------------------------------
The Sentinel Project Part 1
by Lianne Burwell
July 2002
------------------------------

Paul Ironhorse shifted slightly on the couch that hugged one 
wall of the private jet, trying to ignore the light 
vibration from the jet's engine. Harrison Blackwood lay on 
the couch next to him, his head pillowed on Paul's thigh. 
Paul's foot was falling asleep, but he didn't even think of 
asking his lover to move. There were lines of strain on the 
older man's face, deepening the wrinkles that were already 
there, so any rest he could get was for the good.

Older man. What a concept. Before, they'd been nearly the 
same age. Now Harrison had nearly a decade on him, a hellish 
decade from what little he'd said, with lines that made him 
look even older. Paul felt a pang of regret at the loss of 
those years, but quickly suppressed it. There was no point 
in mourning what might have been. Besides, they didn't have 
time for regrets: They were in too big a mess for that.

They'd *been* in one mess after another almost from the 
moment that he'd swum out of the dark green twilight of the 
Mothren suspension pod to find that nearly a decade had 
passed while he'd been trapped in barely remembered dreams 
and that the world had changed around him.

Some of it was for the better. When he'd been captured by 
the Mothren, the world had seemed to be dissolving into 
chaos. Martial law had been declared and gangs of armed men 
roamed the streets. The aliens were on the verge of seizing 
complete control. Now, no one seemed to even remember. 
Harrison had explained that once when they'd wondered how 
several alien invasions could be remembered only as movies 
or books or radio dramas. Still, it was weird to see the 
effect in action, rather than seeing the evidence decades 
later.

And some of it was for the worse. The Consortium was 
definitely an example of that. Powerful men and women who'd 
made a Faustian bargain with a race of aliens claiming to be 
from another dimension who'd been carefully planning a 
takeover of this world for decades, if not centuries. The 
Consortium had decided that instead of fighting, they would 
take the Quisling route; helping the aliens in return for a 
position of power in the slave society that would come after 
the takeover. Of course, they had also been working behind 
the scenes to find a way to kill the aliens, from what 
Spender had told them after their recapture. The only 
problem was, the Consortium had planned to use that method 
*after* the takeover, leaving them the heroes of a 
demoralized world.

Giving them power in that world.

All of this he'd learned in the weeks since his rediscovery. 
And in that time, he'd been free for all of four days. Just 
long enough to be reunited with old friends and captured by 
new enemies. Since then, he'd been forced to simply react to 
events, passing from one form of captivity to another.

It was a pattern he hoped to break. He wasn't sure how yet, 
but he was tired of dancing to someone else's tune.

First they'd been in Spender's hands, going through painful 
tests of the enhanced senses that Harrison had developed 
during his years of solitude. The toll they'd taken on the 
man had been painful to see, but there'd been nothing he 
could do to stop it. All he'd been able to do was try to 
help the man deal with the pain.

Then they'd been handed over to one of the aliens, one that 
they'd met before, a decade earlier. Only thing was, she'd 
turned out to be a rebel who'd implanted in their brains the 
knowledge necessary to stop her own people years ago when 
they'd first met her. He still wasn't sure that she'd told 
them the truth about her own motivations, even after she'd 
helped them destroy her race's only entry into their world. 

Of course, there was also still the question of whether 
*she'd* been told the truth by her own people. From what 
she'd told them, her people's leaders hadn't trusted anyone. 
They'd made sure that no one in their invasion project could 
work against them, so it wasn't unthinkable that they hadn't 
told their people everything.

Like maybe they had more than one operation going, each one 
completely separate, with the right hand not knowing what 
the left hand was doing. Then again, maybe it *had* been a 
beachhead operation, the first physical probe. There was no 
way to know for sure, unless they stumbled across something. 
Hell, maybe Katara helping them was just part of an alien 
coup, and now a *new* group would be moving on them. 
Ironhorse had no way to know, and that bothered him.

Whatever was going on, after using them against her own 
people, she'd simply sent them right back into Spender's 
hands, so he wasn't sure how far to trust what she'd told 
them.

So now they were back in the hands of a Consortium that was 
seriously pissed off about having their plans disrupted. 
They'd been questioned long and painfully until Spender had 
been satisfied that he'd learned everything he could from 
them -- which wasn't a hell of a lot. Then he'd vanished for 
a few days, leaving them to stew, wondering what was going 
to happen to them.

When he'd reappeared, you didn't have to have Harrison's 
senses to tell that the man was furious. Something had 
happened, something that was further disrupting the man's 
plans.

In short order, he and Harrison had been bundled onto this 
small jet -- maybe even the same one they'd been on before 
for the flight from Seacouver to wherever it was they had 
been. Suzanne had been taken in a different direction, and 
they had no idea where she was. Of course, they had no idea 
where *they* were either.

But they were almost there, Paul realized as the sound of 
the engines grew louder as the plane started to slowly 
descend. Harrison, who'd managed an uneasy doze, shifted and 
sat up, wincing. Their single armed guard tensed at the 
movement, his hand going to the butt of his gun. Paul had 
briefly considered jumping the man and using his weapon to 
force the pilot to land, but he'd decided that the man was 
just a little too twitchy to be able to do that without 
risking him blowing a hole in the side of the plane or 
shooting someone he shouldn't have.

"Relax," he said softly. "If it's the sound, find something 
else to listen to."

Harrison clenched his teeth and shook his head slightly. 
"Vibrations," he forced out.

"So focus your sense of touch on something else."

Paul wrapped his arm around the bigger man's shoulders, and 
rubbed his hand up and down Harrison's forearm. It wasn't 
much, but it seemed to be doing the trick. The stress lines 
on Harrison's face eased a little, although they didn't 
disappear. They locked eyes, neither one of them sure of 
what was going to happen next.

All they could do was wait and find out.

>>>~~~<<<

Alex watched over Mulder's shoulder as the FBI agent made 
his new laptop jump through hoops. Alex was pretty computer-
savvy -- he needed to be in his line of work -- but he was 
miles behind Mulder. Of course, Mulder was also miles behind 
his techno-geek friends, the Lone Gunmen, but those three 
were in a category of their own. Thank God. Alex wasn't sure 
that the world could survive more than just three.

The machine had been supplied by one of Wolfling's contacts 
the second time they'd changed safe-houses. Mulder had 
quickly accessed a hidden, password-protected site and 
downloaded a ton of software that he'd installed on the 
laptop. The site wasn't as protected as that might make it 
seem -- nothing was, on the net -- but it was just the 
starting point. It was a sort of depot maintained by the 
Gunmen for just this sort of situation, needing to secure a 
computer while on the run. Alex had never met the three men, 
but he liked them. They were just as paranoid as he was.

Now that the machine was as secure as it was going to get, 
considering the circumstances, Mulder was hunting. Hunting 
for the Gunmen. Hunting for Skinner. Hunting for the enemy. 
Hunting for information. They had foolishly thought that 
after Mulder's rescue, everything was going to be relatively 
simple. Find the others, rescue them, settle down to plan. 
Demolish Spender and his organization.

They'd been stupidly optimistic.

The assassination of the Vice-President and nearly 
successful attempt on the President's life had changed 
*that* plan. Instead, they were in a country where 
*everyone* was watching strangers with suspicion, paranoia 
fueled by the rhetoric coming out of Washington. Already, 
dozens had been arrested as part of the conspiracy, and 
officials were saying that it was just the tip of the 
iceberg. And it wasn't just limited to Arabs anymore. The 
IRA were also being linked. Pretty soon, every terrorist 
organization in the world was going to be implicated, it 
seemed.

And he would bet that none of them were anything more than 
patsies.

There was little word on the President's condition. 
According to the reports, he was in a coma, perhaps near 
death, after being shot by one of his own Secret Service 
detail, but there were few actual details available. For all 
anyone knew, he was actually dead. He'd quickly been moved 
to a secret location, supposedly to protect him from further 
attempts on his life. Curfews had been imposed. Martial law 
was being suggested.

What the hell had gone wrong? Alex knew the inner circles of 
the Consortium -- at least the Consortium as it had been 
before the torching -- and this was not the sort of thing 
they would do. Certainly, Spender was far too subtle to 
agree to something this... blatant.

And yet, Jerome Michaels -- Speaker of the House and now de-
facto President -- *was* a high-placed Consortium member, 
more because of his position than his brains. Alex 
remembered him well. This was definitely the sort of thing 
that he would come up with, especially since it put *him* in 
a position of power. And he had support from a lot of the 
younger members of the Consortium, the impatient ones. Alex 
had a grudging respect for Spender and the Brit, but 
Michaels? He had nothing but contempt for the man.

So, there was only one real answer to explain what was 
happening. Something had happened, something big, and the 
Consortium was splintering.

And *that* meant that they were in even more trouble than 
before.

"Well, that's it," Mulder said, settling back in his chair. 
"I've left messages for the guys on all of their message 
boards. If they're still alive and have access, they'll get 
back to me. But it might take a while."

Alex sighed. "There isn't a lot we can do while we're still 
hiding," he said. "Broots is hunting for the information on 
this Mexico facility, but that's techie grunt-work and slow, 
considering the amount of data he has to go through." 
Especially since Jarod seemed intent on distracting the 
geek. He wasn't sure what the attraction was, but after 
getting Mulder into his bed after years of their dance, he 
was willing to go easy on them.

"So what are you suggesting?" Mulder frowned.

Alex took a deep breath. He didn't much like the idea, and 
he knew that Mulder was going to hate it, but it was the 
obvious choice. "I still have contacts I can use, but they 
don't work over the computer or the phone. I have to go hunt 
them down myself."

"Are you nuts?! Your face is probably in every police 
database as wanted, armed and dangerous by now." The 
expression on Mulder's face almost made him laugh.

"Like it wasn't already?" Alex said wryly. He had plenty of 
experience evading hunters; he wasn't likely to get himself 
caught now. Still, it was nice to see his once-enemy all 
worried about him.

Mulder chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, momentarily 
distracting Alex with lustful thoughts. "Fine, but I'm 
coming with you."

"Like hell," Alex snapped, all amusement gone. "You need to 
stay here. Your contacts *will* work over the computer. 
Plus, someone needs to be here for when nervous boy finds 
what we need."

"The laptop travels, and they can contact us that way too," 
Mulder pointed out in a disturbingly reasonable tone. Mulder 
was rarely reasonable. It was part of his charm.

"You'll be safer here," Alex tried.

"I'll be safer with you. You aren't leaving without me. Try 
it. I'll follow you."

Alex snorted. "You won't be able to find me."

"Then I'll be wandering around alone and blind, a target for 
any Consortium operative who sees me." Mulder's expression 
was completely innocent, but he could see the mischief 
lurking behind it. And he would, too. Just the sort of 
opportunity the Consortium would jump at. Alex groaned.

"Shit. This is blackmail, you realize," he griped.

Mulder's grin said that he scented victory. "Maybe, but now 
that I've got you, I'm not willing to let you go so soon. 
I'm serious, Alex. Either we go together or you don't go at 
all."

"Fine," Alex snapped. "But you do *exactly* what I say, when 
I say it. No stopping to argue, or we could both end up 
dead. Got it?"

Mulder's grin was blinding now. "Oh, I got it." Alex wasn't 
sure he bought that; after a lifetime of disobeying orders, 
Mulder wasn't the sort of leopard to change his spots *that* 
quickly. Still, with time and effort...

"Besides, I enjoy doing what you tell me," Mulder added with 
a pointed glance towards the bed. Alex started to smile, his 
cock firming up at the promise on the man's face. 
Considering how long it had taken to get the beautiful 
bastard into bed, Mulder had taken to the sex like a 
hedonist. He was quickly becoming even more of a wanton slut 
than Alex's wildest fantasies. Alex's only regret was that 
he hadn't managed to seduce the man *years* ago.

"Well, then," Alex purred. "How about you take your clothes 
off and lie face down on the bed, legs spread as far apart 
as you can get them."

Mulder moved quickly to obey, and Alex watched him for a 
moment, lying there with his hips moving in slow circles, 
rubbing his cock against the bedspread. He looked good 
enough to eat. Pure temptation, and Alex had never been good 
at resisting temptation.

Alex shucked his own clothes as fast as he could one-handed 
and moved to cover Mulder, nuzzling at the soft skin below 
Mulder's right ear. The man practically purred under him. 
Alex started moving his hand over the firm body, glorying in 
his possession of the man, then bit down hard at the back of 
Mulder's neck. He grinned at the yelp, which was more of 
surprise than pain, then sucked at the spot until he had a 
good-sized mark going.

"One other thing," he said as he reached for the nearly 
empty tube of lubricant underneath their pillow. "You get to 
tell Scully that you're leaving her behind to go off with 
me."

Whatever reply Mulder might have made was lost in the lush 
groan as Alex started to prep him.

Scully would freak, but Alex didn't care. Mulder was *his*.

>>>~~~<<<

Debi McCullough was pacing again. It was one of the few 
things that her captors allowed her to do. She kept her 
rooms tidy, even though she knew that if she didn't, sooner 
or later someone would come along and do it for her. She had 
reading material, at least. It had taken days of asking 
before a pile of paperbacks had finally appeared on her 
bedside table while she slept. They were a strange mixed 
bag, heavy on the romances, but better than nothing. She'd 
been ready to climb the walls with boredom.

However, she was *not* allowed any sort of periodical. She 
no longer had any idea what the date was, and with periods 
taken from her by drugs, she couldn't even guess, and she 
still didn't know *where* she was, other than someplace 
tropical. But other than the books, her only break in the 
day was a late afternoon walk in the gardens, assuming that 
the weather was good, which is why she knew even that much 
about where she was.

Ceto was her usual escort on her walks. She'd quickly 
figured out that she wasn't going to be allowed out on her 
own, and the simple human-feline hybrid was a better 
companion than the alternatives she'd been presented with. 
At first she'd thought that maybe she could convince him to 
help her escape, as he had quickly become very attached to 
her. However, the one time she'd broached the subject, he'd 
become very upset. He took his duties very seriously, and 
her trying to convince him to go against orders had almost 
driven him into a panic attack.

She hadn't had the heart to try again.

A sudden roiling in her stomach stopped her in her tracks, 
and she pressed a hand to it, refusing to give in to the 
urge to vomit. The pain she'd had when waking after her 
arrival was gone, but the periodic bouts of nausea still hit 
her, although not as often. Eating was still an unpleasant 
experience, but at least she was able to hold down enough to 
put back on some of the weight she'd lost.

She knew it had to have something to do with whatever they'd 
done to her while she was unconscious, but she still had no 
idea what. That uncertainty still left her anxious. She 
couldn't remember the last time she'd slept through the 
night without a nightmare.

"Debi!"

She turned towards the door. Ceto was standing there, 
practically quivering with excitement. His tail was swinging 
back and forth, and if he weren't so very feline, she would 
have said he was wagging his tail.

"What is it, Ceto?" she asked, more than a little puzzled. 
Her 'keepers' allowed her to be walked in the late afternoon 
only, and it wasn't lunchtime yet.

Ceto rushed over to grab her hand and pulled her towards the 
door. Debi started to follow, but then worry hit. Why was 
the usual routine being disrupted? What were they planning 
to do to her? She stopped in her tracks. Or at least she 
tried to. Ceto was so much larger and stronger than her that 
he pulled her on for several feet before he realized that 
she was pulling back. He came to a stop and looked back at 
her, confused.

"What's wrong, Debi?" he asked, his forehead all scrunched 
up.

"Where are we going?"

The fur-covered forehead smoothed out. "It's a surprise," he 
said brightly.

"Is it a nice one?" she asked.

"Doctor Ericks says it is," Ceto said, looking confused 
again. "It's waiting down the hall."

Debi bit her lip, then decided to go along for now. Doctor 
Ericks was one of the few scientific types that she'd met in 
the facility who seemed to think of her as a person and not 
a lab specimen, so maybe it *was* going to be a nice 
surprise. Besides, considering where she was, she didn't 
exactly have a choice. She would just have to hope for the 
best.

"All right," she said and threaded her fingers through 
Ceto's much larger ones. He brightened up again and led her 
down a series of hallways, ending up in a bright room near 
the exit to the courtyard. She'd passed by it in the past 
but had never been allowed to go in.

This time, Ceto opened the door and waited for her to go 
through.

Inside, there was a woman waiting for them, pacing back and 
forth in a very familiar way. Debi's eyes started to 
prickle.

"Mommy?" she said softly, her voice cracking.

The woman spun around and froze. "Debi?"

"Mommy!"

An instant later, she was wrapped in her mother's arms and 
they were both crying.

TO BE CONTINUED