Disclaimer: This is a fiction story based on characters created by Chris
Carter, Ten Thirteen Production, and Twentieth Century FOX Corporations.
All references to persons living or dead, or actual events, is entirely
coincidental and is not to be construed as reality. No copyright, or
infringement of any sort is intended. This story has been written for
entertainment only, and I am receiving no profit for this work of
fiction. All usual disclaimers apply.

Classification: Angst/Adventure

Rating: Not given

Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST "Alternate Universe"

Spoilers: Not provided.

Summary: Truth is as subjective as reality. It this truth, reality
doesn't apply.

Acknowledgment: To Stephanie Costa, for being a great friend, confidant,
and consultant. Also for my mother, who encouraged me to write and be
confidant in myself.

Author's Note: This story is more like a novel, it's really long and
will have several parts. Yes, Scully does appear in this story.But does
not appear, but is mentioned, in the first part. I've had complaints
about it being 'Mulder-centered', but it's not. Scully is just as much a
part of this story as Mulder, except he has to find her first. She is
equal part as Mulder in the not yet written Part 2.

Feedback: You decide at the end. If you like it, let me know, I'll
cherish you forever.

Archive: All Gossamer Archives. I'll post to EMXC myself. Feel free to
distribute anywhere, but please keep my name, e-mail, and disclaimers
attached. And notify me where it's going. Thanx!

~Chelsea Dyer~

                  Horses Used as Barricades (Part 1)


Introduction:


  The world stood as desolate as the desert plains. The dry wind blew
fiercely across the bare stretch of sand, which used to be a great city.
In the time of eight months, the world had gone to war with the
colonists, and did not realize their vulnerability until it was too
late. The full scale colonization began, and the date had come, and
gone. The humans were ruled over by the alien colonists, clones, and
hybrids. They looked like humans of course, this was what they had taken
so long to achieve. To overpower us, to become us. They walked among us
for years, and knew our secrets, and our weak spots. This was where they
attacked first.
  When the people were clear to what was happening, they did what people
do best, and panicked. Many things were destroyed by their own hands.
But the awful truth sank in slowly, and they scrambled to survive.
Humans were technologically illiterate compared to the colonists, and
they relied on luck, and fate. Many people were enslaved during
colonization, and they were experimented on, and used for test cloning
operations. And those who were not killed, joined the Resistance, and
hid underground. Beneath the Earth, was where they made their homes, but
living in fear that one day, they too would have to face their fear of
the tests.
  No one could trust anyone that they didn't know before the day
colonization began. They couldn't be sure if they were befriending, or
helping a clone or hybrid. And that was the colonist's main advantage.
  Everyone that was involved in the Syndicate, was given a place in the
grand scheme. They were safe, and insured, and they too enforced rule
among the people. But they were human, and if they were suspected of
treason, they were given the most horrible of tests. So if anyone in the
Syndicate pitied one of his fellow brothers, he was kept alive and
tortured as long as possible. But every once in awhile, one in the
Syndicate would open his eyes and realize how wrong he was, and escape
to the Resistance. But they never made it, because the people believed
they were sent to spy, or destroy the remaining population, so they were
executed. Those who were not killed, remained in constant surveillance
and a watchful eye, never laying eyes on a Resistance leader or member.
  The people were also starving, as all the crops had been destroyed in
the first attack. And many were killed over food. A few successful crops
had grown underground, but they would not feed everyone. And as the
space was cramped in the earlier days of building a community
underground, casualties that were in pain and could not receive medical
attention, were eliminated. The dead, were burned. It was something they
did not *want* to have a part of, but they had to if they were to
survive.
  The president, was killed in the second attack of the colonization.
The military leaders were confused on what to do, and fought over power.
But the colonists were three steps ahead, and destroyed all military
arms.
  Confusion was also spread amongst the population, for those who spoke
foreign languages, were not understood, and were weak. Therefore they
could not help in the Resistance and lived in what was known as the
Sombre Gouffre, or the Dark Abyss. Few ventured there, in fear of being
mugged or killed. Those who lived in the Sombre Gouffre were mostly
French or German, but the whole of them spoke the French language.
  Weapons belonged to nearly everyone, just standard guns that would not
flaw the hybrids. The weapon (as seen in 'Colonization/End Game/Talitha
Cumi/Herrenvolk) known as the stiletto, used to kill or ward off the
hybrid/clones by piercing the back of the neck. They did not have any
good defense against the colonists themselves, but they were no major
problem, for colonists did not venture into the Resistance territory
very often. The stiletto was very rare and only the highest of
government rank, or agents, had even seen one, more or less owned one.
  But the colonists were ignorant to the Resistance plans and action.
And deep in the heart of the Resistance territory, they revised a plan,
to fight back.


                   End of Introduction



Part 1:


  The year was 2001, as Fox Mulder trudged through the muddy sludge of
the underground roads. A foul stench filled the air, which was a sign of
death and decay. There would have to be another burning tonight.
Already, the streets in the Sombre Gouffre were beginning to pile up
with bodies of the desecrating dead.
  Mulder was part of the ominous Resistance group, a general, in fact.
He silently longed for the clean rooms of his Resistance quarters. More
so, he longed for his above-ground apartment. His above-ground life. He
could vaguely recall walking in his basement office at the Federal
Bureau of Investigation, greeting his partner, and diving headlong into
another alien abduction case or some other paranormal paraphernalia.
Mulder laughed silently to himself. His skeptic partner, sure, almost
positive that his theories were as 'spooky' as they said, and the
present circumstances. He'd sure taught all of them, he was right all
along. Since the colonization began, not so much as one person had
referred to him as 'spooky', not even old bureau friends or colleagues
that had survived. Even his own partner looked at him with a greater
respect, and trust. Trust. Scully was the only one he trusted, even now.
At first, it was hard to accept what was happening. He'd always
believed. And he would continue to believe. But when the awful truth was
playing itself out, like a dramatic tragedy, he didn't *want* to
believe. The truth was awful, painful, sorrowful, and at first, hard to
succumb to. Loved ones were lost, families were separated, pain was
barely endured, and everything man held dear to them, was gone, before
they even realized what was happening.
  Realizing that his thoughts were worsening his present attitude,
Mulder tried to clear his head of negative vibes. He concentrated on the
route that he was following. Mulder was on his way to the First Bunks of
the Resistance. The First Bunk was the facility where the first
Resistance members worked, and lived. Those were built before the Sombre
Gouffre was inhabited, and therefore, had to pass through the awful,
retched territory to reach the bunks. He was there to remove all
personnel and arms from the base. To remove firearms, and scarce
weapons, it was too risky to pass the way he came. They would have to
take the secret tunnels that led even further underground, beneath the
Sombre Gouffre.
  Mulder turned the corner to an even more desolate passageway. The
ground sloped downward, and water seared vertical into a small, but
strong stream. The water proceeded down the steep tunnel and led into a
muddy cave, with a discreet wooden door at the mouth.
  He un-shouldered his ragedy sack, and slipped into some knee-high
boots. He also wrapped a thin layer of medical gauze around his hands,
weaving around his wrist and palm, only exposing his fingers. He then
leaned down at the mouth of the ledge, and lowered himself shakily down
to the first crawling space. Mulder crouched down in the small hole, and
after taking several small breaths, continued down the tunnel. There
wouldn't be any more rest stops for a while, and the sharp fragments of
rock were penetrating the gauze, and seared his caloused hands beneath
the wrap of tape. A thin stream of blood traveled down Mulder's arm. By
the time he was almost at the bottom, his muscles were shaking
violently. He jumped the last few feet to the bottom, and collapsed on
the muddy earth below him.



  Mulder awoke to what must have been hours later, with a throbbing
headache. He squinted painfully in the bright light that flooded his
vision. He shut his eyes, and patiently waited for the pain to subside.
Slowly, he opened them. The light was not blinding any more, and he was
able to make out his surroundings. He was on a small table, what could
have been mistaken for an operating gurney. He was wrapped in a thin,
cotton blanket. The room he was in was bare, not so much as a scrap of
paper, or gathering of dust grazed the floor. Danger flooded Mulder's
thoughts and he jumped impulsively off the bed, in fear that he was a
test subject, on the colonists spaceship. He ran to the stained steel
door and tried the handle. He let out an exasperated sigh of relief as
the door gave, and he stepped outside into a dimly lit hallway. His
dirty clothes clashed with the immaculate walls, and shining tiles of
the floor.He was definitely in the Resistance territory. He could tell
by the faint sound of tapping combat boots echoing off the far walls. He
scanned the room for another member, victim, or better yet, a doctor.
  He rounded the corner and ran into a short, stalky man in a lab coat.

"What are you doing out of the infirmary?" The man asked accusingly of
Mulder.

"Can you tell me what base I'm at Doctor..."

"Johnson. I'm Dr.Johnson, and your name is Fox Mu-"

"I know my name." Mulder stated impatiently. He was in a hurry to
transport the weapons back to the Resistance Headquarters. To carry out
their plans, they had to act swift.

"I just passed out in a tunnel, and woke up here. Can you just tell me
what base I'm at, how I got here, and when I can leave?"

 The Dr., obviously annoyed at Mulder's persistence, decided to avoid an
embroil with the young general and told him what he wanted to know.

"Certainly. You're at the First Base, a couple of members grew tired of
waiting on you, and found that you'd collapsed in fatigue at the bottom
of the tunnel. They brought you back here to rest, and you can go as
soon as you like. You were to heavy for them to carry you back to your
own base, so they left without you, so you could also get some rest
before making the journey back."

 Mulder thought over what Johnson had said. He certainly couldn't go
back to the base by himself. Not without some sort of fire arm, which he
discovered had been taken with the others who made the earlier scrimmage
back.

"Are there any more agents err, I mean members making a trip back any
time soon Dr. Johnson? I'd like to get back to my base as soon as
possible, it's important."

 The dazed Dr. scratched the itchy stubble on his chin in thought. As if
he was trying to resurrect a picture, or memory in the distance.

"Yes, Mr.Mulder, I do believe there is a group leaving tomorrow. I'll
have the others arrange a place for you. Until then, you'll have to bunk
with Conrad and Johanson. Decent fellows those two...."

 As the doctor escaped into one of his far off trances, Mulder took the
stiff piece of paper the doctor offered him, which contained his bunk
number and supply line number.





  Mulder walked warily to the room that he was to share with the two men
for that night. He desperately needed sleep, and rest. His muscles ached
and his weight could barely carry his fatigued body. He glanced once
more at the slip of paper, and rapped loudly on the door connected to
the bunks.
  A short, Hispanic man with a young face and innocent eyes stared back
at him from the other side of the door. Mulder guessed he was barely old
enough to vote.

"Senior Fox?" The young man asked, with a slight Spanish accent.

 Mulder extended his hand to the boy.

"Yes. It's 'Mulder'. I'm going to bunk here tonight." It wasn't a
question. It was more of an order. As the man's superior, Mulder was in
command, even in a foreign base. His years as a senior agent in the
bureau had not been ineffectual.

"Welcome General, I'm Conrad LeBlaugh," He moved away from the door and
ushered Mulder inside. He swept his arm across the room, gesturing to
the other man sitting on a cot, smoking a cigarette, and reading an old
magazine. Mulder had to concentrate on his hands, in order to not get
sick from the familiar, hateful odor.

"This is Thomas Johanson."

 Johanson didn't look up or greet Mulder when Conrad introduced him, he
continued to read his magazine. The only obvious movement was the snap
of his wrist as he flicked the ash of his cigarette on the cold cement
floor. His eyes were cold, and hard. He had a clean-shaven face,
something that Mulder lacked. He would have to see to that later.


  Conrad looked apologetically at Mulder, notifying Mulder that Johanson
wasn't a very, sociable, person. Or friendly at that.

"Make yourself comfortable Mulder. May as well get used us." Were
Johanson's first spoken words to Mulder.

                           *







   ".....So, there I was, in the middle of panic, and this heh, this
lady comes up to me, with people dying on the streets, and hybrids
everywhere, sees my uniform, and asks if I could get her poodle from the
colonists!"

   Mulder chuckled and cracked his dry-wit humor, about how the woman
was hitting on him, and Johanson grunted and smothered yet another
cigarette on the littered floor.

 Conrad went on with their conversation.


  "So Mulder, tell us some stories about yourself, about your past."


   Mulder's eyes were darkened, overcast from past memories. He did not
want to remember. There were plenty pleasant memories, but those only
came in the midst of a more painful one.

  "Umm, you guys I think I'm going to head in."

   Johanson prodded on.

  "C'mon Mulder. Something interesting has had to happen to you at least
once. At the most tell us who you were before the colonization."

  Mulder stared at Johanson. He stood up and walked across the room.

  "I'm still the same person. I live different yes, but I remain
unchanged in my beliefs and ethics."

  Conrad lowered his eyes, and Johanson returned to his magazine
undaunted. Mulder went over to his cot, and was asleep before his head
touched the pillow.









   Mulder woke up suddenly from his fitful sleep, drenched in sweat. As
soon as his breathing was level again, Mulder looked around to see
Conrad sitting upright in the cot next to his.

"You alright Mulder?" He asked, honest concern laced his voice.

  Mulder wiped the dripping sweat off his forehead in an attempt to calm
himself.

"Yeah, umm, yeah I'm fine." Mulder clipped the last words, and his face
again, darkened with past memories of familiar phrases, and assurances.

"You wanna' talk about it Mulder? It's no good to hold it in."

  Mulder rested his head back on his pillow once more. He contemplated
Conrad being a spy, or possibly one of the Syndicate. But the boy was
just an innocent teenager, caught in the wrong century. He was no Alex
Krycek, the Syndicate wouldn't even draft such a naive child, who hadn't
even lived.

"How old are you Conrad?"


"23." He answered, even though he thought it a strange question.

"We shouldn't be here. Nobody should ever have to see the things we saw,
endure the things we endured, and loose everything we lost."

  Conrad didn't answer, but Mulder knew that he understood. He realized
that Mulder was separated from someone, possibly several people, in the
colonization, and he felt his pain.

 And the pain was bearable, for this was what they knew.







3 Days Later
On the journey to the Resistance Headquarters.




   They had left not the next day, but the following. They set out
through the secret tunnels, avoiding the Sombre Gouffre as planned.
There were eleven men, besides Mulder, all carrying loads of weapons,
battle plans, and other urgent supplies that were demanded at the
Resistance Headquarters. The tunnels they were traveling were well-used,
so therefore the journey was promised to be routine. It was only a day
or so's travel to the Headquarters, and if they were lucky, they'd be
there that night.
   Mulder's back already ached under the weight of the heavy armor that
he carried. The leader of the group, Major Roberts, an African American
Vietnam veteran, would hopefully call another break soon, he didn't know
how much longer he could go on without resting his heavy burden.





That night
Resistance Hqtrs Ter.






   Finally they had finished their interminable journey home. And as
they reached the mouth of the wretched tunnel, they drew back, aghast.
Where the Resistance Headquarters had been, only days before, was an
above-ground smoking, and still burning mass of debris. An obvious sign
of ambush, by colonists. Everything was in ruins. What used to be a
deep, high-tech facility, of very few, was now just pile of wires and
trashed equipment, and the charred ash of burnt flesh
  They were exposed, out in the open. The men stood in absolute horror
and shock. The colonists had destroyed their main source of what little
power and control they possessed in their lives. Everything that they
had worked for, their hopes, their plans of overthrowing the colonists,
and most important of all, their freedom, was destroyed.
  Mulder could only think of one thing to say.

"Scully..."
 He whispered. His partner was there, waiting on him to return to their
work. Their plan. But now everyone's source of defence was shattered
with the frightening image before them.

  Mulder ran out to the smoking debris, ignoring orders from Major
Roberts. He had to know if she was there or not, for his personal state
of mind.

  He pushed his way through fallen plaster walls, and crumbling cement
blocks. He started to panic. In a heartbeat a strong hand gripped his
shoulder in an iron-hold.

"Mulder?"

 Mulder swivelled around in shock. He stood face to face with his former
boss, Skinner. He was the same as he had remembered, his etched
features, and clenched teeth. He was the same symbol of authority, as he
was a Director of the Resistance.

"Sir? Skinner. What happened here?"
  Mulder's voice grew cold as ice. His voice dripping with emotion and
unshed anguish.

"Agent Mulder, the colonists were alerted by a spy last night, the
location of the Resistance Headquarters. The attacked late, nobody
survived. I.."

"Was she here?"

"Mulder I don't..."

"WAS SHE HERE!"

Skinner wiped his sweaty, dirt smeared face with his jacket sleeve. His
eyes stung with the heavy amount of dust in the air.

"Mulder, her body was not accounted for. There were several that were
enslaved, although I don't think she was one of those. Someone near the
base before it was attacked notified me that they had a suspect though
to be the spy, and they went to another base where they thought he was
residing. Scully was supposed to be of that group."

"Who was the spy?"
 Mulder's anger had quieted for the moment, as long as there was hope
that Scully was not there during the attack, he remained faithful.

"Mulder I have no idea who the spy was. All I know is that the base that
the group was going to, is now infested with aliens. Not colonists
Mulder, but aliens. If they did make it, they only had a slim chance of
escaping those things."

 Mulder thought this over for a minute before making his standing
decision. He pulled his lower-lip with impatience, and urgency.

"I've got to go over there Skinner." Mulder told him. Skinner knew that
he was going to go, against any persuasion. He knew Mulder needed
someone to watch his back, also.

"Alright Mulder, but I'm going with you. As your superior in charge,
it's my responsibility to keep you accounted for."

  Mulder looked at Skinner with a respect he'd never reserved for his
former Assistant Director. He nodded his head in agreement, and picked
up his pack.

  "Mulder, we need to get out of the open as soon as possible.
Above-ground is too dangerous, even now."

   Mulder looked around him. Several men were searching through the
debris, looking for any equipment or weapons that could be repaired or
salvaged. There were three members posted along the top, searching the
skies above with morbid fascination, and fear, for dangerous enemies.

 "General Mulder!" Skinner and Mulder turned briskly around to face
Conrad, the young member who was signaling for them to stop.

"Mulder." Conrad reached them out of breath.

"They found some sort of note."

  Skinner's interest was piqued.

"It was an extremely old World War 2 poster. It said 'Loose lips sink
ships.' The others think it's a sign from the ones at the infested Base
13."

  Mulder turned back around, and started off once more to the desolate
open plains, heading toward the brilliant horizon. Some things never
changed. The sun still sank in the evening, and the pale moon rose at
night.

"We'll make it a priority to ask them when we get there."

  Conrad's face was full of question and concern, but also shown of
mischief and longing. Skinner followed Mulder out into the golden
sunset, that had been neglected from the human eye for so long.

"Wait." Conrad stated confidently. His features were set, and his eyes
were wild.

 Mulder glanced once more over his shoulder, to hear Conrad out.

  Conrad picked up his own heavy pack, and extra supplies laying around.

"I'm going with you."   They understood his need also, in a silent
agreement.



      The three men sat off to Base 13. The night was dangerous
above-ground. Soon they would come to the discreet underground
civilization, that they once would have fought to get away from. But
while they were in a state of peace, they let the familiar air grace
their lungs, and the familiar sunset fascinate their sight. Skinner,
looking for his past, Conrad looking for his future, and Mulder, looking
for his present.


                          End of Part 1


End Author's Note: Look for the sequel, 'Horses Used as Barricades -
Part 2' in a couple of up-dates. I realize, as I stated in the first
notes, that some people do not appeal to Mulder-centered stories, this
is NOT MC'ed. Scully appears immensely in the rest of the story. There
will be several parts as this is a very, extremely long tale.


Please send questions, concerns, comments, creatively kind flames, to


Starbuck_xf@hotmail.com


It's greatly appreciated. Thanx.


Thanks to all of my friends who told me to keep going on this, I hope
you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

-Chels-

"Truth is as subjective as reality."