold here in the darkness-and there was a long, bright tunnel somewhere. He had seen it, but when he looked for it again, there was nothing there. He wanted to walk down that tunnel and follow it to................where? Then suddenly he was somewhere else and there was a beautiful auburn haired woman talking to him and he was getting mad because she was arguing with him and winning. Annoyed, he turned away from her and tried instead to focus on the tunnel. There was so much peace there and the light in the tunnel was so soft. Then he felt the pain again and it was hot, so hot it made him sweat here in the cold darkness, and, for a moment, the darkness grew brighter and he was awake. He opened his eyes, but the glaring brightness of sunlight brought pain, not peace. He moaned and closed his eyes, but it wouldn't leave; its afterglow burning itself into his brain and searing his very soul. As he fought with the light and the pain, he slowly became aware of the sound of water running and there was a distant sensation of cold on his back and his head. So cold it was heavy. So cold it hurt. He knew he needed to move and to stay awake, but fighting the darkness was too hard. The tunnel was waiting there in the darkness, and the peaceful, all-encompassing light. He closed his eyes and moved back toward the darkness. Scully was in good shape, but it was a vigorous hike and she was out of breath when she finally spotted the clearing through a break in the trees. She stopped to catch her breath and while she did, she studied the meadow. The open area wasn't too large, maybe fifty yards across. Somewhere near the center stood four huge boulders that had tumbled there sometime in the far distant past. They were the type of large, grey rocks that end up somewhere they don't seem to belong; like the monoliths at Stonehenge. In this case, there were no other large deposits of stone or rock in the immediate vicinity. These four seemed to have been placed here deliberately by some giant hand. Her gaze traveled all around the meadow, but other than the stones, there was nothing to see. She was just turning to leave when she spotted three men walking out of the forest at the far side of the clearing. Quickly she grabbed the binoculars and brought the three into focus. They were dressed in military camouflage and looked like soldiers. She could see no indications of rank, unit or even which branch of the military they belonged to. But why here? The only thing she could think of was that perhaps she had wandered in to the maneuvers of one of the paramilitary groups that were springing up all over. Then she focused on the rifles. They were definitely military and appeared to be recent issue. Paramilitary outfits didn't usually have access to new military equipment. It didn't make sense. A movement at the center of the clearing caught her attention and she turned and focused the binoculars there. A man in a business suit had just walked out from between the boulders. Where the hell did he come from, she thought. From this angle she could see no openings and there appeared to be very little space between the large rocks. As she considered what could be there that she couldn't see, she focused on the man in the suit. He had short graying hair, a weathered but not unpleasant face, and a slight build. Through the binoculars he looked to be about forty-five. He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted to the three men walking toward him: "Did you get him?", he called out. One of the men nodded his head and shouted back: "Yes sir. Sergeant McKell got him, sir. Twice. Back there about a hundred yards." "Are you sure, Lieutenant?", the man in the suit inquired. "Yes sir. It was his first kill. He's pretty happy." "What about the body?" "Never find it, Sir. Tumbled over a drop-off." "Very good, lets get going. The chopper's on the way!" The three men started jogging towards the boulders while the man in the suit stood and waited for them. Alarmed, Scully crouched down in some nearby undergrowth and considered what she had just seen and heard. They must be talking about Mulder. Oh God, let it not be him she thought. Who were these people? None of this made sense. The boulders must conceal the opening to some sort of underground facility. Then she heard the chopper; it came in fast just above the tree tops and began to slow as it approached the meadow. The chopper was easy to identify. A Sikorsky; probably a Pave Hawk of some type. What the hell, she thought, as she focused the binoculars on the insignia of the United States Air Force on its side. At least that mystery was solved. It was an Air Force operation. It didn't take long. The chopper landed in a cloud of noise and swirling debris. A door on the port side slid open, and the man in the suit and the three others ran to the chopper and climbed in. The door was closed and the chopper was gone in less than five minutes. As it became a shrinking dot in the distance, Scully walked cautiously out of the trees. Briefly, she focused the binoculars on the pile of boulders farther on, looking for some indication of what they concealed. She wanted to spend some time checking out the opening there, but that would have to wait. She had to keep searching for Mulder. Walking back into the trees, she made her way just inside the tree line to where she had watched the soldiers emerge. They had said that he was about one hundred yards back. She headed in that direction. The terrain sloped uphill and the ground was rough, covered by deadfall, undergrowth and partially buried rocks. She took the path of least resistance in the general direction the soldier had indicated. About seventy yards in she could see glimpses just up ahead of what appeared to be the far side of a ravine. She emerged from the trees to find herself standing on a steep incline that sloped down to a small stream. The stream was shallow, but fairly fast moving and she thought it would be a good place to get a cold drink. She looked upstream, to her left, where the stream had formed a large undercut in the rock on the far side. Past that the stream turned sharply and she couldn't see any further. Downstream the terrain sloped down and the water ran through a flatter area. She walked the few feet downstream that would allow easier access. Looking around, she found a small rock to stand on in the middle of the stream. Three careful steps later she crouched down and put her cupped hand in the cold water. As she lifted the cold water to her mouth, she looked upstream and could now see past the undercut to where the stream straightened out and the slope was higher and steeper. Her breath caught in her throat and the water dribbled from her hand and down her arm. He was laying on his back in the water just past the undercut. Fitzgerald Baronson was sixty-seven years old, five feet ten inches tall and had been told he resembled Carroll O'Connor. That was fine with him. Carrol O'Connor was a fine looking man in Fitzs' opinion. It was Karl Malden he didn't want to look like. Fitz was a conscientious man. He paid his bills on time, kept good records, and never cheated on his income tax. He tended to things like he should. The cabin had been his grandfathers. The old man had built it with his own hands using the trees and rocks at hand. When he died, he left the cabin to Fitz, his only grandson. In all the years he'd owned it, pictures of the cabin in the family scrapbook were as close as he ever got. While the cabin looked to be picturesque and comfortable, Fitz was not terribly fond of roughing it. By the time he had occasion to use the cabin, he had already been to Korea and spent plenty of time camping there. Since then he didn't care for camping. He and Agnes usually took a cruise when vacation time came around. Every year in April, he got a check from Mr. Mulder and Mr. Forman along with a letter from Mr. Mulder telling him when they would be at the cabin and when they would leave. He would deposit the checks in his bank account, and each year, exactly seven days before the taxes were due, he would send a check to the State of Alaska. That kept everything in order. This year there had been a problem at the cabin. Mr. Mulder had disappeared. And now he had found out that Mr. Mulder was an FBI agent. That had been terribly disconcerting; maybe there was something he should know about going on at the cabin. Agent Scully had reassured him that all was fine and that he didn't need to concern himself with it further, but that wasn't his nature. He couldn't have people disappearing from his cabin, especially FBI agents. The place was his responsibility and he needed to see for himself. That was the prudent thing to do. DAY FIVE When she saw Mulder, Scully felt a surge of fear and automatically looked up and all around for danger. She saw nothing threatening and then remembered the men had left in the chopper. In an instant she was up and running through the water as fast as the slippery rock beneath her would allow. "Mulder", she called frantically, and in seconds was at his side. He was laying on his back, his upper body and head laying in the icy water. It wasn't deep enough to cover his mouth; he hadn't drowned. She felt for a pulse and found a weak and thready indication of life. "Oh god, Mulder, you're alive," she said to him. The doctor in her came to life with a vengeance and she began as thorough an exam as she was able to do. Carefully pulling up his shirt, she could see two bloody entrance wounds; one in his left shoulder and one in his chest that should have missed his heart if it went straight in. She would have to check for exit wounds next. He'd lost alot of blood; the front of his shirt and pants were soaked in it. At least he wasn't bleeding profusely right now. Pressure bandages would probably staunch the flow completely. Further examination told her that he probably had some broken ribs, and his right arm showed bone poking through skin just above the wrist. It would be impossible to determine for certain if there were more serious injuries such as a broken back or neck. That would have to wait for x-rays at the hospital. At least there were no obvious spinal cord or head injuries, and no symptoms to indicate an injury of that nature. Very carefully she rolled him over to look for exit wounds. There were none. What she did find was a clean, neat round hole; another bullet wound. Probably where the blood in the cabin came from, she thought. The cold water had cleaned the wound and it was no longer bleeding. She gently rolled him back into the water. The examination had taken no more than five minutes and had confirmed her worst fears. Oh Christ, Mulder, she thought, you should be dead. She would have to take a chance and move him. He couldn't remain in the frigid water even though it had probably helped slow the bleeding. She looked around at the steep slope of the ravine. There was no way she could get him out of here. For the first time in her life she wished she had been a man; a six-foot-four inch lumber jack. She glanced around the immediate area looking for a dry spot. The undercut she had seen before was about fifteen feet away on the opposite side of the stream and there was dry ground there. It was the only place available. "Grit you teeth, Mulder", she said, and knew he couldn't hear her. She grabbed a handful of his shirt above each shoulder and with a monumental effort dragged him through the water and across the stream to the dry area beneath the undercut. As carefully as she could, she settled him there with his head away from the water. A careful inspection showed no additional bleeding from the move. The next part she didn't like to think about, but it was necessary. The arm had to be set and immobilized. A quick search of the area turned up two willow branches that would make adequate splints. The straps from her pack would bind them together. She sat and braced his elbow against her feet, then stopped. Christ, what am I doing, she thought. I haven't set a broken bone since ER rotation during my internship. She paused and silently reviewed the correct procedure as far as she could remember, then gritted her teeth and began. The carefully manipulated bones seemed to slip back into place easily. As they did, Mulder groaned and opened his eyes. He seemed to stare at her, but his eyes remained unfocused and his eyelids fluttered with the effort to remain conscious. "Mulder", she said, "it's me, Scully. I just set your arm. I'm going to splint it now. It may hurt again." His voice was so low, she barely heard him. "Scully? Should have known.....it....I.....hurt Scully." "I know, Mulder. You're hurt pretty badly. I'm going to get you some help, but you'll have to grin and bear it until then," she said tenderly. When she started putting the splint in place, he groaned once more and lost consciousness. She checked his pulse and respiration again and noted that he was warmer than he should have been after laying there in the cold water. Now she would worry about infection, too. Pneumonia was often a problem when patients were immobilized for long periods of time and with his wounds it would almost be a certainty. When the splint was in place, she sat back and looked up at the sky. It was early evening, she knew, but there was plenty of light left. If she hurried, she could be back to the truck and her cell phone, supplies, and medical bag in forty-five minutes. The cell phone may not work, but she could drive out far enough to get to higher ground and then give it another try. Thinking beyond that was unimaginable. She removed her lightweight jacket, rolled it up and carefully placed it under Mulders head. Looking down at his waxen face, she prayed that this wasn't the last time she'd see him alive. "I'll be back before it's dark," she said. "Please don't die." She kneeled down and very softy stroked his forehead, then stood and started to make her way back to the cabin. Jogging most of the way back was easy. Thinking about Mulder; how badly he was injured and wondering how he'd gotten that way was the hard part. Her emotions and logic were both fighting for control. It was difficult to think straight when she was trying not to cry. Finally, the competent, logical, Dana Scully, M.D. and FBI Agent took over. If Mulder had a chance, it was hers to give him, and she had to be cool and efficient to make it work. By the time she saw the cabin roof through the trees, she had pushed the tears back and the lump in her throat didn't ache nearly as much. The narrow path lead her to the back of the cabin and as she rounded the corner, she saw another vehicle parked behind hers. She stopped and swung back around the corner of the cabin, her back to the rough logs and pulled out her revolver. Breathing deeply, her heart pounding in fear and exhaustion, she peeked cautiously around the corner of the cabin and down the porch. Standing there surveying the terrain with his hands on his hips was Archie Bunker-or someone who looked just like him. There seemed to be no one else around. Scully took two deep breaths, moved around the corner quickly, and pointed the lightweight Glock directly at the mans head. "Federal Agent, place both hands on top of your head." The man turned to smile at her but when he saw the Glock pointed at his head, the smile faded, and his hands went up quickly. "Just a minute, little lady," he said, "I own this cabin. I came here to see what's going on. Who the hell are you?" "Are you Fitzgerald Baronson?", she said; the voice did sound familiar. "I sure as hell am," he said. "How did you know?" Scully kept the Glock in her hand, lowered the barrel to point directly down, and walked slowly around to the front of the porch. "I'm Agent Scully, Mr. Baronson. We spoke on the phone. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you for some identification." "You sound like her, but I'd like to see your identification, too, little lady. You can't be too careful nowadays." he said as he placed his drivers license in her hand. Scully looked at it closely, put the Glock securely in the holster at the small of her back and reached into her pocket for her badge. "Mr. Baronson, you are a gift from heaven. I badly need your help" she said. By the time Fitzgerald Baronson had heard her story, he was so agitated he could have driven into the nearest tree. Scully calmed him the best she could and sent him on his way. With any luck, help would be here tomorrow at first light. She hurried to get everything available to help Mulder. ************ END PART 4 ************ ===================================================================== ====== From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Strange Horatio 5 of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:16:53 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART FIVE OF TEN ****************** The trip back to the ravine had taken longer than she had anticipated. She was carrying supplies she had taken from the cabin, as well as her medical bag, some dry clothes for Mulder, a lantern, and two old army blankets from the made up bunk. She had stuffed everything in the sack that had held his sleeping bag and it was awkward to carry in the growing darkness. It was getting colder, too, she noticed. She had put a heavy jacket on at the cabin, but she wanted to get back and build a fire. If Mulder was still alive, he would need the warmth. As she waded through the stream she could see he had changed position slightly. Oh God, she thought, as she splashed faster through the water, please let that mean he's still alive. She dropped the pack on dry ground and knelt down beside him. When his eyes fluttered open, the happiness she felt was so sweet that it made her heart beat faster. "Hi, I'm back," she said, smiling down at him. "Thirsty," he said in a dry whisper. She felt his forehead. He was still too warm. "I'll get you some water." She found a new specimen jar in her medical bag, filled it with stream water and held it to his lips while she raised his head slightly. He drank a little, but started to cough and she pulled the little jar away. In a moment, the coughing had stopped and he was struggling to get his breath back. The rattles in his chest as he tried to breath confirmed her suspicions that pneumonia was probably a real problem now. "That's enough for right now," she said. "You okay?" He turned his head slightly toward her and tried to smile. She felt the lump in her throat again and fought hard not to cry. "I'll give you more in a minute," she said. "Right now I'll see if I can make you a little more comfortable." The lantern gave her enough additional light to bandage the gunshot wounds and several bad cuts on his hand and arm. She cut off his clothing as she worked and covered him with a blanket. She had brought sweatpants, socks and a flannel shirt to replace his wet clothes and she carefully pulled the dry clothes on him, then covered him once again with the blanket. Several times he moaned when she moved him and each time she felt the pain with him. Finally, she carefully rolled him onto his side, tucked a doubled up blanket under him, and rolled him back. When she was through, she looked again in her medical bag. As a forensic pathologist, she spent more time with the dead than the living and her medical bag reflected that. Normally there were few bandages and fewer medications. She looked through her meager supply of painkillers. Aspirin was no good, he didn't need a blood thinner, and she didn't carry narcotics on a daily basis. She found some extra strength pain reliever and got more water from the stream. Awkwardly he swallowed the tablets and a bit more water and she lowered his head back down to the rolled up jacket. The fire was next. She gathered all the dry wood she could find in the area of the undercut. It was mostly small stuff and she had to wade back through the water and downstream to find more. She almost had the small fire started when she started to cry and her tears put it out. Don't die, Mulder, she thought. What will I do if you die. Brushing the tears from her eyes, she found some prescription forms in her medical bag and stuffed them under the kindling. They did the trick and soon the fire was flickering to life. She looked over at Mulder. He's not going to make it, she thought, I'm a doctor, and I can't save his life. She tried not to cry, but the cool logic couldn't last forever. The tears rolled down her cheeks and she felt utterly helpless. He knew she was there because it seemed that a part of him that had been missing was back. Somehow the tunnel didn't seem so close right now. It was still there, but it could wait for a few minutes. He just needed to be with her for a while. "Scully", he said weakly. "Yes," she said, and frantically wiped the tears away with her jacket sleeve. She moved closer. "Don't cry," he said. "I'm not crying, Mulder," she said, "I've just got smoke in my eyes from the fire. How are you feeling?" "How do I look?" "Terrible," she said. "Bingo." "There should be somebody here by first light," she said. "The man that owns the cabin was there when I went back. He's gone to get help." "Thought he was a phantom all these years.............. Is Jack okay?" "He's fine, Mulder, just worried about you." She shivered. It was getting colder, even with the fire. She reached out and felt his forehead and cheek. He was burning up. She had hoped beyond all hope that it wouldn't happen until they got him to a hospital and the antibiotics he needed to help fight the infection. If she had a thermometer in her bag, she would have to take his temperature. "Scully, I found her. She's alive. They told me she's alive." "Do you mean Sam? Who are they?" "I saw them Scully," he said in a whisper, "I talked to them. Gumby even tried to help me." He must be delirious, she thought. The fever, the pain, anything, everything. "Mulder, you need to rest. We can talk about it later, when you're stronger." He looked up at her. In all his confusion and pain, only one thought was clear to him; Scully was the only person on earth he wanted here with him right now. But he had to tell her about the tunnel. And about the light. "There's a tunnel Scully. So peaceful. And there's light everywhere. Come with me.......?" "No Mulder. Don't go to the tunnel. Stay here with me. Don't go toward the tunnel." She knew what out-of-body experiences were. More often than not they were preludes to death. Few came back to describe them. He couldn't go toward the tunnel. "So hard to stay here. .........don't know where I am." "You're here with me, Mulder. Stay here with me. Don't go to the tunnel." "Come with me, Scully." She couldn't find any other words, there were none. She reached out and held his hand with both of hers and the tears started down her cheeks once again. He turned his head on the rolled jacket and looked up at the stars. Slowly he closed his eyes. She held his hand until she was sure he was just sleeping, then sat and watched his labored breathing for several minutes. Slowly she became aware of the cold and looked over to see the fire was low. Reluctantly, she went in search of more firewood. When she got back, he was shivering and had thrown off the blanket that covered him. She covered him again and fed the fire, then went in search of a thermometer. She didn't have one. Dead people didn't need thermometers. According to her watch, it was 15:00 hours when the rumbling started. She thought it was thunder at first, but when it continued, she knew it wasn't. When the ground started shaking, she thought it was an earthquake, but it wasn't the rolling movement of an earthquake. It felt more like the floor shaking when a heavy truck went by the office. She stood and looked up, but the sides of the ravine were too steep to see anything but a starry expanse of blue-black sky peeking through the trees. What the hell is it, she thought. Maybe there is and underground facility beneath that meadow and there's some kind of testing going on there. Loose pebbles were now rolling down the sides of the ravine in several places. The undercut looked strong enough to withstand even an earthquake, but she was worried that Mulder might be hurt by falling rocks if the shaking got worse. She rushed over and carefully covered his head, shoulders, and as much of his body as she could with her own, supporting her weight on her hands. Gravel fell on her back and head, but not enough to do any damage. The rumbling and shaking stopped abruptly, replaced by a low, powerful hum. It sounds like the hum of high power electric lines, she thought, what the hell is going on? Mulder stirred beneath her. She shook the pebbles out of her hair and sat on the ground next to him. "They're leaving, Scully," he said softly. "Who's leaving, Mulder?" Just then the world was bathed in an intense white light that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Scully threw her arm up to cover her eyes; Mulder groaned and turned his face away. The hum became louder and began to pulsate, the pulses coming faster and faster until all other sound was drowned out. Then the light began fluctuating in time with the pulsating hum, growing brighter and dimmer with each beat until the sound and the light became one steady sensory overload. As quickly as it began it ceased. The darkness returned and the crickets and night creatures slowly resumed their incessant chatter. She looked over at Mulder. There were tears in his eyes. "Mulder, what is it? Do you know what that was?" she asked. "There was something below the meadow. I think it was a ship.............Scully, they know where Sam is. I was there......in there......with Carson." He was becoming agitated; trying to make her understand, shaking with the effort "It's gone............Scully, Scully..........gone....it's gone." "Take it easy, it's okay. I understand," she said and gently stroked his forehead. His temperature had not gotten worse, but it was no better. Slowly he became less agitated and settled down. "Mulder, I saw a man in the meadow. He seemed to walk right out of the boulders, like there was a doorway there. Is there a doorway there? Is that man Carson?" "More than a doorway, Scully, an entire ship," he said weakly. She knew that even in this condition he was incapable of misrepresenting the facts. There must be something below that meadow or maybe it had been beneath the meadow and was no longer there. She had seen and heard things today that she couldn't explain right now. Mulder had more information than she did and when he was better, they could piece it together. When he was better. There would be plenty of time to find out then. Right now this man was the most important thing in the world. "I'll come back here and if there's anything to be found, I'll find it," she said. "I promise. I'll find the truth." For awhile she held his hand; periodically reaching out and brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. In the cool, still air she could hear his labored breathing. It shouldn't end like this, she thought. Searching for the truth should bring honor, not death. And there was a real possibility that he would die. Death wasn't new to her, she earned her living by spending time with death. But this was different. This death would be a part of her dying. Carefully she lay down beside him and pulled the blanket over both of them. And slept. Sometime later she was awakened by his voice. "Scully" he said softly. She woke up and raised herself up on one elbow next to him. "I'm here, Mulder", she said. "So many things I wanted to tell you............," he whispered hoarsely. She looked down at him and tears filled her eyes. How could she fly without his wings? Very tenderly she said, "I know most of them Mulder", and she gently laid her hand against his cheek. He smiled at her and slowly closed his eyes. DAY SIX The sky was turning from the grey of early morning to the blue of daylight when she awakened with a start. Pushing her hair back out of her eyes she immediately turned toward Mulder. His breathing was shallow and irregular, but he was alive. She reached over and felt his forehead. His fever was worse. She got up stiffly and threw the blanket back over him. After retrieving a stethoscope from her medical bag, she returned to his side and listened to his chest. The deep rattles and reduced sounds in his chest were caused by fluid in his lungs and with the fever, it had to be pneumonia. Oh Mulder, hang in there, she thought, just a little longer. There was an instrument wrap in her bag and she moistened it with cold water and wiped his fevered face. It was a gesture, no more. It wouldn't help him as much as it helped her to be doing something........ anything, for him. She heard the chopper about fifteen minutes later. It circled directly overhead once, and then moved on. There was a flare from the pick-up in the bag of supplies she had brought and she searched for it frantically. The chopper was moving away as she ran for a level area and pointed the flare at the only opening in the trees that she saw. Three minutes later, the chopper hovered almost directly above them, then moved off to land nearby in the meadow. They had seen the flare! She ran back to Mulder and dropped down beside him. "Mulder, they're here," she said excitedly. "Just hold on for awhile longer." There was no response, but she had expected none. She sat and held his hand while she waited. There was a bluish tint around his fingernails, and his hand was cold as ice. She looked at his face. His lips were bluish, too, and his eyes looked sunken and bruised. He needs oxygen, she thought, I hope they have oxygen. "Just a little longer.....a little longer." And as she held his hand, she rocked back and forth. The medics were busy getting Mulder ready to transport. He was being strapped into the stokes for the flight into Anchorage, and bottles and IV tubes hung everywhere. Scully stood back across the stream and talked with Federal Marshall Jackson Ames while she scrutinized every move the medics made. They seemed totally competent. Scully looked at Ames. He was a tall, middle-aged black man dressed in an expensive blue suit covered with dust. He had short, greying hair, and the softest, deepest and most soothing voice she had heard in years. He had driven up in a dusty jeep not long after the paramedics had found them. He had introduced himself and told her that a friend of his had asked him to look into the incident at the cabin. "Who would want to do this to him," he asked. "Jesus, he was unarmed." "I don't know at this point," said Scully noncommittally. "I found him here yesterday afternoon." "Must have been a pretty rough night, I guess," said Jackson. "I've had better," she said. "May I inquire how you knew about this?" she asked. "I don't think it's your normal jurisdiction, is it." "I'm not here in an official capacity, Agent Scully. I'm doing this for a friend." "Who is that friend, Marshall Ames? Under the circumstances, I need to know anything that pertains to this investigation." Ames paused and looked over at Mulder. The medics had Mulder ready to go and were beginning to pack their gear. Maybe he shouldn't tell her, he thought, but that guy in the Stokes looked like he needed to know he had friends. "His name is Skinner," Agent Scully. "We spent some time in Nam together." Scully was amazed. None of this makes sense, she thought. Skinner had almost thrown her out of his office and now he was sending someone to find out what was going on. "When he received word that Agent Mulder had been found, he called and asked me to come up here. I get the feeling that you two are more than personnel to him." "What will you tell him?" she asked. "Off the record, I'll tell him what I saw here. And that you don't yet know what happened. Officially, I wasn't here." Skinner was a friend, after all. But why did he refuse to help her earlier? She was exhausted and more than a little bit cross. She really wasn't in the mood for figuring out the politics of why Skinner did things, and she replied to Ames crossly: "Marshall Ames, I don't know what happened here. I do know that it involves something more than what is obvious. Because of that, Agent Mulder may be in further danger and will need protection. I intend to stay and provide that protection. I also know that if Agent Mulder isn't given further protection, his life is still in danger. If he lives. Please tell Director Skinner that. In whatever capacity you see fit." With that, she turned and walked off towards Mulder, but stopped suddenly. You're stressed out, she thought, don't kill the messenger. She turned back to Ames. "Marshall Ames......thank you. I know you'll tell Director Skinner what he needs to know." The medevac helicopter had landed in the meadow where the entryway in the stones was hidden. She had wanted to see a pile of rubble and fresh dirt where the meadow was, if only to confirm Mulders suspicions that a ship had ripped up through the dirt and rocks and flew off. All she saw was the medevac helicopter waiting near the stones like a large dragonfly. The crevice where the man had seemed to appear was not visible, and there was no indication that a UFO had been buried here and had taken off. Until she had a chance to come back and take a good look for herself, she wouldn't say anything. The chopper was too crowded for anyone besides Mulder and the normal Medevac crew, so she had pulled rank and bumped one of the nurses. The nurse would ride back with Marshall Ames. Being a doctor has some small rewards, she thought, even if I haven't treated a live patient for years. They had done all they could for Mulder, but, at this point, that wasn't much. They had inserted an airway and started him on oxygen, started all the requisite fluids, and put a temporary cast on his arm, but any major medical attention would be given at the hospital. All she could do now was listen to the noise of the chopper and the static of intermittent radio chatter. She couldn't even hold his hand. It was taped down to an IV board and the other one was encompassed in the temporary cast. When she tried to ask the medic how he was doing, he couldn't hear her over the engine noise. He shook his head and handed her the chart he had made out. Most of it was a list of what he had found medically and what had been done to stabilize the patient for transport. There was nothing new. Scully had pretty much called it so far and the medic merely confirmed it. He was aware of being jostled around, and there were short fragments of conversation that he couldn't quite understand. For a second or two, he opened his eyes to see blurry images of faces above him, but they faded into the distance and were gone. Thirsty, he was so thirsty. He tried to lick his lips and was suddenly aware of something in his mouth, in his throat and he gagged on it. It hurt. Get rid of it. He tried to raise his head but couldn't, tried to raise his hand to rip the offending object from his mouth. Nothing happened. Pain everywhere. Can't breathe. Confusion. Can't breathe. Panic. He began to struggle and Scully held him down firmly, talking to him, comforting him. "Mulder, I'm here. Don't fight it, Mulder, it's just an airway. Take it easy. I'm here." Slowly, his half open eyes focused on her face. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a barely audible moan around the airway. She was here. She would know what was wrong, why he couldn't speak, why he couldn't breathe. Slowly his movements stopped and his eyes closed. Scully looked up at the medic checking the IV lines. He nodded and gave her a thumbs up. ***************** END PART FIVE ***************** ===================================================================== ====== From: jo440@intele.net (Jo B.) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Strange Horatio 6 of 10 Date: Fri, 26 Jan 96 19:16:59 GMT Disclaimer: The X-Files and all associated characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX network. Gumby belongs to Art Clokey (or did at one time).Used without permission and no infringment of copyrights are intended. ***************** STANGE HORATI0 An X-Files Story by Jo Barnes ****************** PART SIX OF TEN ****************** Skinner placed the phone back in its chrome cradle and leaned back in his chair, running his hand over his unshaven chin. The look of relief on his face was perilously close to joy. Jack was a good soldier. His evaluation of the situation had been precise, thorough, and perceptive. Mulder was alive-for now at least, and Scully had things under control. Jackson Ames had promised to get his best people to the hospital and give Mulder some protection within two hours. Scully wouldn't be doing it alone. Until he left the hospital, he would be watched round the clock. Skinner sighed. He had to go by the book. In this case protection for a wounded FBI agent would be expected. In fact, to neglect to provide that protection would be so obvious an oversight, that even the janitor would notice it. No one would need to know where the guards came from. It would be assumed they were assigned by his office. That would be SOP; no one would question it. Sometimes the system worked for you, he thought, you just couldn't rely on it. He reached for the phone again. Scully sat in the deserted doctors lounge, her feet on the institutional looking coffee table strewn with old magazines and medical journals. For a moment she stared silently into her latest styrofoam cup of cold coffee, then placed it next to the five others on the table. He'd been in surgery for five hours and thirty-two minutes. One of the nurses brought her progress reports about every forty-five minutes and, so far, everything was going okay. He was holding his own. The last time the nurse had come by, they were almost through. Exhaustion kept her from feeling too much. Worry and fear had taken their toll hours ago. She leaned her head back on the old naugahyde couch and closed her eyes. "Doctor Scully." She opened her eyes and looked around, confused. She'd been sleeping. "Doctor Dana Scully," said the hollow voice. It was the intercom speaker on the wall calling her. Mulder! Her heart seemed to skip a beat. She jumped up and rushed out of the small room, startling a haggard looking resident snoozing on the couch across from her. The nurse looked up to see a disheveled and tired looking women hurrying down the hall toward her desk. "I'm Doctor Scully," she said urgently, "I was paged." "Yes, Doctor, we couldn't find you to tell you. Mr. Mulder is out of surgery and has been taken to recovery. Doctor Merritt would like to see you. He's up there right.............." She was speaking to thin air. Scully was half way down the hall before she could finish. Now the time of waiting would begin. The bullets were gone from his body and they had put everything back together, but it would be a miracle if he could also beat the infection, shock, pneumonia and blood loss. His heart had stopped twice during surgery and he remained on full respiratory support. The prognosis was grim. Surprisingly, he had been put in a private room that was as well equipped as an intensive care station. Scully sat at his bedside for twenty-four hours before they finally wheeled in a gurney, put it in the corner and made her sleep on it. It was quiet and she slept soundly for several hours. When she woke, she showered in the small bathroom in his room and dressed in the scrubs they had brought her while her clothes were cleaned in the hospital laundry. She read his chart again for the fifteenth time that day. The nurses had left it with her. She was making them nervous when she double-checked all their work, so they had just let her fill in the chart and they double-checked her instead. She was never wrong. As she read it, she knew there was nothing else that could be done. He was in a coma and with any luck would not even wake up to the world of pain he would face. It would be so much better that way and the end result would be the same. She just wanted to be here. As she sat by his bed, she reflected on what had happened since she had entered this room. Even from across the country, Skinner had been a miracle worker. Their location was officially unknown for the time being. There were two young, strong, and enthusiastic agents standing outside the private room, and two more at the end of the hallway. He had provided her with a laptop computer, delivered by Jackson Ames, and promised there would be no de-briefing until she wanted and could handle it. The specially equipped private room had been a real surprise because insurance wouldn't pay for one. She didn't find out until later that Skinner had personally paid the difference between the allowed semi-private room and this one. The men outside had done their job well and besides herself and hospital staff, no one had been in the room but Jackson Ames. He had come to offer support and any help she needed. Skinner had told her to expect a visit from him and to pay attention to what he had to say. Ames had told her that he would carry any information back to Skinner that she didn't want to trust to electronic channels. Every day brought a new revelation about her boss. She rose to stretch and went to sit in the chair by the window. The hours of sitting and waiting had given her time to think. Even if she expanded the logic of it, she could not explain everything that she had seen. The strange occurrence of light and sound were still a mystery. In Alaska, the aurora borealis was not unusual. That might help explain the light, but still left a lot unexplained-most of it in fact. She couldn't even speculate about the sound; especially in combination with the light She would need to go back there as soon as possible. She had promised Mulder and she would go, even if it put her own life in danger. And it would put her life in danger. Whoever was responsible for this would have to assume a full night in the forest with Mulder was more than enough time for her to learn all the details of his ordeal, especially descriptions of the people involved. No one knew that he was too badly injured to talk to her. They had to assume that Mulder had told her everything he knew. She could only believe that whoever was responsible for what had happened would soon know that she was now involved. Skinner had tried to button it up, but she knew that even his surprising influence could only go so far and last so long. She needed to know the identity of the man in the suit. He seemed to be in charge. Knowing who he was her only link to what had happened to Mulder and why it had happened. In addition to that, if the United States Air Force was somehow involved-and she didn't think they were lending their helicopters to para-military groups-then she probably couldn't trust anyone. Her thoughts turned to Mulder. He never left her mind, but she had caught herself saying to one of the nurses: "Mulder was my partner........." Somewhere in the back of her mind he was already gone. Thoughts of him were being generated in the past tense. Living without him would be the most difficult thing she had ever done. Losing her father had been a shock but she knew that he would die someday. Fathers were supposed to die. And she had finally made her peace with his death. Her mother, too, would die someday, and that too was inevitable. But Mulder was young and enthusiastic and vital and so much a part of her life. For many months now, she had known that he was more than a friend, but didn't quite fit into any category she had set up for the opposite sex. Their relationship was based on so many things that it was difficult to define. He was part brother, part teacher, part father......, even part lover in a way. The intimacy they shared as partners was forged in a life and death reliance on each other that in many ways was deeper and stronger than a sexual relationship could ever be. She had always found him disturbingly attractive and under different circumstances would probably have initiated a sexual relationship before now, but she recognized that the bonds of trust, affection and respect they shared would remain strong only if they were not compromised by the fickle whims of biology. He knew it, too. They both struggled silently with it. Now those bonds would be broken and would leave a wound that would never heal. Can I handle this, she thought, do I want to? Suddenly, a monitor started beeping wildly, then another. Immediately, she realized what was happening and what the implications were. As she crossed the room in a panic, the door banged open wildly and a nurse hurriedly pushed a crash cart into the room, two more nurses and a resident right behind her. Scully was thrown against the wall by the resident as he came around the bed. He didn't even pause. "Oh God, Mulder," she cried, her shaking hands covering her mouth. "Oh no, Mulder," and she started for the bed. Suddenly, two strong hands grabbed her shoulders and stopped her. "Dr. Scully, let us do our work," the nurse said kindly but firmly, "You're too close to this one." She let herself be guided out into the hallway, not even aware of moving. As the nurse returned to the room, one of the agents sent by Skinner approached. "Dr. Scully................Is everything alright?" She looked up at him blankly as the full impact of what was happening hit her, then she leaned back against the wall, her arms wrapped around her middle as if she were in pain, and slid slowly to the floor. The young agent crouched down next to her and gently laid a hand on her shoulder. At first he was floating in a sea of serenity. Then there was pain, and harsh yellow flashes of light. And the distant ringing of an alarm bell. He had opened his eyes once and someone had been calling his name. He wanted to answer, but there was no need. He knew. Scully. Then he felt pain again; somewhere, everywhere, and couldn't move to get away from it. Now it was crushing his chest, and there was no way to fight it. No way to move. No need to breathe. Just don't go back to the tunnel, he remembered. She had told him not to go to the tunnel. In his mind, he told her about the peace. Explained how good it was. How safe it was. And why he had to go back. He stood by the entryway to the tunnel and looked in; a tunnel full of soft white light that began everywhere and went on forever. It was so peaceful in there. It flowed out of the tunnel and all around him. Almost tangible it was so strong. The peace. It surrounded him and caressed him and held him sweetly in its grip. Sometimes he heard voices echo behind him and he would turn to look. There was never anything there. Just the tunnel and the light and the peace. At first the voices had been very close, but now they seemed to be fading. And the tunnel was becoming more distinct. Jackson Ames loved Assistant Director Walter Skinner. Loved him in a way that only the shared experience of facing life and death could produce. His life had been given to him on a silver platter by young Walt Skinner on a humid, quiet night outside Danang. A ten year old child had walked into camp with enough grenades hanging from his body to flatten a city block. Corporal Jackson Ames had been on watch, but had stepped around the corner of a hut to relieve himself. Sergeant Walt Skinner had seen the child first and without hesitation had shot him in the head and killed him before the kid pulled the pin on one of the grenades. Jackson Ames had been standing not twenty feet from the kid and would have died along with most of the other men in the area. Walt Skinner had strolled over to the kid and looked down at the small dead body. Then he had turned to Ames and said casually, "Corporal, have this body removed. The damn thing could still kill us all." No comment about Jackson Ames being absent from his post, and no comment about having just killed a ten year old kid. Jesus, we could both be courts martialled, he'd thought. Skinner's gone off the deep end. Until later that day when he had seen Skinner slip away into the trees and out of curiosity had followed. He was crouched down in the undergrowth holding his head in his hands as deep wrenching sobs shook his entire body. Jackson Ames had watched uncomfortably for only a minute when suddenly Skinner had looked up and their eyes met. The look of pain and anguish on Walt Skinners face was almost too much to bear. Ames had turned quietly and left him alone there in the trees. Skinner had never mentioned Ames absence from his post and Ames had never mentioned the small bloody corpse covered with grenades and the young Sergeant crying in the trees. Somehow that shared silence created a bond and over the years they had formed a deep and lasting friendship based on mutual trust and respect. Now Federal Marshall Jackson Ames was telling Assistant Director Walter Skinner what was really happening in Anchorage. "Is this phone secure," asked Ames. "As secure as you get around here," replied Skinner sarcastically, "What's happening?" "Well, it doesn't look good," he said. "Your man is pretty bad, Walt. I don't think he's going to make it." Standing by his desk, Skinner took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. It had hit him harder than he expected. "You sure, Jack, he's been through the ringer before and made it." "I talked to his doctor when Agent Scully wasn't there so I could get the real scoop. Not good. About the only things in his favor are his relative youth and his partner. He was shot three times and now they're trying to fight some kind of infection and pneumonia. I guess he was laying in some cold water for awhile, too. That's not good for a compromised system I'm told." "How is Agent Scully taking it?" "I think she's pretty much okay. I wouldn't want to be her though, this is going to be pretty damn difficult. She's been in there with him day and night. I guess she's a doctor and he's in a coma and she can't do anything else. Must be a rough one. She's tough, though. Won't give an inch when the nurses try to chase her off." "Has she said anything about what happened?" asked Skinner. "No, and I haven't pushed her. I didn't think the time was right. The bad part will probably be over soon. I thought it could wait." "All right, Jack, can you hang around for awhile? These two aren't your average bears." "Sure Walt, I can pretty much set my own schedule. You know that." "Jack, don't tell Agent Scully, but I'm on my way out there." Ames was surprised. The last thing he thought would happen was that an Assistant Director of the FBI would take time out from his crowded schedule to spend time with one or two specific agents. "You're really serious?" he asked Skinner. "Count on it," replied Skinner, and hung up. Scully was back by his side. She had met with three different physicians to determine if there was any real hope for his survival. No one could really say no, but they all very carefully explained that as a physician herself she should realize that their area of expertise was not the only one involved. Passing the clinical buck, she thought. The only thing she was sure of was that when he arrested last time, she almost died, too. Now she didn't know if she'd have the strength to deliver the DNR order. She also knew she had to. It was time. Her thoughts went back to the night she had gotten the call from Mulder. It was not long after he had been shot in the leg and almost bled to death. He was home recovering and had been calling her at work several times a day. Bored to death, she thought. Now it was two AM. Why he needed to talk in the middle of the night was a mystery, but she had dutifully thrown on some clothes and driven over to his apartment. "Scully, we've got to talk," were his first words when he opened the door. It turned out to be a difficult night. They had had a long talk about the realities of medicine and had argued at length about the Do Not Resuscitate order he had asked her to hold for him. It was a standard form that informed medical personnel of a persons wishes regarding being resuscitated when their was no hope of survival. Most hospitals and physicians honored it if at all possible. Mulder, dressed in sweats and an old armless sweatshirt, had limped up and down the far side of the small living room while she sat uncomfortably on the couch and tried to understand. "I will not live connected to tubes, Scully. This decision has to be made while I'm competent to make it. I'm making it now. I want you to hold it because we get around a lot and it might get lost if I give it to anyone else. I don't want it lost, Scully." "I can't do this, Mulder. What about your family? Don't you think they should make the decision." "No," he said sharply. "They're your family, Mulder, shouldn't they be the ones to................" At the far end of the room he had spun around and faced her, a look of anger and rage on his face. "Bullshit, Scully, they don't even know me as well as you do," he had shouted. "And they sure as hell don't care for me as much as.............. as much as the bureau." She had looked up at him, surprised at what he had almost said. After a moment of uneasy silence, she had said seriously: "Okay, Mulder. I'll be your next of kin and I promise I'll do the very best I can to carry out your wishes." He had stopped pacing then and leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. Looking down at the floor, he had heaved a great sigh of relief, as if he had just won a major battle with life. "Thank you, Scully," he said quietly, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. "Now," he had said in his best conciliatory manner, "Care for a glass of hemlock." They had both laughed and the tense moment was gone. She had carried it in her purse ever since. A piece of paper that could forever take him away. She stood and went in search of Doctor Merrit, the physician overseeing his care. ************ END PART 6 ************ ===================================================================== ======