Disclaimer: Frohike, Byers, and Langly are the creative property of 1013 and FOX. Cis is mine. I want them to play nicely. Category: S Rating: PG Spoilers: none Keywords: Pre XF. Lone Gunmen. Summary: One version of how our current trio may have met. Prelude to Weirdness I by Martha marthalgm@yahoo.com April 1989 He was running a few minutes behind. After leaving the car in the hourly parking lot, he quickly made his way towards the lower level of the airport to the baggage claim area where he was told that she would be. His last instructions from Frohike were "Don't keep her waiting. She's impatient as hell." Just what he needed today, a bitch on wheels. He didn't like being treated like some errand boy, but he was new to this game, and he wanted to prove himself capable of any request made of him. All that he had been told was to look for a woman with a black carry-on bag wearing a butterfly pin on her left lapel. There was quite a crowd around the baggage carousel, so he decided to look around first. He scanned the bank of pay phones to the left but found no one of that description. Off to the right were the courtesy phones for the local hotels and rental car agencies. No luck there, either. He returned for a moment to the crowd retrieving their luggage before deciding to check the monitors for arrival schedules. Maybe her flight was running late. He spotted her walking down the hallway from the terminals. Black carry-on, a large gold butterfly pin on the dark blue jacket. Time to play the game. He hoped that he could pull this off. "Pretend that you're old friends," Frohike had suggested, "or even better, that you're married. That's a good excuse for you to go and meet her flight. If anyone is following either of you, it may deter them." He didn't know if he was being sarcastic or what. Well, here goes nothing, he thought. He waved at her and in a loud voice said, "Hi there. Thought I'd missed you." He let her walk towards him before adding the key phrase, "Our dinner reservations are at six. Hope that's not too early." He kissed her on the cheek and took the black bag when she offered it to him. "No problem there," she replied. "I'm starved." Message received and verified. "So, how was the conference?" He had been told to let her do the talking. She had been doing these little jobs for a while and knew how to put up a good act. He took this opportunity to check her out further. Good suit, cashmere. Had to be from Nordstrom's or some similar type of store. She was short, even with the heels. Brown hair, glasses. Earring, watch, pin . . . there was nothing inexpensive about this jewelry. She was a plain woman, probably late twenties or early thirties. But the suit, the jewelry, the ease of her conversation, all pointed towards a woman of certain upbringing and confidence. Which begged the question: Where on earth did Frohike ever meet a woman like this? She launched into one of her standard presentation speeches about two colleagues with widely differing views on social engineering and urban housing policies. She had allowed him to take her bag, to take her arm while in the crosswalk towards the parking lot, even the kiss in the airport was a nice touch. She was always amazed at the differing types of people she met while on these trips. How did they find each other? And where did they get this handsome escort of hers? He was tall and lean, with short brownish hair and a closely cropped beard and mustache. Almost as if he had just started to grow it and didn't know exactly know how he wanted to wear it. The suit was not expensive, but it hung well on him. The cotton oxford button-down shirt and nondescript tie screamed Academia. He added some comments during her recitation, making it seem as if he was knowledgeable about the neighborhood effect in urban housing areas. He laughed at all the right times and even held the car door open for her. She was genuinely surprised to have run into someone who wasn't some sort of social refugee. Now that they were alone in the car, she could drop this little charade and find out more about him. He climbed behind the wheel and started the ignition. She halfway turned towards him. "You must be Byers," she said. "My brother has spoken of you." Brother? Byers thought to himself. Brother? Just who is she? She noticed the puzzled look on his face and suddenly realized that he did not have a clue as to who she was. She sighed and settled back into her seat. That brat, she thought, he did this on purpose. "I'm Cis." She paused. "Cis Frohike." Oh, shit. Frohike. He should have guessed. Was this some sort of test? Now he'd blown it. "He didn't tell you, did he?" Cis said, more like a statement rather than a question. "No, not at all." Byers was just trying to concentrate on getting them out of the parking lot. "Did he not tell you that you were picking up his sister, or did he just not say that he had a sister at all?" "I had not idea on either count, not until this moment." Cis turned to look out of her window, shaking her head. "Bobby's a dead man." Byers nearly went through the parking exit gate without stopping to pay. And he thought . . . Bobby? ------------------------------------------------------------- Byers parked the car around the corner from the warehouse headquarters. He had every intention of opening the door for Cis and carrying her bag, but she beat him to it. She appeared to be on a mission, and he kept a safe distance behind her. She had her own keys to get into the building, and he barely had time to catch up to her, grabbing the front door before it slammed shut. Cis made her way down the darkened hallway towards the main office area. She noisily dropped her bag next to one of the desks and began the search for her brother. She disappeared down another hall. "Bobby!" she yelled. "Come out, come out, wherever you are. Hey, Bob." Frohike emerged from one of the darkrooms, wiping his hand on a towel. "Would you stop doing that? You're scaring the rats." Frohike and Cis stood face to face. Even thought he was in a T-shirt and jeans and she was in a designer suit, the resemblance was noticeable. Byers should have seen it at once. "You couldn't tell him it was me?" Cis demanded. "Would it have made any difference?" Cis was exasperated. "That's not the point. I do all these nice things for you, like tracking down classified documents, and then you pretend that I don't exist." Frohike's interest in the conversation was raised. "Whoa, did you get them?" "Of course. All you have to do is dress nice, flash an ID, and talk the talk, and they think that you're on some Congressman's staff, and they can't wait to give you privileged information. I have the copies in my bag." "Store it in one of the offices for now. We've got a convention to stake out." "Oh, no," whined Cis. "And I was promised dinner." She winked in Byers' direction. "We'll stop for ice cream on the way," Frohike gently offered. "Oh, ice cream." Pause. "Then we need to stop someplace that has chocolate creamsicles." She looked down at her wardrobe. "I need to get changed, don't I?" "Yeah, you still have stuff upstairs. Jeans and a sweatshirt should be fine." Cis removed her shoes before tackling the staircase. Within seconds, drawers and doors could be heard opening and closing overhead. It was not until now that Frohike realized that Byers had been in the room the whole time, taking in their conversation. "Well, you have now met my family," he said as an almost-apology. "She's not around that much, so don't let her intimidate you." Byers was curious. In the few weeks that he had been there fulltime, he had not heard one mention of this sister or her contribution. "So, what does she do for you?" "Oh, a little bit of everything." Frohike smiled to himself remembering to what lengths his younger sister had gone to gather documentation. "Mainly, she's my front person. She can go places and talk to people where I would never even be able to get in the front door. She can do the corporate executive routine, Junior Leaguer, or grad student. She has no real fear. She'll survey a place until they throw her out." "She doesn't live near here?" "Not close by. She has offices over in Reston." Byers was suddenly confused. "What does she do for a living?" At that moment, Cis bounded down the stairs in jeans, a George Washington University sweatshirt and a pair of sneakers in her hands. "Tax attorney. This season: Warner & Associates 3, The State of Virginia and the IRS 0." She sat down on the last riser to put her shoes on. Byers was impressed. "Do they let you just take time off whenever you want? Aren't these kinds of cases time-consuming?" Cis and Frohike exchanged glances. Frohike spoke first. "You tell him." Cis began, "Warner is our mother's name. Our grandfather started the firm. Father ran it after him. It's mine, now. And I usually spend a vacation or two helping out here, just to do something different." Turning back to Frohike, she said, "I'm ready for that ice cream now. Let's go." ------------------------------------------------------------- Cis had just finished licking the last of the chocolate from the wooden popsicle stick as they pulled into the parking lot of the Civic Center. Frohike's hot fudge sundae had long been finished, and Byers' banana milkshake had barely been touched since he ended up driving the three of them. From the gist of their conversation, neither brother or sister had seen each other for a number of months. But as in those rare cases, they just simply picked up where they had left off as if nothing had happened. This was a side of Frohike that Byers had not yet seen. He was at ease, conversant, and had a depraved sense of humor. Apparently, Cis had recently attended her high school reunion and was catching him up on the news. Cis spent nearly the entire drive turned around in her seat. "Oh, wait, do you remember Steve?" "You mean, Mr Camera Guy Steve?" Frohike chimed in from the back seat. "The one who always managed to show up drunk at the school dances?" "No more. You can call him Capt Steve, now. The Air Force has done wonders for him. And I ran into Jimmy, too." "Jimmy the Shrimp?" Cis sighed and rolled her eyes. She had always called him Little Jimmy, not that there was any difference in height (he was about as tall or short as she), but rather because he didn't seem to have aged any since the sixth grade. Even at eighteen in their prom picture, he looked like more her little brother than her date. "Well, you cut the shrimp part out now. He's right near six feet. But he still looks like a baby." The conversation continued with those who had died, who had married and divorced whom, and those who had gone on to better or worse things. It didn't seem to Byers that the two of them would have been in high school at the same time, but he more he thought about it, he really didn't know much about the man sitting behind him. Frohike paid the entry fees for them all, and they gathered some maps and packets before entering the main hall. Frohike stood off to one side studying the map, as if looking for some particular participants. Byers determined that he was completely out of his element and a bit too overdressed. He gave a glance towards the nearest row of booths, noting the various topics purporting what is true and authentic. He had been to his fair share of academic conferences and discussion groups on some really obscure subject matter, but he was not prepared for his first UFO convention. He looked over at Cis, who was reviewing the participant listings. As if on cue, she looked up from her papers and rolled her eyes. "Have you ever, I mean EVER, seen such a collection of hysteria as this?" she said, pointing towards the scheduled guest speaker list. "My worst nightmares can't even compete with what these people are going to be SHARING with us." Frohike joined them. "It's basically the same people I heard over in Baltimore." He glanced at his watch. "I'm going to look around a bit. Show the boy the ropes and point out the tourist traps, OK? I'll find you later." And with that, Frohike disappeared into the crowd. "Don't you hate it when he does that?" Cis half muttered under her breath. "So, where would you like to start? The so-called scientific studies areas? The mothers-of-aliens diaper-changing lounge? How about the Venusians-only picnic? That could be good for a laugh." "You're not taking any of this seriously, are you?" Byers jokingly asked as he loosened his tie. "When you deal with the IRS on a regular basis, you get more than your fare share of conspiracies, run-arounds, and paranoia. But some people are just too stupid to live." "Oh, come on," he said as he undid the top button to this shirt, "I've seen worse. I want to know if there are any alien babies in bottle collections." "Please, dear god, don't tell me that my brother found you in one of these places." "Close . . . just over at the University." And as they started to walk through the pavilion, he began to tell her the story of how the two met, and he realized that the world of Academia and the atmosphere of Paranoia were not really that different after all. end of part one ----------------------------------------------------------- February 1989 He was nervous enough, standing in front of his academic advisor and several other professors, without the added pressure of the question-and-answer period. Having to practically memorize your thesis and then present it in front of those who would be deciding whether or not you would be able to continue your studies at this institution AND having fellow students and some other complete strangers on hand to witness this academic equivalent of "The Emperor's New Clothes meets Jeopardy" was making him sweat. He should not have worn this sweater. A jacket, Byers thought, a jacket that he could take off and hang on the back of his chair - that would make for a more professional appearance. There's just no graceful way to get out of a pullover sweater. And these questions. Some of them were already answered during his presentation. These guys were just showing off for their own reputations. They were just trying to trip him up or bring up some little way-out theory that didn't follow his research outline, all in the name of scoring points for themselves. Come on, guys, someone do something original for a change. And then it happened. Third row from the back, just off center to the left. A question that actually had some relevance to his thesis. A viewpoint, though not discussed at length in his analysis, that mirrored his initial findings. Byers validated that line of thought and tied it in with his conclusions. Which prompted another question from that same person. Which led to more explanations and more questions. A dialogue was developing between this man in the audience and the student at the podium. As it continued on, several of the other students shifted nervously in their seats, craning to see just who was this person who had taken it upon himself to conduct a one-man cross examination. Nearly thirty minutes later, seeing that there appeared to be no end in sight to this mini-conference, Byers' academic advisor closed the floor to questions and ended the session. Afterwards, the man from the audience walked up to Byers in the hallway and introduced himself. "The name's Frohike. Just wanted to say that I enjoyed our little chat." "Thank you, Mr. Frohike," Byers began, but the other man interrupted him. "No, just Frohike," the man gently insisted. He paused for a moment, taking the time to scan the other students who were waiting around, and then asked, "Don't you think that you're wasting your talents at this high-school level? Wouldn't you rather aspire to something a bit more challenging? Think about it. I'll be in touch." And with that, Frohike turned and walked down the hallway, oblivious to the stares and snide remarks from the others. Byers, still somewhat tied in knots from his presentation, could only wonder as to what this man was talking about. A month later, he found out. ------------------------------------------------------------- April 1989 "He just called you, and you came running?" Cis asked incredulously. Byers just shrugged. "I didn't have anything else better to do." Which was the truth. Another five to seven years on the academic treadmill to earning his doctorate had become less appealing over time. "I was more challenged during that question period than I was during most of my classes. And your brother didn't make me out as some kind of delusional paranoid." Cis shot him a look that could loosely be translated as 'oh, really'. Byers broke into a smile. "Well, within reason." As they made their way down the next aisle, Cis spied her brother off to one side talking to a younger man. "Hey," she called over to Byers, "who is that?" Byers shook his head at her. "I've not seen him before." The other man was taller than Frohike, wearing a turtleneck sweater and jeans. Wind-blown hair, nice smile, and hand on those narrow hips - details that Cis rarely overlooked. He handed her brother a large envelope and then turned to leave. Cis eyed the other man as he walked away, cute ass and all, towards the exit. "Damn," she thought to herself, "I've got to get out more." ------------------------------------------------------------- It was late whent he three of them got back to the Gunmen headquarters, but there appeared to be a frenzy of activity going on in one of the back offices. Bass notes could be felt through the walls as they made their way around to the ruckus. Cis and Byers continued following the sounds, while Frohike detoured to his area, presumably to examine the contents of the package that he had received earlier. "Hey, Headbanger, cut the sound a bit," Cis yelled over the radio. She had given him that nickname the first time that she saw him - in this same office, wearing a Metallica T-shirt and listening to something similarly loud, a little over a year ago. He leaned over to turn the radio off and pushed the long blonde hair back away from his face as he sat up. "Hi, there. I heard you brought back some souvenirs from your trip." "It was so routine. I'll tell you later." Cis turned to Byers. "Have the two of you been introduced? Byers, this is Langly." "We've passed each other in the hallway." Byers knew him by sight only. Langly spent most of his time in the electronics room, with his computers and radio equipment, and according to some of the others, slept there too. Cis continued. "That's why I asked you if my brother had found you at some weird convention. That's how he and Langly hooked up. He's always finding the oddest people along the way. No offense, Langly." And, remembering the mystery man from earlier that evening, some of the damnedest looking ones too. "Have you heard this story? It's loopy." ------------------------------------------------------------- March 1988 A computer exposition. Langly knew he was asking for trouble just by walking in. The sponsors and most of the vendors already had him on their banned lists because of the trouble he had caused in previous shows. He had been going to these gatherings for several years now and usually took every opportunity to play around in the computer networks that were set up for display. Only he wasn't testing them for feasibility - he was getting as much as he could get out of them, looking for their weaknesses, and then systematically crashing them when he got bored enough. He was just looking for the ultimate challenge but rarely found one. He came prepared not to be recognized. He dressed a bit more conservatively than he would have, trading a polo shirt for his standard T-shirt and hiding his long hair underneath a baseball cap. He wore a counterfeit ID badge from IBM, thinking that it would give him some sort of respectability and anonymity. He had also figured that he may be found out, so he took a good look around the building before setting out to explore some of the systems. Less than an hour later, while he was still playing at his first display, Langly caught out of the corner of his eye the approach of two security guards. He quickly inserted one of the disks that he had brought with him into the expo and had just enough time to type in a few commands before they grabbed him. The two led him away towards the front offices while the booth vendor began to examine what he may or may not have done to their product. Less than a minute later, the entire complex went dark. The two security guards stopped in their tracks to wait for the emergency lighting to come up, but Langly kept going. This was the break he needed to get quickly out of the building. He hated leaving behind one of his favorite viruses but, at the same time, was secretly ecstatic that it worked so well. A man had been watching him for some time, unbeknownst to Langly. If he had noticed the stranger before, he would have seen his delight in the shenanigans that Langly created. This man also quickened his pace to catch up to Langly outside of the convention hall. He introduced himself and wondered if he had any other tricks that could be played on an unsuspecting public. Before Langly could answer, several of the expo security guards now joined by two of the city's finest spotted him and were advancing. "My car is this way," Frohike quickly volunteered. "Let's go." Langly instinctively followed the older man to his car and braced himself for a wild circling escape out of the complex's parking lot. A couple of run red lights and an illegal U-turn later, the two found themselves in a nearly deserted part of town with rows of old warehouses. Frohike pulled up alongside one and got out. Langly was unsure of what was going on. "What is this place?" "My office. Want to come in and look around?" Frohike noticed that the younger man was hesitating and added, "There are others here. I don't work alone. You might even find something of interest to do." With that, Frohike unlocked the main door and held it open for Langly. And the rest, as they say, is history. end of part 2