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A New War #6: Underground
by Lianne Burwell
January 1999
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Mulder followed as Vincent led them through the tunnels beneath New York. 
He'd known that there was a tunnel system -- most large cities had them 
-- but he was still a little amazed at the extent of them. And to find 
out that there was an entire community living down here...

A community that Vincent was obviously highly respected in, if Harrison's 
behavior was anything to go by.

And Vincent himself... Mulder was still going through all of the 
possibilities in his mind. He was a little nervous about asking, 
considering the... man's attributes. A look at his hands revealed claws 
that didn't look useless or disused, and he definitely outweighed Mulder. 
He might be able to get to his gun first if Vincent attacked him, but he 
wasn't sure he'd be able to use it in time.

Finally, though, his curiosity got the better of him and he moved up to 
walk next to Vincent.

'What are you?" he asked, ignoring Harrison's snort. He'd rehearsed 
several possible ways of asking, but none of them had come out when he 
opened his mouth. He resisted the urge to slap his forehead in disgust. A 
warm chuckle answered him.

"That is a very good question, Agent Mulder."

"Just Mulder, please."

"All right. Unfortunately, I don't have an answer for you. I was found 
abandoned outside of St Vincent's hospital by Father. He brought me down 
here and raised me as his child. The community was already established by 
then."

"Why?"

"Why did he bring me here? Or why do people live down here at all?"

Mulder considered the question for a moment. "Both, I guess."

"Actually, the answers aren't very different. The tunnels are a refuge 
for those who do not fit into the world above, either because of physical 
or mental differences, or simply because they are not able to deal with 
the world as it has become. Father raised me here because above, I would 
be an oddity, a lab specimen. Down here, I am accepted as a person."

Mulder nodded. "I can understand that. Even now, I'm sure there are 
organizations that would love to take you apart to see what makes you 
tick." He saw the two men flinch out of the corner of his eye. "I've been 
a 'guest' of those sorts of outfits too many times. I won't betray you."

Vincent nodded, but he knew it wouldn't be that easy. Only time would 
ease the suspicion.

Besides, if he were honest with himself he would also love to know what 
Vincent was, especially since the man obviously had no idea. Still, he 
wasn't going to risk losing an ally just because of his curiosity.

Vincent stopped, and Mulder looked around. There wasn't much to see in 
the lamp-light, just more tunnels. They seemed to be at some sort of 
crossroads.

"Well?" he asked, suddenly tense.

"I'm sorry," Vincent said, pulling a cloth from his pocket. "I'm afraid 
that you need to be blindfolded the rest of the way."

Mulder sighed, and closed his eyes. He'd expected something like this 
would come up.

* * * * *

Some time later -- Mulder wasn't sure how long -- he started to hear 
voices. First one, calling out quietly, then more, until by the time they 
came to a stop it sounded like there was a crowd.

The blindfold was removed and he blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden 
brightness.
The room he was in was... not what he expected. The furnishings were 
antique, but very comfortable. A fire blazed in a corner stove. Idly, he 
wondered how they vented the smoke. Bookcases lined the walls, and more 
books were piled around the room. His fingers itched to pick one up, just 
to see what it was.

And the room was filled with people. They were dressed in everything from 
bag-lady chic to clothing that would get you into almost anyplace. Many 
eyes watched him in obvious distrust. Mulder ignored that as being 
expected.

A well-dressed woman and a small boy moved through to stand next to 
Vincent. He ruffled the child's hair and murmured something to the woman 
softly. Then he turned back to Mulder, his feline-like features even more 
pronounced in the bright lights of the room.

"This is my... wife, Catherine, and our son Jacob."

That surprised Mulder, despite what he had seen. He prided himself on not 
being prejudiced, but still...

"Pleased to meet you," he said politely, shaking her hand, then the boy's.

"So," Vincent said. "What brings the two of you here? Although it's 
always good to see you, Harrison."

"We need to talk to Mana," Harrison said, his face serious. "It's 
starting again."

A few of the older people in the room drew hissing breaths, while the 
rest just looked confused. Vincent looked worried. He turned to one of 
the youngsters.

"Go find Mana. Tell her to come quickly."

The kid nodded, then ran from the room. Most of the others left as well. 
Vincent waved them towards the chairs set up in the large space, and 
Mulder sat down with a sigh, preparing to wait.

Again.

* * * * *

Alex sat in the grimy kitchen, looking around. The linoleum underfoot was 
stained and worn and beyond saving. The table was something from the 
sixties or seventies, equally tired. The walls and cabinets were painted 
in a yellow that would have been cheerful if it wasn't faded and grease-
stained, and the appliances were an avocado-green that was thankfully no 
longer made. It was tacky as hell.

Mulder would probably love it.

"Harrison sent you," was the flat statement. "Why?"

"He headed off with my partner to talk to someone named Mana. I was sent 
to find you to meet them there. Harrison said we needed more people 
involved."

Kincaid frowned, and pulled a beer from the fridge. He didn't offer one 
to Alex, who decided not to point out the hostly lapse. "Why Mana? And 
why now?"

Alex tilted his head, deciding how best to say it. Ah, blunt and direct 
was probably the best approach. "There's another invasion going on. We're 
trying to find ways to stop it. That led us to Debi McCullough, then 
Blackwood."

Kincaid froze in the middle of lifting the beer bottle to his lips. 
"Again?" He put the bottle down on the counter so hard that Alex was a 
little surprised that the glass didn't break.

He headed for the kitchen door and pulled it open. "Wolfling!"

The man who answered the call was anything but small. Six foot six, if he 
was an inch, and built like a redwood, all of it muscle. Next to this 
guy, Skinner would look like the original ninety-pound weakling. The 
biker's hair was a red so bright that it put Scully's bottle-red to 
shame, and his blue eyes burned. The face showed years of laugh and smile 
lines, but he wasn't doing either at the moment.

"Need some help, Cade?" he growled, glaring at Alex. His accent 
definitely northern. Canadian, perhaps.

Kincaid glanced over at Alex. "Some old business has come up. Old debts. 
I'm going to be gone a while. Can we borrow the truck?"

Wolfling stared at him for a moment. "No problem," he said, fishing a set 
of keys from his pocket. Then he gave Kincaid a fast hug. "You need help, 
just call. We'll be there."

"Thanks, man."

Alex watched in fascination as the huge man left without making a sound. 
Definitely *not* someone to be trifled with. He could probably break a 
person in half without even trying. He followed Kincaid down the hall to 
a bedroom, where the man started stuffing clothes and weapons into a 
dufflebag.

"Wolfling?"

Kincaid looked up, glaring. "Don't ask."

Alex nodded. No problem. He could do that.

"So where are we going?"

Kincaid glared at him. Alex did his best to look totally innocent, but 
Kincaid wasn't a fool, and he wasn't going to trust Alex simply because 
Blackwood sent him. Still, he had to provide *some* information.

Finally, Kincaid turned away and went back to packing his bag. He grabbed 
a handgun the size of a small canon and slipped it under his leather 
jacket.

"New York."

* * * * *

Scully sighed as she headed for her apartment, looking forward to a hot 
shower, a large bowl of chocolate ice cream and bed. The stress was 
starting to get to her. It had been nearly a week since Mulder had taken 
off, and nearly two days since she'd last spoken to him.

She'd been a target for most of the time she'd been partnered with him, 
but she'd rarely felt so... exposed. Ever since Skinner had warned her that the Consortium was losing patience, to the point of perhaps deciding 
to eliminate Mulder, she hadn't been able to sleep well.

She moved to stick her key in the lock, when a sound made her freeze. She 
held her breath and waited, trying to listen over the pounding of her 
heart. After a moment, the sound of feet shuffling slightly on the other 
side of the door answered her question.

Someone was in her apartment.

Scully went cold. Assassins? In her memory, the events both real and 
imagined leading to her sister's death played out. Swallowing, she 
stepped back once, then again. Reaching under her jacket, she pulled her 
gun. Should she...

Then her common sense reasserted itself. Bursting in there, gun ready, to 
try to get answers would only get her killed. Discretion, after all, was 
the better part of valor. Not making a sound, she retraced her steps.

Climbing back in her car, she considered her options. They could no doubt 
track her car, either by the license plates or by a planted tracking 
device, and she had no way to get a hold of Mulder. Skinner was out too, 
since they probably had him bugged six ways to Sunday.

Making and discarding plans, she finally chose one that had the best 
chance of success.

Driving, she headed for a nearby mall. It was large and busy and the 
perfect place to get lost. In this, her height worked for her. Most 
people were taller than her, so it was easier to get lost in the crowd.

She wandered through the mall for a while, keeping an eye out for anyone 
who looked suspicious. Once she was reasonably sure that she hadn't been 
followed, she headed for the pay phones. Dropping in a quarter, she 
dialed a number she had long ago memorized.

The inevitable answering machine picked up. "Guys, it's me. I'm in 
trouble."

The message cut out and the receiver was picked up. "Are you all right?"

Scully breathed a sigh of relief, even though the chances of none of the 
Gunmen being home were slim. "For the moment. There were people waiting 
for me at my place. I've been told that *they* want to find you-know-who, 
and they're willing to go to extremes now."

A curse answered her. "Where are you? Frohicke will come pick you up."

"The mall near my place. I'll meet him at the... North entrance."

"Okay. He'll be there in thirty minutes. Be careful."

Scully hung up the phone, suddenly feeling more relaxed. The Gunmen 
weren't exactly the US Cavalry, but they would do in a pinch. Suddenly 
she didn't feel quite so alone.

Then something occurred to her. If the Consortium was hot to find Mulder 
and take her, it might mean that they knew about the meeting with 
Blackwood. If they knew that, then...

Scully dug out her wallet and pulled Debi McCullough's card from it. 
Moving to a different payphone (one couldn't be *too* paranoid, she 
thought to herself wryly), she dialed the number.

It rang. And rang.

'Come on, Debi. Be home.'

* * * * *

Debi McCullough brushed her hair out of her eyes, climbing out of the 
shower. In the other room, she could hear the phone ringing. She 
considered ignoring it, but decided that it could be important, and made 
a dash for it.

"McCullough."

"Debi, good."

Debi blinked. "Dana? What's wrong."

"There were shooters waiting for me when I got home. If they're looking 
for Mulder and trying to grab me, they might know we met your friend. In 
that case, you could be in danger too."

The bottom fell out of Debi's stomach and she broke into a cold sweat. 
Those were the words she'd been expecting ever since she got the first 
note from Agent Mulder. In a way, it was almost a relief to have it 
finally happen. Now she could stop waiting.

"What do I do?" she asked, calming down.

"Pack a bag quickly and head for the mall. The one near you. North 
Entrance. We'll pick you up. Be careful, and don't be followed."

Debi hung up, nervously licking her lips. Then she went into action.

There was no time to dry her hair, a toweling would have to do. She 
pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, and tossed some essentials into a bag. 
Some clothes, a few momentos that she didn't want to leave behind and her 
standard issue sidearm.

Then she realized that if someone did come looking for her, her roommate 
Jennifer could get hurt. She was scribbling down a fast note when she 
heard the door open.

She reached for her gun, heart pounding, then breathed a sigh of relief 
when she realized that it was just Jennifer.

"What's going on?" the older woman asked, a puzzled expression on her 
face.

"Family emergency," Debi said, not really lying, she told herself. 
Leaving Jen to read her note would be faster, since trying to explain in 
person was a delay that she couldn't afford. "I'll be gone a few days. I 
left a note in the kitchen. I'll call when I have a better idea when I'll 
be back."

She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. As she brushed past, a hand 
reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Jen?"

In an instant her roommate was gone, replaced by someone cold and hard 
that wore her face and had a gun in her hand.

"Sorry, Debi, but you're not going anywhere."


TO BE CONTINUED.