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A New War #3: Road Trip
by Lianne Burwell
November 1998
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Friday dawned, cooler than it had been in weeks. The temperature was 
actually comfortable, for once. Debi McCullough went in to work as usual, 
but she was fighting a case of the nerves. Any minute, she expected to 
have mysterious men in black or something show up to haul her away for 
what she was doing.

Instead, she spent a stress-filled but otherwise boring day in records, 
digging up files for agents working on active investigations. Why they 
didn't just scan them to computer, she didn't know. Sure, it would take 
some time to do the scans, then proof all the documents, but in the long 
run it would speed things up greatly.

When five o'clock finally came, she breathed a sigh of relief.

She made it home in one piece to the apartment that she shared with 
another agent, Jennifer Krandall. Jen had called her earlier to let her 
know that she wouldn't be home. She was off in Dakota, of all places. 
Some sort of serial killer, she said. Debi restrained a shudder. Serial 
killers was one type of case that she had *no* interest getting involved 
with. Some people found them... exciting. Debi just found them 
frightening.

Just to be safe, she left a note saying that she was going camping for 
the weekend, in case Jen made it home earlier than expected. Then she 
grabbed her knapsack and headed for the café where *they* were supposed 
to meet her. She took a last look around the small, two-bedroom apartment 
that had been her home for only a few months. A little voice inside said 
to enjoy it while she could, since she might never see it again.

No turning back now.

* * * * *

With everything packed in the back of the car, the only problem was who 
would sit where. In the end, Debi sat up front with Krycek, while Mulder 
sat in the back with Scully. What it came down to was that Scully didn't 
want Mulder sitting with Krycek and Mulder would have been a fool to 
trust *her* with the former agent. Since it was Krycek's car -- Mulder 
assumed, probably wrongly -- and Debi was giving directions, it did make 
sense.

Out of the city, the beautiful fall colors, the sunset, the pleasant 
weather and the hypnotic effect of highway driving soon lowered the 
tension levels in the car to the point that Mulder was no longer thinking 
that inviting Scully had been a horrendous mistake. Instead of spending 
her time sniping at Krycek, she was questioning Debi about everything she 
knew about aliens.

"So you're saying that these... aliens tried to take over *several* 
times, and no one even noticed?"

"There's noticing and then there's *noticing*, Agent Scully. Think back 
eight years ago. What do you remember?"

Scully blinked a few times. "I was still in school. Why?"

"Do you remember the food shortages? The curfews? The riots?"

Mulder frowned at that. Something wiggled in the back of his memories, 
trying to get his attention. Scully just looked confused.

"I remember," Krycek spoke up. "It was *not* a nice time. And then... it 
was over. Everyone put it out of their mind, until it was as if it had 
never happened."

"Exactly. Harrison had theories, but he never did find out why people 
always forgot. The previous invasion, the one that killed Harrison's 
parents, was forgotten, except for a movie. The one before that is only 
remembered in a radio broadcast that is now considered fiction. The one 
before *that* is also remembered as fiction, a novel by HG Wells. It's as 
though humans don't *want* to remember."

"Or are being prevented," Mulder said, half to himself. Scully gave him 
one of her patented 'Get real, Mulder' looks, but he ignored it. "What 
happened in the previous invasion?"

"The 'movie' one? The movie was accurate. Common bacteria *did* stop the 
aliens, but it didn't kill them. They went into a hibernation so deep it 
was indistinguishable from death. The military packed them up in metal 
barrels and disposed of them in hazardous waste dumps. They figured that 
it was a good enough solution." Her tone was derisive.

"That's so ridiculous that you *have* to believe it," Mulder snorted. 
"Are they still there?" 

Debi frowned. "I don't know if any are *still* there. What happened,  
about ten years ago, was that some of the barrels were exposed to toxic 
waste. The radioactivity killed off the bacteria that had defeated the 
Mothren, allowing them to break free and start over again. Harrison found 
out, and persuaded the government to take him seriously. My great-uncle, 
General Wilson, was put in charge of the Blackwood Project, and the 
Project tracked alien activity and stopped their plans, whenever 
possible."

"What happened?" Krycek asked. "I know Wilson disappeared, and the 
project... disappeared. Why?"

Debi looked out the window, not responding for a while. "We don't know. 
But that happened about the same time that a new wave of Mothren arrived. 
They were very different. Better able to infiltrate."

"What do you mean?"

"The older aliens were just that... alien. They were able to take over 
human bodies, but they still acted alien. As well, they couldn't *keep* 
control for long, since they burned out their hosts. The last wave 
modified themselves to look human. They had more advanced technology and 
none of the vulnerabilities to Earth bacteria that their predecessors 
had. The troubles seemed to start around the same time that they arrived."

Mulder stayed quiet for the next while, staring out at the landscape as 
it zoomed by. He listened as Scully asked questions about how the... 
Mothren, Debi called them? About how the Mothren were able to take over 
human bodies. It sounded like the oil-slick aliens, but more destructive.

But most of his attention was focused on his memories of eight years ago. 
Strangely, they seemed to slide away, just out of reach. Was he still at 
Oxford? Had he joined the FBI yet? He couldn't quite pin it down. For 
someone with eidetic memory, it was very disturbing.

* * * * *

A few hours later, conversation had petered out. Debi had explained 
everything that she knew about the aliens, which wasn't really a lot, 
since she'd barely been in her teens when the Mothren had been stopped.

Except they hadn't been stopped. Instead, they had *chosen* to end the 
conflict when they realized that their leader had manipulated them into 
continuing a conflict that most were not interested in anyway. Most had 
chosen to leave Earth, continuing on their way. Some had stayed, merging 
into the human population. Hopefully, Blackwood would help find them. 
While he was pretty sure, from the sound of it, that they weren't related 
to the current... problems. But they had technology that could be useful.

Debi had been giving more frequent directions for that last half-hour. 
They had left the highway and had been driving through the back country, 
seemingly in circles. Mulder had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn't 
just to throw off any pursuers. She was making it more difficult for any 
of them to retrace their steps later.

By this time, it was nearly midnight, so the roads were empty. Anyone 
*trying* follow them would either be obvious by their headlights, or else 
driving blind.

Finally, there was the faint gleam of lights up ahead. As they drew 
closer, Mulder could see a small cabin, nestled in the trees on the side 
of a hill. During the day, it probably had a beautiful view of the 
valley below.

Krycek pulled up next to an ancient pickup truck that was so battered-
looking that Mulder wondered if it even ran. They all piled out of the 
car, trying to deal with the kinks caused by sitting for too long.

The cabin door opened. "Whatever you want," came an angry voice. "You 
won't find it here, so you better just head back out the way you came."

The imp of the perverse rose up in Mulder, and he couldn't resist. He 
stepped forward, hand held out.

"Dr. Blackwood, I presume?"

* * * * *

"Harrison, please! You've got to listen," Debi pleaded. They had spent 
hours trying to convince Blackwood to help them, but he wouldn't even 
consider it.

"No I don't. I did my bit. I'm out of it, now. I don't want anything to 
do with this fight. Just... leave me alone."

Mulder was disappointed. The Harrison Blackwood he'd read about in the 
files had been an idealist, determined to save the world. This man was 
bitter. The old Harrison had smiled brightly from the pictures. This man 
had an overgrown beard, and deep lines around the eyes. His shoulders 
were slumped, and his clothes had seen better days. He looked... defeated.

"Dr. Blackwood. If you could at least give us a detailed description of 
what happened during the last invasion. Anything that might help us now. 
And if you know how to get a hold of any of the Mothren that stayed on 
Earth..."

Blackwood slumped in his chair. "I try *not* to think about it. Not that 
*that* stops the nightmares." He looked over at the mantle, and the 
photos sitting there. "So many good people died. The people who knew 
about it are *still* dying. Someone wants to make sure that nobody talks. 
Suzanne told me about three separate attempts on her life after she moved 
to Florida. She kept her head low, talked to no one, but they still kept 
coming after her. I told her to get out. Find someone she trusted to 
create a new identity for her."

"Dr. McCullough is still alive?" Mulder looked over at Debi, but the 
young woman refused to meet his eyes. Her face looked like it was carved 
from stone. That was something that she *hadn't* mentioned.

"Katya was one of the first to die," Harrison said, eyes seemingly fixed 
on the past. "Then the various representatives who were at the conference 
a few months after Katya went home. Then the various scientists we'd 
dealt with, in all areas of the world. They died and their research was 
destroyed, their papers lost."

He turned, face suddenly focused and grim. "We saw it coming. Someone 
was killing everyone who knew about the aliens, about what had happened. 
Kincaid is very good at protecting himself. No one I didn't trust knew 
where I was." He glared at them. "At least until now. But Suzanne was in 
danger. Kincaid had... friends. They created a new identity for her. 
Arranged for surgery to change her appearance."

He shook his head. "I'm not getting involved again. All I want is to be 
left alone."

Mulder wandered around the cabin. Despite the late hour, he was too 
worked up to keep still. It was simple, mostly one large room, and very 
cluttered. The galley kitchen was against one wall, and the large bed at 
the other end. A fireplace sat in between. On either side of the 
fireplace were doors. One probably led to the bathroom -- Mulder guessed 
-- and the other to the storage room and the generator that they could 
hear whirring in the background. Piles of books adorned just about every 
flat surface, as well as the bookcases that squeezed in wherever there 
was space.

In the middle of the room were a couple of chairs, currently occupied by 
Harrison and Scully, and a table littered with papers. Considering the 
titles on books around the papers, Mulder had to resist the urge to rifle 
through them. His curiosity burned, but he wasn't about to insult 
Blackwood by looking through them, uninvited.

So instead he was drawn to the fireplace, and the framed pictures on the 
mantle. It was a little rude to examine them with their owner in the 
room, but he did it anyway. They might give him a better feel for the man 
and ideas of how to convince him to help them.

The pictures showed a very different Harrison Blackwood. This one smiled, 
his eyes glowed. A young man posed with two adults, probably his adoptive 
parents. An older version posed with a long-haired woman and a girl who 
was obviously Debi McCullough. The woman must be her mother, Suzanne. A 
bearded Harrison posed with them again, as well as with a younger man. 
Probably the Kincaid that he had mentioned. A few pictures showed an 
elderly woman with a vacant gaze. Still more showed a grinning black man 
in a wheelchair. Silvia, his memory provided. Murdered in a mental 
institute arranged for by the Blackwood project. Norton Drake, presumed 
dead the same time as Colonel Ironhorse.

But most of the pictures were of Harrison and another man, Hispanic or 
Native American. Mulder picked one of them up. The two men were smiling 
at each other, arm in arm. They were very obviously together and happy, 
no matter what the circumstances of the time.

A hand reached over his shoulder, and plucked the frame from his hands. 
"Do you mind?" Harrison said is a rough voice.

"That's Colonel Ironhorse?" Mulder asked.

Harrison stared at the picture, eyes focused on the past. He brushed 
gentle fingers across the photo. "Yes."

"What happened to him?" Mulder saw Debi flinch in the background, then 
look away. Harrison didn't miss it either.

"The Mothren captured him and cloned him. They sent the clone to blow up 
the cottage and kill us. It did kill Norton. Paul... stopped him." Mulder 
shook his head, not understanding. "Paul realized that the clone was... 
connected to him somehow. He killed himself and the clone died at the 
same moment. We barely got out before the bomb went off."

The expression on Harrison's face was painful, but there were no tears. 
He doesn't have any left, was the thought that popped into Mulder's mind. 
He shook off the flight of fancy.

"Dr. Blackwood..." he started to say, but the man cut him off.

"No. You're on your own." Then he looked around at his visitors, seeing 
how tired they all were. "I have some sleeping bags. You can stay the 
rest of the night, get some sleep." Then his voice hardened. "But then 
you leave." His expression said that he wasn't going to reconsider.

Mulder sighed. It had been a good try, but they'd obviously reached a 
dead-end. He turned to Scully, when there was a muffled curse from 
Krycek, who had parked himself near the window as soon as they'd entered 
the cabin.

"What?"

"We've got company," was the grim reply.


TO BE CONTINUED