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To: csmith@diablo.premenos.com
Subject: X-files fanfic: "Zeitgeist"
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Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Date: 2 Aug 1994 18:33:59 GMT
From: madge@uclink.berkeley.edu (Peggy Mei-Ling Li)
Subject: Zeitgeist

NOTE: I AM NOT THE AUTHOR! Please contact Adam Webb with your comments at
the E-mail address below. Sorry about the carriage returns also, folks.
Does anyone out there know how to deal with them? I've never had this
problem posting before...thanks and enjoy. Peggy

Copies of this story formatted for use in Windows Write and plain ASCII
text are available FREE in the X-Files Conference on CIX in the UK. The
self extracting file containing both of the above is called Z-Geist.Exe.
This story is ) 1994 Adam Webb. The characters Fox Mulder, Dana Scully
and the name X-Files are ) Fox Network Programming & Ten Thirteen Productions.

E-mail correspondence to the author via the Internet should be
addressed to AWE@CIX.Compulink.Co.UK.

ZEITGEIST

An unauthorised X-Files story

Adam Webb


Mulder walked down the white marble steps leading from the
offices of DBC-TV, a frown of puzzlement creasing his brow.
The case was beginning to look like so many others that he'd
read about, and one or two of which he had personal
experience. Despite the evidence they'd gathered Scully wasn't
entirely convinced - when was she ever - but couldn't escape
the fact that a man was missing under decidedly suspicious
circumstances. Whether it was truly an X-File case remained
to be seen, but his gut feeling was that they were onto
something, and that something involved the modern
incarnation of an urban legend.
Seven days ago, a freelance reporter by the name of
Nelson Longford had failed to return after keeping a late night
appointment with someone who'd claimed to be Major James
Starlin of the USAF. According to Melissa, the reporter's
distraught wife, Starlin had called at the house on one previous
occasion. Her husband routinely met a lot of people, but she
remembered Starlin because he'd been dressed from head to
toe in black. Not the dark blue uniform she'd expected a
serving officer to be wearing. On the night of her husband's
disappearance, Melissa Longford recalled him taking a phone
call at approximately one AM, and talking about a possible
exchange of information concerning whatever it was that had
been appearing in the night sky over Dayton, Ohio. Starlin
had claimed to have little time, and so Longford had left the
house in a hurry, taking his evidence with him. All that was
left behind concerning the 'Dayton Disk' were photocopies of a
computer printout and one 8" X 10" blow-up of a photograph
taken by a competent local witness. The photocopies and
impressive print were now in Scully's attachi case, the latter
awaiting photoclinometrical analysis; the discernment of
shape-from-shading. The printout was of data purportedly
hacked from the mainframe at Wright-Patterson Air Force
Base. The complex information it contained included
reference to what was possibly an experimental aircraft. Since
the night of his disappearance there'd been no trace of
Longford. It was as if he'd vanished off the face of the earth.
Questions to Colonel Trendell, at Wright-Patterson AFB, the
main USAF facility in Dayton, had resulted in a point blank
denial of involvement. The Colonel had refused to confirm or
deny the presence of a Major called Starlin, and had rejected
outright the accusation that anyone under his jurisdiction had
met or spoken with Longford on the date in question. Mulder
didn't believe him, but at the same time, he thought it unlikely
that the Air Force were directly responsible for the reporter's
abduction. Something else was going on, and not for the first
time, the USAF knew what it was.
The next stop had been DBC-TV, who had
commissioned Longford to make a series of five minute news
articles called In The Air Tonight, for broadcast in the current
affairs show Dayton After Dark. Mulder's FBI badge had
enabled him to bypass the ranks of secretaries and get straight
to Rudy Schwire, the Senior News Editor at DBC. Schwire
had turned out to be an abrasive individual, and had made it
abundantly clear that he had no wish to help the Feds. Waving
a cigar which looked as if it belonged in the mouth of a much
more important man, he'd gone on to say that he had no ideas
as to Nelson Longford's whereabouts, and whatever
information the reporter had uncovered not the Bureau's
business. Mulder had attempted to reason with him,
suggesting that although not legally bound to reveal findings
which, at least on the face of it, had no bearing on the case, he
was morally obliged to help. Shwire had laughed at that, and
commented that whatever shady company Longford chose to
keep was his own affair. Especially if it got him into trouble.
But, when asked if the shady company he referred to was a
man of possibly Oriental descent, a man dressed in black, the
editor's mood had abruptly altered. After that he'd claimed to
be too busy to answer any more questions. Mulder had seized
the opportunity to put him under pressure, threatening to have
him charged with wilfully obstructing an official investigation,
unless he co-operated. Shwire had almost broken then.
Almost, but not quite. In the end he'd stuck to his guns,
grudgingly offering to make private enquiries about Longford's
sources, and report back if he managed to discover anything.
"They got to him." Mulder muttered as he slid into
the passenger seat of the red Ford parked outside the DBC-TV
offices.
"What was that?" Scully asked, glancing briefly
across the seats. Signalling, she pulled out into the stream of
traffic late afternoon traffic. It was Fall, and already the light
was starting to fade.
"I said they got to him." Mulder smirked knowingly.
Half turning, he continued enthusiastically. "It's the MIB,
Scully. Men In Black. A mysterious group, usually three men,
known for terrorising those who've had a close encounter.
Schwire may have been paid a visit."
"Maybe he just doesn't trust anyone who represents a
government agency. Lots of people don't like authority,
Mulder." The flame-haired agent countered. "That's not proof
they've fallen victim to the supernatural."
Fox shook his head slowly. "No. It's more than that.
Shwire claimed that Longford was keeping shady company,
and when I gave him a description of the typical MIB profile,
he looked as if....." He stopped himself short, unwilling to
complete the clinched sentence.
"As if he'd seen a ghost." Scully finished for him,
taking momentary pleasure in her partner's scowl of
discomfort. Turning right, toward the hotel they were booked
into, she said. "It's not enough. We have no solid evidence to
connect Schwire - or for that matter anyone else - to
Longford's disappearance. Until we do, he doesn't have to
give us the time of day if he doesn't want to."
"I know." Mulder sighed. He opened his mouth to
speak again, then snapped it shut. Something in the rear-view
mirror had caught his attention. "Don't look now." He said
wryly. "But we're being tailed."
Scully's eyes immediately flicked to the mirror.
Careful to give no sign by her driving that she was aware of
possible pursuit, she studied the road behind. Signalling, she
took a leisurely right hand turn. "The black caddilac," she said
after a few moment's scrutiny, "three cars back, in the left-hand
lane."
"That's the one." Mulder said, finding himself unable
to suppress a Cheshire cat grin.
"I don't believe this." Scully's eyes twinkled with
mirth. "This is like one of your fantasies."
"And what would you know about my fantasies, Dr
Scully." Mulder cocked a Spock-like eyebrow. "We could
start with the reoccurring one about WIBS; that's women in
black stockings."
"Okay." Scully cut him off. "I get the picture. Let's
see how much your friends really want to follow us."
Reaching down with her right hand Scully prepared to change
gears.
"Woah." Mulder gently pushed his partner's hand
away from the stick. "Not yet. First, I want to check out who's
behind those smoked windows." Voice taking on a serious
tone he added, "Unless they've changed their modus operandi,
that isn't the real MIB back there. Let me off at the next
junction. We'll see how far they want to take this."
Scully nodded agreement. "I'll double back and come
up behind them."

The Ford had only been out of sight for a few seconds when
the long black car accelerated, slowing to walking pace as it
drew level with the agent. Mulder glanced casually toward the
driver's window as a slight hum announced that its electric
motor was winding it down.
"Excuse me. Special Agent Mulder." An authoritative
voice said, tone low and very confident. "We'd appreciate a
few moments of your time, sir."
"Who might we be?" Mulder asked. Peering into the
Caddilac's interior he saw two other individuals, both dressed
identically to the one behind the wheel. As expected, all three
wore plain black suits with black shirts, thin black neckties and
impenetrable sunglasses.
"Could we talk inside the vehicle, sir?"
"Not until I know who I'm talking too." Mulder stood
his ground, more amused than nervous. Which from the
fleeting expression that crossed the driver's face, was not the
intended effect.
"Very well." Said a voice from the back of the car.
"I'm Major James Starlin. My colleagues and I are part of a
special investigation unit, currently attached to the USAF."
Before there could be any challenge, he added. "I understand
you've been asking questions about me, and I have reason to
believe that you're becoming involved with a matter of national
security." Now his tone became carefully neutral. "We'd like
to appraise you of a few facts. In private, if you have no
objections?" Leaning to one side he opened the Caddilac's
nearside rear door.
"United Sates Air Force?" Mulder questioned.
"Unless there's been a revolution, those aren't Air Force
uniforms." He nodded at the car. "And your vehicle isn't
official issue."
Emerging into the lemon light of evening, Starlin
removed his sunglasses and stood in front of the FBI man. "As
I've already advised you, sir, we're a special unit." Hand
dipping quickly into an inside pocket he smiled briefly,
noticing that his sudden motion cased Mulder to stiffen, and
produced a laminated card. This he held up for examination,
waiting patiently until the agent was done.
Scrutinising the details Mulder compared the tiny
photo with the man who stood before him. Both were in their
late thirties, and had short, swept back dark hair. Starlin and
his image were clean-shaven, with angular features and a
slightly olive skin tone. The shape of the Major's eyes also
betrayed Oriental blood, somewhere way back down the line.
In all respects the card's printed details exactly matched what
had been said, and if forged was of a sufficiently high standard
to fool all but the most stringent analysis.
"It seems we have some crossed wires, here." Mulder
manufactured a smile. Surreptitiously he glanced around to
see if Scully was anywhere in sight. Unfortunately, she wasn't.
Nobody on the street seemed aware that anything might be
wrong. The good folk of Dayton were going about their
business completely oblivious to what might be an abduction
in progress.
Catching the glances, Starlin said, "If you're looking
for your partner, don't bother. There's no need to be
concerned, she's not in any danger." He gestured, dismissing
Mulder's look of anxiety. "Let's just say that Agent Scully has
got a problem with a malfunction."
Mulder considered his options, knowing that a fast
decision was required. If the three truly were a modern-day
incarnation of the MIB, perverse as that seemed, they'd track
him down before he'd gone very far. Besides which, if he
played the part they were attempting to cast him in, he might
be able to learn more about who was really giving the orders.
Handing the card back to the man who called himself Major
Starlin, he decided to go with the flow. He was still armed,
and the men didn't seem inclined toward relieving him of his
weapon. Stepping into the waiting Caddilac he couldn't help
wondering if Nelson Longford had been the last man to accept
an invitation.
Starlin, who really was a Major, slid in next to the
man he'd taken into protective custody and nodded to his front
seat colleagues. On that signal the engine purred into life and
within seconds they were weaving their way through the mid-
town traffic, once again anonymous behind black glass.
It was a calculated risk he was taking, Mulder thought
to himself. Dusk was not far away. The men had him alone,
and could pull any number of stunts, but the chances were
against anything occurring that would be detrimental to his
health. If only a small percentage of what he remembered
about the plethora of MIB cases in UFO-lore was true, then
whatever pressure they tried to apply would not take the form
of physical abuse. But this time they wouldn't get away with
their head games. Nobody should be unaccountable.
Starlin took a micro-cassette recorder from his inside
breast pocket and clicked it into record mode.
"Let's speak plainly." His tone was crisp, but not
hostile. "We are aware of your official interest in the
Longford case. As you know, Longford recently made
unsubstantiated claims concerning unidentified aircraft in the
skies above Dayton. I understand that Mr Longford's wife has
also claimed that her husband met with me on the night of his
disappearance." For a fleeting moment the major's tone
seemed tinged with regret, then the inflection was gone and it
was back to business. "It's my job to inform you that none of
these claims are true, and that further investigation into the
matter is not required."
"On whose authority do you speak?" Mulder asked.
"Failure to comply with my request may result in the
loss of your badge, Agent Mulder." Face and voice becoming
a reflection of official policy the Major recited from memory.
"Under section 23, subsection 17 of the Pentagon's ruling on
matters of national security, interference with matters of..."
"I'm not buying this, Major." Mulder interrupted.
Sitting up straight he poked a finger at his questioner. "If the
military are stupid enough to test-fly a new type of aircraft
close to a large town, then they can't complain if the locals get
interested. I can see how there may be a case for confiscating
evidence. But what possible reason is there for imprisonment
without trial? That is what's happen to Nelson Longford, isn't
it, Major? America maybe screwed-up, but last time I checked
it was still the land of the free."
"Freedom, Agent Mulder, is a double edged sword."
Starlin replied quickly, voice turned icy-cold. "Those who
abuse it sometimes find themselves in too deep. So deep, they
drown."
"Is that some kind of threat?" Mulder met the major's
stare head on, refusing to be intimidated. "Maybe we should
take this up with your Commanding Officer. Who did you say
he was?"
"I didn't." Starlin's gaze didn't waver for an instant.
"What I will tell you, is that the United States Air Force has
nothing to do with Longford's disappearance, and is not
engaged in testing any experimental aircraft over Dayton. Do
I make myself clear?"
For a moment Mulder said nothing, understanding
that Starlin might just have made a veiled admission. "So
we're talking genuine unidentifieds." Unable to keep the edge
of excitement from his voice he used a military codeword.
"Angels. You're talking about Angels."
"Drop the case, Mulder." The major ordered tersely.
"A little over a week ago, something big, silent and
silver was prescribing what can only be described as
aerodynamically impossible manoeuvres in the sky between
Dayton and Richmond." Mulder responded, now veering
toward the belief that the man seated beside him was a member
of some covert department, masquerading as MIB for reasons
unknown.
"Simple misidentification." Starlin said, sounding as
if he'd made the speech a thousand times before. Which was
almost true. "Like the Loch Ness Monster, or Bigfoot. People
see what they want to see. Most of the time it's no more real
than Casper."
"How about men in black who terrorise and kidnap
US citizens." Mulder responded acidly. "Looking at you,
Major, I'd say that phenomenon has some basis in reality."
"There are reasons." The major stated flatly, refusing
to meet the agent's accusing eyes.
"How about giving me some of those reasons,
Major." Mulder said. "If you aren't holding Nelson Longford,
who is?" When no reply was forthcoming, the agent shrugged.
"Okay, then I guess we'll have to keep looking. Sooner or
later, we'll make a connection."
"Christ! I could do without this." Starlin sighed
deeply. Voice pitched almost too low to be heard he said,
"I'm probably gonna regret telling you this, Mulder. But
you're wasting your time, and mine." Suddenly seeming a lot
older he turned to face the agent. "You can't find what isn't
there. Nelson Longford isn't anywhere that you, or I, could
reach."

After fifteen minutes of driving around in circles, Dana Scully
concluded that her partner had indeed been snatched, while a
set of lights to stick on red had held her up for vital minutes.
At least she was attributing the problem to mundane electrical
failure. Any other explanation and she'd be straying into
Mulder's territory. The fact that he'd deliberately placed
himself in jeopardy now seemed farcical. Inwardly she was
reprimanding herself for having gone along with his wishes.
What Mulder had done certainly wasn't by the book, and if she
couldn't get him back then they could both kiss goodbye to
their careers. But that wasn't going to happen. Forcing herself
to remain calm and think logically, she started back toward the
hotel. When Mulder was able to make contact, that was where
he'd expect her to be. Just a couple of blocks away from the
building, she changed her mind. If Mulder's abductors were for
real, then they might be watching the hotel, waiting for her to
return. There was no point in stepping into a potential trap
until she was sure of how she was going to deal with it.
Heading East for a few miles, she turned onto the forecourt of
the first motel she could find, and booked in under a false
name. The ID was one of three she had available for just such
emergency situations. Parking the car around the back of a
cabin, where it couldn't been seen from the road, locked the
door behind her and sat down to think things out.
Mulder was unconventional, to say the least, but he
wasn't stupid. He'd thought that the men in the black Caddilac
were impostors, and that's probably all they were. Therefore,
he was unlikely to be in any real danger. Taking him would
have been an act of bravado. Unless, that was, he'd gone
voluntarily for some reason or other. Mulder had a habit of
doing things like that, and it occasionally drove her crazy.
Several times during the first few cases on which they'd been
paired she'd considered requesting reassignment, but every
time she'd decided to give him another chance. Mainly
because, underneath the boyish good looks and spooky
behaviour, there was something about Fox Mulder that she
had seen only rarely in human beings. He was genuinely
dedicated to pursuit of truth, no matter where the chase might
lead or how dirty it became.

In the front of the black Caddilac, lieutenant's Warby and
Draeger ignored the at times heated conversation taking place
behind them. They'd both heard its like on many previous
occasions, and knew the most likely outcome. Not even the
FBI had the authority to interfere with Operation Zeitgeist; the
most highly classified secret in the history of the United States.
Warby, presently the man at the wheel, drove onward
heading for an expanse of open land between the communities
of Piqua and Springfield. A wide open tract, rented by the
USAF. Behind the impassive mask of his face he was smiling.
Night was falling fast, and before the breaking of another dawn
his long masquerade among the Betas would be at an end.
Everything was going according to plan, and Starlin, the last
acquisition of his mission, did not have the slightest suspicion
that one of those he chased was only feet away.
Lieutenant Al Draeger was in a more pensive frame
of mind than the man he thought of as a colleague. Two years
past he'd volunteered for Zeitgeist, thinking it would be a good
career move. It had been entirely his own decision, so he had
no one else to blame for his state of unease, but some days the
realities of the job gave him the creeps. Zeitgeist ground men
had the task of locating witnesses to authentic UFO incidents
and convincing them that keeping quiet was in their own best
interest. Which, in many was, was the truth. Whenever
possible, any potentially verifiable evidence was confiscated.
Thus reducing the unfortunate citizen's chances of an
encounter with those who would take much more than
evidence. Using the same black 'uniform' as true MIB was a
ploy leftover from the beginnings of the Operation, when it
had been adopted with the intention of spreading confusion.
Legend said that the planners had also hoped to encourage
mistaken encounters with real Men In Black; the self-styled
Alphas. While indisputably successful in their primary aim, the
secondary intention had never worked. Real MIB could tell,
instantly, when they were in the presence of their own kind.
They knew, without the need for words or identification cards.
Of the very few face to face encounters between the two
groups only four had been concluded successfully for the
impostors. Four, in what was fast approaching twenty-five
years of covert war.

"Let's take a walk." Starlin said as the Caddilac
rolled to a halt. Reaching for the door catch he flashed a brief,
reassuring smile to the FBI man. "Relax, Mulder. Whatever
you may think, we're on the same side."
Mulder followed the black-suited major as he set off
up the side of a steep, grassy hillside. It was full night, but the
light of a three-quarter moon illuminated the countryside well
enough. Looking around from the top he was slightly
disturbed to find that there were no buildings in sight. Starlin
hadn't spoken for more than half an hour, and his silence was
fuel enough for the seeds of unpleasant imaginings to begin
growing. Over the years several writers, researchers and
scientists who'd become involved with the UFO phenomenon
had either vanished, or died under mysterious circumstances.
"The reason I brought you here," Starlin swept a hand
through the air in an all-encompassing gesture, "is because this
area is clean. No bugs, nowhere to hide, and no chance of
accidental disturbance."
"An ideal killing ground, maybe?" Mulder said,
preparing to reach for his holstered pistol.
"I'm no hitman." Starlin almost laughed. Moving
with deliberate slowness he unbuttoned his jacket and held it
open for inspection. "See, I don't even have a water-pistol."
Letting the jacket's flaps fall together he ambled closer to the
agent. "Believe it or not, termination is a last resort.
Unnecessary in the majority of cases. Only fools have to die,
Mulder, and you're no fool. I don't expect you to agree with
our methods, but you will understand when I say that there are
certain facts that the American people cannot be told. Facts
which, in all honesty, they are not ready to hear."
"Alien technology?" Mulder asked. Swallowing hard
he wondered if he was about to hear another off the record
confession from another undercover operative who knew that
Earth was being visited.
"No, that's not what I meant."
Mulder frowned. "If the Dayton Disk is not
extraterrestrial, and not ours, what is it? A foreign aircraft?"
"That is a matter of national security." Starlin folded
his arms across his chest and stared at the agent. "Longford
got too close, and now he's out of reach. That's all you need to
know."
"It isn't enough."
"Back off." The Major enunciated very clearly.
"That's the best advice you'll ever get."
"Supposing I don't want to take it?"
Starlin sighed audibly, and half turning away, said,
"Then you will be noticed, Agent Mulder." He held up a
warning finger. "Believe me, you wouldn't want that to
happen."
"Noticed by whom?"
"Those I represent." Starlin said, quickly adding, "If
you're lucky. They can turn your life upside down. Think no
job, zero credit rating. Think stories planted to screw your
remaining credibility. By the time they're done, nobody this
side of Donald Duck would take you seriously."
"Must be a big, dirty secret, you're guarding."
Mulder smouldered. "I have friends, Major. Busting me is
one thing. Agent Scully is another. If I take a fall for doing
my job, she would feel obliged to find out who was
responsible, and why they acted in such an overtly criminal
manner. You'd have to wreck her life too. Or maybe you
could save time and do us both together. Then more people
would begin asking questions. So they'd have to be dealt with.
Pretty soon you'd have to silence the whole of the FBI. Now,
correct me if I'm wrong, Major, but I don't think you or your
bosses have that kind of power."
"You're a real pain in the ass, Mulder. You know
that" Starlin looked away, taking a few moments to think.
"I've seen copies of official documentation referring
to an aircraft codenamed Zeitgeist 516." Mulder played his
ace. "There's radar confirmation of its speed, the distance
covered, estimated size of the craft, etc. I'd be willing to bet
that no US or foreign aircraft matches those specifications."
"It isn't what you think." Starlin insisted. "This isn't
like anything you've encountered before."
"No? Then tell me who snatched Longford? I don't
understand." Running a hand through his hair, Mulder added,
"If you guys are on the level, why wear the funeral suits? This
isn't just about invasion of US airspace. There's too much here
that doesn't make sense, Major."
For a long moment the major said nothing. Then,
turning to face the agent, he spoke with the conviction of a
man who knows that what he's saying is the inviolable truth.
"I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, Mulder. Because
when I'm through you'll wish you didn't have the answers.
Knowledge means responsibility, whether you want it or not.
Like the President, you'll keep your nose out and your mouth
shut! You'll think about what you've been told every damn day
and night, until your head hurts. But you won't be able to
speak about it to anyone. That's the deal. The lid must stay on
this thing. Accept it, or you'll leave those who make policy no
choice. Believe me, if it's deemed necessary, they will take
you and your partner out, no matter how bad the stink gets."
Mulder's mind reeled. There were so many
unanswered questions, so much that he needed to know. If, as
was seeming increasingly likely, Starlin and his crew were
covert operatives, the what had been said was not a bluff. He
didn't like agreeing to the concealment of truth, but was smart
enough to know that sometimes, that was the way it had to be.
Finally, the desire to learn the truth was what made his choice.
He'd deal with his conscience later.
"Okay." Mulder nodded, feeling like Adam in the
Garden of Eden.
"You've stumbled over the tip of an iceberg." Starlin
said enigmatically. "An iceberg in the sky. You see, Agent
Mulder, my boys and I aren't the only Men In Black."

Taking advantage of Major Starlin's absence, Lieutenant
Draeger had returned the car's radio to the frequency of
WROK FM, the local soft rock station, and was tapping out
the beat of a tune against the dashboard. By perverse
coincidence the song being played was Take Me Away, the
Blue Oyster Cult's naive plea to the pilots of supposedly
extraterrestrial craft.
It was a song that Lieutenant Warby knew quite well.
He'd heard it on several previous occasions, when Draeger had
dialled up WROK. One line in particular always made him
smile openly. It was when Eric Bloom sang - 'The men in
black, their lips are sealed.' His amusement was for the simple
reason that he knew how very true the lyric was.
There had been much progress, since the beginning.
Under Zeitman's guidance they'd taken what they needed with
little challenge. No significant government was willing to
publicly admit the existence of a hidden, virtual nation, whose
technology was far in advance of anything Western science
had produced. Therefore the vast majority of planet Earth's
citizens remained blissfully unaware. The few that did
uncover the truth were either taken and turned, or left to be
discredited and ridiculed by their own governments. Back
when it all began, the world's great military powers would've
used their atomic weapons, if only they'd known precisely
where to hit. But by the time they knew it was Brazil, they
were also aware of how high the cost of a nuclear 'accident' in
that area would be. They were also frequently reminded by
humiliating displays of aerial superiority that the saucers
could, and would if necessary, be used directly against the
Houses of Parliament, the Kremlin or the Whitehouse. Over
the years the original group of less than two hundred Alphas
had expanded almost a hundred fold. Those abducted to form
slave labour groups had carved out an entire city, most of
which was under the inaccessible heart of the Brazilian rain
forest. World-wide, the number of Alpha humans was now in
excess of two-hundred-thousand.
Warby stole a sideways glance at his wristwatch. It
was nearly time. His walk among the dark side of humanity
was almost at an end. Turning to face the man who sat next to
him he knew that he would not miss him. Like all with his
mindset he saw nothing wrong with the systematic rape and
plunder which his kind had inflicted upon the planet from the
moment they'd gained ascendance.
"Goodnight." Warby said quietly.
"Huh." Draeger cocked his head to one side. "What
was that?" The answer was a lightning swift movement of
Warby's right hand, inside which was concealed a small
hypodermic needle. Plunging it into the side of Draeger's neck
he emptied its contents.
"We've waited a long time for an opportunity like
this." Warby explained to the drugged man. Casually
brushing aside grasping hands he continued, "We'd take you
and turn you if we could, Draeger. But we can't, you've
already been through the process."
Face turning purple and tongue poking out from
between his lips Draeger clung to consciousness. Mouth
emitting a horrible dry sucking noise he lurched toward the
Alpha, clawed fingers seeking eyes. But the required energy
was no longer his to command. Eyelids flickering shut he
slumped back against the offside door and became still.
Altering the frequency of the Caddilac's broadcast
radio, Warby picked up the dashboard-mounted microphone.
"Cloud 5." He said, knowing that there would be no spoken
response. "Commence free fall." Head turning to regard the
oblivious Major, he said, "Rendezvous at 18:30 hours."

When an hour and a half had passed with no word, Scully
decided that the time for waiting was over. Mulder was in
trouble, and she had to do something. Flipping open the
spring-loaded locks on her tan attachi case, she withdrew the
plain manila enveloped that contained the evidence collected
from Melissa Longford. Spreading out the photocopied data
and the single picture on the dressing table, she switched on
the anglepoise lamp and directed its beam onto the print. The
majestic multi-coloured disk was centre top, with what seemed
to be open ground beneath. The tops of some trees were
visible in the distance, and at the bottom of the picture, at the
extreme right edge, half of a sign was just visible. Mounted on
a white-painted stake it was partially blurred due to the angle
at which the photograph had been taken. There was part of an
emblem, but not enough to make it recognisable. Scully
turned the picture every which way, but couldn't make out any
more detail.
Reaching for her address book Scully found Melissa
Longford's number and dialled. "Hello. Mrs Longford? This
is Special Agent Dana Scully. I'm sorry to bother you, but if
you could spare me a few more minutes of your time, there's
something I'd like to show you. Yes, it is rather urgent. Okay,
I'll be with you in approximately ten minutes."

At first the reporter's wife claimed not to know anything about
the specific area over which the Dayton disk had been
photographed, or about the blurred sign. But Scully knew she
was lying on both counts. The lie was evident in every nuance
of her body language, and her avoidance of eye to eye contact.
"There may not be much time, Melissa." Scully tried
the woman to woman approach. "So if you can tell me
anything, anything at all, it has to be now. Agent Mulder went
missing, while trying to discover the truth about what
happened to your husband." Scully held the photograph
before Melissa Longford's eyes, forcing her to look again. "I
think they may both be somewhere in this area. Now, can you
tell me where it is?"
Melissa bit down on her lower lip, caught between the
desire to help and loyalty to her husband. Nelson had told her
that the precise location of the sightings was to stay secret.
Nobody, especially not anyone official, was to be told unless
he gave the okay. The problem was, Nelson wasn't around to
make that decision. And if she refused to help, he might never
be around.
"It's about two miles East of the town." Melissa
confided, again finding herself on the verge of tears. "That
signpost," she touched the photograph, "is one of a dozen,
planted all along the perimeter."
Closing the car door, Scully buckled up and drove
away from the Longford home. The sign, warning trespassers
to keep out, was one of several marking the perimeter of land
rented - but not actively used - by the USAF. Assuming that
the same people had taken both Nelson Longford and Mulder,
it was possible, even likely, that they were hidden somewhere
on the site.
Thumb dialling numbers on her mobile phone as the
drove, Scully left an urgent message for Colonel Trendell at
Wright-Patterson AFB, and checking that no one was
following, headed out of town. What she'd set into motion
wasn't, strictly speaking, proper procedure. But then, neither
was what she and Mulder had become involved with. Giving
Colonel Trendell the benefit of the doubt she'd placed him in a
position where he virtually had to take action. And by so
doing create a situation for which he would be accountable.

"The craft seen over Dayton was manufactured right
here on Earth." Starlin asserted. "It's one of the Cloud series,
which were based on designs for something called the
Kugelblitz, or ball lightning fighter. Plans captured from Nazi
Germany at the end of Word War Two."
"Captured by the US?" Mulder asked.
"Partly. The technology under development was
spread out between several widely scattered projects. Roughly
two-thirds of what was left intact ended up in US hands. The
rest went to the British and the Soviets. All three nations put
their top people to work on perfecting what the Nazi's had
started, with varying degrees of success. We came closest,
Mulder." The Major said with just a hint of pride. "Before
Gilbert Zeitman, our chief avionics designer, went missing."
"Zeitman Zeitgeist." The agent thought aloud.
"Right." Starlin nodded. "It's German for time ghost,
which is a cryptic description of what we're facing. Anyway,
the official line on Zeitman was that he died in an auto
accident. Hell, there's even supposed to be a matching body in
his coffin." The major offered an insincere smile. "It was the
biggest snow-job since Chappaquiddick."
"And Zeitgeist 516?" Mulder prompted.
"One of Gilbert's Zeitman's newest models." The
Major supplied. Pausing to reflect for a moment, he continued.
"The guys who got Longford, the other men in black, are the
same people who fly Zeitman designed saucers."
"Who are they?"
"The first were American. But now they come from
all parts of the world. It started in 1963, with a consultant
neurologist attached to NASA. He found a way to enable
selected individuals to perform mental tasks up to seventy
percent more efficiently."
"Seventy!" Mulder let out a hiss of astonishment.
"What was it, some kind of mind expanding drug?"
"You're thinking astronauts on acid, right?" Starlin
smiled, this time in genuine amusement. "No, it was nothing
chemical. What he discovered was that pulsed light, of a
particular intensity and alternating wavelength, could be used
to trigger a massive reaction within the human brain." He
paused, searching for an appropriate analogy. "I suppose you
could describe it as being like an epileptic seizure in reverse.
Instead of shutting down, the brains of some test subjects
seemed to open up, radically increasing their short term
memory and speed of thought. And if that sounds like the
dawning of a new age, that's because it was. Only not quite the
way we figured. The main problem was that the length of time
to which an individual remained super efficient was
unpredictable." Starlin massaged the bridge of his nose with
forefinger and thumb. "By using boosted scientists to work on
the problem, it was solved in under a year. Or so it was
thought. Those treated with the refined light process had a few
hours or days up at seventy percent, then dropped down by
around ten percent, with no subsequent deterioration." The
Major flashed a humourless smile. "Still sounds good, huh."
Trying to make the connections for himself, Mulder
nodded. "So how widespread was this?"
"By the late 60's, roughly one fifth of all NASA
personnel, and a handful of high rollers in the military and
political machines had been treated. There seemed to be
entirely beneficial effects; quicker reactions, near photographic
memory, vastly increased learning capacity." Starlin held up a
finger. "Don't get it wrong, Mulder, the process did not turn a
smart guy into a genius. It just made him a lot better at what
he could already do."
"But it was tried on a genius, wasn't it, Major."
Mulder said, feeling as if an icicle had slipped into his mind.
"Gilbert Zeitman." Starlin nodded, then looked idly
to the dark sky. "What we didn't know a God-damned thing
about, at the time, was what came to known as the Zeitgeist
effect." He tapped his forehead with an extended index finger.
"Some say that what happens is a sort of schizophrenia; an
alternate personality dormant in all people. The other main
school of thought is that we're dealing with a separate,
symbiotic life form. Something which has always been a part
of mankind. Whatever, the fact is that all of those who were
subjected to the refined process eventually suffered a total
change of psychological profile."
"Can it be reversed?" The agent asked, horrified.
"Not without turning the subject into a vegetable.
The keyboard junkies who go for the symbiote angle came up
with the name Zeitgeist, suggesting that whatever took over
might be the psychological remnant of Neanderthal man. A
literal time-ghost. Only those who turned are about as far
removed from Fred Flintstone as the Cray computer is from an
abacus! The thing is, Mulder, despite the changes they
appeared to be just the same. Even the husbands and wives of
those boosted didn't think anything was wrong. Only later was
it discovered that the Alphas, as they call themselves, had been
working together, planning in secret toward the day that
Zeitman was boosted. They stole Zeitman's prototype saucer,
with the man and all his work aboard. The craft's own anti-
radar technology - early stealth - prevented us from getting an
accurate fix on their course."
"When was all this?" Mulder asked, fascinated by
what he was hearing, and wishing that Scully was there to hear
it too.
"The third of August 1971. Each year since then the
Alphas have grown in strength, and in numbers. They snatch
people from all over the globe, sometimes because they've
seen something they shouldn't, mostly because they're in the
wrong place at the wrong time."
"My God."
"We're fighting back as best we can, but they're
geographically based in a place where military strikes are not a
realistic option. All we can do is wait and hope we can catch
up in time. We got people working on the aeronautics,
boosted up to seventy percent using the temporary process.
But with them, in addition to the time factor, we have the
problem that the process only works once on the same
individual. There are only so many suitable personnel"
Starlin gave a shrug of resignation. "Until we can compete in
the air, they've got the drop on us." He paused, as if the
statement he was about to make was physically painful. "You
see, Mulder, the Alphas claim that this world originally
belonged to their kind of human, and they have no intention of
sharing it indefinitely."
"That is correct, Major." Lieutenant Warby agreed.

Foot down hard on the accelerator, Scully arrowed in pursuit
of the light in the sky. She'd noticed it while approaching the
western edge of the restricted zone, and realised at once that
what she was seeing was not any kind of conventional aircraft.
What she was seeing was the Dayton Disk.
At first it had appeared as a silvery white blob of
light, darting at incredible speed from one part of the sky to
another, stopping dead each time it reached new co-ordinates.
Scully had been willing to write it off as some sort of unknown
natural phenomenon, until it had begun to descend. Cloaked
in a shimmering haze of pale blue, strobe-bright light, the craft
was oval shaped and, she guesstimated, slightly bigger than a
747 airliner. Coming straight down between the clouds, it cast
a stark circle of brilliance onto the ground below, illuminating
two or possibly three figures. Scully couldn't tell if any of
them was Mulder.
Approaching the site from the opposite side Scully
could see the flashing lights of what she knew were military
vehicles. The message she'd left for Colonel Trendell had
stated that unidentified, possibly hostile intruders were on
restricted land. At the time she'd made the call she hadn't
known that for certain, but it had seemed like a reasonable bet.
Plus it was a way to ensure that if she needed back up, it
wouldn't be too far away.

Descending in eerie, absolute silence, the incredible craft had
no protuberances, control surfaces or windows that Mulder
could make out. But then, it was hard to make out anything
against the blinding glare.
"Run, Mulder!" Major Starlin bellowed. "It's me
they're after. Take the car and get away, now."
The agent didn't hesitate. There were times for
heroics, and this wasn't one of them. Leaving the two black-
clad figures circling each other, he darted toward the Caddilac.
Hand on the door catch he paused, unable to resist a backward
glance at the craft designated Zeitgeist 516. A narrow circle of
intense blue-white illuminated Starlin and his subordinate,
causing the Major to stop in his tracks as if frozen in place.
The beam emanated from the dark underbelly of the craft,
which looked like a miniaturised black hole. Heart thumping
against his ribcage Mulder decided that he'd seen enough.
Jerking open the door he dived behind the wheel, knowing that
there was no time to concern himself with the condition of the
unconscious figure occupying the passenger seat. Not until
they were safe. It was then that he discovered the ignition key
was missing.
"No!" Mulder struck the steering wheel with the flat
of his hand.
Putting the car between himself and the saucer,
Mulder drew his pistol and aimed over the roof. He knew that
the weapon would probably be about as effective as a pea-
shooter, but it was better than nothing. Or at least it would be,
if he could stop shaking for long enough to shoot straight. A
hundred yards away Starlin stood before the other MIB - the
real MIB - as if paralysed. With the saucer hovering silently
no more than twenty feet above them, the victor turned and
held up something for Mulder to see. It took a few seconds for
him to realise that he was being shown the missing car keys.
"When we want you, Agent Mulder, we know where
to find you." Warby said ominously, allowing the keys to fall
glittering to the ground.
Before Mulder could even think to react, the centre of
the craft seemed to grow darker still, and the blue beam was
abruptly discontinued. Replacing it were five pencil-thin rays
of green laser light, defining a pentagonal area around the two
men. A second later they were lifted clear of the ground, and
like passengers on an invisible elevator, rose up into the belly
of the saucer. Once they were inside something slid shut with
a barely audible hiss of compressed air. Without warning the
craft shot straight up, fast as a high velocity bullet, and in
seconds had climbed thousands of feet into the sky. As it got
further away, nearer to the thin layers of atmosphere, its
motion seemed to slow, and its colour dull. At the last it was indistinguishable from the other stars.

Still shaking a minute or two later when Scully screeched to a
halt, Mulder was at first unable to speak. The things he'd been
told, the things he'd seen, were not what he'd expected. Starlin
had been right. The Zeitman saucer's were a matter of national
security. He should have known when to back off. Now he
had to be very careful what he said, and to whom.
"What was that thing?" Scully asked. Indicating the
fast approaching military contingent she added, "Better get
your story straight, Mulder. Here comes the cavalry."
"I don't know." Mulder lied, poker-faced. "They
dosed me with some kind of hallucinogen." Manufacturing a
look of haziness, he added, "I guess it was something I just
wasn't meant to see."
"Then we'll have to report it as unidentified." Scully
said, her tone a mixture of relief and, strangely,
disappointment.
"Right." Mulder forced himself to grin. "Or maybe
one of those amazing weather balloons."



Wes,
telnet://ricksbbs.synchro.net:23
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