A New World

Pt. 1: Assembly

Series: War of the Worlds, The Equalizer, and The X-Files. Guest appearances in future parts from characters from Due South, The Man from UNCLE, and The Pretender; perhaps from others as the whim takes me.

Standard disclaimers apply. All characters belong to their various creators and the powers that be. Some of these characters belong to Chris Carter, Fox, and 10-13 Productions. I've just invited them over to play for a while, and I promise to send them home when the party's over. Others belong to Universal or Paramount, but it doesn't look like anyone is playing with them at the moment, so I'm going to let them stay as long as they want. Littlehawk belongs to Jan Harley. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jan, for your wonderful story. I hope you don't mind if he comes over to help chaperone the party; of course, he can come home whenever you need him. Tierney, Lainie, and Kira are mine; they live here.

Category: Part 1: Drama. Future parts will vary in category from Angst to Humor to PWP to Romance, hopefully with a little more Drama mixed in.

Rating: Part 1: G. Most future parts will be PG-13 (for suggestive situations and/or nudity) or R (for M/F sex). At the moment, at least, I plan no NC-17 segments.

Feedback: Be kind, please. This is my first attempt at fan-fiction. Constructive criticism is welcomed.

Dedicated to my list-sisters at Santuario. Okay, Sith-ladies, you wanted to read what I try to write. Here goes nothing.

By Wesa.

It had been difficult, adjusting to life in the new McCullough-Blackwood Center without Norton Drake's dryly amused wit keeping him humble-not to mention keeping Dr. Harrison Blackwood off his back about the Army, about eating meat, about any of the thousand and one things over which they disagreed. Maybe the most difficult part had been the role Lt. Colonel Paul Ironhorse had played in his friend's death, though he had in fact been miles away and a prisoner of the Morthren when Norton was shot by the clone the aliens had created.

Nearly a year later, when he'd finally escaped, it was Norton's absence when his friends visited him at the hospital which had clued him in; that, and Suzanne's and Debi's tears when Paul had asked about the computer genius. Still, he'd seen the hole in the ground where Harrison, Debi, Suzanne, and Kincaid had lived, and the paraplegic would not have been comfortable in the old bomb shelter, if he'd been able to move around at all in his computerized, motorized wheelchair, Gertrude.

Paul had had his own problems, too. After months in solitary confinement, in what amounted, in fact, to sensory deprivation, he'd had to adjust, to confront his fear of being alone, his sudden fear of the dark, his newfound spirituality and his reluctant belief in the religion of his ancestors. He'd learned to be alone again; at least for the short periods he was allowed to be so. He'd learned to cope with darkness, at first by using nightlights, then candles or lanterns when the electricity at the new Center had proved unreliable at best.

The spiritual beliefs of his ancestors would have been easier to ignore if said spirits hadn't been hanging around trying to teach him about them.

After the Morthren had cloned him the second time, Paul had been imprisoned briefly with two of the resulting clones, the two whose personalities represented the practical and spiritual sides of his own personality. The two clones did not get along, though their respect and fondness for each other was as evident as their respect and fondness for Paul himself. When Littlehawk, the spiritual one, had attempted to remind Paul of the lessons his grandfather had tried to teach him (them?) as a child, Jem, the pragmatic one, had scoffed but had no practical alternative. So Paul had grasped willingly at the faint hope that the old songs and chants offered.

Then they were both dead, and Paul was back in his underground cell, in the dark, alone. It was almost too much to be borne, and in desperation he'd called out to his ancestors for their help. He'd sung the songs until he was exhausted but, getting no answer, he'd lain down to sleep. That was when they'd brought him to them, letting him walk across a sun-drenched prairie dreamscape to reach them.

His great-grandfather had told him that he would soon be free, that he must make his body strong enough to escape so that his line could continue. Paul had objected to this, protesting that he wasn't even married, so how could there be any kids? At which Littlehawk had piped up with some crack about paying more attention in high school biology class. Paul was so astonished that he hadn't really followed up on his original question, at least not while he was talking to his great-grandfather, who might actually have answered him. That was the last time he'd talked to the spirits while he was held captive, but he'd followed their advice, exercising rigorously almost daily.

In the hospital after his escape, he hadn't wanted to tell anyone about talking to spirits; the psychologists already thought he was crazy and had to be coerced into releasing him. He certainly had not called out to the spirits again, which seemed to have offended them. Paul was badly startled when, one night when he couldn't sleep because of his nightmares, Littlehawk appeared to him out of the darkness, chastising him for the lack of communication. Paul thought he'd gone crazy for sure, until Harrison had hesitantly asked him about the half-naked Indian he'd seen Paul talking to.

After that remarkable night, Paul had been more sanguine about talking to the spirits, reassured that they were real, even though not visible to everyone. Harrison had not seen Littlehawk again, though it turned out that Debi could see him, sometimes even when Paul was not around. It was Littlehawk who had brought the teenager out of a deep depression following the Morthren War, and the girl had developed a bad case of hero-worship.

But Littlehawk would tell him nothing about the mother of the still-hypothetical children he was expected to sire. The spirit would talk about almost anything else, but not about the one woman about whom Paul wanted to know.

"I'm in charge of security here," Paul argued. "What if I refuse her a pass, and so never meet her? What will happen to our precious line then?"

Littlehawk chuckled softly. "You will not be able to send her away, my brother," he replied.

"That pretty?" Paul asked in spite of himself.

"Are you so shallow, my brother, that you would compromise your principles for a pretty face?" Littlehawk teased.

"Of course not," Paul replied, "but if you want those...nephews...you're always going on about, let alone if you want me to teach their kids anything about how to come talk to you, I'm going to have to meet her soon. I mean, I'd like to get to know her a little before we start making babies. And what did you mean by that crack about wanting to tell me about her just so you could see the look on my face?"

"Exactly what I said," he replied. "You always want to talk about the mother of your sons; there are more important matters to discuss."

"Like what?" Paul wondered. "The only thing I've got going on right now is a security check on the new computer specialist."

Paul frowned. "Tierney Rogers? Surely she's not the one. I've interviewed her. She's pretty, yes, but there was no attraction. Granted she's part Cherokee, so we have at least that in common, but that's not enough to base a relationship on."

"Again you wish to turn the subject to your future wife," Littlehawk chided him. "I tell you that that is not what this is about. This woman has contacts which will be invaluable to the rest of your group."

"Tell me more about her father," Paul requested. "He's highly placed in the intelligence community? Who is he?"

Littlehawk hesitated. "You must not seek too forcefully to find his name, my brother. Most people would not recognize his name anyway, and inquiring too intently about him would bring unwelcome attention to the Center. His friends and enemies alike call him Control."

"Control!" Paul exclaimed. "I can't have him sticking his nose into what we do here!"

"He knows already about the Morthren, and that Harrison and Suzanne are studying them here," Littlehawk soothed. "He already reads your reports and their researches. You all were investigated thoroughly even before his daughter applied for the position. He will not interfere, though one of his most trusted agents will assist her when she moves in. You are acquainted with the man. Kostmayer."

"That loon is a Company agent?" Paul asked, aghast. "Talk about your loose cannons!"

"What group is this that you keep talking about?" Paul wondered.

"Soon enough, my brother," Littlehawk promised, fading away.

Paul sighed and shook his head. I'll have a talk with Kostmayer about this anyway, he promised himself.

************

"Kostmayer," Paul greeted the man who had accompanied Tierney Rogers on her move across the country.

"Colonel," drawled Kostmayer in return.

"Do you two know each other?" Tierney asked innocently.

"We've met," Kostmayer allowed.

The young woman looked from one to the other. "I get the distinct impression that you don't like each other very much," she said.

"Colonel Ironhorse thinks I'm nuts," Kostmayer told her.

"Oh, well, if that's all," she laughed.

"Hey," he protested.

Tierney raised an eyebrow at him in a very good imitation of a famous TV alien. "Weren't you the one that Lt. Elmer compared to a loose grenade with no pin? Aren't you the guy that Scott told me threatened to gag a man with a sock you were still wearing? You are nuts, Mickey," she told him, "but harmless," she assured Ironhorse.

"Do you really believe that, Ms. Rogers?" Paul asked.

"Hmm," she considered. "Well, I'd trust him with my life, my honor, and/or my money," she replied. "That's good enough for me."

"And your secrets?" Paul pressed.

"Tierney doesn't have any secrets," Kostmayer told him.

"What about your father?"

She looked at him sharply.

"Tierney," Kostmayer said gently, "he couldn't have found anything out. There isn't any more information out there. That was low, Colonel," he added. "Tierney can't help the circumstances of her birth."

Paul's eyes narrowed, and he nodded. "You're right," he told Kostmayer. "I apologize," he told Tierney. "When you're settled, Sgt. Coleman will give you a tour of the facility. Kostmayer, I'd like to talk to you in my office at your earliest convenience." He gave them an abrupt nod and turned on his heel, going back to the interminable paperwork he despised.

Behind him, Tierney murmured, "I don't think he likes me."

"Don't be silly," Kostmayer assured her. "I can't think of anyone who dislikes you even enough to snub you."

She doesn't know, Paul realized. Does Kostmayer?

****************

"Why is he keeping it from her?" Paul asked Kostmayer, in his office an hour later.

"Keeping what from her?" Kostmayer wondered.

Paul took a deep breath, reining in his temper. "Your boss. Why hasn't he told her the truth about her father?"

"My boss?" he repeated blankly.

He's good, Paul admitted to himself. Does he know?

"He knows," Littlehawk assured him.

"Control," Paul said clearly, in answer to Kostmayer's question.

If he had any reaction at all, Kostmayer kept it invisible. "What about him?" he asked.

"Why hasn't he told her?"

Kostmayer acquiesced. "Because it would endanger her life," he replied shortly. "How did you find out? There really isn't any information on record, and the only people who know would never tell you."

"I have...unusual sources," Paul told him.

"What, a psychic? I'd heard Blackwood was a nut case."

"He is," Paul agreed, "but he's a scientist. No, no psychics."

"Ashamed of us, my brother?" Littlehawk asked, shimmering into visibility at the corner of the desk.

From Kostmayer's pallor it was evident that he could see the spirit, so Paul introduced them. "Kostmayer, this is Littlehawk, my...source. Can you hear him as well as see him?"

"Nick is not going to believe this," he whispered.

"Who's Nick?" Paul demanded. "I'm not ashamed of Littlehawk, but I'd rather not let word get around, either."

"My priest," Kostmayer replied. "Don't worry, I'm not about to tell anyone else about this."

"Also his brother," Littlehawk added.

"He looks like you," breathed the federal agent.

"Of course."

"He was cloned from me," Paul explained. "I was a little surprised to find him when I was finally able to contact the spirits." He changed the subject. "I know Control knows about the Morthren War. Do you?"

"It was kind of hard to miss," Kostmayer replied, "at least that last part. You were cloned?"

Paul nodded slowly. "Twice. I'd rather not dwell on it. I missed most of the last year of the war, stuck in a hole in the ground. Littlehawk and Jem were the only bright spots in that time, and I only had them for company for a couple of days before they died. But they got me through it."

Kostmayer nodded. "Bein' captured is tough enough when your captors are human," he said in a tone that told Paul he knew from experience. "Who's Jem?"

"Our brother," replied Littlehawk. "Or at least mine. He was the second of the clones they made that day. He died when I did."

"You gave them names?" Kostmayer asked in disbelief.

"We were imprisoned together," Paul told him. "We couldn't all be Paul Ironhorse, and I couldn't very well call them both 'Hey, you,' for who knew how long."

Kostmayer's face expressed both assent and amusement. "S'pose not," he drawled. "So, do you have contact with all six of your clones, even though they're dead?"

Paul snorted softly. "Littlehawk is enough of a pain in the neck, thank you. I don't think I'd object to having Jem around if he was alive, but he didn't even believe we could communicate with the spirits, so I'm not really surprised that he's not with Littlehawk," he said. "I don't even want to contemplate having their third brother around. And the first three, well, I don't know how it worked, but I don't think any of them survived long enough to become separate people. Did they, Littlehawk?"

"They are separate," Littlehawk contradicted him, "but only the third of the first clones was ever aware that he wasn't you. The one who saved Debi didn't know until Jem told him, and my predecessor hasn't recovered from his time as the aliens' experimental subject. His spirit may be permanently damaged."

Paul tried not to show that this news bothered him, but Kostmayer seemed to realize anyway. "I'm sorry, Colonel," he said. "I know how I'd feel if they were my...brothers."

After looking intently at him a moment, Paul replied, "Perhaps you do understand, Mr. Kostmayer. I may have misjudged you when we met before."

Kostmayer grinned lopsidedly. "Just being from Houston doesn't make me a cowboy, Colonel," he said as he rose. "Littlehawk, it's been...an experience. One I don't think I'll tell even Nick about. I'd better go check on Tierney, then I've got a plane to catch."

"Miss it," Littlehawk suggested. "You're needed here."

Kostmayer looked at Paul. "For what?" he wondered. "Security is under control, and I'm no scientist."

"Don't ask me," Paul told him. "Littlehawk only says as much as he has to tell you to get you to do what he wants you to do, and no more. I'm still waiting for the mother of my as-yet hypothetical children to materialize. He won't even tell me her name."

Kostmayer looked at Littlehawk expectantly.

"Sydney will need you," was all the spirit said before fading from sight.

Kostmayer sat down, hard.

************

Harrison frowned worriedly at the unwelcome news. "Tierney, check those figures again, please."

Tierney sighed. "Okay," she acquiesced, "but I'm telling you right now, Harrison, they won't come out any different."

"It has to," he insisted. "I refuse to believe that we finally managed to defeat the Morthren invaders, only to be wiped out by the universe itself."

"Maybe if you had access to your own telescope, you'd find something that no one else has seen," she suggested. "Then maybe you could find some kind of evidence that it might be survivable."

"If there is any evidence," he replied tiredly. "If there isn't, I can't make it appear by wishing for it. You don't seem disturbed."

Tierney shrugged. "It'll either hit or it won't," she told him. "If it doesn't, we're fine. If it does, we'll either live or we'll die. If we live, we'll either have a civilization afterward or we won't. If we do, we're fine. If we don't, we'll need to learn to live without it. If we die, there's either something after or nothing after. Soon enough we'll know. Why fret about it? It's wasted energy."

"That sounds vaguely familiar," Harrison told her.

"Heinlein," she replied. "I liked it; I appropriated it."

**********

"Two months," Harrison told them tiredly. "I tried," he added, "but the more projections I had Tierney run, the worse it got."

"It can't be going to hit," Paul said. "Your data must be faulty."

"Your special 'source,' Colonel?" Kostmayer asked.

"It's a normal reaction to try to reject news like this," Suzanne said.

Harrison frowned at Paul. "There might be more to this than wishful thinking, Suzanne," he said.

Paul shook his head. "Just unfulfilled promises. Still...Well, they don't know everything," he admitted.

Suzanne was too caught up in the horror of realizing that her daughter would never reach full adulthood to catch the implications of the remark, but Tierney looked at Paul oddly. Her subsequent remark, however, changed the subject completely. "We don't have good enough data to be certain exactly where the asteroid will hit," she said. "We don't even know for sure how big it is. But we need to start making survival preparations. I have a couple of cousins who could help; Lainie's a geologist, and Kira's an archaeologist."

Paul heard her, but was still too much in shock over Harrison's announcement to make his usual scathing remarks about archaeologists. "Suzanne knows more about medicine than just basic first aid," he said, "but a doctor would be even better."

Kostmayer spoke up, saying, "Sydney's a nurse."

That time Suzanne noticed the unspoken assumption the others were making. "You're planning to survive the impact?" she asked.

Tierney shrugged. "If we plan to survive and don't, we're no worse off than if we had no plan. If we don't plan to survive and do, we're in a world of hurts, with no supplies, no skills, and no civilization," she explained. "Lainie will know where the most stable bedrock is, and Kira will know how to make a lot of stuff from scratch, with no supporting technology."

"She's right," Kostmayer agreed. "The worst possibility would be if we never got to use our preparations, but second worst would be if we hadn't made any. Colonel, I think it's time the ladies knew about Littlehawk's predictions for your future."

"Who?" Suzanne wondered.

"It's too long a story to go into right now," Paul told her, flashing an aggravated glance at Kostmayer. "Suffice it to say that I've rediscovered the spiritual beliefs of my ancestors, and not found them incorrect."

"He talks to spirits, like old Joseph Lonetree did," Harrison told her, "only it seems that Paul is particularly close to the spirit of one of his clones. What has Littlehawk told you about this, Colonel?"

"Nothing, not a word," Paul replied. "He just keeps taunting me with the prospect of fatherhood. Which isn't going to happen if I don't survive the impact."

"That's a point," Tierney said, bringing her laptop up onto the table in front of her. "I'll start a list: diapers..."

Paul gaped at her in astonishment, joined by Harrison; Kostmayer grinned; and Suzanne dissolved into almost hysterical laughter. Tierney looked at them innocently. "I'm serious," she claimed. "It's a fact of life: babies pee. And worse."

"What would you know about it?" Kostmayer asked.

"More than you do," she retorted.

At the very least, Tierney had lightened the mood. When she caught her breath, Suzanne began to make suggestions, too, and slowly the others joined in. Soon they had a list that would be too long even if each of them drove a rental truck. And that was assuming there'd be roads wherever they ended up going.

"Contact your cousins, Tierney," Harrison told her. "Maybe you should just have them come out here, to help us prepare. Are either of them outdoors types?"

"Outdoors types?" Tierney repeated in disbelief. "No, Harrison, you can't study volcanoes and archaic villages from the outdoors," she laughed. "Are you joking? Their moms could barely get them to come into the house for baths when we were kids. If either of them has changed, it's only because creek water tends to be really cold."

***********

"A son?" Debi repeated.

"He's eight," Tierney told her. "He'll probably annoy you. I haven't met him myself."

"And Mickey's his dad?"

Tierney snorted softly. "You clued in faster than Mickey did."

"But they're not married."

Tierney straightened in her chair. "No, they aren't. Mickey's job was sometimes very dangerous, and he didn't want to put Sydney and Michel in danger. Debi, the way this conversation is going, I think you should continue it with your mother rather than me," she told the teen.

"Mom says kids shouldn't be raised in a vacuum," Debi replied.

"I agree," Tierney said, "but I hope your mom and I are going to be working together a long time, and I don't want to make her mad at me. We're getting awfully close to a boundary that should only be crossed by a parent."

"You're no fun anymore, Tierney," Debi told her as she went out the door. "Hi, Colonel."

"Good morning, Debi," he said, coming in. "No school today?"

"Teachers' meetings!" Debi called back from halfway down the hall.

"Is she disturbing you?" Paul asked Tierney. "I think she'd stay out of here if you asked."

"I enjoy the company," Tierney replied. "Mr. Gloom and Doom over there isn't any fun," she added, indicating Harrison with a nod of her head. "Between global warming, rainforest devastation, the destruction of the ozone layer, and the oncoming asteroid, I think he's becoming convinced that we ought to just let the human race die out; we're too stupid to live."

Paul looked at Harrison worriedly. "Really?"

"No."

"Tierney's decided she needs to tease you, Colonel," Harrison told him. "She wants you to lighten up before her cousins get here."

"Whoopee," Paul said. The others looked at him in disbelief. "That's as light as I get with an asteroid aimed at me," he explained. "Did Kostmayer go to get your cousins from the airport?"

"Lainie's coming in on the same plane as Sydney and Michel," Tierney replied obliquely. "Kira was delayed; something about a site being desecrated by pot-hunters."

Harrison shook his head. "As if they weren't going to be destroyed in two months anyway," he murmured.

Tierney frowned at him. "They're still our ancestors, Harrison. Stealing their grave goods is an act of disrespect, to them and to us."

"Of course," Harrison concurred. "I didn't mean to minimize your concerns. I only meant that-in my opinion-there are more important things to be worried about."

"And you have a right to your opinion," Tierney admitted. "The constitution says so."

Paul raised an eyebrow at Harrison. "I think she's got you there, Harrison," he said as he went out.

Harrison snorted. "And Paul tries to pretend he doesn't have a sense of humor," he grumbled.

**********

Understandably, Kostmayer was spending nearly all his time with his new family, getting to know his young son, getting re-acquainted with his former lover. Tierney and her cousin, Lainie, closeted themselves in Tierney's room with her laptop and an internet connection, coming out only to announce that Kira was due to arrive at the airport and would Paul mind picking her up?

"You can't miss her," Tierney added. "She and Lainie look so much alike it's scary. Lainie's just taller."

"And I suppose she's going to come with me, no questions asked?" Paul wondered.

"Of course not," Lainie replied. "She asked lots of questions." Both women laughed merrily and retreated back into Tierney's room.

Paul rolled his eyes, thinking how lucky he'd been, working with a woman as levelheaded as Suzanne for over a year before he was captured, and now for several months after his escape as well. Giggly women annoyed him.

He borrowed a car from the motorpool, since he had not yet bought another car of his own (and now it seemed sort of a waste), and went to the airport. He waited in the airport coffeeshop until the plane was due, then went to the arrival gate, using his Army ID to get past the security gates with his weapons still in his possession.

She walked off the plane carrying a knapsack over one shoulder, and Paul grimaced. Trust an archaeologist to look like she might be on a dig when in fact she was out in public. She could have dressed up a little. And what was that on her ankle? A tattoo?

"That's her," Littlehawk said softly.

"Go away," Paul murmured, raising his hand to catch her attention. "Ms. Frayne!"

She smiled worriedly, her eyes questioning. "Hello, Colonel. Tierney wasn't sure you'd be able to come pick me up," she greeted him.

He raised his eyebrows. "Really. I got the impression that I wasn't being given a choice," he told her. He wished Littlehawk would stop laughing. "Would you like me to take that?" he asked, half-reaching for her bag.

"This isn't high school," she told him. "From what Tierney's told me, it sounds like every adult in our group is going to have to be pretty well able to pull his or her own weight."

"Making plans already?" Paul wondered, dropping his hand.

"Isn't that why I was invited to join your group?" Kira wondered, turning to follow Paul as he moved toward the baggage claim area.

"I wasn't consulted," he replied. "Tierney and Harrison made that decision on their own. I'm not even sure I agree with it."

"Tierney said you'd gone around muttering under your breath about grave-robbers for days."

"Why did you go into archaeology, anyway?"

"Curiosity, same as anybody else," she replied. "Oh," she added as she realized his immediate destination. "Colonel, I didn't bring any other luggage. I just sent a bunch of books by freight and threw some of my clothes in with them. They should be here tomorrow."

"Don't trust the airlines?" he asked, directing Kira toward the parking garage.

She snorted softly. "No, I just hate dragging suitcases through airports, and I had to ship the books anyway."

"What kinds of books?" Paul asked curiously. "I'm not sure that novels are going to be much good to us, under the circumstances."

"Not even Swiss Family Robinson?" she asked flippantly. "Don't worry," she laughed softly. "I didn't. But I might, if the kids-What're their names?"

"Debi McCullough and Michel Blake," Paul replied.

"Debi and Michel," Kira repeated. "If Debi and Michel don't have a copy between them, I might go buy one. It was written long enough ago that the author didn't make a lot of the assumptions we make about where things come from. Also, I for one don't intend to allow the kids to grow up without an education. Granted, Debi could practically teach any of the classes up to high school, but that's no excuse for the kids not to understand reading for pleasure. We should have several novels along. I assume we're not going to attempt to survive this here, since it's an earthquake zone."

"I don't think Lainie has come to a conclusion, yet," Paul replied as they reached the car. He opened the trunk so she could put her bag into it, then unlocked the passenger door and opened it for her.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Kira had her seat belt fastened by the time Paul had gone around and gotten into the driver's seat. He raised an eyebrow at her. She shrugged. "Habit. Hard to stay in a jeep rocketing around the back country without one," she explained.

Paul nodded. "For a moment there, I wondered exactly what Tierney had told you about my driving," he said.

"Absolutively nada," Kira replied as he started the car. "Should she have?"

Paul shook his head. "She's never ridden when I was driving. But Harrison would have thought it was funny," he said. He put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space. "You'll find that Dr. Blackwood is a terrible tease," he added, driving out of the parking building.

"Oh, God." If not for the seat belt, Kira would have slid down in the seat, her hand covering her eyes. "For this I survived childhood despite having an older brother."

"I wonder if my brother feels the same way," Paul said.

"Did you ever tip a refrigerator over on him?"

"No! Were you hurt?"

"No, but I had to mop up the milk."

Paul took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Kira, thinking she was pulling his leg, but she seemed sincere. "How old were you?" he asked.

"Old enough to know better than to wrassle with him, especially in the house, maybe nine or ten. But that never stopped me. I like to play rough, as long as nobody really gets hurt."

Paul wondered if she was baiting him. "How rough? You look like you're in good shape; maybe we could work out together."

She raised an eyebrow at him, her imitation of the TV alien nearly as good as Tierney's. "Well," she hesitated, "it probably wouldn't be much of a workout for a fighting man, but if you wanted to, you could try to teach me some self-defense moves. If this goes down like Tierney is afraid it might, I might need them."

Frowning, Paul nodded. "Perhaps we should include everybody in the lessons, then. I can't imagine Sydney being able to defend herself with anything less than a gun---Shit! Where did that come from?" he exclaimed, noticing the ten-inch black blade Kira was flashing.

"Hm? Oh, I made this," she replied easily. "Some of the places I end up, a woman alone, especially an Indian woman - well, you understand."

"But how did you -- I mean, the airports, the metal detectors!" Paul asked.

"Easy. It's not metal; it's obsidian. And going through the metal detectors, I keep it on my person, so it's not in my bag going through the x-ray machine to give security people heart attacks. And if it should be noticed by anyone else, I just pull out my credentials and tell them it's a research tool," Kira explained.

This time he couldn't repress his smile of amusement.

Kira gazed at him curiously. "Most people are amazed when I tell them I made it," she observed softly.

"Your cousin is very proud of the fact that you have to initial your work so that it doesn't end up in museums," Paul explained.

**********

Kira knocked on the doorframe to Paul's office. "Um, Sgt. Coleman is on the phone from the gate. There's a man and woman who say they're FBI agents; they want to see Kostmayer. Who's Kostmayer?"

"Mickey," Suzanne told her.

"I'll come talk to them," Paul said, rising. "Mickey took Michel and Debi to school."

"Do you think there's a problem?" Kira worried. "What could Mickey have done to interest the FBI? He's Tierney's friend."

"Mickey works for the government, Ms. Frayne," Paul told her. "He's been here a lot longer than was strictly necessary; probably his supervisor called the local FBI office and asked them to check up on him." He headed out through the front door of the Center.

"Don't worry," Suzanne said, "he's rarely wrong. Um, is there something going on between you two that I don't know about?"

Kira sighed. "No. For some reason, he seems to disapprove of my profession." She bit her lip, looking at Suzanne uncomfortably. "You're not together, are you?"

Suzanne laughed easily.

"I'm not sure that's much better," Kira told her.

**********

"Confirmation, sir," Coleman said, handing Paul the faxed copies of the agents' Federal IDs. "I have voice confirmation also, from an Assistant Director Walter Skinner."

"What does Ms. Rogers have to say about him?" Paul asked.

"She said, quote, Skinner has more integrity in his left little finger than most military types have in their whole bodies, present company excluded, unquote. I think she approves of him," she added.

"And about our guests?"

"That Agent Mulder is the Agent-in-Charge of a department called the X-Files, comprised of mostly unsolved cases, and that he and his partner, Agent Scully, have one of the highest success rates in the Bureau. He's the son of a former State Department official, degree from Oxford in psychology, and is reputed to be the best profiler the Bureau ever had. Agent Scully is the daughter of the late Captain William Scully, U.S. Navy, and is a forensic pathologist, a former teacher at Quantico."

Paul nodded, impressed in spite of himself, and asked Coleman to show the agents into the small security office in the gatehouse. He looked up when they came in, unprepared, despite having looked over their Bureau IDs, for the disparity in appearance. Mulder was almost a foot taller than the diminutive Agent Scully, and as dark as she was fair. In addition, Agent Scully's hair was so red, Paul wondered involuntarily whether the color came out of a bottle. "Please sit down, Agents," he invited, covering his momentary distraction. He handed them their IDs. "I'm afraid I must ask you what your business is here. This is a secure facility," he told them.

"We were asked to check on Mr. Kostmayer," Mulder replied. "He's been away from his usual haunts for some time now, and some of his friends were concerned."

How much do they know? Paul wondered. He couldn't very well tell them anything that might compromise Mickey's safety. "I was under the impression that he was on leave from his job," he said carefully.

"If we could just speak with him for a few minutes, Colonel," Agent Scully said diplomatically, "I'm sure we can set everyone's mind at ease."

"Very probably," Paul agreed, "but unfortunately Mr. Kostmayer isn't here at the moment. He ran an errand into town for a couple of the scientists that work here. I do expect him back soon. If you'd like to wait, you may certainly wait, and I'll have the sergeant tell the guard to inform him that you're here when he returns."

"Any chance of a guided tour, Colonel?" Mulder asked. "I've always wanted to see the inside of a secret military facility."

Mulder reminded Paul of Harrison when he tried to wheedle something out of someone. "I don't suppose Debi's dolls would fall under the cloak of National Security," he allowed, unable to resist.

"Dolls!" Mulder repeated.

"Actually, I'm not sure she still plays with dolls," Paul added thoughtfully. "She's nearly fifteen."

"There are children here?" Mulder asked.

"We couldn't very well tell our scientists that they couldn't bring their children along, since they were to live within the facility," Paul pointed out, beginning to enjoy sparring with this couple.

Agent Scully consulted her notes. "That would be Debi McCullough, daughter of Dr. Suzanne McCullough, is that right?"

"I see you've done quite a bit of homework for an investigation with no complaint," Paul observed.

"Are you so sure there's no complaint, Colonel?" asked Mulder.

"Mr. Kostmayer is here of his own free will, as is everyone else, so how could there be one?" Paul retorted. There was a knock at the door, and he called, "Enter."

Coleman opened the door. "Sir," she said, "Mr. Kostmayer is just driving up to the gate."

"Ask him to step in here a moment, Sergeant. Thank you," Paul replied easily. Mulder appeared to be surprised, Scully smug. So, they disagreed, maybe even had a bet going, and now she's been vindicated, Paul mused.

"Mulder!" Kostmayer exclaimed upon seeing the man. "What are you doing here?" he asked as they shook hands like old friends.

Mulder made a non-committal movement of his head, not quite a shrug. "Well, you know, you weren't around, and McCall didn't know where you were, so he checked with your boss, who said you'd been here for a month, using up all the vacation you'd built up. Why, Mickey?" he asked.

"You've heard about the asteroid," Kostmayer said in a low voice that held no hint of a question.

Mulder nodded. "Who hasn't? There are a lot of people who are going to die," he said. "Is that it? Making peace with the people you care about?"

"Partly. Colonel," Kostmayer asked, turning to Paul with a questioning expression, "is there a reason we're talking out here? Mulder and Scully are utterly trustworthy; I'll vouch for them. And Scully is a doctor."

"I know, a forensic pathologist," Paul said. "You want them to join us?"

Kostmayer had been around Paul enough during the last month to understand the meaning of the abstracted expression that flitted across his face. "Littlehawk?" he asked softly.

Paul nodded. "Go on up to the house. I'll get Coleman to assign you two some quarters and send someone to get your things from your hotel, then I'll follow you."

Kostmayer nodded and turned to the door. "Now don't laugh at the car," he warned the agents who followed him. "I borrowed Suzanne's station wagon to take the kids to school."

"You sound positively domesticated, Mickey," Scully laughed.

Kostmayer opened the outer door to usher them out. "Well, you know," he hedged, "when you find out you're a parent, it changes your outlook a little."

"A parent!" Mulder exclaimed as the door closed behind them. "And who's Littlehawk?"

Paul smiled in amusement, gave Coleman her instructions, and closed the door to the office. "Littlehawk," he called softly. "Are you still here?"

"I am here." The spirit shimmered into visibility, wearing, as usual, only a breechclout, with some owl's feathers braided into his waist-length hair.

"I wish you wouldn't talk to me when people who don't know about you are around," Paul requested softly. "Most people don't understand, and they think I've lost my mind."

"I do try to respect your wishes, Darkeagle," the clone replied. "Sometimes you need to hear me while others are present."

Paul nodded. "You said they will be part of our group, as if we didn't have any say as to who will come to the new location with us. Why?"

Paul frowned. "We won't?"

"I want to understand now," Paul protested.

"Always so impatient," Littlehawk murmured as he faded away.

**********

"Mulder's been pestering me about Littlehawk," Kostmayer told Ironhorse just before dinner the next night. "He'll believe, you know."

The colonel frowned. "How much have you told him?" he asked.

"Nothing," Kostmayer replied. "I didn't think it was my place, and I know you don't tell anyone who doesn't need to know. By the way, you'd better tell Coleman. I think she's worried about you talking to yourself. You don't want her to lose confidence in your judgement."

"Actually, it's amazing just how much I do get away with," Ironhorse replied. "Anybody who knows about my being held prisoner by the Morthren seems to be willing to cut me a lot of slack."

Kostmayer inclined his head, indicating agreement. "So, you gonna tell him?" he asked.

Ironhorse sighed. "Okay, but it's not dinner conversation. Bring them both to my office later."

"Both of them? Scully hasn't asked any questions."

"She will," Ironhorse assured him. "She can't help it. She's a scientist and an FBI agent. It's her training."

Kostmayer nodded, then went to round up the kids for dinner.

**********

Mulder knocked and stuck his head into Ironhorse's office. "You wanted to see us, Colonel?" he asked.

"Come in, Agents," Ironhorse invited. "Is Mr. Kostmayer with you?"

"Right here," Kostmayer replied, "and Sydney's pissed."

"Well, I suppose you don't need to be here for this," Ironhorse allowed.

"Are you kidding?" Kostmayer retorted. "Colonel, I've met the guy. I have to know how he came to be."

"What guy?" Scully asked.

"Littlehawk," Mulder replied, "the Colonel's informant. How much do you trust this guy, Colonel?"

Ironhorse let his mouth quirk to one side. "How much do you know about the Morthren?" he asked in turn.

"Who?" Scully retorted.

He liked this woman. "That's what they do here, Ms. Scully. They study the Morthren. The aliens. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

"Suzanne, Harrison, our computer tech Norton Drake, and I lived in a government safe-house, fighting the Morthren, until I was captured. They cloned me, then held me captive in a hole in the ground for months."

As Ironhorse spoke, Mulder listened raptly and Scully's expression slowly changed from one of disbelief to a grudging acceptance of his story.

Ironhorse told them about Malzor's explanation of why they were keeping him alive, to be cloned again as a weapon against the Quo'Taarn. He told them about his months in solitary confinement, and his decision to commit suicide to deny the Morthren the use of his body. He told them about waking up in one of the cloning pods and not knowing at first whether he was himself or a clone.

"Then Malzor told me they were going to send my clone to destroy the Quo'Taarn ship. At least then I knew I was me, but I also had the cloning process to get through again. If anything, it was worse the second time. I woke up in a cage with two more of me." His voice trailed off and he studied his hands for a moment. "They were both me...and yet they weren't me. It was like being able to see the two sides of myself arguing with each other." He shook his head. "They didn't get along, yet they did care about each other. It was weird. Of course, we couldn't all be Paul Ironhorse, so I named the first one Littlehawk. It was what my grandfather called me as a boy. Littlehawk called the second one Jem, short for Gemini, he said, because Jem was essentially my twin, carrying the part of my personality that I show the world. Seems that the Morthren cloning process splits the personality into three: the spiritual part, the practical part, and the dark part; and the first time I was cloned, it seemed, Jem's predecessor had escaped." He smiled grimly. "He didn't know that he was a clone, we think; but he realized the link between himself and the third clone, and killed himself to destroy the other. But we didn't know that then. We assumed that the first dark clone had been successful in killing all my friends."

Ironhorse sighed and picked up the thread of the story. "Jem and I couldn't come up with any escape plan, so Littlehawk suggested that we try to contact the spirits. I know, I know, it sounds lame, and Jem didn't hesitate to say so, but..." He shrugged. "Neither of us could come up with a better idea, and I did not want to go back into that hole in the ground. Like Littlehawk said, even if they couldn't help us escape, maybe they could make the imprisonment a little more bearable. I was grasping at straws. I went along with it, singing the traditional songs that my grandfather had tried to teach me. Littlehawk remembered them a lot better than I did.

"The second day, Littlehawk managed to reach a kind of a trance, so I got up to talk with Jem. He asked me to kill him; he wanted to try to give Katara some kind of warning, and by then we knew that when one clone died, they all did. It made a terrible kind of sense, and I tried to do it. I put my hands around his throat, but I couldn't tighten my fingers. He couldn't kill Littlehawk for the same reason; it would be like slaughtering a lamb. A moment later they were both dead. The Morthren guard actually let me lay them both out and sing the death song for a few moments before she gassed me.

"I woke up in total darkness and knew I was back in my hole, or another just like it." He made a rueful face. "It was sing, cry, or go completely insane, so I sat on the floor and sang. I sang until I was hoarse and exhausted. Nothing. Finally I lay down and went to sleep.

"I had a nightmare, the same one I've had whenever I was stressed since I was a teenager," Ironhorse continued. "I'm walking across a grassy plain. The sun is on my back; the sky is blue overhead."

"Doesn't sound like much of a nightmare," Kostmayer observed.

Mulder agreed. "I wish my nightmares were that bad."

"Hush," Scully scolded softly. "Go ahead, Colonel."

"It is pleasant when it starts," Ironhorse acknowledged, "but then I come to a cliff, a ravine, and I can't stop walking." Without raising his voice, Ironhorse put across his distress to his audience. "That's when I used to wake up; but that was before. That night, I didn't. I walked off the edge of the cliff and fell. Then I heard this voice, 'You are mistaken, boy, you cannot fall.'

"It turned out to be the spirit of my great-grandfather. And Littlehawk was there."

"It was a dream, after all," Scully reminded him gently.

With a faraway look in his eyes, Paul shook his head. "That's what I thought at first. I didn't understand; I still don't understand all of it. The old voice, that was my great-grandfather. He said that all the times I'd had that dream before, it was my grandfather trying to reach out to help me through whatever stress was bothering me at the time. Then my great-grandfather started talking about my children and grandchildren." He smiled wryly at Scully. "I know, I know," he said, forestalling the objections he could see forming in her eyes. "I objected, too, but he said that time doesn't mean much to them. Except I think Littlehawk was kind of a surprise. And I think he's a little...well, active, compared to the rest of them.

"Anyway, they told me that Malzor had told me the truth about the Quo'Taarn, and that my proper course of action was to strengthen my body so as to be ready when my chance for freedom came.

"I woke up back in my cell, mostly convinced that it had all been a dream, but I set myself to get back into shape anyway. I didn't see Littlehawk again until after I escaped." He shook his head and smiled faintly, explaining, "I didn't have the dream again. I had decided that it was just a dream, and I didn't tell anyone about it after I got out, certainly not the doctors at the psychiatric hospital. Then one night Littlehawk came to me while I was awake. I thought I'd lost it completely, but then Harrison saw him, too."

He shrugged. "Harrison's nuts, but he's not delusional, so I had to accept the reality of it then. I've kind of had to learn to live with him saying things to me that no one else can hear. And occasionally he decides to just appear to someone else."

"I almost had a heart attack," Kostmayer admitted.

"I thought you were going to faint," Ironhorse told him. "At that, you did better than I did. I sat down in the mud."

Mulder and Scully both stared at Kostmayer. "You saw him, too?" Mulder asked in disbelief.

"And talked to him," Kostmayer replied, a little smugly. "He told me that I should stay here, that Sydney would need me. Normally I'm not superstitious, but..." He shrugged. "For Littlehawk, I'll make an exception. And it seems like you will, too. Littlehawk says you're both going to be part of our survival group, according to the colonel."