From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Wed, 25 Jun 2008 13:26:57 -0500 (CDT)
Subject: Choose (MSR, post-Requiem, 1/1) by JL
Source: direct

Reply To: jaimerockifies@yahoo.com



Title: Choose 
Author: JL 
Email: jaimerockifies@yahoo.com 
Category: MSR, Post-Requiem 
Rated: PG
Feedback:  Yes, of course.  Feed me, Seymour!
Disclaimer:  I own nothing.  No, really.  Nothing.  No--
seriously? Nothing. 
Archive:  If it makes you happy. Just drop me a line and 
let me know.
Note:  This is actually a complete and total 
revision/overhaul of a very, very, very old story of mine.  
I basically kept the foundation and demolished the rest.  



Thanks to J.  A good beta is hard to find.




--- _
Choose
By JL _



---

"I'm not frightened.  We're wide awake, the rain hits now, 
we will _be slow and careful.  If I thought this would never 
happen again I _would die.  But this is wrong, nobody dies 
from lack of sex.  It's _lack of love we die from."
 "The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood

---



Bellefleur, Oregon 
May 21, 2000
The Sleep-Inn
_2:58am _  _ 


When Scully answered the phone, a thin cloud of sleep 
pillowing her, Mulder, as always, was already knee-deep in 
conversation. 

"I was just watching Jekyll and Hyde, channel 23 if you're 
interested, and it got me to thinking about these alien-
human hybrids that I suspect may be rearing their ugly 
heads again.  Scully, what do you know about Einstein's 
theory of Quantum Trickery?" 

Scully blinked.  Mulder loved to begin in the middle of a 
sentence, leaving her to somehow extricate its origins.   

"Mulder, what the hell time is it?"

She could almost see him, his brows pinched in earnest 
confusion.  "Why?" he hedged.  "Were you asleep?"  

Scully rubbed at her forehead, the bridge of her nose. "No, 
not really."

"Yeah," said Mulder, "I didn't think you would be."

Scully tucked her hands beneath her head, the phone close 
to her lips. Mulder's voice, it was the familiar sound of 
late nights, of sunflower seeds, of otherwise vacant motel 
rooms and brown wool comforters.  

She sighed, answered, "No reasonable definition of reality 
could be expected to permit this." She pictured the physics 
lab from college, the long black tables, the lit burners.  

"Boris Podolsky?" asked Mulder.

"Einstein," said Scully.  "From what I recall, he had very 
little faith in his own theory.  Quantum Trickery was a 
sort of scientific whimsy, an example of the absurdity of 
quantum mechanics.  He ultimately never considered the 
theory plausible and said as much when the paper was 
published."

"Ah, yes, but do you know what he'd affectionately 
nicknamed this so-called-whimsical phenomenon?"

Mulder's pause was like the space between heartbeats. 
Scully curled indulgently into the phone, the room around 
her inky and still, her body comforted by this safe embrace 
of their shared intellect. "I suppose I could guess," she 
murmured, "But why don't you tell me." 

"Just picture it, Scully," said Mulder, his voice trailing 
on a delighted lilt. "Two diametrically opposed positions 
existing as one.  It's seemingly impossible, a paradox, 
even.  Up down, black white, dead alive.  Einstein may have 
thought it ultimately absurd given the limitations of 
twentieth century knowledge, but he did acknowledge that 
the boundaries of science hadn't yet reached their limits.  
The possibility of something existing as both its point and 
counterpoint, while seemingly absurd, is at the very least 
plausible in terms of what we don't yet KNOW of science, 
right?" Mulder took a breath, waiting.

"In theory, I suppose," answered Scully. "But I still don't 
understand what this has to do with aliens." 

"Spooky Action at a Distance," said Mulder, connecting the 
dots for her from the end to the middle, revealing only a 
patch of the larger picture.  "That's what Einstein called 
it.  Spooky Action at a Distance.  Sounds a little dirty in 
the wrong context, doesn't it?"

In the dark, Scully pictured Mulder's nude back, the planes 
and curves of him highlighted only by streetlamp, the way 
he'd stood at her living room window, static yet somehow 
still in motion.  She had come up behind him, pressed her 
cheek to his spine, her palms to his shoulder blades.  
She'd said nothing.  After a time, he finally whispered to 
her, his head bowed, we'll just be barren together, Scully, 
and pulled her into his arms, her body trembling against 
him, wilted, gasping, silent. 

"Mulder," said Scully, pushing out the memory with the heel 
of her palm.  She cupped the phone between the pillow and 
her ear. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

"Ah, Scully," said Mulder.  "Why must you always insist 
upon skipping the fun part?"

Scully sighed.  "When we get to the fun part, Mulder, I'll 
be sure to give you a reason."   

Mulder chuckled, the sound a reassuring balm.  "Alright, 
alright," she said, curling closer to the phone,  "Let's 
hear why Einstein's most implausible theory has allowed you 
to have some sort of alien-hybrid epiphany."  

There was a sudden jolt in her lower abdomen, and Scully 
sucked in a loud, sharp breath.  Her back ached as if she'd 
been bent forward all day, like a parenthesis.  She 
breathed in and out, deeply, and closed her eyes, just as 
she had, on and off, for the past day.  As the jagged edge 
of it passed, she opened her eyes.  She swallowed, cleared 
her brain, finished, "Or are you going to perhaps include a 
fireworks display in this unwieldy introduction of the 
actual thing on your mind?" 

For a moment, there was no response. Then, on the edge of a 
loud breath:

"Scully."

Sometimes, Mulder used her name as the introduction of an 
unspoken argument.

"What?"

When Mulder paused again, she could hear his loud, nervous 
breathing. "Scully, if you're still not 100%- "

"Mulder."  Scully swallowed a backwash of acid.  "I think 
I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."  She 
prayed she wouldn't undermine her own point by having to 
run to the bathroom in the middle of a sentence. She opened 
her eyes and felt suddenly as if cartoon birds had been 
circling her head. 

"Look..." _She cleared her throat.  "You know how grateful I 
am for you, for... earlier. But I'm telling you, I'm going 
to be fine. I'll see a doctor when we get back, and all 
will be right with the world,  okay?  Now tell me some more 
about this quantum mechanics link that so compelled you to 
call me at three in the morning."

For a moment, the only sound was the rustling of her own 
comforter, the unintelligible bleating of Mulder's 
television.  

"Please," she finished, perhaps a bit more forcefully than 
she would have liked.  

"Scully- "

"Please, Mulder."

She could feel him pacing, shaking his head.  Scully closed 
her eyes.  

"You've heard about these experiments," he finally 
continued, his words slow, like a long, exasperated sigh.  
"This work testing molecular synchronicity." 

"I've read about it," said Scully. "I believe the goal is 
to get a group of atoms to spin both clockwise and 
counterclockwise at once.  The effect would be something 
like..." Scully paused for a moment, recalling a family 
trip to Radio City Music Hall, long ago.  She'd crawled 
onto her father's lap, nestled into the safety of his neck, 
and counted the dancing girls, their perfect legs, their 
sequined costumes, their beautiful faces, all of them 
impossibly the same.  "It would be like a line of 
Rockettes," she murmured, seeing their synchronized kicks, 
the dazzling stripe of them.  "It would allow for two 
diametrically opposed forces to co-exist, the theory being 
that all atoms would necessarily react the same way until 
one finally understood that it had been existing in a 
metaphysically impossible situation.  It would be like... 
like Wile Coyote running off the edge of a cliff, then 
realizing the land was gone.  The atom would hypothetically 
have to choose - clockwise or counterclockwise.  All others 
would then fall in line behind the first, regardless of 
where they existed in the galaxy. Perfect synchronicity. 
Like an endless line of Rockettes."

"Scully, did I ever tell you that I shredded all my 
encyclopedias exactly seven years ago?"

"Shredded?" Scully snuggled deeper into the comforter. "I 
thought you just hollowed them out to store your porn."

Mulder breathed a short laugh.  "What, and waste the 
hollowed out dictionaries?"

Scully chuckled.  

"So supposedly," said Mulder, beginning again in the middle 
of his thought,  "This principal can't be properly studied, 
not with our current technology. But that doesn't mean the 
possibility doesn't exist, or that it can't occur 
naturally. And so it got me to thinking, this principal is 
a little like Jekyll and Hyde, isn't it?  Two equally 
dominant opposites, this idea that they can only remain in 
synchronicity for a moment before one necessarily 
overpowers or kills the other?"

Scully frowned.  "I'm still not quite understanding where 
you're going with this."

"Aliens and humans," said Mulder.  "Their DNA and ours - 
we've seen failed, experimental versions of it before, 
right? We've seen what happens when the two physiologies 
share the same space.  We know that a body pulled two ways 
can't currently sustain the strain."

"Okay.  Then you're talking about what, here?"

"The possibility of a hybrid that could reverse itself," 
said Mulder. "An answer created by nature - just like a set 
of atoms under the right set of circumstances, rotating 
both clockwise and counterclockwise.  If such a thing were 
to occur, at least according to Einstein, it means all 
others would necessarily align to it, like your Rockettes.  
It would be the next evolutionary step forward, it would be 
the perfect set of variables randomly occurring at the 
perfect moment in time; one metaphysical impossibility in a 
single person, and poof!"

"'Poof,' Mulder? That's your big ending?"

"Poof, and it all changes, Scully."

Scully felt another unfamiliar twinge deep inside her 
abdomen.  Her body stiffened and she squeezed her eyes 
shut, concentrating on the cadence of her own breathing.  
In the space between reality and sleep, Mulder's hands 
cupped her face, his gaze intent upon hers, his thumbs 
hooking her hair over her ear. He traced the edges of her 
tender breasts, her rounded abdomen, he asked her if she 
was okay, if it was all okay, and then he brushed his lips 
across her chin, the hollow place between her neck and 
shoulder blade, and she pulled him close, just wanting to 
feel his heart, to make sure it still beat the way she'd 
remembered.  The only thought in her head was, yes, yes, 
this is real. He is alive. 

Scully jolted awake.  She breathed deeply, in and out, 
startled, disoriented, hoping Mulder hadn't noticed. 

"So you think..."  Her brain was thick with exhaustion, 
with crossed neurons.  She cleared her throat.  "You think 
somehow, this new evolutionary direction will simply... 
choose itself?  Like what? The wind shifting from North to 
South?  Mulder, it just doesn't work that way.  The 
possibility of such a radical evolutionary shift is so 
remote -- "

"But ultimately, quite simple," said Mulder.  "And isn't 
that what you're always on my case about?  My refusal to 
look for the simpler answer?"

Scully sighed.  "Well, yes," she said.  "But what you're 
theorizing is based on a shaky principal even Einstein 
himself didn't want to get behind.  You're also implying 
that we're essentially helpless, that we have no control 
over our own destiny. That the choice would be made for 
us."

Mulder hummed an assent, and Scully could hear the rustling 
of clothes on his end, the sound of a door closing, the 
rumbling of an ice machine.  "But isn't that what God 
supposedly does, Scully?  Make these decisions for us?"

Scully opened her mouth, although no sound came out. She 
grasped at the cross around her neck and considered the 
possibilities, the presence of God or the lack thereof.  
Instinctively, she knew what she wanted to believe.  But 
even here, alone, in the tidy darkness of her room, she 
found herself associating her faith with Mulder, the memory 
of his lips against her shoulder, her arm, her wrist, 
across her palms, the tips of her fingers; the sound of his 
murmured nonsense in her ear, a comforting lull, his mind 
turning thoughts much faster than he could voice them: tell 
me if it's too much, if it hurts, if I should stop, tell me 
what you want, I want to give you, I want to give you, give 
you, Scully, what if I could give you, what if a miracle, 
what if I could, Scully -- 

"You think the choice is up to God," Scully finally 
managed.  She brushed her fingers across the places where 
his lips had once been.

"Well, that's the million dollar question, isn't it?" 
answered Mulder.  "If a child was born that could 
miraculously withstand such perfect opposites, clockwise 
and counterclockwise --"

"-- the two biologies would be equal," murmured Scully.  
Then paused, and finished, "In theory."
 
"In theory," echoed Mulder. "So the question is, which of 
two powerful but equal opposites would be strong enough to 
overcome the other, to make the ultimate choice the rest of 
nature would fall in line behind?"

"I think the answer to that would either be Darwinist to 
the extreme or proof of the hand of God," Scully mused. 

"Or else it could mean that all miracles actually come from 
science, and vice versa," said Mulder, his voice like silk 
on skin.  "Which is a paradox in itself, if you think of 
it.  Courtesy of Darwin and Einstein.  Say, that would have 
looked great on a wedding invitation, don't you think?"

Scully hummed a sleepy non-answer.  She felt Mulder close 
to the core of her, perhaps closer than he'd ever been.  

In her comfortable haze, Scully wondered whether it was 
possible to somehow see through to the inside of herself, 
to see past the tiny joints and sinews of muscle, to see 
the miracle behind such connectors, the very things that 
made her able to touch, to be touched. _She wanted to ask 
Mulder's opinion, she wanted to remain in this secret place 
she shared with him, where science could theoretically 
merge with the unexplained, where nothing else mattered in 
the world. But that pang in her _stomach returned, a dark, 
twisty wave, and reality crashed her field of vision.

Yawning, Scully asked, "Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you really think we stand a chance?"

Mulder stammered slightly.  "What...how... what do you 
mean?"

"Hypothetically," said Scully.  "If such a far superior 
physiology does exist... from an evolutionary perspective, 
what could possibly allow for us to emerge the victor? 
Whether the choice is made by God, or..."

She shivered but didn't finish the thought.

Mulder took a breath as if in relief.  "Well," he said, "I 
think that's more of a philosophical question- why are we 
worthy of continuing on in this universe at all, and how is 
that worth measured, and by who? What makes the fundamental 
building blocks of humanity still worth building?  What 
made them worth building in the first place? Given all the 
horrible things we do to one another and to this planet... 
I don't know, Scully.  But I think it would come down to a 
matter of faith, the so-called simplest answer; our ability 
to express empathy, to form memories, to love one 
another..." 

A knock at the door startled Scully and she glanced again 
at the clock: 3:15am. Her pulse fluttered with too much 
blood to the heart, to the brain; blood, she knew, could 
always be spilled. She reached for her gun, that cold, 
familiar security blanket of her adulthood.  Her stomach 
twitched again.  She pressed her palm over the receiver, 
protective, lifted her head a degree.  "Who is it?"

"Steven Spielberg." 

- both outside the door and on the other end of the phone.  

Scully blinked. She gazed at the phone as if he might 
somehow emerge from it, then shook her head and hung up. 
Mulder, he never listened to a damn thing she said -- not 
if it threatened the polish of his beloved shining armor.  

Scully rose gingerly and crossed the room to the door.  She 
unlocked it and found Mulder standing on the other side, 
his jeans and t-shirt long traded for a pair of sweats.  
Scully folded her arms across her chest, head tilted.  

"I'm thinking of a four letter word to substitute for 
'fine,'" she said.  "Perhaps you know of one?"

"I might," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe.  
"I think it may actually be a synonym for 'I just want to 
get warm.'"  He smiled teasingly.  The lopsided tilt of his 
lips made her feel unsteady.  

"You're a riot," said Scully, arms still folded. 

Mulder looked her up and down.  "So," he said, "Do I need a 
password to get in here, or what?"

Scully's eyebrow arched. "Mulder, it's three in the 
morning."

Mulder shrugged.  "What if I said I had a suspicious 
pattern of marks on my lower back?"  He leaned dangerously 
forward, his mouth a crooked leer.  "Wanna check them out?" 

Scully rolled her eyes, but stood aside and let him in.  "I 
think that line really only works the first time," she 
mumbled, closing the door behind him. 

They turned and faced one another in the dark, studying 
outlines.  Why did everything feel so new, so changed, so 
unfamiliar here?  Mulder fell silent, his hands shoved in 
the pockets of his sweat pants.  He was staring at his 
feet.

Scully thought for a moment about her youth, Einstein, the 
twin paradox, one half of a pair hurtling into space, 
moving faster and faster, faster than the speed of light, 
faster than time, the other half of the pair left behind on 
Earth to age and wither and die.  If once this idea had 
been exhilarating to her, a mysterious principal of physics 
filled with limitless possibilities, it now created an 
image so terrifying as to leave her breathless.  In her 
mind's eye was Mulder, his broad shoulders, his long legs, 
his head bent over a file from the cabinet, his gaze rising 
slowly to meet hers, his mouth curled around something far-
fetched and exquisite. In all of her accumulation of 
experience, this was the thing Scully couldn't live 
without.

"Scully?" Mulder's hand on her wrist.

Scully startled.  "Sorry," she said, shaking her head.  
"I'm just tired."

Mulder tapped his finger against her pulse.  "Are you 
sure?"

"Mulder," she said, softly, "As I told you at least twice 
earlier, I'm fine.  Really."

Uncertainty stretched between them like a ragged 
clothesline.  

"I know," he said.  His eyes met hers, searching. He seemed 
to be deliberating something.  

"Mulder?"

"Scully, what if I'm here because I'm the one who's not 
fine?"

Scully's brows furrowed. She quickly raked him over with 
her long-practiced Doctor's Gaze of Scrutiny, the thick 
wealth of Mulder's medical history scrolling through her 
brain.  She stepped closer to him and brushed her hand 
across his brow.  "What is it?" she asked, searching his 
face for any sign of fever.  "Are you sick?" Her knuckles 
touched his forehead.  "It might be that something's going 
around..."

Mulder let out a slow breath, stilled her hands between 
them, shook his head at her, no. Then his mouth was on hers 
before she could speak, his lips soft and moist and 
undemanding.  There they lingered, heads tilted, eyes 
closed, until everything else on Earth evaporated.

When finally Mulder pulled away, Scully found she couldn't 
seem to recall her first name. She touched an index finger 
to his chin, kissed the corner of his mouth.  "That was 
nice," she remarked, her palms wandering across his chest.  
"What's the occasion, Mulder?"

He shrugged.  "I need an occasion to kiss you?"

Scully's eyebrow arched.  

Mulder nodded to himself.

"When you left," he began, starting somehow at the middle 
of it, his fingers brushing the line of her jaw,  "The 
truth is, Scully, I... I couldn't sleep at all.  I got up 
and I paced, I went for a run, I turned on the TV, I 
accidentally stumbled over a rare quantum mechanical theory 
that I believe may eventually be the key to eradicating all 
alien life on this planet - nothing special or fancy, you 
know how I am - and I just, I don't know.  I wanted to talk 
to you about it.  I wanted to see you. And, I... I know 
it's late, Scully, and I know this is all completely 
inappropriate, and that I'm ultimately risking censure or 
termination or something for consorting with you here -- 
because the bureau is paying for it, or some other petty 
bullshit excuse that used to work for us, but I... I needed 
this.  I don't even think I realized just how much.  And I 
think you need it, too." He leaned forward and touched his 
forehead to hers.  "Scully, what's wrong is that something 
is happening here that I can't explain or stop. And the 
more I entertain the frightening possibilities of it, the 
more I realize that the only thing I'm really afraid of is 
losing you."
 
Scully's heart pounded.  She felt something slowly slipping 
out from under her -- the safety of the floor, perhaps, 
once so reliable and steady and constant.  The floor was 
slipping now.  

"Mulder," she whispered, distrustful of her own voice.  
"It's late, really late to be having this conversation..."

His hands on her shoulders, their foreheads pressed in an 
intimate kiss. He asked, "Do you want me to go, Scully?"

Scully's breathing hitched. Her arms went reflexively 
around his neck.  She had a vision of the two of them lying 
side by side on the hood of his Lariat rental car.  They 
gazed up at the night sky, their fingers interlaced, as 
Mulder explained to her the annual phenomenon of Perseids.  
Imagine, he'd said, as a breeze enfolded them, How we could 
lie here and be sprinkled by dust that's thousands of years 
old, dust that has seen the Earth from a vast distance, 
that has seen the deaths and births of other stars, that 
has circled the sun and been to the ends of the universe 
and returned inexplicably to rediscover us.  Imagine it, 
Scully, if we - she had kissed him before he could finish, 
the tug of his passion and his brilliance so great she'd 
thought she might die if she couldn't become part of it.  
Meanwhile, above their heads, in the space between her 
gentle explorations, the ancient dust of Perseid meteorites 
raced across the sky.

"Why are you asking me questions you know the answers to," 
she said, her fingertips against his jaw, along his chin.  
"You've always been so relentless in figuring out the 
truth, Mulder.  How can you act like you don't know it now?  
When I told you before, I'm not going anywhere." 

Mulder threaded his fingers through her hair.  Scully's 
scalp tickled.  She felt safe. 

"I think we have to pick a direction, Scully," said Mulder, 
his eyes aligned with hers.  He brushed his thumb over her 
jaw.  "We can't linger here forever, you know."

Mulder kissed her cheek.  Scully closed her eyes, 
memorizing the texture of him, understanding suddenly the 
road his mind had taken.  She took a breath, answered, "You 
know, you could have just said that to begin with, Mulder."

Mulder chuckled.  "What, and lose out on all that awesome 
buildup?"

Scully shook her head at him, eyebrow arched.  Mulder 
pushed a strand of hair over her ear, still chucking 
nervously.  They stood there for another moment in silence. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, finally.  He squeezed her 
forearms.  "I should have thought this through better.  We 
have to get up in, what? Four hours?"

Scully pulled away to look at him.  The streetlight cut 
through her blinds, cast him in alternating hues of navy 
and lavender.  He smelled of motel shampoo and spice and 
sweat and pressed shirts, a scent she had memorized as 
uniquely his over the course of their seven-year 
partnership. 

Only hours earlier, he had asked her to leave this behind, 
to go home, to forget the work, to pull away from him, to 
abandon what would eventually consume her if ever she 
admitted that what she really wanted was to be consumed. As 
if severing all ties to him, the only real, honest thing in 
her life, would right all the wrongs and make sense of the 
lies. As if that was what she wanted.  Seven years of 
breaking through impossible barriers - walls between this 
world and the next, between science and the unexplained, 
between the truth and lies, between the government and its 
dark, insidious shadow.  Seven years, and only one wall 
still remained.  

Scully tugged on his hands, in her mind the image of red 
ink scrawled across the title page of her senior thesis: 
suggestion, Dana: show, don't tell.  

Scully's eyes met his, and she took a small step towards 
the bed.  "It's late," she said carefully, taking another 
step.  "Let's get some sleep."

Mulder nodded, following her lead. 

Scully pulled him down onto the mattress with her, his 
front to her front, their hands palm to palm, their fingers 
lacing. 

"Scully," he said, gazing at their hands, "Do you ever 
wonder whether it's possible that some other fate exists 
out there, someplace where we made different choices and as 
a result, we discovered the whole truth and nothing but the 
truth, freed ourselves up to pursue the happily ever after 
and... yadda yadda yadda?"

Scully yawned. "Define 'happily ever after,' Mulder," she 
said, pulling him closer, the tip of his nose edging hers.  

"Can't," said Mulder. "Hollowed out all my old 
dictionaries."

Scully chuckled. Mulder gathered her slowly into his arms, 
brushing her hair away from her forehead.  "I guess... 
wherever the truth takes us," he said.  "Knowing you'll be 
wherever that is."

Scully ran her fingers along his hairline, pressed a kiss 
to his throat, where his quickening pulse answered all of 
her unasked questions.  "That was unusually smooth, 
Mulder," she murmured, burrowing against his neck, her eyes 
closing.

"Yes, well, I am a rather smooth talker," joked Mulder.  
"And it only took you seven years to succumb to my unusual 
brand of charm.  I should maybe teach a class in the finer 
aspects of dating, don't you think?"

Scully tried to chuckle, although in her haze, it sounded 
more like a sigh. Drowsy, she asked, "Is that what we're 
doing, Mulder?  Dating?" 

Mulder ran his hands through her hair.  "I really have no 
idea," he said. "What IS the truth here, Scully?"

"The truth," Scully murmured, that word like a lifeline, an 
anchor, the rope holding a boat to shore. Her mind played 
over and over it even as she began to lose consciousness.  
"I hear the truth sets you free, Mulder..."

Mulder held her close. He whispered into her ear, "It 
does."

Scully clutched his hand between both of hers, tucked it 
under her chin. 

Together, they slept.

--

END

(I think we all know what happens after that.  Tres 
tragic.) In any case, I just sort of wanted to capture that 
last moment between them -- or what I imagined it might be.  
After watching Requiem, I imagined that the last barrier 
between them might be the act of admitting to each other 
what they were actually doing, and whether they should 
allow it to bleed into their work hours.  So hopefully, I 
managed just the right amount of repression for the 
purposes of this story.  

My thanks to the following resources: 
Wikipedia (as Michael Scott says, "anyone can add anything 
to it, so you know you're getting the best possible 
information.")
The New York Times December 2005 article by Dennis Overbye, 
"Testing Einstein's Strangest Theory."

Special thanks to my non-XF beta for smacking me when the 
prose doesn't work, and for not letting me get away with 
any awkward bullshit.  Your kungfu is best.

Feedback: jaimerockifies@yahoo.com