Author's Note: _The Black Stallion_ was published in 1941. But since World War II is never mentioned in the series, I have assumed that the story began post-war, when the great Pan-Am flying boats were still in use, and ships were still a fairly common way to travel. (I am ignoring the hippie chick, because _The Black Stallion's Girl_ made me gag.) This puts Alec in his mid-50's, as far as I can figure. And yes, the Black is still alive. Why? Because he can't die, that's why! It's not totally unheard of; there's a horse in Ohio who's about 50 years old and still active. (They did a story on him in Reader's Digest just this month.) Finally, I just learned that there's a Walter Farley memorial exhibit at the Venice, Florida public library (I can't believe he only passed away in '89! If I'd known he was alive, I would have written to him!). This story is dedicated to Walter Farley and to my mother, who bought me all the books we could find. -------------------------------------------------------------------- FARM, NEW YORK "Terrible thing about Mr. Stephens." "He wouldn't have retired if he hadn't seen it coming." He drew in a breath. "I'll miss him. He knew almost as much about horses as Henry did." "That's high praise, sir." "Storm's coming." The security guard looked up at the sky, then back down at him. "Did you see that on the Weather Channel, Mr. Ramsay? I thought it was s'posed to go around us." Ramsay shook his head. "Can't you smell it, Kate? There's a lot of rain on this wind. And the leaves are blowing the wrong way, see?" "I'll take your word for it," she said slowly. "We could sure use it, though." They both looked up toward the partially wooded hills, always a worry in a dry summer. They were deep green this year -- no, light green, since the wind had flipped the woods' leaves over, too -- and not the worrisome yellow and brown of a bad drought year. "No, we don't need another barn fire. I still have nightmares sometimes about our first one." The wind picked up, and a line of tall black clouds appeared on the horizon. "Huh. Guess thirty years out here gives you a feel for the weather." "No," Ramsay smiled. "Falling off horses does that. I'd better finish my walk-around before this hits." "And I'd better go get my slicker," she sighed. "Night, Mr. Ramsay." "Night." Putting the farm to bed was his second-favorite time of day. It was quiet, but not lonely. Not with fifty horses in their stalls. He leaned on the rails of the pastures, looking at the fields and the fences. He walked the barns: yearling barn, broodmare barn, stallion barn, making sure all was in order. A groom stayed all night in each, keeping them safe. At the moment, the grooms were engaged in calming a few of the more nervous Thoroughbreds, convincing them that the storm was safely outside. He watched them silently and moved on. They knew their jobs; no need for him to interfere. Besides, he had one more visit to make. A clear call, high and imperious as ever. "I'm coming," he said, grumbling. "Hold your humans." A stamp answered him. A dark head moved toward the stall window, and Ramsey smiled as the stallion greeted him softly. "Yes, I'm here." He opened the door and breathed in the stall smell of horse, hay, cleaning fluid, and fresh manure. An impartial observer would have seen a fiftyish man, whose red hair had turned white some time past, murmuring "How you doing, boy?" and patting a tall black stallion whose muzzle had gone white with age. A more knowledgeable observer, however, would have seen the look of eagles in the stallion's dark eyes, read the simple brass plaque on the door, and known that this was not just any man and his horse. This was the Black and Alec Ramsey. This was legend. Thunder cracked, and rain began to clatter on the roof. The horse startled for a moment, but then stood still again beneath Ramsay's calm hands and voice. "Been a while since I waited out a storm in your stall. And it's a long wet walk back to the house. Maybe I should stay, huh?" The sounds of the storm intensified. The stallion leaned closer, and Ramsay chuckled. "Okay. I'll stay." Lightning flashes strobed through the barn. "One thousand one, one...." The thunderclap sounded like a cannon. "That was too close," he said, and the warmth of the stallion and the dry straw felt like a comfort. Lightning flashed again, brighter, and grew brighter still. Ramsey felt the stallion start to struggle and tried to soothe him. But he could not move, and the light was blinding him. And then he stood in a dark stall. The rain had fallen silent, the thunder had moved off, and the Black was gone. REST STOP UPSTATE NEW YORK "All I wanted was to take some vacation time and go home. I didn't even want to talk to the guy. I mean, what good would it do? If he's not bought, Janet Reno certainly is. And so, to keep me away from Martha's Vineyard, they're making me chase after a horse, Scully!" Scully just looked at him. "What?" She closed her eyes, resisting the temptation to tell him that there were two agents here, not one. "The Black is not a horse. He's...." "He's got four hooves and a tail. That sounds like a horse." "Mulder. I let you soliloquize six times today." She saw a pop machine and her expression lightened. "But it _is_ your turn to buy." He fished a couple dollars out of his pocket and fed them to the hungry vending machine. "Iced tea sound good?" She nodded, and he punched the appropriate buttons. WHOMP. WHOMP. Scully grimaced. "Sounds like a bomb going off." "Sinus bothering you?" "Yes." "Still want to soliloquize?" "If we can find someplace shady to do it." They wandered outside. Scully held her unopened bottle of iced tea to her cheeks and the sides of her nose, easing both the heat and her swollen sinuses. "Where was I?" "The Zen stallion." She opened her eyes and her bottle. "The Black is not a horse, Mulder. He's a national monument -- Secretariat and Man O'War and Eclipse, all rolled into one grand old racehorse. Except that this horse was born and bred in the Arabian mountains. He's been the subject of multiple theft attempts over the years, at least one of them by an Arab political leader. Maybe someone decided that this theft would demonstrate that they could strike anywhere. Then again, it might just be a straightforward blow at the things Americans love." "Oh, like we care about some horse." Scully fixed him with a look. "Okay, so we care about it. Why do we care?" "Why did you care about going to NASA?" "NASA. Racehorses. If there's some kind of 'going fast' connection here, I wanna go investigate NASCAR." Scully took another sip of iced tea and closed her eyes again. "When I was eight years old, I wanted a pony more than anything else in the world," she said quietly. "At first, I wanted one just like Admiral Drake's daughter had: a bay mare with a little snip right here," she said, pointing to a spot on her cheek. "American Shetland," she added absently. "Mackie was her name." "The pony or the girl?" Scully opened her eyes. "The pony, of course. Admiral Drake's daughter was a spoiled brat named...oh, Amber or Heather or something like that. Heather, I think. But Mackie was sweet. "Anyway, I made my mother drive by the stables so I could see the horses out in the paddock, and I checked out every book in the library that was about horses or riding. There was even a book with pictures of horse anatomy and descriptions of how to treat various illnesses. I spent hours poring over it, and wondering how it related to dogs and cats and human beings. I researched everything. How much ponies cost -- or mustangs from BLM. That was my second choice. How much for feed and stall rental. How much for riding lessons. I totted it all up, presented it to my parents, and argued my case." "So what happened?" "I had three brothers and sisters," she said, shrugging. "Mom and Dad told me there was no way they could afford a pony, and that I was too young to get a job -- that was my other idea. But they sent me to a camp that summer that had horseback riding as an activity." "But you never got a pony." "No." Her face looked wistful. "I have a gun, a badge, a medical bag, a cellphone, and a computer. No pony. But I did learn how to braid my own hair."