Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER TWENTY 

Chal was sitting among his Badger relatives when the beating 
began. Each thudding punch caused his stomach to contract, 
each groan made him clench his fists in anger. He wanted to 
stand up for Muhl-dar, battle the outraged mob, stop their 
vicious onslaught against this man who had saved his life two 
moons ago. But he was just a boy, and the hulking Owl clansmen 
were full grown men.

A crack to the back of Muhl-dar's head felled him and he 
collapsed with a moan, face down in the grass. He didn't rise 
again; he didn't move at all. Chal hoped that would end the 
beating. He hoped the men would back off and discuss their 
next course of action, come to some sort of rational 
conclusion about the Eel stranger's fate. When they began to 
strike Muhl-dar across the shoulders with their spears, Chal 
could sit still no longer. He became incensed and leapt to his 
feet.

"Chal!" his mother gasped and grabbed his wrist.

He shook off her hand and took a step toward Muhl-dar and the 
brutish clansmen.

"Don't be a fool," warned Tla-Gin, his eldest brother, a 
broad-chested man of twenty years.

"It is not your concern," said their cousin, seventeen-year-
old Shush.

Chal scowled at them. "It *is* my concern. Have you forgotten 
that Muhl-dar saved my life? I owe him the same."

Without waiting to hear their responses, he sprinted to Muhl-
dar's rescue.

It didn't matter that he stood no chance against eleven or 
twelve strapping men with enormous fists and angry hearts. He 
ignored their size and numbers, and careened full tilt into 
Wol-la-chee, shouting, "Stop it! Stop it!"

Wol-la-chee elbowed him easily out of the way, before bringing 
his spear down with a crack against Muhl-dar's spine. The 
blade sliced into his skin and blood oozed from the wound.

Chal charged again, kicking Wol-la-chee and his brother Yeh-
hes in the ankles and calves. Yeh-hes shoved him backward, 
causing him to stumble and fall. In a heartbeat, he had his 
legs under him again and was buzzing at the men like an 
irritated wasp, grabbing their spears and clinging to their 
arms, trying his hardest to slow their assault, all the while 
yelling at them to put down their weapons.

"Go away, boy," Lin shouted, raising a hand but not going so 
far as to strike him.

"I will not! What you are doing is wrong."

Wol-la-chee lifted Chal off his feet and carried him away from 
the fracas. Tossing him roughly onto the grass, he warned, 
"Stay there, or I will not be so gentle with you next time."

Tears of frustration stung Chal's eyes, blurring Wol-la-chee's 
retreating back. Blinking, he spotted Dzeh standing off to one 
side, watching the beating, but not lifting his spear against 
Muhl-dar.

He ran to him and positioned himself in front of him. Refusing 
to crouch respectfully at the elder man's feet, he 
straightened his shoulders and stared directly into his eyes.

"Stop them," he said in his firmest voice.

Dzeh huffed with irritation. "I will not."

"Why not?" Chal loathed the way his voice whined like a 
fussing infant. Clearing his throat, he said more forcefully, 
"No man deserves such cruel treatment."

"He is not a man; he is a chindi."

"He brought Gini home."

Uncertainty rippled across Dzeh's frowning lips. He glanced at 
the bear claw necklace and the Eel bracelet Chal was wearing.

"She would not have left in the first place if not for him," 
he growled.

"You do not know that. You said yourself she was frightened 
by--" A knife of guilt sliced through Chal's gut, silencing 
his argument. It had been the prospect of Joining with him 
that had scared her enough to make her run away. 

"What is important is that he brought her back," Chal said 
when he found his voice again.

"She is nearly dead!" 

"And he was trying to save her."

"Or show us how vile he is."

"No, Dzeh, he risked his life to bring her here. Cannot you 
see that?"

Dzeh's expression turned as inflexible as stone. "I see 
nothing but a dying girl and the evil man who took her from 
me."

Chal followed Dzeh's pitiless gaze to where Muhl-dar lay flat 
on his belly, surrounded by a flurry of waving arms and 
pounding spears. Wallops drummed his back like the hooves of 
stampeding bison. 

Desperate, he searched the gathering of onlookers for allies. 
The people of four clans stood in a large semi-circle, 
watching intently but unmoving, not one clansman willing to 
intervene on the stranger's behalf. Not even Klizzie, who wept 
openly as she crouched over Gini, laid out on the ground, 
receiving prayers from the Shaman.

Not knowing what else to do, Chal rushed the angry Owl 
clansmen again. Pushing between them, he threw himself onto 
Muhl-dar's back. He blocked their attack by spreading his arms 
like an eagle's wings. 

"Hold your weapons still!" Lin ordered. He tried to pry Chal 
loose, but the boy clung to Muhl-dar with all his strength.

The Owl clansmen paused, spears held aloft, uncertain what to 
do next. No one wanted to hurt the boy; it was Muhl-dar who 
was the enemy.

"Get up!" Yeh-hes shouted. 

Wol-la-chee waggled his spear in warning. "We will beat you, 
boy, if you do not move out of our way."

"No, you will not!" Chal's brother Tla-Gin roared. He came 
jogging forward, Shush close on his heels. 

Ten or so Badger Clansmen quickly joined them. Enmity lit 
their eyes as they paired off toe-to-toe with the riled Owl 
men. Tla-Gin drew his knife. Several others did the same. Wol-
la-chee and his kinsmen aimed their spears at the new 
challengers.

"Harm my brother, Wol-la-chee, and you and your chindi kinsmen 
will feel the sting of my blade," Tla-Gin threatened.

Wol-la-chee thrust his face in front of Tla-Gin's nose and 
snarled, "Remove your filthy Badger brother from my sight."

The goodwill brought about by the Mastodon Feast was 
disintegrating as easily as a sandstone knife, while 
generations of fierce competition and festering quarrels were 
threatening to erupt like lightning bolts from a thundercloud. 
Chal began to tremble, believing he had sparked this fight. He 
knew that the slightest provocation would fan the argument 
into a blood feud.

Otter clansmen hurried from the crowd to align themselves with 
their Badger kin. Hunters from Turtle Clan joined sides with 
their Owl cousins. If something wasn't done soon, many men 
would be wounded or die on this field tonight, and the hatred 
spawned by their lost blood would last for countless 
generations.

"Stop this!" Lin shouted, trying to be heard above the rumble 
of voices. He pinned his Trading Partner Cha-Gee with a 
desperate stare. Cha-Gee was Badger. Lin was Owl. "We are not 
each other's enemies," he declared.

Cha-Gee considered his words, and then moved to his side in a 
show of solidarity.

Painted in the contrasting patterns of their ancestors, these 
two elders, respected by all, represented two disparate clans. 
It relieved Chal to see them standing side-by-side, rather 
than on opposite ends of a spear. If anyone could preserve 
peace among this pack of wolves, they could.

"It is the Eel stranger who brings trouble upon us, my 
brothers," Cha-Gee said, pointing to Muhl-dar. "We must punish 
him, not each other."

Grunts of agreement frosted the chilly night air. Heads bobbed 
as spears and knives were lowered. Behind them the bonfire 
snapped and crackled, hurling sparks at the sky.

"Tie him up," Lin said. "We will decide what is to be done 
when he comes to."

*   *   *

The first rays of dawn filtered through the trees, stirring 
the morning mist with long ghostly fingers. Vapor swirled 
around stumps and blowdowns, writhing upward from the frigid 
swamp like steam in Hell's kitchen. Scully shivered in her 
well of mud, clutching Mulder's coat around her trembling 
shoulders, although it provided little protection against the 
cold and damp. Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. She 
was suffering from the earliest stages of hypothermia.

Food and water. Her body needed food and water to generate 
heat. Eating and staying hydrated were the best ways to 
prevent hypothermia in chilly, wet conditions.

With numbed fingers she fumbled through the pack, searching 
for the last of the smoked meat. She found a plum instead and 
bit urgently into it.

A breeze stirred her hair.

Please, no wind, she silently pleaded with God, knowing it 
would rob her of essential body heat and accelerate her 
declining condition. 

Damn it! Why hadn't she remembered sooner? Ninety percent of 
heat loss was through the head. She knew that. She did. Yet 
she was sitting here with her head uncovered. Quickly, she 
hooded herself with Mulder's jacket and cursed her lack of 
focus.

How soon before she became completely disoriented?

Already she was experiencing uncontrollable shivering, loss of 
coordination, drowsiness. Without treatment, those symptoms 
would be followed by reduced mental acuity, shock, and 
decelerated respiration.  

Hypothermia patients who are warmed too quickly often die from 
cardiac arrest. Did Mulder know how to treat her if her body 
temperature slid below ninety-five degrees? Below ninety?

She clapped her hands and beat her upper arms in an effort to 
increase blood flow and stave off shock. The motion knocked 
the jacket from her head and she cursed out loud, "God damn 
it!"

The spider on the log above her reacted to her outburst by 
extending one cautious leg into the air as if testing the 
invisible current of her impatience. Its web, laden with dew, 
shimmered beneath its weight. Short hairs bristled on its 
bulbous abdomen, and it worked its charcoal-colored jaws as if 
warming up for breakfast. Scully knew that most species of 
spiders had eight tiny eyes located on the top of their 
cephalothorax, which could detect only light and dark. Where 
she'd learned this, or why, she tried to recall.

Missy. Missy had taught her about spiders.

"They're an important part of the ecosystem," Missy had said, 
after rescuing one from a jar in Bill and Charlie's bedroom. 
She released it into the backyard, then sat down on the grass 
to watch it crawl away, while she explained the concept of 
biodiversity and the ecological role of insects to her twelve-
year-old sister. Missy planned to join Greenpeace as soon as 
she was old enough. It was 1976 and baby seals were being 
bludgeoned to death in Newfoundland.

Dana admired Missy's concern for all living things, and the 
grisly news coverage about the seals was disturbing, yet she 
found it difficult to expand her sympathy to spiders.    

A blue-green darning needle careened into the web above her 
legs, and became entangled. The spider rushed toward it, 
guided by vibration. Shooting silk from its abdomen, the 
spider quickly and efficiently buried its victim alive inside 
a thick, opalescent cocoon.

"Did you know some spider species are social?" Missy had asked 
all those years ago, nudging the lone spider toward freedom.

"Like bees and ants?"

"Not quite. Worker bees and ants are sterile -- only the queen 
can lay eggs -- but arachnids in a social colony can all 
reproduce." Melissa's use of the word arachnid impressed her 
younger sister, which was no doubt why she'd said it.

Both girls were lying on their stomachs to get a bug's eye 
view of the yard. 

"Most social species live in the rain forests of South 
America," Missy continued, "where they build giant hammock-
shaped webs. Each nest can contain tens of thousands of 
spiders."

Dana rolled onto her back to gaze up at the summer sky. Fluffy 
white clouds floated across a vivid blue backdrop. She 
imagined them full of crawly spiders.

"They guard their eggs against predators, move egg sacks to 
parts of the web with the most comfortable temperatures, and 
feed their hatchlings," Missy said. "They don't distinguish 
between their own progeny and those of others."

Dana tried to picture this big, caring family of spiders. 

"Group living has its benefits," her sister went on. Missy 
planned to live in a commune after her stint with Greenpeace. 
"Working cooperatively, social spiders can capture prey ten 
times their size. An individual spider is lucky if it can 
capture a bug only twice its size."

Listening to Missy was a lot like listening to Mulder. Their 
matter-of-fact monotones were comforting, yet their choice of 
subject matter often left her feeling queasy.

She closed her eyes, shutting out the doomed darning needle 
and the hungry spider. She felt drowsy. And cold.

"No." Her eyes snapped open. Sleep was a death sentence. She 
needed to stay awake and wait for Mulder.

Should she sing? Pray?

Deciding on the latter, she cleared her throat and began. "The 
Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want; He makes me lie down in 
green pastures. He leads me... He leads me..."

What were the words? 

"Beside still waters; He restores my soul. He leads 
me...in...?"

She'd recited this Psalm countless times. It should come as 
easily as breathing.

"He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name's 
sake...uh..."

She felt more confused with each passing minute. Had she 
reached the next stage of hypothermia already?

"Even though I...I walk...through the shadow of-- Through the 
*valley* of the shadow of death--" 
 
A muted growl interrupted her prayer. The sound prickled her 
scalp and raised gooseflesh along her spine. Her head swiveled 
as she searched for the source. The swamp was filled with 
hiding places.

She sat up straighter to peer over the log.

There was nothing there.

Had she imagined the sound? 

The growl came again, real and about twenty yards to her left. 
It sounded like a cat...a big one. She grabbed her spear. It 
felt spindly and ineffectual in her hands. She held her breath 
to listen. Water trickled through the swamp, dripping from 
dead tree limbs; its patter sounded like gunshots to her 
oversensitive ears. Somewhere to the east a hawk screeched, 
vibrating her taut nerves. When she heard a twig snap, she 
jumped and gasped.

Her heart was hammering and she began to tremble 
uncontrollably. Seized by sudden desperation, she tried to 
yank her leg free. She knew it was useless, she was held fast, 
but her panic was overwhelming her. She tugged and twisted her 
leg. Pain shot through her knee. Damn it, she wanted to stand, 
to run. The danger would be on her at any second, a killer 
like the saber-toothed cat that had held her and Mulder 
captive in a tree their first night in the Pleistocene.
Where the hell was the damn thing?

"I-I w-walk through the valley...of the sh-shadow of death..." 
Teeth chattering, she faced the invisible threat with the only 
weapons she had: a primitive spear and her faith in God.

She imagined Mulder beside her, keeping her safe on their 
branch above the cat... 

"I f-fear no, no--"

A pair of yellow-green eyes appeared above the log. 

Oh God. It had enormous fangs.

Her prayer unraveled in her panicky mind as she waited for the 
cat to attack.      

*   *   *

Mulder shook the cobwebs from his head. Sunlight jabbed his 
eyes. Jesus, what time was it?

Instinctively he tried to check his wristwatch only to find 
his hands were bound behind his back.

Well, at least he wasn't tied to a goal post.

He was lying on his side in the ball field, and his head, neck 
and back ached almost as much as the night he'd been stoned. 
He licked his split lower lip and tasted blood.

Struggling to rise to a seated position, he focused on the 
dozens of scowling faces in front of him. It seemed the entire 
tribe was there, sitting cross-legged on the lawn watching 
him.

"Hey," he said, staring back at them.

Murmurs traveled through the gathering, sounding like the hum 
of tires on the 395 during rush hour. 

Mulder cleared his throat. "Have you heard the one about the 
priest, the rabbi, and the sorry, fucked up son-of-a-bitch who 
pissed off an entire tribe of Neanderthals without even 
trying?"

Heads swiveled. Fingers tightened around spears and knives.

"Guess so. Well...how about this then?" He focused his 
attention on Dzeh, who was sitting front and center. The 
hunter appeared both pissed and weary beneath his war paint. 
Was there a shred of compassion left in this old trading buddy 
of his? 

Quickly reviewing the limited number of caveman words he'd 
learned from Gini, Mulder dredged up a couple of phrases he 
hoped would prove helpful. "Yah-tay-go-e-elah ta-bilh. Al-khi-
nal-dzl" 

Had he mispronounced them? The words were tongue twisters. 
He'd meant to say he was there to make amends, and hoped that 
he and Dzeh could bury the hatchet...metaphorically speaking. 
From the shocked look on the tribesman's face, he guessed he'd 
messed up the translation.

He decided to switch gears and inquire about Gini's health 
instead. Enunciating each syllable with great care, he asked 
how she was doing.

Please, he prayed, don't let her be dead.

Dzeh's scowl deepened as he glanced over at a group of 
squatting figures thirty feet away to his right. Mulder 
recognized Klizzie and the medicine man among them. He guessed 
the small form stretched out on the ground was Gini. She was 
wrapped in furs, head cradled in Klizzie's lap. The medicine 
man was painting her cheeks with colorful muddy streaks, 
chanting quietly while rocking on the balls of his bare feet.

Mulder's hopes fell; a few daubs of paint weren't going to 
help Gini in any significant way. Hell, his magic keys were 
probably more potent. It looked like he'd risked his life and 
Scully's for nothing.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Several of the men were now on their feet, pointing at him and 
talking in raised voices. Dzeh remained seated and silent. The 
old hunter with the graying beard was pacing with palms 
extended, apparently trying to calm the malcontents.

Suddenly the boy Chal jumped to his feet and approached 
Mulder. His daring -- or foolhardiness -- brought gasps from 
the crowd. A woman with a long face beckoned him back, but he 
ignored her and came to stand a couple of feet away from 
Mulder's outstretched legs.

Mulder recognized the claw necklace he wore -- it had been the 
one Dzeh had given to him in trade for his wristwatch.
He noticed the boy was wearing that, too.

When Chal caught him eyeballing the watch, he unfastened it 
and held it out.

Mulder waved him off with a shake of his head, but the boy 
persisted. He laid the watch at his feet, then tentatively 
stepped forward and touched one extended finger to Mulder's 
belt buckle.

He wanted to trade? "You...you want my belt?"

"Alh-nahl-yah." Chal made what appeared to be swapping motions 
with his hands.

The long-faced woman shouted her disapproval. As did several 
others. Everyone seemed upset. Clearly Chal was going against 
some sort of tribal convention by offering this trade. Mulder 
wasn't sure if the tribe's objections were general ones or if 
they were aimed at him specifically.

He supposed it didn't matter. If he could make even one ally 
he'd be better off than he was right now.

"Uh...yeah, sure. But I can't..." He indicated his tied hands.

The boy withdrew a stone knife from the cord at his waist and 
cut Mulder's bindings. This unexpected action brought a 
cacophony of complaints.   

"Nih-hi-cho," the boy announced, causing Dzeh to rocket to his 
feet.

"No!" he shouted. This was followed by a lengthy diatribe, 
none of which Mulder understood.

When Dzeh finally wound down, Mulder proceeded to cautiously 
unbuckle his belt and slide it from its loops. When he had it 
free, he held it out to Chal.

The boy took it, looking pleased. The empty holster in 
particular seemed to interest him.

Smiling proudly, Chal lifted the trophy over his head and 
pivoted for all to see. He accompanied his action by an 
official-sounding proclamation that caused a variety of noisy 
responses -- objections mostly, but also a few grudging grunts 
of acceptance.

An alliance had been made and the idea clearly wasn't sitting 
well with most of the tribesmen, yet they refrained from 
rejecting it outright. Evidently trading goods -- or women -- 
created a strong bond between the men of this society. Mulder 
felt like an idiot for not recognizing the importance of it 
sooner.

Ignoring the tribe's scowls and distrustful stares, Mulder 
decided to nurture his fledging relationship with the boy, and 
maybe leverage it for help rescuing Scully.

"Chal...look." Mulder dug into his pants pockets. He pulled 
out everything he was carrying: wallet, keys, pocketknife, an 
assortment of change. He laid everything on the ground in 
front of him.

Then he untied and removed his boots and added them to the 
pile. 

Next, he rose slowly to his feet, palms exposed to show he 
meant no harm. Once standing, he stripped off his tattered 
jeans. "They've seen better days." He dropped them beside the 
worn boots. Without hesitation, he stripped off his boxers and 
tossed them onto the pile, too.

He stood naked in front of the tribe. "That's all I've got. 
Whaddaya say, buddy? Shall we trade?" With a wave of his hand, 
he indicated he was giving everything he owned to the boy. All 
his worldly goods. He hoped it would be enough.

Chal's eyes rounded in astonished wonder. Apparently this 
meager collection of 20th Century crap was actually worth 
something in the Ice Age, which made no logical sense -- not 
one of those items had helped Mulder survive his wilderness 
ordeal...well, except maybe his lucky boxers. The old adage 
that one man's trash is another man's treasure was evidently 
true. Every man in the tribe was practically drooling over the 
goods.

"Uh...there's more where that came from," he said, hoping to 
sweeten the pot, "back at the swamp." 

An uncomfortable expression furrowed Chal's young brow, 
causing Mulder's heart to lodge in his throat. The boy seemed 
at a loss. He placed the belt he'd just acquired next to the 
wristwatch at Mulder's feet, explaining with words and hand 
signals that he had little else of value to trade.

Again Mulder waved him off. "Not interested. I don't want your 
stuff; I want your help." Jesus, what was the fucking word for 
"help"? Gini must have used it a million times. "I want...uh, 
eda-ele-tsood."

Judging from the confused looks on everyone's faces, he'd 
either gotten the word wrong or this was a new concept. 

"Eda-ele-tsood?" Chal asked.

Mulder nodded his head vigorously. "Yes. Scully...uh, Day-nuh 
is trapped in the swamp. I need your help getting her out."

He was met with more confused stares. Damn it, why hadn't he 
taken the time to learn more of Gini's language? Using hand 
signals and a smattering of tribe words, he struggled to make 
himself understood. "Day-nuh...bilh-la di," -- he pointed in 
the direction of the swamp -- "bih-din-ne-dey." Shit, trying 
to get his point across was like playing fucking charades. 
"Ho-nez-cla... Tehi."

Come on, come on, put it together, kid.

Chal glanced over his shoulder and looked in the direction of 
the swamp. "Lahn," he said at last, nodding his head. "A-ha-
ne-ho-ta."

Mulder clapped his hands together. "Yes. Good."

Chal selected the pair of worn boots from the pile and pushed 
the other items back at Mulder.

"No, no, no," Mulder argued. "Take it all. Divvy it up with 
your buddies. Convince a couple of the bigger ones to come 
with us." It was going to take more than one skinny kid and an 
exhausted FBI agent to move that log.

Chal shrugged, not understanding, so Mulder launched into 
another round of Caveman Charades. After several excruciating 
minutes, he seemed to have clarified his intentions.

The boy pawed through the pile and selected the badge and the 
pocketknife. He carried them to two brutish men who were 
wearing face paint and hairstyles matching his own. After a 
bit of negotiation, the men smiled and took the items. Chal 
looked expectantly back at Mulder.

Would three of them be enough? That log was goddamn huge.

"Dzeh," Mulder called to his one-time friend. "How about it? 
Help me," he said in his most polite cavemanese. "Pretty 
please."

*  *   *       

Dzeh shook his head. He would *not* come to the aid of this 
chindi. If Chal and his foolish Badger kin wanted to throw in 
with devils that was their business. Crossing his arms, he 
turned his face insultingly toward the sky.

"Dzeh?" Chal marched over to him. This time he dropped to his 
knees out of respect. "It is an important thing when a man 
saves the life of another," he said, keeping his eyes 
downcast.

"No one has saved my life."

"No, but Muhl-dar has saved the life of your sister. Surely 
that means something to you."

"I do not see that my sister's life is saved." Dzeh couldn't 
bring himself to glance her way. To do so would knock the legs 
out from under him.

Chal was not eager to give up. "It is wrong to refuse the 
needs of your own kin," he said.

"And it is wrong to speak with such insolence to an elder," he 
growled. "Muhl-dar is no kin of mine."

Chal appeared to gather his courage. Ignoring Dzeh's warning 
about his rude behavior, he said in a voice loud enough for 
all to hear, "You laid on the sleeping skins with this man's 
mate. Your own mate carries his child. That makes him kin 
according to Clan tradition."

Dzeh glanced nervously at Muhl-dar to see if he would deny the 
boy's claim and expose Klizzie's secret. To his relief, Muhl-
dar didn't seem to understand what was being said, or he was 
unwilling to divulge the truth for his own reasons.

Chal gripped the bear claw necklace he wore, reminding Dzeh 
that he had gone with him to Ye-tsan Basin to find Gini.  
"Sometimes men who are not kin will help one another."

Shame heated Dzeh's cheeks. He lowered his head and said, 
"That is true." Muhl-dar was Chal's Trading Partner now. The 
relationship was an important one, recognized by the Clan as 
binding, despite the boy's youth and impudence. "I will go 
with you and Tla-Gin and Shush. I will help Muhl-dar." The 
words tasted bitter, but it was now a promise and he would not 
take it back.

*   *   *

Long after the men headed south to rescue Day-nuh, Klizzie 
kept vigil beside Gini in the Shaman's hut. The girl slept 
fitfully on a bed of silver wolf furs, a chestnut-colored 
beaver cloak pulled up to her chin. Her face glowed above the 
blanket as pale as a mid-winter moon. Her hair was tangled and 
damp with sweat, sticking to her forehead and neck. Klizzie 
mopped her brow with a scrap of doeskin, moistened with spring 
water and perfumed with mint. She was grateful beyond words to 
have her Little Chick returned to her, yet frightened to see 
her hovering so near the world of Spirits. 

Across the hut, the Shaman was heating tea in a tortoiseshell 
bowl over the fire. He added bits of dried moss and powdered 
bone, claiming these would help rid Gini of the curse that was 
invading her body. The Shaman claimed Yellow Spirits were to 
blame for her illness, evil vapors that hovered above swamps, 
put there to punish children for their waywardness. They 
stained the skin and eyes with the waxy hue of honeycomb. They 
stole the breath and weakened the limbs. They caused blood to 
seep from the eyes, nose, mouth, even the pores, although this 
had not yet happened to Gini. Without proper treatment and 
heartfelt prayers, death was certain.

"It is not too late to help her, is it?" Klizzie asked. She 
refreshed the doeskin, wetting it again with cool liquid and 
applying it to Gini's fiery brow.  

"Her life is in the hands of the Spirits." The Shaman gave her 
a sympathetic glance. He pointed at the gourd of spring water. 
"Cool her chest and arms, too."

Klizzie peeled back the blanket, exposing Gini's thin, bare 
chest. She began to massage her ribs with gentle strokes. 

"The Spirits are singing and you are safe, my Little One," 
Klizzie sang out of habit as she attended to the girl. "Hear 
their voices among the stars, carried down on a kind west 
wind." She wetted the doeskin with clean water from the gourd 
before wiping Gini's hands and wrists with it. The girl's bones 
felt smaller than she remembered, perhaps because her flesh was 
no longer supple, but felt like deer hide that had not been 
properly cured. She patted each small hand, washing them front 
and back, cooling each curled finger. Sorrow squeezed her heart 
at the thought of losing Gini a second time. "Tonight you are 
secure in my arms," she sang, feeling the sting of tears. They 
perched on her lashes, hot and blinding. "The hearth fire burns 
brightly beside us." One tear overflowed. Then another splashed 
down her cheek. "Tomorrow the sun will shine on your face, and 
food will fill your belly." The room blurred. She ached with 
worry. "When you are grown..." She was crying in earnest now, 
not caring if the Shaman saw her. The words of her song 
stuttered from her tightening throat. "I will still love you, 
my Child, and I will hope..." She continued to sing, resolving 
not to stop until Gini awoke. "The Spirits are singing and you 
are safe..." 

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
HANGAR 19, COMPUTER LAB
MAY 14, 1998
2:58 PM

"Damn it, we don't have time for this shit." Jason paced the 
length of the lab. Two armed guards stood at attention outside 
the open door. "Can we get on with it please?" he shouted at 
them. The guards remained fixed at their post, emotionless and 
unflinching, just as he knew they would.

"It's getting worse," Lisa warned. She was sitting at his 
computer, eyes glued to the monitor, thumbnail caught between 
her teeth.

The time model was swirling and expanding at an alarming rate. 
Jason expected to start feeling the effects of the distortion 
at any moment.

He crossed the room and leaned over Lisa's shoulder. "We've 
got to get them back...now!" Raising his voice for the benefit 
of the guards, he added, "We're all gonna be fucked if Kaback 
doesn't give the damn order!" 

"Jason, try to calm down," Lisa urged.

"Calm down? If we don't get those agents back where they 
belong sometime within the next hour, what you see on that 
monitor," -- he jabbed the screen -- "is going become a 
permanent reality. Do you have any idea what it'll be like to 
live in non-linear time, experiencing fragments of your life 
in no comprehensible order? Can you even imagine the 
disorientation? It'd be like putting your family snapshots 
through a paper shredder and then trying to make sense of 
them."

"Stop it, Jason! You're scaring me."

"Good. You should be scared." He raised his voice again. 
"Everyone should be scared!"

For the first time in months, Lisa's perpetual nervousness 
gave way to what Jason could only describe as steely resolve. 
"We're going to get them back. Kaback will give the order. 
Then I'll help you."

"Help me?"

She lowered her voice to an almost imperceptible whisper. 
"I'll help you end the Project."

Her offer took him by surprise. "Why?" he asked, mistrusting 
her motives.

"Because this can't be allowed to happen again."

"I thought you blamed me for this." He jerked his chin at the 
image on the monitor. "If I hadn't tried to sabota--"

"Shhh! Keep your voice down," she hissed through gritted 
teeth. "I'm not talking about the test or the ship or time 
travel."

He knelt in front of her and gripped her hands. "Then what are 
you talking about?"

"Hypnotic Thought Reform. Stroehmer and Pearsall and anyone 
else who thinks it's okay to rape people's minds and steal 
their memories. They're going to wipe our minds clean, too, 
you know, when this is over." She was trembling. "I'm scared, 
Jason. I don't want them in my head."

He considered the possibility. "I don't think they'll hurt us. 
It would end the Project."

"No it won't. Our part on this Project is over the moment we 
bring those agents back. Kaback will have our computer 
records. He can recreate the experiment without us."

She was right. Leaving the agents in the past would end linear 
time and, soon after that, all life on the planet. Bringing 
them back was tantamount to handing Kaback time travel on a 
silver platter, again ending the world. Either way, Jason and 
Lisa were caught between a rock and a fucking hard place.

"Lisa, we *have* to bring them back. There's no option there."

"I know...I know." Her eyes darted around the room as if she 
expected to pluck an answer out of thin air.

"Maybe there is something we can do," he said, getting an 
idea. "Maybe we can find a way to make sure Mulder and Scully 
don't lose *all* their memories...in case we lose ours."

"So that they keep investigating the case..." Excitement 
twitched the corners of her mouth.

"And maybe blow the cover off this experiment and the 
military's role in it." He wasn't quite sure how they would go 
about it, but preserving some shred of the agents' memories 
seemed to be the only viable solution.

*   *   *

EARLY EVENING, AUGUST 13
LATE PLEISTOCENE

Pausing at the edge of the swamp, the first thing Mulder 
noticed was the merry-go-round of vultures circling overhead. 
His stomach lurched at the sight of the birds -- six filthy 
scavengers, slicing his hopes to ribbons from one hundred feet 
up. 

Dear God, please don't let her be dead.

"She's this way," he said to the others, forgetting to use 
their language.

He charged across the swamp with crooked, splashing steps, 
cursing the logs that blocked his way. He didn't waste time 
looking over his shoulder to see if the others followed him. 
Sleep-deprived and muscle-weary, he was teetering on the edge 
of sanity, and the only thing that mattered -- the *only* 
thing -- was saving Scully's life.

He neared the tree that held her captive, recognizing it from 
the way its lethal limbs resembled an inside-out Iron Maiden. 
To his horror, a massive saber-toothed tiger was perched atop 
the log between a spray of limbs; its head was submerged in 
the well that concealed Scully. 

The trunk below it was covered with blood. Lots of blood.

A keening moan prefaced his scream, "Get away from her!"

Like a madman, he stampeded toward the cat, brandishing his 
spear.

He caught a glimpse of Scully's ruffled hair all but hidden 
beyond the tiger's slumped shoulders.

Oh God, was she already dead?

He lunged at the tiger and jabbed his spear into its back. 
Again and again he drove the weapon deep into the beast's 
ribcage, bellowing at the top of his lungs, "Leave her alone! 
Leave her alone!" Only when Dzeh's strong fingers closed 
around his arm did he slow his thrusts and realize the tiger 
was already dead...that it had been dead for several hours. 
The blood on its fur was drying, and its body sagged. The 
shaft of Scully's spear protruded gruesomely from its left eye 
socket.

Mulder scrambled to her side. His arms and legs shook 
uncontrollably as he dropped to his knees in the mud beside 
her, soaking the buckskin leggings and breechclout he'd 
received in trade for his threadbare 20th Century clothes. 
Scully's eyes were closed and her face was as colorless as a 
ghost. 

"Scully?" He touched her cheek and recoiled at its icy feel. 
"No, no--" He took hold of her shoulders, draped by his 
jacket, and gave her a gentle shake.

Her bloodless lips quivered. "Mul-lerr," she moaned.

The slur of her voice wrapped his scoured soul with 
unprecedented hope, separating him at last from his panic. He 
lifted her frozen hand to his lips. 

"Scully, wake up, sweetheart."

She was so cold. 

"Please," he begged.

Her lids fluttered. Pale lashes lifted from paler cheeks, 
revealing liquid blue eyes...beautiful, deep pools.

She gave him a tired smile and rasped, "Back already?"

"A horde of wild Neanderthals couldn't keep me away."

Her gaze traveled to his buckskin garments, and then over his 
shoulder to his unlikely companions. "Haven't lost your 
persuasive powers, I see."

"We're gonna get you out," he promised, "But first..."

He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, kissing her 
with all the love and relief and passion he had in him.

Tla-Gin and Shush responded with ribald "oh ho's" and smacky 
kissing sounds, making him smile and Scully blush.

"Okay, boys, that's enough." Mulder rose with renewed vigor 
and rubbed his palms together. "Let's get started." 

The men circumnavigated the log, sizing up its angle and 
weight, all the while discussing the precariousness of 
Scully's situation. They used hand signals for Mulder's 
benefit, and in a matter of minutes settled on a plan. 
Quickly, they gathered branches to use as pry bars and stones 
to serve as fulcrums.

They chocked the log with deadwood to lessen the chance of it 
rolling back on Scully's leg if their pry bars or their 
strength gave out midway through the job. Then, with levers in 
hand, they positioned themselves on either side of her. Chal, 
being the smallest, was charged with pulling her free while 
the four men raised the tree. 

Chal gave a caveman version of a count of three, and the men 
put their backs to the task.

The tree lifted a fraction of an inch.

"Thala-na-nah," Chal said. 

Grunts peppered the air, jaws clenched and muscles bulged as 
the men strained to raise the log up. Sweat slicked Mulder's 
chest and palms, and he felt his grip giving way as his pole 
bent beneath the weight of the wood.

"Na-e-lahi," Chal urged, "tehi!"

Mulder glanced at Scully and the boy. She looked so 
vulnerable, yet trusting as she stared back up into his eyes.

He dug down for every ounce of strength he could muster and 
shoved harder. "Goddamn son of a bitch, move!" he bellowed.

He felt the tree shift, heard the branch in his hand crack, 
closed his eyes against the log's sudden roll. 

Tla-Gin shouted a warning and jumped out of the way as the 
tree rolled toward them.

Mulder's branch was snapped from his hand. He back-peddled and 
almost lost his balance. Panic seized him when he looked for 
Scully and, for a split second, couldn't locate her.

"I'm okay," she said from behind him. "I'm free." 

The tree stopped rocking and settled into the mud. Chal had 
managed to drag her to safety in the nick of time. Mulder 
began to breathe again.

A cursory check showed him her leg was swollen and badly 
bruised. Her skin was icy cold and she was shivering badly. He 
wanted to return immediately to the village so that the 
medicine man could treat her. But cooler heads prevailed and 
the men convinced him it would be wiser to make camp so they 
could rest while she warmed up, then head back at first light.

"They're right, Mulder, I need to get out of these wet 
clothes," she said, siding with the tribesmen. "Besides, 
you're exhausted."

He didn't care about himself, but could see she needed help 
now, not eight hours from now. It was beginning to get dark 
and the temperature was dropping.

In a show of unexpected generosity, Dzeh stripped off his 
thick fur tunic and offered it to Mulder to give to Scully.

Mulder helped her out of her wet clothes and into Dzeh's 
cloak, while the others set up a simple but serviceable camp 
on the uphill side of the swamp. Selecting a dry spot where 
the cedars blocked the chilly evening breeze, Dzeh piled 
tinder and used his flints to start a fire. Chal helped him by 
collecting wood. Tla-Gin and Shush took charge of dinner. They 
dragged the saber-toothed cat to the camp, where they 
butchered it with a great deal of teasing and exuberant 
mockery. It was obvious to Mulder that the two men had been 
friends for a long time.

Mulder settled Scully near the fire. Holding her snuggly in 
his arms, he used the heat of his own body to help warm her. 
Her teeth chattered as she assured him she was in no danger of 
succumbing to hypothermic shock, which was a good thing 
because he had no idea how to treat that.    

Chal cut skewers for roasting meat. Dzeh threaded several 
steaks onto the sticks and propped them near the blaze. Tla-
Gin and Shush put on a show for Mulder and Scully, parading 
around the camp with the dead cat's grisly head, acting out 
their interpretation of its death. They'd left Scully's spear 
sticking out of its eye and joked with her about her prowess 
as a hunter, as well as Mulder's repeated attempts to kill an 
already dead animal. Mulder didn't understand everything they 
said, but their exaggerated antics made him chuckle. 
Especially when they turned their teasing on Dzeh and Chal, 
challenging them to harpoon a cat while pinned beneath a tree.

"Thirsty?" Mulder asked Scully for the millionth time.

"I'm fine. That meat smells good, though."

It did. Blistered and sputtering, it put off a mouth-watering 
aroma. The chill of the swamp had kept it reasonably fresh, 
but even if it had been half rotted, Mulder was so famished he 
would have eaten it anyway.

"Sorry I wasn't with you when..." He gestured at Tla-Gin and 
Shush, slicing and dicing the remainder of the tiger's 
carcass.

Scully delicately touched his bruised lower lip and said, "I 
think I got the better end of this deal, G-Man."

With all the things that could have gone wrong over the last 
couple of days it was a miracle to have her safe in his arms. 
He'd never felt so relieved about anything in his life.

"Thank you, Mulder," she murmured as she snuggled closer.    

"For what?"

"Going above and beyond."

"Scully, I love you. There is no above and beyond."

"Say what you like, you're still my hero."

Her hero. Tears sprang to his eyes and he hid them by kissing 
the crown of her head. "T'weren't nothin'."

"Don't shortchange yourself."

"Feel free to recommend me for a commendation when we get back 
to DC."

"Oh!" She suddenly straightened and began rummaging through 
her coat pockets. "I can't believe I forgot--" She withdrew 
her cell phone.

"Scully, you don't have to phone Skinner right now. My 
commendation can wait until--"

"Look." She powered up the phone and thrust it into his hand. 

His jaw dropped when he read the message on the display panel.

"We're going home?"

She nodded and smiled. "Apparently."

He let loose a whoop that startled birds from the trees and 
earned surprised looks from the four tribesmen.

"We're going home," he told them with a grin.   

*   *   *

The Shaman's hut was a low, mysterious place, cluttered with 
formidable potions and pungent odors. Fistfuls of herbs hung 
from the bone rafters. Shell bowls and reed baskets littered 
the floor like leaves beneath an autumn tree. They contained 
unidentifiable powders, animal parts, dried insects and dark, 
greasy tonics. 

A fire blazed in a small hearth at the room's center, casting 
wobbly shadows against the musty, skin walls. The burning wood 
hissed and crackled like a Winter Spirit. Beyond the haze of 
smoke, a motionless form hilled the sleeping skins. 

Chal tiptoed toward the occupied bed. "Gini?" he whispered.

His stealth was born out of respect, not secrecy. The Shaman 
was not here; he'd gone to the Prayer Lodge for his evening 
meal. Klizzie was pacing outside the hut, gulping fresh air 
and squeezing her totem. Only the Spirits loomed beneath this 
roof. He could feel their presence as clearly as if they 
squatted around the fire, joking and chanting while they 
rearranged the world of men. 

Unease had weighted Chal's young heart ever since his return 
from the swamp earlier in the day. He had been eager to see 
Gini and assure himself that she was still alive.

He ducked beneath a dangling tuft of mint and it brushed his 
bare shoulder like phantom fingers, releasing its scent as he 
passed, causing gooseflesh to sprout along his arms. He 
shivered and then scowled at his excessive fear. It was just a 
simple weed, he reminded himself, not the tap of death.

Leaving it to bobble, he knelt beside the furs.

"Gini? Are you awake?"

He'd been told she'd opened her eyes for the first time late 
last night. Was she winning her battle against Yellow Spirit? 

"I had a dream last night, while I was camped at the swamp," 
he told her. Her sunken eyes remained squeezed shut. Pain 
ribbed her young brow. "In it, you were not sick. You were 
smiling and happy. You...you were standing in front of me, 
holding my hand."  

He groped for her hand, and when he found it, he was shocked 
by its thinness and fire.

"Your hair was plaited with pretty beads." He pictured the 
bits of tinkling shells and clinking bone, shimmering like 
stars in her midnight tresses. The sky had been cloudless and 
blue, and the air carried the sweet fragrance of plum 
blossoms. "You were wearing a white doeskin tunic, as pale as 
fresh snow. And your skin..." -- he released her hand to 
briefly touch her sunken cheek -- "it was plump and soft, 
shiny with oil." 

Unlike now.

Her eyes wavered behind thin lids, but refused to open for 
him. 

"It was our Joining Day, I think." 

What else could it have been? He was dressed in an impressive 
cloak of striped fur and a new loincloth, cinched at the waist 
by Muhl-dar's belt. She wore his bear claw necklace over her 
snowy tunic. Earrings dangled from her lobes, bracelets banded 
her dainty wrists. A shy smile dimpled her cheeks as she stood 
facing him, her trembling hands tucked inside his, her eyes 
gazing up at him, wide with trust. Great Spirit Mother, she 
had stolen his breath away. 

The dream was not a long one, finished in the blink of an eye, 
yet it left him panting and flushed. His heart brimmed with 
happiness at its memory, and an unspoken vow remained poised 
on his tongue: Das-teh-do ta-bilh, ta-yi-teh ta-bilh, da-de-
yah ta-bilh. Begin together, continue together, depart 
together.   

"Please wake up, Gini. Do not let Yellow Spirit take you away. 
I-I love you."   

To his amazement, her lashes fluttered and her eyes slowly 
opened. She blinked at him, confusion peaking her brows.

"It is me...Chal," he said, thinking she might not recognize 
him.

She grunted softly, coughed, then rasped, "You still look like 
a stork."

This made him laugh out loud. "And you are as ugly as ever."

She offered him a weak smile before closing her eyes again.

Gathering his courage, he took her hand once more and gave it 
the gentlest of squeezes. "But I am glad you are back."    

*   *   *

"I'm not convinced this is a good idea," Mulder said as he 
carried Scully across the ball field.

She was wrapped cozily in furs and loving every minute of 
being held in his arms. 

He was still dressed in loincloth and leggings, although not 
the same muddy garments he'd been wearing in the swamp. She 
felt a little guilty when she learned he'd had to trade his 
own clothes to save her, but she was enjoying the way he 
looked in buckskin. The leggings fit snuggly, showing off his 
muscled thighs, and the loincloth...well, it barely covered 
his bare backside, and Mulder had a very nice backside.

She was wearing clan attire, too: a fur skirt and doeskin 
tunic borrowed from Klizzie. In addition, following Jason 
Nichols' cryptic orders, she and Mulder were both carrying 
their cell phones, hung from stout cords around their necks. 
They were taking no chance of being separated from the phones. 

He frowned with concern as he carried her. "It's only been two 
days since we got back."

"I'm fine."

Doubt thinned his lips.

"Really, Mulder. It's time I got out of bed."

They'd slept through the entire day yesterday, rising only 
long enough to gorge themselves on roast meat, honeyed nuts, 
greens and grains and who-the-hell knew what else before 
collapsing back into bed and sleeping until the next morning.

"Scully, it's cold out here."

"It is not." It was a picture-perfect autumn day. The 
afternoon sun felt wonderful on her face and it was a joy to 
hear the happy laughter of children chasing one another around 
the field. "Besides, I wouldn't want to miss your coaching 
debut."

Mulder chuffed. "I must be out of my mind, thinking I can 
teach baseball to a bunch of cave kids."

"You'll do fine."

He climbed the gradual slope at the edge of the field and 
deposited her gently on a patch of sun-warmed grass, where she 
would have an excellent view of the playing field. 

"Let me know if you get cold and want to go back." He tucked 
the fur robe more snuggly around her shoulders, then leaned 
down to kiss her cheek. "Whenever. No need to wait for the end 
of an inning."

"Play ball, Mulder. I'll be fine."

He captured her lips once more, breathing steam across her 
cheeks as he kissed her. The phantom pressure of his mouth 
remained long after he'd straightened and jogged down onto the 
field.

Kids swarmed him when he whistled and waved them to his 
makeshift baseball diamond. Flat stones marked the bases 
around a squat bulge that served as a pitcher's mound. The 
playing field was about half the size of a modern ballpark -- 
perfect for the tribe's unpracticed players.

Mulder knelt and explained the rules to the excited group of 
youngsters. Scully was too far away to hear his exact words, 
but she caught his patient monotone on the light afternoon 
breeze. He passed around three "baseballs" -- lacrosse 
retrofits, stuffed with straw and sand, lopsided at best. The 
bat was a mastodon bone, the radius from a fairly young 
animal, judging from its size. Mulder demonstrated how to 
swing and hit, then selected a tall boy and showed him the 
proper way to hold the bat. Scully smiled at his repertoire of 
hand signals and goofy expressions as he divvied the group 
into two reasonably matched teams and positioned them on the 
field. Before he let the first pitch fly, he glanced in her 
direction.

She gave him a thumb's up and the game began.

No one could have been more surprised than the batter when he 
connected with Mulder's easy underhand and sent the ball 
soaring into left field. Mulder had to prompt the kid to run 
the bases. All the children went wild, shouting and jumping. 
The half-pint at first base abandoned her post to chase after 
the ball. She was followed by several players from the 
opposing team. Five or six kids circled the bases with the 
runner. 

Mulder laughed and shook his head in mock frustration. 

After the hoopla died down, he gathered the kids together for 
a quick review of the rules. 

Several curious onlookers soon arrived to join Scully on the 
slope. They left a wide berth between her and themselves, 
sitting several yards away. They didn't appear hostile -- as a 
matter of fact two or three offered polite smiles. Yet despite 
their ostensible tolerance it was clear she made them nervous. 
She was an outsider in a world where outsiders were a threat 
to the group's survival.

She was uncertain why the tribe had accepted them back at all, 
although it seemed to have something to do with Mulder's 
unexpected partnership with the boy Chal. Scully didn't trust 
this new alliance to be any more binding than the previous one 
with Dzeh, but apparently it was enough to allow them to stay 
in the village...at least for now. And thankfully, no one had 
suggested that she sleep with Chal.

Klizzie had been her usual generous self since their return. 
Not only had she provided food and clothing, she'd prepared 
their hut and kept it stocked with firewood.

Dzeh, on the other hand, kept his distance, neither helping 
nor interfering.      

Two-thirds of the tribesmen had left, abandoning the village 
shortly after their arrival two days ago. Scully didn't 
presume the events were connected; the villagers must have 
begun packing long before they knew she and Mulder were coming 
back to Turkey Lake. They'd taken everything that could be 
carried, until only the huts' bony supports remained behind, 
looking like a herd of skeletons on the flatland beside the 
lake.

Down on the playing field another pop fly sparked mayhem. The 
children ignored the ball and ran after the batter again. 
Mulder shrugged, then circled the bases with them, singing 
"Take Me Out to the Ballgame" at the top of his lungs.

Scully smiled and clapped, drawing stares from the other 
spectators. She didn't care. Mulder was going to make a great 
father and she loved seeing the easy way he interacted with 
the kids.

Her smile quickly vanished. There would be no opportunity to 
watch him play ball with their own son. In less than two years 
time, William would be gone and Mulder would be dead.

She shivered beneath her fur cloak at the recollection of her 
vision. It had seemed unreal, a product of her disorientation 
in the swamp, and she'd put it out of her mind...until now, 
when it suddenly returned full force, vivid and horrifying. It 
made her loath to leave this place, this happy moment. She 
almost regretted telling Mulder about Jason Nichols' message.

At the edge of the field, Klizzie and Dzeh sauntered toward 
her. They held hands and chatted as they walked. A brilliant 
smile lit Klizzie's face. Scully took this as a good sign, 
guessing it meant Gini was getting better. In contrast, Dzeh 
was frowning, and his stern expression reminded her of the way 
he'd looked the night of the mate swap. Reflexively, her 
thighs prickled at the intimate memory of this man, this 
stranger, and she pressed her knees together. Their act was 
difficult to reconcile now. At the time, it had seemed the 
right choice...the only choice. Now she saw it as a foolish 
and futile sacrifice.

Klizzie stopped when they reached her and dropped into a 
crouch, eyes gay and hands not seeming to know where to 
settle. Dzeh remained standing, avoiding Scully's eyes by 
feigning interest in the ball game.

"How is Gini?" Scully asked, using the tribe's language.

Klizzie launched into a long, high-spirited explanation. 
Catching a phrase here and there, Scully was assured the 
little girl was recovering. The news came as a great relief. 

Unexpectedly, Klizzie threw her arms around Scully's robed 
shoulders and hugged her tightly. The young woman's earnest 
embrace lasted several minutes, ending only when Dzeh mumbled, 
"tehi" -- let's go. He tugged Klizzie to her feet, causing the 
prying spectators to quickly turn their attentions away from 
the threesome and back to the activity on the field.

"Thank you, Day-nuh," Klizzie repeated several times in her 
own language, her tone thick with gratitude.

Dzeh dovetailed his fingers with hers and drew her away. 

As soon as they were out of earshot, a long-faced woman 
plunked down in the grass beside Scully.

"I am Ho-Ya," she said in her own language. "Chal's mother. 
Klizzie's aunt."

Scully did her best to return the woman's kind smile. "Hello."

Ho-Ya began to speak quickly, a rat-tat-tat of syllables, 
which left Scully's head spinning. She managed to catch only a 
phrase or two about Gini and Chal and Klizzie's pregnancy.

"Klizzie is pregnant?" she asked, not certain she'd heard Ho-
Ya correctly. 

The woman's jabbering abruptly ceased; embarrassment pinked 
her lined cheeks. She glanced nervously at the ball field.

Scully repeated her question, clarifying with hand signals.

"My niece has waited many seasons for a child," Ho-Ya 
explained. "This is welcome news, even if--" She shrugged and 
looked again at Mulder.

"Even if...?" Scully wasn't sure she was translating the 
woman's words correctly.

"You know. The child is not of our Clan." She smiled weakly, 
looking apologetic. "A gift from Eel Clan is not necessarily 
bad."

Scully didn't understand every word, but her heart began to 
beat faster.

"Eel Clan?"

Ho-Ya nodded. "It happens. People do not make so much of it as 
they used to. Besides, Chal and Muhl-dar are Trading Partners 
now. My son thinks very highly of your mate."

The woman's point was clear, despite Scully's inability to 
translate each word precisely. Ho-Ya believed Klizzie was 
pregnant with Mulder's child. 

Scully's arms went numb at the thought. This had been her 
greatest concern ever since the swap.

Jealousy heated her face. She couldn't help the feeling, any 
more than she could stop herself from picturing Mulder and 
Klizzie together, wrapped in each other's arms, naked and 
passionate...not at all like her experience with Dzeh, because 
Mulder was a considerate lover. He would have charmed Klizzie, 
made her-- 

Stop it! It probably hadn't happened that way at all. And even 
if it had, whose fault was it? Mulder hadn't wanted to sleep 
with Klizzie. He'd begged Scully to leave the tribe instead. 
But she'd insisted they stay. She pushed him into 
participating in that unspeakable ritual. If Klizzie was 
carrying his child, Scully had no one to blame but herself.

Looking down at the ball field, she saw Mulder dusting off a 
little girl who had fallen and skinned her knees.

Did he know about the baby? Had Klizzie told him the night he 
brought Gini back?

"A new life is to be celebrated," Ho-Ya was saying, "no matter 
what the circumstance. Klizzie and Dzeh, they are happy. I am 
happy, too."

"Excuse me," Scully murmured, rising to her feet. The fur robe 
slipped from her shoulders and fell to the ground. She left it 
there, while dizziness bludgeoned her between the eyes, 
threatening to drop her where she stood.

"Day-nuh?" 

Scully turned her back on the concerned woman. Her pulse 
pounded in her ears. Run, run, run, it was saying. 

Forcing her legs to move, she lurched down the hillside, 
desperate to be anywhere but here.

*   *   *

Mulder felt more than saw Scully limping away from the field.

"My turn, my turn," an eager boy insisted, tugging Mulder's 
leggings.

"Sure." He handed the ball over, before sprinting after 
Scully.

He called her name, but she kept on running, favoring her 
right leg.

Frightened by the way she was stumbling, he increased his 
speed and quickly closed the gap between them.

"Scully...stop." He caught up to her outside "their" hut. 

She seemed to deflate when he tagged her elbow and he quickly 
wrapped both arms around her to keep her from falling.

"Scully, what is it? What's the matter?"

She shook her head and pushed weakly at his chest. "Go away, 
Mulder."

Not a chance in hell. He scooped her up in his arms, expecting 
her to fight him. But she surprised him by burying her face 
into his neck instead. Jesus, was she crying?

He carried her quickly inside the hut. Coals still glowed in 
the hearth, radiating warmth into the dimly lit room. Good 
thing -- she felt as cold as ice. He lowered her onto the bed.

Damn it, she was crying.

"Are you hurt?" He knelt beside her and began to inspect her 
foot and leg.

She pulled away, swiping angrily at her tears. "I'm fi--" She 
stopped herself. Anger glossed her eyes and he wasn't sure if 
it was directed at him or at herself.

It didn't matter; her expression was disintegrating into 
despair.

"Scully?"

Eyes bloodshot, complexion blotchy, nose dripping, she turned 
away from his shocked stare. 

"How long have you known?" she asked.

What the hell was she talking about? "Known what?"

"About Klizzie." 

"Klizzie?" He reached for her hand, but she shrugged him off. 
"Scully, talk to me. What's the matter?"

"She's pregnant, Mulder!" Her head snapped back to look at 
him.

"Soooo..." What did that have to do with anything? Was Scully 
upset because Klizzie was going to have a baby and she wasn't? 
"It's going to happen for you. You said it yourself. You saw 
it in your vision. I--"

"No, it's not going to happen for me." She practically spit 
the words. 

"What do you mean? You saw it--"

"I did, but..." She squeezed her eyes shut.

Mulder could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen 
Scully cry. To find her this shaken was alarming. 

"I'm going to give him away." Her confession came out in sobs. 
"I'm going to give up our son for adoption." She was staring 
up at him through a blur of tears, her cheeks wet, her mouth 
twisted with sorrow. 

"Why would you do that?"

"I don't know!" she keened.

This was making no sense. "Well...I'll stop you. I-I won't let 
it happen."

"You're going to be dead, Mulder."

Dead? "When? How? Bruckman wasn't right, was he?"

He regretted his ill-timed joke the moment it left his mouth. 
Jesus, he could be such an ass sometimes. She wasn't laughing 
or even smiling. As a matter of fact, her eyes widened in 
disbelief. 

"I don't know," she said through clenched teeth.

"You don't know how I'm going to die?"

"No. Your casket was already in the ground." 

Touche. Whether she'd intended it or not, she'd matched his 
insensitivity. "That's a pleasant image." 

"No it's not, which is my point." Her obvious irritation 
melted once again into despair. "Mulder, I don't want to go 
back if it means losing our baby or losing you."

He didn't know what to say to that. He hadn't seen the things 
she'd seen. It wasn't that he didn't believe her -- he did -- 
but he had nothing to trust but her word.

"We can't stay here," he reminded her. He was growing younger; 
she was getting older.

"We can't go either, Mulder. Klizzie's pregnant!"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Her mouth opened, and then closed again. She shook her head. 
He'd never seen her look so miserable. Two more fat tears 
overflowed her lashes and skidded down her cheeks.

That's when it hit him. She believed he was the father. She 
believed Klizzie was pregnant with his child.

He had to tell her the truth. He had to let her know that he 
and Klizzie had never made love. 

But how would she take it? Call him a coward? Hate his guts? 
Leave him?

God damn it. Why was life so fucking complicated?

"Scully..." he started, then stopped when he didn't know what 
else to say.

"Mulder...I'm not blaming you, really, it's just...it's..." 
Her hands lifted in exasperation. "What are you going to do? 
You can't leave your own child."

Tell her the truth, he urged himself. His heart was lodged in 
his throat, bottlenecking his confession. What could he say? 
He'd placed the burden of their survival on her. And she'd 
responded admirably, sacrificing herself to save his ass, 
while he flouted the rules and endangered her.

Story of their lives.

It would serve him right if she walked out on him...just the 
way Diana had.

"That baby...that baby is part of you, Mulder. You can't just-
-"

"I didn't sleep with her!" he blurted.

She blinked at him. "What?"

"I couldn't go through with it, Scully. I know you asked me 
to, and you--" His world blurred behind a swell of tears. "I-
I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" 

The apology was inadequate, he knew. He didn't deserve her 
forgiveness. He didn't deserve her. He'd let her down. He'd 
allowed another man to touch her, to make love to her, while 
he'd done nothing to stop it or match her sacrifice.

For years he'd known that she would be happier, safer without 
him, and it had been proven ten times over here in the 
Pleistocene. Nothing had changed. He was the same coward he'd 
always been. Back in the swamp she'd called him a hero, and 
for a few moments he'd had the audacity to accept her praise, 
even dared to believe it was true. What a thickheaded, 
undeserving hypocrite he was! 

Self-loathing swallowed him. He hated himself.

A thin, desperate plea seeped from his clenched throat. 
"Please don't leave me, Scully." He couldn't bear it. He 
couldn't.

"Leave you?" Her eyes widened with obvious disbelief. "Because 
you *didn't* sleep with another woman?"

He inhaled sharply. What was she saying? She wasn't angry? She 
wasn't hurt? Disappointed? None of the things he'd predicted? 

"You're not going to leave me?"

"Of course not." 

Relief thundered through his veins, making him suddenly 
lightheaded and giddy. The truth hadn't scared her off! She 
wasn't going to leave him. She didn't hate him! 

"To be honest, I'm relieved," she said.

"But you...and Dzeh--" Now it was his turn to gape.

"I did what I thought I had to do, Mulder. I don't know if it 
was the right choice or not."

He took hold of her hand and this time she didn't shake him 
off.

"Sometimes there are no good choices," he repeated her own 
words back to her, thinking he understood them now. The best 
anyone could do was to take a shot and hope they landed 
somewhere near the target.

"That's sometimes true. But other times there *are* good 
choices, Mulder. About a month ago, you asked me to marry you. 
Remember what I said?"

"A month ago you didn't know I copped out on the wife swap."

"Exactly. And I agreed to spend the rest of my life with you 
anyway." 

Jesus, he'd been wrong to compare her to Diana.

He'd been wrong not to trust her.

Against all odds she loved him, and he began to understand -- 
truly understand -- that she loved him not for the man he 
wanted to be, but for the man he already was.

Gathering her into his arms, he buried his face in her neck. 
"Scully...I need..."

"What do you need, sweetheart?"

Swallowing his tears, he murmured, "I just need to hold you." 

*   *   *

Grass tickled her palms and bare knees. Cool night air raked 
her naked skin, pinched her nipples, and stippled her buttocks 
with gooseflesh. 

"Ready?" he rasped from behind her. His voice was scoured by 
passion. It echoed her own desire.

"Mmmm, yesss." She'd been looking forward to this and braced 
herself for his weight on her back. Anticipation tightened her 
womb. 

They were alone at the edge of the woods, not far from the 
lake or the sleeping village. Lightning bugs winked magically 
on and off in the nearby reeds. Overhead, the heavens teemed 
with stars.

He nudged between her legs, forcing her knees wide apart. 
Warmth radiated from his softly furred thighs. He prodded her 
entrance.

"Oh," she inhaled. Moisture seeped from her hidden inner well, 
lubricating her for what was about to happen. She was eager, 
ready, so full of want. Her scalp prickled. Her fingers 
clutched. Her eyes closed as he slowly, steadily pushed into 
her. 

Her walls stretched to accommodate his solid length. The 
pressure sparked a cascade of intense, fiery waves from her 
core to the tips of her fingers and toes. She tossed back her 
head and gasped his name, "Dzehhh!"

His large palms caressed her buttocks, her hips, her ribs. He 
held himself still within her, while reaching beneath her and 
cupping her breasts. "Is everything all right, Klizzie? The 
baby?"  

"I am fine. The baby is fine." She nodded and her ears rang 
with the tinkle of her beaded braids.

He growled her name and squeezed her breasts. Then his fingers 
slid away, tickled her navel, caressed the swell of her 
abdomen, nestled in her curls. He prodded the cleft between 
her legs, searching for her ulh-ne-ih, the mysterious knot of 
flesh that could bring her so much pleasure.

She moaned when he found it. His thumb circled and he began to 
move within her, sliding partway out, only to return a 
heartbeat later with a firm shove.  

Her breathing quickened. His finger rubbed her more rapidly. 
He increased the pace and depth of his thrusts.

Panting, he draped his body over hers. Her arms quaked, not 
from his weight or the pounding of his hips, but from her 
encroaching pleasure. The feeling began as it always did, like 
the distant rumble of horses' hooves upon a vast plain, a 
faint vibration, far off but growing more forceful as the herd 
stampeded toward her. 

Her heart thrummed as the world shook beneath her. Dzeh bucked 
his hips and his frenzied thrusting conjured the phantom 
horses' charge, the furious churning of their legs, the 
thunder of their hooves. Sweat wetted her skin. Passion 
slicked her thighs. She gasped for air, choked by her 
uncontrollable yearning.

"Ha-gade!" Dzeh cried before he sank his teeth into the nape 
of her neck, overwhelmed by his own pleasure.

The steeds were upon her, and her arms and legs went numb. She 
held her breath and opened her eyes wide. Oh, Great Spirit 
Mother, the night was as black and velvety as a new foal's 
hide. Lightning bugs floated like embers in the dark. If not 
for the grass beneath her knees, she would not have known 
which way was up and which down.

Dzeh gushed into her, warm and fluid. She could feel his pulse 
against her sensitive inner walls, adding briefly to the 
heaviness there. Then suddenly the pressure abated, he slowed 
his thrusts, grew softer inside her.

"Ha-gade," he said again, claiming her with the familiar 
endearment.

"And you are mine, too, ha-gade," she sighed.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, while keeping 
himself inside her. "I do not want to leave you."

"Then do not." She chuckled. Her laugh caused him to slip a 
little ways out of her.

"Nooo," he objected, but laughed, too, which broke their 
connection. He flopped onto his back and pulled her down on 
top of him.

He looked striking in the starlight, his eyelids heavy with 
the weight of sated lust. She kissed his nose, his lips. His 
mouth was warm and yielding beneath hers, his tongue teasing 
and delicious.  

"You are extraordinary," he said when she drew back from their 
kiss. He stroked her braided hair, causing her beads to 
tinkle. "I am a privileged man."

"We are both lucky." She laid her cheek against his chest. "A 
baby is on the way. Gini is with us again. Things are not 
perfect, but they are not so bad either." 

Grunting in agreement, he seemed on the verge of falling 
asleep. She rose to her feet.
  
"Where are you going, my mate?" he asked, sounding 
disappointed.

"To wash up."

"I will come with you." He stood, too.

"No, go to Gini. Sit with her."

"There is no need. Ho-Ya is with her, and she is getting 
better each day."

"I know. But I still worry. Please?"

He drew her to him. "If it will keep your spirit calm, I will 
go. But do not be long."

"I will hurry." She kissed him again before leaving him for 
the lake.

She'd walked this path so often over the summer, she knew the 
way without benefit of light. Each step was as familiar as a 
breath. But autumn had brought subtle changes. The air was 
colder and carried the scent of falling leaves and fermenting 
fruit. The grass was worn thin from the countless footsteps of 
bathers. Crickets chirped in the surrounding brush, sounding 
more placid than they had three moons ago.

She had changed, too, since her first days at Turkey Lake. 
She'd exposed her dreadful secrets to Dzeh and discovered he 
loved her despite them. He hadn't turned his back on her as 
she had anticipated. To the contrary, he seemed to love her 
more than ever.

And now there was a baby growing inside her womb. She brushed 
the swell of her abdomen with her fingertips. Would this child 
turn out to be a son or a daughter, she wondered? Either way, 
she would nickname it Shush-Yahz -- Little Cub -- because she 
planned to guard it from harm with the ferocity of a mother 
bear.

At the shore she didn't hesitate, but waded straight into the 
chilly water. She would hurry with her bath and return to Dzeh 
as quickly as possible, just as she had promised.

She crouched in the shallows, gasping when the lake's icy 
fingers tickled her ribs. The hearth fire would feel 
delightful after this cold bath. Dzeh's arms would feel even 
better. 

She was scrubbing her inner thighs, rinsing away the sticky 
trail of Dzeh's passion, when she heard the splash of his 
footsteps behind her. She could not be irritated with him for 
returning; he only wanted to protect her, just as she wanted 
to protect their child.

Before she could turn to smile at him, he kissed the crown of 
her head.     

"I thought you were going to sit with Gini," she admonished 
without anger. The stars appeared to dance atop the rippled 
surface of the lake.

His lips slid to her ear. "Ha-gade," he whispered before 
sucking her lobe into his mouth.

Heat blossomed in her belly as his warm palm engulfed her 
cold, wet breast. She leaned into his caress and covered his 
hand with her own.

That's when she felt it: a rough, jagged scar, running from 
his wrist to his middle finger. This wasn't Dzeh; it was 
Klesh!

She tried to scream, but he clamped his hand over her mouth. 

"Now it is my turn, cousin," he hummed, dragging her to her 
feet. 

He pressed against her body and she could feel the hard swell 
of his erection poking into her back. She struggled to free 
herself, but his grip was unbreakable.

With a quiet chuckle, he yanked her to the shore and away from 
the village.

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 

"Turn around. I want to check those cuts on your back." Scully 
pushed away the remains of her dinner and targeted Mulder with 
determined eyes.

"They're fine...they're nothing. I think they're already 
healed," he lied, before stealing a half-eaten plum from her 
bark plate.

She cocked an eyebrow and twirled her finger. Clearly she was 
not going to be put off.

He set down the plum and, feigning annoyance, presented her 
with his bare back. Her fingers danced deftly over his 
injuries. To be honest, he sometimes secretly enjoyed it when 
she doctored him like this. Not when they were in the middle 
of a case, chasing moth men or beast women or CIA-sanctioned 
terrorists, but times like now when there was nowhere to go, 
no next big thing to investigate. He welcomed the feeling of 
security that came from her healing touch. Even more than 
that, he craved her affection, and in his mind, her medical 
concern was proof of her love for him.   

She prodded a tender area and he hissed with exaggerated pain. 

"Watch it, Scully."

"Are you admitting these need attention?" 

Her hands settled more softly on his raw skin, soothing him 
like mist in a desert.

"I'm admitting nothing of the kind."

"Turn toward the light, please."

He did as she asked, pivoting on the furs until his back was 
to the fire, while she scooted around him for a closer look. 
They were alone in the hut, sated by a late afternoon nap, an 
even later dinner, and their fledgling candor. Being 
completely open with her had felt cathartic. His confession 
about the wife swap hadn't angered her in the way he had 
feared. She was still with him; she still loved him. The world 
was ripe with mysteries and miracles, which made him a very 
contented man.

"There's some localized infection. These lacerations need 
washing," she warned.

"Later."

"Mulder--"

"What? I'm not taking a bath in that cold lake tonight."

"Then I'll clean them with what we have here."

She reached for the waterbag and her folded shirt, which she 
dampened before she began to gingerly daub his back.

"You'll probably have some permanent scarring," she said.

"Will I?" He leaned into her nurturing caresses. "I've been 
wondering about that...whether or not there'll be any physical 
evidence of our time here once we get back."

"Why wouldn't there be?"

He shrugged, earning himself a compassionate "Hold still."

"I mean, will my gunshot scars return?" he asked. "Will that 
one on your stomach disappear? And what about your tattoo? 
Will it come back?"

"You think we might revert to our actual ages?"

"Maybe. We really have no way to know how time travel will 
affect us."

Her ministrations slowed almost imperceptibly. "What about our 
memories? Will we remember what happened?"

Would they?

"If we do, it's likely whoever brings us back will erase our 
memories and replace them with something more...benign."

"That's not possible, Mulder."

"We both know it is." The Budahas case, their second case 
together, had ended with him in a daze and Scully denying the 
military's culpability...along with the prospect of selective 
mind drains. "Colonel Budahas didn't suffer from amnesia. And 
neither did I." Would she argue the point now?

"They'll consider us a security risk," she said, making the 
leap this time.

"Exactly." He glanced over his shoulder at her. Concentration 
lined her brow, but he wasn't sure if it was in response to 
their conversation or to the condition of his back. "I 
guarantee we're going to wake up outside Hill Air Force Base 
with nary an Ice Age thought in our heads." 
 
"In that case..." She stopped blotting his wounds. Her 
expression took on a decidedly predatory look. "Make love to 
me now."

"I won't say no to that."

Turning, he captured the cloth from her hands and set it on 
the ground beside them. Her hair was burnished by the fire's 
glow and her skin was darkly flushed. She licked her lower 
lip, making it shimmer in the flickering light. Imagining her 
taste, he felt blood rush to his groin. The muscles in his 
arms and legs tensed, and his heart began to drum in his ears. 

He wanted to slow this sudden physical urgency and make love 
leisurely. This might be their last opportunity before they 
were returned to the X-Files, with its EBEs, genetic mutants, 
government conspiracies and Bureau protocol -- all of the 
everyday things that had gotten in the way of romance and real 
living. He hoped that by moving with excruciating purpose he 
might forestall their inevitable homecoming, maybe imprint 
this act into his memory so completely that no amount of 
brainwashing or drugs or mind control voodoo could ever excise 
it.

Damn, he hated to lose their hard won honesty. The Ice Age had 
afforded them an unprecedented opportunity to hash out their 
feelings for one another. Given all the obstacles waiting for 
them in 1998, it might be years before they felt this easy and 
open in each other's company again...if it ever happened at 
all.

"Let's take our time," he suggested. 

"Sounds good to me. Where shall we start?"

He stroked the velvety curve of her ear with his thumb. "How 
about a little aural stimulation?"

"Aural? Did I hear that right?"

"Mm-hm. I want you to tell me what's going on in here," -- he 
touched her temple -- "and here," -- he placed his fingertips 
over her heart.

"I don't have your gift for gab, Mulder."

"Doesn't matter. Describe whatever you're thinking...whatever 
you're feeling...while I make love to you." 

"You've got to be joking." 

She was sitting on her knees, facing him. Her fur skirt 
reached only mid-thigh, casting a tantalizing shadow between 
her slightly parted legs. He wanted to reach under it and 
explore her, excite her, relieve his own escalating need.

Slow down, he reminded himself. Make it last. 

"Put it in scientific terms if you have to, Scully. 
Just...enlighten me." He leaned in and kissed her cheek, her 
nose, her lips.

She chuckled against his roaming mouth. "Mmmm...all right. 
Uh...let's see. A woman's sexual response begins with either 
physical or psychological stimulation, or both."

He found her predilection for doctor-speak endearing, even in 
a romantic setting like this. "Let's start with the physical. 
More fun for me."

"Okay. This excitement phase lasts from a few minutes to 
several hours, depending on the woman."

"Or the man."

"Am I in for a long night?"

"I hope so." His palms skimmed across her cloaked shoulders to 
the neckline of her doeskin tunic. Tugging at its tie, he 
unfastened it and exposed her cleavage.

Her cell phone hung heavily from a rawhide cord around her 
neck, matching the one he was wearing. He started to remove 
it. 

"Should we?" A touch of her fingers stopped him.

"Might be awkward if we get zapped back to 1998 right in the 
middle of..." He nodded at the bed.

"But it would end the speculation."

Mulder smiled. "Wonder who's gonna win the pool?"

"Not me. I've already missed it by at least five months."

He knew she was joking, but liked the idea that she might have 
considered becoming lovers before now. "You placed a bet?"

"I did. In fact, I covered the last half of '96."

"As early as that?"

"I was optimistic." She waggled her brows, mimicking his 
customary come-on.

Her teasing enchanted him and he wished he had made love to 
her in '96.

She slipped the phone over her head, and now it was his turn 
to stop her. 

"Scully, we don't really want to miss Nichols' call. Do we?"

Earlier in the day, she'd told him she feared returning to the 
present because she'd seen their future and there was no 
"happily ever after" in store for them.

She set the phone beside the bed. "Would that be such a 
terrible thing?"

Yes. According to her earliest visions, she was going to 
become pregnant, she was going to give birth to their son. 
Surely she didn't want to miss that. He knew he didn't. As for 
his alleged death and all the rest, who was to say the future 
was carved in stone? With a little foresight...

"I won't let you give our baby away. And I won't die," he 
promised.

"You said we couldn't change the future, Mulder. You said the 
'Cosmic Censor' wouldn't allow it."

"I didn't say that exactly. The theory posits that the Cosmic 
Censor will always prevent us from altering the *past*. It 
doesn't say anything about the future." 

"But isn't our future just someone else's past?"

"Is it? I don't know. I prefer to believe our actions can and 
do affect the grand scheme of things."

"I was brought up to believe that God has a Plan, and He is 
directing us." Out of habit she reached for her cross, and 
frowned when she realized it was no longer there.  

"God may post a road sign every now and again, Scully, but 
that doesn't relieve us from making individual choices. This 
may sound overly self-important, but I believe what I do 
matters. I have to, otherwise, why bother to do anything at 
all?"

"I'm not arguing that our choices don't matter in a moral 
sense. I just think we may have less influence over the future 
than you think."

"All paths lead to the same destination?"

"Something like that."

"No, I think we have more responsibility than that. I think--"

"Mulder, could we please postpone this philosophical debate 
for another time?" Frustration pinched her face. "Clock's 
ticking and I...well, to be blunt, I want to make love, not 
discuss the meaning of life."

"Works for me."

"The phones will be right here," she assured him, removing his 
from his neck, too. "And so will we...for quite some time I 
hope."

"I did promise you a long night, didn't I?" 

"You did. And it's time to make good on that promise."

"So where was I before I went off on an ill-timed tangent?"

"Here." She pointed first to her lips, then dragged her finger 
slowly to the enticing shadow between her breasts.

"Mmmmm, yes." He bent to tease her collarbone with his tongue, 
then nipped his way downward, while slipping one hand beneath 
the buttery fabric of her tunic. She smelled humid and salt-
sweet, like a foggy summer morning at Quonochontaug. She 
tasted like sea-spray, and touching her made the Atlantic 
thunder in his ears. Palming her left breast, he tested its 
weight, and she arched into his caress. Her nipple tightened 
and so did his groin. "Is this turning you on at all, Scully, 
or do I have to use that psychological approach you mentioned 
earlier?"

"I'm getting sufficiently...hot."

"Then let's take this off." He slid the tunic from her 
shoulders, baring her breasts completely.

An urge to suckle overwhelmed him, and he lowered his lips to 
one rosebud nipple. Taking it into his mouth, he swirled his 
tongue over and around its pebbled surface. He was rewarded by 
a throaty moan as she combed her fingers through his hair and 
peppered the crown of his head with kisses.

"Equal time," he mumbled before descending on her other breast 
and sucking hard. The rigid nub of flesh fit perfectly within 
the curve of his tongue. When she moaned again, he released 
her with a wet pop, and reminded her, "You're supposed to be 
telling me how this feels, remember?"  

Her nipples glistened with his saliva, and he massaged them 
with his thumbs, spiraling outward in slippery circles. 

"Right. I'm-I'm feeling flushed," she said. "My nipples 
are...uh, erect."

"I can see that. What else?"

She swallowed, looking a little embarrassed, but willing to 
indulge him. "Blood is rushing to my genitals, engorging my 
labia and clitoris." Her eyebrow lifted. "Too clinical?" 

"I like playing doctor with a real doctor." He untied the knot 
at her waist, opening her fur skirt and exposing the coppery 
curls between her slightly parted legs. Running his hand along 
her thigh, he said, "Keep going."

"My...my vagina is becoming lubricated." Her choice of words 
was straightforward, but her tone and posture were charmingly 
seductive. Still on her knees, she adjusted her position, 
spreading her thighs a little to allow him better access.

He reached between her legs. "Is it?" Pushing at her opening, 
he explored its folds, orienting himself to her soft curves, 
while reveling in the dampness he discovered there. His heart 
skipped a beat when she shifted again, parting her knees even 
more. Clearly she wanted him to enter her, and her not-so-
subtle invitation increased the pressure in his groin. His 
cock throbbed against his loincloth. Pursuing his natural 
instincts, he nudged his middle finger into her slick depths. 
Jesus, she was wet. And snug. "Tell me what you're feeling 
when I do this."

He prodded her, burying his finger up to the last knuckle, 
making her inhale sharply.

"M-my heart rate and blood pressure are increasing. Muscles 
are tense." 

He crooked his finger and began to stroke slowly in and out.

Bless her, she reached for him and loosened his loincloth. 
Freeing his cock, she took him in her fist. The heat of her 
palm and the pressure of her grip delighted him and he hissed 
with satisfaction. His thumb searched for her clitoris, found 
it and pressed, making her quiver against his hand.

Years ago, back when he was a prepubescent teen lacking any 
real life experience with the female body, he assumed the 
human vagina was a smooth thing, like the inside of a rubber 
bicycle tire, or maybe more elastic, like a balloon. Imagine 
his surprise when he first delved into Christy McCarty's 
depths and discovered she was slightly ribbed and pebbly. His 
first thought was that she must be an exception to the rule, a 
genetic anomaly, which may have been where his interest in 
mutants began. 

With a little more experience, he came to appreciate the 
uneven topography of the female anatomy. The irregularity 
caused a delightful friction that wouldn't have been possible 
within a smoother vessel. 

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, exploring Scully's unique 
inner landscape. "Keep talking."

"If...stimulation...continues--"

"Oh, it will."

"As it continues, then, I'll--" She paused to inhale, eyes 
going wide when he varied the pressure inside her. "I'll begin 
what's called the plateau phase."

"Plateau phase?"

"My arousal level will continue to...climb, along with 
my...blood pressure...heart rate...respiratory rate." Her 
words were halting, ragged, breathy. She spread her legs wider 
and tugged at his cock, her intentions obvious. This was more 
than an invitation; it was a demand. She wanted him to bed 
her. "The upper two thirds of my vagina...will expand and my 
uterus will elevate. The...the shift is referred to as...as 
'tenting,' and is thought to allow for...for easier passage of 
sperm into the uterus."

"Really? All that just to accommodate li'l ol' me?" 

He hitched closer, positioning himself between her splayed 
knees. Slow down, he counseled his overeager libido. He wanted 
to bring her to a climax before satisfying himself. He wanted 
to hold time at a standstill. He wanted to remain in this 
exact moment for as long as possible.

"Mulder..." She slid one arm around his neck and pressed her 
forehead to his shoulder. Her cheek flamed against his neck.

He insinuated two fingers into her. "What does this feel 
like?" 

"Oohh," she breathed. "Full. Wonderful. Don't stop."

"I won't...not as long as you keep talking."

She nodded against his neck, blending the moisture on her brow 
with his own sweat. "My-my genitals are continuing to swell, 
and...and the Bartholin's glands are secreting more fluid at 
my vaginal opening--"

"*More*? Jesus, you know what I like."

"Before...before..." 

He could feel the frantic tapping of her pulse beneath her 
flushed cheek, in her fingers where she gripped his erection, 
and deep, deep within her body. 

"Before...what, Scully?" 

"Before...I reach..."

"Reach...?"

"Orgasm," she whispered, sounding desperate.

"You're almost there. Tell me what's coming next...no pun 
intended."

"F-five to twelve...synchronized contractions...approximately 
one second apart." She tilted her pelvis. He quickened his 
movements, prodding and rubbing simultaneously. "The first 
will be the strongest." He felt a soft squeeze, the slight 
pull of her inner walls upon his fingers. "Blood 
pressure...heart rate...respiratory rate...reach maximum 
peak." Her head lolled and her eyes closed. "There will 
be...will be a...a loss of voluntary muscle control."

"Meaning?"

"I'll curl my toes."

"Oh, sweet Jesus, let's get to that part."

Instinct was crowding out all thoughts of self-control. He 
felt as if he were caught in a Roche Radius, circling her like 
the satellites in Saturn's rings, torn by tidal forces, drawn 
inexorably toward her by a gravitational pull too powerful to 
challenge. 

Physical desire supplanted his civilized restraint and he 
withdrew his hand from between her legs, causing her to mewl 
with disappointment. Grabbing her wrists, he plowed her over. 
He forced her onto her back, wedged his hips between her 
thighs and wondered only peripherally if he was being too 
rough as he ground frantically against her pubic bone. 

"Here...here..." she panted. She reached between them and 
guided him to her entrance. 

One false attempt, off center, the motion painfully 
incomplete, then he was suddenly inside her, pushing, sliding 
deeper...oh, sweet Jesus...enveloped in her wetness and 
warmth.

Her breasts, her soft belly cushioned him as he thrust into 
her. He grunted with satisfaction at each down-stroke; she 
inhaled at each withdrawal. Her nails bit into his arms and 
her legs wrapped around his hips.   

"Tell me how you feel," he insisted.

"Oh, God--"

"Tell me."

"So good...oh, don't talk--"

"How do you feel, Scully?"

"Please, I...I--"

"How...do...you...*feel*?"

"I--" She gasped. "I love you." Her eyes squeezed shut, her 
breathing stopped, she shuddered underneath him. She was 
climaxing, and feeling it brought him closer to his own 
release.

"I love you, too. I do. I love you...too..." He repeated the 
words with each thrust. He would continue to repeat them until 
they were branded into his soul, so that he would remember to 
tell her again, no matter what was done to try to make him 
forget. He would confess his love after they returned to their 
old life. He would let her know exactly how he felt. He would 
tell her it was only in her arms that he was genuine and 
whole. She completed him...she saved him, oh God, how she 
saved him. He was worthwhile because of her, honest because of 
her. He owed her everything, and he would tell her...back 
home...he *would*...soon.

His thrusts became more frantic and forceful. He lost his 
timing, but it didn't matter so long as the pressure and 
friction continued. A bead of sweat dripped from the end of 
his nose and landed on her cheek, looking like a tear. He 
wanted to kiss it away but his orgasm was upon him, 
unstoppable, paralyzing.

He emptied himself into her with a teeth-clenching growl.

The first contractions were powerful, only seconds apart. They 
were quickly followed by weaker ones, lasting a little longer. 
And then, much too soon, it was over.

The thunder in his ears quieted. His pulse steadied. He felt 
his erection flag. She was hugging him, and real tears wetted 
her cheeks.

"How do *you* feel, Mulder?" she asked, eyes shining with 
affection.

"I feel...happy." 

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
3:12 PM

Colonel Beck stuck his head into the cockpit. "It's a go," he 
told Nichols and Ianelli.

The two scientists became suddenly alert, straightening 
themselves in the pilot's and co-pilot's seats. No doubt they 
had grown tired of sitting on their asses while General Kaback 
was dicking around with Stroehmer in his chamber of horrors. 

Stomach acid stung Beck's throat. He wanted to get on with 
this, too. Recover the agents and worry about cleanup later. 

"Bring 'em back," he ordered.

"About time," Nichols growled. "Better step outside, Colonel. 
Things are going to get dicey in here."

Beck took his advice and deplaned, quickly descending the 
metal stairs to join the General and Captain Linden, who were 
standing just inside the closed hangar door. Beck knew there 
were armed guards stationed on the far side with orders to use 
whatever force was necessary to prevent intruders from 
entering and interrupting the rescue attempt.

The aircraft emitted a high-pitched whine as the engines fired 
up. The noise rapidly intensified to a thunderous roar, which 
vibrated the concrete floor beneath Beck's feet and rattled 
his teeth. All three officers gaped at the ship, not quite 
knowing what to expect next.

A blue-white line fizzled into existence above their heads, 
startling Beck. It crackled and hummed, thickening as it grew 
longer. Beck's stomach lurched when the ceiling suddenly 
disappeared behind a snowstorm of dust. It seemed to be coming 
out of the fissure, spewing over the craft, piling up on the 
concrete floor. It was soon on his shoes and uniform, sticking 
to the Captain's upturned face and the General's bristly 
scalp.

The fissure brightened. It began to jitter like an electrical 
arc, raising the hair beneath Beck's collar. It was expanding 
at an alarming rate. Already it stretched from one end of the 
hangar to the other, bisecting the aircraft through the 
cockpit. 

"Holy Christ," Captain Linden muttered, blinking against the 
glare. His whole body was quaking and he looked ready to bolt.

Beck expected the General to order the Captain to hold steady, 
but Kaback remained mute. His mouth hung open, his lips 
twitched, one arm lifted to shield his eyes.

The hangar's walls appeared to undulate. The aircraft 
shimmered. Fear rolled through Beck's gut. He had trusted 
Nichols to control this thing, but now he wasn't sure anyone 
could.

*   *   *

SEASON OF THE MASTODON FEAST
SOMEWHERE EAST OF TURKEY LAKE 

When Klizzie awoke, she was lying naked on her back in a murky 
glade. The stars appeared blurry, like distant campfires 
cloaked in mist. Pine needles prickled her spine and buttocks. 
Her head ached and her jaw throbbed. Klesh was squatting 
between her splayed legs, watching her.

She wanted to scream but was prevented from doing so by a 
rawhide gag. Her wrists were bound above her head and tied to 
the tree behind her.

How long had she been unconscious? Had Klesh mated with her? 
She couldn't tell. Her insides were still fiery from her 
lovemaking with Dzeh.

Where was he? she wondered. Waiting for her at the hut, or was 
he already on his way to find her?

As if able to see her thoughts, Klesh said, "I expect Dzeh 
will be worried when you do not return." He placed a gnarled 
hand on her abdomen, making her shudder. "He will come looking 
for you."

He began to stroke her belly, spiraling slowly outward. She 
struggled to escape his unwelcome fondling, until she noticed 
that her panic was arousing him. 

She stilled her movements and glared at him. 

"Do you have any idea how lonely I have been these last four 
years?" His voice hissed like an angered snake. "No pretty 
female to share my sleeping skins. No loving arms or tender 
kisses. Not since yours." His scarred palm explored her inner 
thighs, skating from her knees to her groin and back again in 
a continuous irritating motion. "I have often thought about 
our night together."

So had she, but the memory was far from pleasant. It filled 
her with loathing, for him and for herself.

"Do you think it was right that I was punished, while you were 
not?" His fingers continued their nauseating crawl. "For four 
long years I have gone without the security of family, without 
a warm shelter, without a woman's companionship. Four years 
because of you. Yet you have lost nothing. Does that seem 
fair?"

He stared angrily into her eyes, his mouth twisted with 
contempt.

"What are those years worth?" He grabbed hold of her thighs 
and dug his nails into her flesh. "And my ruined reputation? 
What value do you place on it?" He spread her legs further 
apart. "Any idea? Because these are the things you stole when 
you lied about what happened between us." He positioned 
himself on his knees. "I once considered taking you from Dzeh 
as compensation for what you stole from me." He brushed her 
ulh-ne-ih with his crooked thumb, causing her to flinch. "Now 
I think that is not enough. You must suffer as I have 
suffered." 

His gaze targeted her stomach. 

"You must lose what is most dear to you."

Not her baby. Please, do not let him harm the baby, she 
pleaded with the Spirits. 

He leaned over her until his beard was tickling her breasts 
and she could smell the sour odor of wo-chi on his breath.

"When you do not return to the village, *hagade*, Dzeh will go 
to the lake to look for you."

Find me, Dzeh, her thoughts begged, before it is too late. 
Please do not let this chindi hurt our child.  

Again he seemed to see her thoughts. "Your baby is in no 
danger," he sneered. Then, unexpectedly, he rose to his feet.

"It is Dzeh I plan to kill," he announced. "When he arrives at 
the lake I will be there...waiting for him."

Helplessly, she watched as he turned his back on her. "I will 
bring you his heart," he promised and jogged away.

*   *   *

To look upon Gini filled Dzeh with joy the way snowmelt 
flooded the rivers in spring. "How are you feeling, my little 
sister?" He crouched beside her bed and palmed her dark head, 
brushing an unruly lock of hair from her face. Her skin was 
cooler, thank the Spirits.

The fire crackled in the hearth. Its warm flames painted the 
hut with friendly shadows. Ho-Ya sat nearby and watched them 
over a tortoiseshell bowl of steaming tea.

Gini's mouth was set in a thin, stubborn line. Clearly she had 
not yet forgiven him. 

Not caring if Ho-Ya overheard the regret in his voice, he 
asked, "Was I really so terrible?"

Gini gave a quick, firm nod.

"I am sorry I struck you." He wasted no words on how the Clan 
had considered his actions proper and necessary. It was only 
her opinion that mattered. "Is that why you ran away? Because 
I hit you?"

"No," she said in a mouse-sized voice.

"Why then?"

Her gaze slid to Ho-Ya and back again. She whispered, "I was 
scared."

"A brave girl like you?"

Her head bobbed.

"Tell me what made you afraid."

Worry glittered in her eyes. She bit her lower lip and refused 
to speak.

He would have to coax the words from her.

Fingering the unusual totem that hung from her neck, he asked, 
"Where did you get this?"

"Muhl-dar gave it to me...to make me well. It is magic."

She took hold of the ornament and her face brightened a 
little. Dzeh found himself feeling both resentful and 
apprehensive of Muhl-dar's gift. Gini was clearly recovering 
from her illness. Were her pink cheeks due to potent Eel Clan 
medicine?

Many believed Muhl-dar had conjured the lightning storm the 
night he was stoned. He'd proven himself to be a powerful man 
when he killed the mastodon with his thunder weapon, saving 
Chal's life. In Dzeh's own dream-vision, a female Spirit had 
spoken directly to Muhl-dar in a voice that all could hear.

But if Muhl-dar were truly a shaman, then why didn't he save 
himself from the beating in the field several nights ago, and 
why hadn't the Spirits come to his aid to free Day-nuh from 
the log in the swamp?

"Muhl-dar was nice to me," Gini said. "Day-nuh, too."

"Were they?"

"Yes. They fed me and told me stories and took me into their 
bed when I was scared at night."

"They never hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No. They loved me." 

He was relieved they had not harmed her, yet he felt a twinge 
of jealousy at how quickly and easily the newcomers had 
usurped his place in her heart.

"Klizzie and I have taken care of you all of your life, Little 
Sister. Have we not?"

"Yes."

"And we have fed you and told you stories and let you into our 
bed whenever you were frightened."

She nodded, looking contrite.

"We love you, too...you must know that." 

She plucked at her fur blanket. "Then why did you want to send 
me away?" The sorrow in her voice struck him like a fist to 
the gut. "I think you do not love me the way you used to."

He gathered her into his arms and she began to cry. "That is 
not true. I did not *want* to send you away, Gini. And I will 
always love you -- you must believe that."

"Then why did you Promise me to Chal?" she said through her 
tears, sniffing loudly. 

Across the hut Ho-Ya sniffled, too, and wiped at reddened 
eyes, evidently sympathizing with Gini's anxiety despite the 
fact that she was Chal's mother.

Perhaps the boy had been right and it was not such an easy 
thing for a girl to move away from her family to live with a 
new mate in a strange clan.  

"You do not have to go anywhere you do not want," he promised, 
knowing he was once again challenging tradition. "It would 
make me very happy to have you stay with Klizzie and me."

"Always?"

"As long as you want."

"But...but you said..."

"What did I say?"

"You said I had much growing to do and I did not know proper 
manners, and...and...and you would not take care of me any 
more."

"I was not seeing things clearly. The decision to stay or go 
will be yours. I will not force you to live with a boy you do 
not like."

She threw frail arms around his neck. "Oh, Dzeh...thank you! I 
love you so much!"

Her declaration soothed his raw spirit and he hugged her 
tenderly in return.

"It is settled then," he said. "First thing tomorrow I will 
tell Chal that you will not be Promised to him."

"First thing?" Her words were muffled against his beard.

"Yes. Very first." 

"What else will you say?"

"I will tell him I can no longer consider him a suitable match 
for my Little Sister."

"Oh." 

She drew back, and he was surprised to see apprehension 
creasing her young brow.

"Is that not what you want me to say?" he asked.

"I guess so...but...do not hurt his feelings, please."

"What do you care about his feelings?" Dzeh asked, seeing that 
she obviously liked the boy more than she was willing to 
admit. He glanced at Ho-Ya. A smile twitched at the corners of 
the older woman's mouth.

"He...he is not really so bad," Gini said grudgingly.

"True. He helped me search for you."

"Yes."

"And he risked his life to save Muhl-dar, too."

"Uh-huh."

"He also told me it is cruel to send young girls from their 
families to live with strangers."

Ho-Ya hissed as if displeased, but pride was shining in her 
eyes. "My son is too outspoken," she said, her tone making it 
clear that she did not mind his forthright nature. "Perhaps he 
would be better suited to a girl who can overlook his habit of 
challenging the way of things. Like Tlo-Chin, that tall, 
pretty girl from Turtle Clan."

"Perhaps," Dzeh agreed.

Gini frowned. "Tlo-Chin is not so pretty. Her teeth are 
crooked and her hair is always in knots and...and...she cannot 
cook...or sew."

"That is true," Ho-Ya admitted. "I have tasted her sour stew 
and seen the poor tunics she has made. But she is a hard 
worker and always polite. Her mother says she likes Chal."

"That is important," Dzeh said. "They might make a good 
match."

"But I like Chal, too," Gini blurted.

Dzeh pretended to be surprised. "You do?"

She shrugged and blushed bright pink. "I do not dislike him."

"Little Sister, I am confused," he said. "In one breath you 
say you want nothing to do with Chal, yet in the next you say 
you like him. What am I to tell him when I speak with him 
tomorrow?"

"Maybe...maybe you could ask him if...if he likes me?"

Ho-Ya laughed out loud at this, an amusing whinny that made 
Dzeh smile, too.

"He talks of nothing but you...Little Daughter," Ho-Ya said, 
honoring Gini with the formal endearment.  

Dzeh chuckled and gave his sister a squeeze. "Ask him 
yourself. Your future is now your own making."

Gini's eyes rounded. "But I cannot arrange my own Joining."

"Why not?"

"Because...that is not how things are done."

He touched his finger to the strange totem that dangled from 
her neck. "Maybe it is time to change some traditions."

"Dzeh of Owl Clan, I never expected to hear such words come 
from you," Ho-Ya said, laughing again.

"Your son has taught me a thing or two. He can be very 
persuasive."

"Yes, he is like a hammerstone to flint," she said, 
acknowledging her son's determination with a rueful but 
satisfied smile. "Still, he is my child and I love him with my 
whole spirit. You will learn how it is after Klizzie's baby is 
born."

"Klizzie is going to have a baby?" Gini asked, excitement 
dimpling her cheeks.

"Yes, Sister, you will be an aunt before winter is over."

"Oh, Dzeh! Hare Spirit finally answered your prayers. I am so 
happy! The idol worked!"

Ho-Ya said nothing to contradict the girl's assumption, 
although Dzeh knew she believed the baby had come from Muhl-
dar, not him. No longer smiling, Ho-Ya set down her tea. 
"Where is Klizzie? She has been gone too long."

It was true. Klizzie had promised not to linger and he'd 
expected her back long before now.

"I will find her." He helped Gini back into her bed, drew the 
fur blankets up to her chin and tucked them snuggly around her 
shoulders. "I am glad you are feeling better." He kissed her 
small nose, then rose to his feet. 

"I will prepare fresh tea," Ho-Ya offered. "Klizzie will be 
chilled after her bath."

"Thank you, Aunt," Dzeh said and quickly exited the hut. 

*   *   *

"I'll be right back," Mulder said, feeling restless. He gave 
Scully a gentle kiss on the cheek.

"Where're you going?" she murmured drowsily from her side of 
the bed. 

"To wash my back."

"Need help?"

"No, you sleep. I won't be gone long."

He slid from the furs, put on his loincloth and grabbed one of 
the odd-looking soap roots that Klizzie had left for them.

When he stepped outside, goosebumps sprouted across his 
shoulders and arms. The night air was considerably cooler than 
the fire-warmed hut, and if not for the sting of the cuts 
between his shoulder-blades he would have given up the idea of 
a bath to return to the comfort of Scully's embrace.

Walking briskly, he arrived at the shore in minutes. He found 
it deserted, but humming with insects. Diving frogs and 
jumping fish punctuated the high-pitched din, sounding like 
the first fat raindrops of an approaching storm. Topsy-turvy 
constellations wavered on the lake's inky surface and a 
gibbous moon tinted the entire nightscape with silver.

Mulder filled his lungs with crisp autumn air. Smoke from the 
villagers' campfires prickled his nose, and he was comforted 
by its familiar smell. It had come to represent cooperation, 
kinship, security. He hadn't expected to find any of those 
things in the Ice Age.

Against all odds he'd discovered happiness here. He'd gained 
the acceptance of strangers, earned the love of a little girl, 
and come to realize that Scully was with him for the long 
haul.

Telling her the truth, admitting his fears and shortcomings, 
had not sent her running after all. She wasn't going to 
abandon him for being honest with her, even when being honest 
was painful. He'd always known she was courageous and 
steadfast -- more so than he was or ever hoped to be -- but 
her strength, her loyalty, her capacity for understanding and 
forgiveness went far beyond what he could have imagined. He'd 
told her about Diana, and she'd stayed with him. He explained 
his anxieties about becoming a parent, and she stayed with 
him. He admitted to being a coward about the mate exchange, 
and she stayed with him. Her faith and trust seemed boundless. 
She loved him unconditionally. What else mattered when 
compared to that?    

All his adult life he'd been searching for Samantha, 
subconsciously hoping that by finding her he would regain his 
lost family and earn a place in the world. To his surprise, 
he'd discovered that feeling of belonging right here, with 
Scully. The sense of wholeness he'd been craving for so long 
was in this prehistoric village, in the cave back at the 
valley, and even in that awful swamp. It was anywhere, 
*everywhere* he was willing to trust...in other people, in the 
future, in fate, God, the Cosmic Censor, whatever, but most of 
all in Scully's capacity to love him despite his weaknesses 
and failings.

Testing the water with his toe, he hissed at its chill. 
Ripples expanded in ever-widening circles across the surface, 
blurring the stars. Hercules collided with Ophiuchus. Virgo 
wobbled. 

Until recently Mulder had wanted to be Scully's hero in a 
traditional sense, expecting that her appreciation -- and his 
personal satisfaction -- would follow. In many respects, he 
still wanted to be her guardian, her rescuer, a Hercules or 
white knight. But he'd discovered it took far less courage to 
save her life than it took to trust the resilience of her 
heart.

Donning the mantle of fatherhood, on the other hand, had 
turned out to be a million times easier than he had 
anticipated. Playing daddy to Gini had proven he was up to the 
task of "planting his feet in the world," as Diana put it so 
long ago. He'd accepted the responsibility and no longer 
feared it. He now felt confident he could be a doting and 
capable parent. 

Gazing at the stars, billions of years old, peaceful, he 
experienced his place among them. Scully was his life-long 
partner, no matter where...or when...they found themselves. 
Their relationship was the Truth-with-a-capital-T for which 
he'd been searching all along. It felt good to finally believe 
in something as ordinary, yet as extraordinary, as the trust 
of an eight-year-old child or the enduring love of Dana 
Katherine Scully.

"I'm not alone," he whispered to the sky. A contented smile 
spread slowly across his face. 

Someday he would marry Scully. They would have a son. He would 
protect and love them with every heartbeat and breath.

Lightning bugs floated above the reeds, winking in and out. An 
owl hooted in a tree to the east.

Mulder wondered if there was still time to tie the knot before 
Jason Nichols snatched them back to the present. He pictured 
Scully dressed for a tribal wedding ceremony, clad in a snow-
white doeskin tunic, her hair done up in beads and feathers. 
She would make a beautiful bride. He regretted not suggesting 
it sooner, back in the valley, right after she'd agreed to 
marry him. 

Would she forget her promise once they returned home? Would it 
be stolen from her along with her other memories?

His smile vanished. The bastards at Hill Air Force Base had 
the ability to wipe their minds clean. They would use it to 
prevent him and Scully from telling what they knew.

A snapping twig startled him and he spun to find Dzeh jogging 
toward him across the beach.

"Where is Klizzie?" the tribesman asked, his voice sounding 
anxious. 

Mulder was able to translate Dzeh's words, thanks to Gini's 
lessons, but was confused by his question. "Klizzie?"

Suspicion deepened Dzeh's scowl. He pulled his knife from the 
waist of his breechclout and stopped an arm's length away. He 
lifted the stone blade to Mulder's chin.

"Get that thing away from me," Mulder complained. "I haven't 
seen her." 

Dzeh kept the knife where it was and began to yammer. From 
what little Mulder could understand, Klizzie must've been at 
the beach not too long ago.

"Where is she?" Dzeh demanded in his own language.

Answering in English, Mulder said, "Don't ask me! The place 
was deserted when I got here."

Dzeh couldn't understand him, of course, and Mulder didn't 
know how to make his meaning any clearer. He waved a hand at 
the dozens of footprints pocking the moonlit beach, any of 
which might provide a clue to Klizzie's whereabouts. When he 
spotted one with only four toes, the hair on the back of his 
neck stood on end.

"Look." He shoved Dzeh's knife aside and went to the track. 
"You know who this is."

Panic glittered in the other man's eyes. "Klesh!"

"Ten to one he's got Klizzie."

"We must find her."

Yeah, but where do we look? Mulder wondered. He quickly 
scanned the edge of the forest. 

A man stood looking back at him from beneath the black trees 
to the east, only fifty feet away. The moon revealed deep 
scars on his face, arms and legs. It was Conan the Barbarian, 
or Klesh, as Dzeh had called him, and he was standing with his 
arm outstretched, Mulder's handcuffs dangling from his wrist. 
In his clenched fist was something solid and heavy looking, 
and he was pointing it in their direction. Moonlight glinted 
off its metallic surface, and Mulder recognized the sleek 
barrel of Scully's lost Smith and Wesson.

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
3:14 PM

"This is it." Jason's announcement was unnecessary; there was 
no mistaking a time distortion.

Pillows of dust fogged the air, churning like snowflakes in a 
nor'easter. A silvery crack bisected the hangar straight 
through the aircraft's cockpit.

Jason and Lisa were sitting at the ship's console, knuckles 
white on the controls. Through the windshield they could see 
Kaback, Beck and Linden gaping at the brightening fissure. It 
lit the hangar like non-stop chain lightning, tinting the air 
blue, sizzling, snapping, humming louder with each passing 
second.

Jason braced himself for the predictable flashbacks and flash-
forwards that accompanied a rift in the continuum. Time was 
coiling and coalescing, and he likened the phenomenon to a 
melting Slinky. Events that happened years ago were located on 
the lower rings, future events on the upper. They merged as 
the phenomenon progressed. Childhood memories blended with 
moments from old age, resulting in a dizzying, unrecognizable 
chronology. The human mind was unaccustomed to this non-linear 
existence; he'd seen it drive unprepared time travelers mad.

Events from his boyhood began to bombard him: his sister's 
sixth birthday party, a heart-stopping ride down Fletcher's 
Hill on a toboggan, sheep-shearing on his father's ranch. 
Soon, a scene from his future snaked into his consciousness. 
He caught glimpses of an elongated lab equipped with twenty-
odd hands-free computers, their monitors the size of the 
hangar's door, but paper-thin and translucent. Each screen 
displayed a model of a time anomaly similar to this one.     

From beyond his visual field, he heard Lisa gasp, and her fear 
yanked him back to the present.

"Don't be afraid," he shouted.

"W-what's going on?"

"It's the distortion. The continuum is folding back on 
itself." He wanted to describe it to her in detail, calm her 
nerves by explaining the physics, but there wasn't time. He 
grabbed her hand. "It won't hurt you. Just ride it out."

"I'm scared!"

"It'll all be over as soon as we get the agents back."

"Oh my God...I see...no, stop, stop!"

"What is it?"

Maybe she answered him, maybe she didn't. He couldn't be sure 
because Lisa and the airmen outside the craft, even the craft 
itself, shimmered in and out of existence. He thought he 
glimpsed autumn foliage and the flicker of campfire, heard 
phrases spoken in an ancient, unfamiliar language, felt the 
icy chill of a glacier skate across his skin.

Blindly he gripped Lisa's hand and prayed this wouldn't be his 
last conscious act.     

*   *   *

Klesh could not believe his good fortune. To find both Dzeh 
and Muhl-dar together on the beach was a gift from the 
Spirits. His two greatest enemies were at his mercy and he was 
not in a merciful mood.

He pointed the thunder weapon straight at Dzeh's heart. The 
Spirits would help him use it. They were at his side tonight.

"Where is Klizzie?" Dzeh demanded. His rounded eyes blazed and 
he took a threatening step forward.

"No," Muhl-dar warned, grabbing his arm. "It might be loaded."

Klesh didn't know what the words meant, but was pleased to see 
the Eel man was made nervous by the weapon. His unease showed 
that he understood its power, but could not control it from 
where he stood. He was not a Spirit, he was not even a shaman. 
He was just a man with the same fears and weaknesses of all 
men. His blood would soon stain the beach red.

"Where is she?" Dzeh shouted. "If you have hurt her I will kill 
you!"

"You are in no position to kill anyone." Klesh sneered at the 
Owl clansman's pathetic knife. "Ask your chindi friend what it 
is I hold in my hand."

"I know that thing. I have seen it bring a mastodon down."

A mastodon? This surprised Klesh. He had witnessed the weapon 
put a hole through Tse-e's hand, but to take down a mastodon? 
It was evidently more powerful than he had imagined. "Then you 
know it can kill you and Muhl-dar both."

Lightning sizzled in the west, momentarily silhouetting 
Crouching Cat Mountain. The storm was obviously far away; there 
were no clouds overhead and no rumble of thunder.

Muhl-dar took several steps closer, positioning himself between 
Dzeh and the weapon. The Eel man was speaking gibberish. A 
curse perhaps? Was he conjuring Spirits?

"Do not move!" Klesh commanded, and Muhl-dar ceased his 
incomprehensible mumbling.

A fist-sized clump of cottonwood seed drifted down from the 
night sky and landed softly on the beach six paces in front of 
Klesh. A second snow-white ball descended to the sand. Then 
another. And another.

What sort of chindi magic was this? He turned his face to the 
sky and blinked in surprise as more seed floated earthward.

Klesh instinctively sought his totem pouch with his free hand, 
eager for its protection. Inside it he felt the crossed sticks 
of Li-chi Tse-gah's shiny totem. Maybe it would protect him 
from this strange storm of seeds.

Another flash of lightning lit the night, closer this time.

Keeping the thunder weapon aimed at the other men, Klesh dug 
into the pouch and removed the red-haired woman's totem. He 
held it up to the sky.
   
Muhl-dar's eyes bulged at the sight of it.

"You fucking son-of-a..." Muhl-dar broke into a run and headed 
straight for him.     

*   *   *

A man with close-cropped hair and blue eyes blocks Scully's 
way. He is wearing a nondescript suit. A gun in a shoulder 
holster bulges beneath his suit coat. She doesn't recognize 
him, but guesses he's an FBI agent. She feels she must get 
around him into ICU, but doesn't know why...she knows only 
that she feels afraid. 

"I need to see him," she says.

"I know, but I wish you wouldn't." His tone is sympathetic and 
his eyes are full of concern.

Ignoring him, she enters the room. She is both shocked and 
relieved to find Mulder lying in the hospital bed. Tubes snake 
from his mouth and arms. Horrific scars pock his face and 
limbs. A poorly healed incision begins at his neck and 
disappears into his collarless hospital gown. Machines hiss 
and beep, and the air smells like a morgue. She goes to him 
and tentatively places her palm on his chest, expecting to 
feel...what? Nothing? But dear God, dear God, his body is 
warm. And beyond all odds his heart is beating. Her fear 
begins to dissipate. She leans over him, embraces him and 
weeps with unrestrained relief.

This is what it feels like to have a prayer answered, she 
realizes.

Suddenly she is no longer at Mulder's bedside, but is 
unlocking his apartment door. He waits behind her, dazed and 
shuffling, dressed in new pants and jacket. She's carrying a 
duffel bag and is wearing a long coat, which barely hides her 
enormously pregnant belly. She lets them in his door, aware 
that this is neither reality nor a dream, but another of her 
visions.

"Must feel good to be home," she says.

He replies with a noncommittal, "Mmm." 

His lack of enthusiasm worries her. She deposits the duffel in 
his bedroom.

"Something looks different," he says as she reenters the 
living room.

"It's clean."

"Ah...that's it." He chuckles without humor. Why does he look 
so uncomfortable, while she feels overwhelmed with joy to be 
with him?

"Missing a molly," he accuses, examining the fish in his tank.

"Yeah, she wasn't as lucky as you."

He inches toward the desk, where he leans gingerly against its 
edge. He is acting as if the world will shatter if he moves 
too fast or attempts a smile.

"Mulder...I don't know if you'll ever understand what it was 
like. First learning of your abduction..." 

He'd been taken. But by whom? Or by what? 

"And then searching for you and finding you dead. And now to 
have you back and, uh..." Her voice breaks and she finds she 
cannot finish what she wants to say. 

This moment is after she buried Mulder in Raleigh, she 
realizes. The events in her visions are happening out of 
sequence, which means she probably misinterpreted others based 
on her assumptions about chronology. Even so, she can't be 
sure of the timing. Is it William she is carrying in her 
swollen belly or is she pregnant a second time? Has she 
already given her son away or is that nightmare still to come?

She has no time to find out. In the blink of an eye, she is no 
longer in Mulder's apartment. She is in a darkened room. It 
looks like a prison cell and she is once again -- or still? -- 
on the verge of tears. Mulder is lying on the floor. Slowly, 
he sits up and yawns.

She is not pregnant, she notices.

"Mulder, I need you to talk to me. Confide in me or we'll 
lose."

"We can't win, Scully. We can only hope to go down fighting."

"You're scaring me." She goes to him. "Mulder, I'm so scared 
that I've just got you back and now I'm going to lose you 
again."

"I know what I'm doing."

Does he? Clearly he's been beaten, starved, deprived of sleep.

"Well...whatever you're doing...you have no idea how much has 
already been lost...what I've had to do."

Regret swamps her. Her heart feels ready to burst.

"I do know," he says, his voice thick with compassion. 
"Skinner told me."

She begins to cry. "Our son, Mulder... I gave him up."

The horrible truth hangs in the air, seemingly solid in this 
murky place. Mulder gathers her in his arms and her last shred 
of composure crumbles as he tries to comfort her. William is 
gone...forever. He is with strangers. She isn't sure how she 
knows this but she does. Somehow she's aware that she prays a 
dozen times a day for the safety of her child. She prays even 
harder that Mulder will not despise her for what she has had 
to do. "Our son... I'm so afraid you can never forgive me."

"I know you had no choice."

Sometimes there are no good choices. Sometimes there are only 
choices.

The darkness of the prison cell is incrementally replaced by a 
dazzling desert sun. She is in the passenger seat of a rusted 
Chevy pickup; Mulder is at the wheel. He's wearing mirrored 
sunglasses and his expression is unreadable as he drives. Her 
sense of regret has diminished, but it is not completely gone.

Dust coats the cracked windshield. There is a roadmap of New 
Mexico unfolded across her lap. Her finger rests on a blue 
line representing I-40, west of Albuquerque.

"Turn must be coming up," Mulder says. "We're almost into 
Gallup."

"Are you sure you want to take Route 666? Sounds ominous to 
me."

He chuckles and nods. "Seems appropriate, considering."

Considering what? she wonders. 

"How many miles to Shiprock?" he asks.

At first she thinks he has said "shipwreck" and it makes the 
nape of her neck tingle. But she checks the map, finds the 
tiny town is located in the Navajo Reservation, and estimates 
the distance.

"Eighty miles. Why Shiprock?"

"Shiprock is a 1700-foot eroded volcanic plume. It's sacred to 
the Navajos. They call it Tse Bi dahi, which means 'Rock with 
Wings,'" Mulder explains. "It comes from an ancient myth about 
a great bird that transported the ancestral people to their 
land before it turned into a stone peak. Sound familiar?"

"Not particularly."

He frowns at her. "Tse Bi dahi is a metaphor for an 
extraterrestrial spaceship."

"More likely it's a metaphor for the site's power to lift the 
human soul above the problems of daily existence into an 
awareness of the Great Spirit."

He seems to appreciate her explanation as much as his own. 
"Either way, it's the place we gotta be."

"Isn't it closed to climbers?"

"Are we playing by the rules all of a sudden?" He grins and 
steers the car onto 666.

It's a relief to see him smile. She hopes his good humor will 
last all the way to Shiprock, only...they are no longer riding 
in the cab of the pickup. They're standing in a ramshackle 
living room of a small, overheated house. She feels at home in 
this place, although she doesn't recognize its worn, western-
style furnishings or the Navajo rugs that decorate its walls 
and floors.

A young boy is sitting expectantly on a threadbare sofa. He 
has a bed pillow in his lap, which covers most of his 
outstretched legs. His feet are bare and dusty. He's wearing a 
child-sized Yankees T-shirt, denim shorts and a Band-Aid on 
his chin. He has red hair, blue eyes and a smattering of 
freckles across his nose, yet his expression is so much like 
Mulder's it takes Scully's breath away. She knows 
instinctively this is his son. Her son. This is William.

"Hey, buddy," Mulder says to the boy. "You ready?"

He nods enthusiastically, fidgeting just the way his father 
does when he's excited. 

Mulder is holding a pink-clad newborn in the crook of one arm. 
Her wispy hair is the same dark shade as his own. Her small 
fists box the air and mewling grunts hum in her throat. The 
sounds make Scully's breasts ache.

"Moof, moof, moof," orders a redheaded toddler in a yellow 
sundress. She is scooting a plastic fire truck across the 
terracotta floor and runs the toy straight into Mulder's leg. 
"Daddy! Moof!"

"Ella, don't you want to say hello to your new sister?" he 
asks.

"No!" She frowns in disgust and steers her fire truck away.

"*I* do!" William says, clearly losing patience. "I've been 
waiting...forever."

"Mommy just went to the hospital yesterday, sport," he reminds 
William. 

"Seems like forever."

Mulder brings the baby to William and carefully sets her on 
the pillow in his lap. He stays within arm's reach and keeps a 
careful watch on the boy, but allows him to hold his sister on 
his own.

"Hi Virginia," William says, eyes wide with wonder. He 
cautiously pats the top of the baby's head as if she were a 
puppy. "Her name is Virginia, right?" 

"Yes, sweetie," Scully answers. "Although your Dad has taken 
to calling her Ginny." 

"I was lobbying for 'Elvis,'" he tells William, "but your mom 
nixed the idea." Pride shines in his eyes as he watches his 
son and new daughter. About to make another wisecrack, he 
glances over his shoulder at Scully. His smile fades a little. 
"Why don't you lie down, sweetheart?" he suggests. "You look 
beat. I'll watch the kids."

Her abdomen is sore and she knows she should get off her feet, 
but she's too enamored by her family to leave them. A son, two 
daughters, and a husband whom she loves with all her heart. 
She twirls a wedding band absently around her ring finger and 
wonders how she arrived at this blissful moment.  

"She's looking straight at me!" William says. His missing 
front tooth makes him whistle when he talks. "I like her, 
Dad."

"Me, too, son," Mulder says, and winks at Scully.

"Me *no* like," Ella says from behind an overstuffed chair. 
She begins caterwauling at the top of her lungs.

The baby whimpers at the ear-splitting noise and Mulder 
immediately collects her from the pillow. "It's okay, it's 
okay," he murmurs, before handing her over to Scully. He goes 
after Ella, lifts her from the floor and blows a loud 
raspberry onto her belly. Her unhappy screech turns into a 
squeal of delight.

"Dadeeeee!"

"What, pipsqueak?"

"Tickle me!"

This is all familiar, like deja vu, or discovering you've been 
walking in circles. 

Scully is reminded of her tattoo. The Ourobourus represents 
the future turning to face the primordial roots of the past. 
"In that moment, a new dimension of the self will arise and 
the world will be reborn."

She doesn't recall who told her that or when, but knows it is 
what is happening now... in her vision and in the Ice Age. The 
past is revealing her future. For the first time she sees the 
events of her life laid out side-by-side and the truth is 
revealed.

Mulder was right, at least in one respect -- each individual 
choice can and does shape the future. But what he didn't see, 
couldn't see, was that it isn't possible to predict the 
outcome of those choices. What at first seems like a poor 
choice may turn out to be the proper one when viewed in a 
larger context. The big picture, the grand scheme, God's Plan, 
whatever you choose to call it, is too broad to see in its 
entirety without the perspective of time.

The ultimate outcome of Scully's decisions may never be 
revealed to her, but her time in the Pleistocene and her 
visions of the future have taught her that having trust -- in 
a higher power and, maybe more importantly, in her own true 
heart -- will eventually lead her to the appropriate 
destination. All paths do not lead to the same place, but all 
choices will take her where she's supposed to go.

She understands she will give up her son because she loves 
him. Strangers will keep him safe because they are good 
people. And God will bring him back to her for His own 
reasons.

She gazes at her little boy, her husband, their daughters, and 
sees a happy ending and a new beginning all in one.

Walking in circles? Yes and no. She is part of a sequence, a 
link in a chain, which is itself another link in an even 
greater chain, looped like an endless strand of DNA, a helix 
leading to...what? God is giving her only a glimpse of her 
role in His Divine Plan. But that is enough.

*   *   *

Scully awoke feeling calmer than she'd felt since early 
childhood, back when she used to share a tiny San Diego 
bedroom with Missy, a time when she'd been able to smell the 
sea through their open window and hear the murmur of their 
parents' laughter in the living room downstairs as she drifted 
off to sleep each night. It was an innocent period in her 
life, when truth came effortlessly, choices were uncomplicated 
and every decision was simple to make.

As wondrous as it had been, though, she had no wish to return 
to it. It was her future that held promise.

Imagine, just a few short hours ago she had told Mulder she 
wanted to remain in the past and never return to 1998.

Rolling over on the furs, eager to tell him she'd changed her 
mind, she discovered the bed was empty and Mulder was not in 
the hut.  Alarm pricked her scalp and she sat up. She had a 
vague memory of him saying he was going to the lake to wash 
his back. She rose from the bed. Feeling chilled, she grabbed 
his jacket and put it on. Comforted by its warmth and familiar 
scent, she went to the hut's door, pushed it aside and peered 
out into the black night.

Lightning jittered along the horizon above the lake, although 
the stars were out and there were no clouds. What appeared to 
be seeds or clumps of dust were falling from the sky. A wave 
of nausea struck her when the moon suddenly blurred and 
lurched eastward. It morphed nightmarishly from full to 
quarter, and back again, as it stuttered across the heavens. 
Its unnatural movement reminded her of the UFOs she and Mulder 
had watched from a grassy embankment outside Ellens Air Base 
in Idaho on their second case together. They'd argued about 
the strange dancing lights, about whether they were lasers or 
experimental aircraft or something extraterrestrial.

More lightning-like flares erupted overhead and the 
constellations appeared to rotate at a dizzying, inexplicable 
rate. She grabbed onto the hut for balance.

What the hell was going on?

The flashes were bringing the tribes-people out of their huts. 
They whispered nervously and pointed at the sky.

A silver-blue crack shimmered into existence approximately 
five hundred feet above her head. It extended from the 
mountains to the west, across the valley, to the forest in the 
east. 

This was it, she realized. This was their rescue. Jason 
Nichols was opening a time portal. 

The phones! Jesus! Did Mulder have his? She ducked back into 
the hut and searched frantically among the fur blankets for 
her cell. There! There it was! Right next to Mulder's.

Damn it! She had to get it to him. These were the homing 
devices.

She grabbed both phones and ran toward the lake. 

*   *   *

"Son of a bitch!" Mulder rocketed toward the scarred caveman. 
The memory of him with Scully, holding her head to the ground 
while he attempted to rape her from behind, fueled his rage. 
He could still see Conan's friend grinning from ear to ear in 
anticipation as he waited his turn. Scully's shoulders and 
arms, the backs of her thighs, the soles of her feet, had been 
crisscrossed with cuts and mottled with bruises, unmistakable 
evidence of her brutal manhandling. Dressed in nothing but her 
silk underwear, she'd screamed when Conan yanked her panties 
down and--

Mulder careened into him, knocking them both off their feet, 
giving him an odd sense of deja vu. The gun went spinning from 
Conan's hand and landed with a thud in the sand about ten feet 
away.

"This is for Scully!" Mulder rose onto his knees and threw 
three rapid-fire punches, slugging Conan in the jaw, the 
mouth, the nose. "And this..." -- he struck hard with his left 
-- "is for me." 

Blood sprayed from the caveman's split lip and he howled in 
pain. He raised his arms to protect his face. Scully's 
necklace dangled from his clenched fingers, and the sight of 
it infuriated Mulder. He lunged for it, but Conan was too 
quick, yanking it back and holding it out of reach. Mulder 
lunged again. Conan's fist shot out and caught him on the 
chin, knocking him on his ass.

Blood drizzled from Mulder's open mouth as he bellowed, "Give 
me that!"

Conan sneered and held up the necklace, taunting him.

"Fucker..." Mulder scrambled toward him, lobbed a right hook, 
connected, and followed it with an upper cut.

Unfazed by the blows, the caveman plowed his fist into 
Mulder's ribs, doubling him in half. Two more punches to the 
chest sent him sprawling. 

Lightning sizzled overhead. Peculiar clumps of dust rolled 
across the sand, through the air; it stuck to the men's hair 
and sweaty skin. 

Spitting blood, Mulder called to Dzeh, "Gonna help me out 
here, buddy?" He glanced over his shoulder and saw Dzeh 
picking up the gun. 

"Throw it here!" Mulder signaled for the weapon.

Dzeh tossed it. Mulder grabbed for it and missed when Conan 
rammed into him. He was knocked sideways. Sledgehammer fists 
pummeled his head and neck. Each blow caused an explosion of 
pain.

"Dzeh...fuck!...help--"

The tribesman was already there, yanking Conan to his feet and 
felling him almost immediately with a well-placed wallop.

The scarred man hit the ground hard.

"How did that feel?" Mulder asked. He plucked the gun from the 
sand.

The victory was short-lived. Conan's heel caught him in the 
arm and knocked the gun loose. Both men scurried on hands and 
knees for it. Conan was quicker; his scarred fingers closed 
around it. Mulder latched onto his wrist and tried to wrestle 
it free.

Dzeh came at Conan from behind and cinched a brawny arm around 
his neck, making the Neanderthal's eyes bulge. 

"How do you like the odds now?" Mulder asked, referring to 
Conan's penchant for ganging up two on one. He pried at his 
fingers, but Conan refused to release the gun. "Give it up!"

Conan suddenly jerked free. The gun fired. 

The noise was godawful at such close range. Dzeh released his 
chokehold to clap a hand over his left eye. Blood seeped from 
between his splayed fingers. His mouth opened as if to speak, 
but nothing came out. Dropping to his knees, he lurched 
forward and collapsed facedown on the sand.

Mulder raised wary eyes to Conan's gloating stare, and found 
himself looking down the barrel of Scully's gun.  

*   *   * 

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
BUILDING 30
MAY 14, 1998
3:14 PM

Pearsall gripped the counter behind him and tried to make 
sense of what was happening. He could see Stroehmer across the 
room, standing between two exam tables, his grinning face 
tilted ceiling-ward. Alarmingly, the building's roof appeared 
to be gone, replaced by a midnight sky. The air was hazy with 
fist-sized clumps of dust, which floated upward from the floor 
toward the stars. Confounded by the phenomenon, Pearsall was 
only marginally relieved to recognize the constellations. 

A cabinet door rattled behind him and in his stupor he 
attributed the sound to Ophiuchus' Serpent. The creature 
seemed to have come to life in the night sky, twisting and 
writhing in its holder's clenched fists.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Stroehmer shouted.

"What the hell is happening?" 

A beaker crashed to the floor, splintering on the tile.

"Time distortion. Watch."

To Pearsall's amazement, two naked figures solidified out of 
thin air onto the tables beside Stroehmer -- a lanky, dark-
haired man and a petite redheaded woman. Almost immediately 
they vanished like flickering ghosts.

"It'll all be over soon." Stroehmer rubbed his palms together.

Pearsall blinked and suddenly was in another room, a more 
modern lab with futuristic equipment and twenty times as many 
beds. Each held a patient. The shocked-looking men and women 
were secured by restraints, and all were screaming 
incoherently. But the scene was almost instantly replaced by a 
vivid childhood memory, a visit to the National Zoo, when 
Pearsall rode his father's shoulders, giving him a better view 
of the snakes in the Reptile House.

A large rattler slithered toward a shady spot inside its pen, 
its sides swollen with a recent meal.

From somewhere beyond its glass cage, Dr. Oskar Stroehmer 
clapped his hands and cackled like a madman. 

*   *   *

//In my dream, the newcomer named Muhl-dar captured a snake, 
which he placed in a bone cage. When Snake Spirit discovered 
the caged snake, he became angry. Snake Spirit released the 
snake and turned it into a man, then sent this snake-man to 
seek revenge. After much searching, the snake-man found Muhl-
dar living with his mate at the camp of Owl Clan. Muhl-dar 
fought with snake-man and defeated him by breaking him into 
two halves. Snake Spirit became enraged by the death of snake-
man, so he disguised himself as a lightning bolt and traveled 
to earth in the belly of a giant storm, intending to kill 
Muhl-dar. The night sky was turned inside out. The stars and 
the moon were moved from their customary positions as the 
lightning bolt grew to an enormous size. Cottonwood seed fell 
like snow, even though it was not the season for seed. 
Clansmen ran in every direction, afraid for their lives. Those 
who remained behind heard the chirping of a bird. It was 
followed by the voice of a far-off female Spirit, who spoke to 
Muhl-dar, and although we could not understand her words, he 
was able to speak to her in her own strange language and he 
became quite excited and happy to talk with her. Then she 
swallowed up Muhl-dar and his mate. The people of Owl Clan 
were sad to see them go.//

Dzeh watched stars coalesce behind closed lids. He tasted 
blood. The world seemed to lurch beneath his outstretched 
arms. He was lying facedown on the ground. Sand encrusted his 
lips, stuck to his fingers, its grit needled his elbows and 
knees. Something wet and warm oozed down the left side of his 
face, soaking his beard. He wanted to wipe it away, he wanted 
to rise to his feet, but even the slightest movement caused 
excruciating pain. 

The sound of angry voices came to his ears as if underwater. 
He listened more intently, until he was certain he recognized 
who was speaking. Muhl-dar and Klesh were having a heated 
quarrel. Opening his one good eye, Dzeh tried to focus on 
them, but they were cloaked in a fog of cottonwood seed, two 
or three paces away on the moonlit beach.

Muhl-dar was kneeling and Klesh stood over him with the 
mysterious thunder weapon pointed directly at his head. Both 
men wore storm-cloud expressions and argued in harsh, clipped 
tones. Klesh prodded Muhl-dar's cheek with the terrible 
weapon, making him snarl. 

Dzeh wanted to help Muhl-dar, and wondered where he had 
dropped his knife. He remembered having it before he grabbed 
Klesh by the throat, before the clap of thunder echoed inside 
his ear and a spear of fire slashed his brow above his left 
eye.

As if weighted by stones upon his back, Dzeh rose up on hands 
and knees. His left temple throbbed and his limbs quaked as he 
half-crawled, half-dragged himself across the sand to his 
knife. Overhead a lightning bolt divided the sky. It hissed 
like an angered snake. Unlike ordinary lightning, it did not 
immediately die away. It glowed more fiercely than any flash 
Dzeh had ever seen, reminding him of the white and treacherous 
Tkin Glacier to the north, or the silvery scars on Klesh's 
ruined face.       

Locating his knife in the sand, he picked it up and shouted to 
Muhl-dar. When Muhl-dar glanced his way, he tossed him the 
weapon. The effort made his head pound and caused him to 
collapse, but not before he saw Muhl-dar raise the knife to 
Klesh's chest.

Then an unexpected thing happened and Dzeh wasn't sure if he 
could trust his eyes. It was possible he was slipping into the 
dream world of Spirits, and was not really witnessing an 
earthly event. 

Klizzie stepped out of the seed-fogged night behind Klesh. She 
was naked and her bruised skin glowed with the blue-silver 
light of the heavenly bolt. Blood ringed her wrists and 
striped her fingers. The beads in her braided hair rattled 
like pods on a honey locust before a winter storm, and her 
dark eyes glittered with tears and determination. 

"Klesh," she murmured, "it is over." 

He turned to face her. A nasty smile deepened the scar on his 
left cheek. He leveled the terrible thunder weapon at her 
head. "Yes, it is."

Without warning, she ducked beneath his outstretched arm and 
shoved him hard. He stumbled and pivoted toward Muhl-dar. The 
thunder weapon flared. 

For two heartbeats no one moved, startled by the weapon's 
fearsome noise. 

Then Klesh peered down at his belly, where blood was seeping 
from a slash across his gut. Dzeh's knife was embedded deeply 
into his side. The thunder weapon dropped from his open hand 
and his eyes rounded when entrails suddenly spilled from his 
wound like a nest of snakes tumbling down a mountain slope. He 
tried to scoop them up and stop their uncoiling by holding 
them in the clench of his arms. His deformed legs began to 
quake and he collapsed to his knees. He gaped in astonishment 
at the terrible wound, at the blood-soaked sand, at Muhl-dar 
and Klizzie.  

Releasing his belly, he pointed a wet, gnarled finger at her. 
"You...?" 

He was beyond saying more. The Spirits were extinguishing the 
fire in his eyes. He teetered sideways, took three shallow 
breaths and then fell. Clumps of cottonwood seed billowed 
around him and he did not move again.

By now many people were gathering on the shore. Their faces 
wore expressions of terror as they pointed at Klesh, the 
thunder weapon, and the sky. They shouted: "Snake Spirit has 
come to kill us!" "We will be punished." "It is the stranger's 
fault!"

Dzeh knew this was his vision come to life. The lightning bolt 
was growing to an enormous size. Cottonwood seeds clogged the 
night air, making it difficult to see. The stars and moon were 
unrecognizable as they eddied through the air like fallen 
leaves in an autumn river. Would the female Spirit rescue them 
as his vision had foretold, or were his kinsmen doomed?

"Prophecies are often unclear when they are first revealed," 
the Shaman had said after Dzeh divulged his dream to the men 
in Tsa-ond Cave. "Interpreting them is like hunting in fog. 
Sometimes we must wait until events reveal themselves before 
we can know whether it is best to charge or run." 

Flares ignited along the rim of the giant lightning bolt, 
causing it to crackle and expand. People scattered in every 
direction, afraid for their lives. Dzeh lost sight of Klizzie 
in the confusion. Fear gripped his throat, choking off his 
breath when he could not locate her. He tried to rise to his 
feet to go look for her, but dizziness quickly overtook him 
and he fell again to his hands and knees. The wound at his 
temple throbbed. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.

"Do not move." He felt gentle hands cradling his face. He 
looked up to find Klizzie by his side, exhausted and afraid.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded and slipped her arms around his waist to help him 
stand. "We must go. It is not safe here."

"We will be fine. The female Spirit will save us." He drew her 
down beside him on the sand.

At that moment the sky opened, torn in two by the lightning 
bolt. The surrounding landscape rippled and the seeds that had 
been previously falling began to drift upward into the 
widening breach. It was impossible to see what lay beyond; the 
sky had become as bright as a midday sun. Inside it, Dzeh 
thought he glimpsed the face of his dead mother, looking as 
young and happy as she had in life. She vanished as quickly as 
she had appeared, replaced by more faces, smiling children who 
looked a lot like Klizzie. Were these their sons and 
daughters? They, too, disappeared into the brightness.

Silver light filled the valley, illuminating the frightened 
men and women who were mumbling prayers on the beach. Day-nuh 
was standing among them, her eyes focused on Muhl-dar. She was 
dressed in one of the Eel skin cloaks. In her outstretched 
hands she carried two small objects that put off the 
phosphorescent glow of lightning beetles.

Muhl-dar glanced her way before retrieving the thunder weapon 
and plucking the shiny, foreign ornament from Klesh's gnarled 
fingers. Then he went to her and traded the ornament for one 
of the objects she held. She looked relieved and Dzeh was 
uncertain if it was the totem or Muhl-dar's smile that made 
her eyes shine with grateful tears.

They startled when the object in her hand trilled like a bird 
at first daylight. Muhl-dar's soon did the same, and for a 
moment the glowing objects sang in unison. The birdsong was 
followed by a thin, faraway voice. It was the female Spirit 
from Dzeh's dream-vision. She seemed to be living inside the 
object in Muhl-dar's palm. When he replied to her, his words 
galloped with excitement. He dovetailed his fingers with Day-
nuh's, then shouted across the sand to Dzeh, "Take care of 
yourself, buddy. Take care of Klizzie and Gini, too." 

Then the sky became blindingly bright. Dzeh wrapped his arms 
protectively around his beloved mate, and over the crown of 
her bowed head he watched Muhl-dar and Day-nuh fade like stars 
in the dawn.