Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 
Rating: NC-17 (Violence, Language, Graphic Sexual Content)
Classification: X; MSR; /O; post ep

Spoilers: "The Mastodon Diaries" takes place between "Folie A 
Deux" and "The End." It contains spoilers from throughout the 
series and is "canon compliant."

Summary: Mulder and Scully are thrown back in time...12,000 
years.

"Although common sense may rule out the possibility of time 
travel, the laws of quantum physics certainly do not. In case 
you forgot, Scully, that's from your graduate thesis. You were 
a lot more open-minded when you were a youngster." -- Mulder 
in "Synchrony"

Disclaimer: Do these characters really belong to Chris Carter, 
FOX and 1013 Productions? If so, no copyright infringement 
intended. Fun, yes. Profit, no.

Authors Notes: I liked Jean M. Auel's "Clan of the Cave Bear" 
novels when they first came out. Maybe it was the panoramic 
scope of her prehistoric adventure stories that I found 
interesting. Or maybe I liked them because I minored in 
anthropology in college. Or maybe I just enjoyed the raw, 
unbridled, primitive sex.

Whichever, Auel's stories got me thinkin' about sending our 
heroes into the Pleistocene. Lots of fascinating possibilities 
there. 

To see the illustrated version of "The Mastodon Diaries," go 
to http://akajake.philedom2k.com/

The paleo-indian terms listed here and used throughout "The 
Mastodon Diaries" are actually Navajo terms, as described in 
the Navajo Code Talkers' Dictionary at 
http://www.history.navy.mil/faqs/faq61-4.htm. 
For the sake of this story, I followed the X-Files' plotline 
that posits the Navajo language is similar to the language 
originally spoken by the Anasazi, a group of Native people who 
mysteriously vanished without a trace from the American 
southwest more than 600 years ago. The character Albert 
Hosteen, Native Navajo and a Code Talker during WWII, told 
Mulder and Scully that "Anasazi" literally means "ancient 
aliens." He believed the Anasazi tribe had been abducted "by 
visitors who come here still." Hosteen later helped translate 
the symbols discovered on several fragments of an alien 
spacecraft. His ability to read the extraterrestrial symbols 
implied a connection, or at least a similarity, between the 
languages of Anasazi, Navajo and the alien visitors.
My profoundest apologies if I have inappropriately used any 
Navajo terms in this fictional novel.

Definitions of the Navajo terms used in "The Mastodon Diaries" 
can be found at 
http://aka "Jake".philedom2k.com/TMDdictionary.html

Special thanks to mimic117, Dr. Guts, Jean Helms, jeri and 
xdks for beta. These "MastoBetas" kept me from sounding like a 
complete idiot. I can never thank them enough for their 
generosity and expertise. MWAH, gals! 


THE MASTODON DIARIES
By aka "Jake"

"Survival is the ultimate ideology." -- WMM, Fight the Future
 

PROLOGUE 

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
BOX ELDER COUNTY, UTAH
MAY 13, 1998
1:22 AM

Scully crouched on all fours, mimicking Mulder's low profile. 
She whispered into the dark, "I shouldn't have to tell you 
this, but we're breaking the law."  

"Shhhhh." Mulder pointed a cautionary finger at her. His hand 
glowed like a disembodied specter in the waning moonlight, 
while the rest of him remained cloaked in shadows. He wore 
black, as did she. Jeans, turtleneck, leather coat. Charcoal-
colored face paint camouflaged their cheeks. A faded Baltimore 
Black Sox baseball cap, circa 1932 and borrowed from Mulder, 
hid Scully's bright hair.

She listened to the snip-snip of his wire cutters, followed by 
the rattle of chain-link as he pulled aside a section of fence. 
He slipped through the breach like a cat burglar, then turned 
to help her trespass onto government property. 

Jesus, what had she been thinking when she agreed to come here 
with him? This was foolhardy...not to mention illegal.

"Mulder, if we get caught--"

"Shhhhh," he hushed her again. 

His fingers gripped her arm and drew her through the fence. 
Once on the other side, she knelt next to him...close enough to 
smell his antiperspirant, which to be honest was giving up the 
ghost. The hike from the car had been a long one, over rough 
terrain, and Mulder set a strenuous pace, jogging almost the 
entire way. She'd worked up a sweat trying to keep up and 
probably smelled equally sour. 

"Look," he whispered.

She followed the point of his finger to where runway lights 
illuminated a triangular-shaped aircraft to the east. Mulder 
was right. The ship was unlike anything they'd ever seen 
before.

Of course, that didn't make it extraterrestrial. Not in her 
book.

"Here they come." Mulder flattened himself in the weeds, 
stretching out on his stomach while he peered at the runway 
through a pair of high-powered binoculars.

Crickets whined in the scrub around them. Human voices drifted 
across the desert from the tarmac. The air smelled like dry 
grass, sage and ten thousand years of wind-scoured sand. 

"What are they doing?" Scully asked, squinting at the uniformed 
men who circled the craft. She crouched on hands and knees, 
hunching low, but refusing to lie on her belly the way Mulder 
was doing. The ground chilled her palms and she found herself 
wishing she'd worn gloves.

"I think they're gonna do it."

"Do it?"

"Fly." He adjusted the focus of his binoculars. "Uh-oh."

"What's the matter?" Goosebumps sprouted on her arms at his 
tone. Unable to make out anything from this distance, she had 
to rely on his eyes, trust his instincts. 

"I recognize one of them."

"Who?"

"Lisa Ianelli."

Lisa Ianelli -- girlfriend of time traveler Jason Nichols. 
What was she doing here?

"Hang on, Scully--" Mulder dropped his binoculars and grabbed 
her arm.

A chugging rumble emanated from the aircraft, causing the 
uniformed onlookers to scurry away. When the ship rose from 
the ground, it floated straight up, like a Harrier jet. It 
hung there, forty feet in the air, for ten seconds or so. 
Black and shaped like a shallow pyramid, it carried no 
insignia, no markings of any kind. Each of its triangular sides 
looked to be about thirty feet long. The bottom was flat and 
had a light at each point and a circular depression in the 
center. Six lights, arranged in a hexagon pattern, glowed 
around the inner circle.

The mysterious craft suddenly shot straight up, vanishing 
against the backdrop of stars, while causing an aftershock 
that rippled the sky. Sand and debris blasted the surrounding 
landscape. A stinging wind howled past Mulder and Scully, 
pinning them to the desert floor, while a sonic boom vibrated 
their bones.

Scully covered her head as the wind siphoned oxygen from her 
lungs. The last thing she remembered before losing 
consciousness was the feel of Mulder's fingers clutching 
desperately to the sleeve of her jacket.

* * *

Sun straight overhead. Painfully bright. Buzzing deerflies. 
Sweet smell of fresh grass...mixed with the musky odor of 
livestock.

Mulder groaned and tried to get his bearings. He was lying 
face down on the ground. Jesus, his head ached. His mouth felt 
bone dry and tasted sour, like...vomit. Oh, Christ, he'd 
thrown up at some point. He wiped his lips on his sleeve, and, 
blinking against the bright sun, looked around for Scully.

She was stretched out on the grass six feet away and appeared 
to be unconscious. 

"Sc-scully?" He coughed and swallowed, trying to moisten his 
mouth.

She didn't move, so he pushed himself into a sitting position. 
Every muscle pained him as he scooted closer and tapped her 
arm.

"Scully?" 

He could see dried blood caking her hairline, drawing flies. 
It pissed him off to see them there. What had happened to her 
cap? His head swiveled stupidly as he searched for it. 

"Scullee-scullee-scullee," he chanted, patting her hand. He 
felt queasy and lightheaded. How long had they been lying like 
this? he wondered. Where the hell was the Air Base? And the 
desert...?

Clearly, they weren't in northwestern Utah anymore. They were 
on a broad, grassy meadow. 

About ten yards away, six scrawny vultures formed a semicircle 
around them. The birds watched him with cautious eyes. One 
hopped closer.

"Get the hell outta here!" he yelled, causing the buzzards to 
flap their wings and retreat. 

In the distance, where the field met the forest, there was a 
herd of large, wooly...what exactly were those things? Too big 
for cows. Buffalo maybe? No, they had...tusks! Elephants?

He searched for his binoculars. Quickly locating them in the 
grass, he lifted them to his eyes and focused on the animals. 

"Oh, shhhit." 

Not elephants. 

Mastodons.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

CHAPTER ONE

SOMEWHERE IN NORTHWESTERN UTAH
LATE PLEISTOCENE
LATE SPRING, MIDDAY

Mulder removed his jacket, folded it in half and tucked it 
beneath Scully's head. Then he sat down beside her, prepared 
to wait as long as necessary for her to regain consciousness.

He passed the time by peering through his binoculars at the 
herd of mastodons, shooing flies from Scully's pale face, and 
chucking stones at the persistent vultures. 

He and Scully were in a hell of a predicament, and although he 
considered himself an able and brave man -- FBI-trained, with 
almost a decade of field experience -- he had to admit that 
the sight of Scully lying there as motionless as one of her 
cadavers scared the crap out of him. 

Watching over her, feeling utterly helpless, he was reminded 
of that terrible night when he was a kid, sitting beside the 
charred ruins of his boyhood friend's burned house. Would 
safeguarding Scully from a flock of hungry vultures give him 
years of nightmares, too? A phobia of buzzards, maybe, to go 
along with his fear of fire? 

And what if he lost her...?

Please, Scully, he pleaded silently. Open your eyes, pleeease.

The gash in her temple looked nasty -- ragged and oozing 
blood. A purple-black bruise the size of his palm darkened her 
forehead on the left side of her face, discoloring her skin 
from her hairline to her cheekbone. The size of the swelling 
unnerved him. He wished he'd been hurt instead of her, not 
just because he wanted to take away her suffering, but also 
because, with her medical knowledge, she would know how to 
patch him back together. As it was, he had no idea how to 
treat a head injury. And this one looked serious. 

He was wallowing in feelings of ineptitude when the mastodons 
began plodding west across the grassland, disappearing one-by-
one into the far off valley. The damn buzzards remained where 
they were, eyes trained on Scully's motionless form. Mulder 
hated their presumption, and considered shooting a couple of 
them with his gun. 

Common sense prevailed. His clip was full, but every bullet 
might prove precious later on.

Mulder picked up another stone and pitched it like a fastball 
at the second bird from the end. He caught the buzzard dead 
center in its chest, causing it to squawk and hop away. 

Take that, you fucking son-of-a-bitch.

The afternoon ticked slowly by. The sun beat down, intense and 
fiery hot. Mulder rotated his position as the sun moved, 
trying to keep Scully in the shadow of his body to shield her 
as much as possible from the sun's harsh rays. Her unprotected 
skin would burn easily out here in the open.

Should he pick her up and carry her into the shade? he 
wondered. The meadow merged into woodland about 500 yards to 
the north. He worried that moving her might cause some sort of 
internal damage. It was possible she had a neck injury or a 
broken bone. 

Chiding himself for not thinking of it sooner, he began to 
check her for breaks. He gently patted her arms and legs, and 
then unzipped her jacket to run his palms carefully over her 
ribs. Everything seemed fine. But what did he know? Maybe it 
wasn't possible to feel a rib fracture.   

For the next four hours he continued to lean over her, his 
back bearing the brunt of the sun's rays. The dark fabric of 
his turtleneck soaked in the heat, making him sweaty and 
restless. The vultures seemed to sense his discomfort and 
inched closer. In a fit of irritation, he yanked his shirt up 
over his head and flung it at them, only to become more 
aggravated when it fell short of its mark. 

Thank God, a steady breeze puffed across the open meadow, 
helping to cool his temper along with the sweat on his bare 
back. He plucked a blade of grass and chewed it, feeling like 
some hayseed from East Bumfuck, but thankful for the brief 
distraction of its tart flavor.

Late in the afternoon Scully finally stirred. 

"Mulder?" 

"I'm here." 

Gently, he stroked her hair, combing it back from her bloodied 
forehead. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. Relief prickled 
his skin when her eyes focused on his face and she appeared to 
recognize him. 

He smiled at her and said, "Hey."

She offered him a feeble smile in return, and then looked past 
him to the field of fresh grass and the semi-circle of 
vultures. 

"Where are we?" she asked.

"When."

"Excuse me?"

"Not 'where,' Scully -- 'when.' *When* are we."

She rose on one elbow and winced from the effort. The vultures 
backed away, beating their wings and clucking with almost 
human disappointment over her apparent recovery. 

"Mulder, what are you saying?"

"How's your American History?"

"Why?"

Deciding it might be best to ease into the truth, he gave a 
small shrug and tried to look unconcerned. "It's possible we 
might have...um...traveled back in time."

"Traveled--?" Now she sat bolt upright. "How far back in 
time?"

He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be all 
right and there was nothing to be overly concerned about. Her 
physical condition was the most important thing right now, and 
she needed to be careful not to injure herself any more than 
she already was. On the other hand, he knew she wouldn't 
tolerate being kept in the dark; she didn't like being coddled 
any more than he did. So instead of saying more, he offered 
her another shrug.

"70s? 60s? 50s?" she asked.

"Getting warmer."

"Jesus, Mulder." She gazed at the meadow, the forest, and, 
farther away, the snow-covered mountain peaks. 

No airplanes flew overhead, no traffic passed by, no buildings 
stood anywhere within view. 

"Turn of the century?" she asked.

"More like...Late Pleistocene."

"I don't believe it. It isn't possible." She tentatively 
prodded the bruise on her forehead as if her injury was the 
cause of her confusion. "People can't travel back in time."

"If you want, I can quote your graduate thesis. 'Although 
common sense may rule out the possibility of time travel, the 
laws of quantum physics--'"

"I know what I wrote," she snapped. "I was barely out of my 
teens at the time. What the hell did I know?" 

He didn't want to make her angrier by saying he agreed with 
her youthful hypothesis, so instead he kept his tone even and 
applied the practiced calm he usually reserved for reluctant 
witnesses. "We've seen something like this before," he 
reminded her gently. "And Lisa Ianelli was at Hill Air Force 
Base."

The weight of his words sunk in and Scully's shoulders 
slumped. 

"Tachyons," she said, understanding the implications. 

He nodded. "Subatomic particles that can travel faster than 
the speed of light and go back in time--"

"But only for a few seconds and only at a temperature of 
absolute zero," she interrupted. "Mulder, in case you hadn't 
noticed, we were never frozen."

"I can't explain that, but it's possible Lisa Ianelli 
discovered another method, a way to travel through time that 
doesn't require freezing." He reached out and stroked her 
cheek, careful to avoid the bruise there. "I saw something, 
Scully." He knew this was going to sound ridiculous. "I 
saw...mastodons."

"Mastodons?" She looked as if she might actually laugh. "Okay, 
Mulder. Let's assume for the sake of argument that we've 
somehow traveled back in time...to the Pleistocene...or 
whenever...not that I believe that. But *if* it were true, 
then how do we get back?"

Well, that was the sixty-four-thousand dollar question, wasn't 
it?

Now it was his turn to study their surroundings. The sun was 
low in the sky. It would be dark in another couple of hours, 
and no magic doorways to 1998 seemed to be presenting 
themselves. 

"I'm...I'm not sure we can get back."

Arching an eyebrow, she waited for him to say more. No doubt 
she expected him to launch into one of his typical numinous 
theories, but this was one X-File that had him stumped. It 
didn't help that he was too thirsty and too hungry to 
concentrate on gravitational anomalies, event horizons, or 
para-physics.

"We need to find drinking water before the sun sets," he said, 
rising to his feet. His knees ached from sitting for so long. 
He reached out a hand to help her up, and hoped she was 
feeling fit enough to travel. "Do you think you can walk?"

She nodded and took his hand, allowing him to pull her to her 
feet. Swaying on unsteady legs, she asked, "Which way, Mr. 
Indian Guide?"

He pivoted, considering the possibilities. Did it make sense 
to head toward the mountains? Snowmelt would mean freshwater 
streams, right? But which mountains? There were mountains on 
every side. The mastodons had headed west. They would be 
looking for water, wouldn't they? 

Or were mastodons like camels?

"West," he said, going with his gut and the wisdom of the 
mastodons. 

*   *   *

Peach-colored clouds striped the evening sky, promising a 
spectacular sunset. The sun appeared wedged between two 
mountain peaks, which Scully guessed were part of the 
Newfoundland Mountains...assuming she and Mulder were still 
anywhere on or near Hill Air Force Base in Box Elder County, 
Utah. Unfortunately, they'd left their map in the car, which 
would be in the opposite direction, if anywhere at all.

She tried to picture what the map had looked like. She knew 
Hill was a large backward z-shaped parcel of land located 
between Great Salt Lake to the east and the Great Salt Lake 
Desert to the west. The Base included the southernmost region 
of the dry Newfoundland Evaporation Basin, as well as the 
foothills of the Newfoundland Mountains. Squinting at the 
tallest rise, she guessed it might be Desert Peak, the range's 
highest point.

Or not. The grassy meadow they were crossing bore no 
resemblance to the desert they'd been in last night.    

Mulder was walking several paces ahead of her, leading them 
along a broad trail of trampled grass. She concentrated on the 
relentless swing of his jacket, which dangled from his left 
fist. He had slung his binoculars around his neck so that the 
strap crossed his back from right shoulder to left hip. His 
shirt was tied loosely around his waist.  

Not feeling as warm as he seemed to, she kept her coat on and 
hugged it tightly across her chest. In the back of her mind, 
it occurred to her that she might be in shock, a result of the 
blow to her head.

The meadow sloped gradually downhill. Mulder's elongated 
shadow stretched out behind him, reminding her of Dr. Chester 
Banton, the dark matter scientist with a lethal shadow. She 
didn't fear Mulder's shadow; to the contrary, she kept herself 
purposely inside it, feeling it somehow tethered her to him. 
If she happened to stumble or fall, it might pull him up 
short, alerting him to her trouble. Crazy idea, she knew, but 
she refused to step outside it in any case.

"Watch out for the prairie pies," he warned, pointing to an 
enormous mound of fresh dung. "Told you I saw a mastodon. That 
ain't no cow patty."

Had he really seen mastodons? 

No, it was impossible; this was just a bad dream, it had to 
be, and she was going to wake up any minute in her own bed. 
Maybe she would tell Mulder about her nightmare over coffee 
and Danish at the cart outside the second-floor bullpen 
tomorrow morning. He would tease her and then, after they 
returned to their office, he would pull out a stack of 
mastodon-related X-Files. "Mastodon Footprints Discovered on 
Mars" or "Woman Gives Birth to Boy With Tusks and Trunk; 
Father Was Mastodon in Former Life."

"You okay, Scully?" He was suddenly beside her, one arm 
gripping her shoulders, holding her up. She felt dizzy. Had 
she stopped walking? "Do you need to rest?"

"I'm fi--" Her knees buckled. 

He lowered her gently to the ground. "Sit for a minute. Your 
forehead's bleeding again." He untied the shirt from his waist 
and gently blotted her temple with it. 

"I'm thirsty."

"I know. Me, too." He held her tenderly. "We'll find water 
soon."

She leaned into him, thankful for his company and his care, 
and wanting more than anything to believe him about the water. 
Her throat ached for a drink. Then the edges of her vision 
began to fray, as if her eyes were falling victim to a too-
early sunset. Mosquito-sized flecks floated between her and 
Mulder's worried expression. The flecks swarmed and thickened 
until Mulder became lost in a gray snowstorm that made her 
think of all the grainy television sets in all the sleazy 
motels where they'd stayed over the years. Like the two-room 
hotel in Home, Pennsylvania, where she watched Mulder rotate 
the TV antenna, trying to bring its picture into focus. Wild 
animal sounds came from the staticky set. Not mastodons, but 
jackals or wolves. Predatory creatures. She'd left Mulder 
alone in that room, which couldn't be locked because he'd let 
her have the safer room, the one with the lock that worked. 
He'd risked his life for her.

She suddenly felt as if she were being bent in half and lifted 
off her feet. Blood rushed to her face as her head hung lower 
than her heart. Her hands weighed a thousand pounds, it 
seemed, and she let her arms dangle there, above her head...or 
below her head, whichever. Someone embraced her legs a million 
miles away. She guessed she was being carried, not like a 
fairytale princess, but in the undignified position of a 
fireman's carry. Was it Mulder who stole her away?

Blinded by her lightheadedness and the drape of her upside-
down hair, she wanted to cry for help, but her voice wouldn't 
cooperate.

Again she thought of Home, Pennsylvania. Not the Peacock 
brothers or their bizarre, over-protective mother, but 
Mulder's romantic notions about country life. 

//Only place you had to be on time was home for dinner. Never 
had to lock your doors. No modems, no faxes, no cell phones.//

Like here...the Pleistocene, according to Mulder.

//If I had to settle down, build a home...be a place like 
this.//

Had he brought them here on purpose, in search of a simpler 
life? No, that was ridiculous. He was a city boy, despite his 
protestations. That day in Home, he'd been high on "eau de 
baseball."

She took a sniff. No smell of cowhide. Eau de Mulder? He was 
right under her nose. Or maybe she was underneath him? God, 
everything was topsy-turvy.

Usually she hated feeling so muddled. But right now, she felt 
inexplicably calm. Breathing in his familiar scent, she 
allowed herself to fall deeper into the safe haven of his 
shadow.

*   *   *

//Hopes are dashed 
People forget 
Forget they're hiding.// 

Was Mulder singing? 
 
//In a tachyon flux 
Tachyon flux -- it's a put on 
Come on join the party...//

Yes, Mulder was singing...a butchered rendition of The Who's 
"Eminent Front." 

"That isn't how the song goes," she murmured.

"Scully?" 

She felt herself slide from his shoulder. His fingers gripped 
her hips as he lowered her feet to the ground.

"You're awake."

"Yes, I'm awake." She put a hand on his arm for balance and 
looked around. Only the barest hint of sunlight remained, 
outlining the far-off mountains. A quarter moon rose in the 
east, brilliant white against a purple-black sky. A spray of 
stars glittered overhead. Trees dotted the meadow, their 
leaves whispering in the evening breeze. The landscape was 
storybook beautiful. "How long was I...?" She gestured at his 
shoulder.

"Not long."

"We're not going to find water tonight, are we?"

A smile tugged at his lips. "Don't be so pessimistic." He 
pointed past her, and she turned to see moonlight on water at 
the bottom of the grassy slope. 

The prospect of a drink drew her forward. She began to walk, 
and then run. Water! Thank God! Sprinting down the hill, she 
suddenly felt as giddy as a child. The cool evening air rushed 
past her ears, swept her hair away from her overly hot 
forehead, filled her eyes with a blur of tears. Each breath 
ballooned her chest with fresh energy. The ground was spongy 
beneath her feet, making her feel weightless, as if she could 
fly, and she could smell the sweet scent of fresh grass with 
every step. 

Fifty yards from the river, she pulled up short. Something was 
moving at the water's edge. Several somethings. She heard the 
splash of water, a muted thud, a chuff of air from large 
lungs.

Mulder caught up with her, and stopped, too, his skin shiny 
with sweat in the moonlight. He raised his binoculars to 
survey the riverbank.

"What are they?" she asked, trying to steady her breathing. 
"Mastodons?"

He lowered the binoculars and dovetailed his fingers with 
hers. "No. Just horses. Not even very big ones. Come on." He 
tugged her toward them. 

As all trace of sunlight vanished from the western sky, stars 
multiplied in the heavens and a mirror image of the moon 
floated on the river's inky surface. Scully could smell the 
water, and the sharp, dusty odor of the horses. 

The horses caught wind of them, too, and moved downstream. At 
the water's edge, she released Mulder's hand and dropped to 
her knees on the grassy bank. She filled her cupped palms. The 
water was cold, numbing her fingers, but tasting delicious. 
She scooped handful after handful into her mouth. Mulder knelt 
beside her and drank greedily, too, before plunging his whole 
head beneath the surface to rinse his hair and scrub at his 
neck.

Raising his head, he waggled his eyebrows and asked, "Wanna go 
skinny dipping?"

As far as she could tell in the dark, the river was about a 
hundred and fifty yards wide, and curved in a giant oxbow. Its 
current appeared to be slow moving. There were no exposed 
boulders and no whitewater rapids.

"We don't know what's in there."

"Nothing, I hope, since we just drank a couple of gallons."

"No, I mean like snapping turtles or the equivalent of 
Pleistocene piranha."

"As long as there are no flukemen." 

He stood, untied his shirt from his waist, and let it drop to 
the ground on top of his jacket. Was he really going to--? He 
removed the binoculars from around his neck and set them 
beside his clothes. 

"No peeking," he warned as he toed off his shoes and 
unfastened his pants.

"You're not--?"

Socks and shorts off, he released a bloodcurdling Tarzan yell, 
and then bulldozed naked into the water.

Well, that was Mulder for you, jumping in feet first. Good to 
know he hadn't changed, even if the rest of the world was 
unrecognizable.

 "Whoa! Water's cold! Come on in."

"No thanks."

"Don't know what you're missing." 

He dove beneath the surface as if to prove his point. When his 
head popped back up a moment later, he shook water from his 
hair, and then swam in a leisurely circle several yards out 
from shore. 

Scully wrapped her arms around her knees and watched him roll 
onto his back to float with arms outstretched, his skin gilded 
by moonlight. Fireflies blinked all along the riverbank, 
dancing above the tall reeds. Bullfrogs harrumphed, marking 
territory with their deep base voices. A nervous horse 
whinnied somewhere downstream.

Had they really traveled back in time more than ten thousand 
years? Or was this place a 20th Century Garden of Eden, an 
untouched oasis in an otherwise modern world? Mulder claimed 
to have seen mastodons. But did he know the difference between 
a modern day elephant and a prehistoric one? 

Suppose an elephant or two had escaped from a local zoo, like 
the time Ganesha escaped from its cage in Fairfield, Idaho... 
Wasn't that a more likely explanation than time travel?

Scully suddenly missed her comfortable apartment. A hot bubble 
bath would feel wonderful right now. And some take-out Thai 
food would hit the spot. She mentally added Ibuprofen for her 
headache, scented candles for her nerves, and an interesting 
novel -- maybe Jose Chung's newest thriller -- to take her 
mind off air bases and time travel.

Out in the river, Mulder swam lazily toward shore. He waded 
the last few yards, rising from the river like a merman. Water 
poured from his glistening skin as he returned to her. 
Silhouetted against the moonlit water, liberated from his 
everyday attire, he looked extraordinarily handsome -- lean, 
graceful, even a little dangerous. 

And sexy. 

Blood rose in her cheeks as a pleasant heaviness settled into 
her pelvis. The sight of him was arousing her, she realized, 
and she quickly looked away, averting her stare and feeling 
voyeuristic and a little ashamed of herself. Mulder was her 
partner. Their relationship was based on professional respect. 
She had no right to ogle him.

Hand raised to her temple, she worried she was losing her 
mind. She was feeling dizzy and acting irrationally. Her head 
was pounding.   

She heard him drop down on the grass beside her, and she 
glanced in his direction, being careful to keep her eyes 
leveled above his shoulders. He used his shirt to briskly dry 
himself. 

"No piranha," he said.

"Your teeth are chattering."

"But I smell better." 

He began to dress, so she moved away -- to give him privacy, 
and to wash her face. 

Crouched at the water's edge, she removed her jacket, and 
rolled up her shirtsleeves. Again she filled her hands with 
cold water, but this time she used it to gently clean the gash 
at her hairline. Her forehead felt tender where it had been 
cut. She gently rinsed away grit and dried blood, careful not 
to reopen the wound. 

"Can I help?" Mulder appeared beside her, fully dressed and 
carrying a handkerchief in his hand. "It's clean, I promise." 
He dipped the handkerchief into the water and then used it to 
dab at her wound.

She marveled at the fact he carried something as old-fashioned 
as a handkerchief. It made her realize she knew almost nothing 
about his upbringing. The handkerchief brought to mind an 
image of a well-mannered little boy, dressed and pressed like 
a gentleman, which contradicted her earlier impression of him 
as a hellion -- a daredevil who would jump feet first and buck 
naked into an Ice Age river.

As always, Mulder was difficult to peg.    

"How does it look?" she asked.

"Not too bad." He stroked the area, pushing her hair away from 
the wound. "The mark of an experienced G-Woman."

"Wonderf--" 

She startled when a pair of yellow-green eyes caught her 
attention on the opposite shore. They peered back at her from 
behind a veil of tall weeds. 

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Mulder, look."

"I see it."

She heard him release the snap on his holster and pull out his 
gun. 

"Let's go," he whispered.

"Where?"

"Uphill. Away from here." He gripped her arm and hauled her to 
her feet.

She glanced across the river. The green eyes had vanished. She 
grabbed her coat.

Then a growl sounded -- a large cat of some kind. A splash of 
water told her it was coming after them. Her heart began to 
hammer in her chest. Her legs felt rubbery, her feet numb. 

Mulder yanked hard on her arm. "Hurry! Unless you want to 
become cat food for a saber-toothed tiger."

Saber-toothed tiger? 

The cat suddenly roared, and Scully ran for all she was worth.

*  *  *

Mulder sprinted up the hill, clutching Scully's arm. He could 
hear her gasping for breath. God, please don't let her pass 
out, he thought. How far back was the damn cat?

As soon as they reached the woods, he began searching for a 
tree to climb. He selected a tall, straight evergreen, not too 
big around, but with lots of stout branches.

"Up," he ordered Scully, shoving her through a veil of lower 
limbs. Unsure of the cat's location, he quickly grabbed a 
branch and hauled himself up after her.

"Mulder, I can't see."

"Just climb." 

He heard her scrambling for footholds. 

Grasping her hips, he propelled her higher. 

"Watch your head." 

He scaled several more branches.

"I think I'm about as high as--"

The cat roared beneath them.

"Higher."

"Mul--"

"Go!"

Three, four, five more branches. They were nearing the top; he 
could feel the tree beginning to sway.

Below them, the cat growled. Mulder pushed Scully higher.

Finally, they could go no further and Scully settled on a 
sturdy branch. He perched next to her and dug his flashlight 
from his pocket. Aimed down the trunk of the tree, the light 
reflected in the cat's yellow-green eyes. 

Jesus, the animal was huge -- it looked twice as heavy as a 
modern day lion, although not any taller or longer. Its tail 
was stubby, like a bobcat, but what it lacked on the rear end, 
it more than made up for on the front, where foot-long fangs 
protruded from its enormous upper jaw. No doubt they could rip 
open a man's belly with one swipe. 

It was an honest-to-fucking-goodness saber-toothed tiger. 

"Must be the kitty chow," he commented.

Scully sat shivering between him and the tree trunk. He 
wrapped his gun arm around her to secure himself to her and 
the tree. With his other hand, he kept his light aimed at the 
cat.

"Can it climb up here?" Scully asked.

"If it tries, it won't get past *this*." He waggled his gun.

She glanced at the weapon. "Don't drop it."

 "When have I ever dropped my gun?"

She said nothing. After a few moments of silence, he angled 
his flashlight at her face, revealing her skeptical 
expression. She arched one graceful eyebrow.

"Never," he argued.

Her other eyebrow climbed to join the first.

He turned the flashlight back on the cat. "Not while sitting 
in a tree."

Suddenly the cat lunged upward and positioned itself on the 
bottommost branch. The tree shook, and Mulder and Scully both 
gasped.

He leveled his gun at the cat. The motion put her off balance, 
and she caught herself by latching onto his thigh, squeezing 
hard.

"Not that I'm objecting, Scully, but now may not be the best 
time," he whispered, indicating her hand with a tilt of his 
head.

"I just...I didn't want to fall." She released him.

They watched the cat balance on its hind legs, while it 
searched with its forepaws for a higher perch.

"You won't fall," he assured her, hugging his arm around her 
again. "I won't let you." 

The cat jumped back to the ground and resumed its pacing.

"There. You see? Nothing to worry about."

"We could still fall out of the tree in our sleep," she said.

"I won't be sleeping." He tracked the cat with his light. 

"Maybe you should sing," she suggested. "That way, I'll know 
you're awake." She leaned into him. Her trembling seemed 
worse. 

Okay, he'd sing. Just to keep her mind off their predicament. 
Hell, to keep *his* mind off their predicament. He cleared his 
throat. 

"Mulder and Scully, sitting in a tree, "K-I-S-S-I-N-G." 

He shined his light at her to see her reaction.

She shook her head. "In your dreams, Mulder." 

He smiled, and continued his sing-songy rhyme, "First comes 
loooove..." 

He lightly tapped the tip of her nose with his flashlight, 
making her frown. She batted his hand away. 

"Then comes marriage..." 

She still refused to smile. 

"And then comes Mulder with a baby carriage," he finished 
quickly.

"Isn't that supposed to be 'and then comes *Scully* with a 
baby carriage?'"

"I'm a man of the 90s, Scully."

"Ah." After a minute of silence, she asked, "Mulder, are you 
afraid?"

"Nope," he lied.

"It doesn't worry you that we may be thousands of years from 
where we're supposed to be?"

Oh yeah, there was that pesky time travel thing. "Who says 
we're not supposed to be right here?"

"In a tree? With a tiger waiting to devour us the moment we 
fall?"

"I told you, we're not going to fall." 

Tucking her more firmly into the crook of his arm, he decided 
to sing some more. Something appropriate for the occasion. 
Something like...  

"I see a bad moon rising. I see trouble on the way--"

"Oh, brother."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

CHAPTER TWO

Mulder hadn't slept a wink. And it had been a helluva long 
night. Ass aching, he shifted a bit on his tree branch in an 
unsuccessful effort to find a more comfortable position 
without waking Scully. Miraculously, she was asleep, wedged 
between him and the trunk of the tree, her head resting on his 
shoulder. The sun was still hidden behind the mountains, but 
the eastern sky was beginning to lighten above the craggy 
peaks, and a blond strip of clouds had developed along the 
horizon.

The saber-toothed tiger was gone. It had abandoned its night-
long vigil more than an hour ago when a herd of small horses 
passed close by, skirting the edge of the woods, heading 
toward the river. The cat followed the ponies. Several minutes 
later, Mulder was startled by the pitiful bleat of an animal 
in its death throes. The noise woke Scully from her sleep, and 
Mulder reassured her, convincing her to settle back against 
his shoulder. Apparently exhausted, she laid her head on him 
without argument and dozed off again. 

The cat was probably up on the hill right now, filling its 
belly with fresh meat. Mulder's stomach growled. He hadn't had 
a bite to eat since the day before yesterday when he'd downed 
two bacon double-cheeseburgers, a pistachio flavored milkshake 
-- extra large -- and a side order of jumbo onion rings. 
Shoulda super-sized it, he thought. Damn, he was hungry; the 
bark on this tree was beginning to look good enough to eat. 

He was thirsty again, too.

And he had to pee. 

Badly.

Looking down at the ground, he estimated they were sitting 
about twenty feet up. Hmm. If he peed from here, he might be 
able to hit that pinecone on the second branch from the 
bottom. He tried to gauge the necessary trajectory. The lack 
of wind would help his aim, but he wasn't altogether sure he 
could piss sitting down. And suppose Scully woke up before he 
was finished. How embarrassing would that be?

On the other hand, his bladder felt ready to bust. He had to 
do *something* -- now.

"Scully?" He reached over and traced her jaw from earlobe to 
chin with his index finger. 

She stirred and slowly opened her eyes. "Time z'it?" she 
asked, stifling a yawn.

"Sunrise. Almost."

She blinked sleepily at the still-dark sky. "No it isn't."

"Yeah...well...I gotta whiz, so good morning, sunshine." He 
slid off the branch and lowered his feet to the limb below 
him.

"No chance you could wait until it's actually light out? The 
tiger--"

"Scully, when a man says he's gotta go, he's gotta go." He 
pivoted so that he could help her down. "Besides, the tiger 
left." 

She gripped his shoulders while he guided her hips off her 
perch. After setting her feet on the branch beside his, he 
acted as a spotter while she got herself turned around.

"You want me to climb down first?" he asked.  

"No, I'll go...if you're sure the tiger is gone." 

"You can see for yourself it's not there."

"Yes, but where is it?"

Telling her it killed and ate a horse seemed counterproductive 
to getting her out of the tree, so he dodged the truth by 
saying, "It's probably peeing." 

She rolled her eyes, then began to slowly inch her way down to 
the next branch. Then the next. He stood above her, rocking 
from foot to foot, his bladder aching. 

"Any chance you could speed things up a little, Scully?" 

"I'm going as fast as I can."

"Well, you're gonna need an umbrella if you don't pick up the 
pace," he warned, looking down at the top of her head. 
"Raindrops keep fallin' on your head--"

"All right already." She began to descend more quickly, either 
out of sympathy or because she was now closing in on terra 
firma. He followed her down, just a step or two above her 
head. When she reached the bottom branch, she jumped to the 
ground. 

"Little girls' room is around back," she said, circling the 
tree. "Don't even think about peeking."

"I've got something else on my mind, Scully." He jumped the 
last few feet to the ground, too. "And it has nothing to do 
with looking at you." He spun to face the trunk, and unzipped 
his pants...just in the nick of time. Ahhh! Holy Jesus, Joseph 
and Mary. 

His head began to clear as his bladder emptied. 

When he finished, he called to her, "You done?"

"Yes."

Zipping his fly, he waited another moment or two, just in 
case. Didn't want to catch her with her pants down -- 
literally. When he did finally step around the tree, he found 
that she was standing several paces away, her back to him, 
pants up, shirt tucked in. She was looking out through the 
drape of evergreen branches at the distant mountain peaks, 
where clouds the color of nickel split the morning sun into 
finger-like rays.

Without taking her eyes from the prehistoric dawn, she began 
to recite a poem: "Way back in the days when the grass was 
still green, and the pond was still wet and the clouds were 
still clean..."

The verse sounded familiar. Edna St. Vincent Millay?

She continued the verse, "And the song of the Swomee-Swans 
rang out in space, one morning, I came to this glorious 
place." 

Not Millay. Dr. Seuss.

Honestly, he had expected her to be...well, less than 
enthusiastic about their circumstances. Yet here she was 
quoting Dr. Seuss, extolling the beauty of the landscape. 

A gentle wind wafted through the branches. It carried the 
scent of pine and it fluttered her hair. He sidled up next to 
her. 

God, she was beautiful.

Kiss her, his body urged. And although he'd experienced the 
impulse many times in the past, familiarity didn't keep his 
desire from sucker-punching the breath from his lungs or 
turning the bones of his legs to Jell-o. Without even touching 
her, he could feel their imaginary kiss. Her lips, soft 
beneath his. Her breath, hot on his mouth. The wetness of her 
tongue.  

Stop it! If she suspected what was on his mind, she would knee 
him in the nugs. Five years as partners, he knew she didn't 
think of him in a sexual way. Never had and probably never 
would. No sense fantasizing about things that weren't going to 
happen. Besides, he owed her more respect than that. 

To prevent himself from acting on his impulse, he lowered his 
head, and whispered the last line of Seuss' verse into her 
ear: "The bright-colored tufts of the Truffula Trees, mile 
after mile in the fresh morning breeze." 

She turned to smile up at him. God, her lips were so close. If 
he leaned in juuust a little more... 

"Pleistocene air seems to agree with you, Scully," he 
whispered. 

"Not at all. I've simply come to the conclusion that this is 
all a figment of my imagination, a hallucination caused by the 
blow to my head. I'm going to wake up any minute at Hill Air 
Force Base."

"Scully, we're in the Ice Age." 

"So you say. But until I see proof, I'm sticking to my 
hallucination theory. It's more plausible than your time 
travel idea."

"What does it take, Scully? A saber-toothed tiger to bite you 
on the ass?" Please, not this old song and dance, their 
perpetual pas de deux. "You saw the cat. We both saw it." 

"I was tired and dizzy and it was dark. I'm not sure what I 
saw--"

Groaning with frustration, he closed his eyes and threw back 
his head. 

It wasn't that he minded debating theories with her. As a 
matter of fact, he rather enjoyed the way she challenged him. 
She kept him on his toes, honed his investigative skills, 
prevented him from becoming analytically lazy. However, it 
irritated him to hear her refute what she'd seen with her own 
eyes, or rationalize irrational events by forcing them into 
more commonly held perspectives. Being rigorous was one thing, 
but denying the truth was unacceptable. 

He knew the only way to sway her, however, was to do it 
logically, and that would take some time.

Scully squinted at the sunrise. "I admit I don't know where we 
are or how we got here, but I can't accept that we're not 
still in the 20th Century."

It was true the landscape looked nothing like modern day Utah.

He bent and plucked a flower from a scraggly patch at his 
feet. "Something happened on that Air Base. Something that 
sent us back tens of thousands of years."     

"People can't travel through time," she maintained.

As usual she was going to make him work to prove his point.

"Physicists like Stephen Hawking have hypothesized the 
existence of wormholes and closed time loops -- actual portals 
through which matter can travel backward through time."

"Mulder, phenomena like extreme heat and gravity would make 
the trip lethal for any organism." 

"Maybe not. Three years ago, Jason Nichols was working on a 
catalyst for a self-sustaining endothermic reaction that would 
render those factors inconsequential." He held the flower 
under her nose.

She sniffed it. "Sweet," she said, before continuing her 
argument. "Jason died before he actually created his rapid 
freezing agent." 

"We saw it, Scully. And Lisa Ianelli saw it, too. Suppose she 
finished Jason's work?" Mulder tucked the flower behind his 
ear. 

"Let me repeat what I said yesterday: We were never frozen." 

"Suppose Lisa discovered another way..."

She raised a questioning eyebrow. "To withstand a trip through 
a wormhole?" 

"Yes, making time travel possible." 

"Mulder, Lisa never administered any compound."

"Yeah, but suppose the catalyst isn't a compound, but a set of 
circumstances."

"Caused by...?"

"Something mechanical, not biological."

"That kind of technology doesn't exist."

"Unless it's extraterrestrial."

She smiled. "You sound like Max Fenig, you know." 

He supposed he did sound like Max. 

"I mean it, Mulder. I can see your future crystal clear, and 
unfortunately, I see myself right there with you." Her 
expression changed to one of concern. "Mark my words: we're 
going to end up as two card-carrying MUFON members, wearing 
matching tinfoil caps to protect our minds from the imaginary 
rays of extraterrestrial thought-control devices, while we 
travel from one UFO hotspot to the next shouting to anyone 
who'll listen 'they're here, they're here,' ad infinitum."

"Imaginary rays?"

"Don't you ever worry about driving everyone away, all of your 
friends, your family, winding up old and lonely because you 
were -- you *are* -- obsessed with things that the rest of the 
world considers...well, insane, frankly?"

"I'll always have you. Won't I?" He nudged her arm until she 
nodded in agreement. "Scully, I don't care what the rest of 
the world thinks. Most people have their heads up their 
asses."

She glanced at him. "You really believe that?"

"Seeing is believing, isn't it?"  He placed his hand on the 
small of her back, turned her around and steered her out from 
under the tree branches, intending to head back to the river 
for a drink. "If it's right in front of your eyes, it must be-
-"

The river wound like a silver ribbon through the valley below. 
Animals crowded its banks. Lots of animals. Lots and lots of 
animals.

"Oh, my God," Scully gasped. Her voice rose in pitch. "Are 
those...?"

Yes indeedy. Mastodons. At least two dozen of them. And a herd 
of small horses. And bison, and something that looked like 
camels, and a few unrecognizable things. The landscape was a 
scene out of an African documentary, only these animals 
weren't zebras or elephants or water buffalo. They were...

"Mastodons."

*   *   *    

"My God," Scully repeated, unable to believe her eyes. 

The behemoths certainly looked like illustrations she'd seen 
of mastodons. She'd taken enough anthropology courses at the 
University of Maryland to recognize the difference between Ice 
Age proboscideans and their modern day cousins, and these were 
definitely not elephants escaped from a zoo.

Whatever they were, at least two-dozen of them had gathered in 
the valley along the riverbanks. The mature ones stood about 
ten feet tall -- somewhat shorter than modern day African and 
Asian elephants. Their ears were relatively small, and their 
tusks were straight and parallel to the ground. 

Scully tried to recall more details from Dr. Diamond's 
classes. He'd described a wide variety of Pleistocene 
megafauna, including mastodons, which had ranged across North 
America from Alaska to central Mexico. Archeologists had 
discovered mastodon bones alongside prehistoric spear points 
and stone cutting tools, leading to the assumption that early 
humans -- Clovis and Folsom cultures, the Paleo-Indians of 
ancient North America -- had hunted and eaten the giant 
mammals.

If memory served, all genera of megafaunal mammals, like the 
musk oxen, giant bison, and camels she could see drinking 
alongside the mastodons at the river below, had died out 
sometime prior to 11,000 B.P.

Which could only mean... 

Impossible. This had to be a hallucination. She and Mulder 
were *not* in the Ice Age.

She needed to sit. Sinking onto her heels in the grass at the 
edge of the meadow, she continued to stare at the prehistoric 
scene in the valley below.

Mulder sat, too, and scanned the riverbanks through his 
binoculars. "Looks like you gotta get up pretty early in the 
morning to beat the breakfast crowd. Shall we cut the line?"

Was he insane? "N-no. We're staying right here until they're 
gone."

"That could be quite a wait." He offered her the binoculars, 
but she shook her head. She didn't think she was ready to look 
at the gargantuans up close...not yet. 

Ten minutes later, the mastodons began migrating slowly 
downstream toward the forest. A group of camels moved in to 
take their place. Camels...in northwestern Utah? It boggled 
the mind. Oversized bison stood shoulder-deep in the river. A 
variety of unfamiliar birds dotted both banks of the river, 
looking like crumpled Kleenex from this distance. Horses, 
deer, and some kind of big-horned sheep shared the watering 
hole in cautious harmony.  

Mulder plucked a blade of grass from the field and stuck it in 
his mouth. He chewed on it for a minute or two before asking, 
"Is there any significant difference between a mastodon and a 
mammoth?"

"Their teeth," she answered numbly, wondering why he cared.

"Their teeth?"

"Yes...the word 'mastodon' is derived from the Greek 'mastos,' 
meaning breast, and 'odont,' meaning tooth. It translates 
literally to 'breast tooth.'"

"Breast...?" A smile nudged his cheek. "That's interesting."

"Yes, well...mastodons fed on spruce, primarily. So their 
teeth had crowns consisting of distinct rounded cusps, which 
helped them chew tough foliage. Mammoths, on the other hand, 
grazed on grasses, so their teeth are...uh, *were* dissimilar. 
Mammoths were also generally bigger than mastodons, with wider 
heads, and curving tusks. Those..." -- she nodded at the 
retreating behemoths -- "look like mastodons." 

God, was she seriously considering the possibility that they 
had traveled ten or twelve thousand years back in time? Her 
hope that this was all a hallucination began to dwindle with 
each new Pleistocene animal she spotted along the riverbank. 
Faced with such a preponderance of evidence, she felt 
compelled to acknowledge Mulder's theory of time travel as a 
possible explanation for their present predicament.

"I guess I owe you an apology, Mulder."

He nodded his acceptance.

That was one of the things she liked most about Mulder. He 
wasn't an I-told-you-so kind of guy. He didn't gloat. 

"We've got to find a way back," she said.

He chewed his blade of grass with as much zeal as he crunched 
sunflower seeds. "That might be a problem." 

If they couldn't find a way back, they were in serious 
trouble. 20th Century city slickers lost in an Ice Age 
landscape, with no survival skills to speak of. They were FBI 
trained, and could catch your average murderer or mutant 
easily enough, but what good were handcuffs on saber-toothed 
tigers? The Pleistocene world was full of larger-than-life 
threats. And they carried only three guns between them. Ten 
rounds per automatic plus the six rounds in Mulder's .38. That 
wasn't going to last long here. Every single bullet would be 
essential for protection *and* food. 

Food. She was hungry right now. Mulder must be, too. It'd been 
almost two days since their last meal. 

She looked again at the excess of wildlife lining the shore. 
Tons of protein on the hoof and no way to butcher or cook it. 

They were without knives, matches, or anything that could hold 
water. For that matter, they had no shelter, no sunscreen, no 
insect repellent. No compass, either, or first aid kit. Not 
even an aspirin. And already she missed the more commonplace 
comforts of modern life -- like toilet paper. 

They weren't prepared to last two days let alone...

Jesus, how long would they be here? Her heart began to hammer 
at the thought of a week, a month, a--

"Empty your pockets, Mulder."

"Excuse me?"

"Inventory. I want to know what we've got to work with." 

He shoved a fist into his right jacket pocket and pulled out 
his flashlight and car and house keys, which he laid on the 
ground beside the binoculars.

"And in here..." He pawed through his left coat pocket and 
produced handcuffs, cell phone, a pair of latex gloves--

Wait! Her cell phone.

She snatched her own phone from her pocket, and dialed the 
local FBI field office. "Why didn't I think of this sooner?" 

"That's not gonna work."

"We'll see--"

The display window was lit, but blank.

She turned off the phone and tossed it onto the growing pile 
of useless modern day junk.

"Anything else?" she asked, hopeful.

A newspaper clipping about UFO sightings at Hill Air Force 
Base. FBI badge. Pack of sunflower seeds -- empty. That seemed 
to disappoint Mulder more than anything so far. Dry cleaning 
receipt. Car rental agreement. A pocketknife. The knife was 
small, but serviceable. 

"Wait." He held up a finger and dug into his pants pocket. 
Handkerchief. Wallet. Comb. "Except for my gun, that's it," he 
announced. 

"Don't you mean *guns*?"

"No, I brought only one."

"But you always carry two guns."

"Well...not this trip."

Of all the times -- "Twenty rounds. That's all the protection 
we've got."

"I'm pretty sure I have two condoms in my wallet." He grinned 
at her.

"Oh, that's helpful."

"Not really. I think they expired in '95." He leaned back on 
his elbows. "How about you, Scully? You packin' anything 
useful?"

She emptied her pockets. Handcuffs. Latex gloves. Small pad of 
paper and pen. House keys. Badge. Wallet. Oh! Breath mints! 
She unwrapped the foil roll, popped one into her mouth and 
then offered the rest to Mulder. She continued to pull items 
from her jacket. Emery board. Freebie hotel sewing kit. 
Compact. Lipstick. Was lipstick edible? 

"That's all I have," she said, disappointed.

"Know what I'm wishing?" Mulder asked. He removed the flower 
from behind his ear and tossed it to the ground.

"For a time machine?"

"No, but that's not a bad idea." He gave her a wry smile. "I 
was wishing I'd been a bigger MacGyver fan." He began to 
pocket his possessions. "That way I could build a time machine 
out of our cell phones and my empty packet of sunflower 
seeds." He waved the cellophane bag at her.

"You think MacGyver would need both phones?" She returned her 
belongings to her pockets, too, and then rose to her feet.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Back to the field where we first arrived. If there's a way to 
get home, it has to be there."

Mulder stood, too, concern creasing his brow. "Not 
necessarily. We have no idea how we got here -- a wormhole, 
time loop, something else. The portal may be closed, or 
located elsewhere, or it may not exist at all."

 "We came through it once, we have to assume we can go back 
the same way." She began hiking upland, determined to get away 
from the river with all its strange creatures and frightening 
implications. There had to be a portal of some kind back in 
the field. There just had to be.

They hiked for about ten minutes, heading east, when Scully 
suddenly slowed her pace. She realized she didn't know the way 
since she'd been unconscious when Mulder carried her to the 
river last night. 

"Straight ahead," he said, in response to her confused look. 
"It's not much further."

She pushed on, moving upland into the wind, which was picking 
up. Clouds were gathering and the air felt considerably cooler 
than it had yesterday.

They hadn't gone far when Mulder pointed to an area of 
trampled grass thirty yards ahead.

Scully jogged to it. "Here?"

"This is the place." He joined her at its center.

The spot looked entirely unremarkable. No obvious portals, no 
distortions in space and time, no shimmering doorways to the 
future. This couldn't be it. 

"You're sure?" she asked. 

He pointed to a stain of dried blood in the grass. "That's 
where you were laying."

Okay...the portal must be here then. They just needed to look 
harder. She walked a tight circle around him, searching the 
ground for any anomalous signs, waving her arms in front of 
her, hoping to feel an inconsistent air current or an abnormal 
gravitational pull. When she found nothing out of the 
ordinary, she frantically widened her search. 

There had to be a way out. They would find it; they had to. 
Just keep looking. She circled him again. And again. Her head 
throbbed where she'd been injured, and the pain made her 
stomach queasy. 

Mulder remained standing over the bloodstain, watching her 
spiral outward around him. She thoroughly searched the ground, 
the sky and everything in between.

"Scully..."

"It's here, Mulder." 

"Scul--"

"It's here, I know it!" 

It had to be...it had to be! They weren't equipped for the 
Pleistocene. She didn't want to be stuck tens of thousands of 
years in the past. Her family and her life were in 1998. She 
liked living there. She wanted to go home. She didn't belong 
here. Neither of them belonged here. Why wasn't Mulder 
looking? Why was he just standing there? 

"Help me, Mulder!"

Three strides and he was in front of her, blocking her search. 
He took hold of her arms just as she collapsed against him. 
She felt angry and frightened, and her head hurt so damn much. 
When she buried her face against his chest, it was all she 
could do to hold in her tears. 

He stroked her back and said nothing. His soothing caress and 
the soft kisses he pressed against the crown of her head 
helped calm her pounding heart. He felt solid and real beneath 
her fingers. She breathed him in. Felt his pulse drum beneath 
her cheek. 

When he cocooned her in his arms, she began to cry in earnest, 
because she knew his embrace offered only an illusion of 
safety.    

He sank to his knees, taking her with him, cradling her 
against his chest. 

"Shhh," he whispered into her hair, and let her cry herself 
out.

*   *   *

For several minutes after Scully's tears stopped, Mulder kept 
his arms looped around her and smoothed her wind-whipped hair.   

"Sorry," she sniffled.

He shrugged off her apology. 

"No, really," she insisted. "I'm embarrassed."

He wiped tears from her flushed cheeks. The jagged slash at 
her hairline looked inflamed and painful. Her skin felt fiery 
beneath his hand.  "You're sick, Scully." 

She stiffened in his arms. "I'm fine." 

Yeah, right. He'd heard that damn phrase more times than he 
cared to count. 

Fuck fine. No one knew better than he did how hard Scully 
worked to hide her vulnerability -- from the good ol' boys at 
the Bureau, from her family, from him. 

Especially from him. 

The word vulnerable was an insult to her. Yet despite her 
tough-as-nails demeanor, he'd seen her crack on occasion, 
allowing him the rare opportunity to play hero. It was a role 
he simultaneously loathed and aspired to. Loathed because it 
necessarily meant she was in harm's way. Aspired to because he 
wanted to be brave when it counted most, stopping at nothing 
to protect her, trading his life for hers without a moment's 
hesitation.

Truth was she almost never needed his help. She was able to 
take care of herself and him, too. 

He made no further comment about her injuries because he knew 
it would make her uncomfortable, but he planned to keep a 
close eye on her, whether she liked it or not.

A roll of thunder battered the surrounding hills. Storm clouds 
packed the sky to the east.

"Looks like we're in for some bad weather," he said. "We need 
to find cover."

And food. Christ, he felt as hungry as a liver-eating mutant 
coming off a 30-year hibernation. 

Another clap of thunder vibrated the air. Closer this time. 
His decision was made. Shelter first, then food. Rising to his 
feet, he hauled Scully up after him. All the color drained 
from her face as she tried to balance on unsteady legs.

"Can you walk?" he asked, securing her in the crook of his 
arm.

"Yeah. I'm just a little shaky." 

Food momentarily vied for the top spot on their To Do list. 
Scully's condition wasn't going to improve if she didn't get 
some nourishment into her. 

"Come on." He steered her toward the forest, which he hoped 
would provide both food and shelter.

Slate-gray clouds blotted out the daylight. Thunder crept 
closer each time it resounded. Mulder quickened his pace when 
the first fat raindrop slapped his cheek. He towed Scully 
across the wind-flogged meadow toward a gnarled evergreen that 
protruded high above the surrounding pines. Its upper trunk 
was corkscrewed in an odd s-shape, which he took as a good 
sign. The deformity was testimony to its stamina and survival. 
It had endured hardship, but in the end stood tall.

A lightning bolt sizzled through the dark sky, followed 
immediately by a heart-stopping crack of thunder. The storm 
was upon them and it was going to be a whopper.
 
"You okay?" he shouted, keeping his course. Her answer was 
lost in the next explosion of thunder. With less than twenty 
feet to go before they reached the tree, the sky opened, 
deluging them with cold rain. 

By the time they ducked beneath the branches, they were soaked 
to the skin.  

"Jesus!" she said, shivering.

A fork of lightning brightened the sky behind them, and 
thunder crashed on the heels of the strike. Wind and rain 
penetrated the boughs. They would need to move deeper into the 
forest to find adequate cover.

"Mulder, look." She pointed overhead, up the trunk of the 
tree. 

Near the top was an ancient scorch mark just below the s-
shaped trunk.

"Lightning?"

"Maybe."

"Let's get out of here."

He snagged her hand and tugged her away from the tree, heading 
for lower ground and denser cover. Lightning flared again and 
the sharp odor of ozone fell with the rain. 

The trees were enormous here, with broad old-growth trunks. 
Giant ferns filled the understory. When a blowdown the size of 
a tanker truck blocked their path, they detoured along the 
rocky edge of a ravine.

"Watch your step," he warned. Hopping from one wet, moss-
covered stone to the next, he tried to avoid tripping on tree 
roots that were as thick as his upper thigh. Off to his left, 
a swift-moving stream ran north-south in a gully thirty feet 
down. The banks were steep. Slippery pine needles and a layer 
of last year's rotting leaves made walking hazardous. A fall 
would be long and painful.

"You doing okay?" He glanced back at Scully. Rain had 
plastered her hair to her head and her teeth were chattering 
nonstop. Her chalky pallor shocked him. She stared back at him 
with dull, red-rimmed eyes, the left one entirely surrounded 
by the ugly bruise on her temple. 

"I think I need to sit for a minute," she admitted.

"Just a little further," he urged, pulling her forward. Her 
hands were ice cold. Her lips blue. He had to get her out of 
the rain.

A densely needled evergreen up ahead looked like it might 
provide some cover. It wasn't tall enough to attract 
lightning, but might be thick enough to keep out most of the 
rain. He stepped forward, heading for it, when the stones 
beneath his feet rolled and gave way.

"Shit!" He struggled to keep his balance, but the ground 
dropped out from under him and he stumbled over the edge into 
the ravine, hitting his hip and shoulder hard as he fell. 

Rolling and skidding, he grasped frantically for a handhold. 
Gravity hauled him toward the stream. The wind was knocked 
from his lungs when his ribs hit an outcropping of stone. He 
somersaulted several more yards through mud and leaves, until 
he landed with a splash in the water-filled gully. 

God damn, the water was cold.

Gasping for a breath of air, he struggled to his knees and 
scanned the trees on the upper embankment for Scully.

Fuck. Where the hell was she? 

"Mulder!" 

He followed the sound of her voice, and spotted her scrambling 
down to him. She half-jogged, half-slid between boulders and 
fallen branches. 

Getting his feet under him, he staggered from the water. Now 
his teeth were chattering, too, and he imagined his lips were 
as blue as hers.

"Mulder...?" She made it safely down the embankment and rushed 
to steady him. Eyes rounded with fear, she patted his arms and 
legs, presumably checking for broken bones. Then she combed 
through his rain-soaked hair, no doubt trying to rule out head 
injury.

"I'm fine, Scully. Really." He looked down at his mud-
streaked, waterlogged clothes. "Just...wet."

His words didn't reassure her; she continued to feel him, 
squeeze his arms, stroke his cheeks. Her hands were shaking, 
he realized. Apparently his fall had scared her more than it 
had him.

"I'm okay," he said again, capturing her nervous hands between 
his palms. He brought her trembling fingertips to his lips and 
kissed them. "Honest."

Tears filled her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but 
nothing came out, so she simply nodded, letting him know she 
believed him.

"Let's find a dry place to sit...relatively speaking." He 
scanned the ravine, looking for any sort of shelter where they 
might rest and catch their breath. 

An outcropping caught his eye about a third of the way up the 
embankment. Tucked beneath its overhang was a shallow notch 
that looked big enough to hold them both and provide a modicum 
of protection from the rain. 

Gathering Scully beneath one wet arm, he helped her climb. The 
notch turned out to be wider and deeper than he'd first 
thought, roomy enough for the two of them to sit side by side. 
With their knees drawn up, they would be completely out of the 
rain.

Water sluiced over the outcropping above it, but the floor of 
the little cave was bone dry. Moss softened the hard edges of 
the stone floor and walls. He climbed in first, then offered a 
hand to her. She allowed him to tug her in beside him, and 
once they were seated, they backed as far into the cleft as 
they could.

"Comfy?" he asked.

"Mm-hm." She slumped against the wall.  

Lightning continued to flash outside, while thunder vibrated 
through the ravine. Rain pounded the forest floor, cutting 
visibility to no more than twenty or thirty feet. He could 
barely see the stream from where they sat.

"Thirsty?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He leaned forward and cupped his hands beneath the spout of 
water that was pouring from the rocks above. He managed to 
hold onto a small amount, which he offered to her. She drank 
eagerly from the well of his hands. "More?" he asked.

"Please."

He reached again for the waterfall.

"Mulder! Don't move!"

He froze, arms outstretched.

"What is it?"

"Snake."

"Bad snake?"

"Is there a good kind?"

He heard something slither above his head to his left. Then he 
caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye. Jesus, it was 
enormous. 

It oozed out of a hole in the rocks, dropping its head to his 
eye level. He held his breath while it dangled there, flicking 
its tongue at him. Christ, the thing's head was as big as a 
housecat's and its body was as thick as his arm. 

Shit, when it rains, it fucking pours. 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

CHAPTER THREE

"Mulder, don't move."

That was easy for her to say -- she wasn't nose-to-nose with a 
huge, nasty, probably poisonous snake. Mulder held his breath 
while it explored the air in front of his face with its 
tongue. It was so close he could see his own panicked 
expression reflected in its amber eyes. 

Its skin was tannish-brown, as far as Mulder could tell with 
his colorblind vision, and it had diamond-shaped markings 
along its back. Two diagonal stripes ran from behind its eyes 
to its upper jaw, just forward of the corners of its mouth. 
The markings didn't tell him much; he knew next to nothing 
about snakes...other than they tended to have sharp fangs and 
gave him the creeps.

Not that he was *afraid* of them; he just didn't particularly 
like them.

His eyes widened when its tail rattled. *Now* he was afraid. 
Even a neophyte herpetologist knew a rattlesnake was 
poisonous. 

Scully whispered, "Hold perfectly still." 

He heard her gun slide from its holster.

No, no, no, Scully, don't shoot it!

It was only an inch or two in front of his face! And she was 
weak from fever and exhaustion, arms shaky, vision blurred--

CLICK! He flinched when he heard the safety released.

She leaned closer, gun held in outstretched hands. Her arms 
were trembling...badly. He could hear her panting -- quick, 
shallow, nervous-sounding breaths. 

Or maybe that was him.

She repeated, "Don't move."

As if.

Her gun inched closer still and the snake began to rattle more 
furiously. It opened its mouth. Two fangs, wet with venom, 
glistened inside its gaping jaws, millimeters from Mulder's 
nose.

Shit, shit, shit.

Scully's trigger finger slowly squeezed --

BANG! JESUSFUCKINGCHRIST! The gun went off, and the snake's 
head exploded. The noise was god-awful. Mulder clapped his 
hands over his ears, too late to block out the blast. 
Gunpowder seared his cheek. Bits of snake splattered his face, 
his clothes, the surrounding rocks. He swiped at his eyes, 
clawed away scraps of gore, and hoped he wouldn't vomit.

Scully was saying something to him, but he couldn't hear a 
word. His ears were ringing badly from the blast.

The headless reptile dangled from its crevice, bleeding from 
its neck onto the stone floor. 

He yanked it from its hole. "I may be deaf for the rest of my 
life, but at least we have something to eat now," he said, 
unable to hear his own voice. 

The snake was eight feet long if it was an inch. He coiled its 
thick body into a pile between his legs, and then dug into his 
pocket for his knife.

Scully tapped his arm. Using hand signals, she volunteered to 
skin and gut the snake. He was tempted to take her up on the 
offer -- he didn't relish the idea of slicing and dicing a 
giant snake -- but Scully looked absolutely drained of energy. 
She held her gun loosely in her lap, shoulders slumped, eyes 
shadowed by fatigue and fever.

"I'll do it," he said, not certain if she could hear him or 
not. "You rest." 

He scooted to the edge of the shelter and out into the pouring 
rain, hauling the headless snake with him. It was too awkward 
to carry down the steep embankment, so he heaved it into the 
gully. It hit a ledge about two thirds of the way down, then 
skidded and rolled to the bottom, where rainwater was chugging 
through the valley, roiling around rocks, carrying leaves and 
other debris with it. 

He half walked, half slid down the muddy hillside, gathered 
the carcass and dragged it into the chilly water. Wading up to 
his knees, he searched for a flat stone to use as a work 
surface. He quickly located one midway across the stream.

Once the snake was laid out on the stone, he had abso-fucking-
lutely no idea what to do next. Oh, sure, he knew the skin had 
to come off, and there were probably bones that needed to be 
removed, as well as guts of some sort that should come out. 
But did snakes have lungs? Intestines? And what about the 
venom? Where the hell was that located? 

Guessing the poison was probably in or near the head, which 
was now gone, he decided to not worry about it. He rolled the 
snake onto its back and exposed its belly. Using his knife, he 
made a shallow cut lengthwise from neck to rattle.

He inserted a finger beneath the skin at the neck and tugged. 
It was difficult to grasp onto at first, but once he got the 
hang of it, the skin pulled off easily in one unbroken piece. 
When he got it stripped down to the tail, he cut it away, 
rattles and all.

Well, that hadn't been too difficult. 

Now for the messy part. Cutting a deeper slit the entire 
length of the snake's belly, he exposed its guts. He plowed 
the viscera out with his thumb, slopping them into the stream. 
Bile stung the back of his throat as he shook a stubborn, 
sticky rope of entrails from his fingers. Unlike Scully, he 
hated touching the insides of things. 

Slicing the meat into six-inch chunks was easier and less 
messy than the gutting. He rinsed each piece in the stream, 
cleaning off any blood and unidentified slime. It surprised 
him how much the sight of the raw meat made his mouth water. 
There was no way to cook it, of course, but at this point he 
was too famished to care. And he doubted Scully would be 
squeamish about eating it either. Hell, he'd seen her eat a 
live bug once. 

The amount of meat was substantial. He needed to find some way 
to carry it. Leaving it temporarily on the stone, he waded to 
shore to find an appropriate container or plate. 

Ferns? Cedar boughs? Bark? He crossed to a birch tree and, 
using his knife, cut a vertical slit in its smooth white bark. 
It pulled easily away from the trunk in a large, rectangular 
sheet.

Tah-dah! Instant platter. Eat my dust, MacGyver.

He returned to the stream and mounded the meat onto the bark. 
He estimated he had about ten pounds altogether -- a veritable 
feast for an Ice Age king and queen.

Carrying it proved more awkward than he'd anticipated. Two 
steps from the stream and the topmost chunk tumbled onto the 
ground. He stooped to grab it out of the dirt. Dried leaves 
and mud clung to its sticky surface. 

"Five second rule." No sense throwing away perfectly good 
food. He shook off the debris and stuffed it into his mouth. 

Jesus, it tasted wonderful, even with the dirt. A little 
stringy. And bony. But firm and fleshy. Different from 
anything he'd ever eaten, but in a good way. He carefully 
extracted two needle-sharp bones from between his teeth and 
flicked them to the ground.

That's when he saw it. The distinct imprint of a human foot in 
the mud beside the stream. 

The foot was bare, smaller than his own, but considerably 
larger than Scully's, and the little toe was missing. The 
print was relatively fresh; water filled the impression, but 
the mud still held its shape despite the downpour.

Mulder glanced over his shoulder and scanned the surrounding 
woods. The banks of the ravine rose steeply, twenty to thirty 
feet on either side of the gully. Large old growth evergreens, 
widely spaced with trunks as big around as train cars, lined 
the upper rim. The understory was clogged with blowdowns, 
ferns and large boulders. Plenty of cover for anyone who 
wanted to hide. Nothing appeared to move on the ridge or in 
the ravine, but his gut told him he was being watched, and the 
feeling prickled the back of his neck.

He examined the footprint more carefully. Left foot. About a 
size nine or ten, men's. He wondered what happened to the toe. 
The track pointed downstream, so he followed it and soon 
discovered two distinct sets of prints, the second slightly 
smaller than the first, with all ten toes. 

The plate of meat was growing heavy. And he was starving. It 
was still raining hard -- a cold steady deluge that chilled 
him to the bone. Better eat first and then follow the 
strangers on a full stomach, he decided.     

Turning back toward the shelter, he hiked up the embankment. 

At the cave he found Scully asleep, gun cradled in her lap. 
Dirt streaked her face and pine needles stuck to her hair. The 
bruise around her eye reminded him of a Rorschach's inkblot 
and he was sure he could see the shape of a grim-looking 
mastodon in its blue-black silhouette.  

"Scully?"

She stirred at the sound of his voice and her eyelids 
fluttered open. Evidently her hearing was okay. His was slowly 
returning, too, although noises, including his own voice, 
still sounded tinny and a million miles away.

"Let me help." She reached for the platter and set it on her 
lap. 

Hands now free, he eased into the shallow cave, ass end first. 
It was a cozy fit with the two of them wedged side-by-side. 

"You're freezing." She wiped water from his dripping chin.

 "Wanna warm me?" he asked through chattering teeth. He leaned 
more heavily into her and exaggerated his shivering. Water 
rained from his hair onto her jacket.

"Mulder!" She gave him a gentle nudge with her elbow. "You're 
soaking wet." 

True. Water was pooling uncomfortably beneath him. Beneath 
them both.

"Eat up. It's good," he said, hoping to divert her attention 
from the growing wet spot.

"You started without me?"

"Just a sample."

She selected a chunk and bit into it.

"Mmm. Y'right. S'good." 

"Watch out for bones." He helped himself to a large portion. 

They ate for several minutes without speaking, eager to fill 
their empty bellies. The mound dwindled faster than Mulder 
would have guessed. Scully ate as ravenously as he did, 
matching him piece for piece. Soon, more than half the meat 
was gone, replaced by a stack of delicate rib bones. 

She leaned back with a satisfied moan, and proceeded to lick 
her fingers clean, one at a time. He watched her, hypnotized 
by the way each dainty finger disappeared into the circle of 
her lips. Jesus, she had no idea how sexy she looked. Hair 
tousled, cheeks flushed, a scrap of raw snake stuck to her 
chin. It was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing her 
and licking that lucky piece of meat right off her-- 

Poised to swoop in like a Pleistocene buzzard on a fresh 
mastodon carcass, he felt himself growing hard. He was hyper-
aware of every move she was making, every breath she was 
breathing, the way her tongue was swirling seductively around 
her left thumb. Imagining that pretty little tongue licking 
snake slime from his own fingers...oh...God... When she slid 
her middle finger deeply into her mouth, he almost groaned out 
loud. 

She stopped mid-lick to look over at him. As if reading his 
mind, she sloooowly withdrew her finger from her mouth. It 
made a delightful kissing noise when it popped free. 

Was she coming on to him?

"Did you swallow a, uh, bone, Mulder?" she asked, her tone 
sultry.

Okay, *that* was definitely a come on. She must have noticed 
the boner in his pants was pressing uncomfortably against his 
zipper. He wanted like hell to readjust himself. Fuck, he 
wanted *her* to readjust him. 

Mouth agape, he racked his brain for a smart-ass retort, but 
came up blank. Scully had turned the tables on him, upsetting 
the natural order of their relationship. *He* was supposed to 
lob the innuendoes and then she was supposed to ignore them. 
After five years, a precedent had been set, a pattern had been 
established. This unexpected role reversal made him wonder if 
there was something in the prehistoric air affecting her, or 
him, or both of them. 

Maybe it was the snake meat.

"I thought you might have a..." -- Scully selected a slender 
snake rib from the pile of bones and held it up for him to see 
-- "caught in your throat." She used the flat edge of the bone 
to trace a tickling path over his bobbing Adam's apple. 

She *was* flirting with him. 

Wasn't she? 

Or was he just imagining it?

Shit. He had no fucking idea. 

Somewhere he'd read that the human male thinks about sex 
approximately once every five minutes. At the time, he thought 
the estimate sounded a bit conservative, but he'd been willing 
to let it go. Hell, he was younger then, and averages were 
just averages. Besides, someone had to be on the upper end of 
the scale to balance out all those politically correct Men of 
the '90s who never, ever had sexual fantasies about the women 
they worked with. 

Lying bastards.       

Okay, big deal if he *occasionally* pictured Scully...uh...how 
could he put this delicately? Fucking him blind? Was it really 
so wrong? 

Yes, yes, he understood the evils of sexual harassment, he 
really did; he'd been to the seminars, had the sensitivity 
training. But come on, his feelings for Scully went waaaay 
beyond simple lust. For chrissake, he *loved* h--  

Don't go there, Mulder, do *not* go there, he told himself. 
She is *not* interested in you that way. Just concentrate on 
something unsexy and get past this.   

Flukeman. 

Nope.

Leonard Betts' head.

Nope.

Peacock brothers.

Nope, nope and nope. This wasn't helping. 

Okay, bring out the big guns: Bill Scully, Jr. defending his 
sister's honor by pounding the crap out of her hound dog 
partner.

Bingo. Worked like a charm every time. 

Ardor diminishing, Mulder signaled to Scully that she had some 
food on her chin. "You've...uh..." 

"Oh, thanks." She scrubbed her face with a fingertip. "That 
was delicious. I'm full."

"Mm. Me, too." He selected a bone from the pile and used it to 
pick meat from between his teeth. "Just like Thanksgiving. All 
we need now are a couple of La-Z-Boys and a football game."

She slid the platter of leftovers to the front of the shelter, 
out of the way of their feet. "No TV, no remote, no cable -- 
you're going to slip into catatonic shock. You realize that, 
don't you?"

"I miss my VCR already." Which reminded him, "I'm gonna have a 
hell of an overdue triple-X bill when I get back."

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?"

"No more than usual." Would Skinner notice if he added the 
cost of the videos to their expense account? Yeah, he probably 
would since he'd never signed the 302 in the first place. 
Their trip to Hill Air Force Base was unauthorized. "Who's 
your favorite redheaded porn star, Scully?"

She arched an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"Sorry. My five minutes were up."

The other eyebrow rose, giving her a "what the hell does that 
mean?" look.

"Never mind." He sighed, feeling full and content.

They listened to the rain for a minute or two without 
speaking. Lightning flashed in the east and Mulder silently 
counted the seconds between the flash and the rumble of 
thunder -- a game he and Sam used to play. They would sit on 
the porch at Quonochontaug, estimating the distance of an 
approaching storm as thunderclouds, gray as the sea, plowed 
northward along the coastline, bringing the smell of rainwater 
and the promise of cooler air. Eight-one-thousand, nine-one-
thousand, ten-one-thousand...a soft rumble would ricochet 
against the shore. Then when the storm finally closed in, Sam 
snuggled beneath his arm. Goosebumps dotted her bare arms and 
legs, and she shivered against him, insisting she was chilly, 
not scared. But he wasn't fooled. She was just putting on a 
show of bravery, the way she always did whenever she wanted to 
prove she was as courageous as any boy. 

A lot like Scully.

Instinctively he wrapped an arm around Scully. To his surprise 
and delight, she didn't shrug him off, but settled comfortably 
against him.

Another flash of lightning brightened the sky. One-one-
thousand, two-one--   

"Mulder, how are we going to get home?"

He had no answer. For all he knew, they might be stuck here 
permanently. "I don't know."

She turned to look up at him. "We can't give up. We have to 
try *something.*"

"I haven't given up. I just don't have any useful suggestions 
right now."

More lightning. The storm seemed to be circling around. 

"We need to go back to the field where we first arrived," she 
said, sounding determined.

"To do what?"

"Wait for the time portal to reopen."

"How long do we wait, Scully? There may not be a portal. 
Ever." He knew she didn't want to hear this. "We have to 
consider the possibility we may never get back."

"I won't accept that. I can't." She targeted him with angry 
eyes. "Can you?"

"I don't know that we have a choice." He didn't want to fight 
with her. They needed to work on this together. "I saw some 
footprints," he said, trying to redirect the conversation. 

"Human footprints?"

"Yes. Down by the stream. When I was cutting up the snake."

"Who do you think they belong to?" She looked hopeful.

Probably not a rescue party, he thought. "You took 
anthropology in college. You tell me. What do you remember 
about early human groups in North America?"

She frowned and thought for a minute. "The oldest reliably-
dated human remains were only about 11,500 radiocarbon years 
old...that's 13,350 calendar years."

"What were the people like? Were they friendly?"

"No one knows for sure. The fossil records indicate they were 
nomadic, living in familial groups of about fifty men, women 
and children. They were artisans and skilled big-game hunters. 
They followed migrating animals, like mastodons and mammoths, 
camels, peccaries, stag-moose, musk-oxen...you can stop me at 
any time, Mulder." 

"Sounds like they had plenty to eat."

"Mm. For a while. A major megafaunal extinction occurred 
around 11,400 B.P."

That sounded ominous. "Caused by what?"

"There are several theories. Some scientists believe early 
humans hunted the animals to extinction. Others claim that a 
catastrophic climactic event killed them. A third theory 
posits that humans brought dogs, birds and other animals with 
them to the New World, and these Old World animals carried 
viruses that may have killed or weakened American populations, 
which had no immunity to the new pathogens. Most likely, the 
extinction was the result of a combination of stressors."

"Something extraterrestrial perhaps?"

A laugh chuffed from her nose. "You would ask that, wouldn't 
you?"

He shrugged. "Asteroids are extraterrestrial."

"Is that what you were thinking?"

"Nah," he admitted. He suddenly felt very tired. Three days 
and two nights without sleep were catching up with him. "I was 
thinking more along the lines of visitors from outer space, 
planetary invasion, the usual stuff. Although..." -- he 
pointed to the rain and wind outside the shelter -- "maybe the 
explanation is Biblical. This is looking a lot like Noah's 
flood."

"Let's not go there, Mulder." She yawned and rested her head 
against his shoulder. "We just ate the serpent in this 
particular Garden of Eden. I hate to think what ramifications 
there might be in that." 

Her yawn sparked one of his own. "Dining on the symbolic cause 
of The Fall. That can't be good." He leaned his head back 
against the rocks and closed his eyes. "How are you feeling?" 
he asked, not really expecting an honest answer.

"Better, thanks."

He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, 
surreptitiously checking for fever. Her skin felt cooler. 
Maybe getting some food into her had helped.

She folded his hand beneath her own. "I'm fine, Mulder. 
Really."

Wrapped by the warmth of her palm, he let his hand lie in her 
lap.

The two of them were safe for now, their bellies full. It was 
as good a time as any to catch forty winks.   

*   *   *

"Let's shoot it," Bill, Jr. says, tossing the garter snake 
onto the ground and aiming his BB gun.

Dana is tempted. She loves her new BB gun -- a birthday gift 
from her brothers. But... "Dad said we're only supposed to 
shoot cans, Bill."

"Well, Dad's not here, Miss Goody Two Shoes."

True, Ahab isn't with them. 

And Dana hates to be called Miss Goody Two Shoes.

Bill, Jr. looms over her left shoulder and chants in her ear, 
"Dana's a chicken...Dana's a chick--"

"I am not." She is a little afraid to disobey her father, but 
she's not afraid to shoot the snake. 

Charlie stands off to the side, a big grin on his freckled 
face. He points his own BB gun at the snake. "Come on, 
Dane...SHOOT!"

The boys fire one shot after another as the snake side-winds, 
eluding the hailstorm of their BBs. Dana is certain she can 
hit it. She's a good shot already, as good as her brothers. 
Better, in fact. She hit five cans out of six! Charlie hit 
only two. The moving snake is more of a challenge, but she 
plans to show Bill she's not a chicken or a Miss Goody Two 
Shoes. Closing one eye, she takes aim. Her heart pounds with 
excitement. The snake slithers through the autumn leaves, and 
Dana pulls the trigger. POW! 

Delight skates up her arms when the gun pops and she sees the 
snake knocked forward by the impact of her BB. A hit! Dead 
center!

"You got it! You got it!" Charlie's face lights up with 
admiration. Even Bill, Jr. looks impressed.

The three children move closer to inspect the injured animal. 
Snapped practically in half, it continues to squirm, blood 
oozing from its wound. 

Dana kneels and picks it up. It's moving very slowly now. Soon 
it just hangs limply in her hands. She gives it a little 
shake. Then a gentle squeeze. A more frantic shake. Nothing 
rouses it. Is it dead? She didn't mean for it to die.

"Starbuck, I warned you. You weren't supposed to shoot at 
anything but cans." Ahab is sitting at the head of the dinner 
table, where the family has gathered to eat their supper. His 
expression is stern and he stares directly at his youngest 
daughter. She knows he is ashamed of her. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to kill it." She looks down at her 
dinner plate. Her tears are unstoppable. She wants to put life 
back into the dead snake, but already her brothers have buried 
it in the woods and now her father is mad and she can't stop 
crying. She is to blame for killing the snake and it's going 
to be dead forever--

"Who are the men who would create a life whose only hope was 
to die?" Dana hears herself ask, but her plate has disappeared 
and she is no longer at the dinner table. She is a grown 
woman, standing in front of a child's coffin. The casket is 
for Emily, her beloved, lost daughter.
 

Mulder stands beside her. He has brought flowers for her dead 
child -- a pretty white bouquet, fragile and pale. "I don't 
know," he answers. "But that you found her and you had a 
chance to love her...then, maybe she was meant for that too."

A chance to give a mother's love to a child. Such a brief 
blessing and all the more painful because of its brevity. Does 
Mulder understand how much her heart is breaking over the loss 
of Emily?

She turns away from the coffin to tell him she feels bereft, 
and is surprised to find he is wearing a flower tucked behind 
his ear. His suit and tie have vanished; he wears black jeans 
and hiking boots, and a dead snake is looped around his neck, 
dangling over his shoulders onto his bare chest.

"Touch it," he says. His voice floats past her ears like 
cottonwood seed on a spring breeze. Puffy clouds slink across 
a cornflower-blue sky high above his head, while white field 
flowers nod at his feet. The air smells like fresh grass and 
cherry blossoms. 

And him. Masculine. Aroused.

She is suddenly aware that her clothes have disappeared and 
she stands completely naked in front of him. Her partner...oh, 
God. Embarrassment pounds in her veins, while at the same 
time, desire tickles her inner thighs, her breastbone, the 
tips of her breasts. She yearns to touch the snake, and 
recognizes the urge is Freudian and vaguely inappropriate. 
Even so...

She reaches for it. Tentatively strokes its head.

Its amber eyes open and she knows this is going too far. She 
is crossing a line. 

"Are you hungry, Scully?" Mulder asks. Concern has etched 
shadows into his brow.

She realizes she is ravenous. 

The snake stretches forward and prods her palm with its nose. 
She can't eat it alive, can she?

Mulder whispers, "Taste it," and her doubts evaporate at the 
sound of his voice. Grasping the snake behind its head, she 
raises it to her lips, opens her mouth, accepts Mulder's gift. 
The snake glides into her, over her tongue to the back of her 
throat. It tastes earthy. The texture is surprisingly dry and 
smooth.

It slips past her throat more easily than she would have 
guessed, considering its size. It feels thick and warm in her 
neck. She doesn't gag as it wriggles downward toward her 
belly.

"You okay?" Mulder asks.

She nods. The serpent now rests in her stomach. She feels 
deliciously sated and inexplicably happy. Mulder strokes her 
face and smiles at her. He appears pleased. Satisfied that she 
is satisfied.

"We did it, Scully." He points to her stomach.

Her naked belly has grown large. Her skin is stretched tightly 
across the hard expanse of her abdomen. Mulder strokes the 
pregnant mound. She feels something move inside her beneath 
his palm. A baby's kick? Or the uncoiling of a snake? 

"I'm scared, Mulder." 

He nuzzles her neck. "Of what?"

Hot liquid floods her inner thighs and a painful cramp sizzles 
in her womb. "Mulder?"

In the blink of an eye, she is lying on a hospital bed. The 
room is familiar. Calumet Mercy Hospital. Chicago. Last week. 
Only it had been Mulder strapped to the bed rails that time, 
not her. The Pincus case. A monster that hid in the light. 

"Mulder?"

He is dressed in scrubs and latex gloves. A surgical mask 
covers the lower half of his face. He stands at the foot of 
her bed. She feels him grip her ankles, part her legs.

"You have to push, Scully."

No, no, no. This can't be happening. She can't be pregnant. 
She is unable to have children. Another stab of pain twists 
her insides. 

"Push, Scully! It's up to you."

She bears down, unable to stop herself. Oh, God, oh, God, the 
pain is awful. She can feel herself stretched to the point of 
tearing as something forces itself from between her legs. The 
mound of her belly blocks her view. All she can see is the top 
of Mulder's bowed head as he struggles to help her deliver her 
child.

Suddenly the pain is gone. Mulder looks up, eyes wide with 
tears. Not tears of joy. He is frightened. Oh, Jesus. Please, 
no. 

"I'm sorry." His mask puffs in and out against his face as he 
pants for breath. 

She tries to sit up, but the restraints hold her back. "What 
is it, Mulder?"

His head wags with pity.

"What *is* it?"

"I warned you. You weren't supposed to shoot at anything but 
cans." He stands straighter and places her baby onto her now-
flat belly, only it isn't a baby, just as she knew it wouldn't 
be, knew it couldn't be. It's the dead, headless snake. Not 
the little one she killed with her BB gun, but the big 
Pleistocene one she shot in the cave.

"But I *had* to shoot it, Mulder. It was going to kill you. I 
was trying to save your life!"

Mulder tugs the mask from his face, and she sees he is no 
longer Mulder. He is Ahab.

"You made a bad choice, Starbuck."

He frowns, turns his back, and walks to the window. His 
shoulders are broad and stiff. Full of authority and 
expectation. He draws the curtains back, raises the blinds. 
Outside is a valley with a silver river winding through it, 
and on the banks of the river are herds of unfamiliar animals. 
Saber-toothed cats, camels, giant mastodons. 

"Dad?"

Ahab turns. And he has become Mulder once again.  

"There's no going back, Scully."

"There *has* to be!" She struggles against her bonds. The 
snake slips off her belly and rolls to the floor. "There has 
to be...there has to be..."

*   *   *

"There has to--" Scully's eyes flew open and she fought to sit 
upright. Panting, sweat slicking her back, her neck, the palms 
of her hands, she tried to get her bearings. Restraints no 
longer bound her wrists. The hospital bed was gone. She was in 
the rock shelter. Mulder was dozing beside her.

A nightmare. She'd had a nightmare. Thank God. None of it was 
real...except maybe the part about eating the snake. In a way. 
A very Freudian way. She eyeballed the leftover meat, then 
kicked it. Bones, bark and meat tumbled out of the cave.

Outside in the ravine the rain had stopped and the sun was 
shining. Evergreen boughs, ferns, moss-covered stones -- 
everything glistened. Water continued to drip from the upper 
canopy, slapping the lower branches with an erratic rat-a-tat. 
Leaning forward to inspect the sky, she squinted against the 
glare. The west was clear and pale blue, while the east 
remained dark with clouds. Down in the gully, steam rose from 
the forest floor as the sun heated the sodden ground.

Scully checked her watch. Four-thirty-four. She'd been asleep 
for more than six hours, and felt better for it. Her headache 
was gone and it seemed her fever had broken.  

Mulder stirred beside her, but didn't awaken. This didn't 
surprise her. He'd been without sleep for three days.

His clothes were still saturated and hers weren't much drier. 
She felt sticky and unclean, and wished she could take a hot 
shower. Glancing at Mulder's feet, she noticed his boots were 
soaked. Better get them off him and set them out in the sun to 
dry. 

She managed to unlace and gently pull them from his feet 
without waking him. Deciding to remove his sopping socks while 
she was at it, she peeled them from his feet one at a time, 
and found his toes were wrinkled from being wet so long. She 
placed her palm along the sole of his left foot, testing the 
temperature of his skin. He felt damp, but warm.

He sighed in his sleep when she patted his pruney toes. 

"I'll be right back," she whispered, intending to climb down 
to the stream to wash up after setting his footwear out to 
dry. On an impulse, however, she paused before leaving to 
stroke his unshaved cheek. His two-day stubble felt prickly 
against her palm, and it made her realize that he would have a 
full beard in just a matter of days. 

She'd never seen him with a beard before. 

She tried to picture him with his chin and cheeks buried 
behind a thick layer of whiskers. Unexpectedly, the image 
caused her to shiver with desire. 

The Pleistocene air must be making her crazy. On the job, even 
during off hours, she was usually able to ignore Mulder's 
physical appeal. Usually. But here in this primeval place, she 
found herself tantalized by his masculinity. His beard, his 
height, his weight, the size of his hands, the thickness of 
his fingers...and just look at those gorgeous feet! Damn it, 
everything about him seemed to ooze sexuality. All of his 
manly attributes were conspiring to make her feel, 
well...horny, to put it bluntly. The depth of his voice, the 
smell of his sweat, the swell of his Adam's apple, not to 
mention the bulge-- 

What the hell was wrong with her? 

Must be the snake meat.

Determined to put temptation behind her, she grabbed his socks 
and shoes, and scooted out of the shelter.

The sunshine felt good on her face and the air smelled earthy 
after the rain, like Shitake mushrooms and Christmas trees 
rolled into one delicious natural perfume. She placed Mulder's 
boots in a sunny spot and laid his socks out to dry on the 
stone overhang. Then she carefully picked her way to the 
bottom of the ravine, being watchful of slippery stones.

Down in the gully, she took a moment to inspect her 
surroundings. Mulder had mentioned seeing footprints, but she 
saw no sign of them. Even his tracks seemed to have been 
washed away by the rain.

She glanced back at the cave where he was sleeping, hidden in 
the shadows. His boots, perched on a mossy, sun-drenched 
boulder, and his fluttering socks assured her she wasn't the 
only living human being left on the entire planet. It was easy 
to feel alone in this place. And powerless. The world had 
become gargantuan in the blink of an eye, with its enormous 
trees, oversized animals, and danger lurking around every 
corner.

How long could they survive here?

She wandered upstream a short distance, searching for a spot 
where the water ran deep enough to take a bath. Eventually she 
came to a fallen log, which had dammed the stream, creating a 
wide pool. Mist floated above its inky surface, giving the 
scene a fairytale feel and reminding her of legendary places 
like Camelot or Eden.

The ravine rose forty feet or more on either side of the 
stream, banked at a steep angle, craggy with stone and 
speckled with vegetation. Wild orchids, curly-leafed ferns, 
emerald-green groundcovers dotted with diminutive, star-shaped 
blossoms grew on and between the slate-gray ledges. Massive 
tree roots ran vein-like down the near-vertical embankments, 
questing for water in the lowlands. The trees themselves 
guarded the upper banks like giant gnarled soldiers. Sunlight 
dripped between their splayed fingers to puddle like molten 
gold on the forest floor. 

Woodland animals chittered angrily in the branches overhead, 
making Scully feel she was an unwelcome trespasser. All 
around, birds screeched -- high-pitched, frantic calls. A 
desperate, anxious sound. They ballyhooed their territories, 
extolled their genetic virtues, prepared to drive out unwanted 
interlopers. 

The birdcalls prickled her scalp as she stepped to the edge of 
the pool. She quickly stripped off her coat and draped it over 
a nearby boulder. Wanting to give herself a thorough washing, 
including her hair, she removed her turtleneck and her black 
camisole, and laid them both neatly on top of her coat. The 
idea of putting the soiled clothes back on after her bath was 
not a pleasant one, but she was thankful she'd worn several 
layers. These clothes might have to last a long while, in all 
sorts of weather.

She crouched to untie her boots. A wet knot in her laces 
stalled her for a minute, but she eventually was able to pick 
it loose. She stood again and toed off her boots and then 
removed her socks. Lastly, she unbuckled her belt and slid her 
pants from her legs, adding them to the pile with her gun, 
which she balanced on the very top.

It felt strange to be standing in the forest wearing nothing 
but bra and panties, especially since she'd decided to take 
Mulder's advice literally, and put on something "black and 
sexy" for their night of funky B&E. Her black silk underwear 
was a brand new set. Not exactly utilitarian. Made for show 
more than for wear and tear. What had she been thinking?

Kneeling at the edge of the small pool, she dipped her hand 
into the water. It was startlingly cold -- as icy as if it had 
just trickled off the Wisconsinan glacier.

Well, maybe it had, she realized.

She drank from her cupped hands. The water tasted sweet and 
slightly metallic, and was ice cream-headache cold. A long-
legged beetle skated quickly out of her way when she began to 
wash. Bill used to call insects like these Jesus Bugs, because 
they were able to walk on water. One time when their mom 
overheard him using the name she grounded him for a week, 
which delighted Missy no end. She called him "Bill the 
Blasphemer" for months afterward.

Wishing for a bar of soap, she scrubbed her face and neck with 
her palms. Then she leaned forward, dipped the crown of her 
head into the pool, and wetted her hair. Too late she realized 
she hadn't thought to bring Mulder's comb with her.

Water streamed past her ears, preventing her from hearing the 
approach of footsteps, until a twig snapped behind her.

"Mulder?" 

Twisting to look over her shoulder, she discovered two men 
standing about an arm's length away, blocking her access to 
her gun. They had dun-colored eyes set in deeply tanned faces, 
long corkscrewing beards and dark flyaway hair that fell well 
below their shoulders. They wore animal skin garments wrapped 
around their waists and fur capes hung across their muscular 
shoulders. Each carried a spear and a hide sack. Bone jewelry 
decorated their ears, necks and upper arms, which were 
tattooed with dark, geometric patterns.

One man, the closest one, was taller than the other by several 
inches. He was missing a toe on his left foot, and ropey scars 
scissored up his left leg from his damaged foot to his upper 
thigh. She guessed they were from animal bites, healed years 
ago. His forearm was scarred, too. And his face. His left 
cheek and chin were disfigured by two parallel slashes that 
ran from his eye to his jaw. Considering the extent of his 
injuries, it was a wonder he had survived.  

Both men sniffed the air, their nostrils flaring as they 
breathed in her scent. The scarred man stepped closer, near 
enough to jab her bare upper arm with the point of his finger. 
The poke was so hard it knocked her back on her haunches.

He growled something to the smaller man, who smiled. Their 
proximity set her heart hammering and she chided herself for 
putting herself at risk this way.  

"Li-chi tse-gah!" shouted the scarred man, startling her.

"Li-chi," the smaller man repeated, more softly.

They moved in, crowding her. She wanted to rise up but thought 
they might mistake any sudden move on her part as a threat, so 
she hunkered low and hoped like hell they didn't want to harm 
her.

The scarred man reached for her again, and it took all her 
willpower not to duck out from under his hand. He patted her 
hair, his touch tentative, curious. "Li-chi," he repeated, this 
time in a whisper. Combing his fingers through her hair, he 
suddenly laughed out loud, a harsh, gritty sound that crackled 
from his throat. The other man laughed, too, then stuttered a 
few words and pointed at her breasts.

Bending low for a closer look, the scarred man studied her 
black bra. He stroked the fabric, running his index finger down 
one strap. He hooked his finger behind the silky cup, tested 
its smoothness by rubbing it between his finger and thumb.

"Ne-zhoniiii..."

She wasn't sure if that was a word or a sigh. 

When he suddenly prodded her breast, she slapped his hand.

"Don't," she warned.

He drew back and began jabbering at her, his tone angry and 
maybe a little frightened. The other man watched, poised to run 
or stay, depending on what happened next.

She realized this was probably her best opportunity to go for 
her weapon. Springing to her feet, she tried to lunge past the 
scarred man. His arm shot out, blocking her. Lightning fast, he 
grabbed her hair and yanked, bringing her up short and then 
forcing her to her knees. Both men were yammering now.

Damn it, he was dragging her away from the pool.

She filled her lungs and screamed as loudly as she could.

"Mulllderrrr!"

*   *   *

"Scully?" Mulder blinked awake. Had she called out to him or 
was it just a dream? She wasn't in the shelter, that much was 
obvious. He sat up and scrubbed sleep from his eyes with the 
heels of hands.

Where were his boots?

Bright sunshine jabbed his eyes when he slid from the cave to 
locate Scully. He squinted against the glare and quickly found 
his boots and socks, but Scully was nowhere to be seen. 
Touching one of the socks, he discovered it was still sopping 
wet, which meant she hadn't been gone long.

"Scully?" he shouted, only to hear his own voice echo back to 
him. "Sculleeee!"

There was no answer. Evidently she hadn't just ducked behind a 
bush to pee. His heart began to race as all manner of 
irrational fears zigzagged through his mind.

"Scully! Scullllleeeee!"

He pulled on his boots, leaving the socks behind and not 
bothering to tie his laces. Which direction had she gone? And 
why the hell had she gone alone? He scrambled down the 
embankment. 

At the bottom her footprints led downstream and he followed 
them at a jog. When he spotted two additional sets of prints 
alongside hers -- one with a missing toe -- he broke into a 
full run.

"Scully? Where are you? Sculleee!" He bulldozed through a patch 
of waist-high ferns only to be stopped dead in his tracks by 
the sight of her black, silk camisole lying on a boulder.

Blood roared in his ears and his legs felt like rubber as he 
lurched toward it. Fuck, fuck. He grabbed it and hugged it to 
his chest while he tried to make sense of what might have 
happened here. Her tracks, now barefoot, and the strangers' 
clearly showed signs of a struggle. 

Find her...find her...find her...

The footprints led further downstream, where the sides of the 
ravine were too steep to climb. That meant Scully and the two 
men would have to stick close to the stream, at least until the 
land flattened out. But there were so many places to hide. 
Trees, shrubs, boulders, crevices.

Find her!

"Sculleee!" Please, please answer.

In the distance he heard her faint yell. "Mulder!"

He aimed for her voice and ran for all he was worth.

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER FOUR
  
The stream rushed through the ravine like blood through the veins of a 
hunted beast. Mist shrouded the entire gorge and pointed firs lined the 
upper embankment like rows of colossal shark's teeth. The scarred man 
followed the flow of water, hauling Scully by the hair along a swampy, 
overgrown path, while his companion trotted a few paces behind, lugging 
the packs, spears, Scully's clothes and her gun. Briars clawed their 
bare legs and bit into Scully's unprotected feet.

Kicking, cursing, throwing punches, she tried to free herself, but the 
scarred man ignored her blows and maintained his tight grip on her 
hair. She dug in her heels at every opportunity, flailed her fists, 
scratched his arms and face, drawing blood...along with what was 
undoubtedly a string of caveman curses. 

She swore back at him. "Bastard! Let me go, you son of a bitch!"

They continued on that way for more than three quarters of a mile, with 
Scully struggling and arguing. Physically she was no match for the 
scarred man, but even so she was prepared to be as contrary as she 
needed to be to slow his progress and give Mulder a chance to catch up 
with them.

From somewhere far behind them he called her name again. She returned 
his shout, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her cry earned her a 
wallop; the scarred man struck her hard in the mouth, splitting her 
lower lip. Blood spattered her chest, her arms, the ground, and she 
hissed with pain.

Scarface drew back his fist to strike again, daring her to defy him.
 
Damn Neanderthal. She had no intention of giving in to his bullying. 
Eight million years out of Africa, and she was being hauled off by the 
hair? This fucking caveman was pissing her off!

Glowering at him, she shouted,  "MULLL--"

Knuckles plowed into her jaw, causing an explosion of pain that dropped 
her to her knees. The grip on her hair was the only thing that kept her 
from falling flat on the ground. 

The scarred man must have sensed her next scream coming, because he 
jerked her to her feet and pressed his huge palm tightly over her 
bruised lips, locking her jaw with granite fingers so that she could 
neither scream nor bite. 

Son of a bitch must have done this before.

"Tehi," he growled into her ear, securing her with the crook of his 
arm. He steered her roughly toward the stream. "Kut."

She reached up to dig at his eyes, but he dodged her scraping 
nails and tightened his hold, towing her into the water, hand 
still clamped over her mouth. Her bare feet slipped and 
stumbled on the wet stones. Her toes went numb almost 
instantly in the ice-cold water. Trying to pull away from his 
one-armed bear hug, she repeatedly punched him -- in the 
stomach, in the chest. He ignored her blows...until she aimed 
for his groin. Catching hold of her swinging fist with his 
free hand, he held it firmly in place.  

"Nil-ta," he said, chuckling.

His companion laughed, too. "A-nah-ne-dzin."

They continued wading downstream. The water was picking up 
speed, sucking at Scully's legs with every step. A waterfall 
thrummed somewhere up ahead.

About a hundred yards short of the falls, the scarred man 
dragged her to shore. His hand still held her jaw, and her 
split lip throbbed beneath his palm. Blood filled her mouth. 
Unable to spit it out, she swallowed it.  

Scarface manhandled her to the edge of a cliff where the falls 
tumbled eighty feet or more into a valley. At the bottom, the 
land flattened out into a floodplain of dense forest and 
interlocked ponds. The valley appeared trapped in the embrace 
of two, jagged mountain ranges. Scully looked out across acres 
of treetops. Pools of wind-scuffed water peeked through the 
canopy like the glittering eyes of predatory animals, skulking 
beneath the murky foliage. 

Without warning, the scarred man seized her around the waist, 
hoisted her off her feet, and slung her over one shoulder. Jaw 
finally freed from his iron grip, blood poured from her mouth 
and she began to shout at the top of her lungs. 

"Muldermuldermul--"

A knife pricked the back of her bare thigh as her captor 
pressed its sharp stone blade to her leg, silencing her once 
and for all. He continued to hold the weapon against her as he 
lugged her down the cliff, where twisted tree roots and slanted 
stone outcroppings served as steps. Obviously born to this 
terrain, both men climbed with the natural skill of mountain 
goats. The added burden of her weight seemed to have little 
effect on the scarred man; he wasn't even breathing hard when 
he reached the bottom. 

"Lit." He pivoted to look back up the hill, raising his nose in 
the air and sniffing.

The smaller man turned and sniffed, too, then rattled off a 
sentence or two that brought a frown to the other man's face. 

Concern darkened their eyes and they slipped into the forest's 
shadows, with Scully still draped over the bigger man's broad 
shoulder.

*   *   *

"Sculleeee!"

Clutching her camisole tightly in his fist, Mulder careened 
toward the sound of her voice. Her tracks disappeared into the 
stream along with those of the men. Now he had to rely on his 
FBI training, eyeballing both banks for any sign that she or 
her kidnappers might have left the water for higher ground. 

Why wasn't she wearing her boots? Or her camisole? The silky 
undergarment slapped his thigh with every stride, conjuring up 
a picture of her with no shirt, no shoes, and two Ice Age Don 
Juannabees doing things he'd rather not think about.

If those bastards harmed her...

He pumped his legs faster, taking longer strides. Images of 
past threats floated unbidden through his mind: Warren Dupre, 
Donnie Pfaster, Gerry Schnauz. Scully's life was in danger. 
Again. Adrenaline flooded his body, hammered his chest and 
thundered in his ears, making him deaf to everything except the 
memory of Scully's faint cry for help.

A dark, shiny blotch on the bank up ahead caught his eye. He 
waded through briars, ignoring their pull and his god-awful 
fear. In three strides, he reached the stain, and crouched over 
it. It was blood. Lots of blood. On the stones, the leaves, the 
mud. Was it Scully's?

Damn it. He would kill those sons of bitches.

The men's footprints were clearly visible in the mud. Scully's 
prints, however, had vanished. 

One of the men must be carrying her.

A spotty trail of fresh blood revealed the kidnappers had taken 
a path down a near-vertical hillside, where the stream 
thundered into a valley below. Stuffing Scully's camisole into 
his jacket pocket, Mulder descended after them. The steep path 
wound around boulders, over narrow, stone ledges, between trees 
that clung precariously to the embankment, their twisted roots 
providing meager footholds. His boots slipped in the mud, 
skidded over loose gravel. Tangled vines snagged his toes. He 
was constantly on the brink of losing his balance.

Halfway to the bottom, he caught a whiff of woodsmoke. His 
first thought was that Scully's captors had decided to camp 
somewhere down below and were preparing a cook fire, until he 
realized the odor was coming from above, to the south.

It was possible there were other men in the area. And they 
weren't apt to be any friendlier than the two he was following.  

Mulder scanned the surrounding hillside for more blood. The 
spots were smaller here and spaced farther apart: on a rock to 
his left and several feet further down on the bark of a fallen 
tree. He scrambled past it, his sense of urgency ballooning. 

*   *   *

Jogging through the forest along a nearly invisible trail, the 
scarred man kept his knife pressed to Scully's thigh. Its blade 
scraped painfully with every jouncing step, reminding her to 
keep silent and still. The second man followed only a pace or 
two behind the first. 

Scully tried to memorize the route they were taking, but the 
trees all looked alike and her upside-down view was confusing.  
Tree roots, ferns, her captors' running feet...she could see 
little else. The men's bare feet were heavily calloused, their 
legs tanned and crisscrossed with scrapes and fine scars. Quiet 
as cats, they made almost no noise as they navigated through 
the lowland forest. 

Scully's jaw throbbed where she'd been struck, but her lip was 
no longer bleeding. That wasn't necessarily a good thing. No 
blood meant no trail for Mulder to follow.

Her hope of being released or rescued grew dimmer with each new 
path her captors took. They veered off in yet another 
direction, where the trees became sparser and the terrain more 
flat and sandy. It was here that the men finally slowed to a 
walk and exchanged a few words -- the first they'd uttered 
since the waterfall. Their tones sounded almost casual now, as 
if they were confident they had lost Mulder.

The smaller man bounded around his bigger companion like an 
excited child, asking questions, laughing a lot. Too much, 
evidently. Scarface soon became irritated and growled at the 
smaller man, effectively shutting him up.

They stopped when they reached a clearing where the forest gave 
way to a view of a small lake. A ratty tent-like structure sat 
near the shore. It was made of animal hides that had been 
loosely lashed together and draped over some sort of curving 
supports, giving the shelter a dome-like shape. 

Scully was unceremoniously dumped onto the pebbly beach, where 
she fell hard on her backside, her dignity jarred along with 
her tailbone. She landed between the tent and the remains of a 
cooking fire. Traces of smoke still sifted up from the ashes.

Small Man tossed his gear, along with Scully's clothes and gun, 
behind the tent. She desperately wanted to get to the gun, but 
Scarface was already squatting in front of her, blocking her 
way. The smaller man tended the fire. 

"Li-chi tse-gah," the scarred man said, his eyes focused on her 
hair. She recognized his words from before, back at the pool. 

He reached for her and combed his thick fingers through her 
hair. Then his attention dipped to the cross at her neck. With 
the tip of one ragged finger, he traced its delicate chain down 
to her cleavage.

"Don't touch me." She shoved his hand away. 

He scowled. "Ha-gade!" He reached for the necklace again and, 
this time, yanked it off her, breaking its chain and raising a 
razor-thin welt on the back of her neck. "Ha-gade," he 
repeated, shaking it in his fist.

"Give that back." She grabbed for it, but he quickly tucked it 
away inside a small pouch he wore around his neck. 

She loathed the way his glittering eyes studied her. Sitting 
with her knees drawn up, she tried to hide as much of her body 
from his curious stare as possible.

Nostrils flaring, he leaned forward and sniffed her: her neck, 
her lips, her shoulder...her cleavage. Suddenly he grabbed her 
knees, forcefully spread her legs apart, and inhaled deeply.

"Stop it!" She scrambled backward. 

He laughed and grabbed hold of her ankles. She fought him as he 
dragged her back toward him. The smaller man stopped tending 
the fire to watch them.

"Nih-tsa-goh-al-neh." The scarred man licked his lips and then 
opened the skins at his waist to reveal his swollen penis.

No, she wasn't going to let this happen. She kicked at him. 
Grabbed a fistful of stones and hurled them at his face. The 
stones bounced off his upraised arm.

He signaled to the smaller man, who rose from the fire to stand 
behind her. Evidently they had no intention of letting her 
escape. The scarred man took hold of her upper arms and drew 
her to him. She pummeled him with her fists, boxed his head and 
ears, but more quickly than she would have thought possible, he 
flipped her over onto her hands and knees and then pushed his 
own knees between her legs, spreading her thighs with his own. 
He leaned over her back and pressed her head to the ground with 
his left hand, while he steadied her hips with his right. She 
struggled to escape, but he held her head firmly and pinned her 
legs in place by pressing his knees onto her calves. Bent over, 
she could see nothing but the muddy, calloused feet of the 
smaller man, who silently waited his turn.

"Leave me alone! Get off me, you damn son of a bitch!" 

The scarred man yanked her panties down, exposing her backside. 
Anger and embarrassment raged through her. No, no, no! 
*Please*, no. She held her breath against the stink of her 
assailant's sweat. Felt the tickle of his beard on her 
shoulders as he draped himself over her. His engorged penis 
prodded the backs of her legs.

"NOOOOOO!"

*   *   *

 "Get the hell away from her!" Mulder bellowed from the edge of 
the woods. Seeing Scully dressed in nothing but her panties and 
bra and mounted from behind by a hulking Neanderthal filled him 
with unimaginable rage. It didn't occur to him to pull his gun; 
the only thing he could think to do was wring the fucker's neck 
with his bare hands.

He launched himself at Scully's assailant, screaming at the top 
of his lungs as he crossed the clearing. The startled caveman 
had no time to react before Mulder plowed into him full force, 
shoulder to ribs, toppling him from Scully's back. He grunted 
from the impact and they both rolled toward the blazing 
campfire.

Mulder scrambled to his feet. The Neanderthal did the same, 
rising like a mountain in front of him. 

The brute was thickset, as muscular as Conan the Barbarian, his 
limbs, chest and face streaked with deep battle scars. He 
balled his fists, puffed his chest, and locked eyes with 
Mulder.

Mulder straightened to his full height, a satisfying inch or 
two taller than his brawny opponent.

"You okay, Scully?" he called, not taking his eyes off Conan.

When she didn't immediately answer, he chanced a quick glance 
over his shoulder and discovered the smaller man had her in a 
hammerlock. She was struggling to free herself, clawing at his 
arms and elbowing his ribs.

"Scull--"

Granite knuckles plowed into Mulder's jaw, rocking him back on 
his heels. He regained his balance and struck back. Missed. 
Threw a second punch and, this time, connected. Jesus, it felt 
like he'd hit stone.

Conan appeared unfazed by the blow. He sneered and raised his 
fists...fists that had held Scully hostage only moments ago, 
fists that had pushed her head to the ground --

Mulder missiled at him, skull to gut. A satisfying yowl 
exploded from Conan's lungs as he was knocked backward. Mulder 
pressed his advantage. He threw a haymaker that failed to 
connect when the other man ducked. Conan responded with a punch 
of his own. It hit Mulder with astonishing force and sent him 
tumbling. He landed on the ground with a spine-jarring jolt.

Conan wasted no time coming after him. He leapt on top of him, 
wrapped thick fingers around his throat and pressed forceful 
thumbs into his larynx. Mulder thrashed and bucked as the 
pressure on his throat intensified. His lungs hitched for 
oxygen. Desperate, he clapped the heels of his hands against 
Conan's ears. The impact knocked the man back.

Gulping for air, Mulder scrambled to his feet. "Scully?" he 
gasped, not daring to take his eyes off the scarred bastard 
long enough to look for her. He could hear the scuffle of feet 
several yards behind him, the dull thud of a punch, a low, 
masculine grunt.

"I'm..." -- another grunt from her attacker -- "I'm okay, 
Mulder." 

Conan growled and charged, bulldozing Mulder across the 
campsite toward the shelter, where an uppercut sent him 
pinwheeling onto the tent. The skins collapsed beneath his 
weight. Conan leapt on him and began pummeling him in the ribs. 
Mulder responded by kneeing the Neanderthal in the groin. Conan 
yelped, curled into a ball, and rolled off him to lie on the 
ground, moaning, hands clamped over his genitals. 

Mulder staggered to his feet to help Scully, who was being 
dragged off into the woods by Little Big Man.

Before he could take a step, Conan grabbed his ankle and yanked 
his legs out from under him. Mulder toppled and hit the ground 
hard. He twisted onto his back. Conan scrambled to his feet, 
took hold of his right leg and began dragging him down the 
beach toward the lake.

Mulder grappled for a handhold and craned to get a glimpse of 
Scully. He was shocked to discover she was no longer on the 
beach. Little Big Man was gone, too. Fuck, where were they? 
Desperate to free himself, he fumbled for his gun, chiding 
himself for not remembering it sooner. He drew the weapon. 
Aimed--

Conan jerked on his leg and the gun bounced from his hand. It 
landed with a metallic thud just out of reach. He frantically 
tried to retrieve it, but Conan pulled him into the water. 
Jesus, his leg felt like it was being ripped from the socket. 

Once in the lake, Conan dove on top of him and sank him to the 
bottom. Mulder tried to keep his head above the surface, but 
the scarred man pressed his shoulders into the mud. Waves 
closed over his face. He peered up through a blur of silt and 
bubbles and churning water to see the bastard was grinning at 
him. Conan had him pinned in place and was enjoying his 
escalating panic.

Or maybe he was already thinking about what he was going to do 
to Scully as soon as Mulder was out of the picture.

Did he plan to finish what he started? Or was it going to be a 
repeat performance? Had Mulder been too late? Had the bastard 
already raped her? And what about the other guy? Was he taking 
his turn right now?

Outraged, Mulder dug down for every ounce of strength in him. 
He rose up out of the water and shoved Conan back. Bone to 
muscle, he bullied him toward shore, where he threw his entire 
six-foot frame at the mother-fucker's goddamned, sorry ass. 
Nothing, *nothing* was going to stop him until this son of a 
bitch was dead.

He pushed and pushed and pushed, maneuvering the scarred man up 
the beach, connecting every punch, relishing the surprised look 
on Conan's bug-eyed face. 

He landed three more hard hits. Knocked Conan onto his back 
beside the fire. Lunging, he body-slammed his startled 
opponent, and pinned him to the ground.

They lay nose to nose. Mulder could smell the man's sour 
breath, the sharp odor of his sweat, the tang of his anger. 
Conan's eyes fell to half-mast as he studied Mulder's bloodied 
nose. Suddenly he broke into a satisfied grin.

What the hell?

Mulder glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Little Big 
Man swing a charred stick of driftwood at his skull. He ducked 
and raised an arm, deflecting the blow. The upper end of the 
club glowed with fire. Smoke and sparks spewed in an outward 
arc when Little Big Man swung again, clubbing Mulder in the 
shoulder and dislodging him from the scarred man's chest.

"Two against one? That's not fair." Mulder somersaulted out of 
the way as the club came down a third time. "Guess that's how 
you cave guys like to operate, huh?"

Little Big Man drew back for another strike. He swung the 
weapon like a Louisville Slugger, connecting this time with 
Mulder's ribs.

Mulder folded in pain. 

The men laughed and moved in on him. Little Big Man aimed the 
club at Mulder's bowed head, but was stopped in mid-swing when 
a blast from Scully's gun bored a hole through his right hand 
and blew the stick from his grasp. The man's eyes rounded at 
the sound of the gun and the sudden appearance of the wound. He 
howled in pain.

Conan turned to gape at Scully, who stood twenty feet away, 
dressed in nothing but her black, silk underwear, her Smith & 
Wesson now aimed at his chest.

The wounded man was the first to run. The other blinked in 
astonishment, seemingly undecided what to do. When he finally 
made up his mind, he aimed hateful eyes at Mulder, snarled 
menacingly and bolted for the woods.

"Why do I get the feeling we haven't seen the last of those 
two?" Mulder rubbed his aching ribs and stiffly retrieved his 
lost gun.

Scully remained where she was, hands shaking, mouth pressed 
into a tight line, eyes filling with tears.

"Scully...?" He limped toward her.

Trembling all over, she lowered her gun and sank slowly to her 
knees.

*   *   *

She hurt all over: her jaw, her neck, her calves. Mulder 
crouched beside her and gathered her into his arms. He held her 
tenderly, and she responded by leaning into the welcome curve 
of his over-heated body. She only half-listened as he repeated, 
"You're okay, you're okay." She concentrated on the rapid thud-
thud-thud of his heart beneath her cheek, feeling safe in his 
embrace, momentarily protected from the evils of the 
Pleistocene world.

Oh God, if he hadn't arrived in time...

She bit down on her swollen lip and held back her tears.

She wanted to explain to him what had happened while he was 
fighting with the scarred man. How the smaller man had dragged 
her into the woods, tied her up with a strip of rawhide so that 
he could go back to help his friend. She'd managed to loosen 
the bindings and find her gun. She'd intended to kill the small 
man when she saw him swing that awful burning log at Mulder's 
head, but her shot missed its mark. 

The words wouldn't come, not without tears, and she refused to 
cry. Mulder was right -- she was okay. He was okay. They would 
be fine. 

She felt drained of every ounce of energy, so spent that when 
Mulder pulled her into his lap, she let him. When he slipped 
one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, 
lifting her up as he stood, she allowed that, too. And she 
didn't object when he carried her to the shore and into the 
water.

Gilded by a setting sun, the lake's surface shimmered as he 
plowed through it. He waded out until he stood thigh deep, then 
he carefully, slowly lowered himself to his knees, dipping her 
beneath the waves as he sank. The water was chilly, but it took 
the sting out of her scratched, bruised skin. And the heat of 
his legs, chest and arms radiated into her numbed limbs, 
cushioning her with their warmth. He eased back on his haunches 
and cradled her in his lap.

Wetting one hand, he began to gently wash blood from her cheek. 

"Too cold?" he asked when she shivered.

"No." Her shiver was a reaction to his tender caress, not the 
temperature of the water.

His left arm buoyed her while he scooped clean water over her 
injuries. Her shoulders, her arms, her fingers. He gave special 
attention to each scraped knuckle, loosening the dirt and dried 
blood. He didn't speak as he caressed her raw flesh. 

She surrendered to his care, allowing him to wash the filth 
from her body and hair. Again and again his fingers swirled 
over her, his touch displacing theirs, washing away their ugly 
intentions. Her blood tinted the water pink around them.

She needed him to do this, she realized. She needed him to 
cleanse away their brutality.

His thumb grazed her breast and she gasped. 

"Sorry." He stopped his ministrations.

A streak of mud in the shape of a large handprint stained her 
cleavage. He stared at it and waited, apparently unwilling to 
wipe it away without permission.

"It's okay," she said.

Still, he didn't move. Eyes glossed with uncertainty, he 
searched her face, her eyes, as if trying to decipher her true 
feelings. 

"Really, Mulder. It's okay," she assured him, and to prove it, 
she took his hand and placed it on her breast. 

He swallowed hard. A sigh stuttered from his lungs. Then he 
began to slowly wash her. 

"Where's your cross?" he asked, his voice tighter than she ever 
remembered hearing it. He massaged the mud from her skin, 
sliding his wet thumb over the smooth mound of her breast, 
dipping, just barely, beneath the satin of her black bra. 
Although his touch was gentle, she could feel emotion boiling 
beneath his controlled caress, anger toward the men who did 
this to her, regret that he hadn't arrived sooner.

"He took it," she answered. "The scarred man took it."

Mulder shook his head; anger hissed from his nose. A muscle 
twitched along his jaw and the veins in his neck bulged. He 
tried to hide his rage beneath lowered lashes, his attention 
focused on his task, but his breathing was shallow and too 
fast, and his nostrils flared with every exhalation.

As a doctor, she knew he was experiencing a sustained, 
involuntary physiological reaction to the threat against them. 
His heart rate, pulse, respiration still soared. Blood sugar, 
lactic acid, the cortisol that had readied his body to fight 
still dilated his eyes, quickened his impulses, intensified his 
awareness.

"Scully...did they--" His voice cracked and stalled.

"No, Mulder. I'm okay." 

Two tears slipped from beneath his lowered lashes to drizzle 
down his flushed cheeks. His mouth opened, but no words came. 
The sound of swallowed grief hummed faintly, briefly, in the 
back of his throat.
     
*   *   *

They had no right... No right to touch her... 

He would have killed them if she hadn't intervened. He wanted 
to kill them still, for putting their hands on her, hurting 
her, trying to... 

Fuck! 

She was *his*, God damn it! His! He loved her. He had loved her 
for years, wanted her for years, but had waited, curbed his 
urges, because he believed he should win her heart before 
yielding to his physical desires.

Now he felt cuckolded by a couple of fucking Neanderthals. 

His hand lingered on her breast. He couldn't bear to remove it, 
yet he couldn't bear touching her either. Jesus, he wanted her 
so damn much!

More than anything, more than *everything*, he wanted to pin 
her to the ground and fuck the bejesus out of her. Right now. 
In spite of what happened, or maybe because of what happened. 
He wanted to plunge into her, possess her, mark his territory. 
Claim her as his, forever and ever. He wanted to assure himself 
she was alive and safe, belonging only to him. The relief of 
having her beneath him, around him, would feel 
so...God...damn...good.

He felt himself grow hard and his arousal disgusted him even as 
it excited him. Avoiding her eyes, he preferred not to know if 
she felt his desire poking her in the backside.

To his surprise, her arms snaked around his neck and her 
bruised lips brushed his cheek, kissing the stream of his 
tears. "I want you, too," she whispered. When her swollen mouth 
slid over his, oh God, he was lost.

He gathered her in his arms, rose to his feet, and carried her 
from the water. Mouth fused to hers, he ached to be inside her. 
Water streamed from them both, leaving a wet trail up the beach 
to the shelter. 

She broke their kiss and shook her head. "Not here."

He worried she was changing her mind, refusing him. Maybe she 
was angry at his presumption and audacity. Hell, he was no 
better than the men who had assaulted her, wanting her for his 
own pleasure, disregarding her desires. He loathed his actions, 
wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

But she smiled at him, stroked his face, reassuring him, 
forgiving him. "The skins smell like them," she said. She 
nodded at the forest. "Take me beneath the trees." 

A layer of pine needles carpeted the ground below the evergreen 
boughs. They smelled spicy, clean, nothing like the sweat of 
strangers. He laid her there. Kissed her nose, her chin, and, 
ever so gently, her split, swollen lip. Then he gingerly 
lowered himself on top of her.

"You're sure?" he asked. His timing seemed lousy. His reasons 
even worse. Their first time together should be inspired by 
love, not an overdose of testosterone and masculine pride. This 
was wrong.

Scully's fingers careened into his hair and she pulled his face 
down to hers. "Yes. Please."

A beautiful flush crept up her neck into her cheeks, making her 
the most desirable woman he'd ever seen. Her motives stymied 
him, but his body didn't seem to need or want explanations. He 
realized he was grinding his hips into her pubic bone, and his 
own cheeks blazed. What must she think of him?

"Take off your wet clothes," she urged.

No. This wasn't right. As much as he wanted her, it couldn't be 
now. Reluctantly, summoning every ounce of his diminishing 
willpower, he rolled off her and got to his feet.

*   *   *

"Mulder?" What the hell was he doing? Why was he walking away? 
"It's okay. Really."

"No. No it's not. This..." -- he gestured at his crotch -- 
"makes me no better than them."

How could he think that? How could he compare himself to those 
animals? He was nothing like them. *Nothing*. He was respectful 
and tender and compassionate. She trusted him with her life.

And she was willing to trust him with her body.

"You're not like them, Mulder. This isn't the same."

Scully sat up, drew up her knees and hugged her bare legs. It 
seemed Mulder had stolen the heat from her body when he walked 
away, because now she felt suddenly cold. And absolutely alone. 
She wanted him, yearned for him in a way she never had before. 
Her craving was elemental, almost more than she could bear. 
"Maybe it's something in the air," she whispered.

Still in silhouette, he spun to face her, hands on his hips. 
"What?"

"I said maybe there's something in the air."

"Why...what makes you say that?"

"It was a joke." Only it wasn't. Not really. To be honest, she 
couldn't remember ever wanting him so much. Sure, she'd thought 
about him in sexual ways before, had had fantasies. He was a 
sexy guy. But never in five years had her desire for him 
overwhelmed her this way.    

Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he returned to her. He sat 
and dovetailed his fingers with hers. The setting sun gilded 
his hair like a halo. "Have you been feeling, um...kinda 
primal...since we came here?" The depth of his voice caused a 
pleasant loosening of the organs in her abdomen, as if her womb 
were melting.

"P-primal?" She felt absolutely out of control. 

"You know. Aroused. Horny."

That's exactly how she'd been feeling. For a couple of days 
now. Earlier today, she'd blamed it on the raw snake meat. 
"Maybe. A little. Uh...more than a little."

He remained quiet for a moment. The warmth of his hand singed 
her entire body. 

"That's interesting," he said.

"Why is it interesting?"

"Suppose... we were somehow changed when we traveled back in 
time."

"In what way?"

"Stripped of whatever it is that makes us civilized."

"Mulder, civilized behavior is learned, not inherited."

"Is it? Psychologists have been arguing the case of nature 
versus nurture for years." His eyes locked with hers, and in 
them she saw his familiar I've-got-a-theory-so-hear-me-out 
look. Clearly, he wasn't going to make love to her, at least 
not anytime soon. She was surprised at how disappointed that 
made her feel. 

"Genetic determinism. I've heard the argument before, Mulder, 
but scientific evidence doesn't support the claim that our 
genes are solely responsible for our behavior. We're a product 
of our biology *and* our experiences. Besides, even if it were 
true that our behavior was genetically determined, the fact 
remains: you and I were 'civilized' as recently as two days 
ago. It doesn't track that we would suddenly be uncivilized 
today."

"Maybe traveling back in time turned back the clock on our 
genes, too, reducing our evolved behaviors to basic animal 
instincts."

"That theory doesn't hold a drop of water. It flies in the face 
of at least a dozen scientific principles."

"Who said anything about science?"

"Mulder, if what you're positing were true, why was it I didn't 
want sex with them, too? Why just you?"

"I can't explain that."

"Well, I can. Not everything is an X-File."

He smiled softly. "No?" 

"I admit it's tempting to think we're no more than the sum of 
our genes. It absolves us of responsibility for our actions. 
Instead of blaming ourselves, we can blame our genetic 
heritage. It gives us an excuse for lack of self-control."

His tiny smile vanished and he released her hand. "Is that what 
you think? That I just wanted to fuck you and now I'm looking 
for a way to defend myself?"

"Are you denying you wanted to have sex?"

"No...I did...I *do*...but not by force. Never by force. You 
have to believe that, Scully."

She reclaimed his hand. "I do. I believe you. But I think the 
reason for your actions...and mine...have nothing to do with 
genetic manipulation or time travel."

"Then what?"

"We're under a lot of stress here--"

"It's *not* stress, Scully. We've both been under stress before 
-- plenty of times -- and I've never...overreacted...this way."

"You've never seen two men sexually assault me before either." 
The memory made her blush and she was grateful for the low 
light. She didn't want Mulder to see her embarrassment. She 
felt foolish for going off on her own back at the cave, putting 
herself in unnecessary danger. Putting him in danger, too. It 
was irresponsible. The fault was wholly hers and she didn't 
want him shouldering the blame. He had nothing to feel guilty 
about. "Mulder, you didn't force yourself on me."

"No? Then why does it feel that way?"

"I wanted you, too, every bit as much as you wanted me." She 
took a deep breath. "I still do."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why now? Why here? Why not back home, or 
in Home, Pennsylvania, for that matter, or Chicago during the 
Pincus case, or the Apalachicola National Forest?"

Why not Florida indeed? If memory served, she'd been more than 
willing to consort with Mulder in his hotel room that night, 
but he was the one who had shied away in favor of a mutant 
hunt. 

"The Pincus case? Mulder, you wound up in hospital restraints 
during that case. That's a bit kinky for a first time, don't 
you think?" she joked, trying to lighten his mood.

"You know what I mean." He offered her another small smile. "My 
point is we've had plenty of opportunity, but seemingly no 
motive...until now."

"I'm not sure I agree, but leaving that argument for later, I 
think your motives in this case may have been more generous 
than you think."

Disbelief chuffed from his nose. "In what way?"

"I think you wanted to assuage the actions of my assailants 
with your own, for my sake. I wanted the same thing, but my 
reasons were purely selfish."

"You give me too much credit--" He stopped and sniffed the air. 
"Do you smell that?"

She inhaled. "Smoke." 

"Get dressed." He rose to his feet and pulled her up after him.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure." Walking to the shore where the view was 
unobstructed by trees, he dug his binoculars from his jacket 
and held them up to his eyes.

"Mulder?" She quickly gathered her clothes, pulled on her 
pants, her socks, her boots.

"Forest fire," he said.

She yanked her turtleneck over her head. Slipped into her 
jacket. "Headed this way?" 

"Uh-huh."

"How far off is it?"

"In the ravine. By the waterfall. I don't think we have a lot 
of time."

She hurried to join him on the beach. Jesus. The entire 
southern horizon was ablaze with orange-yellow flames.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER FIVE

Klesh sprinted through the darkening woods of Rabbit Basin 
chasing after his wounded cousin Tse-e, who bawled like a 
frightened infant as he ran. Fool. His sniveling, along with 
the scent of fresh blood, would bring long-toothed cats down on 
them both. And they had enough trouble already -- the 
appearance of the strangers, the encroaching forest fire, the 
loss of their gear.

The strangers were mystifying. The woman -- Li-chi Tse-gah, Red 
Hair -- seemed to possess supernatural powers, like those of a 
vengeful Spirit. Somehow she had wounded Tse-e, knocked the 
burning club out of his hand from ten paces away. Klesh's ears 
still rang from the thunderclap that blasted from her pointed 
fist. It was the loudest sound he'd ever heard. More deafening 
than any lightning strike or falling tree. How had she made 
such an extraordinary noise? 

Red Hair's angry male companion was equally perplexing. He wore 
odd, close fitting hides that looked and felt like eel skin, 
black as a moonless night and as smooth as a woman's cheek. The 
coverings on his feet were peculiar, too, solid on the soles 
and laced with rawhide. He was beardless, like a boy who was 
attending his thirteenth or fourteenth Mastodon Feast, yet he 
had been a formidable opponent, too strong to be a mere boy. 

Both of the strangers had defended themselves like trapped 
bears. They babbled in an undecipherable way. Were they 
speaking the language of Spirits?

Twenty paces ahead, Tse-e was no longer running like a startled 
elk. He hiccoughed as he tried to suck air into overworked 
lungs. The men had traveled a considerable distance, well 
beyond Third Rabbit Pond, desperate to escape the otherworldly 
strangers.

"Tse-e!" Klesh called to his cousin. "Ta-akwai-i! Stop!" Out of 
breath himself, he slowed to a walk. The trail was swampy here, 
clotted with poisonous moonseed vines and prickly bullbriars. 
The hazy quarter moon provided little light. Luckily, their 
path was a familiar one. Klesh and Tse-e had spent three 
summers in Rabbit Basin, fishing sticklebacks, trapping beaver, 
and hunting sloth. They could easily find their way, even after 
nightfall. 

Klesh glanced over his shoulder at the southern horizon. The 
forest fire glowed there like the red bellies of stickleback 
males during mating season. The smell of smoke was strong. He 
guessed the fire would raze the forest in the basin before 
midnight, spreading both east and west to the surrounding 
hillsides. Eventually, the flames would burn themselves out at 
the tree line, halted by the rocky, treeless ledges and scant 
snow-cover that still clung to the higher elevations. 

The men needed to move upland soon if they were going to escape 
the blaze.

"Tse-e!" Klesh shouted his cousin's name again.

This time Tse-e did stop and wait, all the while blubbering 
about the evil red-haired Spirit woman, his words nearly 
incomprehensible.

"Stop howling like a stuck badger," Klesh demanded when he 
caught up to his younger cousin. He grabbed hold of Tse-e's arm 
to examine his wound.

The hole went clear through, like a spear wound. It still bled, 
although not too much; congealing blood was beginning to seal 
the injury on both sides. Good thing. There was nothing to wrap 
around it. They had been forced to abandon their packs and camp 
supplies back at First Rabbit Pond. 

"You will live." Klesh roughly released Tse-e's arm. 

"I am scared," he whimpered. "You should not have kidnapped Li-
chi Tse-gah. She is a Spirit. She and her male protector will 
kill us."

"You are talking crazy. She is not a Spirit," Klesh said, 
hoping it was true. "I touched her. I smelled her. She is a 
woman. Just a woman."

"But what about this?" Tse-e held up his hand. "How did she do 
this if she is just a woman?"

Klesh had no answer for that. He'd neither seen nor heard 
anything like it before -- not in any legend told during Prayer 
ceremonies, nor in any account of a Shaman's dream journeys. 
There were countless Spirits, some helpful, most not. All 
possessed varied magical powers. But to be able to wound a man 
with nothing but a clap of noise? It seemed impossible, even 
for a Spirit.

The man -- Li-chi Tse-gah's angry companion -- was clearly not 
a Spirit. He had bled like an ordinary clansman when he was 
struck. He fought for air when he was nearly drowned. He used 
his fists to defend himself. He was just a jealous mortal, 
nothing more.

The memory of Li-chi Tse-gah's companion angered Klesh. The man 
had prevented him from mating with Red Hair. And it had been 
many moon cycles since he had lain with a woman. Although Li-
chi Tse-gah was odd looking, she smelled female and felt as 
sleek as tanned doeskin beneath his hands. Lifting his fingers 
to his nose, he sniffed them, searching for a trace of her 
scent. Yes, she still lingered there, and breathing her in 
stirred his groin. 

Desire churned in his gut. He would have her. If not today, 
then soon. He would return to kill her possessive mate, and 
then take her for himself. Reaching beneath his beard, he 
grasped the pouch that hung from his neck, fingered its soft 
hide. He could feel Red Hair's shiny totem tucked inside. It 
was his now. Just as she soon would be. 

"We have more serious concerns than a strange red-haired woman 
and her jealous mate. We must climb to higher ground before the 
fire reaches us."

Tse-e looked past Klesh's shoulder at the encroaching fire. 
"Maybe that is the work of the Red Hair Spirit, too," he said, 
his eyes filled with terror.

"Don't be foolish. The morning thunderstorm brought the fire. 
You saw the lightning yourself."

"Maybe Li-chi Tse-gah caused the lightning."

Klesh lost all patience. "Maybe yes, maybe no, it does not 
matter. We must go. Kut. Now!" He shoved past Tse-e, heading 
upland. "Tehi. Hih-do-nal!"

*   *   *

"Let's go, Mulder." Scully waited on the beach, impatient eyes 
aimed south at the fire. 

Mulder shouldered the hunters' packs and was about to search 
their collapsed tent. "They might have left something we can 
use." He folded back the enormous hide that had once served as 
the shelter's roof. Underneath it, fallen bone supports lay in 
a jumble. The bones were massive. Probably mastodon or mammoth, 
judging from their size. 

Dirty fur hides carpeted the floor between piles of foul-
smelling food. Mulder picked through the stores for anything 
that might still be edible. It had been hours since they'd last 
eaten and he was hungry again -- evidently, raw snake didn't 
stick to the ribs. He lifted a half-eaten bird carcass, causing 
a blizzard of maggots to rain to the floor. "Jesus. And I 
thought *my* leftovers were bad." He tossed the carcass back 
onto the pile. 

Scully approached, coming to stand behind him. "Mulder, what 
are you doing? There's no time for this."

"I'm ready. Which way do we go?"

"Away from the fire."

"Very funny. I guessed that much." He looked north, across the 
lake, which reflected the yellow glow of the approaching fire. 
Then up at the hills to the east. "I think we should head for 
the mountains."

"I think we should stick to the lake. We can always crawl in it 
for protection if the fire overtakes us."

He eyeballed the lake again and grimaced at the flames that 
were mirrored in its smooth surface. "We might end up trapped. 
And the smoke is going to be thick down here in the basin." 
God, why did it have to be fire? He'd rather face ten saber-
toothed tigers or a hundred four-toed Cro-Magnons than one 
itty-bitty forest fire. He nodded at the hills. "We should be 
fine up there, if we can get above the tree line." 

She studied the mountains, barely visible in the twilight, and 
considered his line of reasoning. "I don't know, Mulder. It 
looks pretty far."

"Then we better get going." He fished his flashlight from his 
pocket and gave it to her. "You lead."

She hesitated, glanced again at the lake, but in the end turned 
toward higher ground. Mulder snagged the hunters' two spears 
from beside the shelter and followed after her.

"We aren't going to get lost are we?" she asked, aiming her 
beam at the ground. 

"Just keep walking uphill. How lost can we get?"

She pivoted to spotlight his face. 

"What?" he asked, with a shrug. "I'm serious."

"That's what scares me." She resumed hiking. "You have no idea 
how to navigate the woods after dark, do you?"

Hell, he couldn't follow a map in broad daylight. But as long 
as they kept the fire to their backs and headed for high 
ground, they were golden, right?

"When have I ever gotten us lost, Scully?"

"1994. Steveston, Massachusetts. Ring a bell?"

"Oh." The Kindred. Jesus, sometimes her memory was as good as 
his. "That doesn't count."

"Why doesn't that count?"

"The map was misleading."

"Ah."

"I was right about Comity, wasn't I?"

 "Home of the horned beast."

"Something like that."

"Mulder, as I recall, there were only two choices in Comity: 
right turn, left turn. Fifty-fifty chance."

"But it was *my* fifty that was right."

"Not according to the map."

"Well, there's a lesson in that -- we obviously do better 
without a map. We'll be fine."

"Oh, right. I forgot, you were once an Indian Guide." She 
didn't sound any more convinced now than she'd been six months 
ago when he'd told her that.

Why had he told her that anyway? To impress her? To avoid 
admitting that he and his father had never shared a single, 
normal, father-son pastime like playing catch or becoming 
Indian Guides? 

"I have something to confess, Scully. I was only *sort of* an 
Indian Guide."

"Sort of?"

"Well...I wanted to be one."

"Wonderful."

It was impossible to see anything beyond the narrow beam of the 
flashlight. The smell of smoke was getting stronger -- the air 
was already saturated with specks of floating ash that prickled 
Mulder's sinuses and scoured the back of his throat. He picked 
up the pace, herding Scully ahead of him as they scrambled 
uphill. The ground slanted steeply beneath his boots. He could 
feel blisters forming on his feet and ankles. Damn, he wished 
he hadn't left his socks back at the cave. Even if he hadn't 
put them on, he should have stuffed them into his pockets. Too 
late now. The wet leather of his boots was rubbing his feet raw 
and his socks were long gone.

Despite the hour, the sky lightened as the fire advanced. 
Unlike sunset, this light flickered, flowed, stalked the 
forest. It consumed giant pines, cedars and oaks, hissing and 
crackling as it ate its way north. The awful noise made Mulder 
think of vampires eating their death shrouds. 

Jesus, he hated fire. He had tried to face that particular fear 
during the L'Ively case. And although he'd managed to save the 
Marsden children from a fiery death, he hadn't succeeded in 
conquering his dread of fire. The smell of it, its aliveness, 
still caused panic to well up in him in a way nothing else did.

He had told Scully his fear stemmed from a childhood trauma, a 
time when his friend's house had burned, and he'd spent the 
night in the rubble keeping looters away. The story was true, 
up to a point. What he hadn't told Scully was how the fire had 
started in the first place. 

It had happened in 1975, two years after Samantha disappeared, 
the last weekend in September. His best friend Paul Sanderson 
lived only a short bike ride away, over on Menemsha Cross Road. 
Paul's parents were out of town for the night -- they'd taken 
the ferry over to Quisset to visit relatives -- so Paul asked 
Mulder over to keep him company, play a little b-ball and watch 
TV. Mulder leapt at the chance; things were volatile at his own 
house. His parents fought constantly. About Samantha. Other 
things. It was a relief to get away from the tension, if only 
for one night.

The evening had started out fine. Great in fact. The boys 
played basketball until sunset, and then came inside to watch 
TV and gorge themselves on everything Mrs. Sanderson had left 
in the fridge -- including Mr. Sanderson's beer, which they 
drank while watching an episode of Starsky and Hutch.

"You sure we should be doing this?" Mulder asked, taking a 
second can from Paul's outstretched hand.

"Fox, if they didn't want us to drink it, they shouldn't have 
left it out where we could find it."

Buzzed on two beers and starting his third, Mulder found 
himself relaxing for the first time since Samantha's 
disappearance.

"Feelin' good, buddy?" Paulie asked, laughing. Mulder nodded 
and laughed, too, while Starsky's red and white Torino chased 
bad guys into another alley on the TV. "I got something to 
make you feel even better, man." Paulie rose from the couch.

He was gone for only a few minutes before returning with a 
stash of marijuana. He proceeded to roll them each a joint, 
which they smoked while they finished off the beer. Mulder 
wasn't sure how many joints they'd smoked by the time the 
Sanderson's sofa caught fire, but at that point they were too 
stoned to care. Until the heat became ungodly and the smoke so 
thick they could barely find their way to the door. 

The entire house was destroyed, burned flat in what seemed 
like minutes. Paul was hospitalized for smoke inhalation and 
some minor second-degree burns. Both boys were questioned by 
the police, and Mulder told them the truth...up to a point. He 
said they'd been drinking beer and smoking. He neglected to 
mention that they smoked marijuana and not cigarettes. 

Bill Mulder had been livid when he found out about his son's 
involvement in the fire. Mulder still wondered if that night 
was the final blow to his parents' failing marriage. Three 
months later, his dad moved out of their Chilmark house to 
West Tisbury. Mulder blamed himself, and for years he had 
nightmares about being trapped in burning buildings.

How could he tell Scully all that? How could he explain his 
sense of culpability, failure and remorse?

The truth was, he couldn't, any more than he could bring 
himself to tell her about his dismal, never-an-Indian-Scout 
relationship with his dad. He wanted her to see the best side 
of him, not his many phobias, failings and psychoses. He may 
chase mutants for a living, but where Scully was concerned, he 
wanted to be a normal guy. Not her "out there" partner, Spooky 
Mulder, but the kind of man she might possibly fall in love 
with. 

"Fire's getting closer," she said, glancing over her shoulder. 
They'd been climbing for three-quarters of an hour, and now a 
wall of flames rose from the forest about 200 yards behind 
them. "Are we going to make it?"

"We're gonna make it." 

Mulder placed his palm between her shoulders and propelled her 
forward, lengthening his own stride. Fiery snowflakes sifted 
down from nearby trees. Evergreens were turned into giant 
torches when flames leapt from branch to branch, burning ever 
closer. The blaze was quickly overtaking them and its heat felt 
like the breath of Lucifer on their backs.

The sound of charging hooves startled them both. They turned to 
see several oversized deer-creatures stampeding through the 
forest, running for their lives from the blaze. The animals 
were large, muscular, and crowned with enormous flat, branching 
antlers, which stretched an astounding seven or eight feet 
across. Long-legged like moose, but with the faces of elk, the 
panicked beasts headed straight for them.

"Look out!" Scully pulled him out of their path and took refuge 
behind a tree. The stag-moose galloped by, nostrils flaring, 
eyes wild with fear.

"Jesus," Scully hissed, as the beasts disappeared into the 
forest's shadows.

Mulder's heart hammered and his fear ratcheted up another 
notch. "Let's go." He snagged her arm and towed her in the 
direction the moose had gone. Above their heads, upper branches 
caught fire. Embers rained to the ground.        

Scully covered her mouth and nose with her hand, trying to 
filter out smoke and ash as she ran. 

Mulder saw her struggling, heard her choke. He dug into his 
pocket for his handkerchief. "Here. Put this over your mouth," 
he said, raising his voice to be heard above the escalating 
roar of combustion. Needle-laden branches snapped and popped. 
Limbs cracked and crashed to the ground in an explosion of 
sparks. Scully took the handkerchief and quickly tied it over 
her face to mask out the smoke.

Sizzling sparks dripped earthward. Several landed in Scully's 
hair, singing it before Mulder could brush them away. He 
dropped the spears and packs, and shed his leather jacket to 
drape over her head as protection against the falling debris. 

"Mulder..." She tried to return the jacket to him.

He shook his head and bent to retrieve the packs and spears. 
"Keep going. Hurry." 

Just then an overhead branch let go and plummeted, spraying 
sparks and pluming smoke. It pinwheeled as it fell, bringing 
other blackened limbs down with it. Mulder heard it crashing 
through the canopy and looked up in time to lunge at Scully, 
knock her to the ground, and shield her with his body. 

The branch detonated when it hit the ground beside them, 
creating a ball of flame that surged over Mulder's back. He 
gasped, sucking in a scorching breath as he raised his arms to 
protect Scully's head. Intense heat blasted him, seared his 
ears, the backs of his hands. Sparks bit holes into his skin 
and clothes.

Jesus, he felt as if he was back at the Sanderson's, the house 
falling down around him. Only this time there was more at 
stake. Scully lay beneath him. He could feel her trembling as 
they waited out the hellish, fiery wave.

The fireball roared past and the moment it dissipated, Mulder 
leapt to his feet, hauling Scully up after him. He grabbed the 
packs and spears; she retrieved the fallen flashlight. Together 
they raced uphill, dodging smoldering debris, squinting against 
the billowing ash.

"Not much further," he shouted. Or was it? Up ahead the trees 
had that stunted, bonsai look of alpine vegetation. The ground 
was becoming rockier, the soil thinner. Surely they were 
nearing the tree line and the top.

"Up there!" Scully pointed to where a wide stone outcropping 
lay blanketed beneath a dwindling drift of soot-covered snow. 
Several massive boulders balanced on the granite ledge, and a 
narrow crevice appeared to snake between two of them, offering 
possible shelter.

Sprinting out from beneath the burning trees, Mulder quickly 
crossed the bald mountaintop with Scully in tow. The wind was 
brisker out in the open, the air fresher. And the boulders were 
even bigger than they had looked from the woods. The giant 
stones stood like humpbacked mastodons on the uppermost ridge, 
forming a crevice between them just wide enough to squeeze 
into.  

"Go!" he urged, propelling her into the fissure.

She slithered between the boulders. Mulder pushed his way after 
her. Inside, her flashlight revealed a narrow, curving 
corridor.

"Does it get any wider?" he asked, feeling pinched between the 
giant stones.

She aimed her light and shuffled a few steps forward. "Yeah, I 
think so."

The gap widened to five or six feet, providing sufficient room 
to sit and wait out the fire. The shelter offered no overhead 
protection; it was open to the sky. Mulder could see the moon, 
hazy behind a veil of passing smoke. He let the packs and 
spears drop to the ground beside his feet. Jesus, he felt 
winded. Couldn't seem to catch his breath. He tried to clear 
his throat, but it felt raw and swollen, and his chest ached 
with every inhalation.

"You okay, Mulder?" Scully tugged the handkerchief from her 
face, exposing her concerned frown. 

He felt dizzy. His stomach roiled. He bent at the waist, stood 
with hands on his knees, and tried not to throw up.      

*   *   *

"Mulder...?"

He sank to a sitting position, dodging the beam of her 
flashlight. "I'm okay." A raspy cough rattled his chest.

She squatted next to him and shined the light in his face, 
causing him to squint and scowl. "Smoke inhalation can be very 
serious, Mulder." 

"Scully..." His voice was hoarse and his lungs wheezed. "I'm 
fine."

She ignored his assurances and checked him for signs of heat 
injury -- singed eyebrows, burns around and inside the nose, 
the mouth. "Open," she ordered, aiming her light at his 
clenched jaws. Begrudgingly, he obliged and she peered at the 
back of his throat. The tissue was irritated, swollen. Clearly 
he was having difficulty breathing. She timed his rapid, 
shallow breaths, and took his pulse, which was racing. "Do you 
feel sick to your stomach?"

"A little."

"How about confused, sleepy, irritable?"

"All three. Maybe I'm premenstrual." He glared at her and 
pushed the flashlight away from his face. Then a fit of 
coughing overtook him. Lungs raling, he tugged at his tight-
fitting turtleneck and gasped for air. 

To relieve the pressure on his neck, she helped him pull the 
shirt off. His skin felt dry and hot, and looked ghostly pale. 
His arms trembled. He was going into shock. Edema and 
particulate matter in his upper airway were causing hypoxia. 
What he needed was a hyperbaric chamber or at least a non-
rebreather mask, and that's what she would have prescribed if 
they'd been in a hospital. But here, the best she could do was 
sit him in a semi-reclining position and monitor him. 

She untied the handkerchief from her neck and passed it to him 
so that he could cough into it.

Please, be okay, Mulder, she silently urged.

She crawled behind him and sat with knees bent, a leg on 
either side of him. "Lean back." She pulled him toward her 
until his head rested against her breastbone. His chest 
muscles heaved as he worked to suck in air. "Try to relax," 
she said, massaging his chest with her palm.

Please, be okay. Please.

Edema would likely worsen over the next six to twenty-four 
hours. She hoped the injury was limited to his upper airways 
rather than extending distally. Images of tracheobronchial and 
alveolar damage haunted her. Jesus, even if he survived 
asphyxiation, it was possible, even probable, that he would 
develop pneumonia in a day or two. Increased airway resistance 
coupled with decreased compliance and a large dead space, plus 
pooling of secretions, meant bacterial colonization and 
ensuing infection...and here they were without antibiotics.

Damn it.  

Gently stroking his face, she could feel the small burns that 
pocked his cheeks and chin -- tiny pinholes caused by burning 
ash on his unprotected skin, all because he had given her the 
handkerchief, which now lay crushed into a ball beneath his 
curled, sooty fingers. Its once-white fabric was spotted with 
carbon coughed up from his lungs. His lips already appeared 
bruised from cyanosis. He stared dully straight ahead. 

She reached for his jacket, which lay on the ground beside 
them, and spread it over his bare chest to keep him warm.

Please, please, be okay, Mulder.

"I feel..." -- panting breaths sifted in and out of his lungs -
- "like crap."

"You're going to be fine."

He suddenly groaned, rolled over and vomited beside her right 
knee.

"Sh-shit, Sc-ully." He choked as his stomach heaved. When he 
was finished being sick, she drew his head gently back against 
her chest. He inhaled with effort. "S-s-sorry."

"It's okay, Mulder. It's okay." She rearranged the jacket over 
him and ignored the pool of vomit beside her. Stroking his hair 
with one hand, she tucked the other beneath his coat, laying 
her palm on his chest to monitor his breathing. His heart 
hammered beneath her hand. His chest rose and fell with halting 
effort. She rubbed him reassuringly. "You rest. I'll be right 
here." 

*   *   *

The faint smell of smoke tickled Klizzie's nose. It wasn't 
coming from the hearth, she realized, waking from a deep sleep. 
It was outside the lodge. She recognized the smell of burning 
black spruce, loblolly pine, pin oak, hemlock, and other trees. 
Somewhere there was a forest fire.

She rolled over in her bed of bison hides. "Dzeh?" She 
whispered her mate's name, not wanting to wake the whole Clan. 
His place on the skins was empty. All around her, soft snores 
filled Toh-ta Lodge. Coals still glowed in the hearth, 
illuminating the lodge's curving bone supports, its skin 
ceiling, and its sleeping occupants. Dzeh's Clan. Her family 
now, too, for the past four years. 

Throwing back the furs, Klizzie rose to her feet, and after a 
quick look around, she slipped quietly from the lodge.

Outside, the air felt cool on her bare skin. She wore only a 
short skirt of furs and, of course, her totem pouch, which hung 
from a thong around her neck, resting reassuringly between her 
breasts. A fog of mosquitoes instantly surrounded her, whining 
in her ears. They could be intolerable at this time of year, 
and made her eager for the upcoming summer when the Clan would 
move to Tabaha Lodge on big Turkey Lake, where bats fed on the 
pesky insects and it was possible to stand on the shore in the 
evening and not get chewed to bits. There would be heaps of 
fresh blueberries, supplejacks, and currants. And fish, 
turtles, freshwater clams, frogs. Lots of big game, too. Plenty 
of food and fresh water and a chance to stay in one place for 
longer than a sunrise or two. Best of all, there would be new 
babies. Chuo's time was near. Dibeh was pregnant, too.

And maybe Dzeh would plant a child in her womb this season. 
After all, Klizzie was eighteen Mastodon Feasts old. Many women 
her age already had two or three babies. Some even more. She 
clutched her totem and whispered a quick prayer to the Spirits. 

Recently, she'd heard speculation that she was barren, cursed 
because of her relationship with Klesh, her scarred cousin. She 
prayed this wasn't so, although she knew it might be the truth.

Klizzie had been with Dzeh for four springs now and still she 
had not produced a child. She worried that he would take 
another mate if she didn't become pregnant soon, a woman who 
could fill his lodge with many strong sons and beautiful 
daughters. Dzeh was nine Mastodon Feasts older than she was, 
and had already been waiting a long time for offspring when he 
took her to be his mate. His patience was bound to wear thin at 
some point. 

Crossing the quiet campsite, passing the shelters where cousins 
and uncles slept, Klizzie found Dzeh leaning against a large, 
gnarled shagbark that overlooked a section of open grassland. 
He faced west, watching the distant mountains. A faint orange-
yellow glow backlit the hills.

"What is it?" she asked when she stood beside him. 

Dzeh was tall for a clansman. His beard was long, the color of 
bison hide, and his shoulders were marked with the tattoos of 
his clan. He was a good hunter and wore the teeth of his first 
kill -- an enormous she-bear -- in his pierced ears. A silvery 
wolf skin covered his broad, tan back. His eyes were filled 
with kindness whenever he looked upon her.

"Forest fire," he said, keeping his voice low. "In Rabbit 
Basin."

"Will it come this way?"

"No. It will stop at the mountains." He embraced her with one 
muscular arm. Smiling down at her, he said, "But it will force 
game our way. We will have an easy hunt tomorrow."

Before she could respond to this good news, he pushed aside her 
long hair and bent to nuzzle her bare neck. She loved the 
slight musky scent of his skin and the coarseness of his beard 
against her smooth cheeks.

"Dawn is a long way off," she whispered, wanting him to lay 
with her, out here in the open while the others still slept in 
the lodge.

"Then we shall have to find a pleasant way to pass the night," 
he said before his mouth descended on hers.

*   *   *

"Just an old fashioned love song..." -- Scully sang for what 
must have been the millionth time -- "playing on the radio..." 
She cradled Mulder's head in her lap while he dozed. 

It was morning, 6:03 a.m. according to her watch. The night had 
seemed to last forever. She'd turned off the flashlight hours 
ago to conserve its batteries, but then felt frightened by the 
dark. Funny, she'd never been afraid of the night before, not 
even as a child. But here, death loomed as large as those 
panicked Pleistocene beasts that had charged through the 
burning forest last night. The grim prospect of being left 
alone in this frightening universe grabbed hold of her thoughts 
and hung on tenaciously throughout the long, dark hours, making 
her teeth chatter and her arms quake. To lose Mulder... 

Please, God, no. Don't take him. Please. 

His breathing remained shallow, uneven, and each stalled breath 
portended to be his last. At one point, shortly after 3:00 
a.m., when his chest suddenly refused to rise on its own, she 
angrily rubbed his breastbone and begged him not to die. 

"Don't leave me, Mulder." Her massaging fingers coaxed another 
lungful of air into him. "Please, don't leave me here alone." 
It was enough for the time being -- his breathing resumed. 
Thank God. She hadn't wanted to resort to CPR. Although her 
lungs were free of particulate from the fire, she'd been 
exposed to carbon monoxide just as he had. The CO would still 
be present in her own system and would likely poison Mulder 
further if she attempted to give him mouth-to-mouth.     

What seemed like an eternity later, he was breathing a little 
easier. His cough still lingered, however, and it shuddered his 
chest now. His eyes fluttered open.

"Scully?"

"I'm here." She combed his sooty hair away from his forehead, 
surreptitiously feeling for fever. Again.

"Thought I heard singing."

"Must've been a dream. I don't sing, remember?"

"Oh." He made an effort to clear his throat. "We didn't happen 
to...pass a Mickey Dees last night...did we?"

"You feeling hungry?"

"Mm. Could eat a super-sized Egg Mac-Mastodon."

That was a good sign. Too bad she didn't have anything to feed 
him.

"Maybe our cavemen friends prepared a picnic," she said, eyeing 
their packs. 

She reached for the nearest one, trying not to joggle Mulder 
too much. Snagging its rawhide strap, she drew the bag to her 
and opened it. "Looks like we might be in luck. There are 
two...correction...make that *three* dead squirrels in here, 
and," -- she dug deeper -- "flint for starting a fire. Tah-
dah!" She held up the stones for him to see.

"Your turn to skin dinner," he said between coughs.

"Fair enough. I need your knife." 

"Coat pocket."

She searched his jacket. When she found the knife, she gave him 
a fleeting smile, then extricated herself from behind him. She 
removed and folded her own jacket and tucked it beneath his 
back to elevate his shoulders as much as possible while she was 
gone. It would actually be better if he sat up, but she wasn't 
altogether sure he could stay that way without falling over 
while left alone. 

"Don't go anywhere," she whispered, bending close to his ear, 
adjusting the jacket beneath his neck and head. She planted a 
gentle kiss on his temple. 

His skin felt warm. Too warm.

Reluctantly, she gathered the squirrels, and left to prepare 
breakfast. 

Outside, she found herself at the edge of a no man's land. 

"Oh, my God..." She looked down into the blackened basin where 
a series of small, muddy lakes dully reflected the dawn. All 
around the water, the land was charred black and smoke rose up 
from the burnt ground like ghostly fingers. Scorched, fallen 
trees, stripped of their leaves, crisscrossed the ground. There 
were no bird calls. No whine of insects. Only the hiss of 
cooling embers. And the desolate stink of lost life.

"What a difference a day makes." Mulder's voice, husky, almost 
unrecognizable, came from behind her.

She spun to see him propped against one of the boulders, legs 
shaky, the skin of his face and chest pale and sweaty beneath a 
veneer of soot. His dirty hands dangled loosely at his sides. 

"You should be lying down."

"Feels better to stand." He cleared his throat and spat a 
mouthful of dark mucus onto the ground. "We should go."

"Go? Where?" She turned again to face the razed valley. The 
fire had burned itself out for the most part, but the basin 
wasn't passable. A few golden flames still licked the 
northernmost region. Ash and blackened vegetation stretched 
from the eastern mountains where they were standing all the way 
across to the western range. The bowl of land was fogged with 
smoke.

"Other side."

"Other...?" She looked back at him, unable to make sense of 
what he was saying. 

He hooked a thumb behind him toward the rising sun. "East."

"But, the field is that way." She pointed south.

"Field?" Now he looked confused.

"Where we first arrived. We have to go back, Mulder."

He nodded once, and then said nothing, evidently reluctant to 
explain something he understood but she still failed to grasp. 
His face was pinched with fatigue. His hands quaked. He looked 
filthy and hungry and thirsty and maybe sadder than she'd ever 
seen him. Yet he waited patiently, allowing her the time she 
needed to come to her own conclusion. 

They weren't going back to the field. 

She craned to see it from where they stood, but it was too far 
away, somewhere beyond the basin and the waterfall and the 
ravine, grayed with ash, no longer recognizable. 

They weren't going home. Not now anyway. Not soon.

Maybe never.

The idea was crushing. Fighting back tears, she pivoted to face 
him, prepared to rail against his infuriating acceptance of 
their predicament. But when she met his miserable, weary gaze, 
she realized he was in no condition to do battle. Her arguments 
would have to wait. Mulder was sick and getting sicker. She 
composed her angry expression. "You need water. I'll scout 
ahead while you stay here and rest."

"And have you wandering out there alone? No way. Not with Conan 
around."

"Who?"

He shook his head. "Never mind. We're not separating." 

"Mulder, you shouldn't be on your feet. You're in no shape to 
walk and you'll just end up making yourself sicker. This is no 
time to try and prove how macho you are." She wanted to add 
that male emergency patients outnumber females two to one for 
preventable and neglected injuries, and that a little common 
sense right now could make the difference between life and 
death.

"We are *not* separating."

"Mulder--"

"No!"

Like it or not she was going to have to accept his wishes. 
"Fine. But I'm carrying everything. Wait here while I get the 
rest of our gear." She set the squirrels at his feet while she 
went to collect the spears, packs, and jackets. Returning a 
moment later, she handed him his shirt, which he put on. Then 
she offered him one of the spears. "Here. Lean on this."

He took it, then paused to survey the ruined valley. When he 
spoke, his voice was as brittle as the landscape. "I haven't 
given up on going home. You know that, don't you?"

It relieved her to hear him say the words. "I know. Come on."

They started off, slowly rounding the giant boulders, heading 
east and walking side-by-side, taking their time so that Mulder 
wouldn't become too winded.

The view from the mountain's eastern slope couldn't have been 
more different than the charred basin they were leaving behind. 
Trees were sparser here. The slope was more gradual, and a good 
portion of the hillside was covered with a fresh, green meadow. 
Big horned sheep grazed on acres of grass, giving the land a 
polka-dotted appearance. Down in the foothills, perhaps a mile 
or more away, a narrow lake lay nestled in a verdant, forested 
hollow, its blue water sparkling beneath the morning sun, 
reminding Scully of how very thirsty she felt.

"Think you can make it to that lake?" she asked.

"Sure. Wanna race?" His voice sounded too thin to be 
convincing. He looked ready to drop where he stood.

He needed water and food and rest if he were to have a fighting 
chance against infection.    

"No racing. Just watch my back." 

His focus slid to her backside. "I'd follow that anywhere, G-
Woman."

She appreciated his attempt at humor, knowing how much pain 
each breath must be causing him. "So that explains why you 
always let me lead," she said, starting downhill.

"You're on to me."

"And all this time I thought you were just being polite." 

The meadow smelled wonderfully sweet, belying the seriousness 
of their situation. A spring breeze blew gently from the south, 
causing the grass to undulate in great, green waves. Bumblebees 
bounced between flowers, drowsily dodging Scully's legs as she 
waded through knee-high blossoms. Fat sheep cautiously eyed the 
newcomers from a distance, but kept on grazing.

Mulder stumbled along a step or two behind Scully. He was 
leaning heavily on his spear, using it for balance. After 
thirty minutes of hiking, his face was deeply flushed and when 
he coughed, his lungs sounded clogged and wet.

"Still gonna cook our breakfast, Scully?" he asked between 
bouts of choking.

"Sure. Squirrel is my specialty."

"I didn't know that." Air scraped in and out of his lungs. 
"Tell me something else I don't know...about you," he 
challenged.

His request made her think about her snake dream, which she had 
no intention of discussing. Not now. Probably not ever.

"Melissa and I once found a dead squirrel in the road in front 
of our house. It must have been hit by a car, because it was 
pretty flat. Missy dared me to skin it, cook it and feed it to 
Bill and Charlie in a sandwich."

"Did you?"

"I did skin it. But that's as far as I went, much to Missy's 
disappointment. She kept the squirrel's tail for a while 
though. Hung it off the back of her bicycle seat."

"How old were you?"

"I don't know. Seven or eight."

"Slicing and dicing even then." Mulder was walking very slowly. 
Every breath seemed to take enormous effort. His lips were a 
frightening shade of purplish-blue and his face was slicked 
with sweat.

Scully moved to his side and wrapped an arm around his waist 
for support. "No more talking, Mulder. Lean on me. We're almost 
to the lake. Try to make it a little further." 

The water was so close. Another five or ten minutes and they'd 
be there. 

"Sc-scully, I...can't..." His knees buckled. "Gotta rest." He 
sank to the ground, pulling her down with him.

His decline seemed to be happening incredibly fast. The fire 
had been only hours ago, and yet here he was, already overcome 
by fatigue and shortness of breath. The damage to his airway 
must have been worse than she realized. Either that or his 
injured lungs had been infected by some virulent Pleistocene 
uber-bug. 

Guilt settled over her. He was sick because of her. He had 
risked his life when he used his body to shield her. He must 
have sucked in lungful after lungful of scorching debris while 
she lay tucked safely beneath him.   

Exhausted and gasping for air, he laid down to rest. Trying to 
help him get comfortable, she noticed tiny ripe berries dotting 
the ground all around them. Strawberries! Thousands of them, 
growing in between the meadow grass.

"Mulder, look! Fresh berries." She picked one to show him, only 
to find he had lost consciousness.

*   *   *

Klizzie sat cross-legged on the ground outside the hut and 
deftly plaited her hair, weaving in fresh sweetgrass and bone 
beads. It fell nearly to her waist when it was not knotted into 
dozens of tight braids, and it would curl like moonseed vine if 
left hanging free. Thanks to the peccary fat she worked into 
her scalp after each washing, her dark tresses glistened like 
the hide on a new foal. Many seasons ago, her mother had shown 
her how to perfume the fat with flower blossoms, cooking them 
together before applying the sweet-smelling oil to her hair. 
Klizzie thought of her every time she mixed clover or vetch 
into the melting fat. She missed her very much and wished she 
were still alive. 

"Hurry up, Klizzie," begged Gini, Dzeh's eight-year-old sister. 
Gini squatted beside her, watching her braid her hair. The girl 
held a pretty carved comb Dzeh had given to Klizzie after their 
first mating. 

Gini resembled her older brother in many ways. They had the 
same full lips that quirked up on one side whenever they 
smiled, which was often. Their brows had the smooth curve of 
owl feathers and the left one arched higher than the right when 
they showed surprise or doubt. Their eyes were the color of 
hazelnuts and shone with candor and kindness. 

Klizzie's heart felt satisfied whenever she looked at Dzeh. He 
wasn't like the other men in the Clan; he treated her more like 
an equal than a woman. He was attentive and thoughtful. And 
smarter than most. A good hunter, too. She was fortunate to be 
his mate. 

"You fetch the baskets, Gini. I am almost finished."

The girl jumped to her feet and scurried into the lodge. In 
three heartbeats, she returned carrying two pine needle 
baskets, perfect for collecting strawberries. Klizzie planned 
to scour the western slope this morning, picking as many 
ripened berries as possible before the bears arrived to eat the 
rest. Every year it became a contest to see who would get the 
delicious treats first -- the Clan or the bears and birds.

Strawberries would taste perfect with the moose meat Dzeh and 
the other hunters had brought home after the forest fire. He'd 
been right; the fire had pushed plenty of game their way, 
making it easy for them to spear three large stag-moose. The 
younger boys had captured several fat rabbits, too, which they 
put into blackhaw cages to eat once the moose meat was gone. 
Now there was plenty of meat to cut up and cook, and more hides 
to clean and tan. 

"Ready?" Klizzie asked, seeing that Gini was anxious to get 
going. When the girl nodded, Klizzie took her hand. "Then let's 
go pick some berries." 

*   *   *

For a day and a half Mulder had drifted in and out of 
consciousness, his breathing becoming more and more labored. 
The initial airway occlusion from edema and endobronchial 
debris had made his lungs ripe for infection. His fever 
continued to rise.  

Scully examined him every few minutes, checking his pulse, his 
breathing, and his temperature, which she could only guess at 
by placing her palm against his fiery skin. When he was more 
lucid, she tried postural drainage and clapping his chest, 
hoping to clear his lungs at least a little. When he was 
unconscious, she went down to the lake where she removed her 
shirt and soaked it with cold water. She carried it back to 
him, dripping wet, and squeezed a few drops of water into his 
parched mouth. Then she would press the cold, wet shirt 
against his brow, cheeks and neck, trying to cool him. Several 
times he responded by mumbling in a disoriented way, begging 
her to loosen imaginary restraints on his wrists and to 
please, please believe him. 

She guarded her emotions against his suffering by treating him 
as a patient, not as her partner, her best friend, her only 
companion in this entire frightening Ice Age world. 
Concentrating on his symptoms, she tried to detach herself from 
her feelings for him.

As the hours wore on and night fell, however, she lost her 
detachment. She'd been without sleep for two days. Mosquitoes 
harangued her incessantly and her arms grew exhausted from 
swatting at them, fanning the air above Mulder to keep them 
from bleeding him dry, too. A sporadic breeze puffed across the 
field, brushing through the grass, sounding like hushed voices. 
She imagined she heard them whispering her name. Then she 
imagined the voices were Mulder, calling to her for help as he 
breathed his last breath.

Not knowing what else to do, she talked to him. From 2:00 a.m. 
until sunrise, she babbled non-stop about anything and 
everything she could think of. Eventually she came to the 
subject of her dream about the snake.

"Mulder, the day we ate the snake I had a dream, a nightmare 
really...you brought me a dead snake, only when I touched it, 
it wasn't dead any more, it came to life, and I ate it. I know 
it sounds Freudian, *is* Freudian; the snake is...was...a 
symbol of...I think...of our sexual relationship...the one we 
don't have. The snake made me pregnant...impossible of 
course...for a whole bunch of reasons. I didn't have a baby in 
the dream...I gave birth to another snake...or maybe it was the 
same snake, I don't know. You were there, but I once read 
somewhere that all the characters in our dreams are just 
varying aspects of our own personalities, which means that you 
must have been me...not that it matters. I don't know what the 
snake meant...uh, the snake I gave birth to. At first I thought 
it might mean that having a sexual relationship with you would 
end badly. But I don't really think that. I don't."

Mulder coughed, but didn't wake.

"You were wrong yesterday, Mulder. We've had motive...or at 
least, *I've* had motive. My feelings for you haven't changed -
- not from traveling through time or from some sort of genetic 
regression process..."

She rubbed circles over his heart with her hand. How could he 
not know she loved him?

"Mulder, you once saved me with the strength of your beliefs. 
You and I...we have so much left to do. I don't believe you're 
ready to die. Not now. Not here." 

By mid-morning Mulder's fever burned even hotter and his lungs 
rattled with every agonizingly slow breath. Scully began to 
pray, out loud and on her knees.

"God, please don't take him, please. I need him more than I 
ever have before. He is my only ally here, my only hope. I 
can't lose him."

Perhaps God wasn't listening or He had other more pressing 
things to do because Mulder's chest stopped rising. His heart 
stopped beating. The sun became too bright in a too blue sky, 
the smell of strawberries too strong and the drone of bees too 
loud as Scully felt for his pulse and found none. She bent over 
him, placed her mouth over his and blew into his lungs. Once. 
Twice. Still no pulse. Straddling his motionless body, she 
began chest compressions.

"Damn it, Mulder! Don't you dare die! Don't leave me here 
alone! Mulder? Please!"

*   *   *

"What is that?" Gini asked, stopping in her tracks and cocking 
an ear. She had been skipping ahead of Klizzie along the narrow 
lakeshore path that led to the strawberry fields. "I hear 
someone crying." 

It was true. A woman's cries came from somewhere up ahead. 
Whoever she was, she sounded grief stricken. 

"Let's go see," Klizzie said. She took the lead, hurrying 
toward the crying, but sticking close to the trees where they 
might hide in the shadows if the sobbing woman turned out to be 
a stranger and not a member of the Clan. 

They quickly came to the edge of the strawberry fields where 
they could see a red-haired woman crouching over an unconscious 
man about forty paces upland.

"Who are they?" Gini whispered, sounding both afraid and 
curious.

"Hush." Klizzie put a hand on the girl to hold her back. "I do 
not know."

"Is the man dead?"

He looked dead, even from this distance. His skin appeared 
bluish and his eyes sunken in their sockets. The red haired 
woman straddled his waist, while tears streamed down her face, 
which was badly bruised; she shouted at the man as if angry and 
pounded his chest. Klizzie wondered if this man had been the 
one who had given her the black eye and the swollen lip. Maybe 
she killed him because he beat her. Suddenly the woman bent 
forward and covered the man's mouth with her own, as if kissing 
him. His chest rose once before she sat upright and again 
pushed her fists into him.

"What is she doing?" Gini asked.

Klizzie had no idea. Maybe the woman was crazy. Grief sometimes 
made people do strange things. Klizzie felt certain she would 
lose all common sense if Dzeh were to die.

"Should we help her?" 

Should they? They didn't know this woman or the dead man. 
Strangers could be dangerous. And what could be done anyway? If 
the man was dead he was dead and only the Spirits could help 
him. 

But the red-haired woman appeared so desperate. 

"Come on," Klizzie said, leading Gini out into the field, her 
legs shaking and her stomach feeling knotted, the same way she 
had felt when Dzeh's mother lay dying three seasons ago, her 
stillborn baby taking her with it to the Spirit World. Even 
Dzeh had cried the night his mother's spirit flew away.

Klizzie and Gini slowly approached the red haired woman who 
seemed blind to them as she continued to shove her fists 
against the dead man's chest. When they stood only six or seven 
paces away, Klizzie cleared her throat and asked in as strong a 
voice as she could muster, "Can we help you, Sister?"

The woman looked up in startled surprise and slowed her frantic 
pounding. Tears streaked her bruised cheeks, pooled in her 
heartbroken eyes...eyes that looked as if her spirit wanted to 
fly away, too.

*   *   *

Klesh and Tse-e crouched behind a clump of blossoming fire 
cherries overlooking the strawberry fields. They quietly 
watched Red Hair squawk over her dead companion, while that 
troublemaking Klizzie and Dzeh's little sister stood by with 
stunned looks on their faces.

"It appears Li-chi Tse-gah has lost her protector," Klesh 
gloated, keeping his voice low and fondling the pouch he wore 
around his neck. He grinned at the feel of Red Hair's totem 
tucked inside. His widening smirk deepened the scar on his left 
cheek. 

"What are you going to do?" Tse-e asked.

"Take her for myself as payment for the supplies we lost."

"What about Klizzie and the girl?"

"They are of no consequence."

"But they could bring Owl Clan down on us."

"You worry too much, Tse-e," Klesh sneered. "The Clan will not 
care about this woman. She has no kin here. She is alone now 
and will be grateful to tend my hearth and share my sleeping 
skins."

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER SIX

"Sister?" Klizzie repeated, trying to get the stranger's 
attention. She felt Gini's small hand slip into hers. The girl 
was shaking and wide-eyed. The strange woman was wide-eyed, 
too.  

Klizzie had never seen a woman who looked like this one. Not 
only was her hair the color of fox fur, her eyes were as blue 
as the sky, and those sad, blue eyes gazed at Klizzie and Gini 
for only a heartbeat before returning their focus to the dead 
man on the ground.

Cradling his jaw in her palm, the fox-haired woman bent to kiss 
his lips again, making his chest rise. Then she sat upright to 
pound his breast with clenched fists. She mumbled foreign 
words, possibly a prayer, or a curse: 
"Pleasemulderpleasemulderplease..."  

Klizzie was certain the woman's prayers were useless. The man's 
spirit had clearly flown from his body. His skin was grayish-
blue, his eyes glazed and unseeing beneath half-closed lids. 
But this woman was stubborn. She continued her chanting, her 
shoving of fists, and the strange kisses that made the dead 
man's chest rise.

Suddenly a weak cough sputtered from his throat. He gasped, 
squeezed his eyes shut, moaned. Great Spirit Mother! Klizzie 
began to tremble.

The strange woman sat bolt upright and stared at the man's 
creased face. 
"Mulder?" she said.

The foreign word hung in the air, unanswered. Although Klizzie 
didn't understand its meaning, she could hear both hope and 
fear in the woman's tone.

"Pleeeassse...," hissed the fox-haired woman, dropping her ear 
to the man's chest. 

Listening, she began to slowly smile. Her reddened eyes flooded 
with tears. She wrapped her arms around the man, gripped his 
shoulders, cradled him to her breast. A cry broke in her throat 
like a stone tossed into a pond.

Much to Klizzie's surprise, the man's arm lifted, little by 
little, quaking like a newborn foal's legs, until the palm of 
his hand came to rest on the woman's wet cheek.

Spirits be praised, the dead man was no longer dead! It was 
unbelievable! Without a doubt, this fox-haired woman possessed 
powerful medicine.

"Dah-de-yah," Gini whispered, sounding afraid and awestruck. 
"Kut...na-dzah! He came back!"

It was true! They could see the man's fingers moving ever so 
slightly, caressing the crying woman's cheek, smearing but not 
stopping her tears.   

"Gini, run and fetch Dzeh. Hurry!" 

*   *   *

"I told you she was a Spirit!" Tse-e cried. He squatted next to 
Klesh behind the cherry bushes, a stone's throw upland from Red 
Hair and her companion. He pointed a trembling finger at the 
impossible scene down below. "She has snatched the dead man's 
spirit out of the air and put it back into him!"  

"Quiet!" Klesh swung a brawny arm, striking the smaller man 
hard in the mouth to silence his blathering. "Do you want them 
to hear you?"

Tse-e hid his bruised mouth behind quaking hands and crouched 
even lower.

Klesh could not deny what he had just seen with his own eyes. 
Red Hair had somehow breathed life back into her dead 
companion. Was Tse-e right? Was she a Spirit? Or did she merely 
possess powerful totems, like a Shaman?

Reaching into the pouch he wore around his neck, Klesh fished 
out the tiny amulet he had stolen from Red Hair. The unfamiliar 
symbol looked like two crossed sticks and it glittered more 
brightly than any rock crystal. It held magic, he was sure, and 
once he discovered how to release its power, then Li-chi Tse-
Gah would do his bidding. Maybe others would bow to him, too.  
Klesh pictured himself as chief of his Clan, no longer living 
his life as an outcast. His first order would be to have Red 
Hair's companion killed, and then Klesh would take her as his 
mate. Next he would cast Klizzie from the Clan the same way he 
and Tse-e had been turned out. Seeing her humiliated and 
shunned would be even more satisfying than forcing Red Hair to 
her knees.

Down in the field, the girl -- Dzeh's puny sister -- was 
rushing off in the direction of Toh-ta Lodge. That meant Dzeh 
and his chindi uncles would be arriving soon. 

Klesh watched Klizzie drop to her knees beside Li-chi Tse-Gah 
and the dead man who now lived.   

Tse-e whimpered, "Klesh, let us leave this place."

"And where shall we go? Thanks to Red Hair, we have no shelter, 
no supplies." He almost added, "and no Clan," but caught 
himself before the words were out. No matter how much he might 
want to blame the strangers for all his misfortunes, he 
couldn't hold them accountable for his and Tse-e's exile. That 
had happened four Mastodon Feasts ago, long before Red Hair's 
arrival. Dropping her totem back into his pouch, Klesh wagged 
his head. "We will stay here."  

*   *   *

Scully pressed her ear to Mulder's chest, relieved to hear the 
drumming of his heart. Silently, she repeated "thank God, thank 
God" timed with each steady beat, grateful beyond words for his 
miraculous recovery.

When the feeble caress of his hand against her cheek abruptly 
stopped and his arm fell to his side, she sat upright, 
startled, thinking maybe she had only imagined his heart's 
beating. But when she examined his face, she could see that his 
color was returning, though his eyes were now closed.

"Mulder?"

He didn't respond, so she clutched his wrist, feeling for his 
pulse. 

The flow of blood thrummed beneath her fingers. He was alive. 
Thank God, thank God, thank God...

A puff of wind rustled the grassy meadow and siphoned some of 
the heat from Scully's fiery cheeks, causing her skin to 
tighten as her tears dried. Crushed strawberries spattered the 
ground around her, looking like blood clots, and the midday air 
was so thick with the smell of the ripe fruit that even as 
empty as she felt she was certain she would never eat another 
strawberry as long as she lived.

"...neh-hecho-da-ne. Yah-a-da-hal-yon-ih..."

She glanced at the kneeling woman, who stopped talking as soon 
as their eyes met. The woman didn't appear dangerous -- she was 
perhaps only eighteen or nineteen years old and carried no 
obvious weapons. She sat about ten feet away, her palms held 
flat atop her tanned thighs. Two woven baskets lay tipped on 
their sides beside her brown knees. She wore an animal skin 
wrapped around her narrow hips. A small pouch dangled from a 
strip of rawhide between her bare breasts. Her skin was the 
color of coffee lightened with cream and her hair was almost 
black, long and braided into dozens of neatly woven strands. 
She had a straight nose and full lips, which quirked up at the 
corners where two crescent-shaped dimples punctuated her uneasy 
smile.

"Who are you?" Scully asked.

The young woman blinked at her, evidently not understanding. 

It dawned on Scully that the woman's friend, the little girl, 
was now gone. Pivoting, she searched the edge of the woods and 
then the upland field for the missing child.

"Where did she go?" Scully still straddled Mulder's hips. 
Feeling protective of him in his vulnerable, unconscious state, 
she reached for her weapon and let her hand rest on her 
holster.

"Na-dzah." The woman pointed at Mulder. "Na-dzah." She smiled 
more widely, showing white, strong teeth. 

When she made no attempt to rise or approach, Scully released 
her hold on her gun. "Well..." Keeping her eyes on the woman, 
she swung off Mulder and positioned herself on her knees 
between them. "What now?"

"Wha nauw?" the young woman parroted, a crease forming between 
her straight brows.

"Do you have a name?"

"Naym-muh?"

"Name. Uh...I'm Dana." Scully pointed to herself, tapping her 
breastbone with her finger, all the while feeling rather 
foolish, as if she were an actor in a jungle movie. Me Tarzan, 
you Jane. "Dana. Daay...nuh."

The woman smiled and repeated, "Day-nuh." When Scully nodded, 
the woman pointed to herself and said, "Klizzie."

"Klizzie?"

"Lahn." She nodded enthusiastically. Then her eyes fell onto 
Mulder. 

Scully placed a hand on his chest, relieved again to feel the 
beat of his heart there. "Mulder," she said.

"Muhl-dar?" asked the woman.

"Yes. Mulder."  

*   *   *

"Muhl-dar," Klizzie repeated, satisfied they now had something 
to call one another, although these new names were foreign-
sounding and meaningless to her, unlike ordinary Clan names 
that actually stood for something. Her own name was the word 
for "goat" and Dzeh meant "elk." Gini was "chicken hawk." 
Dzeh's uncle Lin was "horse." And so on for everyone. Maybe 
"Day-nuh" was the foreigners' word for Fox Hair or Sky Eyes. 
And "Muhl-dar"? Klizzie hadn't a clue, unless it meant "Man Who 
Does Not Die." 

Neighboring clans sometimes spoke unfamiliar words, but usually 
they could understand each other at least a little or, if they 
came from a great distance away, they would use hand signals to 
make their ideas known. This woman, Day-nuh, appeared to 
recognize neither Klizzie's words nor her signing. So Klizzie 
guessed that Day-nuh and Muhl-dar's clan must live many day's 
run from here.

Exactly which clan they might belong to puzzled her. Klizzie 
had been born to Badger Clan. Now, as Dzeh's mate, she was a 
member of Owl Clan. There were many clans: Bear, Deer, Rabbit, 
Cat, Wolf, Eagle, Turtle...the list went on and on. Different 
clans gathered together in winter for Messenger Feasts or in 
summer for Mastodon Feasts, like the one coming up in half a 
moon. Klizzie had attended these feasts all of her life, but 
couldn't remember ever seeing anyone with red hair or blue eyes 
before. Nor could she remember hearing such a strange language 
or seeing such unusual clothing. Looking at the hide of Day-
nuh's finely made cloak, Klizzie wondered if these newcomers 
might come from Eel Clan, a clan she had heard about but had 
never actually met. 

She noticed that both strangers wore lovely bracelets made from 
a shiny material that was quite striking and finely worked. The 
man's belt glistened, too, at the front of his waist. As did 
the little glossy holes in his extraordinary footwear, and the 
gleaming decorations in Day-nuh's pierced ears.

The man's ears were not pierced. How odd! All men wore 
decorations of bone or animal teeth or stone in their ears. 
Another strange thing: the hair of his beard was very short -- 
shorter than that on the muzzle of a wolf pup. Was he a boy 
just becoming a man? Day-nuh's son perhaps, not her mate? Or 
did he scrape his beard with a flint blade the way women 
cleaned hair from deer hides? It could be that Eel Clan kept 
their hair trimmed short to look more like eel skin. The hair 
on both the newcomers' heads was quite short, which seemed to 
lend credence to the idea. 

There were so many things Klizzie wanted to ask. And so much 
more she wanted to tell! Perhaps most of all, however, she 
wanted to wash the disturbing expression of worry from Day-
nuh's face.

"Gini has gone to fetch Dzeh and the others," Klizzie said, 
trying to relieve the other woman's anxiety. "They will be here 
soon to help your...um...Muhl-dar."

At the mention of his name, Day-nuh bristled like a she-bear 
protecting her cub, and Klizzie wondered if she had 
inadvertently shown disrespect. She decided it might be best to 
lower her eyes and bow her head to the ground. 

"Klizzie...?"

Klizzie kept her head down.

"Klizzie." 

She felt the tap of fingers on her arm and finally lifted her 
gaze to find Day-nuh had moved closer. She was gesturing toward 
the man named Muhl-dar and saying things that made no sense.

Then, from the direction of the camp, Klizzie heard Dzeh 
calling her name. Thank the Spirits. Klizzie was at a loss how 
to help these strangers. Dzeh would know what to do.

Gini was running at a gallop toward the strawberry fields, 
leading Dzeh, Uncle Lin and several of Dzeh's male cousins. The 
men were armed with spears and knives. They wore frowns on 
their faces as they jogged upland from the water's edge.

Dzeh sounded angry and a little nervous when he shouted to 
Klizzie to "Move away! Kut! Now!"

She scrambled to her feet and backed away, putting several 
paces between herself and the strangers, not because she feared 
them but because she was used to obeying the orders of her 
mate.

The men rushed forward, their spears hoisted shoulder high and 
aimed at the fox-haired woman who still squatted beside her 
unconscious companion. They formed a wide circle around her and 
she twisted her head first one way and then the other, trying 
to keep her eyes on them all. She placed a protective hand on 
the chest of the man named Muhl-dar. With her other hand, she 
pulled a gray fist-sized object from behind her back and 
pointed it at the men like an angry finger. She shouted a 
string of strong sounding words.       

Uncle Lin ignored her yelling and stepped close enough to touch 
the tip of his spear to her chest. "What is the name of your 
clan?" he demanded. Lin was the oldest member of Owl Clan and 
the leader. His beard was streaked with gray, yet he was 
solidly built and tough enough to break a ram's neck with his 
bare hands. He had the final say in all debates and his words 
were obeyed without question because he was both very wise and 
very strong. 

Klizzie stood off to one side with Gini, biting her tongue 
because she knew Lin would be cross if she interfered, but she 
desperately wanted to yell out to the men that they had no 
reason to fear these newcomers. Her stomach churned at the 
sight of the fierce, yet desperate woman surrounded by six 
angry men.

"What is the name of your clan?" Lin repeated, his voice 
roaring like a bear about to charge. He prodded Scully with his 
spear, hard enough to puncture a small hole in the hide of her 
pretty cloak.

Although tears rose in her eyes, Day-nuh squared her shoulders, 
clenched her jaw and used both hands to point her gray object 
at Lin's chest. "Back off," she said.

The foreign words had no meaning for the men, but the hardness 
of her voice and the direct way she stared into their eyes made 
them nervous. She faced them like a male, like an enemy. 

They would kill her for sure. 

Strangers cannot be trusted -- Klizzie had heard this saying 
all her life, had seen it proven true on more than one 
occasion. But she knew firsthand that sometimes kin could not 
be trusted either. Her cousin Klesh, for instance, and her own 
brother Tse-e. The memory of their transgressions could still 
knock the breath from her lungs. People were people, some good, 
some bad, and she felt certain this fox-haired woman was a good 
person. She had worked hard to save her companion's life. 
Clearly she had a caring heart, as well as the favor of 
powerful Spirits.

"Do something, Klizzie," Gini whispered as the men tightened 
their circle.  

Lin raised his spear.

"Stop!" Klizzie shouted, then, realizing her breach of 
etiquette, she dropped to her knees. "Please," she added, eyes 
fastened on the ground.

"Klizzie!" Dzeh growled, making her flinch. "This is men's 
business!"

Blood rose in Klizzie's cheeks. Men's business, men's business! 
Everything was men's business! Anger took hold of her and, 
ignoring the consequences, she rose to her feet, strode over to 
the men, and shouldered through their circle to stand between 
them and the strangers. She stared straight at their astonished 
faces, and said, "There is no threat here. She is but a woman. 
Her companion is unconscious. Please, do not harm them."

Dzeh glowered, embarrassed by her outrageous actions, and it 
hurt Klizzie to disobey her mate this way. She could scarcely 
believe she was doing such a thing. It took all her willpower 
to keep her feet planted where they were. 

Lin huffed his disapproval and warned Dzeh, "Remove your mate 
from here."

"Why kill them?" Klizzie demanded when Dzeh reached for her 
arm.

"They are not Owl Clan," he said.

"I was not Owl Clan either until I became your mate." 

The fierceness faded from his eyes. She knew he loved her and 
she felt a stab of guilt for causing him this trouble, bringing 
the disapproval of the Clan down on both their heads. He 
glanced at the other men, at the strangers, and then back at 
Klizzie. "You are Owl Clan now. They are not. They cannot be 
trusted," he said as if talking to a child.

Then an idea struck her. "But what if they become Owl Clan? 
Like I did."

"Klizzie, no one in Owl Clan will take either of these two as 
mates. They are too strange. They will never be our kin."

Lin announced, "We must kill them. Dzeh, get your mate out of 
our way." The other men nodded in agreement.

"No, wait!" Klizzie couldn't believe she was about to argue 
with Dzeh and his Uncle Lin. The Spirits must be giving her 
strength, wanting her to help these strangers, because 
otherwise she would never have dared to stand up against six 
clansmen this way. "The man could become your Trading Partner, 
Dzeh," she suggested.

She knew Dzeh needed a new Trading Partner -- he had gone four 
winters without choosing a new alliance, reluctant to take on 
another partner after all the trouble with Klesh. But it was 
custom. Trading Partners strengthened clan ties, made for 
peaceful negotiations, provided food in times of starvation. 
There had been many winters when the people of Owl Clan could 
not have survived without the help of their partners in Deer 
Clan or Turtle Clan or Badger Clan. If Dzeh accepted the man 
named Muhl-dar as his Trading Partner, the strangers would be 
considered kin.

Dzeh studied the newcomers, particularly the man. "He is too 
sick. He will not live long enough to make the first trade," he 
said, shaking his head.

"Only the Spirits know that," Klizzie whispered.

"Move out of our way, Klizzie," he warned, "or I will move you 
myself."

Just then little Gini surprised them all by plowing into the 
circle to join Klizzie. Everyone's eyes rounded at the girl's 
impudence. "If he dies," she said, her voice high and as clear 
as the call of a bird, "then all of his possessions become 
yours. Isn't that right, Dzeh?"

Ah, Gini was a smart girl! The man's clothes, his footwear, the 
unusual bracelet he wore on his wrist -- these were unlike 
anything the Clan had ever seen, making them worth a great 
deal. And who knew what he carried in his packs. If Dzeh agreed 
to become Muhl-dar's Trading Partner and then the man died, 
Dzeh would become the owner of these many fine things. And if 
he lived, so much the better, because it was obvious his clan 
was clever and rich. A partnership with them could be a 
lucrative arrangement. Dzeh and Owl Clan could not lose by 
agreeing to ally themselves with these strangers.

"He is too sick to agree to a partnership," Dzeh pointed out.

"We are not leaving Toh-ta Lodge for several days," Klizzie 
said, seeing that Dzeh was considering the idea. "If we feed 
him, he might get well enough before we go. And if he gets 
well, he might show his gratitude by agreeing to become your 
Trading Partner."

Lin suddenly burst out laughing, a deep hearty laugh. "Your 
clever mate has worked everything out, Dzeh. She may be 
impudent, but she is right. The plan is a good one." He lowered 
his spear. "Let's carry the man back to camp. The woman..." -- 
he glanced at Day-nuh -- "she can follow or not, as she 
wishes."    

*   *   *

Scully had no idea what had just happened, but she wasn't about 
to argue. Obviously Klizzie and the girl had intervened on her 
and Mulder's behalf. Whether they'd simply been persuasive or 
had negotiated some sort of agreement remained to be seen. As 
for now, the big brute with the gray hair was lowering his 
weapon and laughing, while several of the others were bending 
over Mulder.

"Wait, wait! What are you doing? Be careful." 

Her words fell on deaf ears. The men lifted Mulder and began 
carrying him in the direction they'd come. Klizzie was smiling 
and the little girl looked about to burst with excitement. The 
tallest man, the one who had done most of the talking, scooped 
up the two packs she and Mulder had brought from the basin. He 
eyed her suspiciously but said nothing when she rose to follow 
after him and the others.

"Please, be careful," she begged, seeing Mulder's head loll. 
"Where are you taking him? He's very sick."

They headed for a path that ran along the lakeshore. Klizzie 
and the girl hung back, walking with Scully. They chattered 
with each other, obviously in good spirits, despite the dire 
circumstances. They repeated her and Mulder's names several 
times. Perhaps they knew of a way to help him, although for the 
life of her she couldn't imagine what it might be. Mulder's 
condition was precarious, he needed medical attention, he 
should be in a hospital where he could get antibiotics, oxygen, 
fluids...not carried to who knew where. 

After a few minutes, the group arrived at a tidy campsite 
overlooking the lake. At least half a dozen structures formed a 
semicircle beneath the trees not far from a sandy beach. They 
looked similar to the one that had belonged to Scully's captors 
in the basin.  Some of the dome-shaped shelters were larger 
than others, as if whole families lived under the same roof. 
Several dozen men, women and children came running from various 
locations to get a look at her and Mulder. They gathered 
around, all talking at once, blinking in surprise. 

A balding man with a heavily tattooed face came forward out of 
the crowd, which parted to let him stand beside Mulder. He 
inspected Mulder's pale face, listened to his raspy breathing 
and then directed the men to carry him to a small tent set 
apart from the rest.

Scully trailed after them, pushing her way inside the shelter, 
where she found Mulder was being laid on a bed of furs. Baskets 
and bowls of unidentifiable powders and liquids were lined up 
along the hut's outer perimeter. Drying weeds hung in bunches 
from the shelter's oversized bone supports. 

The tattooed man knelt beside Mulder and began chanting. He 
picked up a rattle adorned with colorful feathers, and shook it 
three times over Mulder's head. Then he reached into one of the 
small bowls, removed a pinch of reddish powder and sprinkled it 
over his chest.

"What are you doing?" Scully asked, but the tattooed man 
ignored her. His chanting grew more insistent. 

She hoped that if he was this tribe's medicine man, he was a 
good one. Mulder was hanging on to life by a thread and needed 
all the help he could get. Selecting a place by his feet, 
Scully knelt to watch over him.       

*   *   *

"What now?" Tse-e asked. He stood beside Klesh not far from Owl 
Clan's campsite. They kept to the shadows while they spied on 
the Clan's comings and goings. "Lin has accepted Red Hair and 
her companion. Now you must forget the idea of taking her as 
your mate."

"Maybe, maybe not." 

Old Lin's actions made no sense. The Clan should have killed 
the strangers, or at the very least, killed the man and taken 
Li-chi Tse-Gah. It was the proper thing to do. It was custom. 

Not that Lin and Dzeh and these other Owl Clan chindis always 
did what was right. Klesh seethed with fresh anger over his 
unwarranted exile. The Clan had turned their backs on him and 
Tse-e, forcing them to live on their own. And they were kin! 
Bound by blood! Why adopt strangers and toss out family?

Taking in these two outsiders made no sense.

Once again the red-haired woman had managed to slip like a 
sleek eel through his fingers. 

"We will camp on the opposite shore where we can keep an eye on 
things," Klesh said. "I am not ready to fly away just yet."

*   *   *

"Day-nuh?" Klizzie waited at the entrance of A-zey-al-ih Lodge 
for Day-nuh to invite her in. When no invitation came, she 
ignored protocol and entered anyway. She carried a tray of 
food, hoping to coax the stoic woman into eating something. It 
had been two days since the newcomers' arrival, and the woman 
named Day-nuh had eaten almost nothing in that time. 

As usual, Gini followed close on Klizzie's heels, curious to 
see how the man named Muhl-dar was doing. The girl seemed 
inordinately inquisitive about him and asked Klizzie 
uncountable questions, most of which she could not answer. 
"Where did he come from?" "When will he wake up?" "Why does he 
not have any tattoos?" "Why are his clothes so strange?" "Is he 
going to live or die?"

"Only the Spirits know these things, Little Chick," was 
Klizzie's unvarying response. 

It was obvious friendly Spirits had blessed these strangers. 
Although Muhl-dar remained very sick, the speed of his recovery 
was astonishing. And Day-nuh seemed determined to make him 
well. Klizzie hoped that their good fortune would continue and 
the man would soon be up on his feet and healthy.

Day-nuh sat cross-legged on the skins beside Muhl-dar, who was 
sleeping on a silvery mat of wolf fur. Sweat slicked his pale 
face and his bare chest. His breathing was labored and he 
coughed frequently. Day-nuh had been watching him continuously 
through the last two sunsets, making sure to pour a little 
water or put a little food into his mouth whenever he happened 
to be awake, which wasn't often. Mostly he slept. Occasionally 
he cried out in his sleep, as if he were struggling against 
evil Spirits in the Dream World. He often shouted a word 
Klizzie didn't recognize, "skuh-lee," which never failed to 
seize Day-nuh's attention. She would then talk and sometimes 
sing to him while he wandered fretfully in his dreams. More 
often, she just sat quietly, looking exhausted and fearful.

"I brought you some strawberries. And roasted rabbit and fresh 
dandelion greens." Klizzie set her tray down beside the skins. 

Day-nuh ignored the food and seemed not to hear or notice her 
visitors, even when Klizzie stirred the ashes of the hearth, 
bringing the coals back to life. It was well past sunset and 
most of her kin were busy settling around the hearths of their 
various lodges, putting their children to sleep and getting 
ready for bed. Tomorrow was an important day. Owl Clan would be 
packing to move to Tabaha Lodge on Turkey Lake for the summer 
season. Klizzie had been hoping the man named Muhl-dar would be 
well enough to travel with them, but now it looked as if he 
wouldn't recover his strength before the Clan's departure. He 
would remain behind and Klizzie had no doubt Day-nuh would stay 
with him.

"Will they be okay here by themselves?" Gini asked, as if 
reading Klizzie's thoughts. The girl hunkered close to the 
man's head to get an unobstructed view of him. 

Klizzie's heart went out to the strangers, particularly the 
fox-haired woman. She looked bedraggled and exhausted. Her 
bruises were fading, but the shadows beneath her eyes grew 
darker each day. Her skin was as pale as a pickerel's belly and 
was dotted with inflamed mosquito bites. She needed a bath and 
her clothes could stand washing, too. Her odd garments were 
covered with mud and smelled a little sour. Klizzie noticed 
there was blood on her leg-coverings, a large, dark patch 
between her thighs that looked fresh. Day-nuh must be having 
her Moon Time, she realized. She was bleeding into her garments 
without seeming to be aware of it.

"Day-nuh?" Klizzie politely tapped her arm and pointed to the 
blood.

Day-nuh looked down. "Dammit..." Her eyes filled with tears and 
she gave Klizzie a pleading stare. She was obviously 
apprehensive about leaving her sick companion unattended, but 
she knew she had to do something about the blood.

"Gini, you stay with Muhl-dar while I take Day-nuh to wash up." 

Day-nuh cast troubled eyes on Muhl-dar. 

"He will be fine," Klizzie tried to explain. "Gini can fetch us 
if he wakes up." Frustrated by their lack of common language, 
she pointed again at the blood and waved Day-nuh toward the 
lodge's entrance.

Reluctantly, she rose and followed Klizzie outside. 

Because the strangers had arrived in the strawberry field 
carrying nothing but two hunters' packs and two spears, Klizzie 
suspected Day-nuh didn't have the necessities for her Moon 
Time. Sympathy settled like a stone in her stomach when she 
considered that Day-nuh might have let herself bleed into her 
garments not because she was intent on the sick man but because 
she hadn't known how to ask for the things she needed. 

Taking her by the hand, Klizzie led Day-nuh first to her own 
lodge, where she gathered clean skins for her to wear after she 
washed up, as well as her traveling pack. Dzeh wasn't in the 
hut yet, but several of his cousins were already bedding down. 
They peered at the fox-haired woman with curious eyes, but said 
nothing. The newcomers made everyone nervous. Strangers were 
not kin and could be dangerous, stealing food, weapons and 
women, sometimes killing the men. The Clan would not begin to 
relax until the man named Muhl-dar officially became Dzeh's 
Trading Partner. Until then, he and Day-nuh were considered 
outsiders and would continue to be regarded with suspicion.

"This way." Klizzie smiled and took hold of Day-nuh's hand once 
more. "You can bathe in the lake, then dress in these clean 
skins."

The fox-haired woman allowed herself to be towed out of the 
lodge and down to the lakeshore, which wasn't far, just a few 
rabbit hops. She stumbled as she walked, looking dazed and 
exhausted. Klizzie worried about her. She was like an orphaned 
child who had gone too long with too little care. Without a 
good meal or a long night's rest, she would soon become as sick 
as her companion.

For now, Klizzie was determined to help her, at least until the 
Clan left the day after tomorrow. She felt in her heart there 
was nothing to fear from these newcomers, no matter what the 
rest of the Clan might think.

Up ahead, the small crescent-shaped beach glimmered beneath the 
moonlit sky. The shore was sandy and smooth; it felt cool and 
soothing against the soles of Klizzie's feet as she padded 
along its length. Waves gently lapped the shore and the air 
smelled wet and silty and soft, like the lake itself. This lake 
was called A-ye-shi, because on nights such as this it 
glistened like the black, glossy egg of a frog. It held life 
inside it like a frog's egg, too. Fish, turtles and mussels, 
beaver and otter, water birds, other things. Gifts from the 
Spirits.

"You can undress here." Klizzie stopped beside a large, 
branched log of driftwood where she set down her pack. 
Intending to bathe, too, she unwrapped the furs from her waist 
and draped them over the log. Giving a quick silent prayer to 
the spirits, she removed the pouch from around her neck and 
laid it reverently atop her clothes. Naked, she turned to face 
Day-nuh.

Day-nuh slowly removed her eel-skin cloak and placed it on the 
log next to Klizzie's things. Then she stood staring at the 
lake as if uncertain what to do next.

"Do you need help?" Klizzie gave a tentative tug at her strange 
tunic. She wasn't sure how this garment was supposed to come 
off. It had no apparent fasteners and it felt strange to the 
touch, elastic like the stomach of a gutted deer, but dry, like 
lamb's wool. 

Evidently the garment needed no unfastening. Day-nuh removed it 
by pulling it up and over her head in one easy motion. 
Underneath it she wore another garment, the likes of which 
Klizzie had never seen. It was a small, tight-fitting scrap of 
black, shiny material. More eel skin, perhaps, shaped into some 
sort of vest. Reaching behind her back, Day-nuh unfastened the 
odd garment and let it drop to the ground, revealing nipples 
the color of pink rose blossoms. Klizzie couldn't help but 
stare; her own nipples were brown, the color of acorns, as were 
all of the Clan women's. And Clan skin was tan, not white like 
Day-nuh's. She was as ivory colored as a mastodon tusk. Paler 
than a person who was about to fly away to the Spirit World, 
she seemed to glow with the silvery luminescence of the 
moon...except where she was bruised, which was in many places. 
She was also spotted with insect bites and crisscrossed with 
welts and scratches.

It suddenly dawned on Klizzie that Day-nuh wore no totems 
around her neck. What sort of clan did not wear totems? And 
which Spirits would help people who prayed to none? There 
seemed no end to the strangeness of these foreigners.

Indifferent to Klizzie's wonderment, Day-nuh knelt to unfasten 
her footwear. Once the lacings were untied, she stood and 
kicked the coverings from her feet. Then she removed her thin 
inner footwear. Next she loosened the waist of her bloodied 
leggings, which she let drop to her ankles, exposing another 
odd undergarment. This one was black and shiny like the upper 
garment, although it was wet with fresh blood.

"I can wash your clothes," Klizzie suggested, "while you clean 
yourself."

Hesitating for only a heartbeat, Day-nuh slipped out of her 
strange undergarment. With Moon Blood staining her inner 
thighs, she shivered and looked hesitantly at the lake.

Klizzie gave her a reassuring smile before digging two amole 
bulbs from her pack. "Take this." She handed Day-nuh one of the 
soap-weed roots. The pale fox-haired woman stared at it as if 
she'd never seen a soap plant before. Klizzie realized that 
maybe she hadn't. It was possible soap-weed didn't grow in Eel 
Clan territory. "It will get you clean and will take the sting 
out of those insect bites. I will show you." 

She waded into the water, enjoying its coolness on her skin. 
The surface rippled around her plowing legs, bucking the 
reflection of stars and moon. Somewhere in the velvet black of 
the opposite shore, a loon warbled a love song to its mate. 
Klizzie glanced over her shoulder to watch Day-nuh, lunar-
white, trailing behind her.

When the water bumped the undersides of Klizzie's breasts, she 
gasped at its chilliness. "This is far enough," she announced, 
laughing as she began scrubbing the soap-weed root between her 
hands, working up a frothy lather. "See? This is how it is 
done." 

Day-nuh watched her for a moment before mimicking her motions 
and sudsing her own hands with the root. 

Klizzie approached her with soap dripping from her cupped 
hands. "Hold still," she murmured, and tenderly washed the soot 
from Day-nuh's face, careful not to press too heavily on her 
bruises. She half expected the ivory-white skin to feel as 
strange as it looked, maybe cool and hard like a mastodon tusk, 
but instead she found it was as soft and warm as her own brown 
skin. 

Day-nuh flinched when Klizzie's thumb grazed her swollen, split 
lip.

"Sorry," Klizzie apologized. She circled behind her and began 
wetting and washing Day-nuh's fox-colored hair. Working up a 
thick lather, she massaged soap into her scalp, while Day-nuh 
scrubbed her own arms and neck.

"Rinse," Klizzie said, once she felt satisfied that she had 
removed all the pine pitch, dried blood, twigs and leaves. To 
demonstrate her request, Klizzie made a show of holding her 
breath and ducking beneath the surface.

Day-nuh ducked beneath the water, too, sending soap bubbles 
spiraling to the surface.  

When both women came up for air, Klizzie moved them to 
shallower water. "I will wash your back." She twirled her 
finger to indicate she wanted Day-nuh to turn around. "You do 
the rest."

She seemed to understand and turned her back. Klizzie lathered 
her shoulders, her spine, the backs of her arms, treating every 
injury with extreme care and wondering how Day-nuh had gotten 
so many welts and scratches.

"You finish while I clean your garments," Klizzie suggested, 
satisfied that all the cuts on Day-nuh's back were clean. She 
waded to shore, leaving the pale stranger to scrub the 
remaining dirt from her arms and the blood from her legs.

By the time Day-nuh emerged pink and clean, Klizzie had her 
clothes soaped, rinsed, wrung out and hanging to dry on the 
driftwood log.

"Let's get you dressed before you bleed all over yourself 
again." Klizzie rummaged through her pack and pulled out a Moon 
Time belt and a dried cattail. She handed Day-nuh the belt, 
then burst the cattail open, producing wads of fluffy, 
absorbent down.

The belt consisted of two parts: a soft deerskin strap about 
three fingers wide and two hands long attached at both ends to 
a rawhide cord that was long enough to loop around the waist. 
After a quick inspection, Day-nuh slid the strap between her 
legs and held it in place by cinching the string around her 
waist. Klizzie handed her a clump of cattail down, which she 
tucked between her legs inside the strap. 

Klizzie offered her the remaining cattail. "For later," she 
said.

Day-nuh took the down, retrieved her jacket and stuffed the wad 
into a pocket. The pocket itself amazed Klizzie. A hidden 
carrying pack, nearly invisible! How clever!

Because Day-nuh was shivering, Klizzie didn't take the time to 
inspect this wondrous carrying device more closely, but handed 
Day-nuh the fur skirt she'd brought for her. When she fumbled 
with the fastener, Klizzie hurried to help, showing her how to 
loop the knot at her hip. 

Klizzie donned her own skirt before announcing, "Next, I will 
rid your hair of all those snarls." She searched her pack 
again, this time for the comb Dzeh had given her. The comb was 
well made, the tines even, straight and smooth, the handle 
intricately incised with the symbols of Owl Clan. Other than 
her totem pouch, it was Klizzie's most prized possession.

"Sit," she ordered, pointing at the log. Day-nuh did as she was 
told and Klizzie began combing the tangles from her hair. She 
hummed a little song as she worked -- a child's prayer to the 
Fox Spirit, because Day-nuh's hair reminded her so much of the 
hair of Ma-e, the Fox. 

"E ha e... yo e... yo... he ye ye--"

"Klizzie! Klizzie!" Gini's voice came from the woods. The girl 
arrived breathless on the beach. "Muhl-dar is thrashing in his 
sleep. He yells the strange word 'scuh-lee' over and over. Come 
quickly!"
   
Before Klizzie could gather their things, Day-nuh was already 
running toward the camp. 

*   *   *

"Scully, you *have* to be willing to see!"

"Mulder, the case is over."

"No, no, you have to believe me. You *have* to. No one else 
will. Please." Mulder struggles against restraints that bind 
both wrists to bedrails. He is back in Calumet Mercy Hospital, 
confined in the Psych Ward. The sheets of his bed have been 
washed in harsh chemicals to kill germs, and are stiff and 
rough against his exposed skin. The room smells like 
disinfectant and fear. Everything is white, white, white. 
Except for Scully. She is wearing her black satin bra and 
panties, and nothing else. Her lower lip has been recently 
split and is swollen. A bruise surrounds her left eye. She 
massages his chest with her palm while he begs her to help him. 
"Untie me, please. Scully, please unfasten the restraints."

"It's over."

"Scully--"

Mulder can smell smoke; he hears the crackle of fire. Hidden 
flames create flickering shadows, animated Rorschach's 
inkblots that look like demons on the curtain encircling his 
bed. Panic balloons in his gut and rises to his throat, 
threatening to choke him. 

Scully leans over him until her brightly lipsticked mouth is 
only millimeters from his own dry lips. "I'm going."   

"Going where? When will you be back?" 

"I won't be back."

No, no, no. Anything but that. He wants to grab her arm as she 
turns to go, hold onto her as tightly as he can. Losing her is 
the worst possible thing. Damn these straps!

"You've been a child, Fox."

"Scully?"

She peers back at him over her shoulder, but she is no longer 
Scully; she is Diana, and an ugly frown cuts across her face. 

"You've been a child with only the responsibility of a 
child...to your own dreams and fantasies..."

Her goodbye speech, from years ago, before she walked out of 
his life, before the divorce papers were served -- their last 
fight. She looks just the way she did that day. Achingly 
beautiful, despite her disappointed expression. He feels the 
dead weight of his wedding ring on his finger. He wanted so 
much for her to understand him, to love him.

"I have commitments," he tells her. God, he's repeated these 
words so many times. "To the X-Files, to my sister--"

"You think you know what that means -- commitment. But you 
won't know the true joy of responsibility until you plant your 
feet in the world."

"Meaning?" He knows what she means; he knows exactly what 
she's going to say, because she's said it dozens of times, 
fighting for her dreams just as often and hard as he's argued 
for his.

"Becoming a parent, Fox. Having a child."

"*No* children, Diana. We've been over this. A father needs to 
be able to protect his children. And I don't feel I... I 
can't..." He couldn't save Sam. He couldn't. He can't...

"You have to let go of the past, Fox."

"I'm just supposed to slip into domestic bliss? Just like 
that?"

"Yes."

"It's not possible. Not for me."

Her expression turns sad. Tears glisten in her eyes. She looks 
away and walks to the door.

"Diana?" Please don't go! Please, don't leave me! He struggles 
against the restraints.

But she has passed beyond the door into the hall. The skin of 
her back is milky white, framed by the black silk of her bra 
and panties. He wants to put his hand there, but his hands are 
tied, and besides, someone else is putting his hand there. The 
stranger's hand is scarred. The man stands with his back to 
Mulder, but Mulder can see he is muscular. He wears his hair 
long. He bends to nuzzle Diana's neck and she laughs when his 
beard tickles her skin.

The man's fingers stroke the tattoo on her lower back -- a 
snake devouring its own tail. Oh, God, it's Scully. 

"Get away from her!" Mulder shouts, his hips arching off the 
bed, straps cutting into his wrists. "Scully, don't leave! 
Scully? Scully! Come back! Come back, Scully! Sculleeeee!"

She glances at him and shakes her head. "Not everything is 
about you, Mulder."

Then she's out the door. 

When he tries to call to her, nothing comes out of his mouth 
but a silent scream that tastes like woodsmoke.   

*   *   *

"Mulder, wake up." 

Scully's voice came from beyond the black of Mulder's closed 
eyes. He struggled to lift his lids, which felt as if they were 
weighted by sandbags. When he finally managed to open them a 
crack, he discovered he was lying on a bed of furs in a low 
tent-like structure. Only Scully's pale, bruised face looked 
familiar.

She leaned over him, shoulders squared as if prepared for 
disappointment. Tears glossed her eyes and the way she trapped 
her lower lip between her teeth made his stomach clench. She 
was clearly worried about something. Very worried.

"That bad?" he whispered. The words scoured his raw, swollen 
throat. 

She shook her head, knocking loose a tear. "You're going to be 
fine." 

The tear skated down her cheek, and he reached up to wipe away 
its shimmery track, but she beat him to the punch, eliminating 
all trace of it with one quick swipe. Sniffing quietly, she 
transformed into Doctor mode, or maybe Special Agent mode, 
whatever it took to conceal her fears from him.

Craning to see past her, he tried to make sense of his 
surroundings. Smoke rose from a small campfire off to her left. 
The place was dim and cramped and smelled like...what was that 
smell? Mint? Over his head, the roof was made of animal hides 
stretched across several curving bone supports. 

Like the Neanderthals' hut. 

"Where are we?" He tried to sit up, feeling panicky. Scully 
hushed him and pressed her palm against his chest, prodding him 
back down onto the furs.

"We're at a camp not far from the field where you..." -- her 
composure wavered -- "where you passed out."  

How long ago was that? Hours? Days? If those bastards touched 
her while--

"Mulder, they're helping us," she reassured him, as if reading 
his mind.

"Who? Conan the Barbarian and his weasely sidekick?"

A humorless laugh chuffed from her lungs. "No. A woman named 
Klizzie. She found us two days ago. Her people brought us 
here."

"Her people?" He could feel a cough building in his chest and 
he cleared his throat in an effort to avert it.

"About fifty of them -- men, women, and children. They live 
here by the lake, at least temporarily. Klizzie convinced them 
to take us in."

"*Convinced* them?" Now he did choke. Deep, wet coughs that 
doubled him in half. Jesus, his lungs ached. Scully massaged 
his bare chest while he gasped for air. After several painful 
minutes, his cough subsided and he was able to speak again. 
"They didn't want to help us?" 

"Not really."

"That's a bit un-neighborly, given the circumstances."

"They're afraid."

"Of *us*?"

"Strangers in general, I think." 

Mulder recalled Dr. Diamond's words from several years ago 
when he and Scully were investigating the Jersey Devil case: 
"Humans tend to be tribal and aggressively territorial, 
oriented by selfish sexual and reproductive drives that make 
cooperation beyond the family tribe extremely hard." If 
Diamond was right, it made sense that these people would be 
leery of him and Scully.

Scully reached past his shoulder for a shallow bowl. Bringing 
it to his lips, she urged, "Drink."

"What is it?"

"Just water."

He took a sip and then eyed the odd container. It was roughly 
circular, about six inches in diameter, and appeared to have 
scales. "What is that?"

"Turtle shell." She set it back down and picked up a basket 
full of ripe strawberries. "You hungry? You should eat, try to 
regain your strength." She held a berry up for him to inspect. 

It looked delicious. He opened his mouth and she fed it to him.

God, it tasted wonderful. Like summer at Quonochontaug. 
Strawberry pie and grilled hamburgers and his mom's potato 
salad. Seagulls screeching for handouts, pinwheeling in the 
clear blue sky. The air smelling like the ocean. Sea salt 
speckling his bare feet and legs. Sam begging him to help her 
search for seashells and beach glass. 

None of which had happened yet, he realized, feeling queasy.    

"More?" Scully asked.

He shook his head. "Tell me about them...our hosts." Another 
cough rattled his chest.

She set down the berries and shrugged. "They speak a language I 
don't understand. They appear healthy, well fed, happy, for the 
most part."

"For the most part?"

"There was a lengthy, somewhat intense discussion before they 
brought us here."

"Which is where?"

"A camp of about half a dozen shelters near the lake we saw 
from the top of the hill. They sleep several to a tent. Cook 
and eat in groups. Seem to have a complex system for divvying 
up food." She nodded at the basket. "They're skilled artisans. 
They make baskets and jewelry and stone tools. They wear furs. 
Seem to love their kids, who have the run of the place."

So they weren't all brutes like Conan and his little buddy.

"Klizzie and a girl named Gini keep bringing us food and 
water," she continued, nodding at the strawberries. "Some sort 
of medicine man drops by every now and again to chant and leave 
offerings. The mint came from him." She indicated a posy of 
drying greens that hung like mistletoe from a bone support 
beside his head.

"So that's what smells."

"Wild spearmint. I suspect he thinks it helps you breathe 
better."

"Does it?"

"Actually...it's been known to have antiseptic qualities, which 
are most likely contributing to your recovery. He gave you an 
herbal tea that suppressed your cough enough to let you get 
some sleep, then another that acted like an expectorant to help 
clear your secretions. He treated your burns with a salve and 
so far there hasn't been any sign of infection. His knowledge 
of medicinal herbs is impressive." 

"Well, tell him to bring on whatever he's got. I'm feeling as 
weak as a baby cat."

She stroked his cheek, her palm making a scritch-scratchy sound 
against his sprouting whiskers. "You've been very sick, Mulder. 
You still are. A full recovery will take time."

That wasn't the news he wanted to hear. He was eager to get up 
and out of bed to start looking for a way home. He'd had about 
all he could stand of the Pleistocene.

He noticed Scully was barelegged and wearing some sort of fur 
garment beneath her leather coat. "Going native?" he asked, 
fingering the soft material.

"No, I..." Her eyes dodged his as a flush of pink crept up her 
cheeks. "I needed to clean up."

Was she embarrassed? Over what? "I wouldn't mind cleaning up a 
little myself." He ran his palm over his whiskers. 

"Not until you're stronger."

"Are you talking about my smell or my health?"

That coaxed a tiny smile from her. She took hold of his hand 
and gave it a quick squeeze. "Tell you what, I'll wash your 
clothes tomorrow. We'll worry about your personal hygiene once 
you're feeling better."     

"You could always give me a sponge bath." He waggled his brows.

"You are clearly hallucinating again." 

Deciding to go with the idea, he gently pulled her to his 
chest. Gathering her into his arms, he stage-whispered into her 
ear, "Make all my hallucinations come true, Scully."

She snaked her arms around his ribs and surprised him by 
clutching him fiercely. Her show of affection spawned a lump in 
his throat that swamped his eyes with tears. Not quite trusting 
his voice, he returned her embrace, held her, sank his fingers 
into her still-damp hair. If he could have strung more than two 
comprehensible words together, he would have told her how much 
he needed her...how much he loved her...how much he had always 
loved her and now couldn't imagine his life without her.

"Scully, I--" was all he managed to say before his voice gave 
out.

"You need to rest," she murmured against his collarbone. 

She started to rise, but he found he couldn't release her. Not 
yet. 

"Stay," he begged.

She hesitated, then nodded against his neck. "For a little 
while," she promised, her words sounding watery and unguarded. 

She shifted her position so that she lay beside him, her head 
pillowed on his arm, and he rolled to face her, curving his 
body to fit with hers. Pressing his lips to the crown of her 
head, he realized the ache in his chest had nothing at all to 
do with the fire on the mountain, and everything to do with the 
fire in his heart. 

*   *   *

Noontime. Mulder scratched his naked chest and rose on unsteady 
legs to empty his bladder while Scully continued to sleep on 
their bed of animal skins. He couldn't believe she'd spent the 
entire night...and morning...wrapped in his arms. Too bad he'd 
slept through most of it. Damn smoke inhalation. He shuffled on 
bare feet out of the shelter.

Outside, he discovered half a dozen similar shelters in various 
stages of deconstruction. Men, women and children chattered in 
an unfamiliar language around dismantled tents while they 
rolled up animal hides and packed baskets. The smell of 
roasting meat drew his attention to a sizzling carcass that was 
propped up on a wooden spit over an open fire about thirty feet 
away. Jesus, the aroma made his mouth water.

Pee. He'd come out here to pee. Better do it before anyone 
noticed he was up and about. Ducking behind the nearest tree, 
he unzipped his pants and took what felt like the longest piss 
of his life.

"Muhl-dar!" A child suddenly appeared behind him, startling him 
so badly he nearly sprayed himself.

He peered over his shoulder. Shit, it was the girl. Gini? Is 
that what Scully said her name was?

"Uh...I'll...uh...be right with you...Gini...in just a jiff--"

But the girl was already running off in the direction of the 
tents and shouting to the others, "Muhl-dar yeh-zihn! Muhl-dar 
ha-neh-al-enji."

He finished his business as quickly as possible and had just 
barely gotten himself tucked back into his pants when a small 
crowd began to gather around him. At least twenty people stared 
at him with unblinking, brown eyes.

He offered them an embarrassed smile. "Hey," he said, feeling 
dizzy and weak. His legs felt like they might give out any 
second and he couldn't quite catch his breath no matter how 
hard he tried to suck in a lungful of air. He decided to sit 
down -- uh, away from the tree -- and took three shaky steps 
before lowering himself into a squat. All twenty of his curious 
visitors squatted, too.

Except Gini, who ran off once again, presumably to bring back 
the rest of the camp to watch him either puke or pass out.   

So now what? 

"Anyone know any good jokes?" 

Apparently not. 

"We could sing All Along the Watchtower."

More onlookers joined the widening circle. They seemed to be 
settling in for some sort of show, although he had no idea what 
they were expecting from him. He wished Scully would wake up 
and get her ass out here. Better than that, he wished he would 
wake up to find out this was all a bad dream. 

A young woman with braids approached, flanked by a tall guy and 
an older gray-haired man. The men looked all business as they 
sidestepped through the crowd, closing in on Mulder. The taller 
guy moved to the front where he squatted an arm's length away.

"Dzeh," he said, tapping his chest and staring straight into 
Mulder's eyes. Then he pointed at Mulder. "Muhl-dar?"

"Yours truly."

"Dzeh. Muhl-dar." The man pointed back and forth between them.

"Okay, so now we know each other's names. What next, 
Mister...uh...Dzeh?"

Dzeh pulled a knife from his belt. Mulder tensed and reached 
for his gun, but Dzeh set the knife on the ground between them. 

The knife had a serviceable stone blade and what appeared to be 
a bone handle. Dzeh sat back on his haunches and looked up 
expectantly. Jesus, what the hell did this guy want? Was Mulder 
supposed to pick up the knife and admire it? Or was it a 
warning? He guessed that whatever he decided to do next must be 
very important. 

Too bad he was clueless about what it should be.

Klizzie came to his rescue. Amidst protests from the onlookers, 
she scurried forward to hunker at Mulder's feet. Keeping her 
eyes downcast, she tentatively tapped his wristwatch, and then 
pointed at the knife.

Ah! A trade! Mulder unbuckled his watch and held it up for Dzeh 
to see. Dzeh reached for it, but before he could take it, 
Mulder shook his head and withdrew the watch.

"Mulder, what the hell are you doing?" Scully had joined the 
outer fringes of the crowd, standing with hands on her hips and 
an expression of incredulity on her face. "If he wants your 
watch, give it to him."

Mulder studied the crowd's reaction. Scully's interruption had 
produced frowns all around. The women looked apprehensive and 
crouched lower to the ground. The men sat up straighter with 
hands poised over the handles of their knives. Knives that 
looked very much like the one on the ground in front of him. 

This was a not a simple trade but a test. And everyone watched 
to see if he was going to pass or fail.

"Scully, I know what I'm doing," he said firmly. 

"Mulder, these people saved your life. You--"

"Scully!" Mulder barked at her, putting as much anger into his 
voice as he could muster. 

This was a patriarchal society. These people, men and women 
alike, weren't apt to respect a man who allowed a woman to tell 
him what to do -- or a man who made a lousy trade -- and at the 
moment, respect was absolutely essential. 

"Scully, do *not* say another word." 

He would apologize to her later. Right now he fastened his eyes 
on Dzeh's necklace.

Large, curving claws, maybe from a bear, lined a rawhide cord 
around Dzeh's neck. Intricately carved bone beads separated the 
claws, making the necklace a showy piece of jewelry. Mulder 
guessed it was worth far more than an ordinary knife.

Mulder held up the watch and pointed at the necklace.

Dzeh took a moment to consider the trade. Mulder hoped he was 
reading this situation right. Otherwise he had ticked off 
Scully for no good reason and they would probably both be 
killed before he could apologize.

Finally, Dzeh nodded his head and ceremoniously removed his 
necklace. He held it up, high enough for the entire crowd to 
see. Mulder imitated his gesture and held his watch aloft, too. 
Then Dzeh leaned forward and with great deference draped the 
necklace over Mulder's head. Relieved, Mulder returned the 
gesture by fastening the watch around Dzeh's wrist.

A wide grin split Dzeh's bearded face. He gave Mulder several 
appreciative whacks on the shoulder, nearly toppling him. He 
laughed a great belly laugh before rising to his feet, and then 
everyone began talking at once, coming forward to clap Mulder's 
shoulder, looking pleased with the outcome of things. Best of 
all, someone was carving the delicious smelling roast.

After the last person had come forward to congratulate him, 
Scully approached with arms folded across her chest. "What was 
that all about?" 

"Looks like we're having a par-tay, Scully," Mulder said, 
avoiding her frown and pointing at the roasting meat. "I'm 
hungry enough to eat a mastodon. Aren't you?"

Scully's anger melted into concern at the reference to his 
hunger. She crouched beside him. "How did you know what to do?" 
she asked.

"I didn't. Just went with a gut feeling."

She pursed her lips as she watched Klizzie approach with two 
platters of food. "You know I hate gut feelings."

"I know." He accepted a plate of juicy meat and fresh greens. 
"Thanks for going with it though," he said around a mouthful of 
the most delicious roast he'd ever tasted.

*   *   *

Klizzie's heart felt lighter than goose down. Muhl-dar and Dzeh 
were Trading Partners! That meant the newcomers were no longer 
strangers but kin, official members of Owl Clan.

She chuckled to herself. It was silly to have become so 
attached to the newcomers, but, like two lost children, they 
had needed her and she enjoyed helping them. Caring for them 
was like caring for the babies of Dzeh's cousins, a task she 
enjoyed. Since she had no children of her own, her arms were 
empty enough to lend a willing hand to others in need.

Which was exactly what she was doing now. 

The Clan would be leaving at sunup, so Klizzie was putting 
together some necessities to leave behind with Day-nuh and 
Muhl-dar, since he was not yet well enough to travel... 
certainly not all the way to Turkey Lake, which would take 
seven or eight days of strenuous walking and climbing. Today's 
simple celebration feast had worn him out; he'd had to retire 
to his skins at dusk to rest. 

Klizzie surveyed the items she'd gathered. Flints for fire, 
scrapers for cleaning furs, a sheep's bladder for carrying 
water, a buffalo blanket, three bone hooks and catgut for 
fishing, two new points for their spears, an amole root, 
cattails for Day-nuh's Moon Time, a brand new men's garment 
made from deer hide, and a supply of food that included dried 
meat, last year's nuts, some greens, berries and four fresh 
squirrels killed just yesterday. She packed everything but the 
food into her best travel pack. Then she put the food into a 
basket.

It didn't seem nearly enough. They would have no cooking skins, 
medicines, axes, snares or bolos, and Klizzie had none to 
share. Would Muhl-dar and Day-nuh be okay without these things? 
She wished she had more to give.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her fears about the 
newcomers' uncertain future. They would be fine, she told 
herself. They had lived many seasons without her help. 
Obviously they were skilled and intelligent. 

But to be left alone...

No one wanted to be without the protection of their clan. Being 
without kin meant certain death, sooner or later. And the 
loneliness would be the most difficult thing of all. Thank the 
Spirits they at least had each other.

Deciding to add one more item to the meager collection of 
supplies, Klizzie searched her own travel pack for her comb, 
her Joining Day gift from Dzeh. When she found it, she held it 
for a moment, tracing the carefully incised design with her 
finger while she recalled the moment Dzeh had given it to her. 
He had smiled at her with his handsome, crooked smile. His 
affection for her had made her heart feel like a pond when the 
ice goes out, ready for spring and the return of ducks. That 
feeling had not left her once in all the seasons they had been 
together.

Without regret, she placed the comb in the pack for Day-nuh.  

Supplies and food ready, she carried them to A-zey-al-ih Lodge.

Inside the medicine tent, she found Day-nuh and Muhl-dar 
sleeping together on the animal skins, his arm curled 
protectively around her shoulders. Not wanting to disturb them, 
she set the pack and basket by the entrance as quietly as she 
could. When she began to tiptoe away, she was stopped by the 
sound of Day-nuh's voice.

"Klizzie?" The fox-haired woman sat up, her blue eyes curious.

Klizzie whispered, so as not to wake Muhl-dar, "I brought you 
some things." She gestured at the packs, trying to get her 
point across. Day-nuh nodded, so Klizzie once more turned to 
go. But before she could step outside, Day-nuh was off the furs 
and coming toward her.

"Klizzie..." she said, her gaze grazing the packs. Day-nuh 
opened her arms and embraced her, bringing tears to her eyes. 
"Thank you. For everything. Thank you."

"Thahn-kew?" Klizzie repeated, returning her hug.

"Yes. Thank you."

"Yah-a-da-hal-yon-ih Muhl-dar," Klizzie whispered, holding Day-
nuh tightly. She could not bring herself to say the word 
goodbye. 

*   *   *

"Ow! Mulder!"

"Huh?"

"You're poking me."

Mulder jerked his hips away from Scully's backside, opening up 
a space of several inches between them on the animal skins. 
"Sorry."

She turned to glare at him over her shoulder. "Not your..." -- 
she waved a hand in the general direction of his lap -- "Your 
teeth!"

"My tee..." Now he was really confused. He ran his tongue over 
his front teeth.

"These." Scully reached around to give Dzeh's necklace a tug. 
"Could you take this thing off, please?"

"But I like it. Brings out the caveman in me, don't you think?" 
He grinned and rattled the bone beads. 

"Go back to sleep, Tarzan."

"Tarzan was a *jungle* man, Scully, not a caveman."

"Call him whatever you like, I'm sure he slept through the 
night. Now go to sleep," she said, giving him a slitted, 
sidelong glance.

He let the necklace drop back onto his bare chest. "All I've 
been doing is sleeping...for *days*. I'm feeling..." -- he 
snuggled closer and prodded her ear with his nose -- "wide 
awake."

God, she smelled good. 

She rolled over to face him. He tried to read her expression. 
Sadness? Fear? Longing? Certainly not dismissal, which was what 
he was expecting.

Her next words were sad and deadly serious. "Mulder, you almost 
died. You *did* die." Imagined loss wavered in her voice and 
her obvious anguish cut off his own breath, threatening to 
strangle him as surely as the smoke that had invaded his lungs 
several days ago.

To steady himself, he stroked her bare shoulder with the backs 
of his fingers and focused his blurring eyes on the slim strap 
of her camisole. She must have retrieved it from his coat 
pocket while he'd been sleeping. What had gone through her mind 
when she found it there? Memories of her kidnapping? Worries 
that, if he had died, she would be alone in the Ice Age? 

That was his greatest fear. Not of being alone here, 
necessarily, but of being left anywhere without her. 

Images from his recent dream arose in his mind: Scully leaving 
him, walking out the door...the way Diana had once done. 

He felt the need to anchor himself to her, so he folded his 
arms around her and hugged her to his chest. Urgency ballooned 
inside him. The words "don't leave me, don't leave me" unnerved 
him from fingertips to the soles of his feet. He wanted to hear 
her say, "I'm right here. I will always be with you."

Instead she said, "Mulder, I can't breathe."

"Welcome to the club," he mumbled, and tried to relax his hold.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, sounding alarmed. She'd 
evidently taken his comment literally and thought he was 
suffering a relapse because she sat up and reached for his 
wrist to check his pulse.

"I'm not having a heart attack, Scully." I'm having an attack 
of the heart. He couldn't tear his eyes from her lips. "But 
you're welcome to try mouth-to-mouth, if you like. Just in 
case." 

Her right brow arched as he inched his mouth closer to hers. He 
paused, a millimeter away. Would she let him kiss her? She 
exhaled, a quivering puff of air warmed by her lungs that fired 
his skin. His bones turned liquid and his muscles went numb. He 
leaned in and nudged her lips with his, feather-light. Jesus, 
sweet Jesus. So little pressure, but enough to set his heart 
pounding.

Please, Scully, want me as much as I want you.

The tip of her tongue skated tentatively across his lower lip, 
jolting him with its unexpected warmth. She teased him with it, 
advancing and then retreating, only to advance again, 
delicately skidding into his mouth. 

How many times had he wished for this...imagined it?

God, don't let this be just another dream.

Her fingers settled on his chest, timid, inquisitive and so 
damn fucking hot it sent a tsunami of blood to his groin. And 
when her nails grazed his nipple, oh, Christ, he was lost. He 
rolled her underneath him and plunged his tongue to the back of 
her mouth.

Get inside her, inside her, inside her...

Take her...

Oh, God...could he?

Not waiting for God's answer, he thrust a hand beneath her 
camisole, found her left breast and squeezed. She arched into 
his palm and her nipple puckered as he alternately clenched and 
released her. She parted her legs, knees raised on either side 
of his hips, causing his pulse to roar in his ears. She 
actually wanted him. She wasn't pulling away. She was going to 
allow him to do this...to make love to her. He ground his hips 
into the cradle of her thighs, nipped at her neck, ran his 
tongue from her collarbone to her jaw, and growled when her 
lips met his once more.

"Mulder." The word echoed inside his mouth.

He reluctantly broke their kiss. Had he misunderstood?

"Are you up for this?" she asked.

Shit, he couldn't be more "up." His erection was straining 
against the fabric of his jeans. Too many clothes. They had on 
too damn many clothes. "You're the doctor, Scully," -- he 
swallowed hard -- "You tell me."

"I think..." She finger-painted an invisible stripe down his 
spine from neck to tailbone, sending a lightning bolt of desire 
to his crotch. "We need to slow down."

Of course. He was rushing things.

"I want you more than I've ever wanted anything, Scully." The 
words spilled out, heartfelt and uncensored.

She took a deep breath and said, "I want you, too." She sounded 
as if she meant it...*really* meant it. "But let's take our 
time. Okay?"

"Okay. I can do slow. I think." He leaned in to kiss her, but 
she halted him with the touch of her finger to his lower lip.

"One more thing."

"What's that?" He sucked her finger into his mouth.

"I, uh..." She paused, looking embarrassed.

"Wha ish it?" he asked around her finger.

"I'm having my period."

"Oh." Big deal, a little menstrual blood. Did she really think 
that would turn him off? She was frowning. Maybe the idea of 
having sex during her period turned *her* off. Or maybe she was 
physically uncomfortable. Cramps or something. He released her 
finger. "Would it...uh...hurt you?"

"No. It just might be, you know...messy."

"Scully, the linens aren't ours. Who cares?" He almost added 
that sex was always messy -- hell, even masturbating was messy 
-- but then thought better of it. "I'm fine with it."

"Well, it's just...I thought you should know."

"Doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you."

"Then lose the pants, G-Man." The husky way she said it made 
every hair on his body stand at attention.

He wasted no time rising to his knees and unfastening his belt 
and fly. He quickly stripped out of his pants and boxers. 
Completely naked, he said, "Your turn."  

She sat up and slowly drew her camisole up and over her head, 
exposing her bare breasts. The left one was red where he had 
clutched her a moment ago. Jesus, he could see the pink 
silhouette of his fingers branded into her white skin. "Did 
I...did I hurt you?" He pointed to the mark.

She looked down, an expression of uncertainty on her face. Then 
shook her head and traced the pattern of his hand with her 
index finger. The sight of her topless, touching herself, 
increased the pressure in his groin. She was stunningly 
beautiful in the half-light of the dying fire, naked from the 
waist up, nipples puckered to rigid points.

"The rest..." Mulder implored, waving at the skins she wore 
around her hips. He assumed she'd gotten the skirt from 
Klizzie, something to wear while her own clothes dried. Her 
pants and turtleneck were hanging from the shelter's bone 
supports by the hearth. Right next to her sexy black panties 
and bra.

She fumbled with the knot at her left hip and her breasts 
joggled as she worked to unfasten the garment. They appeared 
heavier than he'd imagined, maybe due to her time of month, and 
it was all he could do not to grip himself and stroke his hard 
cock to orgasm while she stripped.

"I can't seem to--" 

"Here, let me." He crawled forward, erection bobbing as he 
knelt in front of her. Nudging her hands aside he took hold of 
the skirt and yanked. It tore easily away, pulling Scully 
toward him at the same time. Her breasts bumped his chest and 
he dropped the skirt. His hands climbed her back, kneaded her 
ribs, returned to her hips, her ass. He pulled her into his lap 
and kissed her deeply.

She returned his kiss and gripped his arms as if she never 
intended to release him. God, he was so grateful for that. For 
her. 

Hands roving across her backside, he discovered she still wore 
a slim garment slung between her legs, fastened around her 
waist by a string of rawhide.

"Scully, you're not naked."

"Feminine hygiene protection, Pleistocene style."

"Ah." That got the better of his curiosity. He pulled back to 
examine the garment, which looked like a deer-hide g-string. 
"Makes you look like an Ice Age stripper. Kinda sex-say." He 
tugged at the belt.

"Hardly. But it's keeping your lap clean."

"I don't want my lap clean." 

He found where the belt tied in front and pulled the bow loose. 
She gathered the garment and its contents, and set it aside, 
out of view.

"It's not disgusting, Scully."

"I didn't say it was. I just don't particularly want to roll in 
it."

Now she sat bare-naked in his lap, with nothing at all between 
them. He could feel the heat of her sex and longed to be inside 
her.

"Scully, it's gotta be now." He barely recognized his own 
rasping voice.

By way of agreement, she leaned back on the skins, knees drawn 
up, legs separated just enough for him to get a glimpse of 
curls and pliant lips. Rising onto his knees, he positioned 
himself between her legs and brushed a knuckle across her curls 
before sliding his finger into her humid depths. She watched 
him, wide-eyed, surprising him with her bold stare. He had half 
expected she might hide behind lowered lashes while making 
love. But the more he thought about it, the more sense her 
unabashed gaze made. Scientists are curious and she was above 
all else a scientist. 

He delved more deeply into her, making her gasp. Then, 
desperate to make her gasp again, he pushed even deeper. She 
rewarded him with a small groan.

"I want you inside me," she said.

"I am inside you." Heaven help him, he was actually in her and 
she felt even more wonderful than he had always imagined.

His pleasure increased when she reached down to curl her hand 
around his rigid cock. "I want this," she said, squeezing him, 
stroking him. Oh, Jesus.

"I thought...you said...you wanted to go slow...oohhh, 
Sculleee." He inhaled as deeply as his congested lungs would 
allow.

"I'm in no hurry." She lay supine, legs splayed, her hand 
gripping him, his index finger lost in her depths.

He grazed her clitoris with his thumb and felt her inner walls 
contract. She was slick with a heady mixture of desire and her 
monthly flow. He stirred her juices, and was enchanted when his 
touch inspired a soft moan.

"Is it okay if I use two fingers?" he asked.

"Mulder, I want this!" she said, sounding desperate and giving 
his erection a not-so-gentle tug.

"We're getting there." 

He inserted a second finger into her and her hips lifted to 
meet his inward thrust. Wanting to see her come, he began to 
rhythmically glide in and out of her, applying calculated 
pressure to her clitoris with his thumb on each down-stroke. 
Her breathing quickened. A sheen of sweat slicked her flushed 
cheeks, her chest, her abdomen. The palm of her hand felt fiery 
hot on his erection. And all the while, her eyes never left 
his. She must have wanted to see his reaction to her orgasm 
every bit as much as he wanted to see her climax. She was so 
beautiful. So open. He could scarcely believe they were here, 
doing this...that she trusted him in this way, wanted him as 
much as he wanted her, was allowing him to touch her there. The 
feeling was extraordinary. The emotion overwhelming. He hadn't 
realized he could love anyone this much. 

Without warning and almost before he had a chance to appreciate 
it, she was climaxing, teeth clenched. She inhaled and then 
held her breath, while her hips rose upward and her eyes 
finally squeezed shut. She bore down on his hand and he felt 
moisture seep across his palm. She released her hold on him to 
grip the fur blankets while waves of pleasure contracted her 
muscles.

"Mulder!" Her lungs expelled his name, and then she was 
breathing again, gulping for air, relaxing her grip on the 
furs, pulling back from his hand. "Oh, God." She opened her 
eyes and caught him staring at her.

"Jesus, Scully." His fingers slipped out of her. "You...are..."

"A mess?" She frowned at his bloody hand. "Sorry."

"For what?" To be honest, he found her blood erotic. Her 
menstruation was just another facet of her femaleness, like her 
breasts and her satiny skin and the mind-blowing cleft between 
her legs. His perfect opposite, alluring because she was 
nothing like him. He loved their differences -- had always 
loved their differences.

He moved up over her body on hands and knees, and before he 
laid himself on top of her, he painted the outline of a heart 
above her own heart with the moisture on his fingertip. "I love 
you," he whispered to her marked breast.

Her eyes brimmed with tears at his quiet confession, and seeing 
her tears, his own vision blurred. To keep himself from crying, 
he lowered his body onto hers, and reveled in the feel of her 
beneath him.

"My turn?" he asked.

She chuckled. "Yes, Mulder, your turn. Although, I do plan to 
participate, too, you know."

"Please, do."

He lifted his hips enough to snake a hand between their bodies 
to guide himself into her. She tensed when he pressed against 
her opening, and then relaxed again as he slid into her, pushed 
forward, deeper. She wrapped her legs around his back and 
moaned. Jesus, she felt so...god...damn...good.

He'd wanted her for so long and it turned out she had been 
worth every minute of the wait.

It was unthinkable to withdraw from her, even a millimeter or 
two, and yet the desire to start thrusting was unstoppable. Ten 
thousand years of animal instinct steered this act. Copulation 
required movement and no amount of restraint could hold him 
still now.

So he withdrew from her, nearly disconnecting their bodies, 
only to ram home a split second later, causing her to bark out 
his name. Her fingers dug into his back when he thrust a second 
time, but he barely felt the bite of her nails. He was focused 
on nothing but the part of him that was joined to her, driving 
hard, pushing into her as deeply as he could possibly go. 
Again. And again.

The woman he loved...spirit and body...was under him...around 
him.  

While the beat of his heart thrummed in his ears, desire stung 
his eyes, numbed his fingers, hammered his ribs. He hoped his 
frantic pounding felt as good to her as it did to him. He 
rocked against her, relentless and swift, jarring her beneath 
him, while satisfaction overran him and gratification seemed 
only a heartbeat away.

He felt his orgasm approaching and a pang of guilt slowed his 
movements.

"Scully...I'm not sure...I can hold out..." He felt selfish. 
Knew he should pull out, slow down. "I... You... Oh..."

"Mulder...you talk too much."

Oh, Christ, he was at the point of no return. Semen throbbed 
out of him as the words mine, mine, mine roared through his 
brain.

When there was nothing left in him, he rolled off her and onto 
his back. They lay there for several minutes without speaking, 
a sticky mixture of his semen and her blood drying slowly on 
his thighs. He felt drowsy and sated and happier than he'd felt 
in a very long time. Maybe happier than he'd ever felt in his 
entire life. Beside him, glossed with sweat and smelling 
delicious, Scully was tracing delicate circles on his damp 
chest with her index finger.

So this was "basking." 

"I'm rethinking my theory," he said, gathering her closer.

She continued to languidly stroke his chest. "Which theory?"

"The one about us."

"You had a theory about us?"

"Yeah, the one where we were physically altered on a genetic 
level when we traveled back in time, affecting the way we felt 
about each other. I don't believe that now."

"Why not?"

"Because my attraction for you is normal, not paranormal. 
You're sexy. There's no X-File in that."

Her fingers froze over the spot on his shoulder where she had 
once shot him. "Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"Where is your scar?" 

"What?" He pushed her hand away to search his shoulder for the 
familiar, nerveless knot on his skin. 

Unbelievably, the scar was gone.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER SEVEN 

"It's not here," Mulder said, his fingers searching for the 
old, familiar scar on his shoulder.

"Where did it go?" Scully sat up on the sleeping skins. 

The fire had burned down to a few cherry-red coals, making it 
difficult to see in the dark hut. 

Mulder crawled from the bed, located his jacket, and dug into 
the pocket for his flashlight. Light in hand, he aimed its beam 
at his chest, high and to the left, where Scully's gunshot had 
marked him -- presumably for life.

Not a trace of his scar remained.

"What happened to it?" she asked.

Shaking his head, he shined the light on his left thigh, where 
Lucas Henry's bullet had pierced him four years ago. A quarter-
sized scar still puckered his skin. "That one's there." He 
crooked his knee and inspected the exit wound. "Front and 
back."

Scully crawled closer and ran her fingers over his now 
unblemished shoulder. "This is impossible."

"Maybe not." 

His paranormal radar was picking up a signal the way it always 
did when they encountered an X-File. He reached around Scully 
and probed the back of her neck, feeling for the telltale bump 
of her implanted chip. 

It was there. Strange. He'd expected it to be missing. Okay, so 
maybe his radar was off today.

Then again... 

"Turn around," he ordered.

"Why? What's the matter?" She did as he asked and presented him 
with her bare back. 

He lifted her hair and ran his light over the tiny scar on her 
nape, then down her spine to her tattoo. "Um...Scully? Your 
tattoo..."

"What about it?" She craned to see over her shoulder. "It's 
there, isn't it?"

"It's there." He traced it with his finger. "Sort of."

"What the hell does that mean?" 

"It appears to be..."  -- he leaned in for a closer look -- 
"faded."

"Faded?"

"Mm hm."

She pivoted to face him and he found himself unexpectedly 
spotlighting her bare breasts. He clicked off his light.

"Sorry."

She drew a sleeping skin over her lap to cover herself. 
"Mulder, any number of factors can cause a tattoo to lose 
pigment: substandard inking practices, improper follow-up care, 
overexposure to the sun--"

"Have you been sunbathing in the nude, Scully?"

Her frown told him she was in no mood for jokes. "Skin types 
vary. Some don't hold ink. The fact that my tattoo is fading 
means nothing in and of itself. It certainly doesn't mean we 
were physically altered by the...the...time travel thing."

"Thing?"

"Event, phenomenon, whatever."

"Then how do you explain the disappearance of my scar?" 

"Scar tissue can lighten with age."

"Scully, it's completely gone!" He turned the flashlight on it 
again. Satisfied it truly wasn't there, he said, "I've got a 
theory, if you'd like to hear it."

She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "I'm 
listening." 

"I think we're regressing."

"Regressing?" 

"Growing younger." He held up a palm to stall her certain 
objection. "My scar and your tattoo are the most recent marks 
on us respectively. Now they're gone -- or almost gone in your 
case -- suggesting a shift to an earlier version of ourselves." 

She raised an eyebrow. "One missing scar and a faded tattoo are 
your proof that we're growing younger?"

"Suppose time travel isn't like stepping through a door, where 
you're either on one side or the other."

"Then where are we?"

"In the broadest sense, we may still be *in* the door. In 
what's known as Flux Space."

"Flux...? Mulder, my undergrad work was in physics. Yet I've 
never heard of Flux Space."

"It's a bit...mystical."

"Ahh." Her expression told him she was translating that to mean 
"paranormal bunk." 

"Flux Space isn't a portal, per se, but is thought to be an 
inter-dimension that could serve as one. It doesn't conform to 
conventional physics."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Believers in the phenomenon claim it can be reached by way of 
technologically-created dimensional portals, or through 
naturally occurring sub-space anomalies like worm holes."

"And what do these believers say is inside 'Flux Space'?"

"That's just it...nobody knows for sure. But proponents of the 
theory hypothesize that it's not a physical 3-D space or even a 
4-D space-time."

Her tongue skated across her lower lip as she considered such a 
possibility. "Fifth dimensional." 

"Exactly. But here's the 64-thousand dollar question: Is the 
fifth dimension a spatial dimension or a time-related 
dimension?"

"Time has only one dimension." 

"Does it? A second dimension might explain how we could have 
traveled here to the Pleistocene where we're moving forward in 
time while concurrently experiencing a secondary physical 
regression, which is out of sync with the first." 

"You're saying we traveled backward 12,000 years...and are now 
moving simultaneously forward and backward in time?"

"That's what I'm saying. We're traveling along two time 
continuums at once."

Although she continued to frown, he could tell she was 
evaluating his premise, picking through it for reasonable 
details while casting aside those that would contradict logic. 

"All right. Let's suppose for the sake of argument that Flux 
Space exists and is responsible for putting us here in the 
Pleistocene, where we are moving forward in time, interacting 
with the locals, while also regressing, going back to younger 
versions of ourselves..." She looked into his eyes. 
"Regression? Really?"

"Kinda makes your head ache to think about it, huh?"

She didn't smile. If anything, her expression became more 
serious. "Where will it stop, Mulder? Will we regress to 
infancy? Conception? Past lives?"

He was certain there was a Shirley MacLaine joke in there 
somewhere, but at the moment he was drawing a blank. "I don't 
know. You shot me in '95. Lucas Henry shot me in '94. If we're 
growing younger, the scar on my leg should be the next to go. 
The amount of time it takes for that to happen should tell us 
when to expect additional changes." 

Like the disappearance of his fillings and his vaccination 
scar, or the reappearance of his tonsils and his... He glanced 
down between his legs at his circumcised penis.

"Hopefully, we'll find a way back home before the process goes 
too far," he said.

He noticed Scully was staring at his penis, too, with an odd 
expression on her face. 

"What?" he asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"I was just thinking about my...um...infertility."

Now his eyes fell to her lap. 

If his Flux Space theory proved correct, then at some point 
she'd regain her ability to bear children. 

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. 

Back in their own time, he'd have been happy for her -- 
especially after what had happened to Emily -- but here in the 
Ice Age... Panic fluttered in his gut at the idea of getting 
her pregnant. He didn't want to have children...anywhere. Here 
it would be a mistake of gargantuan proportions. Giant snakes, 
saber-toothed cats, killer cavemen -- danger seemed to be 
lurking behind every damn Pleistocene tree. How the hell do you 
keep a kid safe in a place like this? 

Add to the mix the threat of regression...well, it would be 
downright irresponsible to bring a child into this world. 

They'd have to be careful. Watch for signs that Scully might be 
regressing back to a time when she was still fertile. The chip 
in her neck -- when it disappeared, then no more sex...it was 
as simple as that.

Christ, who the hell was he kidding? No more sex? Fuck. 

This had to be the cruelest cosmic joke of all time. Make love 
once and God tosses a ticking time bomb into their laps. 
Literally. Hope you're having yourself a mastodon-sized laugh 
up there, Big Guy. 

For the first time ever, Mulder began hoping Scully would prove 
him wrong.

Noticing his stare, Scully hugged the sleeping skin to her 
body. "Mulder, there's an aspect of your theory that doesn't 
track."

Yes! Argue me down, Scully! "Only one?" 

Her wry smile told him she believed his theory was in fact 
riddled with holes but she was willing to limit herself to just 
one for now. "My tattoo is only a little over a year old, much 
more recent than the scar on your shoulder. Yet it's still 
visible, whereas your scar has completely vanished."

Good point. "Maybe we're regressing at different rates. Some 
people age faster than others. Doesn't it make sense we might 
regress differently, too?"

"It doesn't make sense that we would regress at all." Her brow 
furrowed. "Mulder, you do remember being shot by me, don't 
you?"

"How could I forget?" 

"If you're growing younger, shouldn't your mind be regressing 
along with your body?"

"Losing memories at the same rate as years." Another good 
point. "I dunno, Scully, but there's some relief in knowing we 
won't be acting like children, even if we end up looking like 
them."

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Okay, so *you* won't," he said with a chuckle. "Maybe I'm 
already there."

She reached across the furs to retrieve her clothes. "Let's 
continue this conversation after we have something definitive 
to go on. Right now, I'd like to clean up. You could use a 
bath, too." 

He looked down at himself, at his thighs, his penis, the 
fingers on his right hand, all smeared with traces of her 
menstrual blood. It made him feel marked by her and he almost 
hated to wash off this tangible proof of their intimate act so 
soon.

Patting the furs, he waggled his brows. "How 'bout a quickie 
before we get dressed?"

"No, thank you." She was already pulling her camisole over her 
head. "I'll make breakfast when we get back." 

Food? Several days of unplanned fasting, followed by an equally 
unplanned but considerably more appreciated sexual encounter, 
had left him feeling famished. "You're going to cook?"

"Yes, I'm going to cook."

He scrambled to his knees and began rummaging through the furs 
for his boxers. "Which way to the bath house?"

*   *   *

Pretending to busy herself with the knot on her fur skirt, 
Scully surreptitiously watched Mulder dress. No two ways about 
it, he was a good-looking man. Long-limbed and graceful, body 
fleeced with a smattering of springy dark hair, muscles toned 
from miles of running. Whether dressed in a suit or buck-naked 
like now, he was tempting. 

She remembered once describing him as "cute" to one of her 
girlfriends. An understatement, to say the least. She'd ended 
the conversation by bemoaning the fact that Mulder was 
excessively devoted to his work and all his good looks were 
going to waste.

In truth, she didn't know that they were wasted. She really had 
no idea what Mulder did in his off hours. It was entirely 
possible, even plausible, that some other woman, or several 
women, enjoyed his company when he wasn't chasing mutants and 
EBEs with her. Just because he didn't come on to her in any 
serious way didn't mean he was living the life of a monk.

To assume he was having no sex because she was having no sex 
was projecting. She was the one who had made a conscious 
decision to devote her life to their work and ultimately to 
him, not the other way around.

His love life -- past and present -- remained as mysterious as 
Flux Space to her.

Not that she'd shared any intimate details of her past 
romances. He knew only a little about Jack, and nothing at all 
about Daniel. He'd made some assumptions about Ed Jerse.

The fact of the matter was she and Mulder rarely talked about 
their personal lives.

She hoped that might change after this morning. Making love 
with him had been wonderful, satisfying on both a physical and 
emotional level. Lying beneath him, having him inside her, had 
felt--

"Santa must be in town," Mulder said, nodding toward two 
bulging backpacks that sat just inside the hut's closed 
entrance. 

His legs disappeared into his jeans. When he zipped his fly, 
Scully found herself suppressing a sigh. God, he was clueless 
about his effect on her.  

Next to the two packs was an odd stack of fist-sized stones, 
piled one on top of the other, looking like a small, granite 
snowman.

Scully went to examine the packs while Mulder scrounged through 
the furs for his shirt.

"Klizzie must have left these." She pulled a carved comb from 
the first container and recognized it as the one Klizzie had 
used two nights ago at the lake.

Mulder located and sniffed his shirt. Wrinkling his nose in 
disgust, he discarded it and searched for his jacket instead. 
"Did she leave any food?"

There was a basket of strawberries in the second pack. Scully 
still associated their smell with Mulder's near-death 
experience, so she gladly passed them on to him. "Help 
yourself."

He showed no similar distaste and ate greedily while she 
explored the contents of the packs.

As she removed each item, she held it up for him to see. 
"Flint, presumably for starting fires. Several razor-like 
tools..." These appeared very sharp. She touched a finger to 
one, testing its edge. "You might be able to shave with it."

"I'm willing if you're willing," he said, talking around a 
mouthful of berries.

The idea of unshaved legs and underarms didn't thrill her, but 
these Pleistocene razors looked a little too risky. She set 
them aside, deciding they must have some purpose other than 
hair removal. "What do you suppose this is for?" She held up 
what appeared to be the bladder of a rather large animal.

"Wine skin?"

"Or water bag." She set it aside. "Three bone hooks, two fur 
blankets--"

"And a partridge in a pear tree," Mulder sang. When she frowned 
at him, he shrugged and said, "We're opening presents."

She uncoiled a roll of stiff twine. "Catgut...I think." She dug 
deeper. "A couple of spear points. And two soap roots--"

"Those things are soap?"

"Yep. Oh, look!" She held up a buttery- soft piece of deerskin. 
"A change of clothes for you."

He inspected the garment through squinted eyes. "I'm supposed 
to wear that?"

"It's the latest in Pleistocene fashion." She tossed him the 
loincloth before unpacking a wad of cattails.

"What are those for?" Finished with the last of the berries, he 
passed back the empty basket. "You didn't want any of those, 
did you?"

"No, thank you." She took the basket and ignored his cattail 
question. Sex partner or not, she didn't feel like discussing 
the finer points of feminine hygiene with him. Instead she 
listed the contents of the second pack: "Dried meat, nuts...and 
four dead squirrels."

Using his best Homer Simpson impersonation, he hummed, "Mmmmm, 
squirrel." Then he indicated the odd stack of stones with a 
wave. "What do you suppose those are for? Pass the nuts, 
please."

She slid the nuts his way and studied the stones. Their 
presence was clearly no accident. Somebody -- most likely 
Klizzie -- had placed them there on purpose. Although their 
meaning was unclear, it was obvious Klizzie wanted to help 
them, and her generosity was touching.

"Let's get cleaned up," she said, collecting the soap roots and 
comb, planning to take with them with her to the lake. Almost 
as an afterthought, she grabbed the water bag.

Mulder tossed one last nut into his mouth, wiped his hands on 
his pants and rose to follow her out of the shelter.

Outside, they were surprised to find the village was completely 
deserted. All that remained were half a dozen large semi-
circles of mastodon bones -- jawbones from the look of them, 
interlocked and stacked to form the underlying supports for the 
abandoned huts. Stripped of their hides, the shelters were now 
roofless. Not a spear or basket or fur blanket remained in any 
of them.

The campsite must be seasonal, she realized. Hunter-gatherers 
were nomadic people who pursued migrating game. They followed 
their food source, rather than staying put and raising their 
own stock and crops. Agricultural societies wouldn't evolve 
until much later in history.

She pivoted, wondering which direction the tribe had taken. 
"How are we going to find them?"

"Who says we should?" 

"Mulder, we need this group's help. They know how to survive 
here; we don't."

Concern creased his brow and she guessed he was thinking about 
how close he'd come to dying a few days ago.

"Look at that." He pointed to another pile of fist-sized stones 
on the far side of the clearing. "Someone left us a trail of 
bread crumbs."

God bless Klizzie, she was showing them the way.

*   *   *

Hiking through a foggy, lowland swale, Klizzie and Gini 
followed the Clan northeast toward the next range of hills. The 
group moved slowly, every member laden with heavy packs. The 
ground smelled pungent and peaty, and countless irises dotted 
the surrounding marshland with bright, purple flowers. 
Dragonflies the size of Klizzie's hand darted around the 
travelers' heads. When the Clan passed too close to a flock of 
nesting geese, the birds rose up from the reeds in a frenzy of 
flapping wings and raucous calls. 

Klizzie stopped to collect several fist-sized stones, which she 
stacked one on top of the other. Then she placed three more in 
a line upon the ground, pointing in the direction of Tabaha 
Lodge.

Gini watched her arrange the stones. "Will Muhl-dar and Day-nuh 
find us?"

"You have asked me that question more times than a goose hen 
hides her eggs. My answer is still the same: I 
do...not...know." Although Klizzie loved Gini like a daughter, 
the girl's constant pestering was beginning to exhaust her 
patience. "If Muhl-dar and Day-nuh are meant to find us, then 
the Spirits will guide them."

"With the help of your stones." Gini grinned at her.

Klizzie returned the girl's smile. "Yes, with the help of my 
stones."

Turkey Lake was several days hike from Toh-ta Lodge, and it 
would be lucky indeed if the newcomers could find their way, 
even with the help of Spirits and stone markers.

"They might return to their own clan, you know," Klizzie said.

Gini frowned at the idea, her young brow puckering with worry. 
She looked so much like her brother Dzeh that Klizzie's 
impatience melted at the sight of her.

"They will miss the Mastodon Feast," Gini said, clearly 
disappointed.

"Perhaps Eel Clan has a Mastodon Feast of its own."

"With food and gifts and competitions?"

"Why not? Owl Clan is not the only clan to have feasts with 
races and dances and--"

"Blanket toss!" 

The girl's eyes shone with excitement. Blanket toss was the 
highlight of most Mastodon Feasts. To play, thirty or more 
Clan members took their places in a circle, grasping the 
rolled edges of a large blanket made from the skins of 
mastodons. The object of the game was to use the blanket to 
toss a person as high into the air as possible, while the 
player tried to keep his balance. Skilled players did flips 
and, while in the air, they threw out trinkets of ivory, 
tobacco and other gifts to the onlookers. As soon as a player 
lost his footing, another would climb onto the blanket to take 
his place until everyone -- men, women and all but the 
youngest children -- had had a chance to participate.

Blanket toss was not the only fun to be had at a Feast. There 
were cord pulling contests, spear-throwing competitions, long 
distance races, sprints, betting games, storytelling, jokes, 
songs...

And lots of food! 

Last spring, Turtle Clan had hosted an impressive event. This 
year, Klizzie's kin from Badger Clan were waiting at Turkey 
Lake to host the Feast. 

Klizzie felt enthusiasm blossoming in her breast at the thought 
of the upcoming celebration. She was eager to see her Aunt Ho-
Ya and her many cousins. Oh, there would be hugs and happy-
crying and plenty of opportunities to talk.

She rose to her feet, retrieved her pack, and began walking 
again. 

Gini hurried after her. "Klizzie, what is it like to lay with a 
man?" she asked.

Where in the Spirit World had *that* question come from? 
Evidently, Gini was growing up faster than Klizzie realized; 
she tended to think of her as the little four-year-old girl 
she'd met soon after becoming Dzeh's mate. But in truth, the 
child was nearly old enough to have a mate of her own. In just 
two or three summers, Gini would be Joined and move away from 
Owl Clan. Her going was sure to leave an aching emptiness in 
Klizzie's chest. She had taken care of this small orphan ever 
since Gini and Dzeh's mother had died. Saying goodbye to the 
girl would bring many tears. 

"If you love a man, there is nothing better than to lay with 
him on his sleeping skins," Klizzie explained, giving Gini a 
mother's advice. "He can fill you in a way that is hard to 
imagine. It is very pleasant." 

Gini didn't appear convinced. "You love my brother this way?"

Klizzie glanced ahead to where Dzeh was walking and joking with 
several of his cousins. He carried an enormous pack on his back 
and a long spear in his fist. He was muscular and confident. It 
made Klizzie's heart feel light to look upon him. "Yes, Gini, I 
love him. I love him very much."

*   *   *

Trailing Scully through the woods, Mulder suddenly burst into 
song. "Who's the black private dick who's a sex machine with 
all the chicks?" 

"Shaft?" she asked, playing along but not going so far as to 
actually sing. She picked her way between tree trunks and 
giant ferns toward the lake, while he hung back and watched 
her hips sway.

That cute ass is mine, he thought. "Can you dig it?"

"You're in a good mood." 

Yes, he was in a good mood. Correction -- he was in a *great* 
mood. Sex in general had a positive effect on his disposition, 
but sex with Scully had turned out to be the ultimate attitude 
adjuster. The memory of their joining displaced any and all 
concerns about time travel, congested lungs or fading tattoos.

At the moment, the one and only question that nagged him was 
"When are we gonna do it again?"

"So, Scully, when are we gonna do it again?" he asked, cutting 
to the chase.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "You might want to give 
yourself a little time to recover, G-Man. Your respiratory 
system is compromised. Having sex after an injury like 
yours...well, you're lucky the parasympathetic and sympathetic 
outpouring didn't kill you this morning."

*Kill* him? He tagged her shoulder. "Can you think of a better 
way to die?"

She humored him with a tiny smile before continuing along the 
path. 

He smiled, too, as his eyes drifted once again to her curvy 
backside. Her hips were wrapped in animal fur and her gun was 
tucked into her skirt at the small of her back. On top she 
wore her clingy, black camisole. Her legs and feet were bare 
and, sweet Jesus, she looked sexy!

"They say this cat Shaft is a bad mother. Shut your mouth! 
Talkin' 'bout Shaft."

Scully led them to the lake shore and stopped at a sun-
bleached log, spiky with long-armed branches, where she set 
down her things -- two soap roots, Klizzie's comb, and the odd 
water bag.

Mulder had brought his dirty turtleneck with him, intending to 
soak it clean in the lake along with his other clothes while 
he bathed. He also carried the loincloth Klizzie had left, to 
wear while his clothes dried. Dropping his shirt on the 
ground, he draped the loincloth over the tree, and then began 
to strip out of his clothes. He hung his jacket and belt with 
holster and gun on the branch next to the loincloth, then 
added his pants and boxers to his pile of dirty clothes. He 
decided to keep Dzeh's necklace on. It looked manly, he 
thought, and made him want to beat his chest like a gorilla.

Must be the sex that had him so puffed with pride today.

"Shaft! Right on." 

He turned to face the lake, naked, hands on hips, feeling like 
the king of the jungle as he surveyed his territory.

Off to his left, a heron high-stepped cautiously along the 
shore, eyes trained on the water as it hunted for fish. A 
bullfrog hid in the nearby reeds, harrumphing the hollow notes 
of a bass cello. Crickets whined and peepers chirped. Birds 
squawked, cackled, and trilled from every tree branch.

To his right, an enormous beaver lodge created a spiky island 
in the lake about thirty yards out. Lily pads clotted the cove 
in front of it, where dragonflies the size of hummingbirds 
hovered like helicopters. The sun was just beginning to peek 
above the treetops.

The sky was clear, the air smelled sweet, and life was damn 
good.

Particularly since Scully was undressing right in front of 
him. His eyes slid to watch her carefully remove her clothes, 
taking her good ol' sweet time like she was performing a slow 
motion strip-tease.

She caught him looking. "Don't you have clothes to wash?"

Reluctantly, he gathered his laundry, palmed one of the soap 
roots and strode to the water's edge, where he waded in up to 
his ankles.

"Bomb's away!" he said, releasing the clothes. They landed 
with a slap in the lake beside his feet, and then inch-by-inch 
sank beneath the surface as air burbled through the fabric. He 
gave the pile a quick swish with his left foot before 
abandoning it and splashing into the water up to his thighs. 

"Shee-it!" he hissed, surprised by the lake's cold 
temperature. Goosebumps sprouted across his shoulders and 
arms. Wasting no time, he dove headfirst beneath the surface.

He'd always loved swimming in the ocean off Martha's Vineyard. 
He and Sam often spent entire afternoons in the water, there 
or at Quonochontaug, practicing underwater handstands and 
somersaults, competing in breath-holding contests, or just 
letting the waves carry them along, their laughter lost in the 
sound of surf. Their mom lovingly called them "my two sea 
monsters" when they returned home, pruney and sun-kissed from 
their day at the beach. By September their lean bodies were as 
brown as pennies.

Mulder surfaced for air and rolled onto his back to float. His 
muscles relaxed as the water buoyed him. The lake was chilly, 
but felt silky smooth, and the morning sun beat down on him, 
warming his face and chest.

Through half-closed eyes, he watched Scully bathe near the 
shore. Sitting waist deep in the water, she soaped her hands 
and then lathered her chest, neck and arms. Foam floated away 
from her in lazy spirals as she rinsed, and her wet skin 
gleamed in the early morning sun, confounding his eyes and 
overwhelming his heart with its shimmery beauty. 

Jesus. Just yesterday, she'd been Scully, his partner and 
friend; today she was Scully, his lover...her body no longer 
off limits.

Halle-fucking-lujah.

All too soon she was finished with her bath and rose from the 
water, naked and dripping. The sight kindled a fire in his 
veins and awakened his slumbering penis. As she waded from the 
shore to the log, he let his legs sink below the lake's 
surface to hide his growing erection. Treading water, he 
watched while she combed her wet hair.

When are we gonna do it again, Scully?

"I'll fix breakfast while you soak," she called out to him. She 
quickly put on and adjusted the odd belt Klizzie had given her 
for her menstrual flow, and then wrapped her fur skirt around 
her hips.

"More strawberries?" he asked, hopeful.

She pulled her camisole over her head. "Sure. More 
strawberries," she said before tucking her gun at the small of 
her back and leaving him to finish his bath.   

*   *   *

"They are splitting up," Klesh said, watching Red Hair and her 
companion from the far shore. Tse-e stood beside him in the 
shadows of a shagbark tree. "You follow Li-chi Tse-Gah and 
bring her back; I will take care of her mate."

"No, she is a Spirit, Klesh. I am not going after her." Tse-e 
tucked his wounded hand beneath his arm. Fear burned as 
brightly as fever in his eyes and he shivered like a frightened 
rabbit at the sight of the red-haired woman.

"Then *I* will go after her. You take care of her chindi 
companion," Klesh sneered. "Do you think you can handle him?"

"Y-yes." Tse-e nodded with uncertainty. "Do...do you want me to 
kill him?"

"Yes!" Klesh hissed. "Of course I want you to kill him. Bring 
his head to me. I want to see for myself that he is dead." A 
nasty smile deepened the scar on his left cheek. "Then Li-chi 
Tse-Gah will be my mate and tend my hearth."

*   *   *

Mulder's heart thrummed in his water-filled ears. He closed 
his eyes and let himself drift in the lake, feeling much the 
way he had earlier this morning after making love.
God, he had wanted to lay with Scully forever...

Basking. 

He had never "basked" with anyone before, not even when he'd 
been married to Diana. Their pre- and post-coital activities 
had consisted primarily of rushing off to find the next 
paranormal anomaly. Sex was a wham-bam-I-heard-there-was-a-UFO-
sighting-in-Phoenix-let's-go kind of activity. It was performed 
in hotel rooms and rental cars, while they waited for lab 
results, autopsy reports or returned phone calls. Who had time 
to bask when there were cow mutilations or Bigfoot sightings to 
investigate? 

Not that the sex hadn't been passionate. It had. Sex with Diana 
had relieved the stress of the job, and for a while, it 
relieved Mulder's loneliness, too. She was warm and beautiful 
and it was pleasant to have her in his bed, fending off his 
insomnia and his nightmares. With Diana in his arms, he found 
he could sleep without dreaming...for a while, at least. 

He had believed he was in love at the time because he had 
wanted to be in love.

As it turned out, she had loved the idea of love, too, albeit 
for different reasons than his own. She was hoping for a normal 
kind of life -- a house, kids, dog -- none of which meshed with 
their endless pursuit of the truth. It took him a while to 
figure out that their quest had actually been only his and not 
hers. And although procreation topped her wish list, having 
kids never made it onto his at all. He believed he possessed 
neither the skill nor the fortitude to raise children. Not 
after what had happened to Sam.

When Diana began pressing him to start a family, he balked, 
which made her dig in her heels. At an impasse, she finally 
left him. 

THWACK! The slap of a beaver's tail startled him from his 
reverie. He righted himself and glanced around. Nothing 
appeared out of the ordinary...except the beaver, which was 
about three times the size of its modern day descendants. 
Fortunately, it was swimming away.

Deciding to wash up, Mulder headed to shallower water where he 
stood knee deep and began rubbing the soap root between his 
palms.

"Whaddaya know? This stuff actually works." 

Lather overflowed his hands and he used it to slather his 
chest, neck, and arms. It felt good to scrub away several days 
worth of sweat and grime. Scully's blood vanished from the 
creases of his knuckles as he dug black dirt from beneath his 
caked fingernails. Jesus, how had she been able to stand him? 
He must've smelled funkier than a three-day stakeout. 

Wanting to remedy the situation, he went to work, scouring his 
scalp, his face, his armpits. Lather corkscrewed down his 
limbs, dripped into the water where it drifted in foamy 
mountains around his knees. When he was finished sudsing, he 
squatted and ducked his head beneath the surface to rinse his 
hair.

He was underwater when the attack occurred. Out of nowhere, it 
seemed, someone leapt onto his back and tightened a brawny arm 
around his neck. Startled, he rose up, lifting his assailant 
with him. He tried to dislodge the man by falling backward, 
sinking them both to the bottom.

The maneuver worked and the other man released his hold. 
Mulder turned on him and grabbed his wrist. The man struggled 
to get free, thrashing his arms and legs, churning the weeds. 
Bubbles jetted from his nose as he managed to loosen himself 
from Mulder's grip. He surged to the surface. Mulder popped up 
beside him. Both men filled their lungs with air.

Mulder recognized the small man. He was one of the two 
Neanderthals who had abducted Scully back in the ravine.

"Son of a b--" Mulder's fist shot out and connected with 
Little Big Man's jaw.

The caveman's teeth clacked together and blood spurted from 
his lips. Mulder struck again, this time a left that clipped 
the Neanderthal's nose.

More blood darkened the lake. Little Big Man howled, then 
torpedoed into Mulder, ramming the top of his skull at 
Mulder's throat. Mulder gasped for air and sank. He back-
peddled underwater, fighting his way toward the shallows, 
where he managed to get his feet under him and stand. Little 
Big Man bulldozed him again and caught him in a crushing bear 
hug. Both men grappled for an advantage. Unable to free 
himself, Mulder rolled to his left, dragging the cave man down 
with him.

In retaliation, the determined Cro-Magnon sank his teeth into 
Mulder's right shoulder.

A well-placed elbow dislodged him, but not without a price. 
Mulder's skin tore painfully from the bite. "Motherfucker!" he 
shouted. He seized the caveman by the wrist, twisted his arm 
into a hammerlock, and pressed his thumb hard into the gunshot 
wound in his palm.

Little Big Man shrieked and his knees buckled. Mulder pressed 
harder, hauling him out of the water and up the beach. He kept 
the man's arm twisted behind his back and continued to squeeze 
his injured hand until they reached the driftwood log. Blood 
poured from the Neanderthal's open mouth as he yammered and 
bawled.

Mulder dug his handcuffs from his jacket pocket and hooked one 
of the bracelets around Little Big Man's wrist. Then he hauled 
him to a nearby tree, where he twisted his arms behind the 
trunk and locked him in place with the other half of the 
cuffs.

"Where's your fucking buddy?" Mulder growled, not really 
expecting an answer and already guessing Conan had gone after 
Scully.

The small man spat a mouthful of blood at him.

"Suit yourself." Mulder quickly gathered his gun and abandoned 
the blubbering caveman to find Scully. 

*   *   *

The strawberry field stretched from the lake and its fringe of 
forest all the way up to the top of the western hills where 
Scully and Mulder had spent the night of the fire. The slope 
was long and gradual and dotted with stone outcroppings that 
rose like islands from a sea of windblown grass. Sweet-smelling 
clover perfumed the air, while butterflies fought the breeze in 
search of nectar, their wings winking shut whenever they 
managed to grab hold of a bobbing flower blossom. 

About a third of the way up the slope, a herd of fifty or more 
mastodons were gathered around a brand new baby. They formed a 
living bastion as solid as any stone fortress, their brawn 
belying their familial instincts and gentle sense of community.

One enormous female watched over them. Ten feet tall from 
shoulder to ground, she appeared insuperable. It seemed beyond 
possibility that a human hunter could bring down such a beast 
with little more than a stone spear and his cunning.

Only the leader seemed interested as Scully stepped cautiously 
out from under the trees into the field. It kept an eye turned 
her way, but didn't stray from the herd.

Watching to be sure the mastodons remained undisturbed, Scully 
hiked slowly uphill until she came to a patch of strawberries, 
where she knelt and began to fill her pack. After several 
minutes, she relaxed a little. Bees buzzed lazily around her. 
Plump, ripe berries stained her fingers as she picked. The 
mastodons seemed unconcerned by her presence and her mind soon 
wandered to other concerns.

Like her tattoo. 

Although she wasn't ready yet to concede to Mulder's theory of 
Flux Space, she did find the disappearance of her tattoo 
apropos, since her reason for getting it in the first place was 
fading, too. She no longer saw herself as the same person she'd 
once been -- the rebellious woman, trying to assert her 
autonomy...to the point of foolhardiness.

Ironic she'd been so eager to defy Mulder back then, given the 
current state of their relationship. Only a year ago, she'd 
felt stifled by him, and fearful she might lose her direction 
while blinded by his passion for the truth. Resistance had 
seemed the only option at the time.

The Ourobourus once symbolized her desire to move forward with 
her life. Now, the image struck her as absurdly self-absorbed, 
arrogant in its overt exclusiveness. What she once perceived as 
a representation of continual progression, now gave her the 
impression of being unattached to anything or anyone, self-
contained and intersecting with nothing but itself.

Fingers blood-red and her pack weighted with fresh fruit, she 
turned her efforts to picking greens. The only type she could 
identify as safely edible were dandelions. The others didn't 
look a thing like the variety Klizzie had brought to them while 
Mulder was recovering.

Scully missed Klizzie's expertise. The tribe obviously 
possessed extensive knowledge about their environment: food, 
medicinal herbs, predators...both animal and human. She and 
Mulder would need the group's collective wisdom if they were to 
survive for any length of time here. Without their generosity 
and the medicine man's competence, Mulder would surely be dead.

The memory of Mulder's near-death brought a lump to Scully's 
throat and tears to her eyes. Finding Klizzie and the others 
had been a godsend and it was paramount she and Mulder rejoin 
them as soon as he was strong enough to travel.

A sudden trumpet from one of the mastodons startled her and she 
looked up to see the females closing ranks around the baby. The 
leader tossed her enormous head and delivered a second loud 
warning.

Scully reached behind her back for her gun, in case they headed 
her way. She was stopped by the grip of strong fingers on her 
wrist and a menacing growl in her ear.

"Li-chi Tse-Gah," a man's voice rasped, before he yanked her to 
her feet. He twisted her arm and forced her to face him.

It was the scarred man.

She glared up at him. Had his weasely companion gone after 
Mulder?

He wrestled the gun from her hand. She responded by punching 
him hard in the groin.

When he howled and doubled over, she struck him again, this 
time in the face. The blow knocked him sideways and sent her 
gun spinning from his fist. It landed with a thud several yards 
away in the weeds.

She lunged for it, but found herself falling when he latched 
onto her leg. His grip held and she hit the ground hard. The 
gun remained just beyond her reach. She kicked at him, inched 
closer to the gun and managed to snag it with outstretched 
fingers.

Scarface crawled on top of her and pinned her in place. His 
giant hand clamped over hers and tore the gun from her grasp. 
He sat up, straddling her and weighting her to the ground. She 
lashed out, caught hold of the gun, struggled to pull it from 
his hands.

The gun discharged, firing at the sky and missing his right ear 
by millimeters. He jumped, astonished. Still holding the gun, 
he stared at it in disbelief. His expression transformed into 
one of panic. Eyes bulging, he hurled the weapon into the 
woods.

"Dammit!" she shouted, watching the gun vanish into the nearby 
trees.

She was trapped beneath him, pinned by his muscular thighs. He 
was panting; unconstrained fury darkened his face.

"Chindi!" he barked at her, then grabbed her by the hair. He 
bent over her until their noses almost touched. "Chindiiiii!!" 
he roared, spraying her with his spit.  

Struggling to free herself, she felt the ground start to 
vibrate beneath her. Scarface sat bolt upright, evidently 
feeling it, too. Silence hung in the air for one empty second 
before the thunderous crash of stampeding mastodons brought 
them both scrambling to their feet.

The enormous female was charging straight at them. Several more 
followed, heads bowed, tusks thrust forward. Their speed was 
astonishing.

Scully's legs went numb at the sight. Should she run? Stand 
still? Every instinct urged her to get out of their way, but 
her feet seemed to have rooted themselves to the ground.

Scarface bolted for the woods. The mastodons kept on coming. 
The ground shook, rattling Scully's teeth. God, she was going 
to be trampled.

She began to recite the Lord's Prayer.

"Our Father, who art in heaven..."

The air churned with dust and panic.   

"Hallowed be thy name."

She could smell them, musty and fierce and hell-bent on 
protecting their own.

"Thy kingdom come..."

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, they were right on her, around her, a 
thundering wall of reddish-brown, broken only by a blur of 
polished ivory and the ferocious glares of a dozen protective 
mothers. Their running jolted her spine, quaked the ground, 
shook her faith...

"Thy will be done..." Thy will... Thy will be...

The noise was deafening! Warning trumpets, pounding feet, the 
crash of underbrush as mastodons bulldozed around her, heading 
into the forest. Vegetation exploded, branches cracked, whole 
trees fell. The animals razed an alley several yards wide as 
they continued their forward charge.

Scully stood staring after them for several minutes, too 
astonished to move, even after they were no longer in sight. 

"Thy will be done..."

She looked behind her, upland across the field. The herd and 
the baby were gone. Only zigzagging trails and the tart smell 
of trampled grass remained.

"Sculleee!" It was Mulder, calling to her from the woods. 

She turned toward his voice, but couldn't find her own to cry 
out to him.

It didn't matter. He was walking out of the forest, completely 
naked, one muscled arm hooked around the scarred man's neck. 

Scully's legs finally gave way and she dropped to her knees.

*   *   *

"I say we leave them right where they are." Mulder picked a 
hunk of squirrel meat from between his teeth before grabbing 
another diminutive drumstick. The food tasted good, but four 
itsy-bitsy squirrels were not going to fill him. He sucked the 
tiny bone clean.

Conan and Little Big Man sat sullen and silent a few yards 
away. They were handcuffed to an enormous mastodon skull and to 
each other. Mulder had looped the cuffs through one of its eye 
sockets, using the skull as a sort of Pleistocene ball and 
chain.

Conan sported a nasty looking shiner where Mulder had walloped 
him "just because." Little Big Man was in worse shape, although 
his mouth was no longer bleeding. Mulder was pretty sure he'd 
broken the bastard's nose, as well as his teeth, since both his 
eyes were swelling shut and he whistled whenever he inhaled.

Scully removed the last squirrel from its spit, trying not to 
singe her fingers. "They could die if we leave them like that."

"So? What do you think they intended to do to us?" He tossed a 
bone into the fire and reached for a third helping of 
strawberries. "Besides, if they work at it, they can break 
free...eventually."

"That could take them days. They'll need food and water."

"Awww. Let 'em drag their sorry asses down to the lake when 
they get thirsty. Any greens left?"

She passed him the pack.

"Mulder, I just don't think--"

"Scully, a few days ago they tried to rape you," he reminded 
her. The memory made him want to blacken Conan's other eye. 
"They've tried to kill me twice." 

"So...we should do the same? We're living by the law of the 
jungle now, is that it? Kill or be killed? Since when did we 
turn into them?"

"When they held you to the ground and--" He stopped himself. 
His anger was meant for them, not her. He lowered his tone. 
"There's no due process here. What do you want to do?"

"If you're well enough, I'd like to go after Klizzie and the 
others."

"I'm good to go right now. And unless you let me kill these 
two, I have no intention of staying another day here." Seeing 
her shocked expression, he added, "That was a joke. Sort of."

She split the last squirrel in two and gave him the bigger 
half. "You really think they can free themselves?"

"If they're resourceful. It'll take them some time, but that'll 
give us a head start." He could tell she didn't like the idea. 
Finished with his meal, he wiped his hands on his bare thighs. 
"It's not like we have a lot of options."

"No, I guess not." 

"Come on then. I'll help you pack."

"Where are your clothes?"

"Still in the lake. I have to go back to fill the water bag 
anyway."

Mulder rose stiffly and walked over to the two prisoners. 

He bent low enough to smell Conan's sour breath. Keeping his 
voice dead calm, he whispered, "If you ever touch her again," -
- he paused to stare directly into the scarred man's eyes -- 
"I'll rip your fuckin' head off."   

*   *   *

Klizzie settled beside Dzeh on the sleeping skins. They were 
camped in the open under a clear, starry sky. She loved this 
time of night, hearing the sounds of the Clan all around her, 
some already snoring, others talking in low voices or singing 
lullabies to their children. She felt safe when surrounded by 
her family, especially with Dzeh by her side.

He was lying on his back, his muscled arm pillowing her head.

"The stars are bright tonight," he said, studying the sky. 

She looked up, too, content to watch the stars as he lightly 
stroked her bare shoulder.

"Gini asked me earlier today what it is like to lay with a 
man," she said.

Dzeh turned to look at her with surprise. "She did?"

"Mm hm."

"What did you tell her?"

Klizzie laughed. "My answer was for women's ears only," she 
teased.

"Women? Gini is only eight Mastodon Feasts old. She is no 
woman. Not yet."

"She will be soon, Dzeh. Some girls begin their Moon Time as 
early as nine."

He grunted, pretending to be offended. "I do not want to hear 
such talk. That is for 'women's ears only.'"

Again Klizzie laughed and then poked him gently in the ribs. 
"Seriously, it is time for you to start inquiries about a mate 
for her."

"No, my sister is still a little girl...a baby."

"She is not. Not if she is asking questions about laying with 
men."

Now he chuckled, a gravelly sound deep within his chest that 
loosened the muscles in Klizzie's legs and filled her abdomen 
with fire. 

"Fine," he said, "I will make inquiries at the Feast. I think 
your Aunt 'A-Chin' might have a son about Gini's age."

She slapped his arm. "My Aunt's name is not 'Nose.' It is 'Ho-
Ya' -- 'Smart.'"

He shrugged. "Well, she has a big nose. And she is not so very 
smart, as I recall."

It was true. Ho-Ya seemed to have no common sense whatsoever. 
She could get turned around in her own lodge. And she had made 
Badger Clan ill on more than one occasion when she added bad 
mushrooms to the evening meal. But she did have a good spirit 
and several sons with more sense than their mother. Perhaps one 
of them would be suitable for Gini.

Klizzie scanned the starry sky, as if she might find a mate for 
Gini there. "Tell me the story of Ant Clan," she asked, never 
tired of hearing about the Spirits and their heavenly world.

"Ant Clan? Klizzie, I have told you that story more times than 
I can count."

"Please, Dzeh? The Mastodon's Eye is visible tonight."

The Mastodon's hazy eye was little more than a faint smudge in 
the sky, visible only on the clearest nights. 

"So it is." 

"Tell the story," she urged.

Keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the others, he 
began. "Long before the days of Owl Clan, Badger Clan, Beaver 
Clan and all the other clans we know today, there was only one 
clan and it had no name because its people did not worship 
animal spirits. They killed and ate whichever beasts they 
desired without asking permission or sending up prayers of 
thanks. One day they speared and butchered a baby mastodon, and 
after eating their fill, these wasteful people fell asleep, 
leaving the remainder of the carcass for the buzzards." Dzeh 
traced a lazy circle around Klizzie's right breast, bringing 
her nipple to a point. He whispered into her ear, "I can think 
of better ways to pass this night than the telling of old 
tales." 

"Finish the story," she said, her voice made faint by his 
caress.

He drew a second circle around her left breast. "The Mastodon 
Spirit became angry at the clan for their carelessness. So, 
first taking the form of a mortal man, he sneaked into their 
camp while they slept and lay with the mate of the clan's 
leader. After planting a child in her womb, he returned to his 
place in the heavens. Nine moons later, the woman gave birth to 
a son who eventually grew up to be a powerful shaman." Dzeh 
tickled her inner thigh. "Are you sure you want me to continue 
the story?"

"Yes." 

He edged his hand up under her skirt. "One night, the powerful 
shaman had a dream, and in his dream his real father, the 
Mastodon Spirit, took him up to heaven and showed him the world 
of Spirits. He told his earthly son, 'Teach the clan to respect 
the Spirits. If not, they will be forever cursed.' So the 
shaman did as he was told and returned to the clan the next 
morning to tell them they must pray and give thanks to the 
spirits. The clan was lazy and refused to do as they were 
asked. Again they killed a mastodon and left its carcass for 
the buzzards, making the Mastodon Spirit angry. Sssoooo..." 
Dzeh's thumb brushed the curls at her groin.

She felt wetness flow from her womanhood. "Dzeehhh..."

"The Mastodon Spirit turned the people of the clan into ants 
and his son, the shaman, into a giant armadillo and he put them 
all in the sky where he could keep his eye on them." 

Much to Klizzie's disappointment, Dzeh removed his hand from 
between her thighs and pointed at the sky. 

"And there they are still," he said, "in the northeastern sky. 
To the east of the Steadfast Star, the Mastodon Spirit waits 
for the clearest nights to open his eye and watch the cursed 
Ant Clan crawl like a white river across the heavens while his 
armadillo son waits to devour them."

The legend was a warning. The ways of the Spirits must be 
followed or there would be a price to pay.

Klizzie had heard gossips in Owl Clan say that she was barren 
because angry Spirits willed it. They claimed her childlessness 
was a reprisal for her role in Dzeh and Klesh's falling out 
four summers ago.

In the years before Klizzie became Dzeh's mate, Dzeh had been 
Trading Partners with her cousin Klesh. The men's partnership 
created a necessary alliance between Owl Clan and Badger Clan, 
which had been enemies for many generations.

Unlike Hunting Partners, who were almost always kin, and Joking 
Partners, who were usually cross-cousins, Trading Partners were 
not related by blood. The purpose of their partnership was to 
create a bond between two clans that had no family ties, 
ensuring inter-clan cooperation during periods of peace, and 
tempering the amount of killing in times of war. A clan's 
survival often depended on the benevolence of its non-kin 
partners. 

To reinforce such affiliations, Trading Partners exchanged 
protection, food, goods and even their mates. Everybody agreed 
the tradition of exchange -- mate-exchange in particular -- 
was essential to the alliance, ensuring an intimate bond 
nearly as strong as blood between partners, their co-mates, 
and their respective clans. Ritual mate-exchange and the 
security it offered to clans benefited everyone. 

The waters had been muddied, however, when Klizzie and Dzeh 
became mates because she was Klesh's first cousin. Yes, it was 
custom for Trading Partners to exchange mates, but it was also 
taboo for Klizzie to be co-mate to her own kin. So of course 
Dzeh had to insist his partnership with Klesh be dissolved.
 
Klesh had become angry and refused to recognize the breaking of 
the partnership. He went so far as to demand Klizzie lay as his 
co-mate during the Mastodon Feast, ignoring the fact that she 
was his cousin. 

She had been only fourteen at the time, but that was no excuse. 
She knew she shared responsibility for what happened. Shame 
burned her cheeks at the memory of her transgressions against 
Owl and Badger Clans, against Dzeh.

Lying beside Dzeh now, looking up at the stars, Klizzie 
reminded herself it was pointless to relive those old days in 
her head. They were "fish down the river," as the elders would 
say. Klesh had been banished and his partnership with Dzeh 
ended. All Klizzie could do now was pray to the Spirits for the 
same forgiveness she had received from Dzeh and Owl Clan. 

"Were you marking our trail today, Klizzie?" Dzeh asked, 
returning his hand to her leg.

She nodded. "Yes." 

"For Muhl-dar and Day-nuh?"

Would he chastise her for her actions? Her eyes went to the 
strange bracelet he wore on his wrist, Muhl-dar's bracelet. She 
wanted to touch it, but kept her hands still for now.

"Yes, I left the markers for them."

"Klizzie..." He leaned over to kiss her nose. "You are a kind 
woman and I am hopeful the Spirits will reward you for it with 
a child this season. Then perhaps you will no longer feel the 
need to take care of orphans."

His words stung her, despite his good intentions. One of the 
orphans he was referring to was his own sister. "I pray every 
day," she said.

"Good." He cupped her cheek in his palm. "Maybe tonight the 
Spirits will listen," he said, before lowering his lips to her 
mouth. 

He rolled on top of her and she accepted his kiss. Parting her 
knees, she offered a silent prayer to the Spirits: Please keep 
Owl Clan safe; help the newcomers, Day-nuh and Muhl-dar, find 
their way to Turkey Lake; and please, please, bless me with a 
child.   

*   *   *

Somewhere in the distance a mastodon trumpeted, waking Mulder 
from a nightmare about Scully and a four-toed Cro-Magnon. He 
cocked an ear to listen. Crickets. Frogs. Owls. Nothing 
treacherous, yet he curled protectively around Scully, who was 
lying beside him on a fur blanket under the open sky. 

They were camped on a grassy hill next to one of Klizzie's 
stone markers. This was the fifth such marker they'd found 
before he had become too tired to go further. He'd fallen 
asleep almost immediately after finishing their evening meal 
and had slept soundly until just moments ago. 

"Scully. Scully, are you awake?" he whispered into her ear.

"M'now. Whassamatter?"

"I heard a noise."

This roused her. "What noise?"

"A voice. It said, 'Wake Scully up.'"

Laughter chuffed from her nose. "And why would this voice tell 
you a crazy thing like that?"

"Musta been feelin' lonely." He gave her hip an inviting 
caress.

She rolled onto her back within the circle of his arms and 
kissed him tenderly on the lips.

He wanted to make love to her again. Oh, God, how he wanted to 
make love to her.

She disappointed him by breaking their kiss to stare up at the 
midnight sky. "The stars are beautiful here."

"Mmm. No city lights to spoil the view." 

"Look, you can see the Andromeda Nebula." She pointed to a hazy 
spot east of the Pole Star.

It was true. The faint smudge that marked Andromeda's knee was 
visible tonight. "That galaxy is the most distant object that 
can be seen by the unaided human eye," he said, rolling onto 
his back, too. He kept one arm tucked beneath her, cushioning 
her head. "It contains more than one hundred billion stars that 
are more than two million light years away from here. Did you 
know that?"

"I did."

"You did?"

"Don't sound so surprised." A smile quirked her lips. "I 
studied astronomy as an undergrad, you know."

"Astronomy, anthropology, physics...wow. Frohike was right -- 
you are hot."

Her tiny smile widened into an all-out grin. "I know Greek, 
too."

"Then you know the myth?"

"Of Andromeda? Sure. Cassiopeia and Cepheus had a daughter--"

"See them there? Cassiopeia and Cepheus? Between Andromeda and 
the Little Dipper?"

"I see them. Cassiopeia boasted about Andromeda's beauty, so 
much so, she angered the sea nymphs who prevailed upon the god 
Poseidon to dispatch a sea monster--"

"A whale."

"Right, a whale, to ravage the coast of Ethiopia. To appease 
the whale, Cepheus chained Andromeda to a rock to be devoured 
by the monster."

Awful thing to do to your own daughter, Mulder thought. An 
image of Sam and his dad intruded on his thoughts, making him 
wince. Back-peddling from the unwelcome association, he focused 
instead on Scully's voice. 

"Fortunately Perseus happened by and killed the whale," Scully 
continued. "He liberated and married Andromeda, and the two of 
them rode off on Perseus' winged horse, Pegasus."

"To live happily ever after?"

"Presumably."

God, did life ever actually turn out that way? 

His eyes scoured the heavens while his imagination fleshed out 
the constellations. Pegasus, Hercules, Ophiuchus holding the 
two ends of the Serpent. That image seemed more representative 
of life than Andromeda and Perseus riding off into the sunset. 
It also reminded Mulder in a free association sort of way of 
the mark Scully wore on her back.

"Scully, why the Ourobourus?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your tattoo."

"Oh, Mulder, I don't... Why is that important now?"

"Wasn't it always important? I mean, a tattoo is forever...at 
least, it's supposed to be. It must have meant something to 
you when you chose it."

"Yes, but I'm not sure I can explain it. I was in a different 
frame of mind at the time."

"Different how?" He honestly wanted to know.

"I was feeling like my life was at a standstill. I guess I saw 
the Ourobourus as a symbol of movement."

And what about Ed Jerse? What had he symbolized? 

Mulder flushed with unexpected jealousy at the thought of that 
man's hands on Scully. Inappropriate and irrational, he knew. 
He and Scully hadn't been romantically involved at the time, 
although, admittedly, he'd always felt a tad territorial about 
her, long before her sojourn in Philadelphia. Truth be told, 
he'd assumed an air of proprietorship the day she walked into 
his office, considering her part and parcel of the X-Files, 
and therefore "his." 

God, he could be such an ass sometimes. 

"Did you sleep with Jerse?" he asked, surprising himself. It 
was none of his damn business and he hadn't meant to say the 
words out loud, despite the fact that he'd been wondering if 
she had or hadn't ever since he'd been called to St. John's 
Hospital to bring her back from Philadelphia. Christ, it had 
scared the hell out of him to discover she'd exposed herself 
to both ergot and a homicidal maniac. Seeing her in that 
hospital room, pale as the bed linens...fear and jealousy had 
sucker-punched him. Then when she couldn't even look him in 
the eye, he'd been convinced she'd done it, gone to bed with 
the cold-blooded killer.

It had taken every ounce of his strength to hide his fury. 
Hell, he was having a hard time controlling it right now.

Scully frowned. "Is it relevant anymore?"

"No. I just wondered what it was about him that you found so 
alluring."

She didn't even hesitate before replying. "He listened to me, 
Mulder. Never underestimate the charm of a man who truly 
listens."

"I don't listen?" 

Of course he knew he didn't, not always anyway. Shit, if 
anyone was to blame for Scully's rebellious romp in 
Philadelphia, he was. He'd practically pushed her into Jerse's 
tattooed arms.

"Mulder, I got my tattoo as a reminder to move forward with my 
life."

He took a deep breath, trying to cool his unwarranted pique. 
It was water under the bridge and shouldn't bother him like 
this. "Have you?" he asked, his voice calm, belying his true 
resentment. "Since then, I mean? Moved forward with your 
life?"

"I think so." Her gentle smile helped mollify his jealousy. 
She snaked her arms around his neck. 

He tightened his hold on her. "So..." He murmured into her 
ear, "when are we gonna, you know, do it again?"

She surprised him by rolling on top of him. "Right now, 
Mulder," she said, her voice muddled with longing. 
"Right...now."

x-x-x-x-x-x
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 

Mulder keeps his eyes closed, enjoying the silky warmth of 
Scully beside him on the furs. They are spooned together, her 
naked back against his bare chest, his bent knees fitted 
behind hers, his nose buried in her hair. He inhales, deeply, 
fully, and feels himself grow hard from the unadulterated 
scent of her. Wanting to make love, he tries to wake her with 
a gentle brush of his fingers along her bare arm.

She stirs, sighs with contentment, nestles more firmly into 
his lap, which causes a delightful friction there.

"Sculleeee...," he groans. His lips caress the curve of her 
ear; his tongue searches for the lobe, finds it, sucks. She 
moans, too, and the sound flows molten in his veins, making 
him desperate to be inside her. They've made love only twice, 
yet he has already become addicted to the act, to her. Now he 
wants to make love to her everyday for the rest of his life.

He positions himself so he can enter her from behind. They 
haven't tried it this way and he's eager. He nudges between 
her thighs.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice almost nonexistent.

In response, she grinds against him. Oh, God, she feels good. 
His hands grope her in the dark. Hip, waist... 

His exploration stops when his fingers encounter the swollen 
expanse of her belly. She is...

Enormously pregnant.

No, this can't be. What the hell is going on? 

"Scully?" Explain this. We never agreed to it.

He sits up, rolls her onto her back only to find she isn't 
Scully. She is Diana.

His erection goes soft.

Smiling, Diana sweeps her dark hair away from her face, which 
is flushed with satisfaction. She reaches up to cup Mulder's 
cheek with her palm. "It's wonderful, isn't it? We're having a 
baby. You're going to be a father."

"No, Diana, I don't want this."

"Of course you do."

"No, I--"

"Mulder, don't question it. It's a miracle."

Diana transforms back into Scully, who is still pregnant. 

Oh, shit...shit...that son-of-a-bitch caveman is lying on the 
other side of her, his scarred hand placed on her distended 
abdomen. He sneers at Mulder, arrogant, seemingly victorious. 
In his free hand he grasps a long snake and the snake's tail 
rattles, sounding like laughter. 

Jealousy, anger, and confusion swirl through Mulder in equal 
measure. Is the caveman the father of Scully's baby? 

This isn't a miracle. It's a fucking nightmare--

*   *   *

"Mulder, wake up. You're having a bad dream." Scully stroked 
Mulder's cheek, trying to bring him out of his nightmare as 
gently as possible. 

"Scully!" he gasped. His eyes flew open; a look of panic paled 
his face. Sitting up, he groped the air between them. His hand 
stopped dead on her stomach, his fingers clutching the fabric 
of her shirt. "You're dressed."

"Yes, so are you. We wore our clothes to bed, remember? It was 
cold last night."

He appeared confused and not entirely awake. "You're not 
pregnant?"

Where the hell had that come from? "No, I'm not pregnant."

He released his hold on her shirt, collapsed onto his back and 
wiped sweat from his face. "Thank God. Wow...that was a *hell* 
of a night--"

His mouth clamped shut so quickly she heard his teeth clack. 

"You dreamt I was pregnant?"

"Uh...the details are kinda fuzzy..." His voice petered out 
and his eyes looked everywhere but at her.

"Which parts do you remember?"

"It was just a dream, Scully. It didn't mean anything." He 
closed his eyes and drew the furs up to his chin as if 
intending to go back to sleep. 

She remained sitting up. The pre-dawn sky was crimson above 
the mountain peaks. They were camped next to one of Klizzie's 
markers on a hill overlooking a marsh, where weed-choked 
waters reflected the bloody glow of daybreak.

"Mulder, you were the one who once told me a dream is an 
answer to a question we haven't learned how to ask. What 
question do you think you need answered?"

His eyes opened reluctantly, filled with worry. "I..." Again 
he stopped.

"You what?"

He took a breath and made a face that looked as if he were 
preparing to go sewer diving for flukemen. "I don't think it 
would be a good idea for you to get pregnant right now."

A flare of annoyance heated her cheeks. "I shouldn't have to 
remind you, Mulder, I can't get pregnant." 

She threw back the animal skins, intending to rise from the 
bed. 

He stopped her with a tug on her shirtsleeve. "We don't know 
that."

"Yes, we do. I don't believe in your regression theory. Your 
missing scar and my fading tattoo are not proof of anything. 
We aren't growing younger. Even if we were, it wouldn't 
necessarily mean I'd become fertile again."  

Wanting to forego any further discussion about her defunct 
reproductive system, she rose from the bed.

"Where are you going?" he asked, sounding conciliatory and a 
little nervous.

"To the marsh. I want to wash up," she said, tugging her boots 
on.

She located her jacket, then his, in the semi-dark and 
searched his pockets for the flashlight. Her hand closed 
around his jackknife. Better take it, too, since she no longer 
had her gun.

The loss of the gun still rankled. They'd spent nearly two 
hours searching for it, leaving Scarface and his sidekick 
handcuffed to the mastodon skull while they combed the woods.

"Are you *sure* he threw it this way?" Mulder had asked at 
least half a dozen times.

She grew increasingly irritated each time she answered him. 
"Yes, I'm sure." 

They both understood the importance of finding the weapon -- 
for protection and food -- but it had seemingly vanished in 
the mastodons' chaotic wake as if into Mulder's alleged Flux 
Space. Downed trees, shredded vegetation and muddy prints 
stymied their efforts, and eventually forced them to abandon 
their search.

There was some small consolation in the fact that it had been 
her gun and not his that was lost, since she'd been down three 
rounds, while his clip remained full. 

"Take my gun," he suggested when she tucked his knife into her 
pocket. "Please."

She flicked on his flashlight. "I'll be fine."

"Maybe I should come with you." He started to get up.

"Mulder, I'd prefer a little privacy, if you don't mind." 

That stopped him, as she knew it would. With a hesitant nod he 
lay back down on the skins. "Yell if you need me."

"I'll only be a few minutes."

The marsh was located approximately 600 yards downhill from 
their camp, where the land formed a shallow V between two 
sparsely treed slopes. The depression served as a catch basin 
for rainwater and snowmelt. Cattails and duckweed clogged its 
outer rim, making access to the water a challenge. 

Scully picked her way down-slope through thigh-high weeds. 
Mulder's waking words continued to nag at her as she tried to 
find solid footing in the spongy soil. It seemed muddier this 
morning than last night when she'd come down to fill the 
waterbag. She began to wonder if she'd taken the wrong path.

Mulder was right -- this wouldn't be the most opportune time 
for her to get pregnant. But if a miracle occurred and it 
happened, she would embrace the prospect of becoming a mother. 
Wouldn't he be equally pleased? He knew she wanted children; 
he'd helped her petition for the adoption of Emily. And 
although he'd never said anything outright about wanting kids 
himself, he'd been so supportive throughout Emily's illness, 
Scully had just assumed he wanted children...someday...not 
necessarily with her, but in a general sense. Had she misread 
him?

She'd also assumed their personal relationship was moving to a 
more serious level now that they'd slept together. To her, 
making love meant...well...she wasn't sure exactly what it 
meant...but it was more than being friends. 

In light of his behavior this morning, however, she could see 
they had opposing views about their intimate act. Apparently 
Mulder wasn't imagining 2.3 kids, a white picket fence, and 
"happily ever after."

It figured her dream-come-true would be his worst nightmare. 
They disagreed on so many things, why should this be 
different?

Two ducks squabbled for territory several yards to her left. 
The less dominant flew off, wings thumping the air, 
indignation nattering from its throat. She panned the reeds 
with her light. A snake slithered away from her beam.
 
She took a few careful steps forward, inching closer to the 
water. 

Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. Mulder had never said 
that getting her pregnant was his worst nightmare. He'd said 
now was not a good time. 

It was possible he'd been having second thoughts about his 
regression theory. If that were the case, he might be trying 
to spare her feelings, knowing her fertility was not going to 
return. Perhaps he was worried he'd gotten her hopes up over 
nothing. He'd seen her dreams dashed once already, when she 
lost Emily.

Leaping onto a slippery stone at the water's edge, she nearly 
skidded off. Arms flailing, she caught her balance and 
steadied herself.  

Mulder had stood by her when Emily lay dying, until she pushed 
him away herself, preferring to go through her heartache 
alone. She'd been afraid to accept his support at the time, 
fearful his strength would invite her own weakness. And she 
felt certain if she let herself lose control, she would never, 
ever recover.

In the months following Emily's death, she shrank from the 
truth, unwilling to confront the fact that she'd lost her one 
and only child and could never have another. She found it 
increasingly painful to be around Mulder, knowing he had 
accepted her infertility a long time ago. Then she noticed she 
was starting to resent him because he still retained the 
ability to have children, whereas she no longer had the 
option, and she felt ashamed of her resentment.

Hunkering down on the stone, she blinked away tears, surprised 
at how angry the inequity still made her feel. She didn't 
blame Mulder, either directly or indirectly, then or now, for 
the things that had been done to her. The theft of her ova, 
her inability to conceive and bear children, Emily's death -- 
none of these had been his fault. 

He'd been a victim, too, his family whittled down to almost 
nothing. 

Bending forward for a drink, she sank her fingers into the 
mud. For just a second, she felt as if she were going to be 
pulled in. She sat up quickly, withdrawing her hands. Murky 
water quickly filled the indentations she left behind.

Sometimes she worried that no man would want her, a barren 
woman. Ridiculous, she knew. An old-fashioned idea. She could 
name dozens of women without children who lived happy, 
satisfied lives, who accomplished remarkable things and 
bettered the world.

But the desire to reproduce was strong. And without the hope 
of having a family of her own, she often felt incomplete.

The sunrise shone upside-down in the water, tinting it copper. 
An iris floated just beyond her reach, broken from its stem. A 
frantic insect ran round and round its sodden petals, 
searching for an escape. The blossom would eventually become 
waterlogged and sink, brown with rot. The insect would drown.

Hugging her knees, watching the dawn break, Scully felt 
isolated, cut off from creation the same way the lost insect 
was cut off from shore. Bullfrogs hummed on all sides, 
ballyhooing their territories. Ducks quacked, protecting their 
nests. The water smelled fecund, milky with fish eggs, teeming 
with the promise of life. Scully didn't share their future. 

She was a genetic dead end.

She turned off Mulder's flashlight. The sun had risen high 
enough to see the silhouette of the surrounding hills, the 
ducks on the pond, the fluttering rushes. Somewhere up the 
slope, still in shadow, Mulder waited for her. She had no 
doubt he was awake, alert, listening intently in the event she 
cried out for his help.

As always, he was watching her back.

They had made love twice since coming to this place. She 
wanted desperately to make love again, but now she didn't know 
if it was reasonable to encourage him. She loved him with all 
her heart, and yet in so many ways she hardly knew him. She 
was unsure how he felt about her, if he had any hope for a 
future with her, or what his real feelings were on the subject 
of children. 

One thing was certain: if he wanted children, the two of them 
had no future together. He deserved an opportunity to become a 
father. He deserved a woman who could give him sons and 
daughters. She would never ask him to forgo a family because 
of her defect.

She ran a finger through the water, causing a ripple. They 
never should have made love in the first place, not until 
they'd talked all this out. She'd been caught in a selfish 
moment, overwhelmed to have him back after coming so close to 
losing him. 

And now there was no undoing it.   

*   *   * 

Mulder hefted Conan's spear while gauging the distance to his 
target. Approximately 100 feet across the weedy meadow, 
Klizzie's stone marker mocked him. Three throws, three misses. 
To be fair, he was closing in; his last attempt had sailed 
mere inches over the top.

"Any last words?" he asked the pile of rocks. "No? Then 
prepare to be annihilated." 

Three long strides...he hurled the spear, lobbing it like a 
baseball, high and straight, and with every ounce of power he 
could put behind it. The shaft wobbled only a little this 
time. His aim was true. The point made contact, crashed 
through the stones and toppled the pile with a satisfying 
clatter.

"Yes!" Mulder's fist jabbed the air. 

"Nice shot, Tarzan." Scully approached carrying a small basket 
and two skewered, roasted lizards. Big lizards. Two-foot-long 
lizards, if you counted their charred tails.

"Where'd you get those?" he asked, relieved to see her with or 
without food. When she left their bed this morning, she'd said 
she needed a few minutes to herself. A "few minutes" had 
stretched into an hour -- as far as he could tell without his 
watch -- and he'd become worried. 

Wanting to go look for her, but not wanting to invade her 
privacy -- or answer any more questions about his nightmare -- 
he decided to burn off his nervous energy by practicing with 
the spear.

Scully set the basket on the ground beside her feet and 
extended one of the skewered lizards like an olive branch. He 
accepted it, feeling unworthy after this morning's foul up. 
She was wearing her "I'm fine" expression, but he knew she 
must have been dissecting and analyzing what he'd said -- and 
not said. Concern showed in the tightness of her mouth, in the 
gloss of her eyes.

As much as he hated to see her worried, he couldn't tell her 
the truth: he didn't want children, not now, not ever. Not 
even with her. Or maybe especially with her. Any kid of his 
was doomed and he'd be dooming her, too, to a lifetime of 
disappointment and heartache if she became pregnant by him. 

He was simply not father material, any more than he was big 
brother or husband material. 

For that matter, most of the time he wasn't even good FBI 
partner material.

Best case scenario, their kid would be in therapy for the rest 
of its life, assuming it wasn't abducted or killed first. And 
Scully would grow to hate him, assuming she wasn't 
abducted...again...or killed, too.

Then she'd leave him, just as Diana had. 

Scully was holding her lizard like an ear of corn and nibbling 
daintily on a hind leg. Humidity from the marsh had curled her 
hair today and the morning sun was shining through the frizz, 
giving it the appearance of a coppery halo. A scrap of meat 
clung to the corner of her mouth. She looked so beautiful he 
could barely breathe.

He reached over to wipe the food from her lips. When she 
didn't duck away from his hand, he decided to kiss her, 
wanting...*needing*...the intimacy. Bowing his head, he leaned 
in and gently pressed his lips to hers. Was it fair to 
encourage this, knowing she wanted kids and he didn't? Her 
fertility would return...probably soon. Wouldn't it be better 
to end things now before that happened?

Otherwise, he would end up hurting her...hurting them both.

She was responding to his kiss with such tenderness. He hated 
himself for it. He was leading her on, giving her false hope.

He pulled back, uncertain what to do. The idea of losing her 
scared the hell out of him. 

Then again, so did fathering a child.

"You were going to tell me where you found breakfast," he 
said, knowing this wasn't the subject they needed to discuss.

She waved the lizard. The tension seemed to lessen around her 
mouth and eyes. "There were dozens of these sunning themselves 
on the rocks by the marsh."

"How'd you catch them?" 

Digging into her pocket, she produced his jackknife. "With 
this."

"The lizards just sat there while you sliced and diced?" 

"Hardly." She handed him her half-eaten lizard and then opened 
his knife to demonstrate. Pointing its blade at an orangey 
toadstool growing in the damp soil about ten feet away, she 
said, "See that mushroom?"

"Uh-huh."

"Watch." 

The knife pinwheeled through the air and landed dead center in 
the cap of the toadstool, halving it.            

"That's pretty fancy knife-throwing, Jane of the Jungle."

"You're no slouch with that spear of yours either, Tarzan." 

"Are you speaking metaphorically?" He let himself smile.

She smiled, too, which pleased him even more than usual 
because it wasn't one of her typical barely-there smiles, but 
a rare teeth-and-gums grin that made up for all of his failed 
attempts to make her laugh. Especially now, given the way 
their morning had started.

"Metaphors aside, Mulder, keep practicing. Without my gun, we 
need all the survival skills we can muster."

It was true. Three days of traveling had exhausted their food 
supply. And although the snapping turtle they'd managed to 
catch and stone to death last night had filled their stomachs, 
there'd been no leftovers for breakfast. 

Procuring food in the Ice Age was evidently going to be a 
constant struggle since they didn't know which plants were 
edible and which were lethal. With no way to safely supplement 
their paltry meat diet, Mulder was finding himself 
persistently hungry; he'd already lost an inch or two around 
his waist, enough to make him cinch his belt a couple of 
holes. 

Scully walked away to retrieve the knife. He felt a flutter of 
panic as he watched her retreating back.

"Where'd you learn to throw like that?" he asked, needing to 
connect with her, if only by the sound of her voice.

"My dad. He taught Bill, Charlie and me after giving us Swiss 
Army knives for Christmas one year." She returned with the 
knife, wiping bits of toadstool from the blade and folding it 
closed. She traded it to him for her breakfast.

Mulder's knife had once belonged to his father. Bill Mulder 
had acquired it while in the military soon after Mulder was 
born and had carried it for years. The grip was worn smooth by 
constant handling. Whether pacing the shore at Quonochontaug 
or the floor of his study in Chilmark, Bill Mulder kept a hand 
thrust into his pocket, turning the knife round and round. He 
occasionally drew it out to slice an apple or open a letter, 
but most of the time it remained hidden away...like so much of 
his life. 

A few months after his father had been killed Mulder was 
packing his belongings in West Tisbury when he found the knife 
in a packet from the funeral home. He decided to keep it, 
hoping the weight of it in his pocket and the feel of it 
against his palm might somehow bring his dad closer, even if 
posthumously. While holding it, Mulder could almost believe 
that under different circumstances he and his father might 
have been Indian Guides for real.  

"Melissa didn't get a knife, too?" he asked.

"Yes, but as a self-proclaimed pacifist, she declined to use 
it." 

Scully's brows pinched together and Mulder guessed she was 
thinking about the violent way Melissa had died.

He quickly steered the subject in what he hoped would be a 
less painful direction. "Didn't your mom object to giving you 
kids knives as Christmas gifts?"

"Not at all. Mom's a practical woman. And in the days before 
cell phones, a Swiss Army knife was probably the most 
practical thing we could carry. She did insist Dad instruct us 
on proper handling. Besides, we weren't *that* young. And 
Swiss Army knives were an improvement over the BB guns."

Her mention of the BB guns brought to mind that unspeakable 
afternoon when he'd accompanied her mother to the monument 
shop to pick up Scully's headstone...which reminded him of 
Duane Barry and Scully's abduction...which reminded him--

"You were gone a long time this morning," he said. "I thought 
we decided you weren't going to go off on your own."

She stopped chewing. Downcast eyes hid her emotions. "I wasn't 
very far."

"I called to you." The fear he'd felt at that moment returned 
to him now full force. Could he demand she never leave his 
sight? "You didn't answer." 

"Mulder, nothing happened. I'm fine."

He nodded, not wanting to argue. Right now all he wanted to do 
was get back to the way things had been the day they first 
made love, when he'd felt on top of the world. He didn't want 
to lose the closeness they'd had at that moment, the happiness 
he'd felt. 

He pointed to the basket she'd set on the ground earlier. 
"What's in your basket, Little Red?" 

His question brought a smug grin to her face. She picked up 
the container and lifted the lid so he could see inside. 
"Fresh duck eggs."

Three large eggs sat nestled in the bottom of the basket. His 
mouth began to water. 

"Scully, I love you." 

The words just popped out -- heartfelt and meaning so much 
more than "thanks for bringing eggs." 

She seemed to miss his greater meaning, however. Or was 
purposely ignoring it. "Hope you don't mind eating them raw."

"Not at all." 

He fished an egg from the basket. Using his knife, he chiseled 
a dime-sized a hole into the top of the shell. He handed her 
the knife and raised the egg to his lips. "Down the hatch." 

He sucked out the contents as if drinking from a cup. Yolk and 
white slid into his mouth and he bit down on it, breaking the 
yolk with his tongue. God, it tasted wonderful-- 

"Oh..." Scully's gasp drew his attention. 

She was staring at the egg she held, a look of revulsion on 
her face. Tears suddenly swamped her eyes, overflowed her 
lashes and plummeted in two straight lines past the lowered 
corners of her mouth.

"What is it, Scully?"

She handed him the egg. Curled inside was the gray, sticky 
embryo of an unhatched baby duck. The bird was dead. 

*   *   *

Tsa-ond was a sacred place, a mountain cave where men had come 
for generations to express their devotion to the Spirits, to 
make offerings, and to pray for good hunting, good health, and 
peace among the clans. 

This afternoon a central fire warmed the cave with a 
flickering golden glow. Dzeh crouched in front of the Prayer 
Wall, his hands cupping a small bone idol, an offering to Hare 
Spirit. Behind him, the men of Owl Clan chanted individual 
prayers. Group prayers would come later, after the Shaman led 
them in a Telling Ceremony, an exchange of stories about 
personal spiritual encounters. Each man's supernatural 
experience would be held up for scrutiny by the group, 
evaluated and accepted or rejected as a true spiritual sign.

Today Dzeh had a story to tell -- a dream vision he'd had 
three nights ago. He was not eager to tell his dream; it was 
full of mystery and foreboding.

Dzeh reverently placed his offering, a small fertility idol, 
on the ground in front of the Prayer Wall. He'd carved the 
figurine from the jawbone of a hare hoping the dead rabbit 
would speak to Hare Spirit on his behalf. Because rabbits 
mated year-round, producing many offspring, Dzeh was appealing 
to Hare, hoping the Spirit would bless Klizzie with a child 
this season.

The bone idol had been meticulously crafted. Smaller than 
Dzeh's thumb, it represented a woman ripe with child, her 
breasts swollen with milk. She had wide hips, to ensure an 
easy birth. Too many women were lost during their labor -- 
like Dzeh's mother and his oldest sister, Ne-zhoni. He did not 
want to lose Klizzie this way, too. He would rather she had no 
child at all than to see her fly off with the Spirits as she 
struggled to give birth.

The idea of losing Klizzie made Dzeh feel panicked and queasy. 
He loved her so much. Too much perhaps. Whenever he looked at 
her, lay with her, even talked with her about trivial matters, 
such as the gathering of pine nuts or the cleaning of deer 
skins, his heart beat like skull drummers at a Mastodon Feast. 
He had been very fond of his previous mate, but his affection 
for Klizzie outshone that older love as the sun to the moon. 

Dzeh's tiny idol had a nearly blank face, as was custom; only 
a few shallow notches hinted at features. Its hair, however, 
was crosshatched to represent braids similar to Klizzie's. 
Dzeh had spent many winter evenings incising each precise 
line. The hands and feet were simple points with no toes or 
fingers; the fertility Spirits cared little for these parts of 
the body, attentive only to the reproductive aspects of the 
offering, which were exaggerated and detailed. Dzeh had 
polished the entire figure by rubbing it with sand and then 
bear fat until its breasts and belly glistened. 

He murmured placating words to Hare Spirit before leaving the 
idol and rising to his feet to add a picture to the Prayer 
Wall.   

Several other men stood at the Wall painting images. Small 
bowls of pigment and binder dotted the cave floor. The binder 
had been made from a mix of albumen and pinyon gum. The 
pigments ranged in color from black to blue to red to white. 
Charcoal, azurite, hematite, and white clay had been ground 
into powders. Brushes had been prepared by chewing the tips of 
twigs to remove the pulp, leaving fibers for painting small 
solid areas, clear lines and fine details. Dots were applied 
with fingertips.

Dzeh selected a tortoiseshell bowl filled with binder. He 
added a pinch of charcoal to it and, using his brush, mixed 
the materials together, creating a viscous black paint. He 
wasn't much of an artist -- not nearly as accomplished as his 
Uncle Lin -- but it was the act of painting itself, not the 
quality of the image, that mattered. Painting a picture on a 
Prayer Wall was akin to singing a song to the Spirits during 
Feast Days or wearing a totem all year round. It was an act of 
respect, faith, and obedience. It focused a man's thoughts, 
opening a path of communication to the Spirit World. 

The Wall already held countless drawings made over many 
generations. Finding an unmarked area wasn't easy. If a man 
wanted to paint a large picture, he must draw atop an older 
one. Feeling humbled by his communication with Hare Spirit, 
Dzeh decided to paint only a small picture this year. He found 
a blank space the size of a newborn's palm between the tusks 
of a bull mastodon and the outstretched arm of Serpent Holder, 
a Spirit who held a large snake. 

The image of the Serpent Holder was intimidating, almost life-
size, and reminded Dzeh of his dream vision. He wondered again 
if the elders would deem his vision a true spiritual 
encounter. 

In many respects, he hoped not.

Using careful strokes, he sketched the delicate outline of a 
jackrabbit. Additional paint was needed to color the rabbit 
reddish-brown and give him white eyes that could see their way 
between this world and the Spirit World.

When Dzeh was satisfied with his picture, he put down his 
brushes and paints, and joined the other men in a circle 
around the fire pit. 

Fifteen men and nine boys waited eagerly, yet quietly, for the 
Shaman to lead them in the Telling Ceremony. Only the smallest 
children and infants were excluded from this ritual. And 
women, too, of course, who were busy taking care of the young 
ones and preparing tonight's Spirit Feast.

The Shaman walked a circle around the men. He wore a helmet 
made from the skullcap of a musk ox, its great horns curled 
low over his ears. White clay painted his face in hopes the 
Spirits would mistake him for a ghost and allow him access to 
their world. A silvery wolf-skin cape, trimmed with owl 
feathers and bone beads, hung from his broad shoulders, open 
at the front to expose his Owl Clan tattoos - circular 
designs that represented owl's eyes and superior vision. 
Bracelets of snail shells jangled at his wrists and ankles. 
Around his neck he wore an impressive amulet made from 
iridescent heron feathers, clattering muscle shells and the 
gleaming tusks of a saber-toothed cat. 

A fog of burning sage, tangy and pleasant smelling, filled the 
cave as the Shaman paced, holding a smudge-stick aloft in his 
outstretched hand. In his other hand he carried a 
tortoiseshell rattle, which he shook to the cadence of his 
deep-throated chant. The men joined his chant, lifting their 
collective voices to the Spirit World. Dzeh's heart began to 
beat faster as the chanting progressed. He felt as if the 
Spirits sat with him at the hearth fire. This both frightened 
and made him glad.

When the Shaman had gone four times around the circle, 
cleansing the cave with his trail of smoke and calling to the 
Spirits with his singing, he took his place among the men, 
sitting to the right of Lin, the eldest. 

Now it was time for the Telling Ceremony.

Foreboding caused Dzeh's hands to quake and he stilled them by 
grasping the pouch he wore around his neck. The future held 
many secrets. Was his dream a premonition or just a simple 
nightmare?  

The men proceeded to tell their stories, going in the order of 
their ages, starting with Lin. Dzeh listened and waited his 
turn. Several of the stories were deemed true visions, their 
ramifications were discussed and appropriate prayers were 
offered.

The moment finally came for Dzeh to begin telling his story. 

"Three nights ago, I had a sleeping vision," he said before 
dread seized his throat and stole the force from his voice. 
The men nodded, encouraging him to go on. He squeezed his 
totem pouch. Took a full breath. Speaking in a hushed tone, 
like a mourning dove separated from its mate, he continued, 
"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 red-haired mate at the camp of Owl Clan."

This brought nervous looks to the other men's faces. He knew 
they were thinking it had been risky to welcome the strangers 
in the first place. 

"Muhl-dar fought with snake-man," he continued, "and defeated 
him by breaking him into two halves."

Dzeh glanced over at the Prayer Wall with its enormous 
painting of the Serpent Holder. For a heartbeat, it looked as 
if the snake might be severed in two. A spear of panic slashed 
into Dzeh's belly.  

"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 seeds fell like snow, 
even though it was not the season for them. Clansmen ran in 
every direction, afraid for their lives." Dzeh closed his 
eyes, recalling the fear he felt when he discovered Klizzie 
was not by his side. "Those who remained behind heard the 
chirping of a bird." Dzeh opened his eyes. "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. She took a deep breath and 
blew the cottonwood seeds back to the Spirit World. Then she 
swallowed up Muhl-dar and his mate. The people of Owl Clan 
were sad to see them go."

That was the end of the dream. He hoped the elders would 
decide it was not a prophecy, but only a silly nightmare.

Several moments passed while the men considered what they'd 
heard. Finally Dzeh's Uncle Lin spoke.

"I accept Dzeh's vision as a true spiritual sign."

"I agree," said his cousin Wol-la-chee, "but what does it 
mean?"

"It is clearly a bad omen," said another man. "Clan members 
were lost and the man named Muhl-dar was at fault for their 
hardship."

"If that is true, then why does the female Spirit help Muhl-
dar and why is the Clan sad to see him go?" Lin asked.

"It makes no sense," said Wol-la-chee.

"Who is this female Spirit?"

"Who is the snake-man?" asked another.

"Prophecies are often unclear when they are first revealed," 
said the Shaman. "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."

"But it is never desirable to lose Clan members," argued a man 
who had recently lost his son to dysentery and fever. 

"Maybe someone should return to Toh-ta Lodge to kill Muhl-dar 
before he cages the snake," suggested a boy barely into his 
thirteenth year.

"It might already be too late for that," said Uncle Lin.

"Then we should send Muhl-dar away when he comes," said the 
boy's father. 

"No." Dzeh shook his head. The dream frightened him, 
particularly the part about Klizzie. Even so, he was left with 
the feeling that Muhl-dar was the Clan's only hope against the 
vengeful Snake Spirit. Dzeh believed the snake-man intended to 
cause trouble for all of Owl Clan. He couldn't explain how he 
knew such a thing, only that he felt it like the chill of 
winter across his back. "Muhl-dar is my Trading Partner. He is 
Clan now and has given us no reason to either banish or kill 
him." Dzeh glared at the 13-year-old.

The boy lowered his eyes, looking ashamed.

"All aspects of the partnership have not been fulfilled," the 
boy's father reminded Dzeh. "You have made only a single 
trade."

"We will make more," Dzeh said.

"You will exchange mates with the stranger?"

"Yes, of course," Dzeh said, knowing the ritual would earn the 
Clan's trust. Mate-exchange was the ultimate demonstration of 
a man's loyalty -- to the Trading Partner and to the Clan. 

"Until Dzeh or Muhl-dar choose to sever their partnership, or 
Muhl-dar breaks a Clan custom, the newcomer and his mate will 
be treated as members of Owl Clan," Lin said. He looked at 
each man in turn. "We have accepted Dzeh's vision. We will 
watch for additional omens."

Before moving on to the next man's vision, the Shaman urged, 
"We must continue to offer prayers to the Spirits for the 
protection of Owl Clan. I fear difficult times ahead."

Dzeh silently agreed. Again he glanced at the painting of the 
Serpent Holder on the Prayer Wall and again he felt the chill 
of winter run down his spine.     

*   *   *

While the men were praying in the cave and the women were 
preparing the evening's ceremonial meal, Gini and her best 
friend Jeha hiked down a gravely trail to the stream to fill 
waterbags for tomorrow's journey. Twins Do and Ehdo followed 
several paces behind, more interested in playing with their 
dolls than in fetching water. The twins were a couple of years 
younger than Gini. Jeha was older -- two Mastodon Feasts older 
-- and was full of talk about this year's Feast and her 
imminent Joining Ceremony. Jeha had been promised by an uncle 
to Moasi, a young man in Badger Clan, one of several clans 
that would be participating in this year's Feast. Although 
Jeha had never met Moasi, she'd heard from a cousin that her 
future mate was a good hunter and very handsome.

"Moasi has already killed his first bear, you know," Jeha 
bragged.

"So you have told me." 

Moasi, Moasi, Moasi. Could Jeha think of nothing else? All 
this talk about mates and Joining Ceremonies was making Gini's 
stomach hurt. She had learned from Dzeh only this morning that 
he was going to inquire about a mate for her at the upcoming 
Feast.

"You are growing up, Gini," he had said after finishing his 
breakfast. "It is time for you to be mated. I will make 
arrangements." 

And that was that; he said nothing more and walked away 
leaving her too stunned to speak. Which was just as well; it 
would have been inappropriate for her to object in any case.

Gini had gone immediately to find Klizzie, hoping to talk to 
her about Dzeh's decision, and the bumblebees it had put in 
her stomach, but Klizzie was too busy preparing the day's 
Spirit Feast to answer her questions. 

"We can talk tomorrow. On our way to Turkey Lake." Klizzie 
kissed her on the head and hurried away to add pine nuts to 
the Offerings.

Gini was as nervous as a trapped goose about the idea of 
taking a mate, moving away to a strange clan, leaving the only 
family she had ever known. It seemed so unfair. Why did girls 
have to leave their clans to be mated and not boys?

"My mother is sewing ivory beads and blue jay feathers to my 
Joining Skirt," Jeha prattled as they neared the stream. The 
woods thinned here and the twins ran ahead, wanting to be 
first to the water. "Ma-ma made the skirt from doe skins as 
white as new-fallen snow. And soft! You have never felt such 
soft hides."

Jeha would look pretty in her Joining Day skins, Gini had to 
admit. Long hair done up in braids with beads and feathers and 
a crown of flower blossoms, her perfect skin oiled and 
perfumed. Jeha stood half a head taller than Gini. Her waist 
curved in and her hips curved out, and her breasts had begun 
to swell. Gini's chest remained as flat as any boy's and her 
narrow hips led straight down into her skinny legs, knobby 
knees and big feet. Sometimes she felt as ugly as a 
grasshopper next to her older friend.

It struck her this might be a good thing. Maybe Dzeh would not 
be able to find a boy who would want an ugly girl like her. 
Then she could stay with Owl Clan and Klizzie.
 
It was sad losing her best friend. Gini and Jeha had been like 
sisters all their lives. Now they would never again have the 
opportunity to play string games or dolls or Find Me. Jeha 
would become a member of Badger Clan. She would be expected to 
tend her mate's hearth, raise lots of children. She would 
leave Turkey Lake in the autumn and it would be many seasons 
before Gini would see her again. 

If ever. 

The twins stripped out of their fur skirts and waded into the 
shallow brook, while Jeha and Gini settled side-by-side on a 
low moss-covered rock where they could dangle their feet in 
the cold, clear water. They sat near one of Klizzie's stone 
markers, set out for the newcomers to follow.

Gini wondered if Muhl-dar and Day-nuh had left Toh-ta Lodge 
yet and if they were following Klizzie's trail. Or had they 
decided to return to Eel Clan instead? Gini liked the 
strangers, especially Muhl-dar, and hoped to see them both 
again soon.

Maybe Dzeh could find her a mate like Muhl-dar. Gini guessed 
he was a good hunter and she knew he was handsome -- in a 
foreign sort of way. Although she had never met Jeha's future 
mate, she was quite sure the boy from Badger Clan could not be 
as good looking as Muhl-dar. 

"Does it not scare you a little?" Gini asked, watching the 
twins splash and chase each other in circles. They looked so 
much alike, it was easy to lose track of who was who. 

"What are you talking about?" Jeha asked.

"Being mated to a man you have not met." Gini could not 
imagine it. Klizzie had told her that laying with a man was a 
pleasant thing, and Gini believed her, but she also wondered 
why women sometimes cried out in the night as if in pain when 
they laid with their mates. 

Klizzie herself had cried out just last night.

Jeha put on the expression of a grownup. "It is the Clan way. 
There is no point in being frightened." 

Gini was not so sure. Last fall she had seen a stallion mount 
a mare. He had climbed onto her back while she whinnied, the 
whites of her eyes showing all around. Clearly, she didn't 
like it. When the stallion finally got off her, his male part 
hung long and wet-looking.

Did that happen to men? 

"Besides," Jeha said, while drawing shapes in the water with 
her toe, "it is a worse life to have no mate at all."

That was true. A woman without a mate had no status and was 
always last to get her share of meat or skins. If there was 
not enough to go around, she went without. A woman alone must 
rely on the charity of the Clan for all things.

"And don't forget, you must lie with a man if you want 
babies," Jeha said matter-of-factly. "You want babies, don't 
you?"

She supposed she did. "What does laying with a man have to do 
with getting babies?" 

Jeha laughed. "You are still a baby yourself if you do not 
know the answer to that."

Gini flushed with embarrassment, although she was uncertain 
what it was that made Jeha laugh at her. Klizzie prayed to the 
Spirits to bring her babies; she had never mentioned any other 
way of getting them. "If you are so smart, tell me where 
babies come from."

Do and Ehdo had stopped their running and now sat in the brook 
playing a clapping game.  Jeha watched them while she 
explained. "You know that a man puts his be-zonz inside a 
woman when they lay together, don't you?"

"Yes. Of course." Again she pictured the stallion.

"Well, the baby crawls through the man's be-zonz into the 
woman. Ma-ma told me so."

Was that true? It didn't seem possible. It didn't even make 
sense. 

"Where does the man keep the baby before he puts it in the 
woman and how does it fit through his be-zonz?" 

"The baby is very small, silly. It grows to normal size 
*after* it gets inside the woman."

Well, that made sense at least. Pregnant women were not large, 
not at first. They grew bigger only as their time drew near. 
Animals were like that, too. The horses mated in the autumn. 
By spring, the mares were heavy with foals. 

A man's be-zonz might grow large during mating to allow for 
the baby's passage, Gini supposed.

Still, why did people pray to Spirits for babies if they came 
from men? 

Jeha turned away from the twins and lowered her voice to a 
whisper. "Watch them sometime. See for yourself."

"Watch what?"

"Our aunts and uncles when they are in their sleeping skins."

"Jeha, that is not polite!" Gini said, wanting suddenly to be 
playing games with Do and Ehdo rather than continuing this 
conversation. Jeha's talk was making her stomach hurt worse 
than before. "Let's swim." 

"If you want." Jeha laughed again. She stood to remove her fur 
skirt. "But one day you will see I am telling you the truth." 

Again Gini pictured the stallion's enormous male part and the 
bumblebees in her stomach began to buzz more violently than 
ever.  

*   *   *

Mulder carried the larger pack and the spears, occasionally 
using one of the spears as a walking stick. Scully lugged the 
waterbag and the smaller pack, which was intended for storing 
food but was currently empty. It was late afternoon and they 
were climbing yet another forested hill. They'd been following 
Klizzie's markers and traveling northeast for seven days. 
Mulder guessed they were covering fifteen to twenty miles a 
day now that he was feeling stronger.

"There." Mulder pointed to a stack of fist-sized stones 
balanced atop a mossy boulder twenty yards upstream.

"Camp now?" Scully asked. She had begun talking 
epigrammatically around mid-morning and had said almost 
nothing at all since noon. 

Mulder assumed her terseness was the result of fatigue and 
hunger. Or a reaction to his own irritability. He felt 
snappier than A.D. Skinner at an OPR meeting.

"We still have several hours of daylight left. Let's keep 
going. Maybe we can crest the next ridge before dark." 

They couldn't stop now -- they had nothing to eat. 

"Fine." Scully switched the waterbag to her other hand and 
continued hiking. 

The path was steep here, zigzagging uphill between ghostly 
aspens and sparse evergreens, following a channel carved by the 
stream. Loose stones lined the trail. Granite cobbles and tree 
roots served as irregular steps. Aspens shivered in the chilly 
breeze, their papery leaves chattering like teeth. 

The air smelled like pinesap and last year's fermenting 
chokecherries.  The skies were overcast again today. Last 
night had been downright frigid. He and Scully had huddled 
together for warmth, fully dressed beneath the sleeping skins. 

Their all-night embrace had been for practical purposes only. 

They'd made love only once since Mulder's nightmare, and it 
had not been particularly satisfying for either one of them. 
They couldn't seem to get out of each other's way, fumbling 
with their clothes, bumping noses, elbowing and pinching. It 
was all over in less than ten minutes, which was probably for 
the best. 

Mulder was still embarrassed to think about the welt he'd 
raised on Scully's chin when he accidentally clipped her with 
his knuckles. He'd meant to caress her, but was distracted by 
a biting deerfly and wound up walloping her instead. 

They'd both been in sour moods ever since.

Although unwilling to take the lead in their intimate life -- 
at least for the time being -- Mulder did volunteer to occupy 
the forward position on the trail. He set a strenuous pace, 
hoping to burn off some of his unrequited sexual energy. He 
wanted to be bone-tired before falling into bed with Scully at 
the end of each day. That way, he was sure to keep his hands 
off her and avoid making an ass of himself...again.  

Something moved in the woods up ahead, just beyond Klizzie's 
marker. Mulder caught a glimpse of shaggy, reddish-brown fur 
between the tree trunks. He stopped and held up a cautionary 
finger to Scully. 

She came to a standstill a step or two behind him.

"See it?" he whispered, never taking his eyes off the animal. 
It was shuffling slowly downhill, partially obscured by 
vegetation as it grazed on leaves. Was it a bear? A gorilla? 

"Megalonyx," Scully whispered, when it came into full view.

"Megalo-what?"

"Giant Ground Sloth." 

Jesus, it looked like some sort of mutant hamster. A ten-foot-
tall mutant hamster.

The bizarre animal rose up on its hind legs, reaching a long-
clawed paw into the upper limbs of an aspen. It tore off a 
leafy branch and stuffed it into its mouth. Its arms were 
massive. Each paw sported six-inch curved claws. Its head was 
undersized for its brawny body, with a wide face, a flat 
snout, short, rounded ears, and pig-like eyes set far back on 
its skull.

"Carnivorous?" Mulder asked.

"No, but dangerous from the look of those claws."

The sloth hooked another branch and brought it crashing to the 
ground. It turned an inquisitive eye toward Mulder and Scully 
and sniffed the air. Seemingly unconcerned, it continued to 
lazily munch leaves.

God, the thing must weigh three tons. 

Three tons of fresh meat. 

Thick flank steaks. Tenderloins the size of a man's arm. T-
bones to die for. Mulder's empty stomach rumbled. He quickly 
set everything he carried down on the ground...except his most 
durable spear.

"Mulder, what are you doing?"

"I'm gonna bag us dinner, Scully." 

He hefted the spear, gauged the distance.

"Mulder, use your gun," Scully urged through clenched teeth.

And waste a bullet? Nnnaaah, the sloth was moving very slowly. 

"Mulder--"

Ignoring her warning, he charged the beast, spear raised 
shoulder high. The sloth stopped eating when it heard him 
stampeding up the hill. It turned to face him. Rearing up on 
its hind legs, it honked a warning that sounded like a cross 
between a grizzly bear and a Mack Truck.

Mulder bellowed right back at him, racing forward, sending a 
mini avalanche of gravel downhill behind him. He targeted the 
animal's heart, gripped the spear, and prepared for impact. 

Twenty feet...fifteen...ten... 

The sloth swiped the air with an enormous paw as the spear 
punctured its chest. A thick, curving claw raked Mulder's face 
and pain exploded along his left cheek. Blood spurted from the 
wound.

Ignoring his injury, Mulder thrust the spear more deeply into 
the animal's breast.

The sloth roared and pivoted, lifting Mulder to his toes. He 
clung to the weapon, while the beast flailed an enormous arm, 
trying to bat him off. He dodged the blow, released the spear 
and dropped to his knees. Quickly, he scrambled back a step or 
two.

The injured sloth attempted a charge but staggered sideways 
instead. It lashed out again and missed Mulder by mere inches 
before it lost its balance, tottered, and finally collapsed 
onto its back.
 
Mulder wasted no time. He clambered up onto the giant's 
mountainous belly. Using all his weight, he drove the spear as 
deep into the animal as it would go.

The sloth gasped, its head lolled, and its limbs went limp. 

Balanced on its chest, Mulder let out a victorious whoop.

"Mulder!" Scully rushed forward, fear in her eyes. "You're 
hurt!"

"I'm okay." He jumped to the ground and circled the sloth, 
practically dancing with excitement. "Do you prefer your 
steaks medium or well done?"

"You're not okay. You're bleeding." She slowed his restless 
pacing by grabbing his sleeve. "Hold still. Let me see." She 
reached out to probe the wound on his cheek.

"Ow!" He ducked away from her hand, but she was as tenacious 
as a fat-sucking mutant and was on him again in an instant. 
"It's nothing," he protested, arm extended to keep her at a 
distance. "We have meat to cut up. Sirloins to grill."

"You need stitches."

"Too bad we're twelve thousand *years* from the nearest 
hospital." He tried again to get around her, but she body-
blocked him. He settled for inspecting the carcass over the 
top of her head.

"Look at those drumsticks, Scully. And that rump roast." He 
pictured a couple of super-sized sloth-burgers, with a side 
order of onion rings and a large frosty milkshake.

"I have needle and thread."

"Hm?" Mulder glanced down. Scully was holding one of those 
cheapo hotel sewing kits in her hand. 

Oh. Crap. He'd forgotten she had that.

She steered him to the boulder that held Klizzie's marker and, 
with the point of a finger, ordered him to sit. Then she laid 
out her needle, thread and a pair of miniature scissors that 
came with the kit. "I'm going to wash and stitch that wound. 
Give me your handkerchief."

He obliged her with the handkerchief but refused to sit. "I 
killed it, Scully," he said, grinning. "Did you see me?"

"Yes, I saw." She washed her hands and soaked the handkerchief 
in the stream. The minute her attention left him, he returned 
to the sloth.

"Mulder, I told you to sit." She went to him and guided him by 
the arm back to the rock. "What you did was foolhardy." 

Foolhardy? He shook his arm loose. "Tell that to the sloth." 
He was hoping she'd be impressed by his success. Not to 
mention the gazillion pounds of fresh meat. "Still got all my 
bullets," he bragged.

"And one nasty cut." 

"How sanitary is that needle?" he asked when she cornered him 
beside the boulder. "Won't I get an infection?"

"That'd be preferable to bleeding to death. *Sit*."

He did as she asked and eyeballed her needle, while she 
inspected his wound. Gently, she swabbed his bloody cheek with 
the wet handkerchief. 

"This would be easier without all the whiskers."

It had been a week and a half since he'd last shaved and he 
guessed he must look pretty scruffy.

Scully used the waterbag to rinse his cheek.

"Hey, you're getting my clothes wet." 

She continued to pour.

"That hurts!" He winced more for effect than from pain. 

She raised an eyebrow and handed him the waterbag and the 
blood-soaked handkerchief. "Hold these." 

"Shouldn't you use some of that soap root or something?"

"It isn't antibacterial, Mulder. Your own blood will do a 
better job of cleansing the wound than that root." She 
threaded her needle.

"Can't you just kiss it and make it better?"

"I'm a doctor, Mulder, not your mother."

"You're a pathologist." Her needle stung when it pierced his 
skin. "Ow! Don't forget, I'm not a corpse."

"Shhh."

"Do I get a reward if I don't cry?"

"We'll see."

She worked fast, quickly closing his wound with careful 
stitches. The cut was just below his eye. An inch or two 
higher--

He didn't want to think about it. He also didn't want to watch 
her needle popping in and out of his skin, so he avoided 
looking at her hands and focused on her eyes instead.

In them he saw determination, self-control and compassion.

She leaned close to tie off the final knots. "Almost finished," 
she murmured, and tears filled his eyes -- not from the pain 
she was causing, but from the devotion in her voice.

He held perfectly still, waiting...

"There," she said at last. "How does that feel?"

He pouted. "It hurts."

She tucked the scissors and needle back into her kit, and gave 
him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry."

"I didn't cry. You owe me a reward."

She gave him a quick kiss on the nose, then took the bloody 
handkerchief from his hand. "How about we cut up that carcass 
now? I'm pretty handy with a knife."

"That wasn't much of a kiss." Taking a chance, he wrapped his 
arms around her. Still seated, he had to look up to give her 
his best puppy-eyed stare. He knew she was more apt to indulge 
him after he was recently injured. "Kiss me and make me better, 
Doctor Scully."

She smiled, and he felt the tide of tension between them ebb a 
bit. An apology hung on his lips, but he was afraid to speak of 
their recent rift for fear he might reopen the gulf between 
them.

"Close your eyes," she said.

"I can't watch?" His tone turned petulant but he did as he was 
told.

From behind closed lids he felt her place a feather-light kiss 
on the lashes of his left eye, just above the wound on his 
cheek.

He tightened his arms around her and mumbled into her neck, 
"What do you know, it worked."

She kissed the crown of his head. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you. Much."

*   *   *

Klizzie shivered as she looked up through the evergreen boughs 
at the overcast sky. Clouds marched like mastodons overhead 
and a bitter wind was blowing in from the north. The air 
smelled like snow, which wasn't unusual at these altitudes, 
even in mid-summer. She followed the Clan up the southwestern 
slopes of Sleeping Wolf Mountain. Spruce and white pine grew 
tall here. A dense layer of rust-colored needles blanketed the 
ground, muting their footfalls.     

"Are we almost there?" Gini asked, whining like a mosquito. 
She dragged her feet with exaggerated exhaustion.

"We will make camp soon. Tomorrow we will be at Turkey Lake," 
Klizzie said, trying to cheer the girl. Gini had been in a 
somber mood for the past two days, ever since the Clan had 
left Tsa-ond Cave. 

Dzeh had been subdued, too. When Klizzie asked him to share 
his troubles, he refused to discuss them, saying his head was 
full of men's business and she was not to worry, which made 
her worry even more.

"I'm hungry," Gini complained.

"You are welcome to the pine nuts in my pouch." Klizzie nodded 
her chin at the bag tied to the belt of her skirt.

"I do not want pine nuts."

"Well, that is all there is." 

That wasn't true; Klizzie carried an assortment of berries, 
burdock root and dried meat, but they were packed away and she 
didn't feel like stopping to dig them out.

"Uncle Lin has a honeycomb," Gini said, looking hopeful.

"That is for the Mastodon Feast and you know it."

The Clan had brought many gifts for the celebration. Furs, 
spear points, bone beads, but the most prized was the large 
comb of honey, stored in a hollowed gourd and wrapped tightly 
with fresh cattail leaves to keep out insects...and hungry 
children.

"Ask Jeha if she has any more spruce gum," Klizzie suggested.

Looking ahead to where Jeha walked with her mother and aunt, 
Gini frowned. "She is busy."

"She is just talking."

"Yeah, about Moasi. I have heard enough about him." 

"You will have a mate of your own soon enough. Then you will 
talk about nothing but him, too, just as Jeha talks about 
Moasi."

"I will not." Gini's frown deepened. 

Klizzie was about to ask her to explain her angry face, but 
the Clan was stopping. The men and boys were circling around 
something in the path up ahead.

"Are we camping here?" Gini asked, curiosity replacing her 
storm-cloud expression.

It was too early to set camp. Something else was going on. 

"Let's go see," Klizzie said, and she and Gini broke into a 
trot. 

They found everyone had gone as quiet as stone while they 
gaped at something on the ground. Klizzie shouldered her way 
through the circle to see what it was they were looking at.

Mother Earth, it was a baby owl and it mewled pitifully, its 
wings too underdeveloped to fly. 

"It must have fallen from up there," Uncle Lin said, his 
finger aimed skyward.

Klizzie lifted her eyes to a notch high in the hemlock that 
towered over the trail. The mother owl was nowhere to be seen. 
The baby would not last long. A predator would take it as soon 
as the Clan moved on.

This was a bad omen. The owl was the symbol of the Clan. Its 
fall from the nest portended a tragedy.

Klizzie felt Gini take her hand. "Can we put it back?" the 
girl asked.

"Its mother will not accept it." 

"Maybe we can take it with us."

"It would die just as surely, Gini."

"But if we care for it and feed--"

The Shaman glared at Gini, silencing her. Turning his 
attention to the owl, he knelt and spoke loud enough for all 
the Clan to hear. "The Spirits have thrown this bird here for 
us to see, and only they can save it."

Klizzie glanced at Dzeh, who had gone pale. The young owl 
squealed and Klizzie felt the soft tread of Spirits passing 
across her flesh.

*   *   *

"We should start cutting up that carcass, Tarzan," Scully 
said, still locked in his embrace. 

He was looking past her at something on the hill. Saying 
nothing, his arms dropped away and he rose to his feet.

She turned and tried to make out what it was that caught his 
attention. " Another sloth?"

"Uh-uh. A cave." He walked away from her, heading uphill.

She hurried after him, following him between trees and around 
boulders. He moved faster the higher he climbed and she 
scrambled to keep pace. 

Sure enough, a cave came into view. She was amazed he'd been 
able to spot it from below. Camouflaged by shadows, the 
entrance was nearly invisible.

When they reached it, they found the opening was actually 
quite large, approximately six feet across and equally tall. 
It had a wide stone landing, which was flat and offered a 
spectacular view of the valley below.

Mulder paused at the entrance to dig his flashlight from his 
pocket.

"Don't wanna trip on any bears," he said, aiming the beam into 
the dark. 

He stepped inside and she followed. His roving flashlight 
spotlighted bats the size of lab rats hanging by the dozens in 
clumps overhead. Annoyed by the unexpected visitors, they 
squeaked and wriggled, but stayed put.

The cave was too deep for the flash light to penetrate all the 
way to the back. "Anybody home?" he yelled, his voice 
ricocheting off the rock. "What's that smell?"

The tangy aroma of burnt herbs and woodsmoke blended with the 
syrupy odor of the bats. 

"Sage, I think," Scully said. "Somebody must have been in here 
recently." 

"Klizzie's people?" Mulder moved further into the cave. 

"Probably. Her marker is just down the hill."

Mulder's beam revealed a large fire pit in the middle of the 
rock floor. Scully walked over to it and crouched. 

"Still a little warm," she announced, fingers testing the ash.

Mulder swiveled, painting the cave with his light as he 
explored their surroundings.

"What's that?" she asked when his beam reflected off a small 
white object lying on the ground by the far wall. 

She crossed the cave and picked it up. 

"It's female," Mulder stated the obvious, spotlighting her 
palm. "Looks like a fertility idol -- like the Venus of 
Willendorf, found in Austria. Pendulous breasts, pregnant 
belly, no facial features to speak of. Similar figurines have 
been found all over the world."

"They date as far back as 30,000 years."

She turned it over in her hand, impressed by its smoothness. 
It felt strangely warm, almost alive, as if imbued with the 
faith of its careful carver. She stroked its roundness with 
her thumb. For just a moment, she thought she detected a 
heartbeat there.

"Powerful magic." Mulder turned away, taking his light with 
him, his attention already focused elsewhere. 

"Why do you say that?"

"The 20th Century is full of people, isn't it?" 

She gripped the idol and was startled when she felt what she 
could only describe as hope tickle her palm. Damn it, she was 
being foolish, letting this place get to her. The carving was 
nothing more than a lucky charm, like a four-leaf clover or a 
rabbit's foot.

"Wow, look at this, Scully." 

Mulder was examining a painting on the rock wall. He stepped 
back, broadening the circle of his beam, revealing a stone 
canvas covered with pictograms. 

"Jesus, there're hundreds of them," he said, as his light 
crawled across the wall. Mastodons, bison, men with spears, 
horses, rabbits, owls...lots of owls. He stopped when he came 
to a nearly life-size image of a man holding a snake. 

"Ophiuchus."

"Who?" She joined him at the wall for a closer look.

"The Serpent Holder." He ran the light along the length of the 
snake. "You know, in the sky. The constellation."

Of course. He'd pointed it out only a few nights ago when they 
were admiring the Andromeda Nebula. 

Ophiuchus had been a Healer who was struck dead by a 
thunderbolt from Zeus at the request of Hades, God of the Dead, 
because he had brought Orion back to life. Gods' work.

"The myth of Ophiuchus is years in the future, Mulder," she 
reminded him.

He nodded absently. "Yeah. Maybe." He was using his I'm-
agreeing-with-you-without-really-agreeing-with-you tone, which 
meant that he was formulating some new theory he wasn't yet 
ready to share.  

The Serpent Holder loomed over them, staring out of blank eyes. 
It was unnerving. The way Mulder's light played across the rock 
made the snake look as if it were undulating in the Serpent 
Holder's hands. A tiny reddish-brown jackrabbit with frightened 
white eyes huddled next to the snake, looking powerless and 
vulnerable. 

The carved idol seemed to throb in Scully's palm. She felt 
suddenly lightheaded, queasy. Doubling over, she cried out as a 
slash of pain seared her abdomen.

"Scully?" Mulder was instantly by her side, arms thrown around 
her to keep her from falling. "What is it? What's the matter?"

"I don't...I don't know..." Oh God, the pain was awful. "It 
hurts..."

"Where?" Mulder's expression was frantic.

"Here...ooohhhh!" She clutched her stomach, just above her 
navel. 

He aimed his light at her, tugged her shirt up to reveal her 
bare skin.

"I don't see anything. What is it?"

She gasped for breath. "I feel...I think...ooohhhh, Mulderrr." 
Sinking to her knees, she tried to breathe through the pain.

"Talk to me, Scully. What can I...how can I help?"

"I feel like...I think I've been...shot." But there had been no 
gun, no bullet. There was no blood. Just pain, terrible pain, 
burning a straight line through her stomach and out her back. 

She reached for Mulder, grabbed him around the neck. Oh God, oh 
God. The idol slipped from her fingers and fell soundlessly to 
the ground.   

*   *   *

CHAPTER NINE

Scully closes her eyes against the pain that is slicing 
through her abdomen. Searing white light flashes behind her 
closed lids. The cave disappears; Mulder's embrace 
disintegrates.

A vast Pleistocene plateau separates them. He is almost 
indiscernible on the distant horizon, but only for an instant. 
Just as suddenly, he is back with her...in their basement 
office.

Splashes of light and dark mottle the wall. Mulder is showing 
slides, crime scene photos of baby killers, murderers posing 
as Santa Claus and insurance salesmen. Image after image fills 
Scully's field of vision in a seemingly endless progression. 
None of the cases look familiar.

"Focus, please," Scully tells Mulder, her voice strident. This 
close-up view of nothing is getting on her nerves.

"Can't. Seems to be broken." He fiddles with the lens. Jiggles 
the carousel. The picture becomes blurrier, if that's 
possible. He hisses, surrenders by turning off the projector.

She sighs with relief when the fan stops spinning. 

Blinking, she finds they are no longer in the basement; 
they're riding in a rental car. The light from the projector 
has been replaced by twin highbeams piercing the desert night. 
She feels disoriented by the sudden change of scene.

Mulder appears unconcerned as he concentrates on acres of 
emptiness beyond the windshield. He's driving, as usual. "What 
is your point?" he asks, tone curious, with no trace of 
judgment.

Although she has no idea what her point was or is, she hears 
herself ask, "Don't you ever just want to stop?" Her tone is 
petulant, almost whiny. "Get out of the damn car? Settle down 
and live something approaching a normal life?" She realizes 
she's wanted to ask him this for a long time, ever since 
Emily.

She also wants to roll down her window and let the night air 
blast her hair away from her face, but she doesn't. 

Where are they and why are they here? The car's AC has brought 
the aroma of sage and sand into the vehicle, and she is 
reminded of the desert that surrounds Hills Air Force Base in 
Box Elder County, Utah. 

Another wild goose chase that led nowhere.    

Still looking out a window, she is no longer in the car, but 
in Mulder's apartment. It's night outside and snow is falling 
in ghostly clumps. She wonders how life can turn on a dime 
when you're standing still. 

"You didn't want to be there?" Mulder asks. She doesn't know 
to what he's referring. His brow furrows as he considers his 
own question, and he appears disappointed, conciliatory. "Oh, 
that's, um...that's self-righteous and narcissistic of me to 
say, isn't it?"

Is it? She doesn't understand what he means; she can't make 
sense of any of this, but hears herself reply, "No, I 
mean...maybe I did want to be out there with you."

Confused, she gapes at him for a moment without speaking. She 
has no idea where they've been, or why she would or wouldn't 
want to be there, or even how they got into Mulder's 
apartment. 

But she is glad to be with him, not because he is giving her a 
brightly wrapped Christmas gift but because he's smiling 
shyly, like he has a secret to share but doesn't quite know 
where to start. He's speaking in his most gentle voice, the 
one he reserves for the rare occasions when he's being 
extraordinarily tender with her, like the time she woke up in 
a hospital after being abducted by Duane Barry.

She has a gift for Mulder, too, and his eyes light up as he 
takes it from her. His eyelashes look so soft; she wants to 
reach out, feel their tickle against the pad of her index 
finger.

But that's impossible because he is no longer in the room, 
which is a doctor's examination room now, not Mulder's 
apartment. The doctor stands a few feet away beside a sink and 
removes his latex gloves. Scully sits with her back to a wall, 
wearing a paper gown, feeling exposed, skin crawling with 
irritation.

"It'll take at least two more sessions to get all the pigment 
out," the doctor says. A sympathetic smile warms his face.

"Getting rid of it hurts more than getting it in the first 
place," she says, knowing from the sting on her back she must 
be referring to her tattoo.

"A lot of patients tell me that. You can get dressed now." He 
tosses his gloves into the medical waste bin before leaving 
the room.

Why is she having her tattoo removed? 

She's beginning to suspect this is a dream, but doesn't 
remember falling asleep. Wasn't she in a cave? With Mulder? 
Perhaps this is a hallucination.

Rising from the exam table, she casts off her paper gown and 
dresses in business clothes, planning to return to the office 
for another hour or two. Mulder wanted to go over a case 
about...about...

She can't remember. It seems the mutants are all beginning to 
look alike, running one into another, countless genetic freaks 
strung like mismatched beads on a necklace of abnormal DNA.

Emily was such a mutation, she remembers. A miracle that was 
never meant to be. 

Mulder is once again with her in his apartment and he's crying 
over the loss of someone close to him. Her heart goes out to 
him; she understands bereavement, has felt its miserable ache.

Somehow she knows his mother has died of Paget's Carcinoma. 
She can picture Teena Mulder, split open on an autopsy table, 
her insides exposed. Heart, lungs...the womb that once cradled 
Mulder and his sister. 

She tries to embrace Mulder, but her arms close around 
nothing. It's night. She is standing on the doorstep of a 
house she's never seen before; a man she doesn't recognize 
stands to her left. Mulder waits back at the car. Scully is 
facing a screen door and an elderly woman is on the other side 
looking out at her, curious.

Scully asks her, "Are you the same Arbutus Ray who worked as a 
nurse at the Dominic Savio Memorial Hospital in 1979?" 

"Yes, I am she."

Gooseflesh dots Scully's arms. Mulder's sister is dead. She 
died at age fourteen. 

God, can that be true? Can any of this be true?

Mulder stands beside her, looking up at the stars.

"You know, I never stop to think that the light is billions of 
years old by the time we see it. From the beginning of time 
right past us into the future," he says. "Nothing is ancient 
in the universe."

She follows his line of vision only to find she's now in an 
unfamiliar apartment where there are cameras on every shelf. 
The room smells of chemicals, like a darkroom. A stranger is 
loading film.

He tells her "You're very lucky, you know that?"

He barely finishes speaking when a bullet pierces her abdomen. 
The pain is a shock, buckling her knees, sliding her to the 
floor.

Mulder! Help me, please! 

What the hell is going on? This is all too much. She feels 
queasy from the shifts in place and time. She looks down at 
her hurting stomach and sees blood staining her blouse. 

Pain rips through her abdomen. Oh, God, oh, God!

The apartment vanishes. The blood disappears. Scully is once 
again in the cave with Mulder. Everything is back at the 
beginning. And everything hurts. 

"Mulder..." she groans. "Help me."

*   *   *

"Scully...?" Not knowing what else to do, Mulder sat on the 
ground and embraced her, petted her hair, repeated her name. 
She clung to him, her nails drawing blood as they dug at the 
nape of his neck. She moaned and he thought he had never heard 
such a godawful sound. It stripped him of reason, set him on 
the edge of panic. "Fuck!" he finally shouted, at wit's end.

She didn't respond. A bad sign in itself.

So he rocked her, waiting, helpless, biting his lip against 
another outburst. She didn't need his fear. She was battling 
her own demons, trying to ride out her pain, probably trying 
to diagnose it even as it overwhelmed her.

What the hell was happening to her? Food poisoning? Could last 
night's miserable meal have made her sick? It seemed unlikely 
-- he'd eaten twice as many of those awful snail-things as she 
had and he felt fine. Maybe she'd contracted a disease...or 
was bitten by a poisonous insect. It couldn't be her cancer, 
could it? 

When her nails finally relaxed their grip in his neck and her 
trembling eased, he continued to soothe her by rubbing her 
back and whispering, "Shhh, it's okay, it's okay," trying to 
persuade himself as much as her. 

She'd been talking through gritted teeth for the last ten or 
fifteen minutes -- an eternity under the circumstances. Her 
conversation was disjointed. One-sided. She didn't respond to 
any of his questions, but seemed to be speaking with someone 
else. She mentioned several familiar names -- his mother, 
Emily, Duane Barry. And a name he didn't recognize: Arbutus 
Ray. Who the hell was that?

"Scully?" He tried to look at her face, but she buried her 
nose deeply into the crease of his neck. "Are you still in 
pain?"

She tightened her grip and shook her head.

"What happened?" he persisted. "Come on, Scully. Say 
something."

Air shuddered audibly from her lungs as she slid out of his 
arms and rose to her feet. She stood with shoulders hunched 
and head hanging so that her hair veiled her eyes.

He stood, too, and she stepped away from him, putting several 
feet between them. Her eyes roamed the cave; she looked 
everywhere but at him.

"Scully, talk to me."

"I... It felt like I'd been shot." Her hand moved to shield 
her stomach. "I saw things."

"What things?"

"Images. Just flashes really."

"Can you remember any of them?"

Again she avoided looking at him. "Nothing made any sense," 
she insisted. "It was just a bunch of jumbled, unconnected 
pictures." 

"Caused by what?"

She shrugged, turned away, shielding her eyes and her 
expression. "A perceptual disturbance of some kind, like 
hypnagogic or hypnopompic imagery. It's not uncommon for 
people to see strange images, or find themselves temporarily 
unable to move or speak, while in a state between sleep and 
wakefulness."

"Scully, this happened while you were wide awake." He took a 
step forward and tagged her hand. "You were talking the entire 
time."

"Was I?" Worry creased her brow.

"You mentioned Duane Barry. Do you remember that?"

Her eyes searched the ground and finally came to rest on the 
tiny carved idol. He followed her gaze and focused on it, too. 
His paranormal radar was picking up a signal, loud and clear. 
The idol was connected in some way to her sudden collapse, to 
the images she was refusing to discuss. He could feel it as 
surely as a tap on his shoulder.

"Scully, who is Arbutus Ray?"

"I don't know. The name isn't familiar." She straightened and 
finally looked him in the eyes. "We should cut up that sloth."

Shouldering past him and out of the cave, she gave him little 
choice but to follow.

*   *   *

Klizzie stood on the uppermost ridge of Crouching Cat 
Mountain, overlooking a broad valley that cradled Turkey Lake. 
Gray as stone beneath the low overcast, the big lake stretched 
all the way to the Traveling Camels, a range of hills named 
for their rounded, evenly spaced peaks. Dense forest bordered 
the lake to the northeast, grassland to the southwest. On the 
nearest shore were the domed shelters of Badger Clan. 

Klizzie's heart felt lighter than dandelion seeds on a summer 
breeze. She squeezed the pouch that hung between her breasts 
and offered a quick prayer of thanks to the Spirits for 
delivering Owl Clan safely to their destination.

The hike down to Tabaha Lodge would be easy, the slope gradual 
across open meadow.  The sky appeared unwilling to release its 
rain just yet. And although the wind was cool, it wasn't 
biting.

Already a group of children were running ahead, laughing, 
wanting to be first to reach the lakeside village. The men 
followed behind them, gathered in knots according to kinships, 
discussing upcoming events. Dzeh walked with his Uncle Lin and 
the Shaman, his head bent as he listened to the older men. 
Klizzie guessed they were reviewing the many upcoming 
ceremonies and scheduling the rituals.

The women brought up the rear, traveling in clusters of three 
or four. They chatted while they lugged infants and supplies. 
Occasionally one would shout to the older children whenever 
they ran too far ahead. Everyone appeared happy and relaxed 
despite their long trip.   

Klizzie smiled, too. Tonight she would be sitting at the 
hearth of her first family. She would embrace her aunts and 
her cousins. The clans would trade gifts, food and stories. 
She would learn who had died and who had been born since her 
last visit. 

Additional shelters would be constructed tomorrow. She and 
Dzeh would once again sleep beneath a roof shared by his 
closest kin. She would miss the stars, but not the chill and 
the damp and the mosquitoes.

In a few days, Turtle Clan would arrive from the south and 
Otter Clan from the east, and then the Mastodon Feast would 
officially begin.

Klizzie gathered several fist-sized stones and stacked them 
one on top of the other. This would be her last marker. If 
Day-nuh and Muhl-dar traveled this far, they could not miss 
the summer camp below.

Stones set in place, Klizzie hurried to catch up with her 
family.

*   *   *

Jogging with an awkward sidestep down the steep mountain path, 
arms held wide for balance, Mulder kept his eyes glued to 
Scully's retreating back. Her hair bounced with a determined 
rhythm as she hurried down the slope. He sped up to catch her.

More than a decade as a professional profiler and he still 
found it impossible to figure out what was on her mind. She 
had him feeling clueless. Which just made him want to try 
harder to ferret out her secrets. If history repeated itself 
she would remain inscrutable, an enigma despite his best 
efforts.

Scully was Mulder's blind spot. There was no seeing into her 
unless she let him. 

She was nearing the stream where they'd left the sloth when 
she suddenly stopped and held up a cautionary hand. He slowed, 
drew his gun, and stepped carefully, quietly to her side.

At first he couldn't see them hidden behind the sloth's bulky 
carcass. But he could hear them growling, tearing at flesh. 

Then a pair of silvery heads appeared over the top of the 
sloth's rounded belly. Pointed ears, blue-white eyes, fangs, 
muzzles dripping with fresh blood. 

Wolves. 

Eating *his* sloth. Fuck. 

He brushed past Scully and strode downhill, arms waving. "Get 
the hell outta here! Goddammit!"

A third wolf peered over the carcass. Then a fourth and fifth.

Shit. 

Mulder slowed his steps.  

The first wolf barred its teeth and growled. Mulder's stomach 
growled back. He was hungry. He hadn't eaten since last night 
and that was only a handful of berries and a bunch of bitter 
slug-things. No way was he going to let a bunch of mangy 
wolves steal his hard-earned supper.

"Sorry, boys, no cutting the line. We were here first." He 
aimed his gun into the trees and fired. The blast startled and 
scattered the wolves. It also unsettled a bunch of buzzards 
that had been skulking in the branches overhead, waiting their 
turn for leftovers. The wolves disappeared into the woods.

"That was a waste of a bullet." Scully frowned and marched 
past Mulder toward the sloth. She examined the dead animal 
from several angles, fists on her hips.

"They didn't look like the sharing types, Scully."

"We agreed to use the gun only in life-and-death situations."

"I don't know about you, but I happen to be starving to 
death."

"We could have tried chasing them off first."

He opened his mouth to argue, but then gave up the idea. He 
was tired of fighting with her, of being at odds this way. 

He dug his knife from his pocket and held it out to her. "Why 
don't you cut up the meat while I build a fire. We can camp in 
the cave tonight."

She took the knife.

"Take this, too." He offered his gun.

"Mulder, I didn't mean..." She shook her head. "I trust your 
judgment. Really, I do."

"I'm glad. But the wolves might come back and I'll be up in 
the cave." He resisted saying, "Of course, you could try 
chasing them off." Instead, he placed the gun in her palm. 
"Take it."

Before she could object, he grabbed the pack with the flint in 
it and headed back up the hill.  

*   *   * 

Gini searched for colorful snail shells at the water's edge. 
Wading ankle deep into the lake, she closed her ears to the 
laughter and talk coming from the camp behind her. So many 
people! And all of them saying, "How big you have grown!" and 
"This cannot be little Gini, can it?" Her poor scalp ached 
from all the yanking on her braids. 

"They are just being friendly," Klizzie had said before 
falling into the arms of another cousin.

Maybe so, but their tugs hurt just the same.

Of course, Jeha and her aunts went immediately to visit the 
hearth of Moasi's uncle. They were eager to catch a glimpse of 
Jeha's mate-to-be before the upcoming ceremony. Jeha and Moasi 
would be officially introduced at tonight's First Night Feast. 
A few days from now, four clans would celebrate their Joining 
Ceremony.

And sometime during the next several moons, Dzeh would make 
arrangements for Gini's future mating. She gripped her aching 
stomach; it hurt almost as much as her scalp.

"Who are you?" asked a voice behind her.

She peered over her shoulder. A boy stood several paces away, 
fists on his hips. He appeared to be about eleven or twelve 
Mastodon Feasts old and he wore his hair in the style of 
Badger Clan -- cut short along the part and then greased with 
bear fat to make it stand up like porcupine quills. He wore a 
fringed loincloth with a knife tucked into his belt. A pair of 
bear claws hung from his pierced ears and he sported a new 
tattoo on his right shoulder -- a prickly Badger Clan design. 
His freshly scabbed skin looked red and sore.

"My name is Gini. Who are you?"

"Chal," he said, swaggering closer. "Why are you not with the 
others?"

She crouched to pick up a snail and pretended to examine it. 
"My head hurts."

A bored expression settled over the boy's features. He had 
almond-shaped eyes the color of hazelnuts and his skin was a 
shade darker than Gini's. He was long-legged and big-nosed, 
reminding her of a stork. "Are all Owl Clan girls as ugly as 
you are?" he asked.

She glared at him. "Are all Badger Clan boys so rude?"

His eyes rounded and he laughed out loud. "You are calling 
*me* rude?"

It was a mean thing for her to say and she was usually not so 
impolite. "Sorry," she mumbled, hunching over her knees. She 
wished he would go away and leave her alone.

Instead he walked closer and squatted beside her. He looked at 
her face and proclaimed, "You are Dzeh's sister."

"How did you know that?"

"You look as he does. Your mouth and eyes."

She didn't like him staring so hard at her.

He went on, "Klizzie is my cousin. My mother is her aunt."

"Almost everyone here is Klizzie's cousin or aunt."

"My mother is Ho-Ya. You will be eating at our hearth 
tonight."

Oh great, she would not be rid of him soon.

"You frown too much," he said, rising to his feet. "I think 
you might be prettier if you smiled."

Tears sprang to her eyes. He apparently didn't see them or was 
ignoring them because he ambled slowly away, heading for a 
group of boys who played wrestling games in the field beyond 
the camp. She waited until he was all the way to the field 
before letting her tears fall.

*   *   *

"Mulder, come to bed," Scully urged. She lay on the furs, 
stripped down to her camisole and panties. She and Mulder were 
back in the cave. Sunset had been hours ago and she was eager 
to go to sleep and forget her earlier nightmare... 
hallucination...vision -- whatever the hell it'd been. She 
felt sated from their supper of roasted sloth meat, but sleep 
was proving impossible with Mulder wide awake and jabbing at 
the fire only a few feet away. 

He was frustrated, she knew, by her reluctance to talk about 
what had happened earlier. But what was there to say? The 
images she'd seen were confusing and probably meaningless, and 
she had no explanation for them. 

Crouched by the fire, Mulder prodded the coals with a stick, 
sending sparks into the air. He was shirtless and the blaze 
painted his chest gold while casting his back in shadow; dark 
and light stumbled over the muscles of his arms, wrestled 
across his face.

"I'm not tired," he mumbled.

"Just come and lay with me then."

His back stiffened. He gave the embers a final poke before 
tossing his stick into the flames. Rising to his feet, he 
glanced at her, uncertainty shading his eyes. The stitches on 
his cheek bristled like barbed wire above the dark line of his 
whiskers.

He crossed to the furs and sat down. A sigh -- weighted with 
fatigue, worry, and frustration -- chuffed from his lungs as 
he slowly untied his boots. He tugged them from his feet, 
exposing inflamed skin and broken blisters.

"Mulder...your feet..." Scully sat up for a closer look. 
Grasping his ankle, she held him immobile while she examined 
the lesions by firelight. "You should wash these."

"Tomorrow." 
 
"They're becoming infected."

"They've been like this for days. A few more hours won't 
matter."

Days? Why hadn't she noticed? Guilt flushed her face. She'd 
been too immersed in her own worries to see that he'd been 
suffering.  

He set his boots aside and lay down on his back on top of the 
furs, keeping his pants on and taking care not to touch her. 
Just an inch or two separated them, but the space felt 
impossibly wide to Scully. 

Pillowing his head in his hands, he stared at the painted rock 
wall, eyes focused on the Serpent Holder. 

"It looks alien, don't you think?" he asked.

She had to admit it did. Two horns curled antennae-like out of 
the top of its head. Round, hollow objects that resembled 
spaceships floated near its shoulders. It had enormous, blank 
eyes, and no mouth or nose.

"Yes, it does."

Her answer evidently surprised him because he twisted to look 
at her. The distance between them seemed to shrink a little.

He was right there, close enough to embrace if she let 
herself. She breathed him in -- musky, male, edgy. His scent 
aroused in her an almost crushing desire to take him into her 
body, give herself over to him while he filled her, spilled 
into her, bathed her with caresses and sighs. He hadn't 
touched her in days, other than to comfort her earlier when 
she'd been gripped by pain, and now she longed to turn the 
clock back... before today, before Mulder's nightmare a week 
ago, before their silent arguments. She wanted to go back to 
the night they'd slept together in the tribe's skin hut, 
surrounded by the aroma of mint and the scent of their 
passion, when he had brought her to orgasm and then rode out 
his own. That night she had been free of all doubts. That 
night, for the first time in her life, the act of joining with 
another person had felt unequivocally right.  

Mulder propped himself on one elbow and searched her face. 
"Scully, what was it like...your first time?"

There were moments, like this one, when he seemed able to see 
straight into her. 

Or perhaps she'd tipped her hand, revealing her lust through 
body language, dilated pupils, a rush of pheromones. 

"My first time? You mean--?"

"Sex. What was it like?" He leaned closer.

She recognized his invasive posture for what it was -- a 
technique he'd perfected over their years together. He was 
corralling her without making any actual physical contact. 
Early on, his crowding had irritated her, made her feel 
awkward and nervous; she'd interpreted it as aggressive, 
purposefully intimidating. Then when she figured out he wasn't 
bullying her but was in fact trying to connect with her, get 
her to focus, dig deeper for her answers, she no longer 
objected to his looming. She grew to expect it...and even to 
appreciate it.

"What was it like?" she repeated, thinking back. "Predictably 
dismal, I guess." Age eighteen. First year at college. Jimmy 
Pendleton, upper classmen. A molecular biology major with 
grades so high he was already being recruited by Merck Frosst, 
Nanogen *and* the U.S. Department of Energy. "Well, not 
dismal, really, but not great either. A little painful." And 
scary, disappointing, exciting, mysterious, over too soon but 
not soon enough. "You?"

He took a moment before answering, thoughtfully gnawing at the 
inside of his lower lip. Then a grin nudged his cheek and his 
eyes sparkled with the golden light of the fire. "It 
was...intense. Beautiful." His tone made her curious, and a 
little jealous. "Don't laugh, Scully, but I felt like crying 
when it was over. I desperately wanted to be back inside her. 
I guess I was afraid the opportunity wasn't going to present 
itself again."

"Did it present itself again? With her, I mean?" she blurted, 
not certain she wanted to know the details of his earliest 
sexual encounters.

He smiled, looking both shy and smug. "Yeah. It did. But..." 
His smile faded. "As sublime as it was, the act of separating 
always educed a feeling of unspeakable loss. It terrified me 
to think I might never experience that closeness again."

His unexpected candor left her with additional questions. Was 
sex that way for him still -- a few blissful moments of human 
contact in an otherwise solitary existence? How alone did he 
feel? 

He stared directly into her eyes, evidently trying to tell her 
something she wasn't hearing, not about his past, but about 
the present, about her.

"Scully, what's your greatest regret?"

Jesus, he was in a peculiar mood. He never talked this way. 
Neither of them did.

He moved his hand toward her, bumping the tips of her fingers 
with his. A light touch, seemingly accidental, but she'd 
learned a long time ago that nothing was unintentional with 
Mulder.

"Losing Emily," she said without needing to think.

He frowned and shook his head. "Doesn't count. You didn't 
cause Emily's death."

That was debatable. Scully knew she wouldn't have treated her 
daughter even if she'd known how, and that made Emily's death 
a calculated choice in her book. "I could have done more for 
her."

"No. Pick something else -- something for which you were 
wholly responsible. What would you most like to go back and 
undo if you could?" 

Where was he going with these questions? 

"I regret a lot of things," she said, hedging. "The loss of my 
gun, for instance."

His hand slid away from hers, breaking their hard-won contact. 
He said nothing.

"Mulder, I don't know what you want to hear."

"The truth, Scully. Only the truth."

"I don't have any life-altering regrets. I really don't."

"None?" He sounded incredulous. "You've never made a decision 
you wanted to reverse?"

"No, not really." Her eyes searched the cave as if her wily 
regrets were hidden somewhere in its crevices. 

She focused on the Serpent Holder, which glared back at her 
through its empty eyes. The way it gripped its twisted snake 
appeared threatening. Scully suddenly missed her apartment 
with its tidy rooms, everything in its place. She wanted to be 
there, not here, preparing for bed, soaking in her tub, 
sipping wine while reading the latest edition of the NEJM. The 
steam from her bath would smell like jasmine and the radio 
would be playing Bach.

The fire snapped, sending a flare of sparks toward the cave's 
roof. Scully felt out of control here, vulnerable, and she 
hated the way her blood was pulsing too loudly in her ears. 

"What about you, Mulder? What do you most regret?"

Sadness welled in his eyes. "Lots of things, but the one that 
tops my list happened years ago..."

"What was it?"

"I broke Samantha's trust."

Samantha's trust? This wasn't at all what Scully was expecting 
him to say. An image of Arbutus Ray returned to her, along 
with an inexplicable certainty that Mulder's sister had died 
at age fourteen.

She tried to blink it away. "What happened?"

Mulder rolled onto his back and spoke to the shadows in the 
cave's roof, his voice tight and subdued, as muted as wind in 
a bottle. "We were playing Hide and Seek. Her idea. I hadn't 
really wanted to -- I felt much too mature to be playing games 
with my kid sister. But she pleaded and I relented. I hid 
first, in an obvious spot -- I wanted to hurry the game along. 
She quickly found me, just as I knew she would, and then it 
was her turn to hide. As soon as she was out of sight, I took 
off to spend the afternoon at a friend's house. I figured Sam 
would wait a few minutes, get bored and give up the game. I 
should have known better." He paused, grief glittering in his 
eyes. His lower lip trembled when he began to speak again. 
"When I came home for supper that night, Mom was livid. She 
told me she'd found Sam hiding in the garage behind the 
lawnmower, where she'd been waiting for more than three hours 
for me to find her. Three hours! When Sam learned I wasn't 
even looking for her--" Again he stopped, tried to control the 
emotion in his voice. The fire crackled and hissed. "Sam cried 
herself to sleep...inconsolable. She gave me the silent 
treatment for days -- which I deserved. I tried everything to 
make it up to her. Let her use my telescope. Told her to punch 
me in the nose. Finally I won her over with a trip to the 
movies. But things weren't the same and I felt like such a 
stupid--"

"Mulder, you were just a kid. It was a childish lapse of 
judgment. That's all. You can't blame yourself for that."

"She was abducted three weeks later." 

Oh God. No wonder he refused to give up on her now. 

//"Are you the same Arbutus Ray who worked as a nurse at the 
Dominic Savio Memorial Hospital in 1979?"//

Sam was dead. Scully felt it as surely as she felt her own 
heartbeat.  

Mulder continued speaking. "After she went missing, I kept 
thinking...I *keep* thinking still, she's out there somewhere, 
believing I've given up on her.

"Mulder..." Scully reached for him and wrapped her arms around 
him. He slid into her embrace, silken-skinned and over-heated, 
his whiskers scouring her shoulder as his fingers pressed hard 
into her back.

His weight softened her, unknotted her muscles, and tempered 
her worries while thawing her resolve. She felt foolish for 
the times she kept him at arm's length. None of her carefully 
considered reasons made sense right now. 

It was impossible to keep her perspective when he caused such 
desire to blossom in her. 

She snaked an arm between them, intending to end this 
conversation, put aside her doubts, and ignore their 
individual and collective heartaches, if only for the time 
being. But when she tried to unfasten his fly, he stopped her 
by loosely securing her wrist in the circle of his fingers. 

He drew back to look into her eyes and she lost herself in his 
glistening pupils, bottomless wells of patience grown large 
with passion.

"Tell me what you want, Scully," he murmured.

"I'd rather show you." Again she tried for his zipper. 

And again he stopped her, grasping her more firmly this time. 

"Tell me...what you want."

She wanted to make love, not conversation. "Mulder...not now." 
Her voice escalated to a weak, desperate whimper.

"*Tell*...me," he insisted. Clearly he wasn't going to let her 
off the hook.

 "I want a kiss."

He nodded but didn't move, so she leaned in and gently kissed 
him on the mouth. His lips felt warm and pliant beneath hers, 
but he didn't deepen the kiss and he didn't allow her access 
to his mouth when she tried to slide her tongue between his 
teeth.

Stymied, she retreated.

"What else?" he asked.

She took his hand and placed it on her breast.

He removed it. "Tell me." 

"Damn it, Mulder, what is this about?"

"I want you to talk to me."

"Talking dirty turns you on?"

"I didn't say that."

What then? Did they really have to play this game? "I want you 
to put your hand on my breast."

He returned his hand to her breast, gently cupped her, but 
didn't stroke or squeeze her. Even so, the warm weight of his 
fingers caused her nipple to harden. 

There was no way for him to miss the transformation, yet his 
hand remained motionless.

"Mulder, why are you acting this way?"

"If you don't talk to me, Scully, I can't know what you want."

Ah, so that was it. As usual, Mulder was taking the long way 
to his point. This holding back, his questions about her first 
time and greatest regrets -- these were strategies intended to 
open her up. Like his looming. Well, she didn't feel like 
having a heart-to-heart. She found introspection and 
revelation difficult in the best of times and this was 
definitely not the best of times. Right now she needed him to 
love her without explanations, without reason. 

"Scully, you hold all the cards here."

"Do I?" He was lying to himself if he believed that. The 
recent wedge of unease between them had begun with his 
nightmare, not hers. "Are you sure there isn't something you 
need to say to me?"

His mouth opened and then closed. He gave a single nod, 
conceding her point without argument, and then met her 
halfway, his lips pressing into hers as fervently as hers 
pressed his. This time, he allowed her to explore his mouth 
with her tongue. This time he didn't stop her when she reached 
between them to unfasten his pants. He leaned into her, onto 
her, pushed her camisole up, bared her right breast and 
clutched it in his left fist. 

We are both in denial, she thought. We are co-conspirators 
dodging the truths in our hearts. There is no blame for it, 
beyond our cowardice and false hopes. You want to believe, 
Mulder, and so do I -- in a future that allows for your 
devotion and my love, a future in which neither of us must 
forfeit our happiness.

She unzipped his pants, burrowed into his boxers and grabbed 
hold of him, semi-erect and growing more rigid as his ardor 
overtook him. She liked the firmness of him in her palm, his 
heat, his smoothness; she curled her fingers around him, 
squeezed him, tugged him closer to the V of her legs.  
He needed no coaxing, and scrambled on top of her, sliding his 
pants down past his hips as he settled between her spread 
thighs.

Only when he tried to enter her did he discover she was still 
wearing her panties.

"Shit," he said, rising to his knees. 

With his help, she wriggled out of her underwear. He tossed 
the silky, black garment aside and repositioned himself 
between her legs. 

His erection, fully engorged now, pressed hard against her 
pubic bone. He kissed her neck, her lips, her brow. His hands 
traveled up her sides, over her shoulders. He plowed his 
fingers into her hair; plunged his tongue into her mouth. Oh, 
God, she loved the weight of him on her. And although she was 
only able to take in half-breaths, it was him, not air, that 
she craved. She wanted to inhale him, swallow him, draw him 
into her. She wanted to feel his pulse vibrate in her veins, 
invade her bones, renew her soul. She wanted him whole -- to 
make her whole.  

"Mulder, I want--"

Her words stalled when he lifted his hips and pushed into her. 
She spread her knees wide to accommodate him. 

When he filled her, she cried out.

"Shhh, it's okay," he breathed into her ear.

She shut her eyes against the sudden tide of emotion and tears 
his soft words inspired. She felt an extraordinary mix of want 
and satisfaction. Remarkable, perplexing.

He rocked against her, fitting his body more tightly into 
hers. The pressure both alleviated and increased her restless 
yearning. Her juices slicked her inner thighs with each of his 
thrusts, allowing him to glide smoothly, lovingly in and out 
of her.

Hugging him to her, she felt his heartbeat. Rapid. Earnest. It 
rattled her ribs. Set her own heart pounding.    

She began to meet his thrusts with raised hips. Her timing 
encouraged him to pick up his pace and she liked the new 
rhythm. Relentless, forceful. He was breathing more rapidly 
now. Sweat slicked his neck and chest, dripped from his chin 
onto her cheek. Each pounding down-stroke drove the air from 
her lungs. 

She dug her nails into his back as she felt her orgasm 
approach. Heat radiated out from her center. Pressure 
blossomed in her abdomen, making her feel swollen, explosive. 
Tingly. Warm. Chest, arms, nipples, fingers, thighs...gone 
numb. Face flushed. She would come in four strokes, three, 
two--

When it hit, the world seemed to vanish. She heard nothing but 
a crash of blood in her ears. She felt nothing but the hammer 
of her heart. No breath, no voice, no strength, no memory or 
thought. Only now, only him. Mulder. Filling her, pushing her 
over an edge. Out of herself. Into bliss.

She floated in that place of euphoria, beyond sensation, 
swaddled in cottony nothingness. Safe. Sated.

And then she gasped, drawing air and reality back into her 
lungs. She felt Mulder's solid weight on her, heard his 
labored breathing. Sensation returned to her fingers and toes. 
She gripped his back and whispered, "Now, Mulder. Come inside 
me."

That was all it took. He pressed as far into her as he could 
go and roared with his pleasure. She embraced him as he 
emptied into her. The intimacy awed her, brought tears to her 
eyes.

This was their most perfect moment. 

Waiting for his muscles to relax, she lay unhurried and 
unmoving beneath him, allowing him time to catch his breath, 
return to reality, just as she had done moments ago. Although 
the press of him inside her was already diminishing, he 
remained where he was, spent but evidently unwilling to 
withdraw just yet.

She drew lazy circles on his back with her fingertips. His 
heart slowed. He sighed. 

Then he heaved himself off her, slowly, as if reluctant to 
leave her. Before he could turn away, she glimpsed the look of 
fear and loss in his eyes.

"The opportunity will present itself again," she promised.

"Will it, Scully? Are we going to be alright?"

Was there any way to know the future? "I'm not ready to give 
up. Are you?"

He shook his head, took her into his arms and hugged her 
fiercely. "You know me better than that."

*   *   *

Klizzie woke to find Gini crawling into her bed. Dzeh had not 
yet returned from the Prayer Lodge where he and the other men 
were planning the Mastodon ceremonies, smoking their pipes and 
drinking wo-chi. It was possible they would spend the entire 
night there. 

Tonight Klizzie and Gini were staying at the hearth of her 
Aunt Ho-Ya. Soft snores came from the skins of her cousin's 
sleeping sons, worn out from their afternoon games. A fire 
burned low in the center of the hut and eight beds surrounded 
it, filled with the sons, some uncles and aunts, a cousin or 
two. Ho-Ya slept by herself, an arm's length from Klizzie. Her 
mate was at the Prayer Lodge, too. 

Klizzie made room for Gini, who snuggled beneath the furs.

"What are you doing in my bed, Little Chick?"

"I cannot sleep."

"What keeps you awake?" Klizzie pulled the furs over the 
girl's shoulders and tucked her in.

"My stomach hurts."

"Still? Did you not drink the tea the Shaman gave you?"

"Yes. But there are bees buzzing in me." Gini buried her face 
against Klizzie's shoulder.

Klizzie stroked her hair. "What is causing these bees to 
buzz?" 

Gini shrugged.

Evidently, she needed some coaxing. Kissing the top of the 
girl's head, Klizzie whispered into her hair, "Usually bees 
buzz in my stomach when I am afraid."

"What makes you afraid?"

"Oh, the usual things. Saber-toothed cats. Winters without 
food. Being left alone while Dzeh travels to faraway clans for 
supplies." This had happened last winter when Owl Clan had run 
dangerously low on meat. Dzeh and two cousins set out for Bear 
Clan. They were gone many days and returned frostbitten and 
tired, but with enough dried meat, mastodon fat and pine nuts 
to last until the spring migrations. "What is frightening 
you?"

Gini clutched Klizzie around the waist and hugged her tightly. 
"Do I...must I be mated?"

Ahh, so that was it. Gini was not so grownup after all.

"No, but I told you how pleasant it is. And you know how hard 
life can be for a woman without a mate."

"I know."

"But...?"

"I am scared."

Klizzie pulled back to look Gini in the eyes. The light from 
the fire showed the girl's face was swollen from crying and 
dried tears had left tracks on her cheeks. "Tell me what 
scares you." 

Gini frowned. Her eyes became more serious. "Jeha told me 
babies come from men. That they crawl through his be-zonz when 
he mates. Is that true?"

Klizzie could not stop her smile. "Yes, that is true."

"Then why do you pray to the Spirits for a baby?"

"Because the Spirits control all things. Even the crawling of 
small babies from men into women."

"These babies must be very, very small, right?" Worry peaked 
Gini's soft brows, which curved so exactly like Dzeh's. 

Klizzie loved this young sister of her mate. She hugged the 
girl and said, "Yes, they are very, very small."

"And they do not hurt when they are put in you?"

"No, they do not hurt."

"Then why...?" Gini blushed as pink as a stalk of fireweed.

"Why what?"

The girl lowered her voice to a whisper. "Why do women 
sometimes cry out when they lay with their mates?"

Klizzie smiled again and pinched Gini's blushing cheek. "It is 
not a cry of pain. It is a cry of passion."

Now Gini blushed even more. Her cheeks looked like two plump 
strawberries.

"Do you have more questions?" Klizzie asked.

Gini shook her head, then nodded.

"Is that a no or a yes?"

"A yes." Gini burrowed into Klizzie's embrace, hiding her face 
beneath the furs. When she spoke, her voice was muffled by the 
skins. "Does a man's be-zonz grow as big as a stallion's when 
he mates?"

This made Klizzie laugh out loud. "No, my Chick, not that big. 
It is no wonder you have had bees buzzing in your stomach if 
you are thinking such a thing. Rest assured, a man grows only 
big enough to fill a woman and no more. You have no reason to 
fear this."

"Klizzie, can we go home? I do not like it here."

"I thought you were looking forward to the Mastodon Feast and 
the games and music and dancing."

"I am. But...can I sleep in your bed with you tonight?"

"You are welcome to stay in my bed, at least until Dzeh 
returns. Then you will have to be a big girl and return to 
your own bed. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Gini kissed Klizzie on the cheek. "I love you, 
Klizzie."

"I love you, too, Little Chick. Now go to sleep. We have much 
to do tomorrow."

*   *   *

Mulder sat at the mouth of the cave, elbows propped on his 
knees, eyes aimed at the stars. It was a little after midnight 
and the sky was velvety black and cloudless. The Milky Way 
flowed overhead like a river of cut diamonds. The tilted moon 
inched closer to the western horizon and from somewhere in the 
valley below, a wolf howled. The sound raised goosebumps on 
his bare arms. Rubbing them away with his palms, he scanned 
the heavens for communication satellites and, finding none, 
wondered how he and Scully were ever going to get back home. 
When a comet suddenly plummeted earthward, he followed its 
fiery trail until it fizzled and vanished. Would wishing on a 
falling star help?  

God, he felt restless. Instead of alleviating his insomnia, 
making love with Scully had had the exact opposite effect, 
leaving him wide awake and apprehensive. They shouldn't have 
done it, not without checking for her chip first. But in the 
heat of the moment he hadn't thought. Foolish. If he got her 
pregnant-- 

"Mulder?" Scully's voice came from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder to look up at her. She hugged one 
of the sleeping skins around her naked shoulders. Concern 
creased her brow.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" he asked.

She sat down beside him. "No. I thought I heard wolves." 

He nodded. They listened to the crickets whine for a few 
minutes. The air smelled like pine and woodsmoke, reminding 
Mulder of Memorial Day weekends at Quonochontaug when the 
foggy ocean breeze would blow in across the bay through the 
evergreens, making it chilly enough to light a fire in the 
fireplace. Sam would beg for s'mores and his mom indulged 
them, as long as he helped his sister toast the marshmallows. 

Mulder's eyes returned to the stars. 

"They're ancient, you know. The stars, I mean. Their light is 
billions of years old by the time we see it."

Scully shivered. Wrapping the fur more tightly around her 
shoulders, she asked, "What made you say that?"

"I don't know. Just thinking about time travel, I guess. Why?"

She bit her lip, shook her head.

"What's wrong?" His gut clenched at the thought of her earlier 
seizure.

"You said something very similar in my...vision."

So she was calling it a vision now, not a "perceptual 
disturbance." And the details evidently weren't as vague as 
she'd led him to believe.

"Did I?"

"Mmm." She busied herself readjusting the blanket. "I've been 
thinking about your Flux Space theory."

"What about it?"

"Suppose..." She stopped, cleared her throat, stared straight 
into the black night. "Suppose time isn't two-dimensional, the 
way you described it, but is...three-dimensional."

3-D? Like space? Where was she going with this? "Based on...?"

"It fits the current evidence."

He wasn't sure what evidence she was referring to, but guessed 
it had something to do with her "visions."

"You're saying time doesn't exist linearly?"

"I'm suggesting it might extend in more than two directions."

Forward, backward and... "Go on."

"Imagine time not as a line but as a sphere on which we can 
move forward, backward, sideward, in a line, an arch, a loop."

He pictured two ants crawling across a baseball, their paths 
meandering, occasionally intersecting. Then he pictured the 
baseball as a bowling ball with its three holes. One of his 
imaginary ants teetered on the edge of a hole and fell in. 
"Hm. It might be even more complicated than that."

"Right. We may be able to travel into the sphere, maybe pass 
all the way through it."

He nodded, thinking of the unfortunate ant.

"Mulder, it gets worse."

One ant is inside the ball, while the other is still crawling 
on the surface. "You and I aren't necessarily in the same time 
at the same place, so to speak."

"Exactly. If time is three-dimensional and we're moving around 
on and through it independently of one another, you might wake 
up tomorrow as a teenager, while I might be an old woman."

Jesus, no wonder she looked so worried. "Does this theory of 
yours have anything to do with the...uh...visions you had 
earlier?"

She took a deep breath. "In part. I saw some things that felt 
very real, although I know they haven't happened...yet."

"What things?"

"I was shot in the stomach."

This startled him. "By who?"

"Another FBI agent, as far as I could tell. I didn't recognize 
the man or the location."

"Couldn't it have just been a very, very realistic dream?"

"That sounds like something I would argue." She gave him a 
rueful smile. "There were other things, too, things that jibe 
with our experience here. I saw myself having my tattoo 
removed."

"You think that explains why it's fading now?" 

"It might." 

Was she moving forward into her future while he traveled 
backward into his past?

Then it struck him. If her future included events in the 20th 
Century that hadn't occurred yet, that must mean they make it 
back to their own time. And it was possible her visions held 
clues to their eventual return.    

"Scully, who is Arbutus Ray?"

"Mulder..."

"Who is she?"

Scully looked directly at him and frowned. "A women who worked 
as a nurse at the Dominic Savio Memorial Hospital in 1979."

"And...?"

"She claimed your sister died there."

Her words felt like a slap and he recoiled from them as if 
he'd actually been hit. "In '79? That's impossible. Sam would 
have been only fourteen years old. We've seen her as an 
adult." She couldn't be dead. She couldn't be. 

"We've seen her clone. And clones can be engineered years 
after someone's death."

"No. I can't-- Did you see her body? In your vision, did you 
actually see Sam dead?"

"No, I just felt it was true." 

"Felt it...?" Scully had never believed in premonitions 
before. Why now? "I-I can't accept that, Scully. You...you had 
a dream, a hallucination, not a prophecy."

"Mulder, we both know what's possible, what can be done when 
men are given the necessary science and lack of conscience. My 
cancer, Emily's conception. Is it so farfetched to imagine 
Sam's fate is part of the same agenda?"

He'd thought exactly that for quite some time, but never 
imagined Sam as dead. It hollowed him to think she might have 
died years ago, that he would never see her again, that he'd 
never be able to make up for--

He rose and stalked into the cave, only to walk right back out 
again when the air seemed too stuffy and the fire too hot. 
Scoured by doubt, his skin crawled with annoyance. He wanted 
to throw or kick something, to scream at the stars at the top 
of his lungs.

Scully remained where she was, unmoving, waiting out his 
disbelief.

"You have no proof," he argued, his voice thick with dread. 
Jesus, was it possible he'd spent his entire adult life 
chasing a ghost?

"I've said those words to you more times than I can count, 
Mulder, but I'm saying to you now that I believe what I saw 
was true. I believe it was our future."

He crouched beside her and tried his best to reign in his 
temper. It was because her words were so uncharacteristic that 
he knew he had to listen to them. If she was leaning toward a 
paranormal explanation for her experience, she must have 
satisfied her own heavy-handed skepticism with a convincing 
reason.

"Earlier today you dismissed these visions of yours. What 
changed your mind? What makes you so sure now?" he asked.

"This." She opened the animal skin that blanketed her 
shoulders, exposing her bare stomach. There above her navel 
was the unmistakable scar of a recent gunshot wound. "I found 
it a few minutes ago."   
 

Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER TEN

"Let's go inside, by the firelight," Mulder said, tugging 
Scully to her feet. He wanted a better look at her new scar.

Once inside, he added a stick of wood to the glowing coals. 
The fire crackled to life and brightened the cave with its 
flickering light. Scully let the fur blanket slip from her 
shoulders to the ground. Dressed only in black camisole and 
panties, she drew the camisole up to her breasts to expose her 
stomach. She faced the flames while Mulder knelt to examine 
the quarter-sized scar that marked her otherwise unblemished 
skin.

"Tell me about your vision," he murmured, running his fingers 
over the puckered knot a few inches from her navel.

She stood motionless, allowing him to examine her with his 
eyes and hands. "Most of it made no sense," she said.

"Tell me anyway."

"Images came and went. They followed no logical order...at 
least none that I could discern."

"But you sensed they were snapshots of your future?" He 
glanced up into her eyes. 

She looked frightened.

"More like video clips, but yes, I got the impression I was 
looking at the future." 

He turned her so that he could inspect her back. 

There was a cherry-red exit wound on her back, just above her 
faded tattoo. No mistaking it -- it was a bullet wound, only a 
week or two old.

She peered at him over her shoulder. "You were there."

"Well, that's some relief, at least." If her vision 
represented their future he was glad to know he was part of 
it. "It implies we get back home. You realize that, don't 
you?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I didn't find out how or when. Or if the 
future is immutable. Suppose the things I saw are only one 
possibility?"

"An infinite number of futures?"

"Built upon an infinite number of actions, here or possibly in 
the future."

"Our future selves saving our past selves' asses?" This was 
getting more convoluted by the minute. "Let's assume that what 
you saw was *the* future -- the one and only future. Do you 
remember anything that might help us get from here to there?" 
He rose to his feet.

She pulled her camisole down over her stomach and turned to 
face him. The firelight etched lines of worry into her shadowy 
expression. "I'm sorry, Mulder, I don't."

Cupping her cheek, he tried to smooth her frown with his 
thumb. Did she really not remember? It scared him to think she 
might not. He relied on her calm logic, and right now they 
needed her rationalism more than ever. They needed her to 
remember what she saw. 

"Think, Scully. Were there any references to Lisa Ianelli, 
time travel, Flux Space, tachyons, anything?" 

"Nothing like that. We were...driving in a car."

"To...?" 

"I don't know." Her voice quavered with uncertainty. "Across a 
desert." 

He wanted to help her remember. He *had* to help her. "Great 
Salt Lake, outside Hill Air Force Base?"

"I don't think so, but I'm not sure." 

He released her cheek and let his arm drop to his side. Damn 
it, this was frustrating. "What else?" he asked, trying to 
keep any hint of annoyance out of his voice. Scully's vision 
had clearly left her shaken and he didn't want her to clam up 
because of his insensitivity.

"We exchanged Christmas gifts."

Christmas gifts? "In the car?"

"No, later. Or maybe earlier. I don't know." She shook her 
head dismissively.

Don't give up, Scully. Not yet. "What about the bullet wound?"

"I remember being shot. I remember the pain. And I remember 
getting my tattoo removed, and learning about your sister."

His sister, dead for almost twenty years. Jesus, please don't 
let it be true. 

"Scully, is it possible this Arbutus Ray person was lying to 
you? Maybe she worked for Old Smokey."

"Maybe. All I can say is that I believed her."

"But she might not have been privy to the truth. Someone might 
have lied to her or...or..." He was grasping at straws, he 
knew. He couldn't bear the notion that his sister might be 
lost forever -- after all his searching, all his hoping. 

"Mulder, you believed her, too." She put a hand on his arm. 
Tears of sympathy glittered along her lower lashes as she 
looked up at him. Evidently she knew he would find her words 
difficult to accept. "You seemed...relieved."

Anger welled up in him at this revelation. "Relieved to learn 
my sister was dead? Does that sound like me? Does it make 
sense?" 

"Right now, nothing makes sense." She leaned toward him and 
rested her cheek gently against his chest.

His arms circled her as if by instinct. She felt small in his 
embrace, but not as vulnerable as he had supposed. She was 
telling him the truth the way she had seen it. He hated her 
words, but he appreciated her honesty, and her integrity 
purged him of his momentary anger. 

He placed a kiss on the crown of her head. Lingering there, he 
wondered what answers a second vision might provide.    

He also wondered if there was something here in this 
particular location that had triggered her foresight. Were 
they standing in or near a Flux Space portal? 

Scanning the cave, his eyes settled on the painted wall with 
its larger-than-life Serpent Holder. The alien-looking 
creature stared back at him with an unreadable expression. If 
the painting had any answers, it was keeping them secret. 

His gaze traveled down the wall to the tiny carved idol on the 
ground below the Serpent Holder's feet. Scully had been 
holding it when she collapsed. Had it caused her vision? Maybe 
it was a nexus of some sort, or at the very least, contained 
powerful Pleistocene magic. Staring at it, he felt certain of 
one thing: his paranormal radar was picking up another signal.  

*   *   *

Mulder tucked his shirt into his pants and buckled his belt. 
He'd hardly slept a wink all night, tossing and turning, 
worrying about Scully's visions and their uncertain future. It 
was only after they made love again around 4:00 a.m. that he 
was finally able to drift off. 

He nudged her sleeping form before collecting their travel 
packs and the waterbag. "Rise and shine."

She groaned and crawled out from under the fur blanket. His 
eyes skimmed her trim curves with appreciation. She wore only 
her underwear, and his pulse quickened at the sight. He let 
his brain replay their lovemaking: both rounds of it. Jesus, 
she made him feel eighteen again.

She sat and tilted her head left to right, snapping the bones 
in her neck.

"Come on, Scully. Let's go." He tugged the blanket out from 
under her, then rolled it into a tight cylindrical bundle, 
which he stuffed into one of the packs. 

She said nothing, but stood to get dressed. He let her be. She 
wasn't angry. This was just her usual morning reticence. He'd 
learned years ago to keep his comments to a minimum until she 
was ready for morning conversation. His Chatty Cathy act 
seemed to grate on her nerves at this early hour, especially 
here in the Ice Age where there were no Latte Grandes to take 
the edge off.

He rolled the second blanket while she slipped into her jeans 
and turtleneck. Getting lucky twice in one night had put him 
in good spirits this morning. He felt like humming a few bars 
of "Love Me Tender" while waltzing her around the cave, but 
knew better than to try it.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Mm," she grunted. Donning her jacket, she headed out of the 
cave.

Almost as an afterthought, he retrieved the tiny carved idol 
from where she'd dropped it last night. If it had sparked her 
"vision" -- which he wasn't entirely convinced was a vision, 
despite her new scar -- it might prove useful by helping them 
find a way home. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

"Wait for me." He hurried after her, weighted down by the 
packs and spears, but buoyed by a night of sweet love.

He quickly caught up with her and together they followed the 
path down the hill to the stream where they'd left the dead 
sloth the previous day.

As they approached the carcass, something about it seemed off 
to Mulder. It looked blacker than he remembered. And its fur 
appeared to be...moving.

"Uh, Scully? Do you see that?"

"I see it." She stopped, causing him to nearly run her over.

He set down his things and grabbed the binoculars from his 
jacket pocket.

"Shit," he said, looking through them, his good mood 
evaporating.

He passed them to her.

"Ants," she said without emotion. 

He took a step forward, but she placed a hand on his arm to 
stop him. 

"Don't, Mulder. There are species of ants that can take down 
and kill a large mammal, including a human."

Thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of ants covered the 
sloth, animating its body in the creepiest way and obscuring 
the ground beneath it.

"That was our breakfast." He hated the petulant whine in his 
voice, but dammit, he'd risked his life to kill that sloth.

"Survival of the fittest, Mulder...or, in this case, the 
fastest."

This was infuriating. The meat was right there, not fifteen 
yards away.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." 

"You could try scaring them off with your gun," she suggested 
dryly, reminding him of yesterday's wolves and his wasted 
bullet. 

"Very funny." He paced, stopped, paced some more, then turned 
to squint at the insect-riddled corpse. "Maybe we could eat 
the ants, too. They're protein, aren't they?"

"I doubt the meat is safe to eat, with or without the ants. 
It's been sitting unrefrigerated all night." Turning around, 
she walked past him, heading upland along Klizzie's marked 
trail.

That was it? She was just going to walk away? He looked again 
at the ants. They'd already devoured most of the meat and were 
starting to dismantle the skeleton.

Fuck.

He reluctantly followed after Scully.

"We should have known better," she said when he caught up with 
her.

"How's that?"

"Ants, vultures, wolves -- something was bound to take that 
meat. We should have cut it up and cooked what we needed 
immediately. We didn't think ahead."

"So next time we'll know better."

She leveled her gaze at him. "We're working blindfolded here, 
Mulder. We may not survive a next time." 

*   *   *

Dzeh selected a shady spot away from the bustling activity of 
the camp where he could sit and work in quiet. His mouth felt 
drier than last season's pine nuts and his stomach flopped 
like a hooked fish. The late morning sun jabbed his eyes, 
making his head pound. 

Damn the Spirits, he regretted drinking so much wo-chi last 
night. 

The evening had been rowdy and pleasant. Forty or more men 
from Owl, Badger and Otter Clans had crowded the Prayer Lodge 
to share stories and jokes, pray to the Spirits, play gambling 
games and drink wo-chi. 

Lots of wo-chi. 

The potent liquid had been brewed specifically for the nightly 
revelries during the days-long Mastodon Feast. The drink was 
essential to the celebration; its fermented honey allowed the 
various Spirits to enter the men's bodies and minds, blessing 
them with visions and insight, as well as giving them a sense 
of contentment and camaraderie.

Unfortunately, the departing Spirits usually left storms in 
Dzeh's head the following day.

He tossed his tool kit to the ground beneath a broad butternut 
tree. Trying to minimize the thunder inside his skull, he 
eased himself slowly onto the grass. Thankfully there was no 
wind to rattle the leaves over his head and needle his 
oversensitive ears. As it was, a faint whiff of roasting meat 
from somebody's breakfast fire threatened to empty his 
stomach. Breathing through his mouth, he arranged himself 
cross-legged on the grass and slowly opened his tool kit.

The small leather pouch held a hammerstone, a few lumps of raw 
chert, several knapping tools made from bone, and three 
unfinished spear points. Dzeh withdrew his favorite knapper 
and one of the unfinished points. His head hurt too much to 
pound new points, so he left the hammer and unworked chert 
inside the kit.

Swatting away a pesky deerfly, he wondered why the boy Chal 
hadn't come by to see him earlier this morning as he was 
supposed to. Dzeh had told his father to send him after 
breakfast so he could meet him, ask a few questions. Dzeh 
wanted to gauge the boy's competency and his character before 
arranging a Joining with Gini. If this Badger Clan boy was to 
become Gini's mate someday, he would need to possess an 
honorable disposition and adequate survival skills. 

It was well known that the men of Badger Clan were skilled 
marksmen. They were shrewd traders, too, and their women were 
expert cooks and tanners. Klizzie's Badger Clan aunts had 
taught her how to work skins into supple hides -- the softest 
Dzeh had ever felt. 

Overall, the people of Badger Clan were principled and 
generous. Their ways were not too contrary to Owl Clan's. 
There were some, of course, like Klizzie's chindi cousin Klesh 
and her no-account brother Tse-e, who were contemptible men, 
but every clan had its share of rotten fish. To their credit, 
the Badger Shaman was a powerful medicine man; his clan seldom 
went hungry or became ill. 

Badger Clan would make an acceptable family for Gini...if the 
boy proved to be healthy and strong. And kind-hearted. Dzeh 
refused to Promise his little sister to the hearth of a mean-
spirited man. 

Thinking of these things, worrying about Gini's future, Dzeh 
began to meticulously chip flakes from his partially finished 
spear point. He used his bone knapper to shape the stone until 
it resembled a laurel leaf approximately the length of his 
middle finger. 

The familiar activity calmed his queasy stomach and helped 
quiet the drums in his head. 

It also brought him closer to the spirit of his father. 

Dzeh had learned to make spear points by watching his father 
and uncles. Knowing how to work the stone properly was a skill 
crucial to the Clan's survival. His father had taught him how 
to make raw chert more pliable by exposing it to intense heat, 
burying it in a shallow depression and then building a fire on 
top of it. Once the rock cooled, it could then be chipped into 
tools that would remain sharp even after repeated use on long 
hunting excursions.

Chert was not a common stone in Owl Clan's territory. There 
were no natural sources; the Clan had to trade for it. With 
only a few pieces left in his kit, Dzeh hoped Turtle Clan 
would be bringing a new supply with them to the Feast. He 
would trade several of Klizzie's well-tanned hides for each 
fist-sized chunk.

Dzeh considered himself a fairly shrewd trader, getting the 
better deal more often than not. He glanced at the unusual 
ornament fastened to his wrist. Muhl-dar's remarkable 
bracelet. 

Much to his delight, Dzeh had recently discovered the bracelet 
glowed in the dark like a lightning bug when he pushed one of 
the prongs on its side. The symbols on its smooth face changed 
moment by moment, too. The men of Eel Clan must be very clever 
to create such a mysterious ornament. An Eel Clan boy would 
make a worthy mate for Gini if their ways weren't quite so 
foreign. 

Dzeh wondered where his strange Trading Partner was right now. 
Was Muhl-dar following Klizzie's stone markers to Turkey Lake? 

Four days had come and gone since Owl Clan had arrived at 
Tabaha Lodge. Otter Clan showed up the following day. And last 
night a messenger from Turtle Clan had appeared, out of breath 
and full of exciting news. Turtle Clan was only a day's hike 
away. This news energized the entire camp. The Mastodon Feast 
would begin as soon as all four clans were settled in. 

In the meantime, there was much to do to get ready.

The women were hurrying today to set up additional shelters, 
collect more firewood, harvest fresh greens, roots, and 
berries. The older boys were fishing for bass, pickerel and 
bullheads in Turkey Lake, while the girls gathered snails 
along the shore and hunted for duck eggs in the reeds. Even 
the smallest children added to the stores by trapping turtles 
and frogs, or scooping fish eggs into gourds.

Berries and fish eggs were fine things to eat, but bigger game 
would be needed to feed the mouths of four hungry clans. The 
men planned to hunt mastodon at dusk tonight, the time of day 
when the animals were most likely to pass between First and 
Second Camel Mountain on their way to Turkey Lake for an 
evening drink. The narrow gorge between the hills was a 
perfect spot for an ambush, and not too far away to haul a 
butchered carcass back to camp. Yesterday's scouting party had 
reported finding fresh mastodon sign along the trail there. 
Last night, the men had prayed to the Mastodon Spirit for a 
successful hunt and offered copious amounts of wo-chi to all 
the Spirits.   

Dzeh wondered if the Spirits' heads ached as badly as his this 
morning.

Reasonably satisfied with the overall shape of his spear 
point, Dzeh began honing its edges razor sharp. Then, using a 
groove cutter, he forced away more pieces of stone to form 
flutes down the center on each side. These grooves would 
eventually cradle the spear's wooden shaft.

He was almost finished when the boy named Chal finally 
appeared. He came within a pace or two of Dzeh and then waited 
to be invited to sit. 

Who-Neh's son looked younger than Dzeh had expected and seemed 
somewhat undersized for a boy of twelve years. But he was 
tanned and muscled and, overall, appeared healthy. At least he 
bore no obvious defects. 

He was dressed in a Badger Clan breechclout and leggings. A 
new tattoo marked his reddened left shoulder with a spiky 
design, common among his kin. Two curving claws dangled from 
his pierced ears, indicating the boy had successfully killed 
his first bear. Not an easy thing to do, even for a grown man. 

This boy Chal showed potential, it seemed.

"You are late," Dzeh growled.

The boy bowed his head. "Sorry, Uncle. My father slept late 
this morning. I only just learned you wanted to see me."

Chal was not Dzeh's nephew, of course, but the boy used the 
formal title out of respect.

Dzeh remained silent, ignoring the apology, making Chal stand 
and wait a while longer. 

It was no surprise that Who-Neh had remained late in his 
sleeping skins this morning. The talkative man had been the 
last to bed. The entire camp heard him singing and laughing 
his way from the Prayer Lodge to his hearth where Ho-Ya 
greeted him with angry words. 

Dzeh shook his head. Although these were Klizzie's kin, they 
left much to be desired. Ho-Ya had less sense than a clubbed 
catfish and Who-Neh, while friendly, was the sort of man who 
would gamble his last good knife in a betting game. If their 
son turned out to be equally dim-witted, Dzeh would look 
elsewhere for Gini's future mate. There were other boys in 
Badger and Otter Clans, although admittedly most were older 
and ready for mates now. Dzeh was not willing to give Gini 
away to an older man; she was too young to share a sleeping 
skin just yet. If he couldn't find a suitable match for his 
sister this season, no matter, he could wait a year or two.

"Sit," he ordered Chal. "Show me how the men of Badger Clan 
make spear points." He tossed the boy a lump of raw chert and 
a hammerstone from his kit. The stones landed with a soft thud 
in the grass at young Chal's feet. 

The boy crouched to inspect the uncut stone. Nervously licking 
his lips, he picked up the hammer. His hands shook a little as 
he positioned the rock for the first blow.

"That chert is valuable," Dzeh reminded the boy just as he was 
about to take his first strike.

Chal nodded, serious and respectful. He repositioned the 
chert. Taking aim, he struck the rock. His angle was good, the 
impact well considered. A perfect flake broke loose from the 
chert. The boy swallowed hard, turned the stone and struck the 
back with equally fine results. 

Dzeh watched without comment while he hammered the chert into 
a well-shaped point. The boy had skill.

"You will join tonight's mastodon hunt," Dzeh said. "You will 
be my hunting partner."

Chal's eyes rounded. "B-but, Uncle, I have never hunted 
mastodons."

"Then you will learn how tonight." Dzeh nodded at the boy's 
new spear point. "Lash that to a stout shaft. Bring it with 
you."

The boy stared at him, dumbstruck.

Dzeh returned his tools to his kit and then rose to his feet, 
taking care to hide the discomfort in his head from the boy. 
Walking away, he called over his shoulder, "Don't worry, 
Nephew. It has been at least two years since I had a partner 
killed during a mastodon hunt." 

*   *   *

Three days had passed since Mulder and Scully's night in the 
cave. Three days of arduous hiking. Three days without a 
decent meal. Three days without sex. 

Fucking ants.

Fucking Ice Age.

Fucking uphill all the way to goddamn nowhere. 

The forest lay behind them. Ahead was another mountain, its 
summit worn smooth by eons of advancing and retreating 
glaciers. Miniature evergreens, dwarfed by constant wind and 
lack of soil, dotted the rocky landscape. The sky was clear, 
but a breeze was blowing, high-pitched and constant, sounding 
like whale song as it vibrated across the stone. Mulder's 
clothes flapped in the cross-draft. He squinted against the 
sting of his wind-whipped hair. His arms, weighted by both 
packs and the spears, felt ready to snap.   

He glanced back at Scully. She limped along several paces 
behind him, favoring her left ankle. 

Why had he insisted they go to Hill Air Force Base in the 
first place? He should have known better. These things never 
ended well. Had he *ever* trespassed on government property 
without regretting it? Ever? Even once? Why should this time 
be any different? 

He waited for Scully to catch up, one stiff step at a time. 
Honestly, the poor woman seemed doomed to follow him straight 
to Hell. What had she done to deserve this terrible fate? 

"You must have been an ax murderer in a former life, Scully," 
he said.

"That's funny, because I've been thinking about becoming one 
in this life."

Obviously she was still pissed.

He was feeling pretty damn pissy himself, but he decided it 
would be in his best interest to keep his attitude under 
control. "Good thing there are no axes here. Maybe you'll get 
lucky and we'll end up in the Bronze Age next time."

She limped past him, her expression ice cold as she trekked 
slowly, painfully uphill. "Don't think I won't stone you to 
death."

He trailed after her, keeping his distance. "How is it my 
fault you tripped and hurt your ankle?"

She turned to glare at him over her shoulder.

"Watch your step," he said, pointing to the uneven terrain 
ahead. His warning was meant to needle her more than help. 

"Cause and effect, Mulder," she said, returning her focus to 
her feet. "It was you, was it not, who chose to ignore FBI 
protocol and lead us on this unauthorized investigation into a 
classified U.S. military facility where you breached a clearly 
marked security fence to illegally trespass on government 
property, which caused us to wind up in a...a time warp or 
Flux Space or whatever, sending us 12,000 years into the past, 
completely unprepared, I might add, to this...this godforsaken 
place with stampeding mastodons and hungry saber-toothed 
tigers and giant killer sloths, where...where there are no 
bathtubs or coffee shops or taxi cabs or...or..." She paused 
to take a breath before ending with, "and then I hurt my 
ankle. That's how it's your fault."

"That...that's one way of looking at it." He nodded. "You 
sound upset."

She stopped walking and pivoted to face him. "I am upset, 
Mulder. I'm hungry, sweaty, and my goddamn ankle hurts."

"Want me to carry the waterbag?" He reached for the bag that 
hung from her left hand.

She shrugged him off. "I've got it."

"I don't mind. Really."

Her hair writhed in the wind as her stormy expression 
unexpectedly vanished when she looked into his eyes. Voice 
softening, she said, "I know, Mulder. It's just..." Her voice 
gave out and tears filled her eyes.

He set down the packs and spears and took her into his arms. 
She leaned heavily against him while he stroked her tangled 
hair. His heart ached, seeing her hurt, knowing he was the 
cause of it. "Do you want to rest for a minute?"

"No, we're almost to the top."

It was true. Another one of Klizzie's markers waited for them 
fifty yards ahead on the crest of the hill. 

"We can rest when we catch up with Klizzie and the others," 
she said, pulling away.

He took hold of her hand, unwilling to let her go just yet. 
"We have no idea when that'll be. You should sit for a few 
minutes. Check that ankle."

"If I take off my boot, I may not get it back on. It's the 
only thing keeping the swelling down."

"Then I'll carry you," he offered, opening his arms.

"No, thanks." She backed away and winced when she put weight 
on her injured leg.

"Come on, Scully. You can barely walk."

"I'm fine. You're already carrying everything else." She 
indicated the supplies.

He stooped to gather the packs in one hand and the spears in 
the other and then presented his back to her, bending at the 
knees, prepared to carry her piggyback. "Get on."

"No."

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Just do it, Scully. 
Don't argue."

"I'm too heavy."

"Hardly. Just to the top of the hill."

"It's too far."

"No, it's not. Get on." He crouched a bit lower to entice her.

"Just to the marker?"

"I swear."

Still looking unconvinced, she took hold of his shoulders and 
climbed onto his stooped back. The spears and packs made 
holding her awkward, but she truly didn't weigh much. He was 
glad to do this for her. "Comfy?" he asked.

"Yes." She gasped when he straightened. "Don't drop me."

"I won't drop you." 

He took a tentative step, testing his balance. Once he was 
sure of his footing, he strode up the hill toward the marker.

Scully hung on as if for dear life, arms clutching his neck, 
thighs locked around his ribs. He liked the way her panting 
breath tickled the upper ridge of his left ear, and he 
couldn't help but notice the cushiony press of her breasts 
against his upper back.

"Doin' okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. How about you?"

"Hardly know you're there."

As light as she was, his thigh muscles were burning by the 
time he crested the top of the hill. His discomfort vanished, 
however, the moment he looked into the valley on the other 
side.

"My God." Scully's words puffed against his cheek.

Grassland covered a gentle downhill slope from where they 
stood to a vast blue lake at the bottom. The lake was shaped 
like an open hand and it sparkled in the bright afternoon sun. 
On its southwestern shore was a village of fifty or more domed 
shelters: tidy, peaceful, the grass already worn thin between 
the huts. Several cooking fires burned in the open spaces and 
Mulder could smell their smoke. He heard laughter, muted by 
distance; saw men, women and children, dozens of them, going 
about the business of life, cooking, washing, building more 
shelters, swimming in the lake.

He remained still, overwhelmed by the scene in front of him. 
He felt caught in a current of timelessness, like starlight 
that has traveled across the universe, only to arrive brand 
new in an already ancient place. Between heartbeats he felt as 
if he was living twenty thousand lifetimes. Space and time 
expanded beyond the scope of his vision, beyond his power of 
physical perception, beyond all human comprehension. 

It was with both regret and wonderment that he realized this 
infinite moment was only the tiniest fraction of a whole.

"We made it," Scully said, her voice thick with emotion. She 
slid from his back. 

He helped to steady her once her feet touched the ground, all 
the while staring with unblinking awe at the community 
below...at their salvation. 

*   *   *

Gini and Jeha waded into the lake, leaving behind the group of 
girls who were gathering snails along the pebbled beach. The 
two friends were after duck eggs, not snails. Each carried a 
basket they'd woven out of broad cattail leaves and lined with 
down. Gini had stuck a yellow bullhead-lily into hers for 
luck.

They hadn't gone far when she spotted a nest. She splashed 
through head-high reeds, frightening the mother duck off her 
perch. While the duck squawked at her from the rushes, Gini 
emptied the nest, carefully placing four ivory-colored eggs 
into her basket.

Jeha was more interested in talking about boys than in 
collecting eggs. Standing knee deep in weeds and water, she 
idly swung her empty basket. "Moasi kissed me last night," she 
said, her voice high-pitched with excitement. 

Cool mud oozed up between Gini's toes as she waded deeper. The 
sun beat down upon the crown of her head and heated her dark 
braids, while blossoming azaleas, waterlogged lilies and newly 
hatched pollywogs scented the air.

"What did it feel like?" she asked, not half as excited about 
boys or kisses as her older friend.

"Warm and...a little wet."

Gini crinkled her nose in disgust. She took a few more steps, 
plowing through buckbean and stargrass. A cluster of glossy 
water beetles skated out of her way. "It was wet?"

Jeha giggled and then lowered her voice to a whisper. "He put 
his tongue in my mouth."

"Yuck!" Gini's shout flushed out another duck. It flew up over 
the lake, scolding the girls as it went. Gini turned to stare 
at her friend. "Why did he do that?"

Jeha shrugged. "I liked it."

For Spirit's sake, Gini thought, Jeha was becoming more 
foolish with every passing day. Why would anyone want a boy's 
tongue in her mouth?

"Well, I am never going to let a boy do that to me," she said. 
"I would rather suck on a rotten egg." She spotted another 
nest hidden in the rushes a few paces away. It cradled five 
eggs. Curling her toes into the mud for firmer footing, she 
edged her way between the reeds to the nest.

"You will be singing a different song once you are Promised," 
Jeha predicted.

"I am not going to be Promised. Ever. Klizzie said I did not 
have to."

"Then why is your brother meeting with Chal this morning?"

"What?" Gini spun to face her friend, nearly dropping her 
basket of eggs. "Where did you hear that?"

"Ho-Ya told my mother at breakfast. Chal is with Dzeh right 
now. I saw them together myself before coming to fetch you."

"Nooo!" Gini wailed. "You must be mistaken."

"Gini, I saw them with my own eyes. Chal was sitting with Dzeh 
beneath the butternut tree at the edge of camp. They were 
making spear points or something."

Gini felt bees begin to buzz in her stomach again.

Jeha waded past her, removed the eggs from the nest and added 
them to her own basket. "I think Chal is handsome, although 
not as good-looking as Moasi."

Handsome? How could she think such a thing? Chal was a skinny, 
rude boy with hair like a porcupine. He wasn't the least bit 
handsome. Gini was about to say so when she heard a shout from 
one of the girls on the beach.

"Gini! Jeha! Come quick!"

"What do you suppose is the matter?" Jeha asked.

"Let's go see." Gini led the way, splashing toward shore.

When they reached the other girls, they found them gaping at 
Crouching Cat Mountain. "Look," one of the girls said, 
pointing a finger at the mountain's sloping meadow.

There, halfway down the hill, two hikers plodded steadily 
closer to camp. The man was dark-haired and tall. He carried 
two spears and a heavy pack. The woman was shorter, her head 
crowned with hair the color of fox fur. Both wore strange, 
foreign garments.

"Muhl-dar! Day-nuh!" Gini squealed. She dropped her basket and 
began to run to the newcomers, pushing her legs as fast as 
they would carry her.    

*   *   *

"Muhl-dar! Muhl-dar!" Gini's high-pitched shout carried 
halfway up the hill.

"That's Gini," Scully said, breathy with exertion and 
excitement.

Mulder shared her enthusiasm. They'd made it. They'd found the 
others. After more than two weeks of hiking and hunger, the 
end was in sight. He hadn't expected to feel such a rush of 
overwhelming relief. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he 
watched little Gini run pell-mell toward him, braids flopping, 
her white smile evident even at this distance. A knot of 
children raced along after her, equally exuberant.

When Gini reached Mulder, she hurled herself into his 
outstretched arms. 

"Muhl-dar! Muhl-dar!" she gasped, clinging to his neck with a 
fierce grip. 

He let his spears fall to the ground to lift her off her feet. 
She wrapped her thin legs around his waist and hugged him 
hard. Chattering non-stop, she gulped for air even as she 
spoke. He patted her braids and waited for her to talk herself 
out.

It was a long wait; she evidently had a lot to say.

"I think she missed you," Scully said. 

Mulder peered into the happy child's eyes and smiled. "I 
missed you, too." His gladness at seeing Gini was prompted by 
more than relief, he realized. This young girl had wheedled 
her way into his heart. In many ways she reminded him of Sam, 
and her greeting felt like a homecoming.      

The other children soon surrounded Mulder and Scully. Some 
hopped with excitement. Others hung back, not knowing what to 
make of these strangers. One girl gathered Mulder's fallen 
spears and volunteered to carry them back to the camp.

"Fine, fine," he told the child, guessing her intention. "Lead 
on." 

They started downhill together, high-spirited and noisy. One 
child ran ahead, presumably to notify the rest of the camp. 
Not that a messenger was necessary. The people in the village 
had already spotted the newcomers and were hiking out to greet 
them. Mulder spotted Klizzie among the crowd. She waved her 
arms and shrieked with delight when she recognized them. 

Mulder held onto Gini, letting her ride his hip as they walked 
down into the valley. She beamed with pride, giggling and 
yammering as she tugged at his short whiskers and kissed his 
cheeks and nose.

At the bottom of the hill Klizzie greeted Scully with a warm 
embrace, tears flooding her eyes. Mulder noticed Scully had 
tears in her eyes, too, and it put the lump back in his throat 
to see her so happy. The two women held each other for several 
long minutes while the crowd of curious onlookers grew.  

When Klizzie finally broke away, she turned to face Mulder. 

Mulder set Gini on the ground. He wanted to thank Klizzie 
properly for all the stone markers she'd left along the trail; 
he and Scully never would have made it without her help. 
Unable to express his gratitude in words due to the lack of 
common language, he leaned down to embrace her and accept her 
gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, Klizzie," he whispered into her ear, hoping she 
would understand the depth of his appreciation from the 
heartfelt tone of his voice.

Over Klizzie's shoulder, Mulder saw Dzeh and a group of men 
approaching at a trot from the camp. They bristled with 
weapons and Mulder was unsure how to interpret their spears 
and knives. 

But he needn't have worried. Dzeh stepped forward to welcome 
him with a broad smile. He displayed his wristwatch and 
pointed with pride at the bear claw necklace around Mulder's 
neck.

Mulder caught himself reaching out to clasp the other man's 
hand -- a 20th Century habit, unrecognized here in the Ice 
Age. Apparently a whack on the back was the accepted form of 
greeting. Dzeh thumped Mulder repeatedly, jarring him with 
unexpected force, using every ounce of strength in his 
muscular arms.

In an effort to divert his enthusiasm, Mulder pointed to the 
spears and asked, "What's all this?"

Dzeh launched into a long explanation, not a word of which 
Mulder understood. Meanwhile, the women were circling around 
Scully. They clucked their tongues in a sympathetic manner as 
they pointed from her injured ankle to one of the village 
huts.   

The men's conversation became more animated. They closed in on 
Mulder, separating him from Scully as she was led away by the 
women.

"Scully?" he called to her, looking over the men's shoulders.

"I'm okay, Mulder," she yelled back. "I'll catch up with you 
later."

Gini was the only girl to remain behind with Mulder and the 
men.

"A-woh-tso." The men repeated the word several times while 
they thrust their spears at some unknown imaginary prey. They 
tugged Mulder's arms. Someone offered him a new spear.

"I'm not very good at charades, guys. Are you going hunting?" 

"A-woh-tso," Dzeh said again.

Mulder leaned down to whisper into Gini's ear, "What's a-woh-
tso?" 

She giggled and then held her fists at the sides of her mouth 
and pointed her stubby index fingers straight out. "A-woh-
tso," she repeated.  

Ahhh. A-woh-tso. Mastodon.

The men were going on a mastodon hunt. 

Dzeh clapped Mulder on the back and smiled. That's when it hit 
him. He was going on the mastodon hunt, too.

*   *   *

Twelve clansmen, armed with stout spears and stone knives, 
jogged silently through a forest of alder and waist-high 
buckthorn. They headed northeast along an almost imperceptible 
deer trail that circled Turkey Lake. Mulder ran with them, 
gripping a spear in his left hand, leaving his right free to 
draw his gun if need be. 

The hour was late, the sun low in the sky. Horizontal fingers 
of misty light pierced the forest, painting the leaves gold 
while camouflaging the men with leaf-shaped shadows. The scent 
of chokecherries and damp earth flooded Mulder's nostrils as 
he ran. He tried to guess how the men intended to capture and 
kill their prey -- a-woh-tso, mastodon. A surprise attack, 
most likely, concealing themselves in the half-light of dusk 
in order to ambush the unsuspecting animals.

It seemed impossible that a dozen men armed only with spears 
and stone knives could bring down a beast the size of a dump 
truck. But clearly they'd done it before, many times; their 
shelters, constructed of mastodon bone and skin, were proof of 
their skill and daring. 

The men's nakedness made them appear alarmingly vulnerable in 
this wild landscape. Bare-chested and barelegged, the hunters 
wore only loincloths. Dzeh had insisted Mulder change out of 
his jacket and jeans and dress in a loincloth, too, before 
leaving the camp. The stern clansman had plucked at Mulder's 
sweaty 20th Century clothes and held his nose. Mulder took the 
hint. The garments' strong odor would alert their prey and 
spoil the hunt. 

Dzeh had also argued against Mulder wearing his boots, 
pantomiming heavy footfalls, clapping his hands loudly with 
each exaggerated step. Mulder refused to leave them behind, 
however, noise be damned. His feet weren't callused enough to 
go barefoot, even after so many days of hiking.

Mulder quickly changed out of his smelly clothes. He was 
hungry -- hollow to the bone hungry -- and he knew Scully was, 
too. The sloth had been their last decent meal and that had 
been days ago. He was willing to do whatever it took to fill 
his and Scully's empty stomachs. He had no intention of 
freeloading; he would pull his weight, even if it meant coming 
face-to-face with a ferocious, long-toothed, eight-ton 
mastodon.

Finding Scully before he left, he handed off his dirty laundry 
and kissed her on the cheek. "Back in a jiff," he promised. 

"Be careful, Mulder." 

"Hey, it's me," he said, using his "What could go wrong?" tone 
of voice. He left her with Klizzie and the other women, and 
hurried off after the hunters who were already trotting single 
file toward the woods.

About a mile from camp, the trail opened into a clearing. The 
lead runner -- a muscular, older man with long, gray, 
corkscrewing hair -- slowed to a stop. He held up a hand that 
looked big enough to palm a basketball. The other men stopped, 
too, lifting their noses into the air, cocking their ears. 
Mulder also listened, trying to hear what they heard: bird 
calls, the scramble of small woodland creatures, the men's 
quiet breathing. 

They were standing in a corridor of felled trees. It reminded 
Mulder of the logging roads in Washington State's Olympic 
National Forest, only the trees here had been broken, not cut 
by chainsaws. The throughway emerged from a narrow gorge 
between two rocky hills to the east. It continued west, 
downhill to the lake about a hundred yards away. Mulder faced 
the setting sun and glimpsed the last rays of daylight 
reflecting off the water. He guessed route was a regularly 
traveled thoroughfare for the mastodons, a passage through the 
mountains to the lake. Evidently, the hunters expected to meet 
the animals during last call at the local watering hole.

That's when he felt it, an almost imperceptible trembling 
beneath his feet. The men grinned, nodded, and exchanged rapid 
hand signals.     

The older man with the basketball hands stooped to gather 
something from the ground. Mulder recognized this man; he'd 
seen him at the last camp, along with Dzeh and two or three of 
the other hunters. His name was Lan or Lon or Lin. Whichever, 
he was smearing his chest and arms with mud.

Once covered, he became almost invisible in the waning light. 

Dzeh and the others, including the nervous boy with a Mohawk 
haircut who had shadowed Dzeh the entire way from camp, moved 
forward to join Basketball Hands. They took turns scooping up 
handfuls of mud and rubbing it on themselves and each other, 
effectively camouflaging their bronze skin -- arms, legs, 
faces, torsos, front and back.

Dzeh beckoned Mulder with a wave and offered him a handful. 

Mulder moved closer and allowed the other man to coat his back 
and shoulders with the chilly goop.

Jesus, the stuff smelled terrible. It reeked of...

Shit. It was mastodon dung. The men weren't camouflaging their 
skin; they were disguising their odor. 

Dzeh daubed Mulder's face and hair and then pointed to the 
pile, indicating Mulder should dig in. 

Face wrinkled in disgust, Mulder knelt and plowed his fingers 
into the heap. He scooped up a generous portion. The men 
grinned as he held his breath and slathered his chest and 
thighs with it.

Lan/Lon/Lin used more hand signals to divide the men into two 
groups. A barrel-chested man with a spiky tattoo and a haircut 
similar to the boy's led one group across the corridor. They 
moved quickly, silently, while the second group, which 
included Mulder, remained on the near side, spreading out and 
taking positions behind trees and shrubs. 

Dzeh crouched beneath an evergreen, down-slope to Mulder's 
left. The boy hid in a patch of tall ferns upland to his 
right. Mulder squatted behind a toppled tree, which had a 
trunk as big around as a tanker truck.

Then the men waited. The sun sank below the horizon and the 
forest fell into shadow. Mosquitoes whined in Mulder's ears, 
but didn't bite, put off by the drying layer of dung on his 
skin. Somewhere behind them, an owl hooted from the upper 
branches of a distant tree.

Suddenly the mastodons were there. A large herd, moving single 
file through the corridor. Despite their size, they traveled 
in near-silence, the soft huff-puff of their feet on the trail 
the only sound they made as they glided toward the lake like 
ghostly battleships. Mulder had expected thunderous footsteps, 
snapping trees, crashing branches -- not this eerie quiet. He 
watched in wonder, crouched in his hiding place, as the first 
mastodon passed by, enormous and gray and nearly invisible in 
the twilight. Its ivory tusks glowed like twin specters, eight 
feet long and as thick as a man's arm. They pointed straight 
ahead, parallel to the ground, and appeared to float, 
unconnected to anything. The sight numbed Mulder's limbs, set 
his heart hammering. He clamped his jaws together to keep his 
teeth from chattering, giving away his position.

A second animal passed. Then a third. Mulder wondered when the 
men would attack, tried to guess their strategy while he 
silently cursed his ignorance of their language and their 
ways. Dzeh remained rooted to his spot to Mulder's left, 
hunkered down, eyes trained on his prey. Mulder could just 
make out Dzeh's hands positioning the shaft of his spear into 
a strange foot-long handle. Mulder had no idea what this tool 
was used for. He gripped his own spear more tightly and 
continued to wait.

At least a dozen mastodons plodded toward the lake. Several 
babies trotted by, too, just as silently as their mothers. 
More adults followed the youngsters. When the last animal had 
passed, the clansmen simultaneously rose from their positions. 
No one called out or gave any signal; the hunters knew from 
experience what to do, when to attack. A half step behind 
them, Mulder rose to his feet and sprinted after the others.

The men didn't speak or shout. They moved as stealthily as 
their quarry, forming a U-shaped line behind the herd, closing 
in as they drew nearer to the lake. They were twelve small men 
tiptoeing on the heels of hulking shadows and the mastodons 
seemed completely unaware of their presence. 

Mulder tried to anticipate what would happen next. Glancing 
left and right, he noticed all the men had attached the 
strange foot-long handles to the ends of their spears, just as 
Dzeh had. The handles folded back on the shafts, which were 
held shoulder high, parallel to the ground. 

Many of the mastodons were already in the lake when Mulder 
heard the first faint whistle of a spear sailing through the 
air. It was followed by the wet slap of its point penetrating 
a hide. The struck animal roared. The noise was horrible; a 
screech like train brakes, followed by the huff of panicked 
lungs.

The herd instantly became an earth-shaking stampede and the 
night exploded with sound...whooping shouts from the 
hunters...cries of alarm from the mastodons...noisy splashes 
of water as the animals plowed into the lake to escape the 
danger behind them. Several thundered into the woods, cracking 
into trees, splintering branches. 

The men ignored the runaways to pursue the one wounded animal. 
Four hunters let spears fly in quick succession, aiming at the 
beast's heart. Mulder could now see the advantage of the 
strange handles the men had attached to their spears. These 
devices added leverage and distance, hurtling the lances 200 
feet with impressive accuracy. Each weapon sank a foot or more 
into the mastodon's flesh, an impossible depth if thrown 
without the handle.

The men closed in on the injured mastodon. Two more spears 
found their mark. Still on its feet, the beast squealed each 
time it was hit. It tried to shake the spears loose, but they 
remained deeply imbedded in its side. Mulder was now close 
enough to see inky streams of blood leaking from its wounds. 
The animal tossed its head in anger and fear. It trumpeted 
again. Abandoned by the herd, it turned to defend itself.

Mulder had faced monsters before, but nothing chilled him like 
the fury he saw in this beast's bulging eyes. When the enraged 
mastodon prepared to charge, Mulder's senses left him. His 
arms hung like dead weights at his sides. His ears became deaf 
to the commotion around him. Time slowed to an immeasurable 
crawl and he felt as if he were watching events unfold through 
the wrong end of a telescope.

The mastodon lowered its head and laid back its ears. It pawed 
the ground and aimed its tusks upland toward the mountains.

Then it was galloping uphill. Nearly a dozen spears bristled 
like picadors' lances from its blood-streaked sides, jouncing 
with each tremendous stride. The hunters scrambled out of its 
path, their mouths opening as if to scream. Mulder heard none 
of their cries in his now silent, slow motion world. He turned 
to look uphill where he saw the boy with the Mohawk haircut 
standing in the middle of the path. The boy watched, frozen in 
place, as the mastodon came straight for him.

Mulder drew his gun. Relying on a decade of training and 
practice, he raised his arms, aimed his weapon, and 
waited...waited...waited for the charging mastodon to pass him 
broad side. He seemed to know instinctively that a shot to the 
animal's impenetrable skull would prove useless. He needed to 
make a well-placed shot to the heart or lungs. When the moment 
came and the mastodon passed within five feet of his 
outstretched arms, Mulder pumped the trigger and let every 
single bullet fly, hoping like hell to hit something vital. 
Each shot penetrated the animal's hide, smacking a puff of 
dust from its fur. The mastodon continued to rage forward 
toward the frightened boy. The boy closed his eyes. Mulder 
felt his stomach pitch. He still squeezed the trigger, deaf to 
the click of the gun's empty clip.

Please, please, please, he prayed...

Abruptly the mastodon faltered, stumbled, went down on its 
front knees. Its forward momentum carried it skidding uphill. 
Its gargantuan tusks dug into the ground like plow blades, 
furrowing the earth and sending debris flying into the air. 
Amid an explosion of dust and pine needles, the giant beast 
lurched to a stop right at the boy's feet.

The boy's lance dropped from his hand and he collapsed to his 
haunches.

Mulder had spent every round but managed to save the boy's 
life.

Mulder's hearing returned when the hunters surrounded him. 
They clapped him on the back and shoulders. Their laughter 
ricocheted off the trees as they whooped with relief. 
Impressed by Mulder's gun, they took turns touching it, 
pulling back with startled surprise when they felt the warmth 
of its barrel. "Pow, pow," they shouted again and again, 
mimicking Mulder's stiff-armed stance. He let them pass the 
gun around. Without bullets it was no longer a danger. One 
after the next, the men took a turn pointing it at the 
motionless mastodon. 

Dzeh seemed particularly pleased by the shooting. His eyes 
shone with pride as he strutted back and forth between Mulder 
and the boy. He nodded repeatedly at his wristwatch, reminding 
everyone of his partnership with Mulder.

The boy was beginning to regain his color. Two men helped him 
to his feet. They pounded his shoulders, too. Buoyed by their 
praise, the youngster retrieved his fallen spear. He walked on 
shaky legs around the corpse. "Ut-zah!" he yelled at it, and 
then thrust the spear into the animal's side.

"Ut-zah-ha-dez-bin!" the men replied. They repeated the phrase 
again and again. Dzeh encouraged Mulder to say the strange 
words, too.

With his tongue twisting around the unfamiliar language, 
Mulder tried his best to repeat, "Ut-zah-ha-dez-bin!"

This caused more laughter and more cheers.

Finally, the man with basketball hands cleared his throat, 
silencing the others. He gave a short speech. The men nodded, 
faces solemn but eyes lit with satisfaction. When the 
impromptu meeting was finished, a messenger was dispatched to 
the village to tell the clans the good news.      

Then the hunters fell upon the carcass and, using their spears 
as carving knives, they began to butcher the meat.

Mulder watched in awe as the men sliced open the mastodon with 
quick precision. It reminded him of Scully with scalpel in 
hand, poised over a body on her autopsy table. Like her, the 
men seemed to follow a predetermined approach. In only 
minutes, they had peeled back the skin to serve as a tarp, 
keeping the meat clean as they piled it in chunks.

Spirits ran high as they gutted the carcass. Several men 
climbed completely inside it to carve out the organs, while 
others worked to remove large sections of fat. The men in the 
belly yelled up to those outside to be careful whenever a 
spear gouged too deeply and poked straight through, 
threatening their safety. The smell was godawful, but Mulder 
lent a hand. He borrowed Dzeh's knife because he wasn't able 
to get the hang of cutting with his spear the way the other 
men did.

Mulder admired the skill of these men, their bravery and their 
commitment to their families. He felt honored to be included 
in their close-knit group. As a man who usually eschewed 
teamwork -- at least off the ball court -- he found himself 
shedding his customary independence. For perhaps the first 
time in his life, Fox Mulder felt as if he fit in. Up to his 
elbows in blood and entrails, he realized with pleasant 
surprise that he felt genuinely happy.   

*   *   *

Klizzie combed and braided Day-nuh's hair into cornrows while 
the injured woman sipped a bowl of medicinal tea concocted by 
the Shaman to alleviate the pain in her swollen ankle.

"You are lucky it was only a sprain," Klizzie said as she 
began a new braid. She was also lucky the Shaman knew how to 
make strong tea.

Day-nuh sat perfectly still, propped on furs, naked beneath a 
wolf-skin blanket, while Klizzie knelt behind her and worked 
on her hair. The tea was obviously beginning to take effect; 
Day-nuh's head lolled sleepily and she hummed in a quiet, 
tuneless way. She was freshly shampooed and bathed, and she'd 
eaten, too, thanks to Klizzie, who had prepared a hearty meal 
before taking her to the lake to wash. While Day-nuh bathed, 
Klizzie returned to camp to arrange a shelter for her. Of 
course, tonight, Dzeh, not Muhl-dar, would share this hearth 
with the fox-haired woman. As was customary, the Trading 
Partners would seal their partnership by exchanging mates. 
Klizzie planned to take her own bath as soon as she finished 
getting Day-nuh ready. She wanted to be clean and presentable 
when Dzeh's new partner came to her bed. It was important that 
she impress and please Muhl-dar, to help build a lasting bond 
between the men.

After tonight, the four of them would be like kin. Muhl-dar 
and Day-nuh would be accepted and welcomed as permanent 
members of Owl Clan.

"Klizzie...?" Day-nuh murmured, and then her question wandered 
off like a lost calf.

"What is it, Sister?" Klizzie asked, using the honorary title 
prematurely. She didn't think it would do any harm; after all, 
she and Day-nuh would be true sisters in the eyes of the Clan 
after tonight. 

Patiently waiting for the fox-haired woman to say more, 
Klizzie tied off the braid she was working on with a row of 
beads: one of white bone, two blue stones and then a bangle of 
mother-of-pearl. The pearl sparkled whenever Day-nuh laughed, 
which was more frequently now that she was on her second bowl 
of tea. 

Klizzie eased the near-empty bowl from her limp hand and set 
it aside. "I think you have had enough," she whispered.

She continued to plait Day-nuh's pretty, red hair, weaving in 
additional beads, along with strands of fresh sweetgrass. Dzeh 
would be pleased to see her decorated in the Owl Clan fashion. 
It would make her appear less strange. It would also make him 
proud that his mate loved him enough to help prepare her for 
this night.

Klizzie's heart filled with happiness at the thought of 
pleasing Dzeh. He was an honorable man and a fine mate. 
Generous, patient and tender. He listened when she gave voice 
to the ideas that were inside her. He provided her with a 
loving home. Some women were not so lucky.

"There, that is done," she announced, finished with the 
braids. "Now I will oil your skin so you will feel soft and 
smell sweet." 

Day-nuh nodded in sleepy agreement before closing her eyes. 

Klizzie put away her extra beads, tucking them into the soft, 
fringed pouch she used for storing them. Then she stirred the 
fire in the small hearth beside the sleeping skins, adding 
another stick of wood. The hut was pleasantly warm. It wasn't 
a large hut, like the ones used by families with many children 
and cousins and aunts and uncles, but it was tall enough for a 
woman to stand up in. And it had plenty of room for sleeping 
skins and storage, too. 

Earlier she had brought Day-nuh and Muhl-dar's packs here and 
set them to one side. She also added some additional items she 
thought they could use, such as fresh drinking water, a change 
of clothes, and more soap root. To be honest, she hoped the 
soap would encourage them to bathe more often. She wondered if 
it was the custom of Eel Clan to wait so long between 
washings.

Well, at least she had gotten Day-nuh clean for tonight's 
exchange. And if the men were successful on their hunt, then 
they would bathe later, too, to wash off the blood and dung. 
She had no worry that Muhl-dar would come to her bed smelling 
bad. 

Klizzie gathered the perfumed oil and held it briefly beneath 
Day-nuh's nose.

The sleepy woman barely opened her eyes. 

"Mmm," she hummed. "S'good."

Klizzie chuckled, glad to see she was feeling comfortable. Her 
swollen ankle looked painful. After her bath, Klizzie had 
wrapped it with the softest strip of deerskin she could find. 
Then she propped the injured leg on a pile of folded furs to 
help prevent more swelling and bruising.

"You will like this," Klizzie promised. She rubbed a bit of 
the oil between her palms, then positioned herself behind Day-
nuh and began massaging her bare shoulders.

"Mmmmm. That's nice." Day-nuh's chin dropped to her chest. 

Klizzie massaged her ivory white skin, working down her arms 
to her hands. She rubbed her elbows, her wrists, and each  
finger, then moved on to her chest, where she used circular 
strokes to smooth oil onto her breasts and belly. Pausing to 
inspect the fearsome scar at her navel, she wondered what 
could have caused such a wound.

Day-nuh giggled when she tried to oil her ribs. 

"You are ticklish?" Klizzie asked as she repositioned herself 
to rub the other woman's legs. She lifted the blanket off. 
"You have very pretty feet," she said, when she began to 
stroke Day-nuh's toes. "They are so soft!"

Her own feet were thickly callused from going barefoot. Day-
nuh's feet felt as if she walked on clouds all day.

Klizzie avoided the injured ankle, kneading the stiff muscles 
of her calves and thighs instead, astonished by the number of 
tan speckles that dotted her pale skin. They were more 
numerous than stars in the sky.

"We are done, Sister," she said at last, and set aside the 
oil. She gently patted the woman's cheek to wake her.

Day-nuh seemed to rouse a little. "Klizzie..." She took her 
hand and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you."

"Tahnk-ew." Klizzie remembered hearing this word before, back 
at Toh-ta Lodge. She didn't know what it meant, but Day-nuh 
seemed sincere and appreciative. "Oh, I almost forgot," she 
said, remembering the necklace she had brought for Day-nuh to 
wear tonight. She scrounged through her pack and pulled out a 
beautiful carved amulet that hung from a soft deer-hide cord. 
"This will bring happiness and luck," she said, slipping the 
necklace over the other woman's head.

Day-nuh fingered the carving -- a small red fox.

Klizzie had chosen it because the color of the stone matched 
Day-nuh's hair exactly.

"It's beautiful," Day-nuh murmured. Then her eyes brightened. 
She held up a finger. "I have something for you, too." 

The words came out in a jumble, meaning nothing to Klizzie, 
but she waited while Day-nuh retrieved her Eel cloak and 
searched through its marvelous pockets. She withdrew a silver 
cylinder, smoother and shinier than any water-polished stone, 
and held it up for Klizzie to see.

"What is it?" she asked, impressed by the pretty thing. 

Day-nuh smiled and separated the cylinder into two halves. 
Then she twisted the bottom of one half until a blood red 
finger poked up from inside. Klizzie wasn't sure what to make 
of it. Whose finger was it and why would anyone keep such a 
ghastly thing?

She was even more shocked when Day-nuh pressed the bleeding 
finger to her lips. Was she going to eat it?

Oh! It stained her lips red! Klizzie leaned closer. The thing 
was not a finger after all; it was paint!

"May I?" Day-nuh asked, pointing the paint stick at Klizzie's 
lips.

Klizzie nodded and let the other woman color her lips. When 
Day-nuh was satisfied, smoothing the paint with her finger, 
she searched her pocket again, and this time she pulled out a 
container that looked like a small tortoiseshell. She opened 
the little shell and inside was a smooth, shiny surface that 
reflected the firelight the way a pond reflects the sun. She 
held it up to Klizzie's face.

Oh, Great Spirits! It was her own face! She recognized her 
eyes and mouth from seeing them reflected in the lake water. 
But never had she seen herself so clearly as this!

"May I hold it?" she asked. She reached for the shiny 
tortoiseshell to indicate she wanted a closer look. Day-nuh 
smiled and handed it to her.

Klizzie could not stop staring at her own dark eyes, fringed 
with long, straight lashes...and her smooth nose, a little 
curved and somewhat flat...and her lips! Blood red with Day-
nuh's paint. She smiled, only to be stunned by the whiteness 
of her teeth and the two crescent-shaped dimples that dented 
her cheeks.

She might never have stopped looking at herself if not for the 
strange popping noise that suddenly echoed up from the lake.

Worry glittered in Day-nuh's eyes. She tried to stand. "Gun 
shots. Mulder--"     

"Sit, Sister, please. You will hurt yourself." Klizzie 
indicated her bound ankle. "I will see what is the matter."

"But I have to--" Day-nuh blinked dizzily and fell back 
against the furs.

"Remain here. I will bring back any news." 

Day-nuh closed her tired eyes, succumbing to the effects of 
the tea. Klizzie returned the tortoiseshell container to her, 
thanked her and apologized for leaving so quickly. She gave 
Day-nuh's cheek a quick kiss before grabbing her things and 
rising to her feet.

"Klizzie, wait..." The words stretched out in a long, drowsy 
fashion. For a moment the exhausted woman seemed to forget 
what it was she intended to say. Then she held out the paint 
stick. "This is for you." 

Klizzie gave her a questioning look.

"I want you to have it," she said, and held the paint stick a 
little higher.

Klizzie took it. Impressed by the other woman's generosity, 
she leaned down to kiss her again before hurrying from the 
shelter. 

Out in the village's common area she found a group of 
concerned men and women looking toward the lake, discussing 
the odd popping noise in uneasy voices.

"It came from the direction of the hunt," one man said, 
pointing northeast. 

"What could make such a noise?"

Speculation was cut short when the excited cry of a messenger 
resounded from the nearby woods. 

"We killed a mastodon!" he yelled. "We killed a mastodon -- 
there will be a feast tonight!"  

*   *   *

The Men's Prayer Lodge was the largest structure in the camp. 
Oblong in shape, it had a single door, which faced west to 
catch the last light of the setting sun. The broad, domed roof 
was constructed of animal hides, sewn together with sinew. The 
roof was supported by shoulder-high walls built of mastodon 
skulls, which had been stacked one atop another, fitted 
together like spooning lovers. Tusks and slender saplings 
provided additional height, making the interior space tall 
enough for a man to stand upright with his arms raised.

In the center of the lodge was a large fire-pit, which offered 
light and warmth, as well as a spit for roasting meat. An open 
area around the fire was used for speeches, dances, prayers 
and storytelling. Furs lined the floor along the room's 
perimeter, providing comfortable seating. Thirty men could sit 
in the lodge with room to spare. Fifty became a tight fit. 
Tonight, more than eighty men and boys crowded the lodge to 
hear the story of the mastodon hunt.

Because the lodge was oblong and not circular, some seats were 
preferred over others because they offered superior views of 
the speakers and the fire. Dzeh sat in one of these better 
spots, between his Uncle Lin and his Trading Partner Muhl-dar. 
A hearty meal of roasted mastodon had left him sated, and 
several draughts of wo-chi fogged his head in a most pleasant 
manner. A bite of raw heart fresh from the kill had inundated 
him with the Mastodon Spirit's generosity. 

As was custom, the men had let the women finish butchering the 
mastodon and transport its meat, hide, bones and organs back 
to camp, while the hunters cleaned themselves in the lake. 
After their bath, they dressed in fresh garments for Prayers 
of Thanks in the Lodge.

Influenced by the Mastodon Spirit's generosity, Dzeh lent 
Muhl-dar his best buckskin tunic. After all, the newcomer had 
nothing clean to put on after his bath. Dzeh had a spare, and 
Muhl-dar was his Trading Partner now, so why not?

The tunic was a fine one, supple and soft, decorated with 
handsome quillwork and fringe. Klizzie had outdone herself 
making it. It fit comfortably and would last many seasons. 

"Take it," Dzeh had insisted, pressing the garment into Muhl-
dar's arms. 

"No, no, no." Muhl-dar shook his head and pushed back, making 
further objections in his own strange language.

Although Dzeh didn't understand his words, he understood his 
hesitation to accept the shirt. A gift was an obligation that 
required compensation at some point. Perhaps Muhl-dar felt 
unable to settle such a large debt. It was possible he was not 
as well off as Dzeh had first assumed. 

Even so, he needed something to wear.

"This tunic is of little value," Dzeh lied, attempting once 
more to give the garment away. "The hide is of inferior 
quality; the seams poorly sewn. Please, take it off my hands."

Muhl-dar appeared reluctant and a bit embarrassed, but he was 
finally persuaded by Dzeh's persistent arguments to take the 
tunic. Slipping it over his head, he emerged with a broad grin 
lighting his face. The shirt fit as if made for him.

Cleaned, dressed, and cheered by their successful hunt, the 
men gathered in the Prayer Lodge to celebrate. They recited 
all the official prayers and then settled in for a long night 
of storytelling and feasting. Regaling each other with tales 
of past exploits, they relived every hunt that remained 
outstanding in their memories. And they coaxed Muhl-dar into 
telling and retelling his version of tonight's hunt at least 
six times over. It didn't matter that they couldn't understand 
his foreign words. The wild motions of his hands, the varied 
expressions of his face, and the inflection of his voice lent 
excitement to the tale. They gasped each time he leapt to his 
feet to pantomime the action. Again and again the hunters 
interrupted his rendition to add their own perspectives, 
filling in minute details for the benefit of those who had not 
been present.

While Muhl-dar pointed his gun, another man played the role of 
the mastodon. A third mimicked fear-stricken Chal, caught in 
the path of the raging beast.

"Whe-hus-dil...pow, pow, pow," the hunters shouted, describing 
the noise of Muhl-dar's weapon to those who had remained in 
the camp and heard it only from a distance. The hunters held 
their ears, rounded their eyes, laughed with relief when the 
man who was pretending to be the mastodon sank to his knees.

"Bih-din-ne-dey!" Lin exclaimed, and all the men cheered.

The story became grander with each telling. After the third or 
fourth performance, it became embellished beyond all 
recognition. But whenever Muhl-dar seemed reluctant to repeat 
his version of events, the elders plied him with more wo-chi. 
A sip or two more were enough to loosen his tongue and get him 
back on his feet.

Muhl-dar's gun was passed around the circle many times while 
he reenacted his tale. Dzeh laughed heartily when Muhl-dar 
took on the role of each hunter, exaggerating each man's 
heroism, fear, and shock. He laughed doubly hard at Muhl-dar's 
impersonation of himself.

This was a fine night. Dzeh felt more at ease than he had in 
many days. Forgotten was his vision about Muhl-dar's unlucky 
return. The arrival of his Trading Partner had turned out to 
be a good omen after all.

"Enough!" Muhl-dar announced. He collapsed onto his haunches 
beside Dzeh and refused to get up again. "Enough, enough." He 
held up his hands in protest.

"Eee-nuff!" Dzeh bellowed good-naturedly, causing the men to 
laugh and repeat the word. 

The men's moods remained high throughout the evening. 
Exhausted of tales about their hunting prowess, they now 
exchanged ribald jokes, some at Muhl-dar's expense, as they 
passed around more roasted meat and more wo-chi.

"Do Eel Clan men 'pow, pow, pow' when they make love to their 
mates?" someone asked, triggering an uproar of laughter. 
Similar questions followed -- questions that would be unseemly 
anywhere but here. Muhl-dar took their ribbing in stride. He 
clearly understood some of what they said because he joined in 
their hilarity, insinuating that Eel Clan men were endowed 
like stallions and made explosive noises whenever they 
ejaculated.  

This brought up an important matter, Dzeh realized.    

"Eee-nuff. Beh-gha," he said, his tone suddenly serious. He 
clamped a hand on Muhl-dar's arm to draw him close. This 
conversation was between Trading Partners, not for the general 
assembly. 

"Beh-gha?" Muhl-dar repeated the strange word. "Beh-gha means 
enough?"

"Yes, yes! That is right. Beh-gha. Eee-nuff." Dzeh said. He 
leaned toward his partner's ear and lowered his voice. "We 
must discuss tonight's arrangements." 

Muhl-dar shook his head, not understanding.

Dzeh tried again. "Klizzie has prepared the shelters." Using 
hand signals, Dzeh made the signs for "shelter" and "two." "I 
will take you to yours. You will lay there with Klizzie on the 
sleeping skins. I will go to Day-nuh and lay with her. You 
know how it goes." He smiled and Muhl-dar smiled back, nodding 
his head as if he understood every word. "Tomorrow we will 
officially be Partners. Hozo-go nay-yeltay to. May we live in 
peace hereafter." He clapped Muhl-dar on the back.

"Hozo...?" Muhl-dar stammered, his grin fading a little.

"Hozo-go nay-yeltay to."

"Hozo-go...uh...nay-yeltay to?" Muhl-dar's tongue twisted 
around the unfamiliar words. His pronunciation was poor, but 
he managed to repeat the phrase fairly accurately.

"Yes, hozo-go nay-yeltay to." Dzeh laughed, glad to get this 
formality out of the way.      

*   *   * 

"This the place?" Mulder asked, hooking a thumb at the domed 
shelter. He and Dzeh stood under the stars at the edge of the 
village. Fifty or more similar huts separated them from the 
lake.

Dzeh pointed and nodded, and then turned to go.

"Wait, wait," Mulder said, staggering a little as he grabbed 
Dzeh's arm. Dzeh steadied him and chuckled as Mulder 
unsuccessfully tried to shrug out of the borrowed buckskin 
tunic he wore. "Your shirt. I should give it back."  

Dzeh wagged his head and yammered something in a friendly 
tone. He slapped Mulder's back a few times, pointed repeatedly 
at the buckskin shirt, tugged at Mulder's disheveled hair and 
short beard. Between his good-natured gesticulations and his 
broad smile, he convinced Mulder to keep the tunic. 

"*You*..." -- Mulder prodded Dzeh in the breastbone with a 
stiff index finger -- "are a real gen'rous guy, y'know that, 
Dzeh ol' buddy? Nice of you t'gimme the shirtoffyerback."

Nodding in agreement with everything Mulder said, Dzeh spun 
Mulder to face the hut's entrance. 

"Here? This place?" Mulder asked again, forgetting Dzeh's 
previous instructions.

Dzeh gave him an affable shove. Then he turned and walked away 
on unsteady legs, and in no time, disappeared into the dark.

"Gen'rous guy," Mulder repeated to no one in particular. 

Bleary-eyed and a little dizzy, he tried to focus on the 
entrance to the hut. He reached for the flap of hide that 
served as the shelter's door. He lifted it and considered 
shouting, "Hi, honey, I'm home!" but was distracted by the 
unusual numbness in his fingers. Couldn't feel the 
flap...door...whatever. He grinned as he kneaded the supple 
material. Nope, couldn't feel a damn thing. His hand might as 
well belong to someone else. HA!

He ducked his head to peer through the door. The hut's 
interior was lit by the dim glow of the hearth. In the bed 
beside the dying fire was the rounded shape of Scully, sound 
asleep beneath the furs. 

Awww, Scully. Sleeping Scully. His beautiful, beautiful 
Scully.

Hi, honey, I'm home.

Stepping across the threshold, Mulder walloped his forehead on 
a bone support. "Damn it!" He rubbed the sore spot. How was it 
possible to feel pain in his head and nothing at all in his 
fingertips? 

Too late he realized he'd spoken out loud. "Shhhhhh," he said, 
finger raised to his lips. He let the door-flap-thingy close 
behind him.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady himself enough to 
walk a straight line from the door to the bed without falling 
on his ass. Dzeh had helped him stay upright on the way over 
from the men's lodge. Left to his own devices, however, he 
wasn't sure he could make it across the room. He tried to 
gauge the distance. Hmm. Three steps? Four? Concentrating on 
his rubbery legs and unfeeling feet he attempted one crooked 
step toward Scully. Oops! He lurched to the left. 

Arms held out to his sides, he managed to maintain his 
balance, but just barely. "If at first you don't succeed..." 
His next step carried him forward, more or less. "Suck a lemon 
and you'll 'suck seed'!" The joke made him chuckle. It was an 
old joke, something his father used to say. 

Scully stirred beneath the blankets. 

"Shhhh," Mulder said again. "Scully's tryin' t'sleep."

Wow, he hadn't felt this tipsy since...since...since never. He 
rarely drank, which was probably why the wo-chi had gone 
straight to his head.

Wo-chi. It was a strange word. Sounded like something you'd 
say to a baby. Wo-chi-wo-chi-wo-chi. Again, he laughed at his 
own joke.

Another deep breath. Concemtrate, consimptrate, constanrate... 

Man, it smelled good in here! Like mint and...and...fabric 
softener -- those flowery-scented sheet-things you toss in the 
dryer, the spring-time fresh ones. Or was that toilet bowl 
cleaner? 

Didn't matter. In his fuzzy state of mind, everything seemed 
right with the world...if you discounted that little time 
travel booboo.

Aw hell, so what if he and Scully were a gazillion years from 
where they were supposed to be? They were safe. They had each 
other. Did anything else really matter?

After all, the Ice Age had lots of benefits over the 20th 
Century. No pollution, no nuclear weapons, no government 
conspiracies or alien invaders. "No, expense reports. HA!"

Beneath the covers, Scully shifted again. Just a twitch. 
Mulder clapped his hand over his mouth. Shhhhhh. "Didn't mean 
t'say that ow'loud, Slully...umm...Scully," he whispered from 
behind his hand.

He expected her to growl at him for making so much noise, but 
apparently she was down for the count -- probably exhausted 
from their hike and the late hour and her injured ankle.

Poor Slully. Scully. She sluffered in slilence...shlit! 
Suffered in silence. Well, most of the time anyway. Not that 
she didn't have good reason to compain...complain.

Better get undressed, he decided. He wasn't thinking straight. 
And he loved Scully. And wooooo! That wo-chi had him feeling 
*good* -- like he had nothing but clouds for brains.

He shrugged out of Dzeh's tunic and let it drop to the floor. 
That left him wearing only his loincloth and belt, and the 
belt held his holster and gun. Couldn't sleep in that. He 
fumbled with the buckle. His unfeeling fingers had trouble 
with the clasp, but he managed to unfasten it on the third or 
fourth try. He let it fall to his feet, too, and the gun 
thudded loudly when it struck the dirt floor. "Shhhhhh," he 
told it.

He took a tentative step. Then another. Uh-oh, he leaned too 
far to the right. Whoa! Gyrating to maintain his balance, he 
found himself at the edge of the bed. When he was satisfied he 
wasn't going to tip over, he shucked his loincloth and tossed 
it in the general direction of the door.  

Ready to take that one final step into bed, he glanced down at 
his feet. Oops. Still had his boots on. 

The boots proved more difficult to remove than the tricky 
belt. He sat on his haunches and plucked at the laces. His 
fingers refused to close around the damn bows. After several 
unsuccessful attempts, he said, "Fuck it," and left them on.

Lifting the fur blanket, he half-fell, half-rolled into bed. 
Scully stretched a little, but kept her back to him.

Scully, beautiful Scully. The woman who meant everything in 
the world to him. She lay on her side, facing away. He counted 
her breaths. One, two, thr--

"You smell pretty," he whispered. She did! Like flowery 
fabric-softener sheets...or toilet bowl cleanser...whatever.

Burrowing beneath the blankets, he drove his nose into her 
neck and sniffed. Mmmmmm. Too bad his hands weren't working 
the way they were supposed to. He wanted to touch her skin. 
Reaching for her anyway, he clumsily placed an unfeeling palm 
on the curve of her waist. Warm. Bare. He could tell that 
much, at least. Intending to stroke her ass, he found himself 
cupping her breast instead. He squeezed. She stiffened.

"Muhl-dar?"

"You were expecting someone el--"

Ummm...that didn't sound quite like Scully. He lifted his head 
to peer at the woman beside him only to find Klizzie was 
staring back at him over her bare shoulder. Shit! He was in 
the wrong hut. The wrong bed. His hand was on the wrong 
breast! He released his hold and scrambled backward, out from 
under the covers.

"I'm...oh, jees...I'm sorry, Klizzie...I didn't...I 
musta...this was an honest mistake...I'm really--" 

Naked. 

Fuck. 

He yanked the blanket off the bed into his lap, covering 
himself and uncovering her. Now *she* was naked. And she 
didn't seem the least bit concerned.

"Muhl-dar?" She sat up.

"Yeah?" he asked, trying to sound casual. 

She smiled. A brilliant, come-hither, turn-a-guy's-legs-to-
jelly smile. Then she crawled toward him, and, oh God, her 
breasts bounced in the most delightful way.

"Pinch me?" he squeaked, hoping he was asleep or at the very 
least unconscious. 

She reached toward him and he thought maybe she was going to 
pinch him. But instead she tugged at the blanket covering his 
lap. He hung onto it.

"Huc-quo," she said, still smiling her man-eating grin. 
"Klizzie nih-tsa-goh-al-neh be-zonz. Klizzie, Muhl-dar, de-ji-
kash. Be-zonz yeh-zihn. Lanh?"

"I...I..."

She tilted her head in the cutest way and licked her lips. Her 
hand crept up his bare leg...knee...thigh. He wasn't entirely 
sure, but he thought she might be wearing lipstick and it 
looked a lot like Scully's shade. Was that possible? 

Snaking her warm, little hand beneath his blanket, she groped 
his lap. When her fingers found his penis, she gave him a 
squeeze.

"No! Klizzie... Don't." He backed away. 

Her happy smile disintegrated as her eyes blinked in surprise. 
Biting her lip, she now appeared nervous.

"De-ji-kash." She beckoned him into the bed with a wave of her 
trembling hand. "Klizzie yah-a-da-hal-yon-ih Muhl-dar. Day-nuh 
yah-a-da-hal-yon-ih Dzeh." 

Day-nuh? And Dzeh? The fog began to lift from his brain, 
leaving him feeling sober...almost.

"Where's Scully?" he demanded. He grabbed Klizzie's arm and 
gripped her hard. "Where's Dana? Where is she?"

Klizzie tried to smile again, but failed. Her eyebrows peaked 
with worry. "Day-nuh, Dzeh, yah-tay-go-e-elah ta-bilh."

He had no idea what she was saying, but it couldn't be good if 
Dzeh and Scully's names were spoken in the same breath.

Mulder rose unsteadily to his feet. 

What the hell was going on here? Klizzie wasn't acting like 
this was a simple mix-up. She was acting as if she'd been 
expecting him to show up in her bed tonight. Which could only 
mean Dzeh had purposely led him here, which could only mean he 
was intending to... 

Son of a bitch. This was a deliberate swap. Mulder stumbled 
out of the shelter into the cool night, oblivious to his 
nudity.

He found himself facing dozens of identical huts. Jesus, which 
one was Scully in?

"Scully?" he called, becoming more frantic as a vision of 
Scully, naked in Dzeh's arms, took shape in his head. He 
sprinted for the nearest hut. He would search every damn one 
if he had to. "Sculleee!"  

*   *   *

Scully awoke to the steam of a sigh on the nape of her neck. 
Mmm. Mulder. He'd returned, safe and...

Aroused! His erection prodded the small of her back as he 
spooned against her. 

He caressed her bare arm, and she responded by nestling deeper 
into his embrace. He smelled good, like soap root and lake 
water and...alcohol?

"Out partying late, Mulder?" 

The entire camp had been in a celebratory mood after receiving 
the news of the successful mastodon hunt. There would be 
plenty to eat for days. 

Mulder's arm curled lovingly around her. She glanced at his 
watch. 3:52 a.m. 

"Musta been some party," she murmured, feeling content and 
sleepy. Her belly was full, her body clean. The tea the Shaman 
had given her earlier had stopped the awful throbbing in her 
ankle. She hadn't felt this good in days.

Not since the night she and Mulder had made love in the cave.    

Heat blossomed in her abdomen at the memory. She moaned when 
his fingers skated up her naked thigh to settle in her curls. 

"You must be reading my mind," she whispered.

He snuggled closer, pressing his hips into her buttocks, 
poking her spine with his rigid penis. He kissed her neck, her 
shoulder, his long beard tickling her--

Wait a minute... Long beard? It'd been a month since Mulder 
last shaved, but his whiskers weren't *that* long.

And Mulder had traded his wristwatch to--

Scully lurched out of Dzeh's embrace and turned to glower at 
him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded. 

He remained where he was, grinning shyly and looking a bit 
bleary-eyed. 

She yanked the fur blanket off him and covered herself with 
it.

"Wrong bed, mister. Get out." 

He reached for her again and she shoved his hand away.

"I said, get out!" 

She scooted from the bed, beyond his reach. He chuckled and 
came after her. Grabbing her by the wrist, he pulled her back 
onto the furs.

"Let go of me, Dzeh. Let--"

His mouth covered hers, silencing her as he pressed her gently 
but firmly down onto the sleeping skins.          

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jealousy burned in Mulder's throat. Driven by his escalating 
rage and the lingering hallucinogenic effects of wo-chi, he 
stumbled frantically to the nearest hut in search of Scully. 
He was convinced she was in danger and pictured her trapped in 
Dzeh's embrace, fending off the caveman's determined advances. 
The idea made Mulder's skin crawl. His fingers itched to wring 
the damn Neanderthal's neck. 

He bulldozed through the door, bellowing "Scully! Sculleeee!", 
and stopped just short of the sleeping skins. The beds were 
arranged in a semi-circle around a low-burning hearth and 
eight sets of eyes peered out from beneath their furs, 
blinking up at him in startled surprise. Someone gasped. A 
baby started to cry.

"Scully?" He asked, his voice sounding too loud in the 
confined space.

He glanced from face to face. The dim glow of the dying fire 
revealed she wasn't there. The baby's wailing grew louder.

"Eh-ha-jay, nil-chi-tso," growled a frowning man with a 
braided beard and a pierced lower lip. 

He rose from his bed to confront Mulder. Although he wasn't 
very tall, he was sturdily built with powerful arms and legs. 
His coppery skin was blackened with angry-looking tattoos, 
geometric designs that accentuated his muscular physique.   

"Sorry, wrong hut," Mulder said, realizing too late the 
rashness of his intrusion. 

The tattooed man swaggered toward him, sledgehammer fists 
clenched at his sides. He paused an arm's length away to 
glower at Mulder from beneath dark brows.

"I-I'm looking for Dzeh," Mulder explained. "You haven't seen 
him by any chance?"

The man's frown deepened. "Eh-ha-jay," he said again, jerking 
his bearded chin toward the doorway.

"Guess not." 

Mulder backpedaled out of the shelter, where he was met by a 
veritable sea of scowling faces. At least two-dozen bleary-
eyed men stood waiting for him there, roused from their beds 
by his shouting. 

Feeling sandwiched between the crowd and the irate tattooed 
man, Mulder did the only thing he could think to do; he stood 
his ground, cupped his hands around his mouth, and called 
Scully's name at the top of his lungs. Then he let loose a 
string of epithets directed at Dzeh that rounded the 
onlookers' eyes. They clearly grasped the vehemence in his 
tone, if not the literal meaning of his words.

A familiar face appeared in the crowd; it was Lin, the older 
man with the basketball hands. His expression was stern but 
calm as he approached Mulder. 

Mulder gritted his teeth and tried to reign in his temper. He 
was seriously outnumbered here. No doubt his outburst was 
irritating the hell out of these people, if not outright 
insulting them. Everyone was eyeballing him, making him 
suddenly aware of his vulnerability...and his nakedness.

Most of the onlookers were naked, too, having been awakened 
unexpectedly. But their state of undress did little to ease 
Mulder's apprehension. These men were heavily muscled. They 
carried themselves with confidence, accustomed to threats far 
more serious than one loud-mouthed crazy man.

Lin rested a weighty hand on Mulder's shoulder, pinning him in 
place. The older man seemed less annoyed than the others, so 
Mulder decided to take a chance that he might help.

Lin nodded and gazed past the crowd to scan the campground.

"Tehi," he said, hooking an arm around Mulder's shoulders. He 
steered him through the onlookers, who broke formation to 
follow them. They walked only a short distance before Lin 
stopped in front of the very shelter where Mulder had begun. 
Klizzie was waiting there by the door, looking nervous and 
fearful, her eyes downcast and her former enthusiasm gone. 
Mulder read shame in her posture, as well as accusation in the 
eyes of the other tribe members. 

Did they blame her for his outburst? 

Some conversation passed between Lin and Klizzie. Lin's gruff 
tone caused her to wince several times. She glanced at Mulder 
and fresh tears filled her eyes. 

Mulder suspected she was being held accountable for his show 
of bad temper. Would she suffer repercussions for his breach 
of etiquette?

Although he felt sorry for her, he had greater concerns right 
now. He needed to find Scully.

"Where is Dana?" he asked Klizzie, his tone urgent.

Her eyes flickered to a hut at the edge of the village. "Na-
hos," she said, pointing past his shoulder with a shaky hand.

Mulder turned from the group and marched straight to the hut. 
Without pause at the door, he stormed inside.

Just as he'd feared, he found Dzeh inside with Scully, but the 
Neanderthal wasn't forcing unwanted sexual advances on her. As 
a matter of fact, he wasn't touching her at all. She was 
holding him at bay with his own stone knife. 

"You okay, Scully?" Mulder asked.

"I'm fine." She was crouched beside the hearth, knife in hand. 

Dzeh was sitting cross-legged a few feet away. 

Mulder walked over to him and without warning delivered a 
formidable uppercut to his jaw.

Dzeh rocked, but remained upright. Mulder struck again. 
Knuckles met bone with a jarring crack, but the caveman still 
didn't fall. Mulder tried for a third punch, but was stopped 
mid-swing when Dzeh grabbed his fist and twisted him to his 
knees.

Restrained by the caveman's crushing grip, Mulder wasn't sure 
what to do next. He was peripherally aware that the group of 
anxious onlookers were jockeying for position at the door. 
They reminded him of the flock of vultures that had surrounded 
him and Scully their first day in the Pleistocene.

"Did he touch you, Scully?" Mulder asked, glaring at Dzeh. 

"I...I'm okay, Mulder. He didn't hurt me."

A confused half-smile slowly replaced Dzeh's frown. He 
released Mulder's fist. 

"Muhl-dar?" he asked, sounding puzzled but good-natured. He 
continued speaking in an amiable tone, nodding and smiling at 
Scully. He finally concluded with, "Day-nuh nil-ta."

The only word Mulder had understood in his entire speech was 
"Day-nuh." 

"I don't know what you're saying," Mulder said. Frustration 
increased his anger. Nothing about this surreal situation was 
making any sense. 

"Day-nuh ye-tsan Dzeh. A-nah-ne-dzin." Dzeh said. He chuckled 
and then pointed to his lap.

Mulder looked down to discover Dzeh was in a state of 
unquestionable arousal. 

"Son of a bitch!" He sprang at Dzeh with outstretched arms, 
intending to choke the smiling bastard to death. "She's mine, 
you fucking--" 

Again Dzeh's reflexes were quicker and he stopped Mulder by 
grabbing his wrists and holding him at arm's length.

Dzeh's baffled grin evaporated, replaced by a stern scowl. 
"Beh-gha. Eee-nuff," he said.

Klizzie appeared at the hut's entrance. Her eyes widened at 
the sight of Dzeh and Mulder locked in a standoff. She began 
chattering and waving her hands. Dzeh yammered right back at 
her, never loosening his hold on Mulder. Neither one seemed to 
listen to the other. 

Unable to shake himself free, Mulder started hollering, too.

Only when Scully stood up and shouted in her most 
authoritative voice, "Be quiet!" did they all fall silent.

"That's more like it," she said, looking at each in turn. "Now 
would someone please explain what the hell is going on here?"

*   *   *

People from three clans waited outside Day-nuh's open door to 
hear how Klizzie was going to smooth things over between Dzeh 
and his angry Trading Partner. Their prying stares made her as 
nervous as a rabbit in a wolf's lair.

She was to blame for tonight's misunderstanding, she was sure, 
although she couldn't quite reason out where she'd gone wrong. 
She'd followed all the Clan's protocols right down to the 
minutest detail, preparing the shelters, getting herself and 
Day-nuh ready. Yet Muhl-dar was angry, refusing to accept her 
in trade for Day-nuh. 

His behavior was utterly baffling.

It was also dangerous. If he didn't change his mind, he would 
be exiled from the Clan. Without the ties of blood or 
partnership, Muhl-dar and Day-nuh would be considered 
untrustworthy interlopers and forced to leave. 

And if they refused to go, they would be killed. 

With so much at stake, Klizzie hoped to find a peaceful 
solution to their dilemma. 

She liked these strangers. They had shown no unkindness to the 
Clan. They were gentle with Gini, and they had contributed to 
the recent boon of mastodon meat. 

There were other reasons, too, why Klizzie didn't want to sit 
idly by and watch the newcomers driven off...reasons she was 
not so eager to bring up. She'd been responsible for talking 
Dzeh into accepting Muhl-dar as a Trading Partner in the first 
place. And she was also the one who set out markers, leading 
the newcomers to Turkey Lake. It would be hard to admit these 
actions had been undesirable and hurtful to the Clan.

In addition, Klizzie carried a burden of guilt from her past. 
She had caused considerable trouble for the Clan four years 
ago when she became Dzeh's mate. Her cousin Klesh had been 
exiled as a result of her poor judgment. Her brother Tse-e, 
had left, too. It had been a difficult time for everyone, and 
she didn't wish to repeat it.   

Her desire to make amends for her past misdeeds fueled her 
desire to set things right now.

Again she found herself wishing she knew how to speak Eel 
Clan's language, if only a few words. Then she could put this 
awful misunderstanding behind them.

Klizzie knelt with her back to the meddlesome people outside 
and decided to address her comments directly to Day-nuh 
because, quite frankly, Muhl-dar's grim expression frightened 
her. 

The newcomers were sitting side-by-side facing her, each now 
dressed in the clean skins she had left for them earlier. Day-
nuh was also wearing her strange, black upper garment, the 
small glossy tunic without fasteners.

Dzeh was dressed, too, having put on his loincloth. He 
squatted on the far side of the shelter, away from the others. 
He wore an aloof expression as he rocked on his heels. He'd 
already said all he intended to say; if Muhl-dar was against 
the partnership, then so be it. Dzeh would not beg a man to 
sleep with his mate. To do so would be unseemly and 
disgraceful.

There was no denying Mulder's rejection was an insult, to Dzeh 
and the Clan.

"Please, Sister," Klizzie began, keeping her tone as 
respectful as possible. "I have caused a rift between these 
Trading Partners." She glanced at Dzeh and Muhl-dar in turn, 
and saw that both men wore thundercloud expressions. 

Again she was reminded of Dzeh's failed partnership with 
Klesh. Shame burned her cheeks. Dzeh had forgiven her only 
because he assumed Klesh forced her to do the things she'd 
done that night, but she knew that wasn't entirely true. 

Klesh had offered her a pretty hair ornament in trade for 
sleeping with him. It was an unusual thing, made from the 
loveliest clamshell Klizzie had ever seen. It had been incised 
with a picture of a lo-tso, an enormous mythical fish, rumored 
to be bigger than a bull mastodon. Klesh had received it from 
a traveling man who visited the giant waters to the west, 
where lo-tso were said to live. The man's name was Ta-bas-
dsissi, Shore Runner, and according to Klesh, he possessed 
superior bartering skills, but was not so competent at betting 
games. Ta-bas-dsissi had wagered and lost the ornament to 
Klesh during a round of Ne-e-lahi. 

Klesh promised the ornament to Klizzie in exchange for a night 
on her furs. She knew it was wrong to lay with her cousin, but 
the shell was too great a temptation. 

The next morning Klesh kept his word and gave her the hair 
ornament. He also bragged to his best friend Tse-e about what 
he had done. And soon after, Tse-e tattled to Dzeh. 

Dzeh was furious, of course, and humiliated. Klizzie was so 
ashamed by what she had done she threw the ornament away, 
tossed it into Small Wind Lake without ever telling Dzeh about 
it.     

Instead, she let Dzeh and the entire Clan believe Klesh had 
forced her to submit to his sexual demands. Klesh was not 
trusted for many reasons, so his protests were ignored. No one 
listened to his story about the hair ornament. 

Klizzie kept silent while he was exiled for mating with his 
own cousin. And she said nothing when her brother Tse-e went 
with him, too. 

To this day she still kept her terrible secret, even from Dzeh 
-- the man she loved and trusted like no other.

It was no wonder the Spirits continued to punish her, denying 
her a child in retribution for her transgressions and her 
deceit. She deserved their wrath for the things she had done.

Tucking away her bad memories, Klizzie said to Day-nuh, 
"Please, tell me how I might give pleasure to Muhl-dar." She 
pointed to herself and then to him.

Day-nuh shook her head emphatically. "No. *No* Klizzie and 
Mulder. *No* Dzeh and Dana."

The onlookers buzzed like deerflies. Her objections made no 
sense.

Klizzie tried again. "I apologize for any offense I have 
caused and will do whatever is necessary to set things right."

Day-nuh continued to frown, unmoved by her apology.

Again Klizzie pointed to herself and then to Muhl-dar. "I can 
satisfy him if he would allow me anoth--"

"*No* Mulder and Klizzie!" Muhl-dar's voice roared like an 
angered bear. 

Klizzie's hand went to her totem, seeking its protection and 
strength. 

"But...we *must*. The exchange is a good custom. It builds 
trust. Everyone knows this." She clung to her totem, drawing 
courage from it the way she often did whenever she was 
frightened or confused.

Looking into Day-nuh's pale eyes, she prayed silently to the 
Spirits for guidance.

Suddenly she was struck by an odd idea. Suppose Eel Clan's 
customs were as unusual as Day-nuh's eyes or her red hair. 
Klizzie considered the newcomers' incomprehensible language, 
their foreign clothes and exotic jewelry, their lack of 
knowledge about simple things like edible greens and soap 
root. 

Was it possible they didn't know the rules of mate-exchange? 
Did they practice a different custom?

She turned to the group outside the door, hoping to find 
someone who might know the answer for sure. "Have any of you 
ever visited Eel Clan?" she asked.

The onlookers shook their heads and murmured no, they had not. 

"My sister's cousin from Moose Clan heard that Eel Clan men 
sometimes eat the flesh of humans," one man claimed.

Another man leaned his head into the shelter, suspicion 
shining bright in his eyes. "I say we cast these intruders out 
now, before they decide to kill us in our sleep and cook us 
for breakfast." 

The prospect caused the crowd to rattle like a nest of angry 
snakes. "Strangers cannot be trusted," they insisted.

Klizzie ignored their unease and turned her attention to her 
mate. "Dzeh, I am wondering if Eel Clan shares our custom of 
mate-exchange."

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "What sort of clan does not 
practice mate-exchange?" he asked, sounding incredulous. 
"Everyone knows of it. How can a man trust his Trading Partner 
without first exchanging mates?" 

He glared at Muhl-dar and Muhl-dar glowered back with equal 
intensity. 

She cleared her throat, trying to regain his attention.

"You must admit their ways are strange, Dzeh" she reminded 
him. "The ornament you wear on your wrist..." She indicated 
Muhl-dar's unique bracelet with a nod of her head. "Have you 
ever seen anything like it before?"

She knew he had not. He had shown her its extraordinary glow 
just a few days ago, delighted as a child by the way he could 
light it and extinguish it just by tapping one of its tiny 
prongs.

His eyes flickered to it now. "Explain the custom to them. 
Then we will hear what they have to say."

Hope blossomed in her chest. It was possible she was not the 
cause of tonight's trouble after all. And she might still be 
able to work things out to everyone's benefit.   

But how does one explain something as complex as mate-exchange 
without a common language?

Hand signals would be useless, she knew; Day-nuh and Muhl-dar 
understood very few, even the most general ones. She might try 
drawing pictures on the dirt floor if she were a better 
artist. But she could not draw a careful line, let alone 
capture the true Spirits of things.

"I do not know how to explain it," she said, feeling her hopes 
fly away.

Lin stepped forward from the crowd. "Let me try," he said.

He squatted beside Klizzie and drew several circles in the 
dirt with his finger. 

"These are our huts; this is the village," he said, looking 
from one face to the next. "Now hand me your amulets."

Klizzie removed her totem and placed it in Lin's large palm. 
Dzeh did the same without hesitation. Day-nuh removed her fox 
amulet, too, and then convinced Muhl-dar to do the same with 
the claw necklace he wore. They passed both to the older man.

Lin arranged the necklaces inside two of the circles, 
Klizzie's with Dzeh's and Muhl-dar's with Day-nuh's. "Dzeh and 
Klizzie," he said in a deep voice. He pointed to their 
intertwined necklaces. Then he indicated the other necklaces, 
laid one against the other, apart from the other two. "Muhl-
dar and Day-nuh," he said.

When everyone indicated they understood this arrangement by 
nodding, Lin rearranged the necklaces to illustrate the mate-
exchange.

"Uh-uh," Muhl-dar said. "Put 'em back."

Lin shook his head, refusing to switch the necklaces to their 
former positions. His expression was stern. He was a man used 
to giving orders and being obeyed, an elder respected for his 
wisdom, strength and skill. Holding up one stout finger, he 
said, "To bind a partnership according to our customs, Dzeh of 
Owl Clan and Muhl-dar of Eel Clan will exchange mates for one 
night." 

The newcomers indicated they didn't understand, so Lin 
pantomimed "night" by tilting his head and closing his eyes, 
followed by a stretch and a yawn to represent "day." He 
repeated the action several times until he was certain they 
understood. Only then did he put the necklaces back to their 
original positions.

"Okay, I get it, but the answer is still no," Muhl-dar 
insisted.

Klizzie didn't grasp the meaning of all his words, but she did 
understand what he meant by "no." He shook his head each time 
he said it, and a shake of the head seemed to mean the same 
thing in every language.

"Uncle Lin, please help Muhl-dar understand the consequences 
of his refusal," she said, keeping her gaze downcast out of 
respect.

Lin stared into the Eel stranger's stubborn eyes. "Refusal to 
comply with the rules of Partnership will result in exile or 
death," he said.

He picked up the newcomer's necklaces and hurled them across 
the hut. They landed with a slap against the far wall. Then he 
drew his knife from the sheath on his belt. Its stone blade 
appeared razor sharp. Lightning fast, he thrust the knife at 
Muhl-dar, stopping only a hair's breadth from his throat.

"I think I get the picture," Muhl-dar said, backing away and 
rising slowly to his feet. "Come on, Scully. Let's get out of 
here." He held out a hand for her.

"Mulder..." Concern notched her forehead. "My ankle."

He glanced down at her swollen, bandaged leg. Air hissed from 
his lungs and his taut limbs suddenly hung limp.  

"I won't allow this. The answer is no," he said with finality 
and glowered at Lin.

The elder man shrugged, unwilling to shoulder the burden of 
the stranger's decision. It meant nothing to him if they 
stayed, departed or died. "The decision is yours."

Klizzie was astonished that anyone would choose exile or death 
over something so trivial as a mate-exchange. It was beyond 
comprehension. Clearly Muhl-dar did not yet understand the 
seriousness of his decision. She had to try once more to 
straighten out his tangled thinking.

Rising to her feet, she ignored the stares of the men and 
crossed the room to collect Muhl-dar and Day-nuh's necklaces. 
She brought them back to the circles and arranged them in a 
way that depicted the exchange.

"Please," she begged Muhl-dar. "Just one night. *Please*."

He shook his head. "Uh-uh." 

His odd refusal was his final word before he stalked from the 
hut.         

*   *   *

"Mulder?" Scully shouted, limping after him. 

He didn't answer her call or stop. The gap between them 
widened with every dogged step he took. Already she could 
barely make him out, a determined shadow slicing through the 
haze of campfire smoke and pre-dawn dark. He was heading 
upland, away from the village, his stride unwavering as he 
waded through murky waves of knee-high grass in the direction 
they had come. 

Behind him, hearth fires lit the huts like votives. No one 
came out to follow or challenge them. The villagers seemed to 
understand they needed to be alone to reach an agreement: 
whether to stay, accepting the tribe's customs, or to leave. 

Scully tried to jog, but her injured ankle wouldn't allow it. 
The medicine man's anesthetizing tea was wearing off and each 
step was excruciating.

"Mulder?" she called again. A sudden stab of pain took her 
breath away and forced her to slow down. She silently cursed 
her sprain and Mulder. 

Damn it, why didn't he stop? 

"Mulder!"

"Stay or come with me, Scully," he shouted, "but don't expect 
me to stick around for...for..." Without slowing his pace or 
turning to look at her, he dismissed the entire camp with a 
wave of his hand. 

Leaving was not an option, as far as she was concerned. 
Neither she nor Mulder had the necessary skills to survive in 
the Ice Age. That had been proven a dozen times over in the 
hungry days of the last two weeks. Unable to identify a single 
edible plant or preserve their infrequent windfalls of meat, 
they would face certain starvation without the tribe's help. 
There was no way to know how long they would be trapped in the 
past. Another week? A month? Years? What would they do when 
winter arrived, when game was presumably scarcer and 
conditions more severe than now? Would they even live through 
the summer? Saber-toothed tigers, mastodons, snakes...danger 
seemed to be waiting behind every rock. 

"Mulder, stop, please!" she called, her voice thinned by her 
desperation. "My ankle...I can't..."

That stopped him. He turned and waited, bristling with 
irritation, fists clenched, chin held high, ready for battle. 
If he felt any sympathy for her injured condition, he wasn't 
showing it.

When she reached his side, she saw anger glowing in his eyes 
and heard fear in his ragged breathing.

"Mulder, where are you going?"

For a split second, her question stalled the rise and fall of 
his chest. She'd caught him off guard; he obviously had no 
plan. He was simply running away.

"I'm not agreeing to...to that." He jabbed a finger at the 
camp. 

He was furious. She couldn't remember ever seeing him so 
angry.

She tried to steady her breathing, remain calm. Losing her 
temper now would only serve to push him further away. "What do 
you want to do?"

His gaze swept the landscape, as if an answer lurked somewhere 
in the shadows. She waited him out, letting him consider all 
the possibilities.   

"Could you do it, Scully?" he asked finally, spitting the 
words. "Could you sleep with him?"

Could she? She wasn't sure. Dzeh's advances had taken her by 
surprise earlier, so she'd fought him with all her strength. 
But she hadn't realized his purpose at the time, or what was 
at stake: her life, Mulder's. 

"I-I'm not sure," she said honestly. "But you heard them; a 
refusal means banishment...or death. I think the consequences 
outweigh our personal feelings here."

His eyebrows rose. "You can separate from your feelings as 
easily as that?"

She hadn't meant to imply it would be easy. The prospect of 
having sex with another man frightened her -- a lot -- but she 
believed she could contain her fears long enough to put the 
experience behind her, especially if it guaranteed their 
survival. 

She'd always been adept at suppressing her emotions, even as a 
little girl trying to please her no-nonsense Navy father. Her 
medical training, followed by years in the morgue, had honed 
her ability. It would be impossible for her to perform her job 
without a measure of emotional detachment. Countless 
autopsies, criminal investigations, and even her own abduction 
had taught her to guard her inner self. She found it almost 
natural now to push her emotions to one side while she went 
about her daily business.      

Surely Mulder did the same whenever he aimed and fired his gun 
with lethal intent at another person. As FBI agents, they'd 
both been trained to put aside their personal feelings to do 
whatever needed doing in the line of duty.

"It's a way to survive, Mulder. Nothing more."

"Tell yourself that if you need to, but exchanging sex for 
something else, even food, has a different name in my book."

The anger behind his words stung her. He was acting jealous, 
although he had no reason to be. She wasn't romantically 
interested in Dzeh any more than he was interested in Klizzie. 

"He means nothing to me," she said.

"So that makes it okay to sleep with him?" He glared at her, 
derision narrowing his eyes. "Well, I feel a whole lot 
better." 

He wasn't getting it; this was a matter of living or dying. 
Why was he making it personal?

"We aren't talking about a lifelong commitment, Mulder," she 
said, irritation creeping into her tone. "They said one 
night."

"It's wife-swapping."

Before she could stop herself, she blurted, "That's an 
interesting take considering I'm not your wife." 

His eyes widened and his body stiffened. For a moment, she 
thought he might strike her, or turn and stalk away.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice, 
"but I was under the impression that when you slept with me it 
was because you cared about me. But then maybe I'm just a 
means to an end, too, huh?" He loomed closer. "Tell me, 
Scully, what end would that be exactly? Pregnancy? A child?"

His words shocked her. She felt her restraint slipping away.

"What were your reasons?" she challenged, hurt by his 
unwarranted accusation. "Need a sexual release and I happened 
to be handy?" Her anger overtook her at this idea. "Is that 
why you finally decided to take the plunge and sleep with me? 
Was I just a convenient fuck?" 

The word hung between them. 

A grunt of disbelief chuffed from his lungs. His shoulders 
slumped and he appeared to deflate as his anger -- or maybe 
his hope -- drained out of him. Turning his focus to the 
village, his eyes swamped with tears. "I did care for you, 
Scully. I still do...more than you know."

"Then why are you willing to risk my life...and yours...over 
something that is temporary and inconsequential?"

"Inconsequen...?" He looked stunned. His frown deepened. 
"Because you're *mine*, goddamn it," he said through gritted 
teeth, his anger returning full force. "I don't want him 
touching you. And...and I'm sorry if that's not politically 
correct or I shouldn't feel that way...or...or I have no right 
to feel that way, but...you're...I can't... *God damn it*!" 

He suddenly grabbed her and pulled her into a rib-crushing 
embrace. His words, his emotion, overwhelmed her, and she felt 
tears flood her own eyes. She wrapped her arms around him and 
held onto him as tightly as she could. 

They stood like that for several minutes, lost in a storm of 
uncertainty. Tucked against his feverish chest, listening to 
the hammering of his heart, breathing the familiar scent of 
his body, she no longer heard the shriek of crickets in the 
grass at her feet, nor did she smell the cloying stench of 
burnt meat and woodsmoke that wafted up from the village, or 
feel the chilly night breeze that rattled the beads in her 
braided hair. Her entire universe became the circle of his 
arms. He was a refuge on this vast, empty hillside beneath a 
ceiling of stars, where the moon was setting and dawn was 
still an eternity away.

"Scully, I can't make love to another woman, or allow you to 
sleep with another man," he murmured into her hair. "I can't. 
I just can't."

"If you know a way out of this, I'm listening."

She drew back to look into his eyes. It was obvious from his 
sad expression that he had no real alternatives to offer.

"We could camp nearby, come back and steal their food while 
they're sleeping," he said, trying to make a joke. When she 
didn't smile, he suggested more seriously, "Or we could just 
leave. Go somewhere far away, take our chances that we'll 
survive until we get home."

That was so like him, she thought, ignoring the hard facts 
while he looked for an improbable, "out there" answer. He 
needed to see their predicament realistically; she had to find 
a way to make him see it.

"How many bullets do you have left?" she asked.

"Uh..." He avoided her eyes, pretending to study the beads in 
her hair. "We don't need bullets. I killed that sloth with my 
spear, remember?"

"You don't have any bullets, do you?"

"No." He stroked her braids, rattling the beads. "I used them 
to kill the mastodon."

Without bullets they wouldn't survive for more than a few 
weeks at best. 

And there was also the little problem of her injured ankle. 

"I can't go anywhere, Mulder," she said, nodding at her 
bandaged leg. "Not right now." 

Reminded of her injury, he mumbled an apology and squatted in 
the grass, drawing her down beside him. 

It comforted her to sit there with him, knees drawn up, 
surrounded by a thickening veil of pre-dawn mist. It reminded 
her of the night they spent on a rock in Heuvelmans Lake while 
hunting Big Blue.

"Mulder, do you remember asking me once if I could cannibalize 
someone if I had to?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember what I said?" 

She knew he did. He never forgot anything.

"You said that a living entity is conditioned to perform 
whatever extreme measures are necessary to ensure its 
survival. And as much as you abhorred the idea of cannibalism, 
you supposed that under certain conditions, you would resort 
to it. Or something to that effect."

"Yes, that's what I said." And she'd meant it, although at the 
time she hoped she would never find herself in a situation 
where all the choices were objectionable ones...like now.

There are degrees of hardship, she reminded herself. Avoiding 
death, no matter what the emotional cost, was the only real 
choice here.

"I still feel that way," she said.

"We're not talking about cannibalism, Scully."

"Is sleeping with someone worse than cannibalizing them?"

A humorless laugh huffed from his nose. "Given the choice, I'd 
rather cook and eat Dzeh than have him make love to you."

She put a hand on his leg, stilling the nervous tapping of his 
foot. "Maybe you need to stop thinking of it as making love."

"I'm not sure I can," he said, sounding sad. "I guess I'm not 
like you, Scully; I can't seem to separate the act from the 
emotion."

"They don't think of it that way, you know. To them it's a 
practical arrangement."

"I don't care what they think." He plucked a blade of grass 
from beside his foot and stuck it between his teeth. "What 
kind of a fucked up society has a custom like this anyway?" he 
asked, causing the grass to waggle between his lips.

"The aboriginal Inupiat of Alaska, for one."

He turned to give her an unbelieving stare.

"Really, Mulder, I learned about them from Dr. Diamond. The 
Inupiat practiced a sort of co-marriage, a non-residential 
arrangement between two conjugal husband-wife couples united 
by shared sexual access. The alliance served to connect 
individuals who were otherwise unrelated by blood or marriage, 
ensuring assistance in the form of protection, food and goods 
across territorial boundaries. It made sense in a lot of ways. 
In periods of war, such ties would temper the amount of 
killing. In periods of peace, partners and co-spouses became 
key linkages in the conduct of inter-territorial trade."  

His jaw stopped working the blade of grass. "We aren't 
Inupiat."

"No, but Klizzie's tribe is like them in this respect. They 
believe their practices are reasonable. They *are* reasonable, 
given the circumstances. The exchange serves a cooperative 
purpose. It has nothing to do with love."

"I don't like it, Scully." A sigh of disgust sifted from his 
lungs.

"I know you don't. Neither do I."

"But...?"

"What options do we have?"

Tossing away his chewed grass, he said, "None, I suppose."

She found no relief in his surrender. Maybe she'd been hoping 
he would come up with one of his improbable, "out there" 
solutions after all.

She rose to her feet. "It'll be okay, Mulder."

He stared up at her, clearly not convinced. All around him the 
grass sparkled, tear-kissed by dew. "Will it?" he asked before 
pushing himself to his feet. He groped for her hand and linked 
his fingers with hers. "I hope you're right."

She hoped so, too.

 "Wouldn't you rather live to regret your decision than not 
live at all?"

He shook his head, brow knotted with worry. "I'm not sure 
about that, no." 

She squeezed his hand. "I am. I want to live. I want to return 
home."

"This is no guarantee." 

"No, but it's a chance. The best one we have  

Slowly, reluctantly, they walked down the hill together. When 
they reached the outermost edge of the camp, he pulled her 
into his arms.

The heat of his body warmed her and the downy hair on his arms 
and chest tickled her skin.

He dipped his head to peer into her eyes. "It hurts me that 
this doesn't seem to bother you more."

She wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both. It bothered her. It 
bothered her a lot. But if it kept them alive and safe...kept 
*him* alive and safe...it would be a worthwhile trade.

She pulled away from him. "Don't imagine for a minute I'm 
taking it lightly."

*   *   *

Pausing outside Klizzie's door, Mulder ran his fingers through 
his hair and tried to corral his emotions. Of all the 
difficult, dreadful things he'd had to do in his life, leaving 
Scully with Dzeh topped the list. He knew she was looking at 
this arrangement in her usual pragmatic way, but he found it 
impossible to adopt her matter-of-fact attitude. His heart 
felt as if it were being squeezed by a malevolent hand, like 
he was under someone's voodoo curse. 

And yet somehow he was supposed to get it up and get it on 
with Klizzie. Shit, he'd never felt so un-amorous in his 
entire life. Thinking about Scully having sex with another man 
was the biggest turn off of all time.

With nervous energy to burn, he began to pace. Sunrise was 
still an hour away. Maybe an hour and a half, tops.

Was Dzeh already kissing Scully?

Stop it, he told himself. Just stop thinking about it. 

Right. Easier said than done.

As a psychologist, he understood he was like every other human 
male, genetically programmed to guard his love interest from 
the attentions of other sexually attentive males. Millions of 
years of evolution had honed this urge to instinct, and all 
the sensitivity seminars in the world weren't going to erase 
an inherent drive to protect his reproductive rights and 
guarantee the survival of his bloodline. 

Understanding the origins of his jealousy, however, didn't 
help him feel any better about the situation. Even knowing he 
never planned to procreate didn't lessen his desire to keep 
Dzeh from sowing oats in what Mulder considered his field.

Great, now he was thinking of Scully as property...in the 
literal sense. What would she think? 

Before leaving her with Dzeh, Mulder made damn sure to clarify 
that this was a one-time deal, signed, sealed and delivered by 
sunup. Dzeh seemed to get the gist and nodded in gruff 
agreement. 

Then the crowd of surly clansmen had dispersed, placated by 
Mulder's promise to swap partners. And Dzeh seemed guardedly 
satisfied, too. He gave Mulder a solemn nod before placing his 
big, fat, hairy Neanderthal paw on the small of Scully's back 
and steering her into his hut.

Son-of-a...

Mulder almost ended it right there, but Scully shot him a 
glare that warned him loud and clear "don't fuck this up." 
Against his better judgment, he backed down. To save her life, 
he told himself, his mind still scrambling for another 
solution, knowing he would hate himself until the day he died 
for allowing this.

Klizzie had returned to her own hut while he pretended to see 
a man about a horse, when in fact he was trying to cool his 
temper.

Jesus, how was he supposed to make love to Klizzie when he 
couldn't get his mind off Scully and Dzeh?

It's not "making love," he reminded himself. It's a social 
rule with a purpose, according to Scully. 

Shit.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the door flap. 

Klizzie was waiting inside on the sleeping skins, her knees 
drawn up and arms hugging her bare legs. A fire burned in the 
hearth. It cast flickering shadows across the leather ceiling 
and a golden glow over the left half of her face. All her 
former confidence and playfulness were gone. To be honest, she 
looked a little frightened.

Jesus, he hadn't meant to scare her.

Feeling guilty, he walked to the bed and crouched so that he 
faced her. He cleared his throat. "Hey."

"H-hey?"

"Yeah, well..." He nodded and cleared his throat again. "Here 
we are."

She offered him a nervous smile and scooted to one side, 
making room for him on the furs.

He remained where he was, looking at her. She was a small 
woman, only a little bigger than Scully, with smooth, coppery 
skin, and hair the color of a Hershey bar. It was done up in 
dozens of tiny braids, like Scully's was tonight. Full of 
beads and bangles, the braids glittered in the firelight. He 
could hear their soft tinkle whenever she moved her head. Her 
eyes were almond-shaped and full of trepidation. Her lower lip 
trembled, caught between white teeth. She was naked, except 
for the small, leather pouch that hung from a rawhide cord 
around her neck. She couldn't have been more than seventeen or 
eighteen years old, he realized, feeling queasy at the 
thought. He had to remind himself she was a married woman, not 
a naive virgin.

There was no denying she was lovely, but he didn't feel the 
least bit turned on. Everything about this situation felt 
wrong.

"Guess I'm supposed to make the first move," he said. 
Reluctantly he shifted position so that he was sitting beside 
her. 

She gasped when their arms bumped.

"Sorry," he said. "Uh...this is awkward, isn't it?"

She glanced into his eyes and then quickly away. 

Okay, he'd take the plunge. Reaching out, he fingered one of 
her braids. 

"Uh...what's the word for this?" he asked, hoping to relax 
them both with a little friendly conversation. 

"Cey-yehs-besi," she said shyly.

"Cey-yehs...?"

"Cey-yehs-besi," she repeated the word more slowly.

"And this?" He stroked the outer edge of her ear. "What's this 
called?"

"Ah-jah."

"And this?" He touched the tip of her nose.

"A-chin."

His questions brought a smile to her lips. If she had been 
Scully, he would have kissed that smile. But she wasn't 
Scully. She neither looked like Scully, nor smelled like 
Scully, and he was going to have a helluva tough time getting 
down to business here.

She seemed to read his mind, which was a bit like Scully. She 
reached beneath his loincloth and groped his penis, which 
wasn't at all like Scully...at least not until recently.

"Ah...Klizzie, let's wait on that for a minute." He removed 
her hand from his lap.

Worry returned to her eyes and she began chewing her lip 
again.

"Don't..." he said, caressing her lip with his thumb until she 
released it from her teeth. "Don't do that. You don't need to 
be afraid of me. I...uh...I'm sorry about...earlier."

Not understanding, she shook her head, setting her beads 
tinkling.

Unsure what to do next, he asked, "You sing, Klizzie? Know any 
Elvis? 'Don't be cruel'" -- he crooned -- "No?"

Again she shook her head, but her quizzical smile returned. 
She clearly didn't know what to make of him.

"I guess this isn't how these swap things usually go, huh?" 

Had she slept with many men besides Dzeh? he wondered. He 
tried to imagine her with other lovers, cavemen like Dzeh who 
understood the tribal protocols. Did they indulge in a little 
foreplay or did they skip right to the main event?

What was Dzeh doing with Scully right now?

Klizzie interrupted his worrisome thoughts by tugging at his 
loincloth. 

"Right. Clock's ticking and this has gotta come off."

He unknotted the cord at his waist and let her pull the 
loincloth away.

She looked at his lap and giggled.

"That's not gonna help, Klizzie. It's a reeeeal turn off when 
a woman laughs at a guy's co...penis."  

"Be-zonz sid?" she asked. "Bi-nih-nani be-zonz sid?"

"Excuse me?"

"Be-zonz." She pointed at his penis.

He still didn't understand. 

She reached out and traced his circumcision with the tip of 
her finger, causing him to flinch.

"Oh, right. Yeah, I guess that looks kinda different from what 
you're used to." How the hell do you explain circumcision to 
an Ice Age woman? He decided not to even try. Let her think it 
was a war wound or something. 

All this attention directed at his flaccid penis was making 
him more uncomfortable than ever.

"Klizzie, why don't we lie down?" He patted the furs.

She got the idea and stretched out beside him. When they were 
both settled, he drew the blanket over them. She snuggled next 
to him, hooking an arm over his chest and a leg over his 
thigh. 

She felt nice: curvy, soft, warm. But she wasn't Scully and he 
wasn't turned on.

He couldn't make love to this woman. He wouldn't. Screw the 
fucking rules. He hated rules anyway.

"Roll over," he said, nudging Klizzie onto her side. 

She gave him another confused look, but turned her back to 
him, maybe thinking he intended to take her from behind. 

"Muhl-dar?" she asked, uncertainty in her voice.

"It'll be okay," he said, repeating Scully's earlier words. He 
gently kissed her shoulder, wrapped an arm around her waist 
and spooned against the curve of her back.

Would she tell anyone he wasn't going to go through with the 
exchange?

Keeping his eyes trained on the door, he lay completely still 
and waited for sunrise.

*   *   *

You can do this, Scully told herself as Dzeh guided her into 
the hut. It won't take long, just an hour. Or less, she 
predicted, noticing the way Dzeh's erection tented his 
loincloth. He looked ready now.

You can do this, she repeated to herself.

You can do this.

You can...

Although she'd tried to convince Mulder that sex with Dzeh 
would mean nothing to her, in truth she was dreading their 
intimacy more than she'd realized.

It was ridiculous. She had no romantic feelings for him. They 
were here to fulfill a duty and that was all. Rules were rules 
and you carried them out whether you agreed with them or not. 
She'd learned that lesson at a very young age whenever her 
father praised her and her siblings for doing as they were 
told, and disciplining them when they did not. He'd sometimes 
called Scully a "good sailor" when her behavior had been 
exemplary.

As a kid Melissa had called her Miss Goody Two Shoes, and 
later on when they were older she switched to Kiss Ass, but 
that was because Missy preferred breaking the rules rather 
than following them.

Like Mulder.   

Dzeh nudged Scully toward the furs, his hand pressed firmly 
against the small of her back. She considered pretending it 
was Mulder who touched her there, but Dzeh's prodding was more 
insistent than Mulder's. He wasn't suggesting she step 
forward; he was almost demanding it. There was no mistaking 
him for Mulder. She would not be able to close her eyes and 
imagine it was Mulder who made love to her. Dzeh neither 
looked nor acted like him. 

He didn't smell like him either. Mulder's familiar scent 
reminded her of their office, his apartment, her home; Dzeh's 
musky odor, on the other hand, made her feel lost in 
unfamiliar territory.  

Facing the bed with Dzeh at her elbow, Scully felt her first 
real pang of foreboding. 

This was really going to happen, right now. 

She fought the urge to call out for Mulder's help. The desire 
was so strong it made her throat ache to hold it in. She was 
thankful Dzeh didn't expect her to make small talk; there was 
no way she could utter a single word.

Dzeh removed his loincloth and reclined on the furs. He 
beckoned her to lie beside him.

Should she turn and walk out, take the chance that she and 
Mulder could survive on their own?

Or was Mulder already making love to Klizzie, playing by the 
rules as she'd suggested?

She shook the image from her mind. She had no reason to feel 
jealous. He was doing this for her, at her request, just as 
she was doing it for him.

Dzeh propped himself on one elbow and reached out a hand for 
her. She watched herself take it, felt herself drawn down 
beside him, closed her eyes when he unknotted the belt on her 
fur skirt.

She tried to distract herself by recalling a seminar from her 
FBI training: Mental Preparation for Duty and the Reality of a 
Critical Confrontation. In the class they'd learned basic 
self-defense techniques, negotiation and crisis management, 
the importance of back ups. The last half hour was spent 
discussing the psychological impact of kidnapping and sexual 
assault on officers.

This wasn't rape, she reminded herself. She was permitting it, 
to save her life and Mulder's. Dzeh was not a monster. He was 
a kind man, following the customs of his people.

It meant nothing when he kissed her.

It meant nothing when he positioned himself between her legs.

It meant nothing when he pushed slowly inside her.

*   *   *

It is night. Dzeh is gone, Scully realizes. She is still 
naked. Mulder is naked, too, and is lying on top of her. They 
are in Mulder's bed, in his apartment. She can smell herbal 
tea on his breath. 

She spreads her thighs for him as he shifts his hips and 
pushes into her.

Oh, God, he feels good. 

"I'm glad God spoke to you," he breathes into her ear as he 
fills her. Somehow she knows he is talking about her vision. 
Not the one she had in the cave, but the one in the Buddhist 
temple. 

Although...she doesn't know when she was in a Buddhist temple. 

With Mulder inside her she doesn't care; she wants to 
experience this astonishing combination of need and 
satisfaction without question or worry. This is a familiar 
feeling, yet somehow brand new. She knows she has loved him 
before...in a cave somewhere, long ago. Yet she also knows 
this is their first time together as lovers. 

How can both things be true?

Everything happens for a reason, she thinks.

He rocks against her, fitting his body more tightly to hers 
before he begins to glide smoothly in and out of her. 

"I love you," he sighs. 

She shuts her eyes against an overwhelming surge of emotion. 
She loves him, too. She should tell him. The words hang on the 
tip of her tongue, but before she can say them, she is no 
longer beneath him. She is in the Lone Gunmen's offices, fully 
clothed, and Mulder is gone. 

"I want you guys to tell me who Diana Fowley is," she says to 
Mulder's friends. 

The three men are clearly discomfited by her question. Byers 
finally says, "Diana Fowley? Geez, we haven't heard that name 
in a while.

"Then you know her."

"Well...yeeaaah." He says it as if her question is a no-
brainer, and yet she really has no idea who this Fowley person 
is. An image of a dark haired woman, busty and glamorous, 
comes to mind.

Frohike clears his throat. "She was Mulder's chickadee when he 
first got out of the Academy. Good-looking." 

Chickadee? Her skin crawls at the idea.

"Well, she claims to have worked closely with him for a 
while." 

Langly says, "She was there when he discovered the X-Files. 
She has some kind of background in para-science."

Byers adds, "She got a Legat appointment a while back...in 
Berlin. I always wondered why they split up."

Split up? Why has Mulder never mentioned this Fowley person 
before?

Head swimming, Scully retreats from the Gunmen's office only 
to find herself in the doorway of her own office. Mulder's 
office.

Mulder is sitting at his desk waiting for her. "Come on, 
Scully. What's the word?" he asks when she enters.

She crosses the room and settles a hip against the side of his 
desk.

"Um, Dr. Parenti feels, with the proper approach, there's a 
good chance for me to become pregnant." She feels nervous and a 
little giddy, so she fumbles with some pencils he has lined up 
at the edge of his desk. "He said he could...uh, help me with 
genetic counseling if I wanted to find an anonymous donor for 
the baby's father."

Mulder nods. "Is that...is that what you plan to do?"

"There is another option. I can ask someone I know." She 
releases the pencils; they roll across the desk like pick-up 
sticks. "I was thinking of you."

She is having another vision, she realizes. The change of 
scene doesn't frighten her the way it did the first time. But 
she hasn't been paying attention, looking for clues as to how 
to get back home. Mulder will ask her later.

She looks around now, determined to notice every detail, 
something to help them, if she can find and remember it.

Suddenly she's back in that apartment with the cameras again. 
Oh, God, no, this is the place where she got shot. The room 
smells of photographic chemicals. A man is loading film.

He tells her "You're very lucky, you know that?"

He barely finishes saying this when a bullet pierces her 
abdomen. Oh, God, the pain is terrible, a shock, buckling her 
knees, sliding her to the floor.

Mulder! Help me, please! 

She looks down at her stomach and sees blood. Pain rips 
through her abdomen. Oh God, oh God!

"Push. Push, Dana, push!" commands a dark-haired woman Scully 
has never met.

The photographer is gone. Scully is no longer in the camera-
filled apartment, but on a bed in a room with a stained glass 
window. She places a hand on her stomach and discovers it's 
distended, enormous.

She hasn't been shot; she's giving birth! Dozens of faces 
stare at her. She is screaming, terrified. They want to hurt 
her. They want to take her baby!

Yet in the next breath she is holding her newborn son and her 
fear is gone. He is one day old and perfect. She is with him 
in her apartment, on her bed. She could watch him forever. She 
can't remember ever feeling this happy. When Mulder arrives, 
she rises from the bed and carries the baby to him.

He murmurs to the child, gathers him in his arms, and asks, 
"What are you going to call him?"

"William. After your father."

This is Mulder's child. She knows it, feels it. And her heart 
unburdens itself in that single instant.

*   *   *

"Gini," Dzeh whispered to his little sister, "Where is my yea-
go stick?"

Rummaging through the stores of fur blankets, empty 
containers, tools and cooking gear in the back of his Uncle 
Lin's shelter, Dzeh tried to be as quiet as possible so as not 
to wake the others who still slept around the hearth. Although 
it was almost sunup, it was dark in the lodge with the door 
closed. Most of his relatives were sleeping late this morning, 
recovering from last night's excitement. 

Gini climbed from her furs to help Dzeh look for his stick. 
She knelt beside him, eyes still glazed with dreams. 

He cupped her small cheek. It felt overly warm and he hoped 
her feverishness was the result of sleeping too near the fire, 
not a sign of illness. He would send her to the Shaman later 
today to get a potion, just to be on the prudent side. 

"Where is Klizzie?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

Dzeh let his hand fall away from her cheek.

"She is with Muhl-dar." 

Gini nodded and then set about silently rearranging a pile of 
unworked hides to gain access to the back of the storage area. 
Once she had cleared a narrow path, she crawled through. "Why 
are you not still with Day-nuh?" she asked, her head hidden 
behind a large travel pack.

"Because we are done," he said.

He didn't bother to explain they had finished before first 
birdsong. Day-nuh had been an unresponsive partner. She 
refused to let him kiss her or bring her to her moment of 
pleasure. She remained mute and emotionless the entire time, 
leaving him to consummate their alliance. 

At least the responsibility was now over and he was grateful 
Day-nuh had not fought or pulled any more knives on him.

"Why are Klizzie and Muhl-dar not finished, too?"

Why indeed? Perhaps Klizzie was being more accommodating than 
Day-nuh had been, pleasuring Muhl-dar twice or even three 
times. It pleased Dzeh to think his mate was fulfilling her 
part of the bargain in a proper manner. 

These newcomers bewildered him. Their strangeness seemed 
without limits. Muhl-dar's initial objections to the mate-
exchange, followed by his outrageous temper last night -- such 
actions were unheard of among civilized men. How did Eel 
clansmen build binding partnerships without first trading 
mates? It was beyond understanding. 

Day-nuh's lack of enthusiasm confused him every bit as much as 
Muhl-dar's temper. He had expected to receive a sincere 
demonstration of conjugal affection from his Trading Partner's 
mate. But Day-nuh had shown no friendliness whatsoever. 

The one-sided exchange left him feeling a little cheated. Not 
that he would complain to Muhl-dar. Such pettiness would be 
impolite. Insulting even.

"You ask too many questions, Little Sister. Prying is 
unseemly. It is time for you to start behaving more like a 
grown woman and less like a little girl. How will I find a 
mate for you if you continue to act like a child who has not 
learned proper manners?"

Gini pulled her head out from between the stores. Her eyebrows 
peaked with worry. "Klizzie said I do not have to have a 
mate!" she said, her voice soaring with apprehension.   

"Hush!" Dzeh pointed to the sleeping family. "You will wake 
everyone!"

Gini clamped a hand over her mouth. Tears pooled in her 
widened eyes.

"Of course you will have a mate," he said, lowering his voice. 
"Do you expect me to take care of you forever?"

She uncovered her mouth, revealing a headstrong scowl. "I will 
take care of myself," she said, squaring her slim shoulders.

"You will hunt for your own meat?" He almost laughed out loud 
at the idea.

"I...yes, I will."

"Such foolish notions prove you have much growing to do." 

Gini needed to be taught the proper ways of adults, and the 
sooner the better. Klizzie had babied the girl too long. 

"We will take our meals with Klizzie's Aunt Ho-Ya today," he 
announced, ready to begin Gini's education as soon as 
possible.

"Why?" Gini's round face paled.

"So you can become acquainted with her son Chal." He shifted 
several empty baskets out of his way and resumed his search 
for his yea-go stick. "The boy showed courage during the 
mastodon hunt. He knows how to make serviceable spear points. 
He might be an acceptable mate for you."

"But--" 

Tears spilled down Gini's cheeks at this news. She jumped to 
her feet and, without even bothering to ask her brother's 
leave, she ran from the hut.

Dzeh would have called her back and disciplined her if he 
could have done so without waking the others. Instead he 
simply sighed and continued hunting for his stick.   

He wasn't really a hard-hearted man; it weighed heavily on him 
to see his little sister in distress. But he was also a man 
who had experienced the harshness of the world. He had 
witnessed many bleak seasons, times of starvation and 
hardship. Gini was too young to remember such suffering. She 
didn't know that their own mother had been weakened by hunger 
when she began her last labor. The Spirits had taken her that 
awful night, leaving Gini an orphan. Dzeh recalled the moment 
like yesterday. He knew his sister needed a strong, skilled 
man to provide her with food and protection. Life was a 
difficult enough path when a family walked together; it was 
impossible for one who walked alone.

He caught sight of his yea-go stick and tugged it out from 
beneath his uncle's fishing gear. The rawhide yea-go ball was 
tucked inside the stick's leather well. He hefted it, testing 
its familiar weight and then he brought the leather ball to 
his nose. Ahhh, the smell made him long to be on the playing 
field.

Soon enough. Turtle Clan would arrive this morning, which 
meant the yea-go matches could begin.

*   *   *

The sun crested the blue-black mountains in the east and cast 
a golden glow into the valley, turning the lake molten, 
gilding the trees, and striping the land with hard-edged 
shadows. From the reeds along the lakeshore to the uppermost 
branches of the butternut trees, grackles, jays and ducks 
cawed and quacked, their raucous morning ritual announcing the 
dawn.    

Mulder paced outside Scully's hut, the same way he had paced 
outside Klizzie's only an hour earlier. His stomach was in 
knots. He combed his fingers repeatedly through his hair. 
Worry creased his brow. The sun wasn't fully up yet, which 
meant Dzeh might still be inside with Scully. *That* would be 
more than he could bear. He wished this whole mate-swap thing 
would fade like this morning's mist, never to come up again.

He paused in his pacing to cock an ear toward the shelter. He 
heard nothing from inside, no conversation, no masculine 
snore, no cries...or grunts...of ecstasy. All good signs. Even 
so, he was reluctant to enter.

Most of the village was still sleeping, exhausted from 
yesterday's feasting and long night of celebration...not to 
mention Mulder's early morning rampage. A few women were up 
and about, stirring communal cook-fires, bringing the glowing 
coals to life. A couple meandered toward the lake. They were 
nude and carried soap roots, combs and furs. They pretended to 
ignore Mulder as they walked past with heads bowed, as if too 
intent on their own low conversation to notice him. 

He caught their sly, sidelong glances.

"Hey," he said, lifting a hand to give them a half-hearted 
wave. "Nice morning."

They frowned and hurried on their way.

No pleasing some people. He'd played by their rules...sort 
of...and yet he was still being treated like an outsider. 

Disgusted, he turned and entered the hut.

Inside he found Scully -- and only Scully, thank God -- curled 
on the sleeping skins with her back to the door. The fire had 
burned out, but daylight from the open door made it bright 
enough for him to see she was wearing his leather jacket. 

The coat was several sizes too big, of course, and the sleeves 
extended beyond her wrists, hiding her hands. Her legs were 
bare, knees drawn up. She looked lost in his coat, small and 
vulnerable. 

The hut smelled like sex, hers mixed with the musky odor of 
male sweat and semen. Mulder's stomach knotted tighter. He 
considered turning and walking away. If he were back home he'd 
quell his nervous stomach by jogging until his legs cramped 
and his lungs ached. He'd expel his overwrought emotions by 
sweating them out. It would be a relief to empty his mind 
while concentrating on the rhythmic slap, slap of his feet on 
concrete. He could almost smell the car exhaust prickling his 
nose, hear the blare of horns, feel himself bouncing in place 
while he waited for the crosswalk light to change. God, what 
he wouldn't give right now for a decent pair of running shoes 
and five miles of city sidewalk.  

Letting the shelter door fall shut behind him, he crossed to 
the bed and knelt beside her. He reached out to gently stroke 
her bare hip. "Scully?" he said softly.

She sniffled at his touch and rolled over to look at him. 

Oh Christ, she was crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her 
lashes and cheeks wet with tears. 

Rage washed through him in waves at the sight, battering his 
frazzled nerves and threatening to steal the last shreds of 
his control. What had that fucking Neanderthal done to her?

Unable to ask the question, he gathered her into his arms 
intending to let her cry herself out. 

But she didn't bury her face against his chest as he thought 
she might. She surprised him by smiling up at him.

"Scully?"

"I had another vision," she said, sounding breathless and 
excited. 

Her tears weren't tears of grief, but of joy. Mulder found 
himself struggling to switch gears. 

"W-When?"

"Just now. A few minutes ago."

He brushed his palm over the jacket she wore. His fingers 
itched to reach into the pocket and touch the carved idol he 
knew was there. 

"Tell me," he urged.

"I was pregnant."

"Pregnant?" He hadn't expected this.

"I gave birth to a baby. A boy."

Questions swirled through his mind. How? Where? When? Who?

"When did this, uh, event take place?" he asked, deciding to 
ease into his questions, beginning with the least personal.

"I don't know. There was a woman with me. A dark haired woman. 
I've never seen her before. I think she was an FBI agent."

An FBI agent in the maternity ward? That was odd. 

"Where--" He paused to clear his throat. His mouth felt as dry 
as the Utah desert. "Where did you have this...your baby?"

"I'm not sure. I was in a room with a stained glass window. I 
was afraid."

"Afraid? Why?"

She shook her head. "But then you came and everything was 
fine." Her smile widened.

He rarely saw her smile this way. It softened her face, made 
her look younger, less like a seasoned agent. He would cut off 
both arms to be able to put that smile on her face every day. 

"He was beautiful," she said in a dreamy voice. "So perfect."

"The baby?"

"Yes. I named him William." 

She shifted in his arms, snuggling against him like a 
satisfied cat.

"After your father?" he asked, feeling stupid because of 
course it would be after her father.

"No. After yours. The baby was yours, Mulder."

Whoa, whoa, whoa...not possible. Not in this lifetime. 

"Are you sure?" he asked, spotting a smear of drying semen on 
her upper thigh. The knot in his stomach was reaching critical 
mass; he was on the verge of losing last night's supper.

Her beautiful smile faded. "Yes, I'm sure." 

She pulled away from him.

"Well, it's just..." He gestured at her leg. "Isn't it 
possible--?"

"No. The baby was yours, Mulder."

"How do you know? How can you be sure?"

"Because you agreed to the IVF procedure, for one thing."

"In vitro fertilization?" He was having trouble keeping up. 
This was too confusing, too outlandish. His emotions were 
seesawing. Jealousy, fear, rage, bewilderment...he couldn't 
get his bearings. "Why IVF?"

Her frown deepened. "In case you've forgotten, I happen to be 
infertile." 

Jesus, I can be such an idiot, he thought. Of course she would 
need IVF.

Her expression changed again, from irritation to apprehension. 
"Mulder, what you said, back in the field, about me using you 
to get pregnant--"

"Scully, I was upset. I shouldn't have said that."

"Shouldn't have," she repeated softly, looking down. "But you 
meant it, didn't you?"

"Scully..." He shook his head. 

Yes, he'd meant it but only in an insecure, thoughtless way. 
He truly didn't believe she would try to trick him into 
getting her pregnant. She was the most honest, forthright 
person he'd ever known. It wasn't in her character to be 
devious. He'd been projecting his past relationship with Diana 
onto his current one with her.

Assuming they still had a relationship. Scully looked ready to 
flee. And he felt ready to run in the opposite direction.

She rose and for a moment he thought she was going to leave, 
but she crossed the hut to get the water bag. She used it to 
sluice her thigh while scrubbing the dried semen from her leg 
with her fingers. When she finished washing, she turned to 
face him.

"I want you to be honest with me," she said.

"Always," he said, knowing this was a lie but wishing it 
weren't. It wasn't that he liked lying to her; it was just 
sometimes it seemed more prudent to keep the truth to himself, 
for her sake as much as for his own.

She cleared her throat before pinning him with a stare. 

"Mulder, who is Diana Fowley?"


Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER TWELVE

"D-Diana Fowley?" Mulder asked in what he hoped was a neutral 
tone of voice. 

He remained frozen in place, kneeling on the sleeping skins 
and staring up at Scully as she rinsed the last traces of 
Dzeh's ejaculate from her thighs. His stomach rolled at the 
sight and he clenched his jaws against the sting of bile at 
the back of his throat. Damn it, didn't they have more 
important things to discuss than Diana? Like what Dzeh had 
done to Scully.

She set down the waterbag and stepped around the fireless 
hearth. Mulder's jacket hung loosely across her hunched 
shoulders, engulfing her small frame. She paused at the edge 
of the bed to take a swipe at her wet, bare thighs, trying to 
dry herself with one dangling sleeve.

"Do you know her?" she asked, pressing him for an answer.

He nervously rubbed his palms up and down his own naked 
thighs. His tongue felt as gritty as the cooling ash in the 
hearth. "Uh...in what context?"

"In any context," she said. "Do you know her or not?"

"Well, yes." His head bobbed. "But it was a long time ago."

"And...?"

"And...we worked together." He shrugged, hoping to end the 
conversation. This was not an appropriate time for true 
confessions about his failed marriage. He wanted to hear about 
Scully; he wanted to find out if she was all right after 
sleeping with Dzeh. 

"When you were in ISU?" she persisted. 

"No, on the X-Files." 

She must be purposely avoiding the topic of the mate-exchange, 
he decided, which meant the experience was worse than she'd 
anticipated.

Damn it, she'd seemed so calm back on the hill, touting 
logical arguments, urging him to go along.

It suddenly struck him that her composure must have been an 
act, deliberately feigned to save his life and safeguard his 
feelings.

The realization settled painfully into the pit of his stomach. 
It would be just like her to do whatever it took to protect 
him. He had no doubt she would put herself at risk for him, 
just as she was trained to do...as they were both trained to 
do. 

Shit, why hadn't he responded with equal valor? While she'd 
willingly sacrificed herself for him, he'd done nothing to 
protect her. He'd let himself be persuaded without thinking 
the situation through, without considering every possible 
alternative. 

Why had he been so quick to agree? 

To save her life? Or had he been overly eager to save his own 
sorry ass? 

His hands began to tremble and he felt swamped with regret and 
self-loathing. His negligence -- or worse, his damn egocentric 
instincts -- had clouded his judgment. As a result, he'd 
allowed this terrible thing to happen.

"Scully--"

"I didn't know you had another partner on the X-Files," she 
continued.

"Uh...yeah, for a couple of years. She left for a foreign 
terrorism assignment in Europe. But--" Mulder scrubbed his 
chin with his palm as he tried to figure out what he should 
say next. He wanted to ask about Dzeh, but was uncertain if 
Scully was trying to spare his feelings, the same way she'd 
done on the hill, or guard her own. It was possible she wasn't 
emotionally ready to talk about what happened. And if that 
were the case, he didn't want to push her. He'd already caused 
her enough hurt.

Then again, he wasn't ready to launch into the truth about 
Diana either. 

No doubt he should have mentioned her to Scully years ago, but 
the subject hadn't seemed relevant in the early years of their 
partnership. And now it was so far beyond relevant he didn't 
know the best way to approach it. 

How do you start a conversation with your lover about an ex-
wife anyway? How 'bout those Yankees, Scully, and by the way I 
was once married. That didn't sound quite right. 

He decided to dodge the issue for now by repeating, "It was a 
long time ago."

"So you said."

She knelt in front of him, her knees almost touching his. The 
hut was warm, yet Mulder shivered as if chilled to the bone. 
He wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, to comfort 
her as well as himself. The urge to touch her was almost 
overwhelming, unbearable, but he fought it and kept his hands 
anchored to his thighs, guessing that she didn't need any more 
manhandling at the moment. 

Especially from him, the asshole who'd given Dzeh permission 
to have his way with her. Jesus, how could he have condoned 
such a repugnant act? 

Did Scully blame him for abandoning her to Dzeh, for putting 
her in danger, for bringing her here in the first place?

She should. He blamed himself. How could he not? He was 
responsible for all of it.

He desperately wanted to set things right, get them back home, 
away from the tribe's abhorrent customs, out of the damn Ice 
Age.

But he had no clue where to begin, other than Scully's 
visions, which he wasn't a hundred percent convinced were 
visions.

Although...she had learned about Diana from them.

"Was Dian -- Agent Fowley in your dream?"

"It was a vision, Mulder, not a dream."

"Fine. Was Agent Fowley in your vision?"

"Yes, indirectly."

"Indirectly...what does that mean?"

"The Gunmen mentioned her. They were wondering why you two 
broke up."

Don't tell her, do *not* tell, he thought. Not right now. Not 
while he was misreading her, missing important clues, messing 
up.

Scully tightened his jacket around her, hugging her arms 
across her chest. He pictured the carved idol hidden in its 
pocket. She had been holding it when she experienced her first 
revelation. And it was with her again during the second.

As much as he believed in magic and the supernatural, right 
now he felt torn about the idol's potential power. On the one 
hand, it could represent a way home. On the other, it seemed 
to be forecasting a future he found unlikely and undesirable. 

Sam's death at age fourteen. His supposed relief at learning 
about it. Scully's pregnancy, the birth of her baby, *his* 
baby. His willingness to participate in an IVF procedure. It 
was difficult to reconcile these improbable events. They ran 
contrary to some of his deepest wishes.

And yet Scully had learned about Diana somehow. She'd developed 
that new scar on her abdomen, physical proof that her vision 
was more than a figment of her imagination.   

He suddenly felt bone-tired. Days of hiking and going without 
food, yesterday's hunt and the events of last night had 
exhausted his strength. His worries about Scully and Dzeh and 
her visions were expending the last of his diminished energy. 
He could barely keep his head up.

"Scully...can we...do you mind if we lie down?"

She glanced suspiciously at the furs before searching his face. 
Whatever she was hoping to find in his expression must have 
been there, because she lowered herself onto the bed, facing 
him.

He settled beside her, careful not to touch her; he preferred 
to wait for her to take the lead and reach out to him.

When she did, putting her arms around him, he melted into her 
embrace, overwhelmed by her capacity to forgive him. Tears 
flooded his eyes and he hid them by pressing his face into the 
crease of her neck. He held his breath against crying, fearful 
his lack of restraint would disgust her even more than his 
earlier acts of cowardice.

He felt unremitting remorse for his failure to prevent Dzeh's 
sexual assault and knew he would never forgive himself for his 
role in it. 

Unlike him, Scully was bearing the brunt of his folly with her 
usual sangfroid.

He'd honestly expected to find her physically and emotionally 
altered by her experience: face red with grief, hair 
disheveled, bruises on her hands and arms where she'd tried to 
fight off Dzeh's unwelcome advances. Yet she appeared as self-
possessed as ever.

Her composure shouldn't come as a surprise, he realized. She'd 
been practicing it for years. Half a decade with the FBI's good 
ol' boys had hardened her until now, twelve thousand years from 
Bureau paradigms and the prying eyes of her colleagues and 
superiors, she was still clinging to her customary stoicism.

You don't have anything to prove, he wanted to tell her. You 
surpassed them all long ago. You surpassed me, too. 

He pulled back and looked at her with tear-filled eyes. 

"I know it's not our usual MO, Scully, but talk to me. 
Please."

She stroked his face, inspiring a painful lump in his throat.

"There's nothing to say, Mulder. Really." 

"Noth-- You just gave yourself to a caveman, for Christ's 
sake." 

"I didn't *give* anything," she said, bristling. "I 
participated in a tribal ritual. So did you."

No, actually he hadn't...and that little fact would be another 
of the many unspoken truths between them.

He tentatively ran a finger over her coat sleeve.

"It had to affect you," he whispered.  

"Why? Why did it have to affect me?"

"How could it not?" His eyes searched her face. "You made love 
to another man."

"I did not. I kept us alive." Color rose in her cheeks. "Are 
you saying your...encounter with Klizzie affected you?"

His hand stopped its rhythmic caress.

"No...I'm...It's different for me," he said, skirting the 
truth.

"Because you're a man?"

"Yes, because I'm a man."

"Tell me what difference that makes," she challenged.

"It's...it's less invasive for me."

"You think I was 'invaded'?"

"Don't you?"

Her focus fell away. "My body...maybe...yes," she murmured, 
sounding sad and momentarily vulnerable. She looked up and 
pinned him with a determined stare. "But not *me*."

There's a difference? he wanted to ask, but bit his lip 
against the words, trying instead to put himself in her place, 
to think the way she might be thinking...not as a victim of a 
sexual assault, but as Scully, his strong, logic-minded 
partner. 

"I don't buy it, Scully. You weren't given a choice--"

"We were backed into a corner, Mulder, *both* of us, but no 
one held a gun to our heads."

"The gun was metaphorical. We were forced...and that had to be 
worse for you."

"Mulder, I wasn't raped. I allowed it to happen."   
    
Clearly she believed she'd made the emotional leap from the 
mores of 1998 to the tribe's loathsome prehistoric customs, 
but she would have to face the truth eventually and when that 
happened, she'd feel the same turmoil he was feeling now. 

"Is Klizzie okay?" she suddenly asked.

"Is *Klizzie* okay? Shit, Scully." Why did she care what 
Klizzie was feeling? "Yes. Of course. She's fine."

"I just wondered if she was feeling 'invaded.'"

Now it was his turn to look away.

"No," he said, managing to keep his voice steady. "I don't 
think she's feeling... No."

"Then there's no reason for you to think I'm not okay, is 
there?"

Yes, there is, he thought. "That's not an apt comparison," he 
said, still not able to look her in the eye.

"Why not?"

"Because this is her culture, her rules."

"Rules by which we must abide as long as we're here."

He didn't want to argue with her. Not now. He wanted to hold 
her, feel her skin, taste her lips, convince himself she was 
okay. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, keep her safe. He 
wanted to make up for all the hurt he'd caused.

"Scully, are you sure--"

"I'm fine, Mulder. Drop it, please. Go to sleep. That's what I 
plan to do."

Her expression hardened; she was steeling herself, avoiding 
the full impact of her emotions by putting her back up against 
a wall of logic, the same way she'd done after her father's 
death and her sister's and Emily's, after her abduction and 
after her cancer. This was her way of coping; he'd seen it 
countless times.

She closed her eyes, effectively shutting him out.

He decided not to push; he would drop it for now, silently 
promising to be there when she finally did need him, vowing to 
do better than he'd done earlier. He would watch out for her 
best interests, not his. He would, he swore it. 

Reluctantly, he closed his eyes. Almost immediately he fell 
fast sleep.

*   *   *

Gini ran as hard as her legs could carry her. Tears blurred 
her vision as she raced through wet, waist-high grass, heading 
upland toward the summit of Crouching Cat Mountain. Morning 
mist, tinted silvery-gold by the rising sun, swirled in her 
wake like angry Spirits. Her heart pounded in her chest. She 
could hear nothing but her ragged breathing and the memory of 
Dzeh's dreadful words: "Of course you will have a mate. Do you 
expect me to take care of you forever?"

"No, no, no," she chanted through clenched teeth. More tears 
flooded her eyes. 

Three quarters of the way to the top of the hill, she felt the 
jab of spear points in her sides. Her thighs burned like hot 
coals. Out of breath, she threw herself to the ground to weep 
into the crook of her arm. 

Flower blossoms heavy with dew hid her from prying eyes and 
helped cool her overheated skin. Her body shook with outrage 
and dread as she cried. 

At this moment she hated Dzeh. He was cruel beyond belief. 
Couldn't he see she did not want to move away from her home 
and family? And what did he mean when he said *he* took care 
of *her*? It was the other way around! Did he not notice the 
way she was always helping Klizzie, cooking *his* meals and 
sewing *his* clothes and tending *his* hearth? If he would 
only open his eyes he would see how often she gathered food, 
scraped hides, dried meat, fetched wood, carried supplies from 
one camp to the next. The work was endless! 

He was not being fair. She had done everything he had ever 
asked and yet he still wanted to send her away to live with a 
stranger, a stupid boy who was rude and ugly and mean...almost 
as mean as Dzeh himself!

It would serve her brother right if she went away to live with 
another clan. Then he would see exactly how much he missed 
her. "Help me find my yea-go stick, Gini." "Fetch my tool 
kit." "Pour my tea." "Bring me another plate of meat." He 
would surely suffer if she were gone.

Right now she wished a saber-toothed cat would come and eat 
her up. That would solve all her problems. Dzeh would be rid 
of her and she would not have to go live with Chal. Then Dzeh 
would be sorry that he treated her so badly. When he found 
nothing but her bones and her bloody tunic, he would be the 
one crying. Then he would have to tell the entire Clan how sad 
he was to have lost his sister -- the girl who did everything 
for him, who loved him with all her heart even though he was 
mean, mean, mean.

One day he would regret the unfeeling things he had said. He 
would wish he'd never mentioned sending her away.

*   *   * 

"Klizzie?" Dzeh crouched beside the furs and gently tickled 
his mate's bare shoulder. "Wake up."

When she didn't stir, he leaned closer, putting his lips to 
her ear. He blew across the outer ridges, nibbled her lobe, 
then whispered, "It is after sunup, my mate."

She groaned with dissatisfaction, squeezed her eyes shut more 
tightly and curled onto her side in a ball. 

He slid beneath the blankets behind her.

"Did my Trading Partner tire you out?" He chuckled and nuzzled 
her neck.

Breathing her womanly scent, he felt himself growing hard. She 
smelled nice, like the perfumed oil she often wore. Overlaying 
her feminine fragrance Dzeh detected a more masculine odor, 
too, very faint along her shoulders, at the nape of her neck. 
He let his nose guide him down her spine, knowing this musky 
odor must be Muhl-dar's. 

Giving Klizzie to his Trading Partner had not been easy for 
Dzeh. Mate exchange required a leap of faith in the best of 
times and Dzeh's trust had been razed four summers ago when 
his former Trading Partner took Klizzie to his bed. 
Remembering those fiery days still caused coals to burn in his 
stomach. It was beyond reason that a man would mate with his 
own kin. Klesh's actions were reprehensible, the worst 
contravention imaginable.

All civilized men knew the Spirits imparted traditions and 
taboos for the good of the Clan. Only a fool would flout the 
rules, risking the fury of the Spirits and endangering the 
lives of his family. 

A reliable Trading Partner was intended to be a blessing. 
Partnerships turned the stone mountains that often divided 
clans into mists, allowing men to walk freely in hostile 
territories, help each other in times of need. This was the 
reason Dzeh was willing to take a gamble with Muhl-dar. There 
was much to gain if the stranger from Eel Clan was a man of 
honor and status. If he turned out to be as contemptible as 
Klesh, however, there was everything to lose.

Dzeh thought back to his dream about Muhl-dar, the vision he 
had recounted days ago to the elders in Tsa-ond Cave. In it, 
stormy skies calmed when an invisible female spirit 
transformed Snake Spirit's terrible lightning bolt into a fog 
of harmless cottonwood seed. The female Spirit blew the downy 
seeds away. Then she stole Muhl-dar away, too, and the people 
of Owl Clan had been very sad to see him go.

Parts of the dream had frightened him; Klizzie was missing and 
he could think of nothing more dreadful than that. And yet the 
vision was hopeful, too. Muhl-dar had saved the Clan from the 
vengeful snake-man.

Whether the vision turned out to be true or not, Dzeh's 
partnership with Muhl-dar was already made; the formality of 
the mate-exchange now bound them like brothers. And overall, 
Dzeh felt relieved by their relationship. He had gone too long 
without a partner. Thank the Spirits the last four years had 
not been too arduous; the Clan had needed to ask for 
assistance from neighboring clans only twice, when winter 
stores had run low and hunger squeezed their empty bellies. 
Thanks to the generosity of Lin's Trading Partner in Bear 
Clan, no one in Owl Clan had been lost. 

Dzeh took a deep breath, pressing his nose into the soft flesh 
of Klizzie's hip. Yes, he could smell his Trading Partner 
there; Muhl-dar must have taken her from behind. Thinking of 
the Eel stranger on his mate's back made Dzeh want to take her 
in that fashion, too. He became rock hard at the thought of 
Klizzie beneath Muhl-dar, her back arched, her braids swaying 
and her breasts jouncing with each of his thrusts.

She would still be wet inside from her earlier mating, slicked 
with a mixture of Muhl-dar's essence and her own juices. It 
pleased Dzeh to know she had pleasured his Trading Partner, 
strengthening their bond. 

He slid a hand around her waist, spreading his palm across the 
gentle swell of her abdomen. Her skin was smooth, warm. He 
dipped his hand lower, sliding a finger between her folds.      

She rolled toward him, eyes dark with passion.   

Withdrawing his caress, he whispered, "I want to take you from 
behind. Like a stallion with his mare."

Her eyes widened a little, but she complied, turning over to 
position herself on hands and knees in front of him.

She was beautiful. Her skin was as polished as a river stone 
and the color of ripe acorns. Her curves reminded him of the 
undulating hills around Small Wind Lake where they met at the 
Mastodon Feast four years ago. She had been a woman just out 
of girlhood, only fourteen Feasts old. She had crept into his 
heart the instant he cast eyes on her. And for the first time 
in many lonely seasons, he had no longer felt the awful ache 
left by the passing of his first mate.

Young Klizzie had reawakened the Spirits in him.   

Feeling the same rush of desire for her now as on that 
wonderful summer day four years ago, Dzeh moved behind her, 
nudging her knees apart with his own. His erection stood 
straight out, eager to plunge into her.

"Ready, my mate?" he whispered.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, setting her braids into 
motion. The clatter of her beads caused the hairs on his arms 
to rise. His legs went numb at the sight of her liquid eyes. 
Mother Earth, how he loved this woman. She was his delight, 
his companion, his hearth-mate. He could think of nothing he 
wanted more than to be here with her, inside her. 

Hands on her hips, he pressed slowly into her. She was pliant 
and snug, although not as slick as he had expected her to be. 
His head swam with pleasure as he pushed more deeply into her. 
A quiet growl hummed in the back of his throat.

Bowing over her, his chest pressing against her back, he 
balanced himself on one arm, so as not to burden her with his 
weight. With his free hand, he groped her right breast, 
tugging her hardened nipple and squeezing her soft flesh. 

He began to thrust, making her moan. Her soft cries excited 
him, urging him to quicken his pace. The smell of her sex 
prickled his nose. This felt wonderful; she felt wonderful.

Had Muhl-dar thought so, too, when he was inside her? Had he 
brought Klizzie to her moment of pleasure before hurrying to 
his own?

Releasing her breast, Dzeh slid his hand between her legs, his 
fingers searching for her ulh-ne-ih. She gasped when he found 
it. 

"No, Dzeh. Please. I cannot," she suddenly begged.

He halted his thrusts and removed his hand from between her 
legs. "What is the matter, Klizzie?" 

"I..."

She was trembling beneath him, so he withdrew from her and 
turned her around to face him. 

"You must tell me," he murmured.

She hid her eyes behind lowered lashes. "It is...bad. I have 
done something shameful."

"Shameful? What is it?"

"You will be angry." A tear slipped down her cheek. "You will 
no longer want me as your mate."

He doubted that. What could she possibly say that would steal 
away his love for her? He caressed her face, wiping her tears 
with his thumb. 

"Tell me," he urged.

Clinging to her totem, she drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I 
have lied to you," she whispered.

Shame crept up her neck and face, reddening her skin. Her 
hands trembled. She bit her lower lip to still its quivering.

He couldn't imagine what would make her so afraid of him. He 
rarely became angry...at her or at anyone. Not once in four 
years had he struck her the way some men did to their mates. 
She'd never given him a reason to hit or scold her...ever. And 
even if she had, he doubted very much he would react with such 
ferocity.

So why was she quaking like a startled hare now?

"What lie, my mate?" he asked, uncertain he wanted to hear her 
answer.

Clearly she didn't want to tell him. She swallowed hard. Tears 
overflowed her lashes again, painting wet trails down both 
cheeks.

"He...he did not..." 

Her voice was so faint and meek, Dzeh needed to lean forward 
to hear her. 

"Who, Klizzie?" he asked. Did this have anything to do with 
Muhl-dar and the mate exchange? "Who did not do what?"

"Klesh. Klesh did not...force me."

A hive of bees awoke in Dzeh's stomach at the mention of 
Klesh's name. His hand dropped away from Klizzie's cheek. What 
did she mean he did not force her? 

"Force you to do what?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. 
The question scoured his throat like a breath of wood ash.

"He...he offered me a hair ornament in exchange for the night 
on his sleeping skins."

Dzeh could not believe his ears! "And you agreed?" he asked, 
incredulous. Please, deny it, he silently begged. Tell me you 
argued with him and you fought him. Tell me it was only 
because he overpowered you that you submitted. Please, 
Klizzie, please, don't tell me you allowed this to happen.

Her shoulders slumped and her chin fell to her chest.

"Klizzie, he is your cousin!"

It was an outrage...the most contemptible act imaginable. Even 
at age fourteen she would have known this.

"Dzeh, I am...so sorry." She was crying openly now, her hands 
twisting nervously in her lap.

The angry bees in Dzeh's stomach began to sting him and he 
thought he might throw up. Klizzie had done this loathsome 
thing of her own volition...for a silly hair ornament.

"Why did you not tell me this before?" he shouted, surprised 
by the roar of his voice across his tongue.

Klizzie jumped at his shout. She opened her mouth, but no 
words came out. The only sound in the hut was the rattle of 
her beads as she ducked her head, cringing as if she expected 
a rain of blows on her back. 

He rose to his feet, fists clenched in anger. His heart 
hammered inside his chest. Spinning on his heel, he lunged for 
the door.

"Dzeh? Where are you going? What will you do?" she asked, her 
voice watery with tears.

"I do not know," he growled and pushed through the door, 
leaving her to cry alone. 

*   *   *

As soon as Mulder fell asleep, Scully rose from the furs, 
intending to take a bath in the lake. She wanted to scour away 
all traces of Dzeh from her skin. 

Quietly, she located a soap root and her clothes: her jeans 
and turtleneck, not the garments Klizzie had given her. She 
didn't want anything that had belonged to the tribe touching 
her skin...not now, not yet. She preferred instead to wrap 
herself in the familiar, which was why she'd put on Mulder's 
jacket the moment Dzeh left her. She'd wanted to lose herself 
in Mulder's comforting scent. Cocooned in his coat she felt 
less alone, less afraid.

She hugged the coat around her now and looked down at Mulder, 
asleep in a tangle of furs. He was lying on his back, his face 
half-hidden beneath one upraised arm, his fingers curled into 
a loose fist. A soft snore whirred in his throat. She watched 
his chest rise and fall and silently she counted his steady 
breaths just as she'd done almost three weeks ago when he'd 
been so ill. She'd nearly lost him then. She might have lost 
him last night, too, when he challenged death again by 
refusing to cooperate with the tribe. 

Didn't he realize how much she needed him? Especially here. He 
had no right to risk himself for the sake of his irrelevant 
20th Century code of ethics. Their modern-day values were 
utterly meaningless in this Ice Age world. These people had no 
way to understand or appreciate their foreign concepts of 
honor, principles of morality that were tied to a time still 
thousands of years in the future. She and Mulder needed to 
play by a set of older, less familiar rules now, to stay 
alive, to get back to their real place in history, to the life 
she'd foreseen in her vision.

Reminded of her vision, she once again imagined the small 
weight of her infant son cradled in her arms, the milky feel 
of his skin beneath her lips, the downy softness of his hair 
as she ran a palm across the crown of his head. Closing her 
eyes, she could hear him suckle at her breast, feel the pull 
of his mouth on her nipple as he drew sustenance from her. He 
was a miracle and it didn't matter to her how or when he came 
into being; her love for him was already so strong it stole 
her breath away.

She opened her eyes and let her teary gaze settle on Mulder's 
bearded face. This man would one day be the father of her 
baby... "If I can keep you alive long enough to get you back 
home," she whispered.

Letting him sleep, she left the shelter with clothes in hand. 
She headed for the lake, but changed her direction when she 
saw how many tribespeople were already there. She didn't feel 
ready to mingle with them...not yet. 

Wanting to cleanse her spirit as much as her body, she decided 
to climb the hill that overlooked the lake; at the summit, she 
would pray to God for His guidance. He had allowed her to see 
an angel not too long ago, during the Kernoff case; maybe He 
would show her the right path to take here.

Limping through knee-high grass, she climbed slowly. The 
rising sun cast her shadow into her path like a blackened 
corpse. Her sprained ankle pained her. It was irresponsible to 
hike on it, she knew, but at the same time she was grateful 
for the way it distracted her from the raw ache between her 
legs. 

Scully hadn't been ready for Dzeh's invasive intimacy. As much 
as she'd tried to close off her mind and relax her body, she'd 
been tense and the act had been uncomfortable. Thankfully, it 
hadn't lasted long; he'd thrust only a few times, ejaculated 
and then quickly withdrew.

Had Mulder's performance been equally brief? 

Don't think about it, she told herself. It's over now. It 
doesn't matter what happened. 

Unless...

Klizzie became pregnant as a result of her union with Mulder. 

God, please, not that, she silently prayed. The consequences 
would be devastating. A baby would anchor Mulder to this 
prehistoric world. He would never agree to abandon his child 
to strangers...would he?  

Glancing over her shoulder to gauge the distance she'd come, 
she was momentarily blinded by the glare of the sun. She 
lifted an arm to shade her face and gaze down into the valley. 
The lake glittered like a shattered mirror between the ranges 
of bruise-colored mountains. A ghostly mist hovered over the 
water. Sounds from the village floated feebly up the hillside: 
the wail of a baby, a mother's concerned call, an 
unidentifiable hammering that reminded Scully of a too fast 
heartbeat. 

Overhead, a battalion of tin-colored clouds marched toward the 
rising sun, as if intending to ambush and capture it. Gray and 
menacing, they reminded her of a similar sky on a June day in 
Denver eight years ago...the last day she saw Daniel. 

She'd asked Daniel to meet her in the atrium outside UCH's 
cafeteria and had bought sandwiches from the vending machine 
for their lunch. He was late, as usual, but she hadn't been 
hungry anyway; her stomach was tied in knots because she was 
planning to tell him goodbye. She'd decided to leave her 
medical career, and him, to join the FBI. She doubted he would 
understand her desire to switch from medicine to law 
enforcement. No doubt he would infer her motives were fueled 
by the complications of their personal relationship. With 
Daniel, everything was about him.

"I'm late," he announced without apology when he appeared at 
her small table. Sliding into the seat opposite her, he didn't 
reach for her hand or lean in to kiss her. Too many people at 
the hospital knew his wife Barbara, who spearheaded several 
very successful fundraising projects for the auxiliary.

"I can't stay," he said. "This for me?" He pointed to one of 
the sandwiches.

She nodded and pushed the turkey club across the sunlit table. 
He unwrapped it and took a hearty bite. "What's up?" he asked, 
between mouthfuls.

"I'm leaving," she said without preamble.

He stopped chewing, but only for a moment. "What do you mean 
you're leaving?"

"I'm joining the FBI. I'm flying to Washington on Friday."

"The FBI?" A laugh chuffed from his nose and his eyes clouded 
with disapproval. "You're running away from me."

"This isn't about you, Daniel."

"No? You expect me to believe the FBI is more alluring than a 
career in medicine? It's an excuse, Dana."

To some degree, he was right. He scared her with his 
unyielding passion -- for medicine, for her, for his secretive 
double life. She admired his relentless dedication to his 
patients and to his profession; he was a brilliant doctor and 
she couldn't deny she was attracted to him. But Daniel 
Waterston required everything his way, and she saw little room 
for her in his already overcrowded life. He had a wife, a 
daughter. An affair with him would lead to nothing but 
heartache for them all.

"If you stay, Dana, I can help you with your career," he said. 
"There's an open--"

"No. Thank you. I can make my own way."

"The only thing you're making is a mistake." He rewrapped what 
was left of his sandwich. "You'll regret it."

"I might. But I would regret staying more." Already her heart 
was aching over the loss of him, yet she knew she mustn't show 
it. Any sign of waffling would launch him into an argument, 
one he was sure to win because she loved him, and he knew 
exactly how much. It would take so little for him to convince 
her to stay. She couldn't allow that to happen; she couldn't 
be responsible for the breakup of his family. Their needs 
outweighed hers.

He rose from his chair, dusted the crumbs from his trousers 
and leaned across the table. In front of the entire crowded 
dining room, he planted a passionate kiss on her lips. It was 
the first time he'd ever risked his position and reputation 
for her sake. When he finally pulled away, he said, "Stay, 
Dana. Forget this FBI nonsense."

Still feeling the press of his lips on hers, she blinked back 
tears and tried to find her voice. She shook her head. "I'm 
sorry, Daniel."

"So am I," he said, sounding sincere. 

She saw real pain in his eyes before he turned from the table 
and walked away.

She sat there for several minutes, blinking away tears, eyes 
turned toward the atrium's glass ceiling. The sky darkened as 
clouds overtook the sun, their surprise attack mirroring the 
swirl of emotion inside her chest.

Turning away from her memory of that day, Scully continued her 
uphill climb. She sought solace as she walked by reciting the 
23rd Psalm.

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want..."

Her hand went automatically to her throat, searching for her 
cross and the comfort it brought her. She was seized with 
fresh anxiety when she remembered it was no longer there, that 
it was in the possession of the scarred man...or lost.

"He makes me lie down in green pastures," she continued. "He 
leads me beside still waters; He restores--"

Thinking she heard the sound of muffled crying, she paused and 
held her breath to listen. Sure enough, somewhere up ahead, 
hidden by tall grass, someone was weeping as if her heart 
would break. Scully aimed for the sad sound, hobbling as fast 
as she could and trying to ignore the pain in her ankle.

"Hello," she called as she hiked, still unable to see who was 
crying. "Are you all right?" Then she saw her, little Gini, 
stretched out on her belly in a well of trampled grass.

At the sound of Scully's voice, Gini stopped her hiccoughing 
sobs and lifted her head to mop tears from her eyes with her 
fists.

"Sweetie, what's the matter?" Scully asked. Setting the things 
she carried on the ground, she knelt beside the girl and 
gently rubbed her back, coaxing her to sit up. "Are you hurt?"

Gini launched into a long teary explanation, none of which 
Scully could understand, except for the word "Dzeh."

"Come here," she invited, indicating her lap.

Gini didn't hesitate. She slid into Scully's lap, her tears 
starting up all over again when Scully wrapped her in a hug.

"It can't be as bad as that, can it?" she asked, smoothing the 
girl's hair away from her fiery cheeks. She planted a kiss on 
the crown of her dark head. "Shhhh, it'll be fine."

They sat like that for several minutes while Gini cried 
herself out, her wet face pressed into Mulder's coat, her 
narrow shoulders shaking within the loose circle of Scully's 
arms. Scully rubbed her back, soothing the girl's nerves. 

Comforting Gini reminded her of William. She pictured him 
again, snug in her arms, blond and blue-eyed, with Mulder's 
pouty mouth and curious stare. She ached to hold him and 
satisfied her desire by rocking Gini instead. Closing her eyes 
against the Pleistocene landscape, she conjured up her most 
recent vision: her bedroom, William, Mulder walking toward 
them, his eyes glistening with pride and love.    

The image was so real she swore she could hear the sounds of 
traffic outside her window, smell the baby's powdery scent, 
even taste the flavor of decaf coffee from the cup on her 
nightstand.

"Day-nuh?"

Gini was no longer crying. She was patting Scully's arm to get 
her attention.

"You're a mess," Scully said, looking down at the girl's tear-
streaked face. She dug Mulder's handkerchief from his coat 
pocket, wiped Gini's cheeks, and then held the cloth to her 
nose. "Blow," she said, crinkling her nose and demonstrating a 
quick, gentle blow.

Gini understood and snuffled into the handkerchief, then 
watched with curiosity as Scully tucked it away again. When 
she withdrew Mulder's binoculars, the girl's eyes widened.

"Look through here," Scully said, holding the glasses to her 
face.

Gini peered through them at the lake and gasped. She turned to 
stare at Scully in wonder. "Nih-tsa-goh-al-neh," she said, 
breathless with excitement. "Nih-tsa-goh-al-neh!"

"Pretty interesting, huh?" She handed Gini the binoculars.

The girl leapt to her feet and, pivoting 360 degrees, she 
inspected the mountaintops, the faraway forest, the clouds, 
the village, the lake. She chattered nonstop as she looked, 
pointing a stubby finger and squealing at each new view. 
Spinning around twice more, she became so dizzy, she toppled 
and landed with a giggle on her backside in the grass.

Scully smiled at her exuberance. 

"Cha! Cha!" Gini said. She pointed to a large beaver lodge on 
the northeast shore of the lake and indicated she wanted 
Scully to look at it through the binoculars.

That began a back and forth game of looking and naming various 
objects, trading words for each. Scully found it fairly easy 
to remember most of Gini's words and phrases; she'd always had 
an aptitude for languages. The girl seemed to share her 
ability.    

When they'd finally exhausted the most obvious landmarks, 
Scully rose to her feet and gathered her things. 

"What do you say, you and I go down to the lake to get cleaned 
up, hmm?" she said. "You hang onto the binoculars for now."

"Bi-nok-a-lurs," Gini repeated, grinning. "Nih-tsa-goh-al-neh. 
Bi-nok-a-lurs."  

"Nih-tsa-goh-al-neh." Scully carefully pronounced each 
distinct syllable. She took hold of Gini's hand and together 
they headed down the hill.

*   *   *

"...Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred! Ready or not, here 
I come!" 

Fox uncovers his eyes and blinks against the bright afternoon 
sun. Finding Sam will be a piece of cake, he thinks; she 
always hides in the same half-dozen locations.

The first place he looks is the boathouse. Its shadowy 
interior is surprisingly cold on this hot summer day. 
Goosebumps stipple his arms and legs when he steps inside. He 
hopes Sam isn't here. The air smells of mildew. Cobwebs cling 
to the rafters. When he crouches to check beneath the upside 
down rowboat, his bathing suit, still damp from his morning 
swim, feels chilly against his backside. He grabs hold of the 
boat's gunwale to keep his balance, and the rotting wood is 
spongy beneath his fingers. The paint is peeling. He offered 
to scrape it and put on a fresh coat, but his dad said no. He 
doesn't want Fox out on the water in the boat. Not even if he 
promises to wear a life jacket.

"Sam? If you're in here, I'm gonna find you."

He listens for telltale noises: a giggle, a hitch of breath. 
He hears nothing but the scampering of a small animal. 
Probably a red squirrel.

Returning to the outdoors, Fox checks behind the prickly, 
waist-high shrubs that line his mother's flower bed. He 
circles a few trees, looks beneath his dad's car, which is 
parked in the driveway near the house. He squats beside the 
foundation and peers between slats of wood that are meant to 
keep raccoons out from under the porch, but don't because 
several boards are missing and the hole is big enough for his 
sister to crawl through.

"Sam?" The sound of his voice falls flat in the dead, damp 
space.

She's not in any of her favorite hiding spots, so he stands 
and heads down the shore path to the beach because the rule is 
"no hiding in the house." Mom doesn't want them underfoot, 
tracking sand and pine needles across her clean floors. 

"Sam? Saaammmm!"

The sound of breakers drowns out his cry. He pivots, looking 
up and down the beach, seeing nothing but a knot of seagulls 
in front of the Norwood's house. The birds are bickering over 
a dead squid, washed ashore, black with sand fleas and 
blowflies.

"Sam!" 

He spots her small footprints in the sand and begins to follow 
them. Another set of prints soon appears alongside hers, 
larger than hers. Larger than his. There is a toe missing on 
the left foot. Oh God, oh God, he knows these prints. 

He breaks into a jog.

"Sam? Saaam!" His voice becomes a shriek. Shit, she's gone! 
He's got to find her, save her, protect her from that 
Neanderthal monster. 

Suddenly he is no longer a boy on the beach. He's a grown man 
in his apartment with his father.

"You let this man take your sister," Bill Mulder accuses him. 
"Isn't that what you're trying to tell me?"

Mulder turns his back, unable to look his father in the eye.

"I-I can't explain it to you," he stammers. "But, um...I 
believed I was doing the right thing, Dad."

"Was this your decision?" 

His father's blame knocks the wind from his lungs.

"Yes," he admits, wanting to shirk the responsibility, but 
knowing he should admit to it. "I'll tell Mom."

"Do you realize what losing her again is going to do to your 
mother?"

He turns to look at his father, whose disappointment and anger 
bring tears to his eyes.

"Do you?" Bill Mulder hurls the words at him.

His voice fails him. Shame, guilt and sorrow push rational 
thought out of reach. He stares at the floor and starts to 
cry, feeling like a boy again, repentant and overwhelmed with 
regret.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry. I'm...I'm sorry." 

It's all he can say. A wave of nausea threatens to empty his 
stomach.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Agent Mulder."

He's no longer standing with his father. He's in A.D. 
Skinner's office and Skinner is sitting behind his desk, 
shoulders squared, jaw clenched. Annoyance seeps from every 
pore.  

Mulder slouches in the chair opposite the AD. It's his usual 
seat. Scully's chair is empty beside him. Misery blurs his 
vision. Fear constricts his lungs. "I lost her."

"You lost her? Is that all you can say?"

They aren't talking about Sam. They're talking about Scully.

"I couldn't...I couldn't protect her. I tried." His hands 
twist in his lap. He loathes everything about himself. "I 
think...I think she's dead."

Skinner's focus drops to his desk as he considers this news. 
"Agent Scully was a fine officer," he finally says. "More than 
that, I liked her. I respected her." He lifts his eyes to 
glare at Mulder. Mulder recognizes his words from years ago, 
when Scully was abducted. Skinner continues to speak. "We all 
know the field we play on and we all know what can happen in 
the course of a game. If you were unprepared for all the 
potentials, then you shouldn't step on the field."

"What if I...I knew the potential consequences but I...I never 
told her?" He's made one bad choice after the next. "I lost 
her," he repeats, knowing the fault is his. "I didn't tell her 
the truth and now I've lost her. I've lost everything." 

*   *   *

"Muhl-dar? Day-nuh?" Klizzie called through the closed door of 
their hut. "Excuse me, are you awake?" She held a tray of 
food, which was laden with roasted mastodon, fresh mushrooms, 
gooseberries sweetened with honey, two raw goose eggs and an 
assortment of greens. Tucked between the bowls and plates were 
several mint twigs for cleaning their teeth when they were 
finished eating.

"Muhl-dar?" 

There was no answer. They were either sleeping or had left the 
hut.

Or maybe they were mating.

Not wishing to disturb them, Klizzie considered leaving the 
tray on the ground outside the door. But to do so would draw 
insects and scavenging animals. It would be better to set the 
tray inside.

"I have food," she announced loudly. 

She had prepared the tray soon after Dzeh stormed out of their 
hut. Providing his new partner with breakfast was part of the 
exchange, and Klizzie didn't wish to further anger her mate, 
so she dried her tears and set about gathering the finest food 
in the camp.

She went to Aunt Ho-Ya for fresh goose eggs. The kind woman 
didn't seem to notice she'd been crying; she was too 
distracted by last minute preparations for Jeha's Joining 
Ceremony, which was scheduled to take place after the 
afternoon yea-go match.

"I have so much to do." Ho-Ya complained without any real 
irritation in her voice; a broad grin lightened her words. 
"Extra food is needed for Turtle Clan when they arrive. My 
sister Tkin and her family will be staying here with me until 
a new lodge can be set up for them. I do not mind the extra 
company, really. We have the bed space. Oh, Klizzie, Jeha 
looks so pretty in her new Joining dress! So grown up!"

Klizzie barely listened as Ho-Ya described the embroidered 
tunic; her mind was on Dzeh instead. She feared what he might 
do now that he knew the truth about her and Klesh. Would he 
beat her? Cast her out of the Clan?

She wished she hadn't told him; it would have been better to 
take her secret to the Spirit World. But the second lie about 
Muhl-dar had piled upon the first about Klesh, and the two 
together were too great a burden to carry. When Dzeh began 
making love to her, she felt overwhelmed with guilt. The words 
came out as if on their own.

Her confession brought both relief and regret. Admitting the 
truth had felt good, like having a heavy load of firewood 
lifted from her aching arms, and yet, she wished she had told 
someone other than Dzeh.

She'd deceived him and lost his love as a result. And she had 
no one to blame but herself.  

Klizzie hoped beyond hope that he could forgive her. Silently 
she promised the Spirits she would break no more rules and she 
would tell no more lies from this moment on if Dzeh would 
pardon her offenses.   

Ho-Ya finally handed her the goose eggs and asked, "How did it 
go with Dzeh's new Trading Partner last night?"

The question stole her breath away. She and Muhl-dar had not 
completed the ritual, which meant the partnership was invalid.

Would Dzeh find out? Muhl-dar might spill the truth, putting 
her in worse trouble. 

She had to try to convince him to remain silent.

"It is over," she lied to Ho-Ya. "Dzeh and Muhl-dar are 
Partners now."

Ho-Ya nodded with serious approval. "That is good."

Klizzie thanked her for the eggs and hurried away to prepare 
Muhl-dar's breakfast.

Her stomach was buzzing with bees as she pushed through Muhl-
dar's door, carrying her tray of food. 

She paused just inside the entrance, allowing her eyes to 
adjust to the dark. The fire had burned out. She could see a 
shadowy mound beneath the furs and heard a quiet masculine 
snore.

"I have food," she said again, more quietly this time. "Muhl-
dar?" 

He stirred, lifted his head, and blinked sleepily at her. 
"Scully?" he asked.

"No, it is me...Klizzie." She held out the tray. "I brought 
food."

"Oh." Sitting up, he glanced around the hut. "Where's 
Scully...uh...I mean, where's Dana?"

She shook her head, unsure what he was asking. She carried the 
tray to the bed and set it on the ground. "Are you hungry?" 
she asked. Kneeling beside him, she lifted a plate of meat for 
him to see.

It was impolite to remain here with him; custom demanded she 
bring the food and then leave him on his own. But first she 
needed to find out if he intended to tell anyone the truth 
about last night. Maybe he'd already spoken of it and she was 
too late to dissuade him. Or maybe he had said nothing yet, 
but planned to complain to Dzeh later on. She had to find out, 
to help her predict Dzeh's next actions.

"Muhl-dar, I must ask you something but I do not know how," 
she said, trying to keep her voice steady. 

On the inside she was quaking like an aspen tree in a 
windstorm. She worried that Day-nuh might suddenly return and 
interrupt her questions, or that Muhl-dar might think her 
inquiries rude and become angry with her for her impudence. It 
was possible, too, that he was embarrassed about the 
incomplete ritual. She didn't really know why he had not 
finished the rite. She'd assumed he was dissatisfied with her 
in some way, but it was possible he had not been physically 
capable of carrying out his duty. His male part was marked by 
a strange scar; perhaps it no longer worked the way it was 
supposed to.

Their lack of common language and the delicate nature of the 
conversation made asking questions almost impossible.

"Muhl-dar, last night we did not conclude our obligation," she 
said, pointing first to his lap and then to hers. "This is a 
breach of custom." She looked up at his face to see if he 
understood any of what she was saying.

His jaw clenched and worry shadowed his eyes. Again she 
gestured toward their laps. When he nodded, she continued, 
"You will be cast out of the Clan if Dzeh discovers the truth. 
I may be exiled, too. I am afraid for both of us."

She could no longer control the quaver of her voice. Tears 
filled her eyes.

He reached out and put a finger to her trembling lips. 
"Shhhhh," he said. He continued to talk, his tone sincere, 
gentle and urgent. He shook his head several times, repeating 
her gesture at their laps. Several times, he held his finger 
to his lips and to hers, making his hushing sound. It seemed 
he was eager to keep their secret, too, although his reasons 
eluded her.

"Did you tell Day-nuh?" she asked. She used the hand signal 
for "making talk." Several repetitions, combined with more 
pointing at their laps seemed to convey her question.

He shook his head. "No one knows," he said. "It'll be our 
secret."

"See-kret?" 

Again he held his finger to his lips and nodded. "Have you 
told Dzeh?"

"Dzeh? No, no. Dzeh must not find out. He is very angry with 
me...about something else...something awful. Knowledge of an 
additional deceit will cause more trouble. He must never learn 
of it. Never."  

In this halting way they made a pact to remain silent. Thank 
the Spirits, she had not been too late. Relief surged through 
her and on an impulse she embraced Mulder for his willingness 
to keep quiet. He returned her embrace, as if equally 
satisfied by their arrangement.   

*   *   *

Tormented with worry, Dzeh brought his yea-go stick and tool 
kit to the butternut tree at the edge of the village. He did 
his best thinking while working with his hands, so he decided 
to repair the stick's worn leather basket while giving careful 
consideration to Klizzie's shocking confession. 

Setting down his tools, he sat cross-legged beneath the tree's 
broad limbs. This spot gave him an unobstructed view of the 
camp, and he wanted to keep an eye out for Klizzie. No doubt 
she would soon be joining the group of women who were cutting 
meat beside the smoke house a stone's throw away.     

Dzeh upended his tool kit, allowing its contents to spill into 
his lap. Two unfinished carvings fell from the leather pouch: 
fertility idols, intended as offerings to Hare Spirit in hope 
of getting Klizzie pregnant. Dzeh pushed them aside, too 
distressed to look at them. Klizzie's transgressions were like 
knives in his flesh. 

She had broken the strictest Clan law and then lied to cover 
it up, remaining silent while her cousin and brother were 
exiled. Dzeh had no doubt Klesh deserved to be banished; he 
was an unrelenting bully and a known thief. He frequently 
cheated at gambling games and refused to observe the necessary 
rituals or give prayers. He was an angry man who had made many 
enemies. Only Tse-e had stuck by him, leaving the Clan along 
with his exiled cousin. 

Both men were probably dead, he supposed. Two alone without 
the help of kin were doomed.

Their blood was on Klizzie's hands. No wonder the Spirits had 
denied her a child all these years. Dzeh had been a fool to 
beg for a baby on her behalf.  

Hands shaking, he took a small strip of leather from his pile 
of supplies and trimmed it to fit the loop on his yea-go 
stick. He then searched for lashing material and a stout 
needle. 

He kept an eye on the women by the smokehouse while he unwound 
a length of rawhide cord. Klizzie would arrive shortly, he was 
certain, to help them with their chore of cutting and 
preserving the meat from yesterday's hunt. He wasn't sure what 
he would say or do when she appeared. He had no plan. He only 
hoped that seeing her would help him decide the right course 
of action. 

About twenty women of various ages hunkered beside the 
smokehouse, chatting amicably while they cut chunks of fat 
from meat.  Dzeh was too far away to overhear their 
conversation, but he caught their excited, happy tones. No 
doubt they were discussing Turtle Clan's anticipated arrival 
later today, as well as other details of the upcoming Feast. 

He watched them pile fat into gourds to render later. For now 
they concentrated on slicing the meat into thin, even strips, 
which would dry quickly over the fires in the smokehouse. 

His previous mate had been very adept at preparing meat in 
this fashion. She'd taken great care to carve all trace of fat 
from the meat before drying it, thus preventing it from going 
rancid. Mixing the rendered fat with pulverized dried meat, 
she made the smoothest pemmican he had ever eaten. She often 
flavored it with tasty herbs, too...a welcome change of pace 
from an otherwise bland winter diet. 

It had been a long while since he had thought of Chuo's 
cooking skills, perhaps because Klizzie was equally proficient 
at preserving and cooking food. 

Chuo had been a beautiful woman, several years older than Dzeh 
and already the mother of one young son and pregnant with her 
second when she agreed to become his mate. The father of 
Chuo's children had been killed in a winter hunting accident. 
He'd been an elder from Moose Clan, a skilled toolmaker and a 
knowledgeable tracker. His loss was keenly felt by his mate 
and his clan.

Five springs after Chuo became Dzeh's mate she announced she 
was pregnant again. It was the happiest day of Dzeh's life. He 
looked forward to the birth of his first child and he walked 
around camp puffed with pride. Although he loved Chuo's sons 
very much, he was thrilled at the prospect of giving her a 
child from his body.

His joy was short-lived, however. Two moons later when the 
Clan was on its way to summer camp at So-a-la-ih Lodge at Star 
Lake, summer rains brought floods. Dzeh lost his beloved Chuo 
and his unborn child when they tried to cross Toh-ni-lih 
River. Chuo slipped while wading through the swift rapids and 
was quickly swept away in the fast-moving current. Dzeh and 
Lin had plunged into the icy water to try to save her. Several 
of the other men had run along the bank, hoping to grab her as 
she passed by. But by the time she was pulled from the white 
water, she had drowned.

After Chuo's death, her sons were given to Moose Clan to live 
with their uncle. Dzeh missed them. They'd been clever, well-
behaved boys. But they were not of Owl Clan; they rightly 
belonged with their kin. He saw them only once after they 
left, at a Winter Feast two years ago. The youngest no longer 
recognized him. 
 
Dzeh sighed and knotted the lashing on his stick. The basket 
was repaired, but Klizzie had not arrived at the smokehouse. 

He felt caught in a pit of indecision. He couldn't ignore her 
confession; it was too serious to let pass. The proper thing 
would be to bring her misdeeds to the attention of the elders 
because her punishment was not his alone to make. 

Her offense was not a minor one. It wasn't as if she'd refused 
to cook his dinner or share his sleeping skins. These sorts of 
misbehaviors were his responsibility to handle however he saw 
fit. But mating with her cousin was an abomination that 
concerned the entire Clan. 

He knew what they would do to her when they found out. They 
would bind her to a tree and stone her to death. His 
beautiful, loving Klizzie. It made his stomach clench to think 
of it, and for a moment he thought he might vomit.

Damn the Spirits, what should he do? Keeping her secret would 
certainly anger the Spirits, bringing hardship, maybe death, 
to the entire Clan. 

And yet he couldn't watch her die.

Confused and afraid, he packed up his tools. The last items to 
go into his kit were the two unfinished fertility idols. He 
held the small carvings for a moment in his palm. Looking at 
them, he felt hope drain from his heart like blood from a 
mortal wound.

*   *   *

Scully and Gini walked from the lake through the village. The 
girl still clung to the binoculars. She tested them on 
everything she passed, obviously impressed by their power to 
make objects appear only an arm's length away. Over and over 
again she put out a hand to touch something that was well 
beyond her short reach.

Scully felt better after her bath. The word games with Gini 
had gone a long way to lift her spirits, pushing her 
experience with Dzeh to the back of her mind.

"Atsah," Gini said, binoculars aimed straight up at the 
overcast sky. An eagle flew in circles a hundred feet above 
their heads.

"Eagle," Scully gave Gini the English translation. 

"Atsah, ee-guhl," Gini repeated.

The girl's wet hair dripped down her back, sticking in ropey 
tendrils to her narrow shoulders. Gini had insisted Scully 
remove her braids after she had finished combing out her own. 
They then shampooed and bathed before hurrying from the lake 
feeling chilled but clean.

Scully paused when they arrived at her own hut. On the far 
side of the campground an excited cry drew her attention. A 
group of women who had been cutting meat were leaping to their 
feet. 

"Chay-da-gahi Din-neh-ih!" they shouted, waving their arms and 
rushing to the expanse of open grassland to the south.

Men and women throughout the camp abandoned various chores to 
hurry to the field where a group of about thirty travel-weary 
tribesmen were hiking toward the village.

"What's going on?" she asked. "Who're they?" 

"Chay-da-gahi Din-neh-ih," Gini replied.  
 
"Chay-da-gahi?"

Gini drew her shoulders up next to her ears. 

"I don't understand," Scully said. "What is this?" She 
mimicked the girl's strange posture.

Gini dropped to her knees and began to sketch a simple outline 
of a turtle in the dirt with her finger. "Chay-da-gahi," she 
said when she was finished.

"Turtle? Those people are turtles?" That didn't make any 
sense.

"Lahn. Yes," Gini said. She pointed back and forth between the 
approaching strangers and her sketch. "Chay-da-gahi Din-neh-
ih."

"Well, if those people are Chay-da-gahi, what are you?" Scully 
used pointing gestures to clarify her question.

"Ne-ahs-jah Din-neh-ih," Gini said with pride in her voice. 
"Woo-woo." She reproduced the sound of an owl perfectly.

"Owl?" Scully asked.

"Ouwwhull." Gini tried to wrap her tongue around the foreign 
word.

Scully guessed that each tribe must be named for a species of 
animal, most likely as a way to differentiate familial 
lineages.

"If they are Chay-da-gahi and you are Ne-ahs-jah, then what am 
I?" Scully pointed a finger at herself.

"Tkoh-klesh," Gini said, looking up at Scully with a big grin.

"Tkoh-klesh? What is Tkoh-klesh?"

Again Gini drew a picture in the dirt.

"A worm? A snake?" Scully guessed.

Gini added a few wavy lines around the snake.

"A water snake?" Scully shook her head. "I don't understand." 

Gini jumped to her feet and stroked Scully's leather jacket 
with her palm. "Tkoh-klesh," she repeated. 

A black leather water snake? Scully's knowledge of various 
snake species was limited to the symptoms and treatment of 
their bites. She gave Gini a confused look.

Using hand signals, Gini tried again to make herself 
understood. She held her right hand palm down and waggled it 
to indicate water. She plunged her left hand below it.

An underwater snake? Suddenly it came to her -- the girl was 
describing an eel! Evidently her and Mulder's black leather 
coats reminded her of eel skin.

"Tkoh-klesh means eel," she said, satisfied she had guessed 
the girl's meaning.

"Eee-ul." Gini tried out the new word several times before 
turning her attention back to the distant field. Lifting the 
binoculars to her eyes for a closer look, she watched as the 
people from Owl Clan embraced those from Turtle Clan.

"Coming inside?" Scully asked, corralling her with one arm and 
nodding toward her hut.

"Lahn. Yes," she said, lowering the glasses and letting Scully 
steer her through the door.

Inside Scully found Mulder sitting on the bed embracing 
Klizzie. A lightning bolt of surprise and jealousy sizzled 
beneath her breastbone before she could find her voice.

"Mulder? What's going on?"

"Scully!" He released his hold and backed away.

Klizzie's eyes rounded. She scrambled to her feet. 

"She made breakfast," Mulder blurted, pointing at a tray of 
food beside the bed.

"And what are you doing? Thanking her?"

"No, I-- We-- Are you hungry?"

Tears stung her eyes, surprising her almost as much as finding 
Klizzie in his arms.

"Tehi," Klizzie said to Gini. 

Gini began to protest, but Klizzie took hold of her arm and 
quickly ushered her from the shelter.

As soon as they were gone, Scully asked, "What was that all 
about?"

"Uh...dunno." He gave her an innocent shrug before plucking a 
gooseberry from the platter and popping it into his mouth.

She wasn't in the mood for his evasiveness. On the other hand, 
she wasn't prepared for the truth either. Her experience with 
Dzeh had left her nerves too raw to deal with Mulder's obvious 
betrayal or her own budding jealousy. She wished she were back 
at the lake, trading words with Gini, or for that matter, she 
wished she were back home.

"Scully, I... It was nothing," he said, his expression serious 
and sad.

Feeling dizzy, self-control ebbing, she sank to her knees just 
inside the door. She let her tears flow and her show of grief 
seemed to shock Mulder. 

He went to her and took her gently in his arms.

"Scully, please...I'm sorry."

Misery engulfed her. She crumpled against him, her arms 
hanging heavily at her sides. Wounded by his apparent 
indiscretion, she refused to cling to him. He was her best 
friend, her lover, which was why his infidelity hurt so damn 
much.

The urge to retaliate was strong. "Didn't you get enough last 
night?" she asked, giving in to her animosity. 

"It wasn't like that." 

His steady, reassuring tone increased her indignation. He was 
patronizing her, God damn it.     

"For a man who claims to be searching for the truth, you seem 
pretty adept at sidestepping it when you need to."

His arms dropped away and he blinked against an onrush of 
tears. She knew she'd wounded him, deeply, but he remained 
silent, apparently unwilling to let her goad him with hurtful 
accusations.

Was she being unfair? Maybe the error in judgment was hers, 
not his.

"You... It's just..." she stammered, unsure where she wanted 
to take this conversation. "Can we not talk about this?"

"Whatever you want," he said, not a trace of rancor in his 
voice.

She closed her eyes against his tender, pleading stare. 
"Mulder, I'm --"

"It's okay." He reached for her again.

This time, she wrapped her arms around him, too, and buried 
her face in his neck, muffling her next words. "No, Mulder, I 
shouldn't have --"

"Shhh, don't, please."

He tightened his hold on her and she concentrated on his 
fierce grip and thundering pulse and the urgent tenor of his 
voice. Reducing her focus to these three things, she was able 
to push aside her suspicions about him and Klizzie, crowding 
them into that part of her mind where she buried all the 
unpleasant aspects of life. 

*   *   *

Blustery and overcast, it wasn't the best day for a yea-go 
match, but at least the rain was holding off. 

A flat expanse of grassland between the village and the 
southern woodlands provided a serviceable playing field. The 
view from the sloping meadow at the base of Crouching Cat 
Mountain was perfect for spectators. Already several families 
were toting food and blankets to the choicest locations 
overlooking center field. They also brought items for 
wagering. Hide scrapers and hair ornaments for the women, 
knives, hand axes and earrings for the men. Services, such as 
sewing or tattooing, would be gambled here today, too.  

Prizes for the winning players were laid out on the grass at 
the foot of the hill for all to see. Mastodon blankets, fox 
furs, unworked chert, jerky, tanned hides, embroidered tunics, 
jewelry, and spearpoints were among the goods that would be 
distributed to the kin of the winning team. Players who scored 
goals during the game would take home the most valuable 
prizes. Several days of trading would ensue, with items going 
round and round the camp. Some might even make it back to 
their original owners.

Clans took great pride in donating the most sought after 
goods. Skillfully crafted tools were particularly popular. But 
the most prized item of all was the large gourd of honey, 
brought by Owl Clan. It contained enough pure, sweet honey to 
make a winter's worth of wo-chi...if the children could be 
kept out of it.

At the northern and southern ends of the playing field, 
several men were wrestling stout goal posts into the ground. 
Each post was as big around as a woman's waist and stood as 
tall as the shoulder of a bull mastodon. Cutting the posts had 
been no easy feat. Badger Clan dulled several stone axes while 
felling the two requisite trees before the arrival of the 
other clans. 

The chore of digging postholes was assigned to the last clan 
to arrive at the summer camp. No one enjoyed this laborious 
task, chiseling into rocky soil and backfilling with gravel, 
which had to be carried by the sack-full from the lake. The 
men of Turtle Clan endured good-natured jibes from the other 
clans as they lugged stones across the field.

While the posts were being set, Dzeh practiced lobbing a ball 
to his teammates. Using his favorite stick, he tossed the ball 
high into the air, relishing the way it felt when it slid from 
its basket. A smooth stone the size of a duck egg was at the 
core of the ball. This was wrapped in leather and laced with a 
rawhide cord. When tossed with force, it could fly far and 
fast, drawing blood if it impacted a player's unprotected 
flesh.

Dzeh's yea-go stick was the finest he'd ever owned. He'd made 
it three seasons ago out of a straight, young hickory tree, 
free of knots. He'd stripped the bark and smoothed the wood 
with a draw-knife, thinning one end until it was flexible 
enough to be doubled back on itself, producing a loop as long 
and broad as his hand. He used bark strips to secure the loop 
in place. Then he lashed a piece of rawhide across it to 
create a basket that was large enough to hold the ball. The 
process took several days, but was worth it. This particular 
stick had proven lucky for him, winning many matches.

"Hey, Dzeh! Na-e-lahi!" his cousin Wol-la-chee shouted, 
tossing the ball.

Gauging the trajectory, Dzeh jogged a few steps to position 
himself in its path. Then he thrust out his stick, catching it 
neatly in the basket. Without pause, he spun and hurled it 
further up the court to the next player. It soothed his temper 
to be gripping the familiar stick. A strenuous game of yea-go 
would be just what he needed to distract himself from the 
sting of bees in his stomach and the growing ache in his 
chest. Dodging, tackling, blocking shots would occupy his mind 
and help burn off his anger. 

He glanced up at the crowd of spectators and was saddened when 
he couldn't find Klizzie among them. He hadn't seen her since 
their argument and knew he wouldn't come to a proper decision 
without talking to her first. She was the hearth-fire of his 
spirit and the prospect of losing her was making his thoughts 
howl like wind in winter. He promised himself to seek her out 
as soon as the game was over. Maybe together they could come 
to some sort of acceptable solution.

This afternoon's match was the first of several and it pitted 
Owl Clan against Badger Clan. Members of both teams were 
stripped down to their loincloths, their bodies painted in the 
designs of their clans. There would be no mistaking one player 
for another. Badger Clan's bold black and white patterns and 
tall spiky hair set them apart from the reddish-brown circular 
designs and braided hair of Owl Clan. 

Wol-la-chee jogged to Dzeh and hooked a friendly arm around 
his cousin's shoulders. "Where is your new Trading Partner?" 
he asked with a grin. "Is he playing today or did Klizzie tire 
him out?"

Dzeh shook off the younger man's arm. "I have not seen him."

"Ooohhh-ho! He is not still with her, is he?" Wol-la-chee 
scanned the horizon as if hunting for the wayward couple.

"Stop it, Wol-la-chee." Dzeh felt a knot of annoyance squeeze 
his throat. "The business of my Trading Partner is of no 
concern to--"

"There he is..." -- Wol-la-chee nodded his head toward the 
village -- "with his own mate and your sister."

Sure enough, young Gini was leading the newcomers by the hand 
toward the ball field. Dzeh cursed under his breath; Muhl-
dar's presence would be like a thorn in the sole of his foot, 
a constant reminder of the problems that came with Trading 
Partners. Dzeh knew it was unfair to compare him to Klesh, but 
his worries about Klizzie prevented him from separating the 
two in his mind.

"Are you going to invite him to play?" Wol-la-chee asked. "We 
could use another swift runner."

"He does not look like a swift runner to me," Dzeh said, 
hoping to discourage his cousin.

"What are you talking about? He is tall and lean. Surely he 
can run."

"I think maybe he is *too* lean. A hummingbird could knock him 
on his ass."

Wol-la-chee chuckled and shook his head. "He has got to be 
more skilled than Ghaw-jih."

Both men turned to look at Wol-la-chee's undersized nephew. 
The boy had gotten himself trampled in last year's game, which 
led to a loss during the final match...to the chindis from Ant 
Clan. A year later, the defeat still rankled.

"Fine. I will ask Muhl-dar to play," Dzeh said. "*You* tell 
your nephew he is out until someone is injured."

Wol-la-chee seemed satisfied with this arrangement. He loped 
off to give his nephew the news while Dzeh called to Muhl-dar.

Gini and Day-nuh glanced in his direction, then moved uphill 
to join the crowd of onlookers. Muhl-dar squared his shoulders 
and came forward to meet him halfway.

"The game is about to start," he said. "We need a runner to 
play third attack. What do you say?" 

Muhl-dar's eyes fell to his stick. "Lacrosse?" he asked.

Dzeh didn't know the word. "Yea-go," he said, holding out the 
stick.

Muhl-dar hesitated before taking it, his body tense. He wore a 
storm-cloud expression and his eyes burned with animosity. But 
as soon as the stick lay in his hands, his taut muscles 
appeared to relax a little and his expression softened. He 
tested the stick's weight and balance, gave it a practice 
swing, and then offered it back.

"Keep it," Dzeh said, determined to put his anger aside, at 
least for the afternoon. A victory today would bring tools and 
goods to the Clan. He needed to do whatever was necessary to 
ensure a win. "Let's get you ready," he said, pointing to the 
sidelines where the rest of his team was getting marked with 
paint.

*   *   *

The last thing Mulder felt like doing was playing lacrosse 
with Dzeh and his Neanderthal buddies. If he'd had his way, he 
and Scully would still be in their hut. But Gini had arrived 
and convinced Scully to attend the afternoon game.

"We can't hide in here forever, Mulder," Scully had said in 
her commonsensical way.

"Why not?" 

"That would negate our reasons for going along with the...the 
exchange."

*Your* reasons, he thought, but rose from the sleeping furs to 
follow her outside.

He'd intended to join the spectators, not play the game. But 
holding Dzeh's stick made him rethink the idea. A quarter or 
two of lacrosse might burn off some of his excess anger. And 
if it didn't, he could always use the crosse to beat in a 
Neanderthal skull or two.

Dzeh led him to the sidelines where he was instructed to strip 
out of his clothes. He was handed a red loincloth that matched 
Dzeh's. Too pissed to feel self-conscious, he undressed right 
there in front of seventy or eighty curious onlookers and 
donned the teams' uniform. Then he held out his arms while two 
men slathered him with cold, red and brown paint.

It had been a long time since he'd last played lacrosse. He 
doubted these cave people went by the same rules as his Oxford 
squad, but he assumed any version of the game would require 
approximately the same skills. Dzeh's crosse resembled a 
modern one in size and shape. It was heavier, but not 
unwieldy. 

Mulder had played second attack for the Blues when he was an 
undergrad, and remembered feeling beaten and winded after four 
quarters against squads from Hillcroft and Birmingham. 
Although the Blues took possession on almost every face-off, 
their opponents had high-class shooters and long-reaching 
defensemen. Mulder recalled his final match with disgust; in 
truth the game had been over after the first half, but the 
Blue's agonizing defeat stretched on for two more humiliating 
quarters and eight unanswered Hillcroft goals.

Looking across the field at the goal posts, he wondered where 
the boundaries were. No center or end lines marked the field 
or the goal creases. Worse than that, none of the players were 
wearing helmets or pads. This could get rough, he realized.

Dzeh rattled through the rules as he steered Mulder onto the 
field, which he referred to as the "clo-dih." Mulder grasped 
the meaning of several other words, like "tsa-zhin" for "ball" 
and "bi-ne-yei" for "goal." He tried to get Dzeh to explain 
some of the technical fouls, but after a few confused looks 
and a shake of the head, he came to the uneasy conclusion 
there might not be any technical fouls in this version of the 
game.

He sized up the brawny men who were gathering at mid-field. 
Every one had muscled arms the size of Mulder's thighs. Their 
painted chests looked as solid as beer kegs. 

Shit, he was fucked.  

Twenty-four players, twelve per team, arranged themselves in 
two facing lines. Each man carried a crosse. Mulder stood to 
Dzeh's right, while the squads' apparent leaders extended 
their crosses toward one another, keeping them vertical and 
touching, with the ball caught between them. 

"Das-teh-do," shouted a man on the sidelines, signaling the 
start. 

A violent struggle ensued with each of the two leaders 
exerting all his strength to overcome the pressure of his 
opponent's crosse. Owl Clan prevailed and sent the ball 
hurtling toward the goal.

That's when all hell broke loose. The man facing Mulder 
bulldozed forward, knocking the wind from his lungs. Mulder 
tumbled backward and hit the ground hard. Gasping for air, he 
wondered how long each quarter was going to last. Then he 
ducked just in time to avoid a blow to the head from Tractor 
Man's swinging crosse.

Jesus fucking Christ, these guys were playing for keeps!

The whole troop then turned to pursue the ball, whooping and 
running at top speed. They darted down field, bounding after 
the ball, sweeping it up in their crosses, tossing it off 
before being tackled. Despite several bone-crunching hits, the 
men kept their tempers. As a matter of fact, they seemed to 
relish the hard-hitting play. 

Mulder scrambled to his feet and hurried to join the melee. He 
nearly tripped over a prostrate player in the non-existent 
goal crease, but managed to get his crosse into position and 
catch the ball.

The Black and White defense turned on him.

"Muhl-dar!" Dzeh shouted, crosse held high. 

Mulder lobbed the ball in Dzeh's direction just before he was 
plowed over by an onrush of charging Cro-Magnons. He hoped his 
throw was accurate; he couldn't see a thing, buried as he was 
beneath a pile of pounding fists and flailing sticks.

A loud thwack brought the players to their feet. Evidently 
Dzeh had hit the goal post. Jesus, the noise echoed like a 
lightning strike against the surrounding hills. Mulder blinked 
in surprise as his teammates raced toward the goal where the 
goalie was struggling for an outlet to clear the ball. He 
found a slot and the game resumed. 

Mulder soon learned there were no fouls, substitutions or 
breaks in Caveman Lacrosse. Only when a man was seriously 
injured was a new player brought in to take his place.

Fast-paced play continued throughout the afternoon, going back 
and forth between zones. The Black and White Team answered Red 
Teams' score almost immediately. Red Team one-upped them just 
minutes later. A hard-fought half hour passed before the next 
goal was made. Two-one, Red. Their lead didn't last. Black and 
White scored three consecutive points. 

By late afternoon, Mulder felt like he'd been hit by a car. 
His ribs ached and he was covered with welts on his shins and 
thighs. One well-placed wallop to his left biceps had sliced 
open a nasty wound that was bleeding buckets. So far he'd 
managed to protect his head, but he wasn't certain how long he 
could hold out.

He hoped this show of his athletic fortitude was turning 
Scully on, if nothing else.

Play became more intense, not less, as the afternoon wore on. 
Mulder hoped this meant the game was nearing an end, not that 
tempers were running short. Red Team was down by one and his 
teammates began to play as if their lives depended on it. 
Maybe they did, he realized. Could be the winners killed and 
ate the losers.

"Nahl-kihd!" shouted the Red Team leader. He signaled with his 
crosse, positioning the men for offense.

This was the first bit of strategy that Mulder recognized. The 
rest of the game had seemed a goddamn free-for-all. But then 
maybe he'd been too busy getting steamrolled to notice the 
subtler aspects of the game.

The ball was lobbed into play and Mulder caught it in his 
crosse. The Red Team leader barked at him, "Yo-lailh! Yo-
lailh!" 

Too bad he didn't know what the fuck that meant. 

Half a dozen Black and White brutes headed straight at him. He 
decided to run with the ball.

He covered more than sixty yards before a defenseman took his 
legs out from under him. The ball bounced from his crosse. He 
scrambled for it, but missed. Dzeh appeared out of nowhere, 
scooped it up, and pitched it at the goal.

THWACK! The ball ricocheted off the post.

Yes! They were tied up! 

Mulder staggered to his feet, prepared to launch into the next 
play, only to find Dzeh wasn't celebrating. As a matter of 
fact, the entire Red Team looked pissed while the Black and 
White Team were clapping themselves on the backs, laughing and 
hollering. Shit, the game was over. It must have ended 
*before* Dzeh made his shot. The Black and White Team had won 
the match.

Damn it...after all that work...it was like Hillcroft all over 
again. 

Mulder's strength gave out and he collapsed to his knees. He 
let go of his crosse and, with effort, unfolded his fingers 
enough to place his palm over his bleeding left arm. 

Dzeh limped across the field to stand beside him.

The caveman looked beat. A large bruise shadowed his right 
cheek. Blood and dirt streaked his chest. He was crisscrossed 
with cuts and scrapes.

"Ut-zah," he said, breathing hard. He leaned down and offered 
Mulder a hand. "Tehi."

Mulder stared at Dzeh's outstretched hand. This was a chance 
to set aside their differences, to make peace. Life would be 
so much easier if he would just accept Dzeh's generosity.

"No thanks," he said, rising on unsteady legs. He could never 
forgive this man for what he'd done to Scully. "I don't need 
your help."

Mulder turned and walked off the field, leaving Dzeh's yea-go 
stick lying where he'd dropped it on the ground.   

*   *   *

Shortly after sunset, the men, women and children of four 
clans gathered to watch Jeha become joined with Moasi. Mulder 
and Scully watched, too, from a respectable distance. Neither 
felt comfortable standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the crowd. 
Dressed in their 20th Century clothes, they received plenty of 
stares. Some of the tribesmen seemed only mildly curious, 
others suspicious, a few downright hostile.

Mulder glared right back at them and held on tight to Scully's 
hand, wanting everyone in the camp -- especially Dzeh -- to 
see that she was with him. 

Speaking of Dzeh, where the hell was the bastard anyway? 
Mulder wondered. He scanned the crowd, but didn't find him 
among the dozens of bearded faces.

"Mulder, you're hurting me."

"Sorry." He loosened his grip on her hand, but drew her 
closer. Putting his lips to her ear he asked, "You don't 
usually cry at weddings, do you, Scully?"

She arched an eyebrow. "No."

"Good, 'cause I do and we have only one handkerchief between 
us." He patted the pocket of his leather jacket. Inside he 
could feel the hard lump of the carved idol. Instinctively he 
closed his hand around it and wondered again about its 
possible powers.

Could he get it to work for him the way it seemed to work for 
Scully?

The tribespeople were standing in front of a small domed hut, 
which was situated at the outer edge of the village away from 
the other huts, presumably for privacy. Its roof had been 
decorated with pleasant smelling mint leaves and flower 
blossoms. Fresh pine boughs covered the threshold like a 
welcome mat. The skin door was fastened open with a rawhide 
cord. Inside, Mulder could see a fire burning in a small 
hearth. A bed of furs waited beyond the fire and trays of 
sumptuous-looking food had been arranged around the bed.

The honeymoon suite, he thought. 

A stocky man with a broad, friendly grin waited beside the 
groom just outside the hut's door. Mulder recognized him from 
the communal "apres lacrosse" bath he and the other men had 
taken in the lake following the match. This guy had been on 
the Black and White Team, a fast runner who'd played hard. No 
longer covered with paint, he was impressively dressed in a 
beaded robe, decorated on the hem and sleeves with striking, 
colorful feathers. His ears were studded with bone ornaments 
and his hair had been oiled and combed straight up from his 
brow, giving him the appearance of a surprised porcupine. 
Pride and pleasure radiated from his round, tattooed face.    

A gangly, big-nosed woman stood beside him with tears in her 
eyes and a smile on her elongated face. She was dressed to the 
nines in a spotted fur cape, arms banded by dozens of rattling 
bracelets, and hair done up with beads, bangles, feathers and 
flowers. Mulder guessed she was the groom's mother.

Looking down at his own unwashed jeans and muddy boots, he 
whispered into Scully's ear, "I feel a tad underdressed. Do 
you?"

She licked her thumb and gently scrubbed something from his 
cheek, before giving him a "be quiet" look.

"Did I miss a spot?" he asked.

"You missed a lot of spots. Now shhhh."

He returned his focus to the wedding party.      

The groom -- a kid who'd also played in the afternoon's match 
-- seemed far too young to be tying the knot. Mulder pegged 
him to be only about fifteen or sixteen. Despite his youth, 
the boy had shown real grit in the game; he'd played with the 
enthusiasm of a seasoned athlete and had received a fresh 
black eye for his commendable efforts. He was a long-limbed, 
muscular kid with a proud stance and, at this moment, a 
nervous, albeit eager, expression. 

The groom's oiled, black hair hung in waist-length braids down 
the center of his back. Closer cropped on the crown, it stood 
on end like his father's. An array of striped feathers added 
height and color. Half a dozen heavy bear claws dangled from 
each of his pierced ears. The upper half of his face was 
painted with white pigment in angular patterns. His chin was 
shadowed by a patchy short beard. He rocked from foot to foot, 
evidently anxious to finish the formalities.

Mulder thought back to his own wedding day, a blustery, wet 
Wednesday in late November. He hadn't had time to feel 
nervous. He and Diana had raced over to City Hall on their 
lunch hour, taking a cab and talking the whole way about 
thought transference and extra sensory perception because they 
were knee deep in an investigation about hospitalized 
psychiatric patients who claimed be misdiagnosed psychics. 

Ten minutes with a dour JP made it all legal; they returned to 
the office as husband and wife, presumably for life, although 
they hadn't exchanged any long-winded vows. They hadn't felt 
the need. They'd signed the necessary paperwork, donned 
matching wedding bands, and presumed their signatures and 
rings were testament enough. Neither of them truly believed in 
undying love anyway. They were both children of divorced 
parents; Diana's mom had been married three times. 

At the time, Mulder thought he knew everything Diana was 
thinking; whether the subject was parascience or romance; 
words were seldom necessary between them. They were so alike 
back then, agreeing on everything, reading each other's minds 
as easily as the clairvoyants they were testing. He believed 
they were soul mates, destined to be together.

Diana had proposed to him, not the other way around. A dare, 
almost, after a breathless bout of lovemaking in her apartment 
on another lunch hour several weeks prior to their wedding 
day. She had looked gorgeous...tousled and flushed from their 
intimacy, a mischievous smile in her dark, sparkling eyes. He 
loved her so much at that moment it was only a small surprise 
when he heard himself answer yes.

She told him she didn't want an overblown, traditional lace-
and-flowers type wedding, which suited him fine. She also said 
she didn't care about going away on a honeymoon; it would take 
too much time away from their work and they could celebrate 
their newly wedded status at home. He agreed, promising to 
take her somewhere romantic, like Groom Lake, on their tenth 
anniversary.

"Fox, everyone goes to Groom Lake on their anniversary," she 
teased. "How about something more out of the mainstream, like 
the Oregon Vortex or Spook Hill in Lake Wales."

"I hear the Wonder Spot in Wisconsin is a paranormal Poconos."

Of course, they never did travel to the Wonder Spot, or remain 
married long enough to celebrate their tenth anniversary; as a 
matter of fact, they split after only eighteen months. But on 
that November day when he signed his name below hers on the 
marriage license, he had truly hoped they might beat the odds.

Mulder squeezed Scully's hand now. If he were ever to get 
married again, he would do it up right. Traditional wedding, 
proper honeymoon, the whole nine yards. And he would pop the 
question this time. Get down on bended knee in the most 
romantic setting he could find.

The sound of drummers brought him out of his musings. Several 
men began chanting, and a group of women joined them, singing 
in high-pitched voices, weaving their meandering rhythm into 
that of the men's. The music served as a signal for the bride 
to step forward, flanked by her kin. Mother, cousins, uncles, 
and siblings marched together like a phalanx of solemn 
soldiers. Nearly lost in their midst was young Jeha, dressed 
in a snow white deer-hide tunic, smiling shyly and trembling a 
little as she walked to her future husband.

Jesus, the girl looked too damn young to be a bride, Mulder 
thought. Twelve or thirteen maybe, if that? No wonder she was 
shaking. She was just a little girl. If she were living in the 
20th Century, she would be years away from mature 
responsibilities like marriage. Here, however, she'd probably 
be a mother in a year's time.

A petulant cry from the outer edges of the crowd turned 
everyone's attention away from the wedding party. Mulder rose 
up on his toes to look over their heads to see what was going 
on.

"What is it?" Scully asked, too short to see over the crowd.

"It's Gini and Dzeh," Mulder said when he spotted them.

Dzeh was strong-arming the little girl toward the gathering 
and she was none too pleased about it. The more she argued, 
the fiercer he frowned and the tighter he gripped her wrist. 

Mulder didn't like the way he was dragging her against her 
will. Stepping forward, he felt the tug of Scully's hand on 
his arm.

"Mulder, don't," she murmured. "It's none of our business."

By now everyone was watching Gini's tantrum. Mulder couldn't 
understand her words, but clearly she didn't want to be here. 
Dzeh remained silent but insistent. He looked embarrassed as 
he held the girl in place and tried to ignore her outrage. 

Mulder wondered where Klizzie was and why she didn't come 
forward to intervene on Gini's behalf.

"Scully, I don't like this." He took another step in Dzeh's 
direction.

Gini yelled something that brought gasps from the onlookers. 
Dzeh's face darkened. He spoke harshly to her, but she paid no 
attention and continued her tearful shouts, tugging against 
his grip. When she couldn't break free she screamed, bringing 
disapproving frowns from all the bystanders. Dzeh raised his 
hand and struck her across the cheek, silencing her and 
drawing grunts of appreciation from the crowd.

Mulder's temper flared. He pictured Dzeh hustling Scully into 
her hut last night, hand planted firmly on the small of her 
back...the same goddamn hand that was holding Gini against her 
will right now. He regretted allowing Dzeh to take Scully, 
regretted it with every fiber of his being, and he was 
goddamned if he'd let the motherfucker bully this little girl, 
too.

"That's it," he said, shaking loose from Scully. 

He walked straight to Dzeh. When they stood toe-to-toe, he 
growled through clenched teeth, "Let her go."

Dzeh's eyes narrowed. He didn't release Gini. Leaning forward, 
he sternly rebuked Mulder for interfering.

Mulder balled his fists and straightened to his full height. 
"I said, let...her...go."

Dzeh was not intimidated. Glaring at Mulder, he shoved Gini 
out of the way, pushing her with such force he sent her 
sprawling into the dirt.

That was all the excuse Mulder needed. His fist shot out and 
caught Dzeh square on the chin. Dzeh grunted from the impact, 
then threw a jarring uppercut that cracked Mulder's teeth 
together and sent him stumbling backward.

Regaining his balance, Mulder plowed head first into Dzeh's 
stomach. The two men toppled and rolled. The spectators backed 
away, giving them more room.

Mulder found himself straddling Dzeh. He didn't waste the 
advantage. Fury escalating, he pummeled his head with a rain 
of blows. He'd been wanting to do this all day and it felt 
damn good to be pounding the shit out of this mother-fucker. 
Dzeh tried to block the blows with his arms. Twisting his 
body, he rolled out from under Mulder, knocking him sideways 
as he went. 

Dzeh staggered to his feet. Without pause, he grabbed Mulder 
by the front of his coat and lifted him into a standing 
position. He roared something unintelligible. 

Mulder roared right back.

"This is for Gini!" He drove his fist into Dzeh's nose. "And 
this..." -- he struck Dzeh again, using his left -- "is for 
fucking *my* partner!" 

Blood exploded from Dzeh's nose, spraying them both. He 
howled. Mulder pressed forward, but before he could pull 
another punch, Dzeh locked him in a crushing bear hug and 
wrestled him backward toward the newlywed's hut. Mulder 
crashed against the covering, stopped short by the bony 
supports inside.

Backhanding Mulder in the head, Dzeh sent him spinning. He 
landed face down on the ground, the wind knocked from him. 
Unable to catch his breath, he covered his head in 
anticipation of Dzeh's next blow. When it didn't come, he 
cautiously lifted his head to look back at Dzeh.

Dzeh remained frozen in place, eyes targeting something to 
Mulder's right. His expression had changed from rage to 
disbelief and horror. The crowd surged closer, their mouths 
gaping in similar shock. Mulder followed their stares to the 
small, carved idol he'd taken from the cave. It must have 
fallen out of his pocket onto the ground during the fight.

And evidently he was in a shit-load of trouble for having it.

*   *   *

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A fearsome storm was moving into the valley from the north. 
Purple-black clouds clotted the night sky and the frigid 
breath of angered Spirits gusted across Turkey Lake, buffeting 
the hide-covered shelters and raising gooseflesh on Dzeh's 
arms. 

Staring at the idol on the ground, he could not believe his 
eyes. The sacred statue, offered to Hare Spirit on Klizzie's 
behalf, lay beside Muhl-dar's outstretched hand. It had been 
intended as a gift to the gods, sanctified by prayers in Tsa-
ond Cave. To see it in the newcomer's possession turned his 
blood to ice.

Only a dishonorable, Spiritless man would dare steal a prayer 
offering and risk the wrath of the gods. Muhl-dar was clearly 
such a man; the proof was there on the ground for all to see. 
Dzeh wished he'd never agreed to become Trading Partners with 
this chindi from Eel Clan. He wished he had never set eyes on 
Muhl-dar. 

Gasps arose from the onlookers when they realized what had 
spilled from the stranger's odd cloak. Even those who were not 
from Owl Clan, those who hadn't witnessed Dzeh's heartfelt 
prayers to Hare Spirit, recognized the revered fertility 
symbol for what it was. To steal such an idol was sacrilege. 

Dzeh looked into his fellow clansmen's startled faces and saw 
his own disgust etched in their furrowed brows. Vengeance 
smoldered in their eyes as they waited to see how he would 
respond to this insult.

The punishment for stealing a spiritual offering was death, 
befitting the crime. Exiling the offender was not an option. 
Muhl-dar's outrageous actions had proven him too untrustworthy 
to be released; if allowed his freedom, he might return to 
Tsa-ond Cave and defile it again. There was only one way to 
prevent another desecration...kill the offender.

Thunder rolled across Crouching Cat Mountain as rain began to 
fall in sleety drops, drumming the ground with a frenzied 
rhythm that matched the beat of Dzeh's turbulent heart. The 
events of the day -- Klizzie's betrayal and now Muhl-dar's -- 
had razed his trust. His fingers trembled as he picked up the 
tiny idol. Squeezing it in his palm, he straightened his back 
and turned away from the stranger from Eel Clan.

"This man is no longer my Trading Partner," he announced to 
the onlookers.

Lin and Wol-la-chee understood the importance of his 
proclamation and stepped forward to haul the stranger to his 
feet. Muhl-dar tried to shake them off, but they gripped his 
arms tightly, holding him captive. When Day-nuh tried to come 
to his aid, two men from Badger Clan moved in to block her 
way. She objected with a shout and tried to dodge around them, 
but they latched onto her arms and held her firmly in place. 

"Sculleee!" Muhl-dar roared, trying to free himself.

Lin wrapped an arm around Muhl-dar's throat, preventing him 
from going to her.  

Gini ran to her brother and cried, "They're hurting him! 
Please, stop them!" 

He ignored her pleading. She was a child who didn't understand 
the seriousness of the situation. Turning to face Lin and Wol-
la-chee, he said, "Do what must be done." 

They pulled Muhl-dar away from the crowd and he protested with 
angry-sounding words. Day-nuh shouted again, too, in the 
foreign language that meant nothing to the clansmen.   

"Nooo!" Gini screamed. She threw herself at her brother's 
feet, bowing low out of respect and fear. "Please, please do 
not hurt him! I will do whatever you ask. I will take a mate 
and move away, if that is what you want. I am sorry I called 
you a chindi, honest I am. Please do not be angry any more. Do 
not hurt Muhl-dar and Day-nuh!" 

Her supplication affected Dzeh more than he dared let on. He 
loved his little sister and felt like a brute for striking her 
earlier and disregarding her cries now. Yet he knew what was 
required of him as a clansman and as head of his own hearth. 
He was obliged to follow certain rules and the situation with 
Muhl-dar was intolerable. Dzeh had no choice but to order his 
execution. Gini might not understand it now, but someday, when 
she was grown, with a family of her own, she would recognize 
the reasoning behind his decision and the necessity of the 
Clan's strict customs.    

Looking again to Lin and Wol-la-chee, Dzeh said, "Take him to 
the ball field. Bind him to one of the goal posts..." The next 
words stuck in his throat like sharp fish bones. He swallowed, 
trying to wet his dry mouth and coax the necessary orders from 
his tongue. It was without pleasure that he finally said, 
"Stone him." 

As Muhl-dar was dragged away, Day-nuh's shouts grew more 
frantic. Dzeh signaled the Badger clansmen to remove her, too. 
Gini shrieked and ran to help Day-nuh battle against her 
larger captors.

The two females were no match against the brawny men and Day-
nuh was hauled to the Shaman's hut.

Gini turned and faced Dzeh with balled fists. Tears streamed 
from her eyes. "I *hate* you!" she screamed. "I wish they 
would stone *you*!" 

Lightning flashed in the distance. Two heartbeats later a 
rumble of thunder galloped down the mountainside like a 
stampede of panicked bison. Dzeh said nothing to his sister. 
Her words stung, even though he knew she didn't truly mean 
what she said. It was with a heavy heart that he shouldered 
his way through the gawking crowd to follow his uncle and 
cousin and their struggling captive to the ball field. 

The onlookers fell into step behind him. Impatient to punish 
the stranger for his wrongdoing, they became more agitated as 
they neared the field.

Muhl-dar continued to protest, elbowing his captors, shouting 
to Dzeh at the top of his lungs, "Stop this, Dzeh! Let Scully 
go! Dzeh...! Let her go, you fucking son-of-a-bitch!"

His words were meaningless, but his tone brought an unexpected 
pang of guilt. Dzeh felt the weight of Muhl-dar's bracelet 
around his wrist and his thoughts flew to Klizzie. She had 
convinced him to accept this ornament, initiating the 
partnership. What would she say when she found out what was 
happening now? He looked over his shoulder, past the incensed 
mob, beyond the wind-battered huts and spitting bonfires, to 
where the mountain loomed pitch-black and empty on the western 
horizon. 

Where was Klizzie? 

The crowd surged forward. They grew more excited at each of 
Muhl-dar's shouts and collected rocks as they marched toward 
the northernmost end of the ball field, arming themselves for 
the execution, their eyes glowing with fiery anticipation.

Dzeh did not share their enthusiasm. He walked with hunched 
shoulders, squinting against the sting of rain. The wind 
harangued him; he heard the Spirits' rage in each icy blast. 
Was this the storm he had foreseen in his nightmare? Klizzie 
was missing, just as he had dreamt she would be. His heart was 
pounding in the same dreadful fashion. Would the mysterious 
female Spirit be arriving soon to take Muhl-dar away? Another 
roll of thunder rattled the dark hills. Dzeh glanced at the 
sky, expecting to see the fiery eyes of Snake Spirit staring 
back at him.

But no angry eyes gazed out of the swirl of clouds; only the 
rain, needle sharp against his upturned face, spewed from the 
purple-black sky. 

Unlike his fellow clansmen, he didn't stoop to gather stones 
as he walked. He clung to the carved idol while he pictured 
Klizzie, not Muhl-dar, being punished for her misdeeds, for 
mating with her cousin and then lying about it. The image of 
her lashed to the post while the Clan hurled stones at her set 
his arms shaking.

Dzeh had witnessed a stoning once. He had been a boy of just 
eight years at the time, the same age as little Gini, yet he 
could still remember the way the strangers cried pitifully for 
leniency and the sickening thud of stone hitting flesh and 
bone. The offenders had been two strangers who deserved their 
fate, caught stealing food from Owl Clan's winter cache during 
a season when supplies were extremely scarce. Their deaths had 
been lingering and horribly painful.

The same would be true for Muhl-dar now, and for Klizzie, 
too...if he exposed her awful secret.         

Up ahead Lin and Wol-la-chee stood beside the goal post with 
Muhl-dar held firmly between them.

Dzeh walked up to them. "Strip him of his clothes," he 
ordered.

Two men from Badger Clan stepped forward, eager to help Lin 
and Wol-la-chee remove the stranger's foreign garments. Muhl-
dar became enraged when they laid their hands on him. He 
struggled with formidable strength as they wrestled him to the 
ground. Lin and Wol-la-chee pinned him in place while the 
others tugged at his clothes. They yanked his sleek, black 
cloak from his thrashing arms and tossed it aside. His heavy 
footwear and tight leggings were more difficult to remove; he 
kicked and bucked, but the men finally managed to take those 
off as well. They let the clothes lie in the mud while they 
stripped him of his inner garments. 

When the stranger was naked the men positioned him in front of 
the post and forced him to sit. He continued to battle like a 
wounded bear until the men twisted his arms behind his back 
and lashed his wrists to the goal post with rawhide lacings.

Dzeh walked up to him and held out his left hand, palm up. 
Cradled in the well of his palm was the small idol. He showed 
it to Muhl-dar.

"A man shapes his own future," he said. He let the figurine 
drop from his hand. It landed on the ground between Muhl-dar's 
bent legs. "Your misdeeds have determined yours."

Muhl-dar ceased his struggling to stare down at the idol. 
Uncertainty crossed his face. He lifted worried eyes to meet 
Dzeh's stare. Rain and mud slicked his naked body. The wind 
whipped his hair and raised gooseflesh on his arms and chest. 
"Where's Scully?" he demanded, his voice sounding ragged and 
afraid.

Dzeh didn't understand his words and interpreted them as a 
curse. Backing away, he told the others, "You may begin."

The first stone clipped Muhl-dar's left shoulder. His eyes 
darted from person to person; his breathing quickened. When 
the next stone flew at him, he ducked his head and drew his 
legs together, trying to protect his face and genitals. The 
second rock struck his right knee, splitting the skin and 
drawing blood. An anguished cry burst from his throat.

Dzeh closed his eyes, unable to watch, unwilling to join the 
others as they tossed more stones. 

This will be Klizzie's fate, he thought with revulsion, if I 
expose the truth. 

Muhl-dar howled again and Dzeh shivered at the sound. Spirits 
be damned, he did not want to lose Klizzie and he could not 
listen to her die this way. He would not reveal her secret, 
even if it meant angering the Spirits and bringing disaster to 
them all. 

*  *  *

Klizzie knelt on a rocky outcropping at the top of Crouching 
Cat Mountain. Hands held flat atop her bare thighs, she turned 
her face to the sky. The bitter northerly wind rattled the 
beads in her hair. Closing her eyes against the prick of 
sleet, she began to pray to Owl Spirit for guidance.

"Owl Spirit, I hear your voice in the wind. Please, hear 
mine." She reached for the small, doeskin pouch that hung from 
her neck. Grasping it in her right fist, she felt for the 
totems inside. She pictured the items in her mind: a brassy 
nodule of pyrite, a spotted snail shell, an owl feather, the 
razor-sharp tooth of a badger, a bit of mastodon bone, carved 
by Dzeh with the tiny smiling faces of their future children.
  
Her voice trembled, yet she spoke with conviction. "Owl 
Spirit, I seek your patience to help me remain calm in the 
face of what is coming. I seek your wisdom to learn the 
lessons of the world, hidden in every leaf and stone and drop 
of rain. I seek your strength to fight my greatest enemy -- 
myself."

There was no doubt in Klizzie's mind that she was to blame for 
her troubles. She had caused Dzeh's anguish, invited her own 
punishment, and she wasn't looking to give excuses for her 
misdeeds. Mating with a kinsman was an unpardonable sin, 
everyone knew it; she knew it, too, even at age fourteen. She 
could offer no justification for what she had done.      

"Help me act with humility and purity. Prepare me so that I 
may come to you with clean hands and an honest heart, so that 
when my life ends, my spirit can fly without shame." 

Klizzie's lies distressed her as much as her original 
wrongdoing. And now she was burdened with a new secret about 
Muhl-dar. Dzeh must be told of it, she knew, but her fear of 
his reaction held the truth prisoner in her lungs. She would 
need the power of Owl Spirit to help her release her unspoken 
truth.

The wind whistled over the rocky summit, pummeling her, 
tugging at her hair, howling past her ears. She braced against 
it. Determined to do what was right, she repeated her prayer, 
and was prepared to continue repeating it until she received 
divine guidance. 

"Owl Spirit, I hear your voice in the wind. Please, hear 
mine."

The sky released a torrent of chilling rain. Lightning sizzled 
in the east and was followed only moments later by a crack of 
thunder. 

"I seek your patience to help me remain calm in the face of 
what is coming toward me. I seek your wisdom to learn the 
lessons of the world, hidden in every leaf and stone and drop 
of rain..."

*  *  *

Mulder struggled against his bonds. The rawhide strips, 
painfully tight, bit into his wrists and cut off the flow of 
blood to his fingers. He shivered uncontrollably in the frigid 
downpour. His teeth chattered from cold and fear. 

"Sc-scully!" 

Blood streamed from a wound on his forehead and swamped his 
eyes. He tried to blink it away. The tribesmen flickered in 
and out of view, a blood-red blur of shifting legs, writhing 
arms, and gaping mouths. Their shouts reverberated in his 
ears, as if he sat at the bottom of a deep, black well.

"Sculleee!"

Where had they taken her? Was Dzeh with her?

Twisting as far as his restraints would allow, he tried to 
locate her. Was she in the village behind him, lost in the 
deluge and dark? Where was Dzeh? Mulder's panic escalated.

Find her, help her! his mind screamed. 

More stones sailed at him. They struck him hard, one a direct 
hit to his chest, surprisingly painful, bruising his 
breastbone and forcing the air from his lungs.

Another quickly followed, hitting his jaw and knocking his 
teeth together. Blood spurted from his lip and the taste made 
his stomach roll. 

The next stone slammed into his right cheekbone, just missing 
his eye. The impact hurt like hell. He tried to duck, but was 
held fast by the restraints. Being tied this way, helpless 
against his assailants, he was reminded of his recent 
confinement in Calumet Mercy Hospital, waiting for that awful 
insect creature...Pincus...to attack him in his bed. Scully 
had arrived in the nick of time. She'd saved him. But who 
would save him now? And who would save her if he died? 

He had no doubt the tribesmen intended to kill him. Leaning 
forward as far as he could, he screamed at them, "Goddamn 
mother-fuckers! Let me go! Goddamn you!"

A bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the mob. 
Mulder used the brief flash to search again for Scully. He 
found nothing but outraged faces, upraised fists and more 
stones.

The world blackened in the bolt's aftermath, seemingly darker 
than before. A luminescent image of the tribe floated like a 
ghostly chimera in his memory. Thunder shook the valley, 
setting the muscles in his legs quaking. 

His dread soared when another stone careened into his neck, 
momentarily cutting off his breath. It was followed by a 
wallop to his shoulder. Then a glancing blow to his upraised 
shin.

Pleasestoppleasestoppleasestop, he chanted to himself. 

Were they stoning Scully, too? Or was Dzeh raping her first?

"Nooooooooo!" he bellowed, inviting a hailstorm of stones. 
Another flash of lightning exposed his enemies, hideous 
brutes, mouths twisted with hate. Thunder vibrated the earth. 
"I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you if you hurt her!"

A blow to his temple rocked his head backward and caused an 
explosion of light behind his eyes. It was followed 
immediately by a lightning strike so close he could smell its 
fiery ozone, feel its pull of static. His hair bristled; his 
skin tingled. Thunder cracked and the concussion hammered his 
chest. He thought he heard screams, saw feet running.

Gulping for air, swallowing blood and rain, he waited for the 
next stone...waited...waited...

Rain, only rain beat against his bruised, torn skin, so cold 
it numbed his pain.

He tried to shout, but managed only a whisper. 
"Scully...please, please..."

Then he thought he saw her walking toward him, silvery white 
in the dark. Her wet hair, flailing in the wind, appeared 
blood-red around her pale face. Even at this distance he could 
see she was crying. She held out her arms to him. Oh, God, how 
he wanted to bury himself in her embrace.

When she was only a step away, she knelt at his feet and 
stroked his swollen face. Her touch was a reprieve from the 
pain. Tender. Healing.

"Wh-where are they?" he asked, meaning the angry tribesmen.

"They've gone." 

The sound of her voice released fresh tears. He didn't try to 
hold them back. 

"I'm c-cold," he told her through chattering teeth.

"I know," she answered. Her words hummed like the wind. 

Was it the wind? 

Maybe she wasn't really there.

No. No-no-no...

Panting, shivering, he desperately wanted to reach out and 
touch her, to prove to himself that she was real, that this 
wasn't a hallucination, but the restraints held him back, 
reminding him again of Calumet Hospital and Pincus. 

Scully had believed him...saved him...

"Scully?"

Behind her a shadow crossed the field, coming toward them. Was 
it Pincus? Shit, shit, shit. Mulder was trembling 
uncontrollably now. He hurt all over and he couldn't see out 
of his swollen right eye. His lips felt numb, his wrists raw. 
He thought he saw Pincus' red insect eyes.

Look out, Scully!

He mouthed the words, trying to warn her, but no sound came 
from his raw throat. Scully remained kneeling in front of him, 
silvery as a specter, her back to the threat. Tears glossed 
her sympathetic eyes.

The approaching shadow took form. Not Pincus. Not an insect 
creature with red eyes. It was a man.

Oh, Christ it was Dzeh. He was coming back. He was coming for 
her!

Dzeh strode with confidence through the rain, stopping when he 
stood directly behind her. He sneered at Mulder, then bent to 
kiss her shoulder. A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, 
sounding like distant thunder. He dragged his lips from her 
shoulder to her neck. 

Don't trust him! Mulder wanted to shout but his breath was 
caught in his throat.

Scully held herself perfectly still, allowing Dzeh to kiss 
her. Only her teary eyes revealed her revulsion.

Get away from her! Leave her alone! Mulder struggled to free 
himself, hell-bent on stopping Dzeh. He couldn't let him hurt 
her. Not again. He'd been a coward before. He'd let Scully 
down. Oh, God, if she knew the truth she'd leave him. Panic 
overtook him at the thought of losing her. He squeezed his 
eyes shut.

I'm sorry, Scully, he told her silently, sincerely. I'm so 
sorry...

When he opened his eyes again, she and Dzeh had vanished. 
Nothing but darkness remained. 

Mulder swallowed another mouthful of blood and imagined he was 
drowning. He'd lost her. He'd lost Scully...and his heart was 
disintegrating beneath the crushing weight of his own guilt.

*  *  *

Scully sat on a bed of sleeping furs with her knees drawn up 
and her hands bound behind her back. She was being held 
captive in the medicine man's hut. He sat opposite her on the 
far side of the hearth, alternately sipping tea and smoking a 
foot-long pipe. The herbs in his pipe put out a pungent odor. 
Or maybe it was his tea that smelled bad. Whichever, he 
appeared very relaxed. From the odd smile on his face she 
suspected his pharmacopoeia included mood altering substances.

Drying plants hung upside-down in bunches from the shelter's 
rafters. The walls were lined with rows of tortoiseshell bowls 
that contained colorful powders and dark liquids. Several 
painted masks hung from a bone support toward the back of the 
hut. Two live hens preened in a reed cage near the door.

The medicine man was an elderly man, the oldest she'd seen in 
the camp, with snow-white hair and no beard. She wondered if 
he shaved it or if he simply didn't grow hair on his face. 
Either way, his lack of whiskers emphasized the swirling, 
black tattoos that decorated his face. Curvilinear designs 
circled his eyes and striped his cheeks and chin, giving the 
impression of claw marks.

He wore a spotted cape, trimmed with shaggy fur like the mane 
of a horse. A green amulet carved into the likeness of a frog 
hung from his neck on a beaded cord. A large ivory fang 
dangled from his right ear, adding to his ferocious 
appearance.     

For two hours he'd been watching her through half-closed eyes, 
saying nothing while she railed at him. She'd demanded to be 
released, called out repeatedly for Mulder and swore a blue 
streak.

"Where's Mulder? Mul-der," she shouted, her voice growing 
raspy. "I know you know what I'm asking. Where...is...Mulder?"

Was the tribe hurting him? Clearly they'd been angry about the 
carving, but how angry? Enough to kill him?

The medicine man remained silent, smoking his pipe and 
watching her with glittery, black eyes. 

She struggled against her bonds, but the rawhide lacings were 
as tight as ever. She needed something to cut them. The 
medicine man was wearing a knife on his belt. If he fell 
asleep -- or passed out -- she might be able to get to it and 
cut her restraints without waking him.

A gust of wind shook the hut. Scully could hear rain beating 
against its hide roof. An occasional crack of thunder startled 
her with its intensity.

"Is Mulder out in that? He better be alive, you son-of-a-
bitch."

She had to believe he was. The alternative was too dreadful to 
bear. 

The medicine man held up his small drinking bowl, offering her 
tea.

Would he untie her if she agreed to drink some?

Better not take the chance, she thought. The tea might contain 
herbs that would make her sleepy. Or worse, he might be trying 
to poison her.

"No thanks," she said, shaking her head.

He shrugged and prepared another bowl for himself. After 
settling cross-legged on his bed, he sipped his drink and 
continued to watch her.

The storm was growing more intense. Thunder vibrated the 
ground and the medicine man paused mid-sip to gaze skyward. 
His herbs swayed from the quaking rafters.

The next hour passed with excruciating slowness. The medicine 
man finally dozed off. As soon as his eyes were closed, she 
tried searching her coat pockets, hoping to find something to 
sever her restraints. Unable to reach inside far enough to 
grab hold of anything, she decided to try to steal the 
medicine man's knife instead. She was half way to him when 
Gini startled her by pushing through the hut's door flap.

The girl sidestepped around the sleeping man and hurried to 
Scully's side. Crouching behind her, she sawed through the 
bindings with a stone knife.

Scully massaged her wrists and rose to her feet. Damn, her 
ankle still hurt. Trying her best to ignore the pain, she 
limped after Gini, around the medicine man and out of the hut.

"Where's Mulder?" she asked as soon as they were outside.

Gini signaled for her to be quiet, then beckoned her to follow 
as she led them toward the ball field. Rain flattened the 
girl's hair and soaked her tunic. She seemed not to notice as 
she hurried through the village.

Smoke rose like phantoms from the blackened remains of rain-
drenched communal fires. A crooked finger of lightning sizzled 
in the western sky, touching down somewhere behind the 
mountains. It revealed low clouds roiling overhead. Torrents 
of rain continued to fall. Not a soul was about; the violent 
weather was evidently keeping the tribesmen huddled around 
their hearths.

Gini stopped when she reached a long, low structure at the 
southernmost edge of the camp. She motioned for Scully to wait 
while she went in. Not a minute later, she emerged with a 
bulging sack slung over one shoulder. With another wave of her 
arm, she led them south, sneaking like a shadow beneath the 
flailing limbs of a butternut tree and out onto the field.

A flare of lightning revealed the nearest goal post and Scully 
spotted a slumped figure at its base. She recognized  him 
immediately... Mulder, stripped of his clothes, head lolling 
to one side. Blood glistened darkly on his pale skin.

Panting with fear, she disregarded her injured ankle and ran 
to him.    

Oh, God, was he dead? Contusions mottled his skin. Blood 
striped his chest, limbs and face. His right eye was so 
swollen the lashes all but disappeared in its reddened crease, 
and the split on his lower lip was caked with blood. The 
ground around him was littered with fist-sized stones. It was 
easy to guess what had happened here and the image prompted a 
flare of anger and stinging tears. She knelt in front of him 
and stroked his battered cheek.

"Mulder?" 

Air stuttered from his lungs and he stirred. "Scully?"

The rasp of his voice unraveled her, sending tears spiraling 
down her cheeks. She kissed the crown of his bent head.

"Oh, Mulder." She drew back, restless to examine him. The 
doctor in her wanted to assess the damage, plot a course for 
his treatment and recovery. 

He opened his one good eye to look up at her.

"Guess I ticked 'em off."

She chuffed at his understatement. "Can't take you anywhere."

His grim half-smile cracked his bloodied lips. "Untie me."

Gini set down her pack to crouch behind him. She used her 
knife to cut the rawhide at his wrists. Freed from his bonds, 
he brought his arms stiffly to his sides.

Blinking back tears, Scully tucked away her emotions and began 
to skim her palms gently over his head, arms and ribs, 
exploring every inch. Miraculously he appeared to have no 
broken bones.

His bluish skin felt ice cold beneath her hands. He was still 
bleeding from a cut on his knee and another at his hairline. It 
was likely he had suffered a concussion. And she had no doubt 
he was in shock. 

"Let's get you dressed," she murmured, reaching for his jacket.

His leather coat was sodden with mud. It would do little to 
keep him warm.

"Gini, get his other things, please." Scully pointed to his 
boots and pants, tossed carelessly to one side. 

The girl hurried to gather the clothes while Scully eased 
Mulder away from the post. He paled and gasped when she moved 
him.

"T-take it easy," he said, teeth chattering.

"Sorry." She draped the jacket over his shoulders and 
carefully snaked one of his hands into a sleeve. "We have to 
get you out of here. Can you walk?"

"I-I think so." With a hiss of pain, he inched his other arm 
into its coat sleeve.

Gini brought his other clothes. She stood by his feet, 
nervously glancing back at the camp as she offered him his 
undershorts.

"Sk-skip those," he said. "N-not worth the effort. Sk-sk-skip 
the sh-shirt, too. J-just give me my p-pants."

Getting him into his jeans wasn't an easy task. The pants were 
wet and his chilled, bloody legs refused to cooperate. Scully 
and Gini worked together to guide his feet into the leg holes. 
Mulder grunted with discomfort when they tugged the jeans up 
to his thighs.

"You're going to have to stand for the last part," Scully 
warned him.

He nodded, looking as if he might vomit. Using the goal post 
and Scully's shoulder for support, he managed to rise to his 
feet. She pulled his pants up, noticing as she fastened them 
that his hips and waist had thinned from their month in the 
Pleistocene. And it wasn't likely he would be putting on 
weight anytime soon, not wherever they were headed now.

As if reading her mind, he asked, "Where t-to?"

She pivoted to study each direction. Going west, back the way 
they'd come, meant climbing the mountain. Another range hemmed 
them in to the east. Heading north meant hiking back through 
the camp. That left only one choice...south.

"That way." She nodded toward the woods flanking the ball 
field's southern end. "Let's get your boots on." 

She signaled Gini to set the boots on the ground near his 
feet. That's when she noticed the small, carved idol half 
buried in the mud. 

Mulder saw it, too, and with effort, he tried to bend down to 
pick it up.

"Leave it," she said.

"It might be our ticket home."

"It'll bring us nothing but more trouble."

"Or more visions."

"So now you're saying you believe my visions really were 
visions?"

Doubt clouded his one good eye. "I-I don't know, but we--"

"Mulder, that figure did not cause my visions."

"Then what did?"

"I don't know, but--"

Gini interrupted their argument by tugging on Scully's sleeve, 
whispering urgently and pointing away from the camp. Her 
message was obvious: get moving!

"Come on. We need to go." Scully positioned herself beside 
Mulder.

Apparently too exhausted to argue...or maybe too 
disoriented...he allowed her to drape his arm around her so 
that she was shouldering his weight while they hobbled toward 
the woods. Gini trailed them, carrying her pack and Mulder's 
extra clothes.

When they reached the edge of the field and it became obvious 
that Gini intended to follow them into the trees, Scully 
turned to her and said, "You can't come with us. You have to 
go back." She used gestures to reinforce her words, shaking 
her head at the woods and then nodding enthusiastically while 
pointing to the village.

Gini's brows drew together. She rattled off a lengthy 
argument, keeping her tone insistent while taking care not to 
speak too loudly. 

Scully stood firm. "No, sweetie, we can't take you. You have 
to stay here."

The girl looked to Mulder, clearly hoping for his support. 
When he shook his head, too, her shoulders sagged and her eyes 
pooled with tears. Obviously crestfallen, she stuffed Mulder's 
clothes and her knife into her pack and then offered them to 
Scully. 

Moved by her generosity, Scully knelt to give her a heartfelt 
hug.

"Thank you," she whispered into her ear, embracing her. Rain 
continued to pour over them. "For everything."

Gini returned her hug and sniffled against her neck.

Scully's heart ached at the thought of leaving this child. 
She'd been helpful, attentive and kind to them since the day 
they first met, sitting beside Mulder's sick bed during his 
entire illness and welcoming them with obvious delight when 
they found the tribe the second time. It saddened her to think 
this was going to be the last time she would ever see the 
girl. 

"No tears, okay?" She pulled away and looked into Gini's sad 
eyes. 

The girl snuffled. "Han-ker-cheef?" 

Scully looked back at Mulder with raised brows. He fumbled 
through his pocket, withdrew his handkerchief, and held it out 
to Gini, who took it and used it to blow her running nose.

"Tahn-kew," she said, returning it. Then her expression 
changed from sad to stern. She began jabbering in an insistent 
voice and signaled for them to wait.

"Where is she going?" Mulder asked.

"She seems to be looking for something," Scully said. 

They watched as she ran along the edge of the field, peering 
intently into the woods.

"We shouldn't be hanging around." Mulder glanced back at the 
village. 

His legs were trembling so badly Scully worried he would 
collapse. She took hold of his arm to steady him. "Give her a 
minute," she said.  

Apparently finding what she'd been looking for, Gini waved 
them forward.

Scully helped Mulder to her. She heard the sound of rushing 
water before she spotted the stream. It skirted the ball 
field, running from the lake to the woods, and was perfect for 
their escape. Hiking in the water would conceal their tracks, 
as well as provide them with plenty to drink. 

Gini must've had the same idea. She was urging them into the 
stream and whispering earnest instructions. 

"Ye-tsan Ne-ahs-jeh Din-neh-ih. Ye-tsan Dzeh," she said.

Scully nodded, hoping the girl was telling them the stream 
would lead to hospitable territory where they weren't likely 
to encounter any more unfriendly natives.

Before she could thank her one last time, Gini rushed forward 
and wrapped her small arms around her waist. Scully returned 
her tight embrace.

"Nih-hi-cho," Gini said before pulling away and turning to 
Mulder. She hugged him hard, too, then looked up into his eyes 
and repeated, "Nih-hi-cho."    

Mulder bent to kiss her forehead. "Take care of yourself, 
pipsqueak," he murmured.

She nodded as if she understood, then rose up on her toes and 
pressed a kiss to his bearded, bruised cheek.

The girl's show of affection brought a lump to Scully's 
throat, and it was a moment or two before she could say, "Come 
on, Mulder. Let's go."

Together they waded into the stream and turned south, leaving 
Gini standing on the bank. 

*   *   *

As soon as Muhl-dar and Day-nuh were out of sight, Gini 
hurried back to the goal post and picked up the fertility idol 
from the muddy ground. She wiped it clean on her wet tunic and 
then rolled it in her palm, trying to feel its hidden life 
force. 

Nothing out of the ordinary emanated from the tiny figurine. 
It felt like any old bit of bone. 

The discovery disappointed and confused her. She knew Dzeh had 
taken the idol to Tsa-ond Cave to be blessed by Hare Spirit, 
the fertility god, so she expected it to be warm with the life 
force of a new baby.
 
Prodding the idol's hard, swollen belly, she whispered, "Are 
you in there, little baby?"

Wind howled past her and rain splashed in puddles around her 
bare feet. The idol remained silent. Even when she held it up 
to her ear, she could hear no heartbeat or tiny cry.  

Could the baby be inside Dzeh already? Klizzie had told her 
that babies crawled through a man's be-zonz during mating. 
Maybe Hare Spirit put the baby into the idol and then it 
somehow got from there into Dzeh during his prayers in Tsa-ond 
Cave.

This seemed like a very crazy way to make babies! If Hare 
Spirit was powerful enough to put a baby into a statue, why 
didn't he just put it directly into Dzeh?

For that matter, why not put babies into their mothers instead 
of statues or fathers? Then there would be no reason for women 
to mate at all. No need to move away from family, no need to 
share sleeping skins with strangers, no need to let boys put 
their big be-zonz--

Ugh! Gini didn't want to think about it. She was remembering 
that awful stallion with his mare again, the mare's eyes 
rounded with fear as the stallion pushed his enormous be-zonz 
into her. Gini was *not* going to let that happen to her. She 
didn't want to share sleeping skins with a man; she didn't 
want him to put his be-zonz between her legs. She especially 
didn't want that mean, ugly boy Chal touching her!

If Dzeh was expecting her to willingly live with Chal and 
Badger Clan, he was in for a surprise. She wasn't going to 
join with any boy *ever*. 

She was going to run away...tonight. 

She'd been planning it all day, intending to sneak off during 
Jeha's Joining Ceremony, knowing the long celebration would 
keep everyone too busy to notice she wasn't there. But then 
Dzeh ruined everything by dragging her to the stupid ceremony. 
She'd tried to get away, even insulted him in front of all the 
clansmen by calling him a chindi. But instead of being 
embarrassed and releasing her, he hit her! And then the fight 
started with Muhl-dar and the idol fell onto the ground...

Well, it was fish down the river now, and things had actually 
turned out for the better. Now she could follow Muhl-dar and 
Day-nuh instead of traveling on her own. 

She fervently wished they'd invited her to come along with 
them. She wasn't sure why they didn't want her, because she 
was good at finding and preparing food. And she was strong; 
she could carry almost as much as Klizzie. She knew how to 
fish and scrape hides and smoke meat. She could even make 
pemmican.

They would see for themselves soon enough. She would prove to 
them how helpful she could be. All she needed to do was remain 
out of sight for a few days while she followed them, then when 
they were too far from Turkey Lake to bring her back, she 
could show herself and everything would be fine. 

Squeezing Dzeh's idol in her fist, she started across the wet 
field, heading for the base of Crouching Cat Mountain where 
the clans had piled the prizes for the winners of the ball 
games. She would gather supplies from these rich stores before 
starting after Muhl-dar and Day-nuh.

She found the goods covered with a tarp of heavy mastodon hide 
to protect them from the weather. Rain continued to pelt her 
as she rolled back the fur. Her tunic flapped wetly in the 
wind. Water ran in numbing streams down her body and she 
clenched her teeth to stop their chattering. 

Not all the prizes had been left beneath the tarp. Fragile 
items had been put elsewhere for the night. But she wasn't 
interested in those pretty but useless things anyway; she 
would have no need for embroidered tunics, feathered hats or 
fancy baskets while traveling. A sturdy pack and some basic 
gear was all she would need or want to carry. Wiping rain from 
her eyes, she quickly located a suitable travel pack.

She began filling it with only the most essential items: 
fishing line and hooks, flints, a spare knife, a couple of 
scrapers. 

There was one item she knew she would need but couldn't find 
here: a waterbag. She considered sneaking back into camp to 
get one, but decided it wasn't worth the risk of getting 
caught. Spotting the Clan's large gourd of honey, she decided 
to dump it and take the container.

The gourd was sealed with pine pitch, which Gini scraped off 
with her knife before upending the container. Thick honey 
poured out onto the ground, and she scooped up fingers-full to 
eat. It tasted sweet and wonderful and she wished there was 
some way to take it with her. But it was too heavy to carry 
and she needed the gourd for water in any case.

She cleaned her sticky fingers on a deer hide, then turned her 
attention back to her travel pack. Only the fertility idol 
remained to be placed inside. 

It was wrong to take it, she knew, but Muhl-dar seemed to want 
it so badly. He'd risked his life for it. It would make him 
happy if she brought it to him. Maybe he would give her a big 
hug and forget any thoughts about sending her back to the 
Clan.  

"Don't worry, little baby," she said, gently tucking the 
figurine into the pack and covering it with a soft, sleeping 
blanket. "You will be with your new mother and father soon. 
Until then, I will watch over you." 

She stood and shouldered the pack. It was reasonably light. 
Grabbing the gourd, she headed south after the others. 

In no time she spotted them. They were moving very slowly, 
most likely due to Muhl-dar's terrible injuries. They waded 
through A-Chi Stream, dodging boulders and downed trees. They 
carried a mysterious light-stick that projected a fiery beam 
onto their path, making them easy to track even from a 
distance. 

A-Chi Stream ran from Turkey Lake to Tacheene far to the 
south, where the soil was so red it was said to have been 
painted by the blood of warring Spirits. Gini had been there 
last year for an autumn feast with Ant Clan. The territory was 
dry, she remembered, with few trees and many enormous 
anthills. Strange creatures called armadillos roamed the 
blood-red countryside, ravaging the mounds and gorging on 
insects.

The people of Ant Clan had been generous hosts, but they 
practiced many peculiar habits. They bound the heads of their 
babies with tight strips of animal hide, causing the infants' 
skulls to become pointed. Men and women alike shaved their own 
pointed heads and painted their bald skulls with the red 
pigment of their land. When boys became men, they pierced 
their lower lips and plugged the holes with large, circular 
bones. Women tattooed their chins with striped designs. The 
oddest thing these people did to themselves was to file their 
two front teeth into sharp points! They were the ugliest 
people Gini had ever seen.  

To the south of Ant Clan Territory lay a body of water called 
Endless Lake, rumored to be so vast it was impossible to 
glimpse its opposite shore even on a clear day. No one had 
actually ever gone there to see it for themselves because it 
was located beyond Ye-tsan Basin, a mysterious valley that was 
said to be the home of massive serpents, creatures bigger than 
the largest bull mastodon and meaner than a wounded she-bear. 
Only a desperate person would enter such a place. 

It scared Gini to think of going to Ye-tsan Basin and meeting 
up with giant serpents, but it seemed a better choice than 
returning to Turkey Lake where Dzeh would surely kill Muhl-dar 
and send her to live with Badger Clan. She would rather face 
countless giant lizards than be forced to share a sleeping 
skin with Chal.

If Muhl-dar and Day-nuh decided to go to the Basin, she would 
go, too.   

*   *   *

"Want me to carry the pack?" Mulder asked. He trailed Scully 
by a step or two, trying to keep up as they waded downstream. 
He ached all over. Standing was excruciating; walking was 
worse. He felt like dying.

"I've got it," she said. Flicking on her flashlight, she aimed 
its beam to guide him around a boulder. 

"How long have we been walking?"

"Three hours and twenty-three minutes. That's nine minutes 
longer than the last time you asked." 

It took Mulder a moment to make sense of her answer. His mind 
wanted to float off to a warmer, drier place, preferably in 
the 20th Century, where his head didn't throb and he could see 
clearly out of both eyes. His right eye was swollen completely 
shut, wreaking havoc with his depth perception. He couldn't 
walk a straight line if his life depended on it. And he 
couldn't feel his legs from the knees down, they were so 
numbed by the stream's frigid water. He repeatedly lurched to 
the left, tripping over his own feet, no matter how hard he 
tried to focus his one good eye on the beam of Scully's light.

"Why is it so cold?" he asked.

"It's the Ice Age." She glanced over her shoulder to give him 
a concerned look.

"But it's June...isn't it? Do we have to walk in the water?"

She turned her attention back to the stream. "Yes, if we want 
to hide our tracks."

"Oh." 

He wanted to ask why they needed to hide their tracks, but he 
was pretty sure he should know that already.

Instead he asked, "Where are we going?"

"You asked that nine minutes ago, too."

Had he? "Well, what did you say?"

"South, as far as I can tell." 

South. He pictured sunny beaches. Maybe it would be warm there 
instead of raining icy pellets. Sleet pinged off his soaked 
clothes, stung his exposed skin. He drew his collar up around 
his neck when he realized he was shivering uncontrollably. 

The world was pitch black beyond the narrow beam of Scully's 
light. From the patter of rain overhead, Mulder guessed they 
were walking beneath a low canopy of leafy tree branches. The 
stream seemed to twist and turn, although that might just be 
an illusion. He felt dizzy, disoriented. And whenever he 
looked away from Scully's light, he saw stones flying at him. 
They appeared so real he flinched every time.

Angry faces hovered like specters behind the onslaught of 
imaginary stones. He thought he heard them shouting. When 
another stone suddenly hurtled toward him, he lifted his arm 
to protect his head. The motion hurt like hell. Pain zigzagged 
across his ribs. 

"Scullee!" he shouted, and then lost sight of her behind the 
steam of his own breath. His legs gave out and he sank to his 
knees.

Cold enveloped him to his waist, cutting him in half. He felt 
the sickening sensation of spiraling down into a bottomless 
pit.      

"Stay with me, Mulder." Scully's voice sliced through the fog 
in his head, stopping his dizzying freefall. "You're going to 
be okay."

She was kneeling beside him, holding him. Her flashlight 
bobbled as she tried to maneuver beneath his left arm, 
disorienting him further. He felt his stomach roll and grabbed 
onto her. "Scully!" he pleaded, wanting her to stop the 
world's awful spinning.

"I'm right here. I've got you."

She hooked his left arm around her neck and shouldered him 
into a semi-standing position. He cried out in pain when she 
pushed him toward shore, making his legs move, dragging them 
both from the stream.

They collapsed on the rocky bank, a few feet from the water's 
edge.

"Mulder? Can you hear me?"   

He nodded, too exhausted to speak.

Her arms embraced him. He let his head drop to her 
shoulder...tried to catch his breath...stay awake. 

She rocked him. Kissed his hair. Was she 
murmuring...something...? He couldn't make out her words.

Curling into a ball, he rolled into her lap...grateful for the 
warmth of her body...and the gentle timbre of her voice. 
Trying to listen, he sank into blackness. 

*   *   *

An hour later Scully still cradled Mulder's head in her lap. 
He was sleeping on his side, knees drawn up and hands tucked 
into his armpits. Even in the dark she could see the bruises 
that mottled his face, the dried blood caking his brow and his 
swollen right eye. 

The severity of the tribe's assault frightened her. She'd 
assumed the mate exchange would ensure their safety, but 
apparently they'd participated in the loathsome custom for 
nothing. Compliance hadn't earned them the tribe's trust or 
protection. She'd been naive to believe it could.

A strip of pale daylight was beginning to emerge from behind 
the hilltops. Although the rain had stopped, she shivered from 
fatigue and exposure. The frigid air reminded her more of 
December than mid-June. Jesus, if it was this cold in summer, 
what must it be like in winter? She hoped they would be home 
long before they ever had to find out.  

Caressing Mulder's cheek, she tried to coax him awake. The 
tribe would soon discover they were gone. They should keep 
moving, put as much distance between themselves and the 
village as possible, in case Dzeh decided to come after them.

"Mulder?" His skin felt ice-cold. "Wake up, sweetheart."

The endearment slipped easily off her tongue, surprising her 
with how natural it felt. Had he heard it? She blushed at her 
presumptuousness. Mulder didn't share her feelings, at least 
not yet; he hadn't seen their son in a vision the way she had. 
But for her, the unexpected foresight had caused a fundamental 
shift in her view of their relationship. 

Funny, two weeks ago she'd been agonizing over their future 
together, wondering how she could reconcile her love for him 
with her inability to give him children. It seemed wrong to 
encourage his advances...until she'd cradled their son in her 
arms. Then everything changed.

Learning she would bear a child -- Mulder's child -- eased her 
worries about a fruitless and lonely life. The future was 
suddenly full of promise. And it included Mulder in a way 
she'd been hoping all along, yet hadn't realized how much 
until this very moment.

Devotion welled up in her so earnest and strong it swept her 
old uncertainties away. Mulder was not a perfect man, but he 
was perfect for her, and she hoped their child would grow to 
be just like him, searching for the truth and railing against 
the lies of men, even if it meant he also believed in Bigfoot, 
witchcraft and aliens from outer space. There was no doubt he 
would make her proud...make them both proud. How could he not? 
His conception, his birth, his entire being would be nothing 
short of a miracle.

Mulder shifted fretfully in his sleep, interrupting her 
thoughts. She tried to soothe him by stroking his face. 

He moaned when she touched him. "Klizzie?" he murmured.

Her hand froze mid-stroke. She glanced at his lap, checking to 
see if he was aroused, and then immediately chided herself for 
her presumption. He didn't have an erection and even if he did, 
it wouldn't necessarily mean anything. He was only dreaming.

The possibility that he may have impregnated Klizzie during the 
exchange arose again in her mind. She tried to push her worry 
away. Maybe he'd withdrawn before ejaculating. Had he thought 
to do that?

Even if he had, withdrawal was a notoriously unreliable method 
of birth control. She could only hope that Klizzie wasn't at a 
fertile point in her cycle. 

At least her own current infertility removed any concern about 
becoming pregnant by Dzeh. 

Contracting a sexually transmitted disease was unlikely, too, 
given that Europeans introduced most venereal diseases to the 
New World. Dzeh and Klizzie should be free of gonorrhea, 
syphilis and other known STDs, including AIDs, which was too 
recent to be a consideration.

She and Mulder were both clean, she knew, so there would be no 
transmission the other way. 

Unless...

It was possible Dzeh and Klizzie carried diseases that were 
extinct in modern times, to which she and Mulder had no 
immunity. It was even more likely that she or Mulder could 
infect the others with a modern day contagion. The 
introduction of a communicable disease like measles or small 
pox to a prehistoric population could alter history in any 
number of catastrophic ways. 

Jesus, yesterday the decision to participate in the exchange 
had seemed a personal choice. Now she realized their actions 
carried consequences beyond themselves. Everything they did 
here could inevitably impact the future. 

Why hadn't they considered this sooner? 

Mulder moaned again. "Scully?" he mumbled, sounding confused.

"It's okay. I'm right here." 

He rolled his head until he was looking up at her with his one 
good eye. "I was having a nightmare." 

"So I gathered," she said, helping him sit up.

"I dreamt I was playing the worst dodge ball game of my life." 
He tentatively touched his swollen eye. "Guess it wasn't a 
dream. How long have I been out?"

"Only an hour. Feeling better?"

"No, but let's get going anyway." With a deep groan he lurched 
to his feet. Wobbling on unsteady legs, he offered her a hand 
up.

She took it and pulled herself to a standing position. Then she 
grabbed their pack from the ground.

"Any food in there?" he asked, licking his swollen lower lip. 

She opened it and discovered beneath Mulder's boxers, it was 
full of dried meat. She pulled out two stiff strips, gave one 
to him and took a bite of the other herself. "S'good," she 
said, shouldering the pack.

He eyed the meat suspiciously. "Did I see my dirty underwear in 
there?"

"Yes, but this is no time to be picky. Eat it. It's all we have 
and you're going to need your strength."

He sniffed the meat. Then took a small bite. "Not bad," he 
admitted. "Where'd you get it?" He took a larger bite.

"Gini." They began hiking south, Scully in the lead. "She freed 
me from the medicine man and brought me to you." 

Mulder was quiet for few minutes.

"We're never going to see her again," he finally said.

"I know." She thought once more about the threat of contagion 
and the potential consequences of their contact with the tribe. 
"It's for the best."  

*   *   *

Daylight crept across the pre-dawn sky like a slinking cat. 
The rising sun, obscured by a low-slung overcast, brought no 
warmth. Klizzie slept curled on her side on the summit of 
Crouching Cat Mountain. The ground around her bristled with 
frost and she shivered in her sleep. She was wearing only her 
short fur skirt and a lightweight summer cloak made of thin 
doeskin. A dusting of snowflakes dotted her shoulders and 
hair.

Dreaming of soft sleeping skins, a warm hearth fire and Dzeh's 
breath on the back of her neck, she didn't see the pale Snowy 
Owl that circled overhead. It spiraled lower. Only when it 
flapped its broad wings to settle on a nearby boulder did 
Klizzie awaken from her comforting dream.

She gasped when she saw the bird. The arrival of the owl -- 
her Clan's totem -- was an undeniable omen. It was possible 
the bird carried a message from Owl Spirit. But was its news 
good or bad? The owl ruffled its white feathers, turned its 
head and winked at her with one golden-green eye.

Trying to control her panting breaths, Klizzie rose slowly to 
her knees to face the heavenly messenger. It met her surprised 
stare with a tranquil gaze. 

Emotions churned inside her heaving chest: fear, hope, 
reverence, wonder. She had prayed to Owl Spirit for guidance 
and there he was! 

She supposed she should say something, maybe repeat her 
prayer, but her voice was hiding deep within her throat and 
her words refused to come out. She found she could not even 
whisper an apology for her reticence.

Maybe the bird could hear her thoughts! Quieting her mind as 
best as she could, she allowed her prayer to take shape inside 
her head: Help my spirit fly without shame...help my spirit 
fly without shame...help my spirit fly--

The owl turned its head and fastened its gaze upon the 
village. A heartbeat later it rose from its stone perch and 
flapped skyward, where it rode a current into the valley. 
Klizzie watched it hover above the huts like wood ash caught 
in an updraft.

She finally found her voice and yelled, "Help my spirit fly 
without shame!"

Suddenly the bird dove, spiraling into the center of the 
village as if hunting mice. She felt her stomach lurch as the 
owl plummeted. Its talons raked the ground before it flew up 
again, with a writhing snake dangling beneath its belly. The 
bird headed south across the ball field toward the forest. The 
sight of it -- swift, graceful, beautiful -- filled Klizzie 
with optimism and awe. When it disappeared over the trees, it 
seemed to take her troubles with it.

Rising to her feet, Klizzie felt buoyed by the morning's 
extraordinary beginning. A Spiritual visitation was a rare 
occurrence and a great honor. She was eager to tell Dzeh of it 
so he could ask the Shaman to interpret its meaning. She must 
try to remember every detail: the owl's actions, the wind's 
direction, the sun's position. Anything and everything might 
be important.

Not wanting to let a single memory slip away before she could 
share it, she broke into a run and hurried toward the village.

When she arrived at the bottom of the hill, her heart was 
pounding and her chest aching. At the outermost edge of the 
village she slowed to a trot and headed for Lin's hut, 
believing she would find Dzeh there. Up on the mountain she 
had been certain he would welcome the news of her spiritual 
encounter, maybe even believe it meant the Spirits had 
forgiven her for her misdeeds. And surely if the gods could 
forgive her, he could, too. But the closer she drew to Lin's 
hut, the more she felt seized by doubt. She began to worry she 
might have misinterpreted the meaning of the owl and Dzeh 
would not be as forgiving as she'd hoped. 

No one was up yet, so Klizzie passed between the huts 
unnoticed. The communal hearth fires remained cold and black, 
extinguished by last night's downpour. They dotted the village 
like bruises and the sight of them made her feel strangely 
alone. It looked as if the Clan had abandoned the camp in the 
night and no one had come to tell her. 

Outside Lin's hut, she paused to catch her breath and gather 
her courage. She knew she had disappointed Dzeh and could not 
fault him if he no longer wanted her as his mate, but she also 
wondered how she could bear to live without him. 

Perhaps his anger toward her would thaw once he heard her 
account of the owl's visit.

She pushed aside the hide door and entered the shelter. 

A fire blazed in the hearth, casting a warm glow on the 
sleeping occupants. Their bodies formed hills beneath their 
furs. Dzeh's sleeping skins, however, were empty. 

Uncle Lin raised his head when a cold draft, let in by 
Klizzie, ruffled his gray hair.

"Where have you been, my Niece?" he asked, keeping his voice 
low.

She came to him and dropped to her knees, bowing out of 
respect. "I have been praying, Uncle, on the mountaintop."

Lin propped himself on one elbow. He looked at her with kind 
eyes. "Did the Spirits answer your prayers?"

She felt joy swelling inside her at the memory of the owl. 
"Yes, Owl Spirit appeared to me," she said, breathless with 
the wonder of it.

Lin sat up. "Did he speak to you?" His startled tone caused 
several of the others to stir and waken.

"No. He flew from the mountain to the village, where he 
plucked a snake from the ground and carried it away."

"A snake in the village?" Lin's gray eyebrows drew together. 
"Where did Owl Spirit take this snake?"

"South, into the woods. What do you think it means?"

By now most of the hut's occupants were awake and listening. 

"The elders must hear your story and discuss its meaning." Lin 
rose from his bed. His eyes fell on Dzeh's sleeping skins. 
"Where is your mate?"

Klizzie shook her head. It was possible Dzeh had gone to the 
hut where she had slept with Muhl-dar yesterday morning. 
Perhaps he wanted privacy to think about the things she had 
told him. 

She was about to mention this when she noticed Gini's bed was 
also empty. A spear of worry struck her heart.

"Where is Gini?" she asked. 

Lin glanced around the hut, a look of indifference on his 
face. No doubt he assumed she was sleeping at the hearth of a 
cousin or friend. It wasn't unusual for a child to spend the 
night in a bed other than her own. The entire Clan watched out 
for every child, treating each like a son or daughter. They 
were all kin, after all.

But Klizzie remained fearful, remembering last night's storm. 
Had Gini been out in it? She couldn't recall the last time 
she'd seen the girl. Yesterday she'd been so intent on her own 
problems she'd paid little attention to Gini.

At that moment Dzeh's cousin Wol-la-chee pushed his way 
through the hide door into the hut. He was breathing hard and 
his face was flushed as if he'd been running.

"The strangers have escaped," he announced. 

Lin's eyes rounded. He rose and shouldered past Wol-la-chee, 
out of the hut. 

Wol-la-chee glanced at Klizzie. "Are you coming?" he asked, 
and then followed after Lin.

Klizzie remained frozen in place. The strangers have escaped? 
What had he meant by that? What happened last night while she 
was on Crouching Cat Mountain?

*   *   *

Needing to empty her bladder, Gini shouldered her pack and 
climbed out of the broad-limbed hackberry tree where she'd 
spent the night. It was too bad the tree's berries weren't 
ripe, she thought as she hopped to the ground. They would make 
a convenient breakfast.  

After relieving herself, she headed to the stream, picking her 
way carefully through dense greenbriers. Thorns pricked her 
feet and scratched her legs, but she ignored them, intent on 
locating Muhl-dar and Day-nuh. 

She had last seen them beside the stream where they stopped to 
rest. Not wanting to get too close, and preferring the safety 
of a tree for sleeping, she'd hiked a short distance into the 
woods where she located the hackberry. She intended to wake 
and return to the stream at dawn, but sleep had hung onto her 
until the sun was halfway up in the sky.

Quickening her pace, she arrived at the bank to find Muhl-dar 
and Day-nuh were gone. That was good, she thought. They needed 
as much of a head start as possible to outdistance Dzeh's 
search party. As long as they stayed their course, following 
the stream, she could find them easily enough. They were 
traveling slowly, both suffering from injuries. If she jogged, 
she could easily overtake them by mid-afternoon.

There was no doubt Dzeh would come after them. Muhl-dar's 
crime had been serious and Dzeh was very angry. Even so, it 
was unlikely he would lead his search party any farther south 
than Ant Clan territory. Ye-tsan Basin lay beyond that and no 
one would willingly travel there.

Gini began scrounging the wooded bank for breakfast. Juneberry 
plants were plentiful, but their small fruits wouldn't be ripe 
for another moon yet, so she passed them over and collected 
greens instead: chickweed, sorrel and violets. She 
particularly enjoyed the sweet flavor of the violet blossoms 
and popped one flower after the next into her mouth as she 
gathered enough food to satisfy her empty belly. 

She carried the greens to the edge of the stream where she sat 
to eat. The chickweed tasted a little bitter, but the tart 
flavor of the sorrel washed her tongue clean. Watching the 
shallow brook churn southward, she kept an eye out for frogs 
or turtles. Their meat would make a fine meal later in the 
day.

A gentle breeze was blowing from the west. Gini was thankful 
it no longer carried the smell of snow or rain. She hoped the 
clouds would clear soon, allowing the sun to shine. Traveling 
would be so much more comfortable with dry hair and clothes.

Finished eating her greens, she bent to drink from the stream. 
The water tasted cold and sweet. She took long, satisfying 
gulps before standing and lifting her pack to her shoulder. 
Hunger sated and thirst slaked, she began jogging downstream 
in search of Muhl-dar and Day-nuh.

*   *   *

The entire village was in turmoil. People circulated from 
hearth to hearth, speculating about the strangers' motives and 
the location of the missing girl.

Rumors spread quickly that the chindi from Eel Clan had used 
powerful magic to conjure up last night's storm and free 
himself from the goal post. He then cast a spell on the 
Shaman, rendering him unconscious, and released the red-haired 
woman. It was soon discovered that several items were missing 
from the pile of goods intended as prizes for the winners of 
the ball games. Already considered a thief, Muhl-dar was 
blamed for stealing the goods. He was also accused of 
kidnapping little Gini. Only the Spirits could know his evil 
intentions, but there was conjecture that he would make a 
slave of her. Or worse, cook and eat her for his supper. After 
all, Eel Clan men were cannibals, capable of any atrocity.

Many people were helping to search for the strangers and Gini. 
Klizzie checked and double-checked every hut in the village, 
hoping to find the girl. Wol-la-chee led a party of men up 
Crouching Cat Mountain to comb the fields and explore the 
stony summit. Uncle Lin headed east into the hills, taking 
four skilled trackers from Badger Clan with him. A group of 
boys hiked around Turkey Lake, calling Gini's name and looking 
for signs that she and the strangers might have gone north. 
Dzeh scoured the woods to the south, accompanied by three 
experienced hunters from Turtle and Owl Clans.

By mid-afternoon, the disappointed search parties returned to 
the village. Last night's rain had obliterated any prints, 
making it impossible to track the runaways. Dzeh sat with a 
group of eight or nine men around Uncle Lin's hearth, 
discussing what they should do next. Klizzie was present, too, 
although she remained respectably separate from the men, 
sitting half-hidden in shadows by the wall. Her eyes were red 
and swollen from crying and she occasionally sniffled.

"Of course they took her!" Dzeh pounded his fist against the 
ground. "Where else would she be?"

"A saber-toothed cat or--" young Chal began.

Dzeh cut off the boy's ominous speculation. "No. She is *not* 
dead." 

"Being eaten by a cat might be preferable to--" Wol-la-chee 
let the remainder of his thought go unspoken when Dzeh aimed a 
storm cloud expression his way.

"The most logical direction for them to go is south," Lin 
said.

"Maybe they are hiding on the mountain to come back and kill 
us in our sleep," said Wol-la-chee's nephew Ghaw-jih.

"If they intended to kill us in our sleep, they would have 
done so already," Lin said.

"They are running away like thieving cowards," said a pale-
eyed tracker from Otter Clan. 

"And the most likely direction is south. There are mountains 
to the east and west. And the Tkin Glacier lies to the north."

"But the glacier is six days hike away."

"That is true, but heading toward an ice sheet is a useless 
journey. Following A-Chi Stream will lead them into Ant Clan 
Territory."

"And Ye-tsan Basin beyond that. Who would go there? It is full 
of giant serpents," said Ghaw-jih.

"They will probably veer east or west before they reach the 
Basin," Dzeh said, concurring with his uncle.

"They could just as easily veer east or west before Tkin 
Glacier, too," Wol-la-chee pointed out. 

Lin combed his fingers thoughtfully through his long gray 
beard. "Klizzie saw an owl visit our village this morning."

Everyone turned to stare at Klizzie. Dzeh wondered why she had 
kept such important news from him, but then remembered Klesh 
and her inclination to keep secrets.

Lin continued, "She said the owl caught a snake and carried it 
into the woods to the south."

The Shaman, who had been listening without speaking until now, 
pulled his pipe from his mouth and said, "It is a sign. The 
strangers went in that direction."

"They might be following A-Chi Stream," Lin said. "It would 
cover their tracks and provide fresh drinking water."  

"Then we will follow the stream, too," Dzeh said. "When we 
find the strangers, we will kill them and bring Gini back."

"We must be careful. Muhl-dar is a powerful man if he can 
conjure up a storm like the one last night," Lin said. 

All the men nodded in agreement.

"I am not afraid," Dzeh said, rising to his feet. "The longer 
we sit here talking, the further away he gets. Already he has 
a full day's start. My sister is with him and I will not wait 
a heartbeat longer." He looked intently at the others. "I need 
two men to come with me."

Wol-la-chee jumped to his feet. "I will go."

"So will I," Lin said, standing.

Chal stood, too. "May I come, Uncle?"

Dzeh studied the boy's earnest expression and nodded his 
consent.

"I want to go," Klizzie said from her place by the wall.

"Absolutely not." Dzeh's face blazed at the thought of 
traveling with her. They hadn't had an opportunity to talk out 
their differences and a personal discussion would be 
impossible on the trail. The others would be at their sides 
every step of the way and Dzeh did not want them to know 
Klizzie's terrible secret. 

"But--"

"No! You will stay here." Having given his final word, he went 
to collect his travel pack. With the Spirits' help, Gini would 
soon be back in her own bed and Muhl-dar and Day-nuh would be 
dead. 

*   *   *

"Scully, what was your favorite penny candy when you were a 
kid?" 

Mulder trailed her by a step or two. It was late afternoon and 
the sun was finally shining. They'd been traveling non-stop 
since dawn, with only short breaks for drinking or relieving 
themselves.     

"Twizzlers."

"Red or black?" 

Still heading south, they were following the stream but no 
longer wading in it. The current was swift here, the banks 
steep and rocky, sloping downhill, winding through a forested 
gorge of evergreen trees and giant boulders. The clamor of 
rushing water ricocheted off every tree trunk and stony 
outcropping. The air smelled like fermenting fruit. Moss and 
damp earth softened their footfalls.

"Red." Scully stepped carefully over a tangle of tree roots, 
each one the size of Mulder's arm. Her limp was becoming more 
pronounced, but she pressed onward without complaint. "What 
about you? What was your favorite?"

Mulder limped, too. His head throbbed where he'd been struck 
above his right eye. Every muscle in his body protested the 
endless downward trek. He pushed a drooping tree branch out of 
his path and continued on. "I liked those wax lips."

"You did not." She glanced over her shoulder to give him a 
disbelieving scowl.

"No, really, I did. Sam used to buy the Dracula teeth and I'd 
get the lips, then we'd put them on and try to scare Mom."

"Bet it worked." Scully returned her attention to the uneven 
ground. 

"Why Twizzlers?" he asked, trying to concentrate on anything 
but the pain in his ribs or his godawful exhaustion. When a 
bird shrieked overhead, calling "Thief! Thief!" he hunted for 
it in the foliage. He glimpsed a blur of feathers before the 
jay disappeared into the branches.   

"I liked the flavor and they lasted a long time," she said.

"Fire balls and Sugar Daddies last a long time, too."

She shrugged. "Fireballs were okay, but Sugar Daddies stuck to 
my braces."

He tried to picture her as a girl with braces, but had trouble 
filling in all the details. Had she worn her hair long or 
short? Was she skinny? Chunky? Something in between? No doubt 
she had freckles. He could imagine her surrounded by a bunch 
of giggling girlfriends. He guessed she'd become a loner only 
later on...after meeting him. "Bet you were cute with your 
mouth full of wires."

"I wasn't, believe me. Bill called me 'tinsel teeth.' It was a 
very traumatic time," she said, not sounding traumatized at 
all.

"Well, your smile turned out pretty."

She grunted and he wasn't sure if it was in response to his 
comment or the sudden dip in the trail. She held her arms out 
for balance and teetered from one moss-covered stone to the 
next. He waited until she was on even ground before attempting 
to descend the embankment after her.

Thankfully the path flattened out at the bottom of the 
incline. Mulder didn't think his calves and thighs could hold 
out much longer against the inexorable pull of gravity. 

They walked without talking. Every twenty or thirty feet, 
sunlight spilled through the canopy, spotlighting the ground. 
Mulder concentrated on each whitewashed pool, challenging 
himself to overtake the next one without asking Scully to 
please stop and rest. One more, one more, he chanted in his 
head. 

"We don't really talk much, do we?" Scully suddenly asked.

"I just told you about my wax lips; what else do you want to 
know?"

She stopped beneath the next sunbeam and turned to face him, 
skin luminescent, hair glowing like fire. "Mulder, is there 
any chance...?" Her face flushed and she glanced away. Her 
discomfort was obvious. She seemed to be trying to gather her 
courage. 

"Chance of...?"

Either unable or unwilling to look him in the eye, she focused 
on a point somewhere in the middle of his chest. "Did you..." 
She paused to clear her throat. "Did you withdraw from Klizzie 
before you...?"

It was his turn to blush, although not from embarrassment. His 
discomfort was borne of guilt. He'd been hoping this subject 
would never, ever come up. There was no way he was going to 
tell her the truth. Explaining how he'd copped out while she 
surrendered herself would heap insult onto injury. Especially 
now, knowing that her sacrifice had been for nothing.

He must have paused too long before answering because she 
hurried to explain, "I-I'm asking because a pregnancy 
would...could have...far-reaching consequences...catastrophic 
even...what I mean is...your actions...*our* actions could, 
uh, change the course of history...couldn't they? Shouldn't we 
be worried?"

So it was the future of mankind, not his night with Klizzie 
specifically that was bothering her. Feeling both relieved and 
disappointed, he shouldered past her to take the lead. "Ever 
hear of the 'Cosmic Censor'?" he asked.

"No. What does it have to do with us inadvertently changing 
history?" Her voice joggled as she hurried after him. She 
sounded irritated.

"Plenty. It's Stephen Hawking's solution to the Grandfather 
Paradox."

"The Grandfather Paradox: 'Can a man travel back in time, 
father a child who turns out to be his father, making him his 
own grandfather?'"

"That's the one." He realized the conversation was U-turning 
back to his night with Klizzie, so he quickly went on to say, 
"Hawking claims the Cosmic Censor -- an omnipotent entity who 
watches over time travelers -- intervenes to prevent the 
occurrence of such paradoxes. The Censor operates something 
like this: if a man goes back in time and attempts to alter 
his personal history, for example by trying to prevent his 
lover from being killed in a car accident, then the Cosmic 
Censor arranges things so that the woman is killed some other 
way. No matter how many times the traveler attempts to prevent 
his lover's death, she will always die." 

"So you're saying this Cosmic Censor won't allow us to change 
history even by accident."

"According to Hawking."

"You believe that?"

"Scully, you said it yourself. 'Although multidimensionality 
suggests infinite outcomes in an infinite number of universes, 
each universe can produce only one outcome.'"

"I didn't have the Cosmic Censor in mind when I wrote that."

"Maybe not, but I take it you meant that the future can't be 
altered." 

The wet ground was becoming spongier as they approached a 
lowland area clogged with cedars, fallen trees and spiky, 
yellow bog plants. Feeling hemmed in by the broadening stream 
and the thickets of prickly vegetation, Mulder slowed his pace 
to sidestep the increasing number of puddles. A paw print in 
the mud caught his eye. It obviously belonged to a large cat, 
reminding him of the saber-toothed tiger that had chased them 
into a tree their first night in the Ice Age. He glanced 
around for more tracks. Without their guns or even a spear, 
they were sitting ducks for a saber-tooth, or any of the 
massive carnivores that roamed the Pleistocene landscape.

"Let's keep going."
Mulder slogged through a sea of knee-high weeds, vivid with 
yellow blossoms, each one speckled with crimson dots. The 
flowers poked at the sky like bloodied swords.

"Scully, right after we arrived you mentioned something about 
a megafaunal extinction."

"That's right. A major extinction took place around 11,400 
B.P., killing off the megafauna: the mastodons, 
mammoths...saber-toothed cats. Why?"

Unable to find solid footing, Mulder decided to change his 
course. He veered away from the stream and headed out of the 
marshy lowland toward higher ground to the west. "Any chance 
it could have been caused by a couple of time travelers?"

"That's not funny." 

"Hawking could be wrong."

Zigzagging around downed trees that bristled with dead 
branches, Mulder found firmer ground. He tried to gauge their 
direction by the position of the setting sun, but the dense 
canopy made it difficult to be accurate. Not that he was an 
accomplished navigator even when out in the open...or with a 
map, for that matter. He decided to follow the upward slope of 
the ground and worry about reconnecting with the stream later, 
after he was sure they'd circumvented the swamp.

"Mulder, according to Hawking's theory, Jason Nichols must 
have failed when he tried to kill himself at the Biomedical 
Research Facility."

Mulder had thought that very thing at the time. Although he'd 
watched both young and old Nichols burn to death, the 
paramedics had recovered only one body from the fire. "That 
might explain how we got here."

"Jason Nichols continued his experiments."

"Or Lisa did. Nichols' compound -- and time travel -- were 
eventually discovered by someone. I think he might have been 
at Hill Air Force Base with Lisa the day we ended up here."

"Then he might be able to get us back, too." She sounded 
hopeful.

He hated to disappoint her, but it was unlikely that Jason 
Nichols or anyone else would be helping them. "Only if he 
knows we're missing, Scully. Chances are, no one saw us on the 
Base in the first place." 

*   *   *

OFFICE OF COLONEL R. BECK
HILL AIR FORCE BASE
MAY 14, 1998
6:22 AM

"Airman Greenwood found it, sir, during his 0600 perimeter 
check." Captain Linden stood at attention while Colonel Beck 
sat behind his desk and examined the faded ball cap. 

The "Black Sox" insignia was unfamiliar to him. "Where?" he 
asked, turning the cap over in his hands. 

"Approximately 700 meters southwest from Hangar 19, sir, just 
off the tarmac." Linden kept his eyes aimed at a point 
somewhere above Beck's head. "Greenwood followed two sets of 
tracks to the fence, where he discovered a breach and a pair 
of wire cutters. Footprints led only one way, sir...in." 

"The intruders are still on Base?" Beck asked, incredulous. He 
resisted the urge to pound his fist against his desk. Keeping 
Nichols' experiments classified was crucial. General Kaback 
would shit bricks when he heard about this.

"We're searching for them now, sir." 

Beck gave the Captain an intimidating stare. "Find them. 
Quickly and quietly."

"Yes, sir." 

Linden saluted and Beck returned the gesture. 

As soon as the Captain was out the door, Colonel Beck picked 
up the phone and dialed General Kaback's number.

*   *   *

A-CHI STREAM
SEASON OF THE MASTODON FEAST
SUNSET

Shadows engulfed the lowland bog as the sun slipped below the 
horizon. Gini navigated the gloom by following a swath of 
yellow loosestrife. The pale blossoms highlighted the course 
of the stream like tongues of fire, guiding her through the 
murky swamp. She knew she should have stopped long before 
sunset to locate a proper tree to sleep in, but she'd wanted 
to put the wetlands behind her before bedding down, especially 
after spotting cat tracks alongside those of Muhl-dar and Day-
nuh.

Now she was caught in the dark, halfway across the swamp. She 
listened for the growl of cats and the hiss of snakes, but all 
she could hear were shrieking crickets and harrumphing frogs, 
seemingly unconcerned by the splash of her hurrying steps.

Nervously humming a song to allay her fears, Gini waded as 
fast as she could through the ankle-deep water, black as eel 
skin and just as alive. She knew the swamp was filled with 
crawling creatures, some of which would be good to eat if she 
could see them. But now, in the blinding dark, each slithering 
fish and tickling spider felt like the tap of dead spirits 
against her skin.  

Nothing was quite so scary as a night spent alone. Gini had 
always bedded down by firelight, surrounded by aunts, uncles, 
cousins and siblings. She was accustomed to the rustle of 
sleeping skins, soft snores, and occasional coughs. People 
moved about during the night, men returned late from the 
Prayer Lodge, women rose to nurse their babies, children 
scurried outside to relieve themselves. Mothers sang songs to 
coax their little ones to sleep. Fathers told tales. The 
hearth fire crackled. The lodge was safe and pleasant.

Gini missed Klizzie and wished she'd had a chance to say 
goodbye. Thinking of Dzeh, however, renewed her resolve to 
never go back. She would have a new family; she would live 
with Muhl-dar and Day-nuh, and maybe visit their kin in Eel 
Clan. She would help tend their hearth and care for their 
children. They would be happy to have her stay with them and 
would never, ever send her away to live with a boy she did not 
like.

It worried her that she hadn't seen Muhl-dar and Day-nuh since 
mid-afternoon. She had fallen behind when she stopped to hunt 
for food. The three fat frogs she'd caught had tasted good, 
but searching for them meant losing sight of the others.

She plowed forward through reeds and mud. Fireflies blinked on 
and off, hovering over the loosestrife like winking eyes. Were 
the Spirits watching her?

At long last she reached the far side of the swamp and higher 
ground. A sigh of relief shuddered from her chest when she 
located a sturdy shagbark. She scaled its rough limbs and 
quickly settled into a notch that held her like a giant hand.

Satisfied she would not fall, she slid the pack from her 
shoulder and opened it. She rooted through its contents until 
she found the tiny, bone figurine.

"We will sleep here tonight," she told it. She hung on to it 
tightly, careful not to drop it while she stowed her pack in 
the crook of an upper branch.

Pack secured, she leaned against the tree trunk and examined 
the idol. It glowed silvery-white in her palm, lit by the 
rising moon. She stroked its swollen belly.

"Would you like to hear a story or a song, Little Baby?"

She listened for an answer, but heard only the whisper of 
leaves and the faint howl of a distant wolf.

"Don't be scared."

She kissed the tiny figurine and then began to sing. Her high-
pitched voice wavered in the thin night air. 
 
"The red deer sleeps in a bowl of tall grass;
"The wolf pup sleeps in a rocky den;
"The eagle chick sleeps in a nest of twigs atop a loblolly 
pine;
"But you, my Little One, sleep in my arms, close to my heart, 
until you wake again."

She thought of Muhl-dar and Day-nuh camped somewhere 
downstream. Did they sleep holding onto one another? If she 
shouted their names, would they hear her?

"There is no need to worry, Baby," she told the figurine. "As 
long as they follow the stream, we can find them."

Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Shortly after sunup Gini shouldered her pack and began hiking 
south, following A-Chi Stream exactly as she had done the 
previous day. The land was flatter and more open here than to 
the north. Tall shagbark hickories lined both banks, their 
broad, woolly leaves fluttered in the morning breeze, 
filtering the sunrise and casting lively shadows on the water. 
The air tickled like butterfly wings against her bare legs and 
arms. It carried the honey-sweet scent of nectar from the 
profusion of lilies that were growing around the trees' 
gnarled trunks. She plucked several blossoms, staining her 
fingers orange-yellow with pollen. Popping the flowers whole 
into her mouth, she ate while she walked. The sweet-tasting 
buds, dripping with dew, appeased her growling belly and made 
a fine breakfast.

She traveled a considerable distance, listening to the trill 
of vireos and trying to spot the shy birds, before it struck 
her that she had not seen a single footprint in the moist, 
lowland soil since starting out.

Muhl-dar and Day-nuh's unusual footwear left distinctive, 
easy-to-spot impressions, yet there were none here. And now 
that she was looking more closely, she saw no other signs of 
her friends' passing either, no crushed vegetation, no broken 
twigs.
 
Could they be traveling in the stream itself?

The water ran deep and muddy, channeled between sloped banks 
rough with greenbriers and supplejacks. Boulders the size of 
mastodon skulls cluttered the sluggish stream. Walking around 
them would be cumbersome, impossible in some places. It seemed 
unlikely anyone would choose to travel there instead of on the 
bank. 

Dread crept up Gini's spine like a spider in the dark, 
bringing her to a stop. 

Muhl-dar and Day-nuh had not come this way, she realized.

But which way had they gone? And at what point had they 
decided to turn away from the stream?

Worry tightened her chest as she tried to remember when and 
where she'd last seen their tracks. 

Late yesterday evening, she recalled, on the northern border 
of the swamp. Muhl-dar's familiar prints, pressed deeply into 
the mud, and Day-nuh's smaller, shallower tracks had led her 
directly into the murky water. She assumed they would continue 
across to higher land, where the swamp narrowed once again 
into a south-flowing brook. After all, who would leave behind 
a source of fresh water when they carried no waterbag?

And yet, for whatever reason, Muhl-dar and Day-nuh had veered 
away.

Dismayed, Gini turned around. She would need to backtrack 
until she picked up their trail again. Focusing her eyes on 
the ground, she trudged along slowly, paying close attention 
while searching for the smallest sign of their passing.

Her own tracks remained clearly visible in the loamy soil and 
she followed them all the way to the shagbark where she'd 
spent the previous night. Despite her vigilance, she found no 
evidence of the others.

It was then she remembered hearing wolves howl while she sat 
in the tree waiting for sleep to claim her. Wolves could have 
chased Muhl-dar and Day-nuh off their course. Bees started 
buzzing in her stomach at the idea, and for a moment she 
thought she might lose her breakfast.

She decided to cross the swamp again, return the way she'd 
come and locate the tracks she'd seen yesterday. Then she 
would try to follow Muhl-dar and Day-nuh's new trail. 

Not an accomplished tracker, Gini worried she might miss a 
shallow print or mistake a deer trail for a human path. 
Although she had sometimes listened to Dzeh and the other 
clansmen describe their hunting strategies and cunning as they 
sat around the hearth, she knew that listening was not doing. 
Even experienced hunters often returned to camp without meat, 
having lost the trail of their quarry.

The sun was already halfway up in the sky; Muhl-dar and Day-
nuh had a lengthy head start. If Gini failed to find their 
route soon, she would fall too far behind to ever catch them.

Then what would she do?

Legs quaking and heart pounding, she headed into the swamp 
once more.

*   *   *

"Which way now?" Scully asked. Dwarfed by a forest of ghostly 
birches and standing knee-deep in ferns, she waited for Mulder 
to make up his mind. 

He swiveled, a chevron of indecision marring his brow. Finally 
he speared the air with an outstretched arm. "That way..." -- 
his finger meandered northwest -- "I think."

"I was about to say the opposite." She squinted into the 
morning sun. "Weren't we heading west last night?"

"Were we?" He let his arm drop.

"Mulder, I'm thirsty."

"So am I."

"We should have stayed with the stream."

"Scully, it was a swamp."

She licked dry lips, feeling exhausted and hungry and sick to 
death of being in the Pleistocene. "At least it was wet." 

"And full of saber-too--" His jaws suddenly clamped shut. He 
shouldered past her and started hiking downhill. "Fine, we'll 
head east." 

She stood her ground for a moment while his words sunk in. 
"Hey, wait! What were you going to say?" Her voice rattled in 
her chest as she jogged after him.

"Nothing."

"No, you said something about saber-toothed tigers."

He quickened his pace. 

Her ankle throbbed from her unhealed sprain and she 
immediately began to fall behind. 

"Mulder, slow down!"

He took three more long strides before he did as she asked. 
Coming to a stop, he straightened his shoulders and turned to 
face her. "I saw cat tracks. Big cat tracks," he admitted.

"Where?" She caught up to him, breathless and limping.

"In the swamp. Last night."

"You didn't think it was worth mentioning at the time?" 

"I didn't see the point."

"The point--" She struggled to control her temper. Sometimes 
he could be so infuriating, the way he danced around the 
truth, thinking he was protecting her by keeping things to 
himself. Well, she didn't need his coddling. "The point is we 
should be honest with each other."

"That's interesting, consid--" Again he stopped himself mid-
sentence. 

"See? You're doing it right now."

"Doing what?"

"Treating me like a child, which I find insulting -- and 
unjustified -- after all we've been through." Her anger came 
spilling out. "When will we be equals, Mulder? When will you 
be comfortable sharing the truth with me? What exactly does it 
take to earn your trust?"

He stepped closer and loomed over her. When he spoke it was 
through clenched teeth. "Isn't that a bit hypocritical? Tell 
me you aren't keeping a few secrets of your own."

There was no denying she censored her thoughts...a lot. 
Whether she did it more or less often than he did was 
irrelevant. They were both liars-by-omission. 

Ten thousand years from home with no one to depend upon but 
each other and here they were, still letting the worst of 
their old habits drive a wedge of misunderstanding between 
them. For God's sake, what benefit was there to perpetuating 
these foolish secrets and half-truths?  

She looked up at his bruised face, his swollen eye and split 
lip. Dried blood clung to his hair; fatigue lined his brow.

It was time for a change. 

She steadied her voice and asked, "What do you want to know?"

Her question clearly took him by surprise. He must have been 
expecting her to continue their argument, not capitulate, and 
it took him a moment to mentally switch gears.

"Go ahead," she prompted. "Ask me anything. I promise to 
answer truthfully."

Nodding his head, he said, "Okay, I want to know what happened 
between you and Dzeh." Suddenly his nod changed to a vehement 
shake. "No, I don't. Forget it."

He spun around and began walking east again, although with 
less urgency than before.

She hobbled after him, wondering if he really did or didn't 
want to hear about Dzeh. And if he did, could she bring 
herself to tell him? She'd just promised to answer his 
questions truthfully, whatever he wanted to ask, and she'd 
meant it. But then she hadn't expected him to ask about Dzeh. 

Neither of them said a word for the next several minutes. They 
mutely wound their way downhill around stands of prickly 
vegetation and in between saplings as dense as prison bars. 
Mulder paused to hold a brier out of her way, face set in 
angry despair, reminding her of a line from a poem: "Life is a 
quest and love a quarrel." Damn Millay...her poetry often left 
a sting, like a slap. It was no wonder she preferred science 
to literature. Hard facts were dispassionate and predictable. 
Love, on the other hand, was too damn personal and confusing.

Did Mulder *really* want to know what happened between her and 
Dzeh? 

She decided to find out. "He didn't kiss me."

"I said forget it. I don't want to know." His hands curled 
into fists and his strides lengthened. He dodged a thatch of 
brambles.

"Then why did you ask?"

Ignoring her question he said, "Just look for the stream, will 
you?"

They were heading downhill through thickets and shadows. The 
stream was nowhere in sight.

"It only lasted a few minutes," she said, returning to the 
subject of Dzeh. If he wanted the truth, then he'd get it.

He glanced over his shoulder, looking confused. "What?"

"Dzeh...the, uh...thing. The swap."

Revulsion darkened his eyes. "I don't care."

"He didn't hurt me...or at least he never meant to hurt me. He 
was gentle."

"I said I don't care." 

"I think you do."

"Scully, please, don't do this." He stopped walking to pin her 
with a sad stare.

"Didn't you want us to be honest?"

"No, that's what you wanted." 

She blinked up at him, perplexed. Was he saying he preferred 
secrets and wounded feelings over the truth? 

Too bad, Mulder. Enough of this pretense and deceit. Being 
honest had to be better than the status quo.

She opened her mouth, prepared to meet his growing ire and 
tell him every distasteful detail, but he cut her off before 
she could begin. 

"Don't, Scully. Don't say something we'll both regret." Eyes 
bright with tears, he looked uncharacteristically frightened. 

His show of panic brought her up short and she paused for a 
moment to examine her motives before risking their 
relationship. In many ways it would be a relief to confide in 
him, to liberate her unease. But how would her release help 
him? 

He'd been beaten within an inch of his life only yesterday and 
it wouldn't benefit him in any way to suffer the additional 
torture of listening to her confessions.  

"You're right. I'm being selfish."

"I didn't say that."

"No, I said it."

He combed his fingers through his hair, obviously conflicted. 
It was his turn to capitulate.

"Uh...he really didn't hurt you?"

"No."

He turned to gaze at the forest, presenting a weary profile. 
His next words sounded thin and forlorn, and she had to strain 
to hear him when he asked, "What did he do?"

Although his eyes were focused on the tree branches, she knew 
he was giving her his full attention.

"He treated the whole thing in a very business-like way. It 
was as if he had a job to do--"

"A job?" Disbelief flared Mulder's nostrils as his eyes once 
again met hers. "I doubt he felt that way. How can a man make 
love to a woman and not feel--" His voice cracked and, Adam's 
apple bobbing, he cleared his throat. "Can we please not talk 
about this?"

His question aroused unwelcome suspicions. Had he felt 
something for Klizzie? Simple lust? Or worse: attraction, 
pleasure and gratification? She had experienced none of these. 
And from the way Dzeh had behaved toward her he hadn't seemed 
to either.

"Are you saying you enjoyed yourself with Klizzie?"

"No, I'm not saying that. No." The urge to argue appeared to 
leach out of him.

"Then what did you feel?" she asked.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?" 

"You were the one who wanted to play true confessions, not 
me."

"And you're the one who touts the truth as some sort of Holy 
Grail."

"The *truth*..." He paused to fill his lungs, as if preparing 
for battle. "The truth is I didn't want to participate in that 
repulsive custom in the first place, but you already know 
that, so why are we having this conversation?"

They were having this conversation because she wanted to hear 
him say that he loved her, that he found her more attractive 
than Klizzie, or any woman, that he intended to devote the 
rest of his life to her. 

But then, maybe none of those things were true.

Maybe he had enjoyed being with Klizzie more than he was 
admitting.Resentment, alarm, and distrust coursed through her 
veins, singeing her cheeks and turning her bones rubbery. She 
realized she was jealous. Crazy insane jealous and she hated 
the feeling. It was irrational. It made her feel vulnerable 
and powerless, and she'd already had her fill of feeling 
powerless. 

She decided it might be best to keep some secrets after 
all...like her suspicions about Mulder and Klizzie. 

"Fine, this conversation is over."

Eyes stinging with tears and heart pinched with doubt she 
elbowed past him. They'd lost their way in more ways than one, 
it seemed, and now they were stumbling blindly toward nothing 
at all. 

*   *   *

Dzeh led the search party, wanting to be where the view was 
unobstructed and odors unsullied by the passage of his 
companions, where sounds were not muddled by their panting 
breaths and thudding footfalls. His senses were primed for 
this hunt and even after a full morning of strenuous travel he 
remained fully alert.

He slogged through the lowland cedar forest, dodging puddles 
and bog plants, following the murky course of A-Chi Stream. 
The sodden ground held tracks: Muhl-dar's, Day-nuh's and 
Gini's.

Anger burned in his throat at the thought of his sister with 
the strangers. Muhl-dar had robbed him not once, but twice, 
first taking the spiritual offering and then kidnapping Gini. 
Only the lowest sort of villain would accept a man's 
hospitality and then steal a helpless girl-child from his 
hearth.

It sickened Dzeh to consider what despicable acts Muhl-dar 
might inflict on little Gini. Would he force her to lay with 
him on his sleeping skins? The girl was too young to be 
mounted by a mature man; such a mating would be excruciating. 

Silently he begged the Spirits to protect his young sister 
from the evil stranger, to keep her safe until he could rescue 
her.

Perhaps he was already too late. It was possible Muhl-dar had 
claimed his sister's innocence last night, back on the bank 
where the hunters had first encountered the strangers' odd 
tracks. There had been blood beside the prints, and he feared 
it was Gini's maiden blood.

Vengeance ignited his temper and he lengthened his strides. 
There was no doubt Muhl-dar was a fearsome opponent. But he 
was without his powerful thunderclap weapon -- he had left it 
in his hut back at the camp -- and he was no storm-conjuring 
god either; Dzeh had seen his blood run as freely and dark as 
any man's when struck by stone. He could be defeated. And Dzeh 
longed to be the man who choked the last despicable breath 
from his throat.

"Dzeh! Wait!" Wol-la-chee shouted from behind him. 

He turned to find his cousin pacing in a circle, eyes aimed at 
the ground, while the others stood by and watched. 

Pointing a finger, Wol-la-chee squatted and said, "There is 
something here you should see."

Dzeh backtracked to kneel beside him. 

There at their feet, Muhl-dar and Day-nuh's prints pocked the 
muddy soil beside those of a large cat.

"Saber-tooth," Lin said, identifying the paw prints.

"The strangers traveled west from here," Wol-la-chee said. 
"Their tracks head upland, away from the stream."

"But Gini...?" Dzeh turned to scrutinize the tracks to the 
south. "Why would they let her go?"

"Maybe the cat surprised them?" Chal suggested. 

A saber-tooth cat was a serious threat. It might have hidden 
in the swamp to ambush its unsuspecting prey, scattering them 
when it attacked. Had it claimed a victim? Fear stung the back 
of Dzeh's throat. A cat would go after the most 
vulnerable...the smallest...

"Which way now?" asked Wol-la-chee. "Should we follow Gini or 
go after the strangers?"

Dzeh stood and looked first in one direction and then the 
other.

"We will split up," he said. 

*   *   *

Gini hunkered down, submerging herself up to her neck in swamp 
water when she heard the voice of her brother. Trying to make 
no noise, she peered through the cover of loosestrife to 
locate him.

She spotted him with three others: Uncle Lin, Wol-la-chee and 
that awful boy Chal. They were standing only a stone's throw 
away, talking in low tones. 

They hadn't noticed her...yet.

While they talked, she concentrated on stilling the shivering 
in her legs. The black water was frightfully cold. She bit her 
lower lip to prevent her teeth from chattering and possibly 
alerting them to her presence. It seemed each breath she took 
roared like a storm. Couldn't they hear it? Couldn't they hear 
the frantic drumming of her heart?

Lin jabbed the air, pointing west where the ground sloped 
upward into a dense evergreen forest. Dzeh pointed south and 
then suddenly turned to face her. She remained motionless, 
certain he would spot her among the yellow weeds.

But his gaze fell away when he stubbornly shook his head in 
response to something Lin was suggesting.

"No! *You* look for Gini," he said, his voice carrying to her. 
"*I* want Muhl-dar. It is my right!"

Murmurs from Lin and the others were followed by more 
arguments from Dzeh. 

They were splitting up! Oh, no! Dzeh and Lin were heading west 
after Muhl-dar and Day-nuh. Wol-la-chee and Chal were coming 
south, presumably for her. Now what would she do? 

As Wol-la-chee and the boy waded toward her, she held her 
breath and sank beneath the water's surface. She curled over 
her knees and listened to their splashing steps -- deep, thick 
sounds echoing through the cold, murky water. The men stirred 
the mud, blinding her. Their passing caused bog plants to 
churn around her. She felt the slimy tickle of leaves across 
her face. Her lungs soon ached for fresh air, but she didn't 
dare rise. Not yet...not yet. She had to let them pass her by 
and get beyond earshot. She knew they were sharp-eared and 
keen of eye, skilled at spotting their quarry in the densest 
forest. The slightest noise or movement would alert them. She 
*must* wait. She prayed to the Spirits to help her hold her 
breath just a little longer so she might evade detection.

But then what? Which way should she go? If she tried to follow 
Muhl-dar and Day-nuh, Dzeh and Lin would be ahead of her. Yet 
it was pointless to continue south. Wol-la-chee and Chal would 
soon discover she had backtracked and they were sure to do the 
same. She couldn't hide in the swamp forever and she certainly 
was not going to return to Turkey Lake.

Her chest felt ready to burst. The desire to breathe was 
nearly overwhelming. Were Wol-la-chee and Chal gone? 

Finally, she could wait no longer. She lifted her head, just 
enough to release her breath and take in a quiet gasp of fresh 
air.

Slowly, silently, she turned to see if they were out of sight.

Thank the Spirits! They were gone. 

Quaking from cold and fear, she rose on unsteady legs and 
headed west, deciding to follow Dzeh and Lin. If nothing else, 
maybe she would be able to intervene on Muhl-dar and Day-nuh's 
behalf when Dzeh caught up with them.

*   *   *

Begin with a few simple, non-threatening questions, Mulder 
told himself. Start small, that's the key. 

"Sssssoooo...what's your favorite color, Scully?" he asked. 
Four hours of silence had begun to wear on his nerves. 

They'd left the wooded hills behind and were now wading 
through a sea of ripening wheat-like plants, two specks of 
humanity on a vast, open prairie, seemingly alone in the world 
and as insignificant as insects. Their passing embossed twin 
trails, wavering and transient, into the waist-high grass. In 
the distance, a row of hazy mountain peaks studded the 
horizon. Overhead, the empty sky looked close enough to touch.

"My favorite color?" Incredulity pinched Scully's brows. "How 
is that relevant to anything?"

It wasn't really, but at least it had prompted her to break 
her icy silence. 

"Uh...I was just realizing how little we really know about 
each other."

"You were just realizing that?"

"Well, no...I mean, I've thought about it before...of course." 
He tried to laugh but it came out sounding unconvincing and a 
little pathetic. "I mean, we've been working together now for, 
what...five years?" -- five years, three months and twenty-one 
days -- "and we don't know some of the most important things 
about each other."

"My favorite color is not one of the most important things 
about me."

She was still pissed and he was floundering. 

"Uh, okay, not important, necessarily, but basic, which is 
actually quite important by virtue of its very basic-ness..." 
Basic-ness? Was that a word? Shit, he was sounding like an 
idiot. He corrected himself. "By virtue of its basic nature. 
The core of who we are, really, the building blocks to our 
personality. Things that define our character."

God, he was babbling, when what he really wanted to do was end 
their bickering and make up for his abysmal behavior earlier 
in the day. Scully had sucker-punched him with her questions 
about Klizzie, and, caught off guard, he hadn't thought to 
duck and cover, but had struck back instead. Now he felt 
ashamed because she hadn't deserved his ire. Just the 
opposite. She'd sacrificed herself to Dzeh to save his ass, 
and he hadn't reciprocated. He owed her more than an 
explanation; he owed her an apology. 

Too bad he didn't have the cojones to own up to his miserable 
cowardice. 

"Loden," she said at last. "My favorite color is loden. What 
does that say about me?"

Loden? Whose favorite color was loden? And what the hell color 
was that exactly?

"Um, I'd say it defines you as...as..."

"As...?"

"Your own person?" He plucked a lithe stalk from the field and 
tickled her ear with its bobbing seed-head. "Ask me my 
favorite color." 

She batted away his attempt to smooth things over. Again they 
fell into an uncomfortable silence. Evidently she wasn't 
willing to forgive and forget.

His guilt was growing exponentially, threatening to choke him.

He wanted to apologize and tell her the truth, he really did, 
but he couldn't figure out a way to do it that wouldn't end up 
making her feel even worse. 

I'm sorry you gave yourself to a Cro-Magnon, Scully, and, oh 
by the way, did I mention I didn't go the distance myself?

Fuck.

It was bad enough he'd negated her sacrifice by getting them 
kicked out of the tribe over that damn idol. Add to that the 
fact he'd dodged the mate swap and, no matter how he phrased 
it, she was going to be hurt.

He didn't know what to do. He'd really messed up this time. If 
he lived ten thousand years he wouldn't forgive himself for 
allowing that goddamn wife swap. What had he been thinking? 
How had he let himself be convinced it would work out okay? 
Jesus Christ, the choice to turn tail and run seemed so 
obvious now, but at the time...

No, even at the time, he hadn't felt right about it. He'd 
hated it. And now he hated himself for letting it happen. He'd 
allowed another man to make love to Scully. Jesus fucking 
Christ.

To add insult to injury, now he was refusing her the 
opportunity to talk out her experience. As a psychologist, he 
knew how necessary it was for her to express her feelings 
about what happened. He should be encouraging her to open up, 
not closing her off.

If only there was some way he could listen to her side without 
having to tell his. 

She walked beside him, shoulders slumped, hands skimming the 
tops of the wheat plants. Unexpectedly she looked up at him 
and asked, "Okay...what's your favorite color?"

Whether she really wanted to know or not was beside the point. 
She was opening the door of communication and he was grateful. 
"Uh...yellow."

She frowned in disbelief. "Yellow?"

"What, you don't think I have a sunny personality?"

"You want an honest answer?"

He supposed not. Poking his stalk of wheat between his teeth, 
he chewed while he explained, "Yellow is one of the few colors 
I seem to see the same as everyone else." He was constantly 
confusing red with green. Blue was pretty easy to distinguish, 
as long as it wasn't what other people called violet or aqua. 
He glanced at her and wondered how others saw her red hair or 
blue eyes. "Then again, how do I *know* I'm seeing color the 
same way someone else sees it? I mean...isn't it possible 
everyone's perception is unique?"

Her stern expression relaxed as she considered his question. 
Although his meaning had intentionally gone beyond the subject 
of colorblindness, he expected her to give him a scientific 
explanation of rods and cones and visual acuity. Instead she 
surprised him by saying "I don't think we can ever truly know 
another person's experience."

Should that stop him from trying? 

Start small, he reminded himself. 

"Favorite holiday?" he challenged.

It was entirely possible she saw his game for what it was. For 
the time being, she seemed willing to play along.
"Christmas, when Dad was home and the whole family was 
together," she said. "Mom had this beautiful creche that used 
to belong to my grandmother. She'd set it up beside the tree, 
while we kids hung the ornaments. Dad watched from his 
favorite chair. He'd wait until we were finished before he'd 
stand to inspect our work. If it passed muster, which it 
always did, he'd place the star on the top of the tree, like 
some sort of Medal of Honor. He always looked so proud of his 
family at that moment."

"Sounds nice."

"It was." A smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

He wondered what specific memory was causing her contented 
look. "What are you thinking?" he asked, mirroring her smile.

"Oh, I was just remembering the way Melissa used to get mad at 
me every Christmas Eve."

"So there was a flaw in this Norman Rockwell holiday of 
yours?"

She nodded. "Missy was a peeker."

"A peeker?"

"Mm, we'd sneak downstairs after Mom and Dad went to bed and 
she would shake the presents, try to peek beneath the gift 
wrap, that sort of thing. I was more restrained."

"What a surprise."

"Hey, I'm proud of the fact I could look without touching."

"No wonder it took you five years to jump my bones." He dodged 
a playful slap. "You *never* peeked, Scully? Not once?"

"No, of course not. Did you?"

"Well, yeah...I thought everyone peeked."

She snatched the stalk from his mouth and, smiling wider, 
stuck it between her own teeth. He was struck by the intimacy 
of this gesture and took it as absolution for his hurtful 
behavior earlier in the day.

"Missy always tried to talk me into giving her hints about the 
gifts I'd gotten her, promising to tell me what she'd gotten 
me in return," she said through clenched teeth. The seed-head 
bobbled on the end of its long stem as she spoke. "I told her 
'loose lips sink ships,' which just made her madder. It drove 
her crazy that I could keep a secret when she--" Her smile 
suddenly vanished and she grimaced, offering him a penitent 
shrug.  

He wasn't about to surrender their hard won geniality over the 
casual mention of secrets. "My favorite holiday was Flag Day."

"Mulder, Flag Day isn't a holiday."

"Tell that to my Great Aunt Emily. She used to babysit me 
before Sam was born. She'd come over from New Bedford, take me 
to Menemsha Pond to play on the beach, build sandcastles and 
stuff. One day this old guy with an artificial leg limped over 
to us and stuck a miniature American flag in the turret of my 
castle. He said, 'Every castle needs a flag, little man. Be 
sure to guard those stripes with your life. Better soldiers 
than you and me have died for 'em.' Then he tipped his hat to 
Aunt Emily and said, 'Happy Flag Day, ma'am.'"

"That's creepy, Mulder. And I'm not quite seeing why this is 
one of your favorite holiday memories."

"There's more." He plucked a fresh stalk of grass and twirled 
it absently between his fingers. "I took his words to heart 
and brought the little flag home with me. Naturally, Mom 
wanted to know where I'd gotten it. I told her and she had 
pretty much the same reaction you did." He tapped the end of 
her nose with his wheat, making her smile. "She threw the flag 
away."

"She threw it away?"

"Yep, she said it probably came off a grave down at 
Squibnocket Point."

"She might have been right."

"Yeah, she might've been. Didn't matter. Aunt Emily took me to 
get an ice cream cone to make me feel better."

He tossed the wheat like a spear. It flew only a couple of 
feet before it nose-dived into the field.

"Mulder, I don't understand your story."

"What's to understand?"

"Well, it's mildly disturbing and seems to have no point."

"Does it have to have a point?"

"No, I suppose not. It's just...I was hoping for some kind of 
resolution."

He wanted to say, "life isn't always that neat and tidy, 
Scully," but figured she already knew that. If her cancer and 
everything else that had happened to her since she'd met him 
hadn't driven home the point, then their weeks here in the 
Pleistocene certainly must have. 

"Scully, I don't want to fight anymore. Can we call a truce?"

"Mulder, we're not fight--" She stopped herself and removed 
the grass from between her lips. "I don't want to fight 
either." Then, in an uncharacteristic confession, she 
admitted, "I feel scared here. And helpless, which I hate. But 
I shouldn't take it out on you. I'm sorry."

He reached for her hand and dovetailed his fingers with hers. 
She didn't pull away and it felt so damn nice to be touching 
her. "I'm sorry, too," he said. 

"In the interest of not antagonizing each other further, how 
about we come up with a list of subjects never to be mentioned 
again?"

"Forever?" he asked.

"At least until we return home."

Would Dzeh be on her list? he wondered. And what about 
Klizzie? 

"Agreed." 

Apparently she was in no hurry to start her list. The next ten 
minutes passed without either of them speaking. He was 
reluctant to present his own list. There were several items on 
it he preferred to never mention, not even for the sake of 
claiming them off limits. Some would hurt her; some would hurt 
him...or at least hurt his relationship with her. 

Finally he broke the silence by finishing his earlier story. 
"Aunt Emily mailed me a new flag every Flag Day until she died 
last year at the age of eighty-two. She always included a 
note, which read, 'Every castle needs a flag, little man.'" He 
gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "That might not be the sort of 
resolution you were looking for, Scully, but I ended up with 
thirty-three flags. That's a hell of a lot more than I ever 
expected."

She offered him a sad half-smile and returned the pressure to 
his hand. "Do you still have them?"

"No. After her funeral, I went to Menemsha Beach and built a 
giant sandcastle with thirty-three turrets. Put a flag in each 
one."

She was quiet for a moment, as if trying to work this 
information into their shared timeline. "I didn't know your 
aunt died last year."

He shrugged. "You'd just gotten out of the hospital. It was a 
few weeks before we went to Florida to hunt moth men."

"Oh." She stopped walking, pulling him up short. Snagging his 
other hand, she stared up at him with teary eyes. "You're 
right, Mulder, we don't know some of the most important things 
about each other."

No, we don't, Scully. You don't know how much I hate myself 
for letting you down, or how angry I am that Dzeh didn't kiss 
you because I know he did much worse than that, or how very, 
very badly I want to tell you I never touched Klizzie. She 
wasn't you and you're the only woman I'll ever love, with my 
body or my heart. 

Rather than saying any of those things, he wrapped his arms 
around her and sighed into her hair.

"We know each other's favorite colors. That's a start." 
Closing his eyes, he leaned against her and whispered, "The 
rest will come."

*   *   *

From her vantage point, sitting on the summit of Crouching Cat 
Mountain, Klizzie stared into the valley where the world 
appeared unchanged. 

It was an illusion, she knew. 

Turkey Lake still rested like a blessing in the palm of the 
valley, reflecting the cloudless midday sky. The sky was the 
color of pickerelweed, which blossomed in bunches in the 
shallows by the lake's eastern shore. Klizzie knew that 
clusters of frog eggs clung to the reeds there, full of the 
promise of life.

The air was balmy and scented with clover. Honeybees drifted 
from flower to flower. The hillside hummed with their 
collective buzz. An occasional silent butterfly waggled among 
them, peaceably sharing the Spirits' bounty.   

The village itself appeared tidy and tranquil. Communal hearth 
fires glinted like sunshine off stone. Domed huts dotted the 
clearing, familiar, safe and welcoming, although empty now 
because most of the villagers were at the ball field where 
Turtle Clan was battling Badger Clan in a game of yea-go. The 
traditional ceremonies of the Mastodon Feast continued, 
despite personal concerns about thieving strangers or one 
missing girl. Yesterday's events were insignificant when 
compared to the clans' spiritual obligations or even their 
empty bellies.

The ball suddenly struck a goal post, cracking like one of 
last night's lightning bolts. The sound echoed against the 
hillsides and sent a cold Spirit skittering down Klizzie's 
spine. A cheer erupted from the onlookers. For the first time 
in her life, Klizzie felt no kinship with these people. Their 
gaiety was a spear in her sad heart.

Where was Gini, her Little Chick? she wondered. And Muhl-dar 
and Day-nuh? And Dzeh? Worry knotted her stomach and tears 
burned her eyes. She found it difficult to believe the 
newcomers would hurt Gini; they had shown no unkindness toward 
anyone in the Clan. Yet people were accusing Muhl-dar of 
stealing a prayer offering from Tsa-ond Cave. They were saying 
worse things, too, impossible things, and she refused to 
believe them. He had treated her only with gentleness and 
respect two mornings ago when they lay together on the furs, 
and again yesterday when she went to him, begging for his 
silence.

She hugged her knees and gazed out over the forested valley to 
the south, where fir trees bristled, hemmed in by mountain 
ranges. Somewhere hidden beneath the evergreen boughs, Dzeh 
and the others were tracking Muhl-dar and Day-nuh, searching 
for Gini. Klizzie desperately wanted the girl back, but she 
feared for the newcomers' lives, and she preferred they escape 
undiscovered than be caught and killed...even if it meant she 
would never embrace her Little Chick again.

She scanned the sky for a sign of the owl, but the Spirit had 
seemingly abandoned her; the heavens lay as empty as her 
heart.

Another cheer sounded from the ball field. Klizzie rose to her 
feet, intending to return to the village, but when she stood, 
her world began to spin, her vision blurred and a wave of 
nausea dropped her to her knees. Crawling on all fours, 
trembling, she vomited her meager mid-day meal, and waited for 
her dizziness to subside.

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
MAY 14, 1998
6:48 AM

Tamping down an urge to order his driver to speed up, Colonel 
Beck sat stone-faced in the passenger seat as the young airman 
steered their jeep out the front gate. On the main road, they 
turned west. Beck glanced into the side mirror. Nothing behind 
them but another hot Utah sunrise and an empty stretch of 
highway. Up ahead, more open road, although the intruders' car 
should be coming into view soon. Captain Linden had reported 
finding it parked a mile from the breach in the south fence. 

How the hell had two trespassers gotten past Security, Beck 
wondered? Especially during a test. The timing couldn't have 
been worse.

General Kaback had been livid when Beck called him. Now the 
old blowhard was on his way to Hill. Christ, that was all he 
needed. Kaback would insist on micromanaging the Project even 
though the damn idiot couldn't tell a tachyon from a fucking 
turd.

"Twelve o'clock, sir." The driver nodded at the dusty 
windshield, directing his attention to a blue Crown Vic parked 
a quarter of a mile ahead on the shoulder. Captain Linden was 
waiting beside it, along with half a dozen security personnel. 
They squinted in the early morning sun, their elongated 
shadows looking like gouges in the pavement.

The driver pulled alongside the Ford, and Beck was out the 
door before the jeep had rolled to a complete stop. Salutes 
went up all around.

"Report," Beck ordered as he paced around the car. Utah 
plates, he noticed. Rental sticker on the rear bumper. 

"The vehicle was rented to a Mr. Fox Mulder yesterday 
afternoon in Salt Lake City, sir," said the Captain.

The trunk was up. Two overnight bags rested inside, wide open, 
their contents neatly removed. Shaving kit, sweat pants, men's 
dress shoes and slacks, clean shirt, necktie, and underwear 
were arranged beside a blue-gray duffle. The other bag was a 
hard-sided case, powder blue. Beside it were assorted women's 
clothes, a pair of high heels, toiletries, pajamas, lingerie.    

"You run a check on this guy Mulder?" Beck asked.

"Yes, sir. He's FBI."

"FB--" Fuck. He had been hoping the intruders were nothing 
more than a couple of ballsy UFO kooks, attracted by last 
night's light show.

"What else?" he snarled. 

"Sir, Agent Mulder was a passenger on flight 1204 from Dulles 
to SLC yesterday afternoon. Seat 19B. Arrival time, 3:32 p.m. 
local."

"And the woman?" Beck nodded at the peach-colored bra and 
panties before he moved around the car to peer into the 
driver's side window. What appeared to be sunflower seeds 
littered the mat below the steering wheel.

"Agent Dana Scully, sir, also a passenger on flight 1204. Seat 
19C."

What the hell were two FBI agents doing out here? And why not 
come in the front gate instead of sneaking under the fence?  

"Sir, should I contact the Bureau, find out if Agents Mulder 
and Scully are on official assignment?"

Beck's head snapped up and he pinned Linden with a steely-eyed 
stare. "No, I want you to locate them. You got that, Captain?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Tow the car. Stow it in Hangar 19. And bring Agents Mulder 
and Scully to me as soon as you find them." He spun on his 
heel and returned to his jeep. Kaback would be here in less 
than five hours. That didn't leave much time.

*   *   * 

LATE PLEISTOCENE
JUNE 27, 7:45 PM

"You know what I miss the most? A toothbrush." Mulder picked 
his teeth as he walked, trying to dislodge an irritating bit 
of smoked meat from between two molars with his fingernail. 
"Or at least some dental floss. What about you?"

Scully limped along beside him. He admired her dogged 
persistence and tried to ignore the ache in his own legs.

"No contest," she said. "Toilet paper." 

He nodded with understanding and sympathy. 

All around them, as far as the eye could see, gentle hills 
ribbed the landscape. Furred with grass, the prairie seemed 
endless, its monotony broken only by domed anthills and an 
occasional copse of deciduous trees nestled in the shallow 
valleys. To the east, a sluggish river zigzagged southward, 
trenching the red earth and reflecting the golden rays of the 
setting sun. They'd been navigating its countless oxbows all 
afternoon. 

It was possible the river was the same waterway they'd started 
out on, or it might be another. They had no way to know and he 
supposed it didn't matter. Its water tasted sweet and slaked 
their godawful thirst.

He ran a hand over his bearded jaw and continued his wish 
list. "Razor."

"Hoo boy, I'm with you on that, G-Man." She didn't return his 
smile, so he wasn't certain if her enthusiastic response was 
aimed at his need to shave or hers. She added, "Clean 
underwear." 

Clean anything would be welcome. His filthy clothes could 
probably walk on their own. Smelling their sour tang, he 
longed to shed them, then clean himself in a steamy, hot 
shower with a bar of real soap. And after his steamy, hot, 
soapy, magnificent shower, he would collapse onto his couch to 
watch some TV, and maybe have a... "Big, fat slice of 
pepperoni piz--"

"No food!" She gave him a disapproving scowl. The setting sun 
darkened the creases in her face, making her look fiercer than 
she probably intended. "We agreed. Rule number six, remember?"

"Right." According to their new ground rules, twenty-two 
subjects were now off limits. Any and all modern-day foods 
fell somewhere between "sex with other people" and "what 
happens if we never get home." He selected an acceptable 
topic. "Shampoo."

His answer seemed to placate her and her reproachful 
expression softened. "Bubble bath."

"Socks."

"Ibuprofen."

"A cold beer...and that's not a food," he hurried to add.

"It's edible, isn't it?" She cocked an accusatory eyebrow.

"It's a beverage and we have no rule against beverages. 
Although you're welcome to negotiate for it, if you like." 

"No thank you. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind a beer 
myself." She gazed wistfully across the prairie. 

The lengthening shadows of sunset striped the rolling hills 
with fingers of jet, making the land look like an old-
fashioned washboard. Crickets whined in the tall weeds at 
their feet, while iridescent birds swooped overhead, chasing 
insects in the near-dusk. The swallows glided in dizzying 
barrel-rolls through the crisp air. It would've been a perfect 
evening if not for the fact that they were ten thousand years 
away from home. 

"Maybe not a beer, but a nice glass of wine," Scully said, 
amending her choice. 

They began climbing the next swell of land.

"Red or white?"

"At this point I'm not that picky." She tilted her head, 
snapping the bones in her neck. "I miss my favorite robe and 
slippers."

"I miss my Knicks T-shirt." He yearned for all the comforts of 
home. More than that, he yearned to comfort her, to somehow 
make up for bringing her here in the first place.

"Sheets, pillows and a bed. I'll never complain about crappy 
motels again."

"A silver lining," he teased. "It's good to know our 
deprivation hasn't been for nothing."

She gave him a light jab in the ribs. 

He grinned and arched away from her poking finger, glad to see 
her mood improving. 

A mischievous glint lit her eyes. She aimed two fingers at 
him. 

"Scully...no...," he warned. 

Backing away, he raised his arms to deflect her playful 
attack. But she was too fast for him and managed to spear him 
in the stomach. His grunt made her laugh and try again.

Not really wanting to stop her, he retreated backward, 
stumbling uphill.

"Watch out," she said, eyes flickering to the slope behind 
him.

A diversionary tactic, he was certain, but he glanced over his 
shoulder anyway to see what danger might be lurking there and, 
sure enough, she took full advantage of his inattention. She 
launched herself at him, prodding him again in the stomach, 
the ribs, and one low hit to the groin that made him squeak 
and double over. 

She chuckled at her victory and pressed her advantage, snaking 
her fingers underneath his jacket to tickle his armpit. 

It was good to laugh with her, to fall back into their 
comfortable camaraderie.

Struggling only in a half-hearted attempt to fend off her 
attack, he pinned her arm beneath his while grabbing for her 
other hand, which was insinuating its way beneath the 
waistband of his pants.

"Scully...don't...payback's...a *bitch*-- Ahh!" He yelped and 
writhed beneath her wiggling fingers.

"But victory is sweet," she said, flashing teeth and gums.

God, she was beautiful. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, hair 
tousled by their mock battle and the relentless breeze. She 
smelled heady and tart from exertion. Her hands were 
feverishly hot and everywhere she touched him his skin 
sizzled. 

Her fingers slipped inside his pants.

"Whoa...Scully..." He staggered backward to the crest of the 
hill, grabbing her wrist to stop her. He didn't really want to 
end their fun, but if she continued much lower she'd soon 
discover that their roughhousing had begun to arouse him. 

Suddenly she stopped fighting him and he thought the jig was 
up, until she gazed past his shoulder and said, "Mulder, 
look."

"I'm not falling for that again."

"No...I'm not joking." She withdrew her hand from his pants.

The intensity of her expression told him she was serious. He 
turned to follow her gaze. 

There in the next valley, tucked into an oasis of trees by an 
elbow in the river, was a village.

"Shit." He dropped to his knees in the weeds, dragging her 
down with him.

"Mulder, I think it's abandoned." 

He pulled his binoculars from his coat and held them to his 
eyes. 

A dozen or so roofless huts dotted the riverbank. Their bone 
supports gleamed golden-yellow in the setting sun. Scorched 
circles indicated the locations of old hearth fires. Not a 
wisp of smoke curled skyward. 

"See anyone?" she asked.

"No. Looks like an Ice Age ghost town. But maybe they left 
behind something useful." He rose to his feet. "Like food."

Tucking his binoculars away, he loped downhill. 

"Or flint for making a fire." She hobbled after him.

"Or a spear." 

"Or a waterbag."

It was funny how quickly their wish list had switched from 
toiletries to survival gear. All a matter of perspective, he 
decided. A moment ago shampoo seemed a necessity. Compared to 
food and water, however, even toilet paper became little more 
than a frivolous luxury.

A few minutes later he neared the skeletal shelters and slowed 
to a walk, keeping a cautious eye out for any sign of ambush. 
After the trouble they'd encountered with Dzeh's tribe he had 
no desire to fall into the hands of another hostile group.

He needn't have worried; the camp was deserted. 

Splitting up, they swept the area, hunting for anything 
useful. Much to their disappointment, they soon discovered the 
village had been stripped bare. The former inhabitants had 
left behind nothing of value. All that remained were the 
shelters, semi-circles of stacked mastodon skulls, too heavy 
to transport. 

Collecting and stacking so many large bones clearly 
represented a significant expenditure of time and energy, 
indicating the villagers' commitment to this location. The 
implication was that they would return to it at some point to 
reestablish their residence, reusing the bones. 

But when? Soon? 

From the worn grass and scorched ground, Mulder guessed that 
occupancy was fairly recent, otherwise vegetation would have 
overgrown the paths between the huts. Wind and rain had yet to 
obliterate the campfires' black circles. 

Hands on his hips, he swiveled to inspect the surrounding 
area. Not a single animal roamed the grassy landscape or waded 
in the river. Nothing moved in the trees. No doubt the 
villagers had hunted the area heavily, depleting it of game 
before moving on to richer territory.

"Find anything?" he called to Scully, who was inspecting a hut 
about twenty feet away.

"Maybe." She held up a matted fur blanket. "It's pretty thin, 
but it beats sleeping on the bare ground."

He nodded, wishing she'd found a mastodon roast instead of a 
skin. Their smoked meat was nearly gone and, without weapons 
or tools to make weapons, they had no way to replenish their 
supply. Hunger was only a day or two away.

The lighthearted moment they'd shared back on the hill now 
seemed remote and unreal. Their situation was grim, more 
serious than anything they'd ever faced before. Behind them 
lay certain death, ahead, more danger. Worst of all, there 
seemed no way to get home. 

Tamping down his fears about their future, he crossed the camp 
to where Scully stood slapping dust from the old fur. 

"Thought we might spend the night here," she said, spreading 
the blanket on the ground inside the shelter's bony walls. "No 
roof, but I don't think we need to worry about rain."

It was true, not a cloud marred the evening sky. A few bright 
stars already winked above the eastern horizon. The chirrup of 
crickets intensified as twilight approached.

He moved to help her smooth out the folds in the blanket. 

They would rest for a few hours, and then continue south at 
sunup. His instincts urged him to not give up hope. Protecting 
her was paramount. She meant everything to him and he would do 
whatever it took to bring her home safely.

*   *   *

Dizzy, nauseous, and lying face down on the ground, Klizzie 
lifted her aching head and tried to blink the fog from her 
eyes. When her vision finally cleared she found herself 
staring at two bare, muscular legs, one of which was hideously 
deformed by deep, ropey scars. The mutilated leg was missing a 
toe on the left foot.

Klesh!

Klizzie pushed herself into a sitting position and gaped at 
her loathsome cousin. She must have fallen asleep, she 
realized. It had been mid-day when she felt the onset of 
queasiness and now the sun was setting.

Klesh squatted next to her, blocking the sun's dying rays. 

"You do not look so well, Kliz."

Her tongue tasted sour and her stomach churned like water at 
the bottom of a falls. "What are you doing here?"

"Is that a proper way to greet your cousin?" He laughed at her 
obvious astonishment and displeasure. 

Four years hadn't changed him. Beard matted with snarls, lips 
curled into a cruel sneer, dun-colored eyes smoldering with 
animosity...he was as repulsive as ever. It shocked and shamed 
her to think she had once lain with this man.

"Are you not curious about your brother?" he asked.

Yes, where was Tse-e? Why was Klesh alone? She glanced past 
him, down the hillside to the village, where the clans had 
returned from the ball field to cook their suppers. "He did 
not go there, did he?" she asked, worried about what the Clan 
might do to him if they discovered him. 

Klesh's sneer turned more hateful. "That would be impossible 
since he is dead."

Dead? "How...?"

"Killed by those chindis you befriended. The red-haired woman 
and her mate."

Day-nuh and Muhl-dar? This could not be true. "You are lying."

He had always been a liar, eager to get his own way even at 
the expense of others. 

He held up his right arm to show her a strange silvery 
bracelet, darkened by dried blood, which dangled from his 
wrist. "Li-chi Tse-Gah's mate wounded Tse-e, then lashed the 
two of us together with this unbreakable binding." He tugged 
on the bracelet to demonstrate its durability. "Then the 
chindis left us to be devoured by buzzards. After three 
torturous days, the Spirits finally took your brother," -- he 
lowered his eyes as if out of respect -- "and I cut myself 
free."

Cut...? Her stomach bucked again and she swallowed its sting. 
Tse-e was her only sibling and although he had not always been 
the kindest brother she lamented the possibility that he might 
be dead. Especially if his passing had been as agonizing as 
Klesh described.

Tears flooded her eyes at the seeming injustice of the 
Spirits' choices. Why was Tse-e taken and not Klesh?  

"That does not explain why you are here," she said, holding 
back her tears. She did not want to show weakness by crying in 
front of him.

"I have come for revenge."

Her heart sank deeper into a murky pond of despair as she 
guessed his motives. "You plan to kill Muhl-dar."

"If that is the chindi's name, yes." He reached out to cup her 
cheek, setting the silvery bracelet rattling. "And you are 
going to help me."

She recoiled from his unwelcome caress. "Why would I do that?"

"Because if you do not, I will tell Dzeh your little secret." 

"I have already told him the truth."

"You told him everything? You told him how much you enjoyed 
your night on my sleeping skins?"

Shame rolled through her at the memory of Klesh with his face 
between her thighs, bringing her to her pleasure. She loathed 
herself for allowing it to happen and believed Dzeh would 
never love her again if he learned the humiliating details of 
that awful night.

The sun sank behind the mountain, taking with it the last rays 
of daylight. Regret swallowed her like a shadow.

"The man named Muhl-dar stole everything from me, Kliz -- my 
food, my gear, and my best friend. Help me avenge Tse-e's 
death. He was your brother and he did not deserve to die at 
the hands of a vile stranger."

She pictured her small, nervous brother, wounded by Muhl-dar 
and then tethered to Klesh, suffering unimaginably as he 
slowly perished.

Even so, she would not help Klesh. He was not to be trusted.

"Muhl-dar has disappeared," she said, hoping to discourage 
him. "He left the village two nights ago."

"Left?" Klesh sat up straighter. "Which way did he go?" 

"I do not know," she lied, but her eyes flickered toward the 
forest to the south.

He caught her glance. "I will go after him. You must bring me 
food and supplies from the village."

"I will not!"

His eyes narrowed, frightening her with their intensity. "Then 
I will go there myself and tell Dzeh all about our night 
together."

"Dzeh is gone, too," she blurted without thinking. "He is 
already looking for Muhl--"

Klesh's scarred face brightened at this news and she regretted 
letting her panic wrestle the truth from her.

"Did he go alone?"

She hesitated to say, not knowing what he planned to do. 

He grabbed her arm and growled, "You might as well tell me, 
Klizzie, for I will find out soon enough on my own."

"Let me go!" 

She tried to twist free, but he hung on tight and hauled her 
to her feet. 

"Come with me." 

Her lightheadedness returned as soon as she stood upright. 

"Where...where are we going?" she stuttered, thinking she 
might vomit again.

"To the village."

"No! You cannot. The Clan--"

"Tse-e is dead," he said, strong-arming her down the slope. 
"He was your brother and my cousin. The Clan will understand 
if you take me in so we may grieve together."

"Dzeh will never allow it."

"Dzeh is not here to object, is he?"

The world tilted beneath her unsteady feet. If not for Klesh's 
brutal grip, she would have fallen to her knees. What was 
happening to her?
 
*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
COMPUTER LAB, HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
7:20 AM

"Lisa, take a look at this." Jason Nichols hunched over his 
keyboard and tried to make sense of the data on his monitor. 
The graphic model indicated a spike in gravitational 
displacement during last night's test, which meant that either 
the computer was malfunctioning or something had gone very 
wrong with the test itself. 

Lisa Ianelli abandoned her terminal to cross the lab and stand 
behind him. She peered over his shoulder at the data and 
gasped.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes. McGuane's Transference, completely anomalous. I didn't 
expect to see this for another three to five years."

Lisa studied the evidence. "It's impossible."

"Apparently not," Nichols said, adjusting his glasses. He 
tapped his keyboard, bringing up the next chart. It confirmed 
the first. "Not a computer malfunction."

Lisa leaned closer, almost touching him. Her long, spiraling 
hair tickled his cheek and he felt drawn to her perfume. God, 
he loved this woman, despite the risk to his plans.

"Does it mean someone's come back from the future?" she asked.

He knew she was referring to his future self, who had tried to 
destroy their work last year. When the old man died in the 
fire at MIT's Research Facility, young Nichols was thrown 
thirty years into the future in his place.

It was there he learned the truth when he witnessed a world 
without history or hope, where everyone knew everything that 
would ever happen. It was the same future the old man had 
warned him about and had tried to stop.

Nichols returned to his own time convinced that he must 
prevent it, too. Which is why he'd sabotaged last night's 
test.

Only...he hadn't expected this.

"If I'm reading the data correctly, I don't think anyone came 
back from the future." He traced the computerized image with 
his index finger. "I *think* we may have sent someone into the 
past."   

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
JUNE 27, 9:42 PM

"I-I'm nervous. Can you believe that?" Mulder asked.

Yes, she could believe it. She'd told him she wanted to make 
love, but as much as she yearned for him, she was nervous, 
too, afraid that her body might rebel against this intimate 
act, a reaction to Dzeh's recent invasion, not Mulder's 
attentions.

She was dressed in her camisole and pants. He wore his jeans, 
too, but no shirt. Both of them were barefoot. She lay on her 
back on the fur robe and he knelt beside her. A circle of 
ancient bones bleached by moonlight surrounded them. No roof 
covered their heads, only a ceiling of stars and the pregnant 
moon. 

Mulder leaned forward, staggeringly handsome, despite his 
bruises. His beard had filled in, dense and dark, changing his 
clean-shaven good looks to something more primitive but 
equally attractive. The hair on his head had become shaggy, 
too, during the last several weeks. It curled over his ears 
and fell into his eyes, making him appear boyish and wild. A 
loss of weight had defined his muscles, transforming his 
already lanky body into one more hardscrabble and sinewy. Even 
injured, he looked strong, durable and unequivocally 
masculine. Lean and half-naked, he stole her breath and her 
heart.

She was hoping his touch would help erase the memory of the 
mate swap and soothe her frazzled nerves. But when he moved 
over her, she unexpectedly recoiled and gasped.

Her reaction apparently startled him every bit as much as it 
did her because he backed away. "Sorry. I-- Sorry."

"No, it's me. I-I'm sorry." She reached for him and drew him 
toward her. 

Rather than lie on top of her, he chose to stretch out on the 
ground beside her, propping himself on one elbow, taking care 
not to touch her. "Let's take this slow, okay?"

She nodded, realizing intimacy, even with Mulder, might be 
more difficult than she had imagined.

He watched her intently. "Would it be all right if I tried 
kissing you?"

"I--" Would it?

"I'll keep my hands to myself and you can tell me to stop 
anytime you feel uncomfortable. I won't force-- I won't go any 
further than you want to go. You're in control."

"Then maybe I should kiss you."

"That works for me." A smile nudged his right cheek. He made 
no move toward her. True to his word, he was handing her the 
reins, allowing her to steer their actions.

She decided to begin by touching his lips with her fingers. 
Running the pad of her middle finger across his lower lip, she 
reveled in the feel of his skin...smooth, pliant, warm. His 
bruised mouth trembled beneath her caress. Then her finger 
grazed a raw cut and he flinched.

"Careful."

"Sorry." 

She wanted to kiss the hurt she'd caused and take away his 
pain, but she wasn't quite ready to press her lips to his. Not 
yet. 

I'm being ridiculous, she chided herself. This was Mulder. She 
trusted him. Hell, she loved him! Yet she felt conflicted. She 
worried that their lovemaking might escalate out of control -- 
her control -- and the idea set her heart pounding. 

As if reading her mind, he rolled onto his back. His arms 
dropped loosely to his sides, palms down, fists uncurled. His 
eyes never left hers and his expression seemed to say, 
"Whatever you want, whenever you're ready."

She rose to kneel beside him and tentatively placed her right 
hand on his bare chest. His heart hammered beneath her palm, 
making her own pulse quicken. Each beat brought a molten wave 
of panic. Could she handle this?

Although their time in the Ice Age had roughened her hands, 
she could still feel every silken hair on Mulder's downy 
chest. They tickled the calloused pads of her palm, sending 
minute jolts of pleasure vibrating up the nerves of her arm. 
Her own skin turned to gooseflesh in response. Her nipples 
tightened. His gaze flickered briefly to her camisole and the 
hardened points of her breasts. When his focus returned to her 
face, his pupils had grown enormous, black and bottomless, 
filling each iris like a solar eclipse. She blushed and turned 
away, avoiding his obvious arousal, afraid it would trigger 
another bout of panic.

She focused on his breastbone, where she traced minute circles 
with her thumb and forefinger, using almost no pressure. His 
breath quickened. Would he lose control? Would she? Glancing 
at his hands, she saw they remained loosely at his sides. 
There was no threat in his posture. Even so, her uncertainties 
confounded her and she almost removed her hand from his chest. 

This is Mulder, this is Mulder, she repeated to herself. He 
won't hurt me. 

If he wanted to overpower her, he easily could. She was 
trained in self-defense, but then so was he, and her skills 
were no match for his larger size and muscular strength. Even 
with his recent weight loss, he still outweighed her by sixty 
or seventy pounds, and his long reach and greater height gave 
him every advantage. He could readily take her if that's what 
he wanted. She needed to trust that he would keep her safe. 
She had to rely on his self-control, and hope that he wouldn't 
force her to do anything she didn't want to do.

In five years, he had never given her a reason to fear him, 
she reminded herself. Not once.

She watched the quick rise and fall of his chest. It was the 
only movement he made. He was allowing her to dictate the pace 
and the scope of their intimacy.

Determined to continue, she slid her hand over his chest, 
avoiding the worst of his bruises and grazing his flat nipple 
with her thumb. The contact caused him to jerk with apparent 
pleasure. He inhaled, a sharp gasp, but, steadfast to his 
promise, he made no move to touch her. His restraint gave her 
the confidence to continue her exploration of him.

Slowly, she traced the upward curve of his ribs, hard beneath 
her palm, to the Linea alba, the shallow indentation of muscle 
that divided his taut torso from breastbone to pelvis. Fine, 
dark hair shadowed the depression, growing more dense below 
his waist. She teased his navel, dipping into it with the tip 
of her finger. Her touch made his stomach muscles quiver. 
Goosebumps sprouted across his abdomen when she combed against 
the grain of his hair with her nails. He grunted with pleasure 
and the sound of his arousal both excited and frightened her. 

She lingered over the Crest of Ilium, stroking his jutting 
hipbones as she studied his nude torso, his submissive 
expression, his accommodating posture. He was offering her his 
trust in return for hers. It was a generous gift, considering 
how he'd also suffered at the hands of the tribe. Blackened by 
contusions, crisscrossed with scrapes, his hide bore physical 
testimony to their cruelty. He had no more reason to trust 
another human being with his body than did she, and yet here 
he was, consigning himself to her command. 

There was little doubt he was doing it for her sake. He 
evidently understood how much she needed him to yield right 
now, and the depth of his understanding brought tears to her 
eyes. He was surrendering so that she wouldn't have to, so 
that she might regain her lost sense of power.

Fortified by his generosity, she unbuttoned the waistband of 
his pants. Even before drawing down his zipper, she could see 
the prominent ridge of his engorged penis pressing against the 
denim of his jeans, looking larger and more menacing than she 
remembered. Feeling apprehensive, she paused, reproaching 
herself for her groundless anxiety while leaving his fly half 
zipped. 

Certainly the threatening size of him was only a trick of the 
moonlight.

His penis isn't a weapon, she reminded herself; it's a part of 
him. There is nothing to fear. 

Squaring her shoulders, she unzipped his pants all the way, 
only to discover he wasn't wearing any boxers, and for a 
split-second suspicion engulfed her. Had he been planning all 
along to make love to her? 

Get a hold of yourself, Dana. Mulder was anticipating no such 
thing. His boxers were still in their travel pack because he'd 
been too weak to put them on at the ball field. He'd been 
going without them for the last two days.

Convinced for the time being that his intentions were not 
dishonorable, she resumed undressing him. She tugged at his 
pants and he lifted his hips to help her. This was the first 
deliberate move he'd made since she'd begun her cautious 
seduction. His motion was so slight, so measured, it didn't 
startle her...unlike his erection, which popped free as soon 
as she pulled his pants low enough. She fixed her eyes on his 
swollen groin and left his jeans bunched around his thighs.

Her stomach fluttered at the sight of him. Fully engorged, he 
was magnificent...and intimidating. An image of Dzeh's 
erection came unbidden to her mind. She fought a wave of 
nausea and tried to push the memory away. This was Mulder, not 
Dzeh. Their motives were nothing alike.

But the memory of Dzeh was not so easy to extinguish. She 
could still see the way he reclined on the skins, his penis 
dark purple and pointing straight up as he reached for her 
hand, drew her down to him-- 

Stop it! This isn't Dzeh! This is Mulder. 

She glanced at Mulder's face, double-checking his expression. 
His hooded eyes were bright with passion, yet his bearded face 
remained calm. He said nothing as she mentally inventoried his 
physical attributes, noting the differences between him and 
Dzeh. Mulder had green eyes, not brown, and a shorter beard, 
longer nose, fuller lips curled into a half-smile, not set in 
a determined line the way Dzeh's had been. His shoulders were 
narrower, and his chest less hairy. Both men had muscular 
stomachs, but Mulder was less tan than Dzeh, despite going 
shirtless for the last few weeks. She regretted the 
disappearance of the scar on his shoulder; his gunshot wound 
was incontrovertible evidence of their 20th Century life 
together. 

Her eyes traveled lower to the thatch of dark hair that 
cushioned his erect penis. Unable to stop herself, she reached 
out to touch his circumcision scar, extraordinarily grateful 
for this distinctive difference between the two men. He 
twitched when she caressed him with the tip of her finger. 

He breathed the words "You're in control..."

Yes, she was, and the knowledge strengthened her enough to 
take him in her hand, hot, rigid, his skin silky smooth 
against her roughened palm. He moaned through gritted teeth 
and she relished the sound; a feeling of privilege ran white-
hot beneath her skin. She directed him, not the other way 
around. The advantage was hers, all hers, and it freed her 
from the dread and panic and hurt that had been dogging her 
since her encounter with Dzeh. Her overwrought nerves began to 
uncoil and she felt herself returning to her physical body. 
Relief swamped her eyes, causing tears to spiral down her 
cheeks as she bent over him and took him gratefully into her 
mouth.

"Sculleee..." His hips rocked. He was obviously trying to 
minimize his reaction to the pressure of her lips.

Holding him in her mouth, feeling in control, she explored him 
with the tip of her tongue. He was softly ridged and he tasted 
salty, earthy, delicious. She inhaled his musky scent and 
savored his familiar smell. She sucked gently, applying the 
lightest possible pressure for now. She wanted to make this 
experience long lasting and wholly different from her brief, 
awful encounter with Dzeh; she wanted this to be leisurely, 
tender and loving.

Mulder didn't thrust upward; he didn't take hold of her head 
or hair. He let her lead him toward ecstasy. Only his quiet 
moans, and the rigidity of his cock, let her know how much he 
was enjoying her ministrations.

She applied more pressure, sucked harder, swirled her tongue 
over and around him, bit down gently, and then scraped his 
flesh carefully with her teeth, stimulating the sensitive knot 
of tissue just below the glans. He hissed with pleasure, 
murmured her name.

Still he didn't touch her.

She released him to blow softly across his wet skin, then 
lapped him from base to tip before taking him once more into 
her mouth. She let him slide to the back of her throat and 
then out, repeating the motion, tightening her lips, setting a 
steady rhythm. 

This was nothing like her experience with Dzeh. This was 
beautiful and right. Mulder was her partner, her protector, 
her lover. The future father of her son.

She cupped his scrotum, thinking of his contribution to their 
child waiting there, half the genetic material that would one 
day be their little boy. When she gently squeezed, he hissed 
her name, "Ssssculleee!" 

His voice sounded desperate when he warned, "I'm close."

She had led him to the brink and now it was her choice where 
he would go next. She decided to bring him to orgasm in her 
hand and watch his face as he came.

Removing him from her mouth, she said, "Let it happen."

He nodded and swallowed. She sat up, curled her fingers around 
him and began to stroke. Her hand slid easily up and down his 
saliva-slicked shaft. He inhaled a lungful of air. His fingers 
dug into the fur beneath him, clutching for a solid hold as 
his hips rose to meet her thrusts. He bit his lower lip and 
she could hear his panting breaths as he huffed through flared 
nostrils. His chest glistened, humid and flushed, so 
feverishly hot she could feel the warmth radiating off him. 
Sweat dotted his brow, snagging strands of damp hair. 

"Come for me, Mulder."

At the sound of her voice he threw back his head and grunted. 
Semen spurted from him, spilling hotly over her hand. She 
continued to pump until he begged, "Stop, stop. Ahh...too 
sensitive." His hands finally came up to cover and still hers, 
spreading semen on them both. She felt the throb of his racing 
heart grow fainter as his penis softened beneath her palm.

A mixture of emotions somersaulted through her: pleasure, 
apprehension, pride, anxiety, excitement, nervousness, 
passion, uncertainty, devotion. She wanted to sort them out, 
tuck them into some sort of proper order, but it was 
impossible and she cringed from the chaos that was squeezing 
her chest, making it difficult for her to breathe. Conflicted 
yearnings twisted through her mind on tornado-like winds. She 
was sure of only one thing -- she loved this man -- and she 
focused on that thought as she moved her hand away from him.

"Scully...that was...that was great," he said, gratitude 
evident in the quaver of his voice. Catching his breath, he 
sat up and searched for something with which to clean himself. 

His jacket was an arm's length away and he grabbed it and dug 
into the pocket for his handkerchief.

"Let me." She took the cloth from him and mopped his groin.

He watched, eyes bright with what she imagined was lust, but 
hoped was love. 

"Your turn," he said as he pulled up his pants. 

At first she thought he meant it was her turn to use the 
handkerchief on herself. But she was already wiping her hands, 
so he wasn't talking about cleaning up.

He was talking about bringing her to orgasm.  

"Mulder, I'm not sure I can...I don't think I'll be able 
to..."

"Let me help."

No...she wasn't ready for it. Bringing him to orgasm, that was 
one thing; she could handle that. Coming for him, in front of 
him, it would take too much--

"Show me what to do, Scully." He placed his hand in hers, palm 
up. 

"I don't think--"

"You're in control," he reminded her.

Right. She was in control.

So why did she feel so out of control?

"Maybe I should undress first," she said.

"I won't argue with that." 

His wide grin made her feel suddenly shy, which was ridiculous 
considering the fact that she'd just had him in her mouth, 
watched him climax. But the eager way he was looking at her 
made her feel vulnerable and exposed.

Grateful for the twilight, she hid her timidity in the shadows 
and pulled her camisole up over her head. The cooling night 
made her shiver. She was certain he was looking, although she 
avoided his gaze, too discomfited to find out. Instead she 
rose to her feet and, hands trembling, she unfastened and 
removed her pants. Gathering her courage, she pushed her 
panties down her legs and stepped out of them.

Mulder whispered "Sweet Jesus..." and the words landed like 
mist on her skin. Again she was made rough with gooseflesh and 
tingled from brow to breasts to belly to knees. 

A finger of cool, night air grazed her moist inner thighs, 
shockingly cold and invasive. Its intensity startled her and 
her body blushed in response. Heat crawled up her torso and 
spread inside her womb, which felt swollen and heavy with her 
lust. She had been denying desire for too long and it would 
not be overlooked now. It pressed her to her knees in front of 
him, spread her thighs to give him access, took his hand in 
hers and guided him to her entrance.

His fingers seared her slick folds, branding her with a 
tentative caress. 

"Jesus," he whispered again, sitting up and moving closer.

She urged him deeper, steering one extended digit in and up, 
not daring to look at him, avoiding his reactions with 
downcast eyes. He slipped into her, up to his first knuckle, 
and second...

No. Stop! She clutched his hand, preventing him from going 
deeper. It felt too much like before, like the other, like 
confusion and dread and panic.   

"It's okay, Scully," he said, obviously aware of her distress. 
"It's just you and me here. Whatever happens -- or doesn't 
happen -- it's okay. Just relax and show me what to do."

Sitting on her knees in front of him, legs spread wide, she 
tried to relax as he suggested, but it was difficult for her 
to let go of her recent memory, or her lifelong habit of 
dodging emotion. Unease tightened her inner walls, making 
penetration uncomfortable...the way it had been with Dzeh.

Mulder didn't push more deeply into her, but waited for her to 
do it for him. "Did he touch you there?" 

"Y-yes." Oh, please, don't make me remember it, Mulder.

"Like this?"

"No. Just his-- Not with his hands." Please, please.

"Did it feel like this?"

It felt awful, she wanted to scream. It wasn't you. I hated 
it. I hated him. "No." The word leaked from her throat 
sounding like a distraught child and her whining embarrassed 
her. She was a grown woman, for God's sake. Why couldn't she 
let go of her hurt? 

Mulder edged closer, his hand motionless between her legs. His 
other hand came around her back and settled at the base of her 
spine, the place where he often touched her. His light caress 
was familiar and soothing. "Scully, I'm with you now. Me. No 
man will *ever* touch you this way again...none but me. I 
won't let it happen."

His promise brought a flood of relief, and like a swift river, 
it caught her jumbled emotions in its current and carried them 
off. In her mind's eye she saw her unease swept away. 
Fragments of fear bobbed like debris after a storm, eddying 
out of sight, leaving her breathless but not drowned.

Contentment washed in, displacing her previous discomfort. 

She didn't expect to be made permanently clean by this promise 
of Mulder's. No doubt her respite was only temporary. Her 
memories of Dzeh would return to haunt her, but she now knew 
she didn't have to face them alone; Mulder was here.

"You okay?" he asked. He held her tenderly, buoying her, even 
after the worst of her emotional tempest had passed.

Rather than answer him with words, she moved his hand within 
her, pushed his finger deeper, trying to fill herself with his 
promise of devotion. The magnificent pressure unexpectedly 
swamped her with passion and she gasped. Everything outside of 
her body vanished. The world became only his touch. Her other 
senses registered nothing, no sound, no sight, no smell, only 
him and a ballooning desire to take him more deeply inside 
her.

"More," she begged, her voice thin with need.

"You'll have to let go." 

This time he was referring to her grip on his wrist, not her 
emotional state. She reluctantly released him and he began to 
withdraw. Even as he slid out of her, she became desperate to 
be filled again. She rocked her hips toward him, following his 
retreat, trying to regain the pleasure he was taking away. 

"Nooo," she pleaded. The emptiness was intolerable.

"You show me."

Frantically, she grabbed his hand and slid two fingers into 
herself. Having him inside her was all she craved and she 
satisfied her longing by pressing her hips downward onto him. 
She felt replete as she held him there, adjusting to his 
presence, enjoying the sense of fullness. 

She looked down at his large hand guided by her smaller one. 
He didn't move. He had relinquished control, relaxing his hand 
in hers, allowing her to determine the extent of their 
intimacy. He was undemanding and patient and willing to 
surrender to whatever she desired.

A primitive need prompted her to initiate a steady rhythm, a 
push and pull that both soothed and excited her. At her 
insistence, his fingers glided easily within her, slicked by 
her passion. Each thrust was utter bliss. Each withdrawal 
exquisite torment.

He didn't pinch or grind. No grasping or pressing, rubbing or 
stroking, and yet the friction of his fingers, steered by her, 
prodded her closer to her climax.

Picking up the pace, she thrust more urgently. She was nearing 
the edge, trembling, knowing that he watched her. Pressure 
swelled in her abdomen; sizzling tendrils of pleasure radiated 
out from her center.

God, she loved him. Instead of feeling dominated and shamed by 
this act, she felt self-possessed and liberated. Performing 
for him was reassuring. Empowering. It felt incredible.

She was so close now; release was only a heartbeat or two 
away. Her frenzied pulse hammered her ears. She gasped. Fire 
ignited between her thighs.   

Panting, she imbedded him deeply within herself and waited for 
the eruption of her climax...inevitable...unstoppable... 
there...now!

Ecstasy singed her torso and burned across her thighs. Her 
eyes closed. She gasped, ablaze, deafened by the roar of her 
pulse in her ears. She wanted the glorious fire between her 
legs to go on and on.

Her desperation razed, she released her held breath. Called 
out his name.

"I'm here," he murmured, sounding as awed and grateful as she 
felt.

She lunged for him, releasing his hand, wrapping her arms 
around him, clutching him, trying to breathe, quiet her rapid 
heart, regain her balance.

His fingers slid from her. He drew her tightly to his chest, 
returning her heartfelt embrace.

"You're beautiful," he said. "So beautiful."

She felt beautiful. And cherished. And safe.

I love this man, she repeated to herself. He is all I want or 
need. My perfect other, my hero, protector of my body, spirit 
and heart.

"Lay beside me," he said, releasing her and reclining on the 
fur robe. When she was nestled beside him, he placed an arm 
around her and asked, "Can I...? Is this okay?"

"Of course."

It shamed her to see how she'd made him wary of touching her 
and yet, she was so grateful for his understanding, his 
tenderness, for helping her begin to overcome her fears.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?" He stroked her hair, comforting her. 

"I know this is on our list of things we said we wouldn't talk 
about, but I... I think I need to talk about what happened to 
me."

"Tell me," he encouraged.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure." He seemed truly ready to listen. Not resigned, but 
strong and sympathetic.

"Dzeh didn't kiss me."

"So you said."

She suddenly realized she hadn't kissed Mulder, not once since 
the day of the awful exchange. She'd been letting her anxiety 
-- and her jealousy -- keep him at arm's length.  

"Mulder, I want to kiss you. Right now."

His hand stopped its leisurely caress. Without hesitation, he 
drew her to him and kissed her deeply, passionately on the 
lips.

She felt her apprehensions dissipate as he pressed his mouth 
to hers. Cradled in his arms she realized there would be other 
opportunities to talk about Dzeh and Klizzie and any other 
confusing, unpredictable fears that plagued her. Mulder would 
be with her tomorrow and the next day and long after that. 
She'd seen their future in her visions and now she felt their 
connection in her heart. There was no need to hide her 
emotions from him anymore. Peace of mind descended on her and 
she relaxed for the first time in weeks.   

When he released her lips, she drew back to smile at him.

"Loden is a shade of green, Mulder," she said. "It's the color 
of your eyes when we make love." 

It was the color of his eyes at that very moment.

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Don't cry...don't cry...

Mulder struggled to hold back his tears. He bit his lip...so 
hard he reopened the wound there. Tasting blood, he focused on 
its bleak tang and waited for Scully to fall asleep.

As soon as he was certain he could rise from the furs without 
waking her, he stood and staggered out of the shelter, wanting 
to release his anguish where she couldn't overhear him.

Stifling his emotions while making love had proven almost 
unbearable. It had been torment to feel her hands on him and 
not respond the way his body and his heart were demanding. He'd 
wanted to fill her with more than his fingers. Jesus, he wanted 
to drive his cock into her, replace Dzeh's essence with his 
own, reclaim her as his.

Fucking son-of-a-bitch had no right to touch her. She was 
*his*, God damn it! His!

Lurching toward the river, he let his tears come. Stinging and 
fiery, they spiraled down his cheeks and became lost in his 
beard. Unable to see through their blur he followed the 
river's fluid sound, aiming for the starburst of moonlight on 
its rippled surface. The reflection appeared shattered, like 
his pride, and muddled, like his heart.

Although Scully claimed she hadn't been hurt by Dzeh's 
manhandling, Mulder didn't believe her. The way she'd recoiled 
when he reached out for her proved she was more shaken than 
she was willing to admit.

"God damn Neanderthal," he muttered, "God damn this whole 
fucking place." 

It struck him that if God were to damn anything or anyone, He 
should damn him...for bringing Scully here, for allowing Dzeh 
to bed her, for being such a fool and a coward. 

At the river's edge, his legs buckled and he collapsed onto 
hands and knees in the shallows, soaking his pants legs. A 
moan vibrated in his throat and he tried to swallow it, 
tamping down an urge to scream. He was still too close to the 
shelter. Even over the tumult of rushing water, Scully would 
hear his cries and come looking for him. He couldn't let her 
find him this way.

His throat tightened and a sob hitched painfully in his chest, 
feeling like a punch to the gut. He scrambled to his feet and 
jogged downstream. Although sharp stones bit into the flesh of 
his bare feet, he ignored them, intent only on getting as far 
from Scully as possible before he let loose his outrage.

Impatient to shed his frustration and sorrow, he began to strip 
off his pants as he ran. He fumbled with the zipper, pushed his 
jeans from his hips, down his thighs, slowing his stride only 
long enough to tear the pants hastily from his legs. It never 
occurred to him that they were already wet, that it would make 
no difference if he plowed into the water with them on. White-
hot panic drove him to disrobe and leave his clothes crumpled 
on the shore to wade naked into the river. 

Icy water enveloped his ankles, calves and thighs, contracting 
his muscles with its chill. He hissed when it reached his 
genitals, so goddamn painfully cold, but apt punishment for his 
sins against Scully. 

Hypocrite. Fraud. Liar. She deserved better.

She'd trusted him, goddammit, and he'd let her down. He'd 
allowed another man to touch her, to make love to her. It was 
intolerable. 

Swamped with self-loathing, he dove beneath the surface and 
bellowed into the murky water. His scream churned past his 
face, a stream of frenzied bubbles, the sound muted, too weak 
for the agony it carried. Lungs emptied, he burrowed down 
through the bitter current, swimming deeper, to the riverbed's 
weedy bottom.

When he could go no further, he stopped his thrashing and let 
himself sink into the wafting kelp. His arms and legs were so 
numbed with cold he barely felt its soft tug. He waited there 
in the gloom, letting his awful anger dissipate like sweat in a 
cool breeze.

Inexorably the river brought relief.

Thank God.

A shining memory insinuated itself into his anguish. A moment 
five years ago, in Scully's bathroom, after he'd handcuffed 
Eugene Tooms to her tub. Scully briefly sought solace in 
Mulder's embrace. All these years later, he could still feel 
her cradled in his arms, her pulse slowing, her fear ebbing as 
she caught her breath. It had been the first time he'd saved 
her life. He'd been her hero, come to her rescue like a white 
knight on a steed.

He would give anything to be that man again.

Pushing away from the river bottom, lungs aching for oxygen, he 
promised to reconcile his past mistakes. Two powerful strokes 
and his face punched through the river's surface. He gasped, 
filling his chest with the soft night air. Water clung to his 
lashes, his brows, streamed from his beard and hair. He blinked 
at the stars, bringing them into sharp focus. 

The constellation of Hercules loomed straight overhead, his 
club lifted high, everlastingly prepared to battle Ophiuchus 
and his dreadful Serpent. The snake's triangular head blocked 
Hercules from Virgo, who reclined on her back along the 
ecliptic. 

Mimicking the virgin's defenseless posture, Mulder rolled to 
face the stars and floated with arms and legs spread wide. 
Scully had been similarly exposed, he recalled, when she 
climaxed against the palm of his hand. Jesus, he'd wanted to 
climb inside her at that moment, become part of her, know her 
thoughts, share her ecstasy. He'd wanted to be thawed by her 
passion, and wash away her fearsome memories while purging his 
own anguish. In an ultimate act of love, he'd wanted to embed 
himself between her legs, nudge her womb and weep for joy.

More tears came now, silently this time. He let them fall in 
scalding rivulets past his temples into the icy river. 

High above him, the night sky teemed with menacing creatures: 
the Dragon, the Lizard, the Lion and the Great Bear. At the 
center stood Hercules, and Mulder wished for the legendary 
hero's lionskin armor, to make him impervious to fear, too, 
able to face his own demons. 

He located the cluster of stars that marked Hercules' head, 
halfway between Vega and Gemma. It was faint, even on this 
crystal clear night. 

Suddenly the stars shifted east to west and the entire sky 
appeared to turn watery. At first Mulder attributed the 
distortion to his tears. But blinking failed to clear the 
intensifying blur.

The sky was bucking, folding and unfolding in an astonishing 
fashion, corrugating like a paper fan. Startled, he righted 
himself in the river, treading water, toes searching for solid 
ground. A strange vibrating current wobbled him and he 
instinctively began to swim for shore. But the riverbank 
appeared as uneven as the sky, ribbed with unexpected peaks 
and grooves. It undulated, shuddered, grew soft and hazy.

Was this an earthquake? No, a quake wouldn't explain the sky. 
This was some other phenomenon. Something unnatural. Something 
paranormal. Fearing for Scully's safety, he was about to call 
her name, when a reverse memory inundated his senses and sent 
him spiraling backward in his mind.

Fiery pain in his thigh. The smell of antiseptic and bleach.

"Noitatiplap no 76 si erusserp doolb," a woman's voice said, 
garbled and unintelligible.

Where was Scully? 

There. At his feet. She was backing away toward the emergency 
room exit. He shook, coughed. Paramedics and nurses surrounded 
him. Feeling nauseous, he was afraid he was going to vomit 
into his oxygen mask.

What was happening? 

Suddenly inside an ambulance, he felt like a kid on a merry-
go-round, spinning backward, tugged by centrifugal force. From 
the ambulance he was lifted to the ground where he was left to 
lie, wet and cold. Scully dragged her coat from his chest, 
leaving him exposed and shivering. She shouted, "Nwod 
reciffo!" 

It made no sense! 

Now he was falling skyward, yet somehow he managed to land on 
his feet. Hearing a gunshot, he inhaled a scream. Fire drilled 
his leg from back to front. The astonishing pain vanished just 
before he yelled, "Tnega laredef!" 

What the hell was going on?

As quickly as the topsy-turvy event had begun, it was over. 
The sky smoothed, returning to normal, a curved velvet dome, 
jet black, glittering with all its familiar constellations. 
The river flowed south as before. Its banks lay flat and 
tranquil.

With his heart pounding, Mulder swam quickly for shore. Once 
there he found his legs were quaking so violently they 
wouldn't support his weight, so he crawled from the river on 
hands and knees, and hunkered on the grassy bank to wait for 
his trembling to subside. 

He'd just experienced some sort of time anomaly, he realized. 
Maybe similar to the one that had brought them here. Was it a 
way home? Hope coursed through him, only to be ousted by fear 
when it occurred to him that he could have been sucked back to 
the future -- or to some other time -- without Scully. 

Was she still here?

Frantically, he rubbed his thighs, trying to bring feeling 
back into them so that he could run to her and assure himself 
that she was still asleep in the shelter where he'd left her. 
When his palm grazed the location of his old gunshot wound he 
noticed it was no longer there. Like the scar on his shoulder, 
it had disappeared.

The time distortion...it must have taken him back to the Boggs 
case, to the moment when Lucas Henry shot him in the leg. 
Only...everything had happened in reverse with people speaking 
backward. Somehow he'd slipped into the past, and now he was 
once again where he'd started...only younger, somehow, and 
missing the scar from Lucas Henry's bullet.

A sense of urgency propelled him to his feet. He and Scully 
needed to find a way home, before time separated them 
permanently. Was she still here in the Pleistocene? Locating 
his pants, he ran, desperate to find her.

Retracing his steps, he careened past several ghostly 
shelters, their bony supports luminous in the moonlight. 

Where was she?

Then he spotted her, cradled in the hut's giant, skeletal 
fist, asleep and looking like a resplendent angel. He slowed 
his running, stopping just outside the shelter, hot with 
relief, each sandpaper gasp scouring his throat and tightening 
his chest. She was okay. She was still with him. 

He went to her and crouched on shaky legs, while she blurred 
beyond the curtain of his tears. Hugging his aching ribs, he 
thanked God he hadn't lost her. 

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
COMPUTER LAB, HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
7:29 AM

Jason rapidly typed a string of commands on his keyboard. 

"What are you doing?" Lisa asked, hanging over his shoulder.

He wished she would back away. Her scent, her heat, the 
whisper of her breath against his ear...everything about her 
was distracting.

"Creating a graphical exemplar of the warp during last night's 
test. It should show us any structural anomalies in the 
continuum."

A three-dimensional model began to take shape on the monitor. 
Time rippled in predictable waves from the EE Nodule at the 
model's epicenter, like the surface of a pond disturbed by the 
toss of a pebble.

"Ground zero." Nichols pinpointed the Nodule with his index 
finger.

Lisa's head bobbed, causing her long hair to sweep his 
shoulder. Its tickle evoked yesterday's lovemaking, when he 
had buried his face in those dark, curling tresses, feeling 
both desperate and relieved at the same time. Growing hard at 
the memory, he struggled to ignore her physical proximity by 
focusing on his computer screen. 

Another keystroke set the computer model into motion. Time 
pulsed, stretched. Waves crested like whitecaps on a wind-
tossed sea. Unanticipated bubbles formed on the curve of each 
wave, small at first, but soon ballooning and drifting off 
course. Two expansive bubbles collided and burst.

"Shit." Jason gaped at the image.

More bubbles erupted, causing pinprick holes to develop in the 
fabric of time. Tiny perforations grew larger, then merged 
with others, until the entire model appeared pocked and 
roiling.

"Someone went into that?" Lisa asked, sounding aghast.     

If Jason's suspicions turned out to be true, not only was 
someone lost in that caldron, they might be the catalyst for 
time's continued disintegration.

"We have to tell Beck," Lisa said.

"No!" If Beck saw this data, he might suspect Jason had 
sabotaged the test, and no one must learn about that, not even 
Lisa, not yet. He couldn't risk being removed from the 
Project. Not until he had assured its failure. "Lisa, listen 
to me. It's too early to tell Beck anything. We need to figure 
out what went wrong before we go to him."

"Jason, you said yourself that someone might be trapped in 
there."

"I didn't say trapped. If anyone traveled back, they can be 
returned."

"How? We've never seen anything like this."

"And neither has Beck, so telling him won't help. He'll only 
get in our way. Let's rerun the model. As soon as we figure 
out what happened, we'll go to Beck...I promise."

She stared at the monitor, brows drawn together. "I don't 
know, Jason. This is the Colonel's project."

"It's *our* project. We--"

The lab door suddenly swung inward, putting an end to their 
argument. Captain Linden stood at the entrance, eyes narrowed, 
lips pressed into an angry line.

*   *   *

ANT CLAN'S AUTUMN CAMP
A-CHI STREAM
SEASON OF THE MASTODON FEAST
EARLY AFTERNOON

Concealed by stalks of pasture roses, Gini crouched on all 
fours to watch Dzeh and Lin search the abandoned village at 
the bottom of the hill. Painful thorns pricked her bare knees, 
but the thicket provided good cover. Surrounded by fluttering, 
pink blossoms and dense, glossy leaves, she was well hidden 
from her brother and his uncle, as well as from Chal and Wol-
la-chee, should they suddenly appear from the north. 

Glancing over her shoulder, she looked for them again, 
expecting to find them hiking down the hill, following after 
her and the others. She was certain they must have discovered 
she'd backtracked at the swamp, and unless they stopped to 
hunt or eat, they couldn't be far behind. But the grassy slope 
at her back remained empty. She breathed a quiet sigh of 
relief and returned her attention to the village in the glade 
below.  

This was Ant Clan territory; she recognized their autumn camp 
by the gooseneck bend in the river, marked by an ancient 
sycamore and a rock formation that resembled a mastodon mother 
with her baby. Klizzie had told her a story about those 
massive stone boulders when they were here last year. 

In the story, the mother mastodon and her baby were drinking 
at the river when a pack of hungry wolves surrounded them. The 
frightened baby hid between its mother's legs and cried for 
help, while the mother trumpeted angrily at her attackers. 

Driven by their hunger, the wolves closed in on the mastodons. 
They licked their muzzles in anticipation.

The wolves bared their teeth and growled low in their throats, 
while the mother lashed out at them with her tusks. She kept 
the wolves at bay all afternoon, throughout the night and into 
the next day. Eventually, however, she grew exhausted and 
weak.

When the greedy wolves saw the mother was near death, two of 
the more daring ones -- a pair of silver-furred sisters -- 
approached the mother from behind while the others kept her 
distracted with howls and barks. The silver sisters darted 
between the mother's hind legs and pounced on her baby. Their 
sharp jaws clamped around his wobbly legs, and he released a 
pitiful wail. The distraught mother used her last dying breath 
to send up one final trumpeting prayer to the Spirits, begging 
them to intercede and save her baby from being devoured by the 
wolves.

The Spirits heard the mother's cry and answered her prayer, 
turning both the mother and the baby into stone. The wolves 
were left with nothing but broken teeth and empty bellies. 

Gini hadn't liked the story very much. It seemed unfair to her 
that the wolves were allowed to go free, punished only with a 
few broken teeth, while the mastodons were transformed forever 
into stone. When she complained to Klizzie about it, she was 
told, "We cannot always understand the actions of Spirits, 
Little Chick, but it is good to know they are willing to 
answer a frightened mother's prayer."

"But what if the wolves had prayed to the Spirits, too?" she 
asked. "Which prayers would the Spirits answer?"

"I do not know. Perhaps it is possible to answer all prayers."

Gini doubted this could be true. "Then why do people go hungry 
or get sick, even when they pray?" 

"Maybe they are not praying earnestly enough."

Not earnestly enough? What was enough? Sometimes the Spirits 
seemed very hard to please. 

She decided she would rather have broken teeth and an empty 
belly than be turned to stone.

No sooner had she thought about her empty stomach when it 
rumbled from hunger. She could smell Dzeh and Lin's mid-day 
meal cooking over their campfire. A large armadillo was 
roasting in the coals, while the men paced around the huts, 
going back and forth to the river and gesturing in all 
directions. Although Gini was too far away to hear their 
conversation, she suspected they were discussing Muhl-dar and 
Day-nuh's footprints. They'd been following the strangers' 
clear trail all day, through highland meadows, reconnecting 
with A-Chi Stream around mid-morning, and now here to Ant 
Clan's sparsely treed lands. 

Gini had mixed feelings about returning to A-Chi Stream. It 
meant that Muhl-dar and Day-nuh would now have plenty of fresh 
drinking water as they traveled, which was good. It also meant 
Dzeh could simply follow the stream to find them.

Not that he was having any difficulty tracking them. 

Hopefully Muhl-dar and Day-nuh had not stopped anywhere to 
rest for very long, and now were far, far to the south, 
forever beyond Dzeh's reach. 

Glancing once again behind her and seeing no sign of Chal and 
Wol-la-chee, Gini settled down to pick ants from the rose 
blossoms to appease her hungry belly. Smelling the delicious 
roasting armadillo, she crushed insects between her thumb and 
forefinger and popped one after the next into her mouth. They 
had almost no flavor and it would take a lot of them to 
silence her empty stomach. 

*   *   *

Drawn south by the river, Scully and Mulder hiked through a 
stony valley of scrub brush and stunted hardwoods. Jagged 
hills rose on either side of them. Deep red canyons snaked 
between tree-studded peaks, shadowy and mysterious, making 
Scully feel like a mouse in a maze. It surprised her how 
radically the terrain changed each day, mountaintops to 
lowland swamps to open grassland to this notched and ragged 
place. 

The ground underfoot was relatively flat, although striated 
with rocky outcroppings. Sandy soil and weedy vegetation 
filled the spaces around the islands of stone. Recent 
rockslides littered the canyon's edges and redirected the flow 
of the river with colorful slabs of sandstone. In some places 
entire cliff-sides had fallen away, exposing striped layers of 
earth and uprooted trees. It was as if the land were a living, 
breathing beast, shedding its skin to reveal a more 
brilliantly hued creature beneath.       

The river ran deep and rapid here. Jammed with boulders and 
fallen logs, it zigzagged noisily through the valley. 

Scully raised her voice to be heard above its monotonous chug. 

"It's myth, Mulder. Urban legend."

"Maybe."

Mulder had been uncharacteristically quiet all day. He claimed 
to be fine, although he'd obviously spent at least part of the 
night crying. She'd woken to find him shivering and wet, 
sitting beside her on the furs with his legs drawn up, hugging 
his knees. "River water," he explained when she asked about 
his bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. "I took a bath."

"Before dawn?"

He shrugged and kept his face turned away after that.

Wouldn't you know, she thought. She was finally feeling better 
about their relationship and now he was in a funk.

Not that she could blame him. Making love must have been as 
difficult for him as it had been for her.

A pang of guilt stung her. The decision to participate in the 
mate exchange had been hers, not his. 

In retrospect she realized Mulder had been right about 
leaving. They should have gone before agreeing to the tribe's 
repugnant custom. She'd been wrong to talk him into staying. 
An altercation with the tribe was inevitable given their 
extreme cultural differences. 

And given Mulder's predictable disregard for rules. 

To her surprise, she found herself wishing she were more like 
him. She actually admired his ability to go his own way and 
damn the consequences. He followed his heart without 
questioning it. 

Where had her prudence gotten her all these years? 

This time it had landed her in a stranger's bed. 

What a fool she'd been. Like the Ourobourus on her back, she 
was going in circles, plodding along a familiar, yet 
fruitless, path of logic while denying herself Mulder's more 
satisfying, if less predictable, extreme possibilities.

She vowed to do things differently if given the opportunity. 
She would throw caution to the wind, go where her heart led 
without trying to second-guess it, the way he did. 

The way she had finally done last night. 

Giving in to her emotions and making love to Mulder had been 
cathartic for her. She'd opened herself up in a way she never 
had before, and today she felt better for it...calmer, closer 
to him than ever. 

She'd hoped he would feel the same way, but evidently their 
lovemaking had affected him differently, closing him off 
instead of opening him up.  

Unable to wrestle any real communication from him all morning, 
she reluctantly fell back on their old habit of discussing 
case files instead of personal issues. Debating the paranormal 
seemed better than saying nothing at all, if only a little.

At least it helped pass the time as they traveled.

How many miles had they hiked since leaving the tribe? And 
when would enough be enough? Surely no one was still following 
them.   

A herd of spindly-legged gazelles grazed peacefully on the 
riverbank thirty yards downstream, where grass fringed the 
shore, growing lush beneath a row of slanting elms. Pestered 
by flies, the animals tossed their heads and flicked their 
tails.

Beyond the gazelles, a fallen log had created a swell in the 
river and a flock of stilted egrets fished for minnows in the 
relatively calm shallows. The noon sun flashed brightly off 
the birds' snowy feathers as they plucked silvery fish from 
the water and swallowed them whole. 

Scully's empty belly growled. There was no smoked meat left in 
the pack. The only thing they carried now was the worn fur 
blanket from the abandoned camp.  

"It's the Pookie Johnson story all over again," she said, 
determined to disregard her stomach while whittling away 
Mulder's reticence.

"Who's Pookie Johnson?" 

He tossed a pebble into the river, startling the egrets. They 
cawed and flapped their wings, edging downstream but not 
flying away.

"There was an alleged case in a Cincinnati hospital's ICU 
where patients always died in the same bed on Sunday nights at 
about 9:00 p.m., regardless of their medical conditions."

"A vengeful ghost?"

"Hardly. A team of experts was assembled to investigate the 
cause. The following Sunday, a few minutes before 9:00, they 
waited outside the ward to see what would happen."

"What did happen?" He tossed another stone. It ricocheted off 
a boulder with a tinny ping. "I'd put my money on Aquiel, the 
Demon of Sunday."

"You'd lose, betting man. When the clock struck 9:00, Pookie 
Johnson, the night custodian, entered the ward and unplugged 
the life support system so that he could use the vacuum 
cleaner."

"Nooooo! Say it ain't so."

She felt a surge of triumph. Not only had she told her joke 
without him guessing the punch line, she'd also managed to 
lure him out of his circumspection.

"It ain't so, which is exactly my point, Mulder. That story's 
been told so many times it's become folklore."

"Spoilsport."

She chuckled. "The Demon of Sunday? Where do you come up with 
these things?"

"I--"

Suddenly Mulder stumbled. He managed to remain upright, but 
was now standing in a rocky indentation approximately two and 
a half feet long by about six inches deep. The "hole" was an 
animal track with three enormous, talon-tipped toes.

Mulder's face brightened for the first time all day. "Wow!"

Although she was glad to see him smile, she didn't share his 
enthusiasm; any beast that could leave an imprint like that 
was a monster. "What is it?"

"Allosaurus." He squatted to run his hand over the stony 
print.

"Allosaurus?"

"A theropod. Biggest, meanest predator in North America during 
the late Jurassic."

"A dinosaur?" Jesus, were they traveling further back in time?

"Relax, Scully. This is a fossilized track. Look, there's 
another."

He stood and loped to the next track, which was about three 
yards away. He jumped into it with all the enthusiasm of a 
six-year-old in a mud puddle. Looking back at her, he whooped 
with delight. "Is this great or what?"

She didn't share his enthusiasm. "How do you know so much 
about dinosaurs?"

"All boys know about dinosaurs." He began following the trail 
of prints, hopping excitedly into each one.

"They do?" she asked, more to herself than to Mulder. Bill and 
Charlie had never shown an interest in anything but military 
jets and submarines.

She hurried to catch up.

"When I was nine, Dad took me to the American Museum of 
Natural History in New York to see the diplodocus skeleton," 
he said. "It was 72 feet long, 22 feet high, and was estimated 
to weigh between 50 and 70 tons. Can you imagine a creature 
like that? It would dwarf even the biggest Ice Age beast."   

"I guess I should be thankful we didn't wind up in the 
Jurassic." She eyed the prints nervously. "Are you sure these 
tracks are fossilized?"

Her question brought an indulgent smile to his lips. "Yes, I'm 
sure." 

For the next hour, he followed dinosaur tracks while she 
followed him and listened to his excited descriptions of 
various gargantuan beasts. Diplodocus, apatosaurus, 
stegosaurus, camarasaurus, and so many others she began to 
lose count. 

"These could be over 135 million years old!" he said, tearing 
his eyes away from another set of stony prints only long 
enough to grin at her. "Lower Cretaceous, maybe. Did you know 
that there are more than 1600 fossilized dinosaur bones at 
Dinosaur National Monument?"

Dinosaur National Monument...why did that sound familiar?

"Where?" she asked.

"It's a graveyard of fossilized bones in Vernal, Utah. That's 
about...uhhh...well, I don't know how many miles from here, 
but it's in the eastern part of the state."

That sparked her memory.

"Melissa sent me a postcard from there once," she said, 
picturing the photo on the card...enormous brown bones 
protruding from rock cliffs, happy tourists standing nearby. 
In her note Missy had seemed as enthralled as Mulder, although 
not for the same reasons. It wasn't the dinosaurs that excited 
her. Apparently she'd met a park employee named Craig, who 
convinced her to stay in Utah for most of the month of 
October. Their relationship remained strictly platonic, she 
claimed. Craig was allegedly a cosmic sibling. 

The fossilized tracks finally petered out as the rocky canyon 
widened into a verdant basin of grassland and deciduous trees. 
Red rock cliffs more than three stories high cradled the 
lowland paradise, where herds of animals grazed along the 
broad river's curving shores. Water buffalo, camels, more 
gazelles, all seemingly unconcerned by the approach of humans. 
Flocks of birds waded and fished in the rapids. Enormous 
turtles sunned themselves on fallen logs.

The air smelled as fecund as a greenhouse. Constant bird song 
blurred with the babble of the river, filling Scully with 
wonder, drawing her forward with her head tilted skyward, 
sniffing the soft breeze and listening to the harmonious 
melody of nature.

Mulder seemed to grow calmer, too, as he led them more deeply 
into the tranquil basin. Eyes wide, lips quirked in a half-
smile, he wore an expression of enchanted incredulity. 

His outward delight and disbelief matched hers as they 
approached a herd of horses, eventually coming close enough to 
smell the ponies' dusty hides, without scaring them away. 
Twelve mares grazed peaceably in the shade of widely spaced 
trees, taking almost no notice of the dumbfounded humans who 
walked among them. 

"They aren't afraid of us," she said, keeping her voice low.

"I noticed that."

She chanced touching one as she passed, just lightly, on its 
sun-warmed rump. The pony nickered and kicked at the ground 
making a dull, hollow-sounding thud before plodding two steps 
away. It bent its head to tear another mouthful of bright 
grass from the dirt.

"Why aren't they running?"

"Maybe they can see we aren't carrying any weapons."

The pony swatted its rust-colored tail, inadvertently slapping 
Scully's arm as it swished flies. She flinched and gasped from 
the whip-like sting, causing the horse to gaze back at her. 
Its large eye rolled, assessing the threat. Flies tormented 
its ears and it waggled them, nodding and snorting in an 
effort to find momentary relief. When it trotted away, Scully 
wasn't certain if it was trying to escape her or the bugs.

None of the horses were very large, not by modern standards. 
But they all had fat bellies and muscular legs. A lot of 
protein on the hoof, she realized, and her stomach rumbled 
again.  

"Just one of these animals would feed us for three or four 
days," she said, eyeing the horse that had struck her with its 
tail. She pictured it cut into T-bones and tenderloins, and 
her mouth began to water.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me when I said we have no weapons."

"You have a knife."

He chuckled. "You want me to take down a horse with my 
pocketknife?"

"Okay, maybe not your knife. But we're smart people. We should 
be able to apply a little 20th Century ingenuity to solving 
our food problem."

"Such as?"

"I don't know. But we need to eat and there must be a 
gazillion calories of fresh meat in this valley."

Mulder's head swiveled and a curious expression replaced his 
smile as he looked around.  

"Weird. The place where we stayed last night had no game at 
all. I didn't see so much as an anorexic squirrel. Nothing but 
a few ants."

It was a contrast. This valley was like a Garden of Eden, 
flourishing with robust animals, lush vegetation and crystal-
clear water. Its serenity and abundance soothed Scully's 
frayed nerves. She felt relaxed here. This was the most 
peaceful place they'd encountered since coming to the 
Pleistocene.

"Look at that." Mulder pointed to the eastern cliffs where the 
late afternoon sun spotlighted a shadowy cave in the crimson-
colored rock. The cleft curved like a frowning mouth, its 
lower lip jutting beyond the arching roof, approximately 
thirty feet above the valley floor.

He dug his binoculars from his pocket and raised them to his 
eyes. "I think our luck is finally changing...for the better. 
Feel like spending the night with a roof over your head?"

"It's not occupied is it?"

"Look for yourself." 

He passed her the binoculars.

She peered through the glasses at the cave. Nothing moved 
inside its shady opening. A shallow incline of boulders, 
overgrown with shrubs, saplings and groundcovers, connected 
the cave to the valley floor like a living staircase. At the 
base of those lush steps, a large, ragged beaver dam slowed 
the river's current, creating a sizable pond. Cattails and 
purple flowers grew in profusion along its southern shore. 
More birds fluttered in the rushes.

It was beautiful.

"Come on, let's go," Mulder urged, taking her hand and pulling 
her forward.

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
COMPUTER LAB, HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
7:47 AM

"Captain Linden!" Lisa Ianelli wore the startled expression of 
an airman caught jerking off on night patrol. She stood beside 
Nichols, who was seated with his back to the door at a 
computer terminal at the rear of the lab.

Linden stepped into the room as Nichols swiveled in his chair 
to face him. The young scientist's hand slid from his keyboard 
to his lap and the monitor behind him went dark.

Two stone-faced airmen flanked Linden and he motioned them to 
wait outside the door, which he left open. Crossing the lab, 
he passed several unoccupied stations to stand directly in 
front of Ianelli and Nichols. 

"Something wrong?" Nichols asked. 

"You tell me."

"Sorry." Nichols looked up at him with mock regret. A 
contemptuous smirk twitched the corners of his mouth. "I'm not 
authorized to discuss the Project with anyone but Colonel 
Beck. Damn those pesky orders, huh, *sir*?"

Impudent little fuck. Linden was sick to death of Nichol's "I 
know something you don't" attitude. He was a goddamn smart-ass 
and, worse yet, a civilian working on a classified military 
project...a very risky combination. Linden didn't know the 
details of Beck's pet project, but it was his job to ensure 
the security of this base and his gut was screaming at him to 
distrust Nichols and his jittery girlfriend, especially after 
discovering a connection this morning between them and the two 
elusive intruders.

"I'm not here to talk about the Project," Linden said.

"No? Then why are you here?" Nichols leaned back in his chair, 
loose-limbed and cocky.

"To hear you explain why two Federal agents tried to sneak 
onto this base last night."

Nichols looked genuinely surprised. "I don't know anything 
about that."

"I think you do." Linden paced around Nichols to rest his hand 
on top of the computer monitor. What had these two been 
looking at a moment ago and why didn't they want him to see 
it? "You ever hear of an Agent Fox Mulder?"

"Yes, I met him last year." Nichols took off his glasses to 
clean them on the hem of his faded T-shirt. "At the Bio-Med 
Research Station at MIT. Was he one of the Federal agents who 
slipped past your security?"

"Technically you met him at the police station."

"Mulder arranged for my bail, yes. And since you've obviously 
checked my records, you already know I was acquitted of Lucas 
Menand's murder."

"So the BPD said. They also said you disappeared for a period 
of several days after a fire broke out in the Bio Lab's 
computer center."

Nichols fitted his glasses back over his ears and sighed. "So 
what? I needed to get away. I'd just lost several years worth 
of work, not to mention my very good friend Lucas. Is it a 
crime to grieve?"

"That depends."

"Depends on what?" Ianelli asked, flipping her long hair 
behind her shoulders. A nervous habit, Linden guessed, more 
than a challenge. Her lips were frayed from biting them. Her 
nails chewed to the nub. She looked like she hadn't slept in a 
week. "What's this really about?" she asked. "Why would Agent 
Mulder try to sneak onto this base?"

"My guess is he was planning to meet someone here. Someone who 
was in a position to leak classified information."

Ianelli's eyes rounded. "You think we're spies?"

"That's preposterous." Nichols threw up his hands in 
disbelief. Anger darkened his face. He pinned Linden with a 
cold stare. "Is that what he told you?"

Linden shrugged. He had no intention of letting them know the 
intruders hadn't been found yet.

"This is my life's work, Captain," Nichols said. "Why would I 
do anything to jeopardize it?"

"Sorry, I'm not authorized to discuss that with anyone but 
Colonel Beck." Now it was Linden's turn to smirk. He drew away 
and headed to the door; at the threshold he turned to look 
back at them. "But I am putting you both under 24-hour guard 
until further notice. Damn those pesky orders, huh, *Mister* 
Nichols?" 

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
JUNE 28, 6:59 PM

While Scully was bathing in the river, Mulder gathered tinder 
for a fire. He planned to ignite it using the sun's rays and 
his binoculars. The idea had come to him earlier when Scully 
passed the glasses back to him, causing sunlight to ricochet 
off the lenses and spotlight the red rock outside the cave. 
Why he hadn't thought to try this days ago, he wasn't sure. 
Must have been distracted by saber-toothed tigers and angry 
Cro-Magnons.

Dried grass? Check. Cedar shavings? Check. Small twigs and 
branches? Check. Larger branches and driftwood? Check.

One threadbare animal skin next to the fire for making love? 
He waggled his brows at no one in particular. Check! 

He had arranged the combustibles near the mouth of the cave, 
where late afternoon sunlight still washed across the stony 
floor. The cave was dry and roomy, about twelve feet high at 
its mid-point and nearly twice as wide. It curved into the 
hillside for about ten yards before narrowing and finally 
dead-ending. Nothing seemed to be living in it, other than a 
small colony of bats that hung from fissures in the roof at 
the back.

It wasn't the Watergate, but in many ways, it was more 
comfortable than some of the hotels they'd stayed in over the 
years.

Just in case he was unsuccessful at starting a fire, he hadn't 
divulged his plans to Scully. No sense getting her hopes up 
over nothing if all he managed to create was a little smoke. 
Besides, it would be great to surprise her with a roaring fire 
when she returned from her bath.

Tilting the binoculars toward the sun, he focused its rays 
through one the lenses, creating a small circle of light on 
his pile of wood shavings. A minor adjustment of distance 
shrank the circle to a dime-sized dot. He wondered how long 
this might take...assuming it worked at all.

Would staring at the dot blind him? He averted his eyes, 
glancing back only often enough to make sure the light was 
still aimed at the kindling and not on the stone floor of the 
cave, or worse, at his leg or foot.

In less than a minute a wisp of smoke wafted up from the 
tinder. Could it really be that easy? A curled cedar chip 
smoldered. 

It was working! 

He blew gently on the ember. It glowed brightly, but didn't 
ignite. He blew again, a little more forcefully.

A tiny flame appeared.

Yes! He was making a fire! Just an itsy-bitsy one, but an 
honest-to-goodness fire nonetheless. 

He set down the binoculars and fed a few bits of grass into 
the tenuous flame, all the while trying to still his shaky 
hands. It wouldn't do to get overexcited and suffocate the 
fledging fire.

The grass sizzled and ignited.

"Now we're cookin'." 

He added a few more cedar shavings. They crackled and snapped, 
and sent up a pleasant aroma. A few thin, dry twigs ensured 
the fire was going to keep burning.

"Woo hoooo!" he bellowed. 

He'd made a fire! A *fire*! Without matches. Now they could 
cook food...uh, assuming they could find some. And even if 
they couldn't, they'd be warm tonight, which was something.

He placed a branch very carefully onto the flames and it 
started to burn.

"You built a fire?" Scully stood at the lip of the cave, hair 
dripping wet, brows raised, and looking for all the world as 
if she didn't believe what her own eyes were seeing.

He grinned up at her. "I did."

"How?"

"A little 20th Century ingenuity." He hefted the binoculars 
and waved them at the setting sun.

She nodded. "Handsome *and* smart. Every cave girl's dream."

"You're just sayin' that because I'm the only guy around who's 
willing to wear a necktie to work or use a napkin at the 
dinner table."

"Can't argue with that. Speaking of dinner..." She brought her 
hands out from behind her back and held up a fistful of 
bullfrogs. They dangled wetly by their long webbed feet, hind 
legs stretching to at least eighteen inches and each one with 
a belly as thick as Mulder's forearm. She smiled proudly.

"Whoa. Look what croaked." 

"You aren't squeamish, are you, Fire Man?"

"Not at all. Whaddaya say I cut a couple of sharp sticks and 
we roast 'em like weenies?" 

*   *   *

Dzeh's eyes widened at the sight of the giant three-taloned 
track. He had heard about such things, but had never seen one 
for himself. This print was as long as a man's stride and was 
pressed deeply into the stone. Whatever creature had created 
it was monstrous. 

"We must turn back," Lin urged. "This is Ye-tsan Basin."

"That is only a legend."

"You can see for yourself it is real. What animal can make a 
track like that?" 

Dzeh knew Lin was right. His uncle was not a man who was 
easily frightened. He'd lived many hard winters and single-
handedly battled ferocious bears, wolves and saber-toothed 
cats. Dzeh had once seen him stand his ground against a 
charging bull mastodon, killing it by driving his spear into 
its furious eye. And yet Lin's face was pale and his hands 
trembling as he stared down at the gigantic tracks.

"It is a trick. Perhaps Muhl-dar conjured these tracks to 
frighten us away." Dzeh's desire to continue after his enemy 
was greater than his fear of ancient legends.

"We have heard the tales all our lives, Nephew."

"Doubtless Muhl-dar has heard them, too."

"These were not created by a man, not even one as cunning as 
Muhl-dar." 

Did massive serpents really live here, creatures bigger than 
the largest mastodon, fiercer than a wounded she-bear? Dzeh 
scanned the land to the south for any glimpse of the giants. 
He saw nothing but more impossible tracks, and A-Chi Stream, 
grown fat and wild, snaking south through a verdant lowland.

"Muhl-dar will die here," he said, feeling relieved. 

It was commonly believed that Endless Lake lay at the 
southern-most end of the Basin, too broad to be crossed and 
too wide to be hiked around. To the east and west, tall red 
cliffs, impossible to climb, squeezed the valley. Ye-tsan was 
a trap. Only a desperate man would enter a place that was 
blocked on three sides and teamed with colossal serpents. 
Muhl-dar would perish as surely as a fly in a pitcher plant.

Two faint sets of prints -- Muhl-dar's and Day-nuh's -- 
disturbed the dust beyond the giant lizard's stony tracks. The 
sight lightened Dzeh's aching spirit. The strangers deserved 
whatever dreadful fate they would meet in this fearsome place.

As if able to see his thoughts, Lin said, "They are already 
dead, Nephew. Let us go home before we meet the same fate. 
Surely Wol-la-chee and Chal have already returned to Turkey 
Lake with Gini."

A shiver of doubt tickled Dzeh's spine, but he shook it off 
and turned away from the terrible lowland. He was finally done 
with the strangers and was grateful he would never set eyes on 
them again. 

*   *   *

The sun appeared to be balanced on the rim of Ye-tsan Basin; 
its crimson glow painted the cliff-sides the color of blood. 
Gini emerged from her hiding place behind a thorny locust tree 
as soon as Dzeh and Lin were out of sight. 

They were returning home...without her. 

She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She had expected to 
be relieved, but as it turned out, she was sad and a little 
panicky. Watching Dzeh disappear into the sparse, darkening 
woods was more difficult than she had anticipated. She would 
never, ever see him again, she realized. Or Klizzie either. 

Imaginary knives jabbed her heart as she considered living 
without them. Klizzie had been her mother for four years -- 
half her life -- taking care of her whenever she was sick and 
teaching her important lessons, like how to scrape hides and 
smoke meat and make pemmican. She showed her which plants were 
safe to eat and which were not. She braided her hair and gave 
her gifts and treats, like honeyballs and spruce gum and 
necklaces and soft, pretty tunics. 

Even Dzeh was *usually* nice. He had carved her many little 
dolls, far more than her friend Jeha ever had. And he told her 
stories and sometimes took her hunting even though girls were 
not supposed to hunt with men. 

Lots of nights Dzeh and Klizzie let her climb into bed with 
them when she woke up afraid, scared by a nightmare or the 
howl of wolves. Klizzie would hold her in her arms and stroke 
her hair, while Dzeh told stories, keeping his voice low so as 
not to wake the others in the lodge.

Dzeh had a nice voice. Deep and comforting, at times as soft 
as goose down on a spring wind. It was pleasant to listen to 
him tell tales of successful hunts or happy feasts, while 
Klizzie kissed her cheeks and called her "Little Chick," until 
she fell asleep between them.   

Tears filled her eyes at such fine memories, blurring the red 
sky and the dark silhouettes of trees, making the world look 
like the inside of a gutted carcass.

Wiping away her tears, she was determined not to cry. It had 
been many moon cycles since she'd gone to her brother or 
Klizzie for comfort. Certainly not since Dzeh decided she must 
take a mate.

She would not go back to the Clan. If she must live with 
strangers, she would decide who. Dzeh would no longer tell her 
what to do. She would live with Muhl-dar and Day-nuh and that 
was the end of it.

Unfortunately Muhl-dar and Day-nuh had gone into Ye-tsan 
Basin...the place of monsters.

She turned to face the lowland. There in the growing gloom, 
pressed deeply into the stone, were the frightful footprints 
of giant lizards.

Fighting the urge to chase after Dzeh, she headed into the 
valley.

"Please don't eat me, Serpent Monsters," she whispered to the 
shadows. "I do not want to die."

*   *   * 

Mulder's lips nudged Scully's. He didn't press, didn't open 
his mouth, didn't seek to invade her with his tongue. His kiss 
was chaste, tentative, a gentle exploration of her mood.

They stood at the entrance of the cave, the fire separating 
them from the black night outside. His arms loosely encircled 
her silky shoulders; her hands rested on his bare chest. He 
wore his jeans and nothing else. She wore hers, too, and her 
camisole, which reflected the flames in its lustrous fabric. 
Their feet were bare and the stone floor of the cave felt cool 
on his soles.

Drawing back an inch or two, he asked, "Everything okay?"

She nodded shyly. The glistening tip of her tongue darted 
across her lower lip, as if tasting the love he'd left for her 
there. "Yes...everything's fine."

Would she recoil in horror if he touched her breasts? He 
really wanted to touch them, imagining the eggshell-smooth 
skin, the nipples puckered from her bath in the chilly river. 
They tented the silk of her camisole, creating attractive 
shadows in the firelight, tempting his twitchy hands and 
hungry mouth.

Instead of satisfying his craving, however, he brushed her 
inner arm with the backs of his fingers. 

Goosebumps sprouted beneath his caress. She didn't withdraw 
from him and he felt a prickle of triumph.

Were there certain things he shouldn't do? Certain positions 
that would frighten her? Things she'd done with Dzeh?

The idea of Scully making love to that Neanderthal repulsed 
him, no matter how they'd gone about it. He certainly didn't 
want to remind her of it by approaching her the same way.  

Yet, he wanted to make love to her. He longed for the intimacy 
of intercourse. He wasn't expecting anything so sublime, or 
unlikely, as simultaneous orgasms -- he wasn't that optimistic 
-- but he needed to be with her, *in* her, this time when she 
climaxed.

*If* she climaxed, he corrected himself. It was possible she 
wouldn't be comfortable enough to reach orgasm.

The memory of her coming against his hand made his cock 
stiffen.

"Scully..." He barely recognized his own raspy voice. "I want 
to make love to you, but I... I'm not sure..." He paused to 
swallow. "What do you want?"

There was little doubt she was as nervous as he was. Her brows 
were peaked with worry, her mouth taut, jaws clenched. But she 
nodded, setting her hair swinging. "I want you," she said.

Her answer brought relief, but it wasn't enough. He ventured a 
smile. "I need more to go on than that. I don't want to mess 
this up."

"It'll be fine," she reassured him, although she looked far 
from confident.

"Is there anything...I shouldn't do?"

She bit her lip and thought for a moment. Finally she said, 
"Don't hurry."

"All right." He slipped a finger beneath the delicate strap of 
her camisole and tugged playfully. "How about we start by 
taking this off?"

"You need to undress, too," she said, looking at him through 
lowered lashes.

He'd never wanted her more. Stepping away from her was agony, 
but he did it, reluctantly, to remove his pants.

The night air sifted across his naked erection, surprising him 
with its chill. His hand automatically closed around himself 
and he was rewarded with a familiar tingle of pleasure.

When she lifted her camisole up and over her head, exposing 
her breasts and making them bobble in a most attractive way, 
he tightened his grip on his cock, increasing his enjoyment. 
He was staring at her, making her self-conscious, he knew, yet 
he couldn't pull his eyes away from the dark circles of her 
nipples.

Not until she unfastened and lowered her pants and panties. 

His focus dropped to the triangle of hair at the apex of her 
legs. Rust-colored curls beckoned him and he took an unsteady 
step closer. He felt somewhat narcissistic holding onto 
himself, so he let go. His cock bobbed between them and made 
him think briefly of divining rods and dowsing for water with 
the way it aimed at the cleft beneath her curls in search of 
her humid depths.

She glanced down at him, and much to his dismay, appeared to 
grow a little green around the gills.

"Scully, if you're not sure..."

"No, I'm... I'm fine."

He bridled at the familiar phrase and felt some of the 
rigidity leave his cock.

"Honestly," she assured him and took hold of his flagging 
penis with her right hand.

His knees nearly buckled. The pressure and warmth of her touch 
felt so damn good and he began to grow hard once again. 

He wrapped his arms around her, and she nuzzled his bearded 
chin with her lips, coaxing his mouth to hers. When their lips 
met, he slipped his tongue between her teeth, swirling into 
her mouth, exploring her taste and wetness and heat.

A moan vibrated from his lungs into hers. She shivered in 
response and he hoped it was from desire, not cold or fear. 
She still gripped him and he pressed against her, trapping her 
hand and himself between their hips.

It felt good, but he ached for more.
 
Cradling the back of her head in his palm, he increased the 
ardor of his kiss. Her jaw went slack, her lips more pliant, 
and when her tongue prodded his in a swiftly won skirmish to 
access his mouth, he welcomed it and sucked her in.

Connect, merge, unite...these words didn't begin to describe 
the compelling desire he had to join with her.

Without thinking, without breaking their kiss, he swept her up 
into his arms, causing her to release her hold on him. 
Engorged to the point of pain, he immediately missed her 
touch. 

His kisses became more desperate. Jesus, Jesus, if he wasn't 
in her soon his heart was surely going to burst. Dragging his 
mouth from her lips, he nipped at her chin and nose, lapped 
her neck and cheeks, and dipped his tongue back into her 
mouth. He carried her to the fur blanket, where he knelt, 
feeling clumsy and unbalanced, but keeping her in his arms, in 
his lap, for just a moment longer, enjoying the warm press of 
her weight against his swollen groin. He continued to kiss 
her, on the lips, the cheeks, the forehead, more gently this 
time, trying to slow the frantic pace of his desire.

"God, Scully," he gasped when she bit his neck, trapping the 
thin skin above his Adam's apple between her teeth. "I want 
you...so...much."

She released her hold to look up at him, lips swollen and 
parted, chest heaving in little panting breaths. The pupils of 
her eyes were as black and beautiful as the night sky. He 
swore he could see Hercules coalesce with Virgo in their 
glittering firmament.  

Tenderly, he lifted her from his lap onto the furs. Then he 
moved over her, nipping at her collarbone in a gentle 
pantomime of her passionate bite. Slowly, he lowered his body 
on top of hers. 

Her knees parted to cradle him between her thighs. Her arms 
encircled his neck and drew him down. She was sun-warmed silk 
beneath him, welcoming and enchanting. He fitted himself to 
her, pressing his hips between her splayed legs. His hard cock 
found her entrance and he hitched forward, nudging into her 
softly split form. 

He pushed...and met resistance. 

She gasped and winced. 

"Wait," she said. "I'm not...I'm not ready."

He immediately halted his forward thrust. "Sorry. Maybe we 
shouldn't--"

"No. No, it'll be okay. Just...uh...give me a minute."

Propping himself on his elbows, he shifted his weight so that 
he no longer pressed so heavily onto her.

"Take whatever time you need." He stroked her hair. "How about 
if we swap positions?"

She nodded at the suggestion, so he slid off her, rolling as 
he went and taking her with him. He ended up on his back with 
her sprawled on top of him.

Smiling up at her, he said, "Whenever you're ready. Or not. 
Whatever you want to do." 

A look of determination replaced the watery worry in her eyes. 
"Maybe if you talk to me. It might help."

Talk to...? Really? "You mean...like phone sex?"

"Not quite. I just want to hear your voice. I find it 
soothing."

Ah, so she didn't want to hear "Oooo, yeah, fuck me, baby." A 
poem maybe? He sifted through several possibilities before 
settling on: "'Let me but glimpse you and I can no longer 
utter a word. No voice comes; my tongue is thick. Fire runs 
beneath my flesh.'"

She raised an eyebrow. "Continue."

"'My eyes cannot see, my ears are filled with humming that 
stuns, sweat streams down me...'"

She smiled. "More, please." 

He recited the last line: "'My body trembles. I turn greener 
than grass, so faint I believe I shall die.'"

"That was beautiful. Who wrote it?"

"Sappho. 600 B.C., give or take."

"I like it."

"Yeah? Well, I figured it was better than, 'Down go the 
britches, in goes the little thing about six inches.'"

She laughed at his joke, which pleased him. "Where the hell 
did you come up with that?"

"It's an Ozark square-dance call."

"You're kidding."

"I never kid about square-dancing."

Again she chuckled and he enjoyed the vibration of her body 
against his.

"Talk to me some more," she urged, laying her head on his 
shoulder. "I love your voice. Especially here, in the dark." 

She smelled wonderful, fresh like the river water, but with an 
underlying hint of her own natural fragrance, that delightful 
"eau de Scully" that complemented any of the soaps, shampoos 
or perfumes she used back home. He loved her aroma, most 
detectable at the end of a long stakeout, when the artificial 
scent of her toiletries gave way to her body's unmasked, musky 
perfume. 

He buried his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply, grateful 
for this opportunity to sniff her without pretense. Moaning 
his appreciation, he tried to think of something else 
"soothing" to say.

"Know what the Pleistocene tribesmen call this?" He raised his 
hips, nudging her pubic bone with his erection. As soon as the 
words left his mouth, he regretted saying them. Would his 
question remind her of Dzeh and the mate exchange?

She was quiet for a moment, giving him ample time to worry. 

Finally she lifted her head from his shoulder to grin at him. 
"Umm, impressive?" she asked. 

Thank God, she wasn't upset. And she'd just complimented his 
equipment. Maybe this talking idea was a good one after all.

"Aww, thanks, Scully. But no, it's a 'be-zonz.'"

"Be-zonz? What does that mean?"

"*This*." He poked her again. "Penis. Cock. Dick. Schlo--"

"I get the point."

"Know what they call the female genitalia?"

She stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Ah-toh," he said, answering his own question. 

"Mulder, how did this come up in everyday conversation?"

"Oh, you know, just a bunch of guys, hangin' out in the prayer 
hut, talkin' guy talk."

"Hm."

"What do you call it, Scully?" He wouldn't mind hearing a 
little "soothing" talk himself.

"It?"

"Your...uh, ah-toh."

"I call it a vagina."

"That's kinda clinical."

"So?"

"Not very sex...er, soothing." He ground against her and gave 
her ass a playful pinch. "Can I give it a nickname?"

"No. And don't tell me you've got a nickname for 
your...your..."

"My what?"

"Your be-zonz."

"You mean 'Godzilla'?"

Now it was her turn to pinch him. She tweaked his ribs and 
then reached down between them to grab hold of Godzilla.

She squeezed him...*hard*. 

"Mmmmmm," he groaned, feeling like he could explode in her 
hand.

She closed her eyes to mere slits, licked her lower lip and 
said, "I think I'm ready."

That was it? A poem and a little friendly banter and she was 
good to go?

She stroked him and he decided not to question it.

"You've got your hand on the stick shift, Scully. Feel free to 
take me for a test drive."

She rose to a sitting position and guided him to her entrance.  
It took all his willpower not to push into her. Instead, he 
let her sink down on top of him.

Ready indeed. She was more than ready. Slick with desire, she 
settled onto him...over him...around him. Jesus, she felt 
good.

He looked up at her sitting above him, her thighs straddling 
his hips, hands anchored to his chest, the unrestrained corona 
of her hair illuminated from the side by the fire. She was 
half light, half shadow, simultaneously exposed and hidden. A 
secret and an answered prayer, all in one. 

Her eyes glittered with tears, bringing a lump to his throat 
and a pang to his chest. 

"You okay?" he asked in a whisper.

She answered him with a faint smile and an almost 
imperceptible nod. Then she rose up on her knees, stroking his 
hardened flesh with her inner walls. The satisfying friction 
drew his attention away from everything, everything but their 
joining.

"I'm fine, Mulder. 'Greener than grass, so faint I believe I 
shall die,'" she quoted his poem and eased back down on him. 
"Make love to me."

"I thought that's what I was doing."

"No, you're treating me like glass. I want you to treat me 
like a lover."

"But...I don't...I--"

"You're inside me. Make love to me." Again she rose up.

It was too much. With her blessing, his self-control abandoned 
him. Driven by an urge as ancient as life, he grasped her hips 
and pushed into her. The reward was instantaneous. Pleasure 
zigzagged along his spine, promising bliss should he empty 
himself into her. Every nerve in his body yearned to fill her 
with the fertile slurry of his seed. Meeting her downward 
stroke, thrusting back into her, again and again, he became 
every rutting deer, every mating hawk, every spawning salmon. 
He was the very first spark of life adrift in the vast 
primordial sea, struggling against all odds to become more 
than itself alone.

And yet, this act was greater than any biological urge or even 
a Divine command to go forth and multiply. This was making 
love in the truest sense, becoming one with a soul mate. 
Putting together two imperfect halves in order to create one 
perfect whole.

His recompense came too soon, too soon, in waves, salty 
breakers upon her feminine shores. He threw his head back and, 
with gritted teeth, climaxed into her. Each rush of semen was 
sheer bliss. Each concluding thrust, perfection. 

Scully...

Scully... 

*She* was perfection.

Never had a woman overwhelmed him with passion the way this 
one did. Never had he felt more at home than inside her. He 
belonged to her. It was unimaginable to consider his life 
without her.

Still joined, she leaned forward, lowering herself onto his 
chest, gasping and overheated. Like him. Their two hearts 
thundered against one another, not quite in sync but 
complementary. 

"Sorry," he apologized. He had rushed to his own fervent 
release, failing to bring her along with him. "You didn't--"

"Shhhh. I'm fine, Mulder. Really. That was...that was 
beautiful." She lifted her head to study him. Her eyes shone 
with what must certainly be love. "*You* were beautiful."

"Jesus..." He stroked her face. "Evidently I've fallen for a 
crazy woman."

"Not crazy. Just happy."

Happy? Here? 

"You mean for once being in the wrong place at the wrong time 
isn't a bad thing?" 

He was feeling pretty happy himself, he realized. It was mind-
boggling. Their situation couldn't be more precarious and yet 
he did feel happy. Crazy, insanely happy. 

Greener than grass, he thought, so faint I believe I shall 
die. 

She shifted on top of him, causing his diminishing erection to 
slide out of her. Sated by his dinner and warmed by the fire 
and his love for her, he felt sleepy. Drowsiness weighted his 
limbs. His eyes closed and his thoughts began to drift, 
languid and content. 

"Wake me in fifteen," he mumbled, his words rolling like 
smooth stones in his mouth. "I'll finish you then."

"It's a deal," she said, laughing quietly. She stroked his 
chest with a rhythmic, hypnotizing caress. 

Just before sleep snagged him, he thought he heard her say, "I 
love you, sweetheart," but maybe it was only wishful thinking. 

*   *   *

"More wo-chi!" Klesh flung his empty bowl at Klizzie. It hit 
her arm and bounced away.

She set down her sewing, giving up on trying to untangle the 
knot of sinew in her kit. Rubbing the pain from her elbow, she 
frowned and said, "You have had enough." 

They sat on opposite sides of the hearth in the hut where she 
had laid with Muhl-dar on the night of the mate exchange. The 
Clan had allowed Klesh to remain at Turkey Lake to mourn Tse-
e's death with his kin, just as he had predicted they would. 

"Do not tell me what I will and will not drink," he growled, 
slurring his words. His beard was clotted with a mixture of 
spilled wo-chi and the traditional pale, clay face-paint of 
someone in mourning. His whitewashed lips curled into a nasty 
sneer. "I will have as much as I like. Bring me more. Now!"

"There is none left," she lied, tasting the clay-of-death on 
her own lips. "You drank it all."

She didn't want him to have another bowlful. The powerful 
drink was already making him bad-tempered, more so than usual.

He suddenly laughed out loud, an angry barking sound that made 
Klizzie jump. 

"You...are a liar, my cousin," he said when he finished 
laughing. "Maybe you should have a sip or two of wo-chi 
yourself. It might make you friendlier."

He shifted onto hands and knees and crawled around the fire to 
sit beside her. She glanced down at her sewing supplies, 
strewn about the floor at her feet, and noted the location of 
her stone knife among the needles and knotted sinew. She would 
use it if forced.

"Remember the last time we drank wo-chi together?" His voice 
purred like a saber-toothed cat, sated on the blood of its 
most recent kill. He reached out a gnarled finger to caress 
her cheek.

She batted his hand away. Yes, she remembered. Of course she 
remembered. If she lived to be a gray-haired old woman, she 
would not be able to forget that dreadful night.

"Do not touch me," she warned.

He chuckled at her discomfort. "You said it burned your 
throat," he reminded her.

Indeed, the wo-chi had burned. It caused her stomach to buck 
and ache at first, but after a few more swallows, it enveloped 
her in its mysterious warmth. And by the time she'd finished 
an entire bowlful Klesh no longer seemed so unattractive. His 
scars had grown faint, almost invisible. He appeared as 
handsome as he had been before his disfigurement.

As if able to see her thoughts, he said, "You did not always 
find me so ugly."

No, he had not always been deformed and he had not always been 
so mean. At fifteen, his skin had been as smooth and unmarked 
as any boy's. And he laughed often, even when teased about his 
father, who was a lazy man and a poor gambler, or about his 
mother, who was said to have shared her sleeping skins with 
many men in exchange for meat and hides. Gossips claimed she 
sometimes traded herself for pieces of jewelry, even a...a 
hair ornament.

Klizzie flushed with shame. Four summers ago, warmed by wo-chi 
and dazzled by a silly hair comb, she had done exactly what 
Klesh's mother was said to have done; she gave herself to a 
man in exchange for a pretty trinket.

Her decision seemed foolish now. So obviously wrong. But at 
the time...Klesh had appeared transformed into the boy he had 
once been, the courageous 15-year-old who had saved her 
frightened brother's life by stepping into the path of a 
charging saber-toothed cat. Klesh had nearly died from the 
awful wounds he received on Tse-e's behalf. No doubt he often 
regretted his selfless act, or wished he had perished in the 
fight instead of living. The physical pain he endured must 
have been excruciating.

His scars and his sacrifice earned him no honor, it turned 
out. He was tormented ruthlessly about his deformity, maybe 
because his father and mother were so unworthy of respect that 
the Clan's loathing for them spilled over onto their son. Only 
Tse-e remained loyal to his scarred cousin. When Klesh was 
banished, Tse-e refused to turn his back on the man who had 
once saved his life, and went with him.

If she had been more compassionate and less selfish, she would 
have gone, too.

It seemed she was always misjudging the right thing to do. She 
felt confounded by the choices the Spirits placed in her path, 
unlike Dzeh, who knew what was proper and what was not. To 
her, decisions were often as knotted as the sinew in her 
sewing kit.

Well, she had learned one lesson at least. Telling Dzeh the 
truth about Klesh had been better than more lies. Now her 
cousin could not slit her throat with the knife of her own 
deceit.

"I will bring you some food," she said, rising to her feet. It 
would be better to fill his belly with mastodon meat than more 
drink. And it would give her an excuse to go to the smokehouse 
and get away from him for a while. Maybe if she stayed away 
long enough, he would be asleep when she returned.

"Don't go." He grabbed her wrist and leered at her. "I am not 
hungry for food."

She twisted her arm free. "Then I will visit the Shaman 
instead. The Spirits are poking spears into my stomach."

Without waiting for his permission, she turned her back on him 
and walked out of the hut.

*   *   *

Mulder jabbed at the fire with a stick, sending a flurry of 
sparks spiraling into the night sky. The landscape was jet 
black beyond the hearth's glow. Only the silver moon and its 
rippled reflection on the river appeared beyond the yawning 
mouth of the cave. Inside, light and shadow skirmished on the 
rock walls. The fire provided welcome heat and real 
protection, along with a sense of security that had been rare 
here in the Pleistocene. Sitting inside its circle of light, 
Mulder felt safer and more contented than he'd felt in weeks.

"You're awfully quiet," Scully said. She sat next to him, 
knees drawn up, eyes focused on the flames. "Did I wear you 
out?"

He chuckled. True to her word, she'd woken him after a short 
nap, and they had made love a second time. He'd given her that 
promised orgasm, times two. 

Tossing his stick into the fire, he caused it to crackle and 
hiss. Cedar-scented smoke curled skyward from the green wood.

"I'm just sittin' and thinkin'."  

"About what?"

"Making love. Uh... not tonight...just now...but last night. 
It...uh...it wasn't easy for me," he confessed.

"I know. It wasn't easy for me either."

"Hmm," he hummed his acknowledgement. Of course it wasn't; it 
couldn't have been. "I didn't mean to imply--"

"I didn't mean to minimize your discomfort either," she 
interrupted. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too." 

She was radiant in the firelight. Lustrous, smooth, perfect. 
She had put on her black panties and bra after making love and 
now her satiny bra reflected the fire, drawing his eyes.

He was still naked, loathe to dress again in his filthy 
clothes. Maybe tomorrow he could wash them in the river, and 
take a long bath, too, to cleanse away the blood and grime and 
unpleasant memories of the last few days. 

She caught him staring at her chest, and he glanced quickly 
away, not wanting her to think he expected another round of 
lovemaking, although he would bed her again in a heartbeat. 

To avoid looking at her underwear, he focused instead on her 
bare feet and her pretty little toes, curling and uncurling, 
delightfully small, especially compared to his. He loved 
everything about her compact body. Her diminutive size made 
him feel substantial, physically powerful, and protective, 
characteristics he relished when he was with her. It filled 
him with masculine pride to think she might occasionally 
depend on his larger size and greater strength, to overpower a 
murderer or to spear a Pleistocene sloth. 

Or simply to hold her in his arms at night, keeping the cold 
at bay.

He reached out to stroke her hair and she leaned into his 
caress, rubbing against his fingers like a cat. The strands 
slipped between his fingers, feather soft and shimmery, its 
silkiness and shine bringing a pleasant ache to his heart. 

To his surprise, he saw tears glittering along her lower 
lashes. His breath caught in his throat when she raised her 
eyes and he saw they were glossed with melancholy...not the 
same raw contentment he was feeling.

"I keep thinking about you and Klizzie," she said.

"Klizzie?" His hand dropped away and he blinked at her.

"Yes. I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but I'm...I'm 
jealous of her."

"Scully..."

Tell her, he urged himself, don't make her suffer thinking 
something happened when it didn't. Tell her. Tell her now--

"I was married once," he blurted.

Shit! Where the hell had that come from? That wasn't what he'd 
meant to say. Could he take it back? Would it be possible to 
divert her attention, maybe switch back to the topic of 
Klizzie? Or would that just make things worse? 

She stared at him. Shock, maybe anger, rounded her eyes. 
"What...?"

"Did I say that out loud?"

She didn't smile at his joke. To the contrary, her frown grew 
deeper. 

"I, uh, probably should have told you that a long time ago."

"You were married?" 

She sounded hurt. Damn it, this was exactly as he'd feared.

He shrugged, afraid to say more. 

"Why didn't you tell me before now?" she asked, her voice 
sounding faint and vulnerable.

"Because...it was a disaster, not something I'm particularly 
proud of."

"What happened?"

"I was an idiot, of course. I didn't...I couldn't agree to her 
terms."

"Terms?"

If he told her the truth, would she leave him the same way 
Diana had? It was his greatest fear.

At the same time, he couldn't bring himself to lie to her any 
longer.

He decided to take a chance and come clean. 

"She wanted children. I didn't."

Scully appeared to be corralling her emotions. She nodded and 
asked, "And what was...what *is* your objection to having 
children?"

"Scully...can't we just say you and I disagree on this 
subject?"

"No, Mulder, we can't. One day, you and I are going to be 
parents, *together*. We're going to have a son--"

He hissed in disbelief.

"I saw it, Mulder."

"In your vision."

"Yes, in my vision."

He tried to steady his own emotions. "Have you asked yourself 
why you believe that vision, Scully? You've doubted and 
questioned every paranormal event we've ever 
encountered...except this one. Why do you think that is? Could 
it be because you're seeing exactly what you want to see?"

"That's not it."

"No? A happy family? The perfect future?"

"Are those such terrible things to want?"

"For you, no. For me...they're impossible."

"Why? Why impossible for you?"

"Because I have commitments, to the X-Files, to my sister..." 

These were old arguments, the same ones he'd used dozens of 
times with Diana. During their last fight she'd countered by 
accusing him of acting like a child, with only the 
responsibility of a child...to his "dreams," his "fantasies." 

Just before she walked out of his life forever, she'd said it 
was time for him to let go of his past. She asserted that his 
search for Sam was fueled by a subconscious desire for an 
ideal "family wholeness," and until he realized this and 
became a parent himself he would never know the true meaning 
of commitment or happiness. 

He had disagreed, of course. Then and now. He believed he 
wanted Sam back because he cared about her -- not in an 
abstract sense, but as a living, breathing, little girl who 
was enduring who knew what because he'd been too frozen by 
fear to save her. He was responsible for her disappearance. 
He'd done nothing to help her when they'd come to take her 
away. And it scared the hell out of him to think he might one 
day react with the same fear and cowardice, jeopardizing the 
lives of his own children.

Just as he had jeopardized Scully during the exchange...by 
doing nothing to prevent it. 

He had to make her understand. 

"Scully, someone once told me I would never experience true 
joy unless I planted my feet in the world," he said, 
swallowing his anger...at himself, at his past, at the current 
circumstances. "Trouble is, my feet are always running. Toward 
the truth, away from liars who want to shut me down. We both 
know what I'm up against. It's a fight I can't win unless I 
give it my undivided attention. And I think it's worth my 
undivided attention. Don't you?"

Her expression hardened. "It's *our* fight, Mulder, not just 
yours. It hasn't been yours alone for a very long time."

"You know what I mean. I can't just slip into domestic bliss. 
I need to find my sister. You've known that from the start, 
since our very first case together."

"Having a child doesn't mean giving up on your sister. It 
doesn't mean giving up the X-Files."

No? How could it not? Having a family took time; it took 
emotional commitment. Time was slipping away faster than he 
could comprehend; the twenty-five years since Sam's abduction 
had vanished in a heartbeat. He had nothing to show for it.

He also had neither the skill nor the fortitude to handle the 
emotional responsibility of parenthood. He wasn't the father 
type. He had nothing to give a child. No way to protect it. 
He'd proven that with Sam.
 
"No, I don't feel... I can't..." His temper flared; he balled 
his fists as a familiar tide of incompetence welled up inside 
him, swamping him with his failures and shortcomings. "*No*! 
No children, Diana!" 

Scully flinched as if slapped. Blinking back tears, she asked, 
"Her...her name was Diana?"

Oh, fuck. He'd called her Diana. "I-I'm sorry, Scully, I 
didn't mean..."

He reached out to stroke her hair again, but this time she 
pulled away, and her withdrawal was a knife to his heart. 
Clearly he would have to tell her the truth now. All of it.

"Scully, I'm sorry. Yes. Her name was Diana."

"Diana Fowley...your colleague on the X-Files who left for an 
assignment in Europe?" 

How was she able to remain so calm? Why wasn't she arguing, 
striking out at him, slugging him in the jaw? 

"Yes. We met when I first got out of the Academy...in '86. We 
were married in '89. It lasted 18 months."

She considered this new information. Although obviously hurt, 
she didn't appear particularly angry.

"Mulder, why did it take falling into a time warp for you to 
finally tell me this?" 

Tell her. Tell her the truth. 

"I was afraid."

"Afraid to be honest with me?"

"No. Afraid you'd leave me, just like she did, for the same 
reasons, because I'm not the man you want or need me to be." 
He picked up another stick and tossed it into the fire, 
sending sparks churning through the dark. "What I don't 
understand is why you stay with me at all. It's a question I 
hate to ask, but why *haven't* you left me before now?"

"Why should I leave you?"

"Why not? You've lost so much because of me...everything 
really."

"Not everything. Not so much, really."

"No?"

"No. And how would leaving you now change any of that?"

He shrugged, unable to bring himself to say the words he was 
thinking, that she would be happier, safer without him.

She reached out and caressed the back of his hand. "Besides, 
what makes you think I hold you responsible for the things 
that've happened?"

"Because...I caused them." He drew his hand away.

"You didn't."

"Yes...I did." Why didn't she just admit it and have done with 
it? It was so goddamn obvious. "Scully, I'd like to think I 
would die before letting anyone or anything harm you, but good 
intentions only go so far. The truth is I ignore you and 
manipulate you and use you for my own purposes at your 
expense."

"You don't."

"Yes, I do. I sit idly by while you suffer. I've done it for 
years. We go my way and you get hurt."

She shook her head vehemently. "Mulder, you're acting as if I 
have no free will. As if I haven't made my own choices, when 
the fact is I follow you because I want to. I believe in our 
cause. *Our* cause. Yes, the costs have been high, but from 
where I sit, our purpose is worth a risk. Any risk. Don't you 
think that, too?"

No, he didn't. Nothing was worth ultimately losing her the way 
he'd lost Diana. 

He reached around behind him, fumbling for his pants. When he 
found them, he dug into the pocket and took out his knife. 
"Maybe she was right," he muttered, rising to his feet. 

"Excuse me?"

He went to one of the rock walls where the firelight flickered 
warmly over its smooth surface. He selected a relatively flat 
area and started to gouge into the stone with his knife.  

"Have you noticed there are no petroglyphs here?" he asked, 
etching an eight-inch-tall stickman. "No evidence of any human 
habitation. Don't you find that strange?"

To the left of his stickman, he carved a stickwoman, making 
her a head shorter than her partner and giving her round 
breasts and triangular hips. He joined their hands. When he 
was finished, he took a step back to study his picture. 
Something was missing. He wanted to show the man protecting 
the woman, providing for her, being the sort of man she 
needed, the man he wanted to be for her. A heroic man. He 
carved a long spear in the stickman's hand.

Satisfied, he returned to Scully and sat down beside her.

"What's that all about?" she asked, nodding at the figures.

Tell her, he repeated to himself. Answer her question 
truthfully.   

"Scully, I can't be without you," he admitted. He tried to 
smile, hoping to make the words come easier, but a wave of 
panic drew his brows together and his desire to smile 
vanished. "I...I think I knew that before we came here, but 
now I'm certain of it. So...so if you want a family, whether 
it's by IVF or whatever, I'm willing to be part of that."

Instead of being ecstatic, as he'd expected her to be, she 
scowled at him. "You're agreeing to become a father? Just like 
that?"

Was there something wrong with the decision? 

"Yeah...just like that."

"Don't, Mulder." She shook her head. "Don't do this for the 
wrong reasons."

"I-I'm not." 

He loved her. He didn't want to lose her. He wanted to make 
her happy. Weren't those good reasons?

He knew his perception of family life was skewed compared to 
most, that his divorce echoed his parents' break-up. He'd lost 
far more than he'd gained in marriage. And even earlier there 
had been the loss of Sam. Life seemed to be constantly 
snatching his family away in bits, like buzzards picking at a 
carcass. 

But, dammit, he wasn't going to let it happen any more. 

She didn't look as convinced as he felt.

"It's etched in stone, Scully." He pointed at the petroglyph. 
"You can't get more committed than that. Give me the chance 
and I'll prove it to you."

Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Standing at the river's edge, Scully wrung water from Mulder's 
clean pants and then shook out the wrinkles. Moisture rained 
from the cuffs as she carried them to the nearby bushes, where 
she spread them over blossom-covered branches to dry in the 
sun alongside their other clothes. Blond, trumpet-shaped 
flowers spiked the shrubbery, poking up between the clean 
clothes like birthday candles, scenting them with the sweet 
aroma of honeysuckle. The tattered garments fluttered in the 
morning breeze, looking the worse for wear after so many weeks 
in the Pleistocene. Frayed holes gaped at the knees of 
Mulder's jeans, and a slash on her right pants leg left the 
hem dangling. Her turtleneck was on the verge of losing a 
sleeve if she didn't repair it soon. She decided to mend it 
after it dried, using the sewing kit she still had in her 
jacket pocket. She would stitch the holes in her socks and 
panties, too, while she was feeling domestic.

Done with the clothes washing, she returned naked to the shore 
to watch Mulder finish his bath.  He sat in the shallows with 
knees splayed, water cresting his hipbones, his back to her. 
The river ran broad and calm around him. Pebbles the size of 
coins, polished smooth by centuries of tumbling in the 
current, lined the banks as colorful as confetti. Pillowy 
clouds and a periwinkle sky reflected in the river's glassy 
surface, bright and tranquil, except where Mulder stirred the 
water to wash his hair.

Had Diana Fowley ever watched him shampoo this way?

It bothered her that he'd waited so long to tell her about his 
marriage. To be fair, he had no reason to bring up the subject 
before now. His ex-wife hadn't been any of her business until 
recently. Maybe she still wasn't. And God knew Scully hadn't 
confessed anything about her own past romances. 

Diana Fowley aside, it was nice getting to know the personal 
side of Fox Mulder. She never would have guessed his favorite 
color was yellow or his favorite holiday was Flag Day or that 
he loved dinosaurs as a kid. 

She stood for a moment, watching him scrub his scalp. He had 
no shampoo, but worked hard to clean every trace of mud and 
debris from his hair, rubbing and rinsing until it shone as 
black and glossy as licorice. Next he scoured his neck and 
face with his palms, causing the muscles in his arms and 
shoulders to ripple and glisten. Although still mottled with 
bruises, he was a striking man and the sight of his dewy skin 
and sinewy vigor ignited a fire inside her.

She waded out to him and leaned down to kiss his cleaned 
cheek. His skin smelled fresh like the river. He lifted his 
gaze and reached up to cup her jaw with waterlogged fingers.

A startling current of lust surged beneath the surface of her 
skin where he touched her. She looked down at him, bewildered 
and delighted by the intensity of her attraction to him. 

He stared back at her, his expression fierce, untamed and 
hungry. Sliding sodden fingers down her neck, he traced a path 
to her collarbone, making her shiver. It was difficult for her 
to reconcile this wild, naked man with his 20th Century twin, 
her clean-shaven, impeccable partner. Both versions set her 
pulse pounding, but only with this one had she felt free to 
open her heart. She regretted shutting the other out, letting 
modern-day paradigms govern her instinctual desires. 

At least here her mistake was rectified. In this valley there 
were no rules to follow. No superiors to obey, no tribe to 
placate, no one to please or impress but each other. This was 
living honestly and she'd never felt more genuine.

She moved in front of him, straddled his legs and lowered 
herself into his lap.

"Good morning," she said, looking into his eyes. Such 
beautiful eyes, moss-green and fringed with wet, spiky lashes. 
Water sparkled in the smooth, dark hair of his brows, 
glistened in his bristly beard.

"Hey," he breathed, stroking her cheek with his thumb. His 
gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth.

She felt him growing hard beneath her.

"Again?" She chuckled.

"Don't look at me. Godzilla has a will of his own," he said, 
before his tongue swept across her parted lips, and slipped 
inside her mouth.

She reveled in his kiss. He tasted of the river, silty and 
sweet and ripe with life. She breathed him in, filled her 
sinuses with his humid scent. Ripe with desire, she painted 
his back with loving caresses, longing to have him assail her 
womb the same way his aroma overran her lungs and his taste 
pervaded her mouth.  

As if reading her thoughts, he pressed her backward until she 
lay supine in the shallows, her spine supported by polished 
pea stones and her hips still cradled in his lap. Her knees 
rose on either side of him. She dug her toes into the gravel, 
while her hair floated like a crown of sea kelp around her 
head. 

"Beautiful," he whispered, sounding awestruck. "My own 
mermaid."

He scooped up a palm-full of water and trickled it onto her 
breasts. 

"I want you," she pleaded, responding to the pleasant pucker 
of her nipples.

Without hesitation he shifted forward, spreading her legs 
wider while pushing into her. He found her entrance on the 
first thrust, as if they had performed this intimate act 
innumerable times. He brought cool water with him, startling 
her with its chill before his heat warmed them both. More 
water dripped from his hair onto her chest, spattering her 
breastbone like the first fat raindrops of a thunderstorm. He 
grunted with apparent satisfaction as soon as they were 
joined, his eyes closing briefly, a smile playing along his 
lips.

The pressure between her legs set off a swell of passion that 
traveled like a breaker from her abdomen to her chest, where 
it whirlpooled around her heart. 

"I...need more," she begged, feeling feral and greedy.

His hands slipped beneath her back and he lifted her once 
again into his lap, embedding himself deeply inside her. Water 
streamed from her hair as she rose up from the river. She 
thrust her hips forward and shoved against him, crying out as 
he filled her.

Sunshine heated her upturned face. It reflected off the water, 
mottling his wet skin, making him shimmer, slick and urgent 
beneath her. She arched in his arms when he bowed his head and 
sucked her right nipple. Palming her left breast, he squeezed. 
She pressed into the cup of his hand, while he pumped between 
her splayed legs, jostling her with his thrusts. His teeth 
nipped at her breast. Strong fingers kneaded her flesh.

A raft of ducks, half-hidden in the reeds on the opposite 
shore, swam in wary circles, made nervous by the disturbance. 
They quacked in disapproval whenever she moaned or cried out. 
She ignored their complaints, preferring to focus instead on 
Mulder's lovemaking, letting the act of coitus strip away her 
peripheral awareness. Everything outside her evaporated as his 
movements grew more demanding, until only he existed. His 
prodding. His lust. His unrelenting thrusts and insistent 
kisses. She steadied herself by gripping his shoulders, while 
her hips rose and fell over him.

Using her legs to push, she rode his turgid flesh. The 
friction against her inner walls was extraordinary. It excited 
her and drove her to quicken her pace. She found coupling this 
way, out of doors, washed by sun and water, caressed by a mild 
morning breeze, to be astonishingly sensuous and arousing. 

In no time, it seemed, she felt poised at the crest of a 
colossal waterfall. 

"I'm close," she warned. 

At her announcement, his knees fell apart as he dug his heels 
into the river bottom, searching for leverage, spreading her 
legs impossibly wide. His fingers clasped her hips and she 
relinquished all control, returning his earlier generosity by 
allowing him to steer them toward their climax.

With a bruising grip he lifted her, then brought her back down 
over him. Plunging, withdrawing, he continued to pound into 
her until her insides burned and a welcome contraction began 
behind her pubic bone. 

She held her breath.

"Come for me," he urged.

Giving in to desire, she released all residual restraint and 
allowed pleasure to shudder her womb. The hum of her panting 
breaths and the frantic splash of water faded into silence at 
the onset of her cascading orgasm. A blissful tremor ballooned 
in her belly. It radiated outward, rippling through her torso, 
numbing her limbs. She tried to shout her satisfaction, only 
to discover she hadn't enough air in her lungs to whisper her 
lover's name. 

He ejaculated then, bathing her insides with his fiery 
essence. His bellow prompted the ducks to take wing. They rose 
from the reeds with a raucous flap of feathers, squawking 
skyward, where they eventually dispersed to the north like 
seed on the wind.  

*   *   *

Chal tracked Gini's footprints around scrub brush and stunted 
hardwoods, while only a spear's throw away Wol-la-chee 
followed the trail of his Owl Clan kinsmen and the strangers 
from Eel Clan. The two separate paths had begun in the swamp, 
where Gini had doubled back to head after the others. From 
there she'd traveled to this stony valley, staying always 
within sight of the others' trail, yet never walking in their 
footsteps. 

It was very peculiar. Her tracks clearly indicated she often 
paused behind shrubs, boulders and trees, as if she were 
trying to remain hidden from the others. But why follow them 
if she was afraid of being discovered?

"Have you told Dzeh you are interested in his sister?" Wol-la-
chee asked, raising his voice to be heard across the distance 
between them.

"I am not interested in her," Chal lied. "She is too young." 

In truth, he didn't think Gini was too young and she did 
interest him...a lot. He liked the way she'd faced him, chin 
held high as he teased her at the lake, calling her ugly, 
although she was not ugly at all. To the contrary, she was one 
of the prettiest girls he'd ever seen. Even so it was not the 
pleasantness of her face or the glossy shine to her hair that 
made her stand out in his mind. It was the way she'd dared to 
challenge his insulting behavior, telling him bluntly he was 
rude. Her outspokenness was uncommon for a female, and he 
found himself admiring her bravado.

"She is eight Feasts old," Wol-la-chee said. "It is a proper 
age to become Promised."

"She does not appear that old. She behaves like a baby 
and...and she frowns too much." Chal preferred not to discuss 
his true feelings with this cousin of Dzeh's. Arranging for a 
mate was the responsibility of a girl's father -- or her 
brother in this case -- not nosy relatives. Besides, it was 
bad luck to talk about a Joining before the Promise was made, 
and he did not want to ruin his chances by testing the 
Spirits.   

"Dzeh is considering several boys as possible mates for her," 
Wol-la-chee continued, unwilling to let the subject lie. "But 
maybe you already knew that."

Indeed, Chal had hoped this was the reason Dzeh was arranging 
to share food at his mother's hearth...before the trouble with 
the strangers sent them journeying here. His heart began to 
beat faster as he considered the likelihood of a Promise 
between Gini and himself. "Has he settled on someone?" he 
asked, feigning indifference.

Wol-la-chee laughed, recognizing his pretense. "So you *did* 
come along to impress Dzeh." 

"I did not. I am here because the stranger named Muhl-dar 
saved my life."

Wol-la-chee's good-natured expression suddenly turned stormy. 
"You want to *help* Muhl-dar? He is an enemy of Owl Clan!"

"But not of Badger Clan," Chal reminded him.

"He is a chindi," Wol-la-chee insisted. "He stole a sacred 
object."

"He also killed the mastodon that nearly killed me."

Wol-la-chee considered this. After a moment he grunted, 
reluctantly acknowledging Chal's reasoning. Saving another 
man's life was no small thing. It necessitated loyalty, even 
to a man of notorious character. Everyone understood this. 

The two hunters didn't speak for a while, focusing on their 
task instead of their difference of opinion. Following their 
individual trails, they continued south along A-Chi Stream 
into a sandstone canyon strewn with fallen trees and boulders. 
Steep, red cliffs loomed on either side of the rift, blocking 
the sun and cloaking the lowland in darkness. 

In the distance, two figures appeared out of the shadows, 
hiking wearily upstream toward them.

"Is that Dzeh and Lin?" Chal asked.

Wol-la-chee recognized the approaching men and shouted to his 
kinsmen, "Dzeh! Shi-da Lin!"

The others heard his call and responded by waving their 
spears. Then all four men broke into a run, eager to exchange 
information.

Chal was breathing hard when they came together in a copse of 
quaking aspens. 

"Where is Gini?" Dzeh asked, fear shining in his eyes. "Why is 
she not with you?"

Chal exchanged surprised glances with Wol-la-chee.

"We followed her tracks here," Wol-la-chee said.

"Here?" Dzeh appeared thunderstruck.

"Let me show you." Chal led them across the canyon to where 
Gini's diminutive footprints marked the sandy soil. "See?" He 
pointed to her southerly trail.

Dzeh crouched to inspect the prints. He traced one small track 
with a shaky finger. Tears filled his eyes.  

"I do not understand," he mumbled.

Lin placed a broad hand on Dzeh's shoulder. Sadness lined the 
older man's brow. "She must have gone after the strangers." 

"Why would she do such a dangerous thing?" Dzeh asked, rising 
to his feet. He looked at each man in turn. "We must bring her 
back." 

"Nephew...we cannot," Lin said. "Not if she has gone to Ye-
tsan Basin. The serpents--"

"I do not care about serpents! Gini is my sister. I must go to 
her."

"No," Lin said, using the tone of an elder who will be obeyed 
without question. "It is foolhardy. You have many needy kin 
back at Turkey Lake. Our Clan depends on the meat and 
protection you help provide. You must think about what is best 
for them. It is too late for Gini. She is with the Spirits 
now. You cannot bring her back."

"We do not know that...it may not be too late." 

Chal had heard the tales of Ye-tsan and knew its dangers. If 
the girl had gone into that horrible place, she would soon be 
dead, if she wasn't already.

Aspen leaves rattled overhead, sounding like angry snakes. 
Dzeh peered along Gini's thin trail. He took two faltering 
steps toward the south, then stopped, fists clenched in 
desperation.    

"I will go with you, Dzeh," Chal offered. "I-I am not afraid." 

Dzeh turned and regarded him with hopeful eyes. 

After a moment, however, his expression turned forlorn and he 
shook his head. "You are a Badger Clansman, Chal. I cannot ask 
you to take such a risk on behalf of Owl Clan." Then, scowling 
at Lin and Wol-la-chee, he snarled, "Such a sacrifice is for 
kin."

Lin drew himself up to his full height. He was a robust, 
imposing man despite his years, lined by experience and 
muscled by years of difficult living. Placing gnarled hands on 
Dzeh's shoulders, he met the younger man's outrage with 
compassion. 

"We cannot, my Nephew. We have greater responsibilities... 
mates, children and kin who rely on us to feed and clothe 
them. If we go to Ye-tsan, we sacrifice them along with 
ourselves. Ask yourself who will care for Klizzie if you 
perish? Who will teach Wol-la-chee's three young sons how to 
hunt? Who will comfort them when we do not return home? We are 
more than four men; we must think beyond ourselves. You know 
this."

"But...Gini..."

Tears overflowed Dzeh's eyes and streamed into his beard. 
Grief distorted his face.

Lin spoke softly, but with conviction. "She is already lost, 
Nephew. Do not sacrifice the living to chase a ghost."

A miserable moan bubbled from Dzeh's throat, numbing Chal's 
arms and legs with its intensity. The boy's chest tightened at 
the thought of Gini alone against the monsters of Ye-tsan.

Dzeh spun to face the southern horizon and suddenly bellowed, 
"Gini! Giniiiii!" 

When nothing but his wretched echo returned from the blood-
colored cliffs, Dzeh's shoulders slumped and he buried his 
face in his hands. The others waited quietly, grief-stricken, 
too, while he wept unashamedly for his dead sister.  

*   *   * 

"Get over here, Scully! I need your help." 

Mulder felt ridiculous. He was standing knee deep in the 
river, wielding a branch of driftwood like a baseball bat, 
dressed in nothing but his boxers as he tried to herd a 
snapping turtle the size of a hubcap toward shore. 

His underwear offered no real protection against an attack, 
should the turtle decide to turn and bite him, but he hadn't 
been comfortable with the idea of chasing after it with the 
family jewels dangling in front of its menacing jaws like bait 
on a hook.

"You're on your own, Mulder. I only promised to gut and cook 
it, not catch and kill it." Scully sat on shore, watching him 
with an amused look on her face. Her torn panties lay in her 
lap, waiting to be mended while she threaded her sewing 
needle.   

"You could at least help me corner...whoa!"

The turtle suddenly spun and headed straight at him. He back-
peddled into the shallows, splashing as he tried not to trip 
and fall. He swung his club, bringing it down hard, but the 
turtle zigzagged out of the way and he missed it by several 
inches. Water sprayed the air, momentarily blinding him.

When his view cleared, he saw the snapper lunging open-mouthed 
at his crotch. 

"Shit!" 

He whacked at it again. This time, driftwood connected with 
shell, producing a lethal-sounding thud. The impact rattled 
Mulder's teeth and he nearly lost his grip on the club, but 
blood began to ooze through the current around his ankles. The 
turtle was floundering. Its head lolled to one side as it 
tried to retreat.

Mulder struck once more, hitting it squarely between its beady 
eyes. This time it stopped moving altogether. Bobbling on the 
waves, it began to drift downstream, limbs and head hanging 
limply. Mulder followed it at a safe distance, wondering if it 
was just pretending to be dead or if in fact he had killed it. 
He nudged its bloodied nose with his stick to be sure.

Nothing. It didn't move. Didn't even blink. 

"Yes!" He lifted his club overhead and performed a lively 
victory dance, kicking up water as he pranced around the dead 
turtle.

Scully smiled and clapped her hands in dignified approval, 
which only encouraged him to strut more. He hurled his branch 
away and beat his chest for effect.

"Okay, Tarzan, haul it out so we can eat," she called.

Grasping the turtle by its stout tail, he dragged it to shore. 
It weighed fifty pounds or more, and left a trail of crushed 
grass nearly two feet wide from the riverbank to where Scully 
was sitting. It pleased him more than he expected to present 
it to her. He was providing for his mate and the idea puffed 
him with masculine pride. 

She smiled with obvious appreciation when he deposited the 
turtle at her feet. "Nice," she said.

Her eyes weren't focused on the turtle, he realized. She was 
ogling his crotch, where an erection tented his boxers.

"Huh, whaddaya know?" He feigned surprise. "Is it too soon 
to...uh...you know?"

She set her sewing aside. "Not at all."

"Then c'mere." He dropped to his knees and opened his arms. 

*   *   *

Gini walked through Ye-tsan Basin with her mouth gaping. She'd 
never seen anything like this place before. There was food 
everywhere!

Camels, horses, pronghorns, bison...they roamed the lowland in 
great herds, indifferent to her passing. Beavers, turtles, 
frogs and birds crowded the waterway. Heavenly Spirits, there 
was enough meat in this one valley to feed two hungry clans 
for an entire year!

Earlier in the morning she'd filled her stomach with six fat 
duck eggs and more mushrooms than she could count. Then she'd 
eaten fistfuls of sorrel and ramps, which grew in profusion 
along the riverbank. She considered gathering mussels for 
later in the day, but the shellfish were so plentiful she saw 
no reason to carry them. 

No doubt about it, half a day's hike south of those 
terrifying, giant footprints, Ye-tsan had turned into one of 
the most hospitable places she'd ever encountered, nothing at 
all like the grim stories had claimed. There were no rivers of 
human blood, no sandy dessert of powdered bones, no flying 
serpents or mastodon-sized monsters. 

Only lots and lots of delicious things to eat.

She decided to stop worrying about oversized serpents. She 
hadn't seen a single one since coming here. Dzeh and Lin had 
been silly to turn back. There was nothing fearsome in this 
valley and it would be a fine place to live for the 
summer...or even longer.  

Comforted by a full belly, and eager to catch up with Muhl-dar 
and Day-nuh, Gini broke into a happy run.

*   *   *

Scully dozed next to Mulder on the riverbank. Fresh grass 
cradled her naked body and Mulder's arm cushioned her head. 
The pleasant sweet-tart smell of chlorophyll prickled her 
nose, while honeybees droned in the flowering shrubs higher up 
the bank where their clothes were still drying. The river 
whispered like a sated lover beyond her feet as it flowed 
gently southward. 

She covered her face with the crook of her arm, blocking out 
the brilliant morning sky. The sun's rays warmed her skin and 
she drifted between sleep and arousal as Mulder drew feather-
light circles on her abdomen with his finger. His touch was 
partly stimulating and partly hypnotic...an erotic 
combination.

"Scully..." His voice vibrated like the humming bees. "When 
was your last period?"

His question brought her fully awake. She unshielded her eyes 
and reached down to close her hand over his, stilling his 
eddying caress. 

"I...I'm not sure. Why?"

"You know why." His tone sounded worried and a little 
accusatory. "We've been having unprotected sex for weeks."

She counted silently backward to the day when Klizzie had 
given her cattail down to absorb her menstrual flow. 

Five weeks had passed since then, she realized with some 
surprise.

"I'm a little late."

"What's 'a little'?"

"Maybe a week."

He sat up, jostling her as he slid his arm out from under her 
neck. Ordinarily he was quite adept at concealing his emotions 
beneath a mask of professional detachment, but this news 
clearly rocked him and he wasn't able to hide his shock. 
Concern puckered his brow and tightened his lips, and he 
regarded her with nervous eyes.

Feeling exposed beneath the intensity of his stare, she sat 
up, too, and hugged her knees to her chest. What had happened 
to his recent resolve to become a father? she wondered.  

"It doesn't necessarily mean anything, Mulder," she tried to 
reassure him. "There are numerous explanations for 
oligomenorrhoea. Overexertion, poor diet, stress, even a 
change in routine. I've experienced all of those since coming 
here."

He nodded slowly, lower lip caught between his teeth. Shifting 
his gaze from her to the river, he seemed to consider his next 
words with great care.

When he did speak, his voice was quiet, his tone 
indeterminate. "But it's possible you're pregnant."

"No...I'm...I can't get pregnant, Mulder. You know that." Not 
wanting to rehash this familiar conversation, she plucked 
peevishly at the grass beside her. Did they have to go over it 
all again?

"But maybe you can...now," he said in a voice so soft it was 
nearly lost beneath the rustle of the river.

She reached out and tagged his arm, drawing his attention back 
to her. "What makes you say that?"

"Something happened two nights ago."

Two nights ago she'd woken to find him red-eyed from crying.

"What...what happened?"

"I went to the river to...cool off. While I was swimming I 
experienced a, uh, time anomaly."

This surprised her. Why had he waited until now to mention it? 
"What kind of anomaly?"

He shrugged, causing sunlight to slide across his fine-grained 
shoulders, highlighting a fresh rash of gooseflesh and 
exposing his nervousness. "It felt like falling backward only 
I wound up where I'd started...but younger...sort of...I 
guess."

"Mulder, that doesn't make any sense."

"I know." A humorless smile nudged his furred cheek. "Sorry."

"Tell me more," she urged. 

He released a slow breath. On the far shore a pair of egrets 
argued over a flopping fish. The sun shone so brightly off the 
water it was painful to the eyes. 

"The sky seemed to buckle," he said. "Everything became 
blurry. I'm pretty sure I was seeing events unfold backwards."

"What events?"

"The Boggs case. Going to Lake Jordan in Raleigh. Getting shot 
in the leg, only everyone was moving and talking in reverse, 
including me. It was very disorienting."

"I can imagine." She reached for his hand and dovetailed her 
fingers with his because she didn't want him to take her next 
question as an accusation. "Other than the backward direction 
of events, how was your experience so different from mine?"

"Your visions?" He hung his head. "Not so different, I guess." 
Squeezing her fingers, he offered her a contrite smile. "I 
think I know what you're going to say next."

"What?"

"You're going to ask why I didn't believe you. Why I didn't 
accept your visions when I'm willing to accept every other 
paranormal event we encounter."

"And your answer?"

"I suppose I didn't like what you were seeing."

So they were making progress after all; he was being open, 
answering honestly. 

"And now that you've experienced a time event of your own?"

"I feel like a jackass." 

He lifted her hand and placed it on his bare thigh.   

"It's gone," she said. "Your scar is gone." His skin was 
unblemished and smooth.

The realization that he was reverting to a younger version of 
himself made her stomach roll uneasily. In less than two 
months he had regressed five years. How long before he was a 
teenager...or a toddler? 

"Whatever's happening to us, Scully, it's changing us 
physically. We have no idea to what extent, or how far it 
might go."

They had to find a way out of this place. "You're getting 
younger, while I'm...not. How fair is that?" she tried to 
joke. 

He didn't smile. "You've seen glimpses of the future. In them 
you're pregnant, giving birth. How do you think that's 
possible?"

"I don't know." She honestly had no explanation.

"Your vision suggests your fertility is going to be restored 
at some point. How that happens, I don't even want to guess. 
But when it happens is what's important right now." He pointed 
to the new scar on her abdomen. "Before that? Or after?" 

Her hand went automatically to the gunshot wound...undeniable 
evidence that she was already physically changed by an event 
which had yet to happen. Did it mean her fertility was 
restored, too? Could she become pregnant now?

"No, the child I saw in my vision was a product of IVF, not 
natural conception."

"Are you sure about that?"

No, she wasn't sure. Not one hundred percent. She'd seen only 
bits and pieces, like snapshots tossed randomly onto a 
tabletop, some half-hidden beneath others. The experience had 
been incomplete.

The only thing she knew with any certainty was how she'd felt 
when she held their son in her arms. She'd been happy and 
proud and calm. And Mulder had appeared to feel the same way.    

"Last night you claimed to be ready for fatherhood," she 
reminded him.

His expression turned forlorn. "I was. I am. But you have to 
admit," -- he waved a hand at the foreign landscape -- "this 
isn't an ideal place to have a child."

He was right, of course. Bringing a child into the Ice Age was 
foolhardy. Assuming she could carry a baby to term and give 
birth without complications, there were other dangers to 
consider. 

"Scully, I don't know if you've thought of this, but..." He 
ran his fingers nervously through his hair. "If you have a 
baby here, we might not be able to bring it back with us."

Her heart began to race. She wouldn't leave a baby here, she 
couldn't. She'd insist on staying with it.

But would Mulder stay, too? Was it even fair to ask him to 
make such a sacrifice? He'd agreed to parenthood, not a life 
sentence in the Pleistocene. 

Another awful thought struck her. They might not be given the 
opportunity to choose between staying and going. They might 
simply fall forward through time the same way they'd fallen 
backward...without their child.

The baby would be left to die alone.

Anxiety glossed Mulder's eyes, making him look as scared as 
she felt. In a croaking voice he said, "There's another 
concern. I'm not the only man you've been with."

So it wasn't just the idea of pregnancy that had him spooked, 
but that Dzeh could be the father.

Quickly, she calculated the timing of her cycle. Assuming she 
wasn't barren and she'd ovulated on schedule, she should have 
been ten to twelve days beyond ovulation when she slept with 
Dzeh, which meant the odds were against a pregnancy by him. 
But the rhythm method was notoriously unpredictable; 
intercourse at any point during a woman's cycle, even while 
menstruating, sometimes resulted in conception. And if her 
cycle had been delayed, for any of the reasons she'd just 
cited, her chances of conceiving a child by Dzeh were even 
greater. 

Mulder turned to face her, rose onto his knees and took both 
of her hands in his. Looking sincere, he said, "Scully, marry 
me."

Marry him? 

"That's not funny, Mulder."

"I'm not trying to be funny."

She scowled at him. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?" 

"I'm not pregnant."

"It doesn't matter. That's not why I'm asking."

"Why are you asking?"

"Because I plan to spend the rest of my life with you...as 
more than your FBI partner, more than your friend, more than 
your lover. I want to be your husband, Scully. Say you'll 
marry me."

Doubt closed her throat. She felt confused by his motivations 
and timing. He wouldn't be proposing if she'd started her 
period on schedule, would he? Or if she hadn't slept with 
Dzeh? Or if they'd never come to the Pleistocene?

Or...did those things matter only to her, not to him? 

She'd promised herself just yesterday to follow her heart. And 
yet here she was facing her first opportunity to be honest 
about her feelings and she was falling back on her habit of 
trying to second-guess them.

Let your heart lead you, she reminded herself. Don't over-
think it. Don't question it. Just *feel* it.    

When she didn't answer immediately, his shoulders slumped.

"Unless...you don't want..." His voice petered out. Swallowing 
hard, he released his grip on her hands.

What exactly did she want? 

For five years she'd been trailing after him, searching for 
the truth in shadows, illusions and lies. But her experiences 
over the last few weeks had shown her that falsehood and 
dishonesty were not hiding places for the truth, whether the 
deception came from an enemy or from within oneself. The truth 
only presented itself to an unguarded and honest heart. 
Devotion, attachment, loyalty...love...these were where truth 
resided. 

Mulder seemed ready to take a serious step forward in their 
relationship, a leap of faith, considering their dire 
circumstances.

She should accept his proposal. She certainly loved him enough 
and that was all that really mattered, wasn't it? It was past 
time for her to admit her true feelings...to herself and to 
him.

"Mulder..." 

It took more courage than she imagined to expose her heart. 
Reaching for his hand again, she drew strength from his 
solidity.

"I...I love you," she said at last, deciding to trust her 
emotions. 

His eyes pooled with tears and a smile formed on his softly 
curved lips. He whispered, "I guess I knew that."

"You did?"

"Well...I'd been hoping it for a long time, longer than you 
can imagine, but I knew it for sure when--" His voice caught 
in his throat and he turned away.

"When...?"

"When you agreed to sleep with Dzeh..." -- his words were 
strained and quiet -- "to save my life."  

She tugged him toward her and slid her arms around his waist. 
It relieved her beyond measure to know he understood why she'd 
agreed to the mate exchange. She loved him...Jesus, she loved 
him...more than any silly sense of pride or dignity, more than 
her own personal safety. Submitting to Dzeh had meant nothing 
when compared to saving Mulder's life. There had been no other 
choice for her and she would do it again in a heartbeat if it 
meant she was protecting him by doing so.  

Smiling through tears, she said, "Go ahead, ask me again." 

"What?" He drew back, eyes brimming with raw emotion.

She wiped a falling tear from his cheek before it became lost 
in his beard.

"Ask me again."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Wait..." -- he held up a finger -- "I want to do this right."

He rose on one knee and took her hand in his. All his 
nervousness and sorrow seemed to drain away when he looked 
into her eyes. He cleared his throat.

"Dana Katherine Scully, would you do me the honor of agreeing 
to become my wife?"

He looked so sincere and happy, posed on one knee, eagerly 
awaiting her answer. Behind him the Pleistocene landscape was 
picturesque, a Garden of Eden, colorful, pristine, untamed. 
The air smelled of flowers and fresh water. Stilt-legged 
birds, with feathers as white as a bride's gown, tiptoed 
through the shallows. Smaller birds clung to the reeds, 
cheerfully warbling and bobbing in the mid-day breeze. A herd 
of striped antelope with corkscrewing horns grazed on a sea of 
grass beside the shimmering river not more than fifty yards 
away. And grand, ruby cliffs towered above the valley, 
cradling the lowland in their open arms while bestowing a 
sense of security and peace to everything within view. The 
scene was unspoiled, magnificent. The moment was perfect. 

Scully wanted to remember it forever. 

When she didn't immediately answer him, Mulder misinterpreted 
her silence and his face fell with disappointment.

Until she said yes. Then he rose to his feet, pulled her up 
after him, and wrapped his arms around her. Lifting her from 
the ground, he spun them in a circle and whooped for joy. His 
shout echoed off the stone cliffs, repeating his elation over 
and over again. 

"Mulder!" She laughed at his obvious enthusiasm.

"You won't regret it," he promised, setting her back on her 
toes.

At that moment, she believed his words. She felt dizzy and 
happy and all her regrets seemed to be in the past.

*   *   *

Klizzie awoke to a caress, a teasing and gentle stroke along 
her jaw.

"Dzeh?" She turned on the furs to look over her shoulder, 
hoping to find he had come back, safe and willing to forgive 
her.

Instead, Klesh was grinning at her, deepening the scar in his 
left cheek. "You are sleeping late this morning, Cousin."

"Do not touch me!" She ducked out from beneath his gnarled 
hand and sat up. "What are you doing in my bed?"

"I thought you might be lonely without your mate." He leaned 
toward her and stroked her arm. 

Recoiling, she narrowed her eyes and said through gritted 
teeth, "Dzeh will kill you for touching me."

"Oh, really? He did not kill me the last time." Klesh's hand 
moved to her breast, where he cupped her and softly traced her 
nipple with a twisted thumb. "Maybe he is not so possessive as 
you think."

She slapped his face hard. "Touch me again and I will kill you 
myself." 

He laughed at her threat, a mean, barking sound that made her 
stomach roil. 

"You will not kill me, Kliz."

"I will. You cannot force me to lay with you again."

"Your memory is not so good, my Cousin. I did not force you 
the first time."

Shame heated her face at the memory. In truth, he had not 
forced her. But she was no longer the foolish girl she'd been 
then. He could not bribe her into his bed the way he had four 
years ago.  

Smiling, he rolled onto his back to fish into his totem pouch. 
From it he withdrew an astonishing ornament. A delicate 
necklace of shiny yellow, so finely worked only the Spirits 
could have made such a beautiful thing. He dangled it in front 
of her eyes. 

"Like it?" he asked.

She had never seen anything so lovely. "Where did you get it?"

"I have gone many places in four years. I cannot remember them 
all." His eyes gleamed as brightly as the necklace. "It can be 
yours."

"Only if I submit to you, I suppose?"

He shrugged. "Is that such an unfair trade?"

How dare he ask such a question? She rose to her feet. "You 
are my *cousin*," she accused. "I will *never* lay with you 
again."

Giving another shrug, he tucked the ornament back in his totem 
pouch. "Then I will be wanting my breakfast instead. Bring it 
to me now."

Anger flared inside her. She hated that he ordered her around 
as if she were his mate. Filled with rage, she began to gather 
her clothes and stuff them into a travel pack.

"What are you doing?" he snarled. "Where do you think you are 
going?"

"To my Aunt's. I will not share a roof with a chindi like 
you."

Heart beating wildly, stomach churning, she grabbed her pack 
and fled the shelter. 

*   *   *

So this is domestic bliss, Mulder thought. 

His future bride was tending their meal while he whittled a 
sturdy sapling into a six-foot-long spear with his knife. 

They sat at the entrance of the cave, on opposite sides of the 
hearth, where a small fire burned inside a two-tiered ring of 
stones. She wore her clean jeans and camisole. He was dressed 
in his pants, having opted to go shirtless. The midday sun 
flooded the mouth of the cave and warmed his bare shoulders 
and chest. 

He could scarcely believe it, but, sweet Jesus be praised, 
Scully had agreed to become his wife. He'd fully expected her 
to argue against marriage, citing all the logical reasons why 
it wouldn't work out, and he was ready to counter with 
confessions of true love, when she surprised the hell out of 
him by saying yes.

A light breeze whispered through the valley, fluttering leaves 
and grass. Trees lined the river's curving banks. Pale flowers 
blossomed thickly along both shores. Thirty feet below them, 
an enormous beaver nosed a freshly felled log downstream to 
its dam, cutting a V-shaped stripe through the glistening 
water. In the shallows, where Mulder had bathed earlier, a 
herd of dainty pronghorns drank their fill, oblivious to the 
two humans who watched them from the rocks above.

Mulder drew his knife along the shaft of his spear, shaving it 
smooth and straight. Curls of wood spiraled from the blade and 
piled in his lap. He didn't think he could feel any happier 
than he did right now. 

Strips of turtle meat were roasting on long sticks propped 
against the hearth stones near his feet. Scully periodically 
rotated the skewers, adjusting their distance from the coals 
to ensure even cooking. The food smelled delicious.

As promised, she'd gutted and butchered the turtle. While 
she'd been preparing the meat, he'd built a proper hearth by 
wrestling stones up to the cave, and then positioning them 
around the existing fire. He was pleased with the outcome. The 
circular wall prevented the wind from spreading ash into the 
cave, and would keep the coals protected and burning 
throughout the night. It also provided a decent shelf for a 
spit or for propping skewers. 

"Nice job on the fire pit," Scully complimented him, checking 
one of the steaks to see if it was done.

"I've had some practice." He held up his spear and squinted 
along its length, eyeballing its uniformity.

"You've built fireplaces before?"

"No, I worked for a mason one summer when I was in high 
school. We renovated chimneys, old fieldstone walls, did some 
foundation repair."

It had been laborious work. Long hours in the hot sun, 
tormented by insects, earning slave-wages. The physical 
intensity was mind numbing, which suited him fine at the time. 
Hauling and stacking brick or stone seemed to settle his 
nerves more effectively than the expensive shrink his mom sent 
him to twice a week.

"Not the easiest way to earn money." She gave him a 
sympathetic smile.

"I've had worse jobs." Hell, there were days when he would 
gladly trade his FBI badge for a mason's chisel and a 
wheelbarrow. "What's the worst job you ever had?"

"Laundromat attendant."

His brows lifted and he flashed her a curious grin. "You 
handled strangers' unmentionables for money?"

"Skivvies, socks, uniforms. You name it, I washed, pressed and 
folded it, three afternoons a week throughout my entire junior 
year."

Hearing this he felt a little guilty he hadn't volunteered to 
help her wash their clothes earlier. "No wonder your suitcase 
always looks like it was packed by a professional."

"How do you know what my packed suitcase looks like?"

"I'm a peeker, remember?"

"Ahh, right." She nodded and offered him a piece of cooked 
meat on a blackened skewer. 

It sizzled and steamed, putting off a mouth-watering aroma. He 
set down his knife and unfinished spear to take the stick from 
her. 

She selected another for herself. "What else did you do before 
you decided to devote your life -- and mine -- to the pursuit 
of the truth?"

"I think I was always searching for the truth." He bit into 
the meat. It seared his tongue, but he was too hungry to wait 
for it to cool. "Even when I was bagging groceries at Wakeby's 
or lifeguarding at Sengekontacket, I was looking for Sam. Mmm, 
this is good."

"You were a lifeguard?"

"Does that surprise you?"

"No, not really." She ate carefully, nibbling at the edges of 
her steak as if she were eating corn on the cob. "Did you sit 
in one of those lifeguard towers?"

"I did."

"Ogled by all the girls, I bet."

"Hardly. But I tanned up nicely. How about you?"

"Did I tan nicely?" she teased. "Or were you wondering if I've 
been ogled by girls?" 

"If you have any stories that involve either tanning or ogling 
I'd be happy to listen." Juice from his steak drizzled into 
his beard and he swiped at it with the back of his hand. When 
the grease spread, he found himself wishing again for a razor. 
Growing a beard was like wearing a hairy bib.

"I waited tables," she said. "Did a lot of babysitting. I 
liked watching people's kids...although there was this one 
eight-year-old boy who--"

She abruptly stopped talking. Mulder glanced up from his food 
to find her staring into the valley, back stiff, muscles taut. 

"What is it?" he asked, following her gaze to the river.

"Someone's down there."

"Where?"

"About fifty yards upstream."

His focus moved to a grove of broad-leaved hardwoods that 
fringed the riverbank. Their pale, slanting trunks leaned out 
over the water, creating a dense bower that could easily hide 
an entire tribe. He searched for movement beneath the arching 
branches, but could see nothing.

"How many?" he asked, putting down his food and reaching for 
his unfinished spear. Could it be Dzeh and his fellow 
tribesmen? Some other hostile natives?

"I caught only a glimpse," she said.

After a moment a small, solitary figure emerged from beneath 
the cover of trees. Mulder tightened his grip on his spear and 
rose to his feet.

Scully stood, too. 

The interloper paused, lifted an arm and shaded sun-blinded 
eyes to stare back at them.

"Mulder, I think that's..." She startled him when she suddenly 
broke into a wobbly jog, favoring her injured ankle as she 
headed down the rugged path that led from the cave to the 
river. "It's Gini," she shouted over her shoulder.

"Scully, wait!" He bolted after her. Dodging stones, he 
ignored the scour of loose gravel against his bare feet. He 
pictured Dzeh and a dozen of his beefy cousins hiding in the 
underbrush, waiting to ambush and kill them. "Scully, she 
might not be alone," he warned. 

"It doesn't matter." She hobbled downhill. "If anyone else is 
down there, they've already seen our fire."

Smoke curled through the air, carrying the hazy smell of their 
roasting meat across the valley, pinpointing their location 
like a flag.

"Gini!" Scully waved to the girl. 

The child waved back and ran toward them. "Day-nuh!" Her high-
pitched shout ricocheted off the stone cliffs. Even at this 
distance, Mulder could see she was grinning from ear to ear. 
"Muhl-dar!"

A large pack hung from her narrow shoulders and pounded her 
back with every stride. Despite its size, it didn't seem to 
slow her as she charged around shrubbery and raced with 
splashing steps through river water.

Scully slowed when she reached the bottom of the hill and let 
Gini come the last few yards to her. Still upslope, Mulder 
paused where the view of the valley was better. If Dzeh and 
his Cro-Magnon buddies were going to pop out of the bushes at 
any minute, he wanted to be where he could see them coming.

Panting and laughing Gini threw herself into Scully's 
outstretched arms. She babbled excitedly, hugging Scully and 
repeating her name again and again. Her eyes were bright with 
tears; a flash of white teeth lit her small, brown face.

Mulder felt an unexpected lump rise in his throat at the sight 
of Scully embracing the happy little girl. For just an instant 
Gini reminded him of Samantha and this joyous reunion made him 
wish again for his sister's long-awaited homecoming.

"Let me look at you," Scully murmured, kneeling to inspect the 
girl. "Hold still, sweetie."

Mulder's stomach contracted when he saw the girl's legs and 
arms were streaked with dried blood.

"Is she okay?" he asked, combing the valley again for any sign 
of Dzeh.

"I think so. Just insect bites and superficial scratches. 
There's some minor infection. These cuts need a thorough 
cleaning."

That was an understatement. Gini's hands and feet were black 
with grime. What appeared to be berry juice stained her chin 
and lips, and her hair was matted with twigs and grass. Mud 
caked her torn clothing. 

She grinned up at Mulder, seemingly unconcerned by her filthy 
condition. Shrugging her pack from her shoulders, she set it 
on the ground at her feet. She crouched to rummage through its 
contents, chattering the entire time in a breathy, eager 
voice. At last she found what she was looking for and withdrew 
her hand, fingers curled around something of obvious 
significance.

Her expression grew solemn. She straightened and walked uphill 
to Mulder, and when she stood only an arm's length away, she 
opened her fist. There, cradled in the well of her palm, was 
the little ivory carving, the idol he'd stolen from the 
tribe's cave.

Jesus, she'd come all this way to bring him that damn thing. 

Reluctantly he took it from her, causing her to smile shyly 
but proudly up at him. He didn't share her enthusiasm and 
couldn't return her smile. The carving had brought nothing but 
trouble. It wasn't connected with Scully's visions as he'd 
once thought -- his own experience with the time anomaly had 
proven that. It was only a worthless bit of bone and all he 
wanted to do was toss it into the river.

Instead, he tucked it into his pants pocket and crouched to 
embrace the beaming girl.     

*   *   *

Why did I strike her? The question circled Dzeh's mind like a 
windstorm in a canyon. 

He walked without seeing; his focus was not on the trail, but 
on that awful moment when he'd last spoken to Gini. He'd hit 
her across the face. Yelled at her. Oh, Spirits, help him, 
he'd knocked her to the ground.

"I *hate* you!" she screamed up at him.

Had she died hating him?

Tears blurred the path. He stumbled, unable to feel his feet. 
If not for Lin's grip on his arm, he would wander off course, 
fall to his hands and knees. Not that it would matter. He 
deserved this anguish. He had been a brute to her when he 
should have controlled his temper. In the end it was his 
stubbornness that killed her. She was dead because he'd placed 
tribal customs and his anger for Muhl-dar ahead of his love 
for her.

Dzeh felt his mother's spirit surround him. In his grief he 
believed he could hear her weeping in the rustle of leaves 
overhead. The breeze whispered her dying words through the 
wind-tossed branches, begging him again to take care of his 
young sister, to watch over her with the heart of a doting 
parent because she would not otherwise know such love.    

"I am sorry," he mumbled to his dead mother. "I am sorry." 

Soon his mother would greet Gini in the Spirit World; she 
would hold her little girl in her arms once more. 

His arms would be empty. Klizzie's, too. And there was no one 
to blame but himself.  

*   *   *

"Mulder, bring your shirt from the cave." Scully took Gini's 
hand and began to lead her toward the river. 

"My shirt?"

"She'll need something to wear after her bath," she called 
over her shoulder.

"Why not your shirt?"

"It needs mending."

"Won't mine be kinda big for her?"

"We can roll up the sleeves. Just get it, please."

Mulder jogged up the incline, hurried into the cave and back 
out again, taking the shirt with him. 

At the river, he handed it off, then took up a position 
several yards up-slope, where he would have a better view of 
the valley. He was still expecting Dzeh to show up any minute.
 
Scully helped Gini out of her muddy, torn tunic and inspected 
her chest and back. The girl talked non-stop while dutifully 
turning to be examined on all sides. Mulder clenched his fists 
at the sight of her ribbed torso and knobby knees. Her once 
neat braids were unraveled and fell in knotted mats down her 
back. Mud and blood caked her slender limbs. 

"Did he do that to her?" Mulder nodded at the girl's bloodied 
skin. "He" referred to "Dzeh," of course.

"They're just ordinary scratches and insect bites," Scully 
said. "She hasn't been abused."

Skeptical, he grunted and glanced again to the north, where 
there was still no sign of Dzeh or the others.

Scully quickly stripped out of her camisole and jeans before 
herding Gini into the river. The girl jabbered a mile a minute 
as she pranced naked into the water.

"Can you understand anything she's saying?" Mulder called down 
to them. 

"I recognize the words 'Turkey Lake.'"

"Turkey Lake?"

"The place we ran away from."

"It was called Turkey Lake?"

"I think that's what she was telling me the day we played word 
games on the hill." She lowered herself into the shallows and 
motioned to Gini to sit, too.

Mulder's focus swiveled between Gini and the landscape to the 
north. He wondered how it was possible such a young child 
could come all this way by herself. Surely someone must have 
accompanied her.

"Ask her about Dzeh," he said.

At the mention of Dzeh's name, Gini pointed a finger in the 
direction she'd come. Her words came out in clipped, angry 
tones as she jabbed the air. "Ye-tsan Dzeh. Ye-tsan Dzeh."

"You understand that?" Mulder asked Scully.

She shook her head and scooped water over the girl's 
shoulders, wetting her thoroughly before massaging the filth 
from her neck and back.

"She sounds pissed," he said. She had good reason to be mad, 
he knew; Dzeh had walloped her pretty hard back at the 
wedding.  "Ten to one she's running away from home." 

"She must have followed us." Scully scrubbed the girl's 
outstretched arms.

If she had, that meant she'd been within sight of them the 
entire way. Shit, he hoped she hadn't seen them--

"Maybe she left later and tracked us."

"Mulder, she can't be more than seven or eight years old."

As old as that? She looked like a kindergartner.

"Could be cave kids know these things," he suggested.

"We walked in the stream, remember? We didn't leave tracks."

"Yeah, but she was the one who told us to do that."

And if Gini knew that old trick, then Dzeh did, too. He would 
be coming for them as soon as he discovered she was missing, 
which must have been the morning after they'd left. They'd had 
only a half a day head start at best. 

Gini emerged from her bath clean and cheerful. Her tanned skin 
glistened and her wet hair hung in dripping ropes down her 
narrow back. She prattled in an exuberant tone, taking a 
breath only when Scully tugged Mulder's turtleneck over her 
head. 

"Oooh!" she said, eyes rounding as the fabric draped her 
shoulders. Scully guided her arms into the sleeves and then 
rolled up the cuffs. The shirt's hem hung well below her 
knees. She seemed delighted by the feel of the material, 
squirming inside it, patting the sleeves, burying her face in 
the loose-fitting neck. "Ne-zhoni," she said in an awed tone.

She ran to Mulder to show him, as if he'd never seen his shirt 
before. Grinning broadly, eyes bright, she twirled several 
times in front of him. When the fabric flared as she whirled, 
she squealed with delight, making Mulder smile in spite of his 
concerns about Dzeh.

He scooped her up in his arms. She giggled and hugged him, 
while calling out to "Day-nuh." 

Scully paused in her dressing to wave at her.

Mulder tugged playfully at the girl's sleeve. "You like my 
shirt?"

"Lyke ma sssert?" she repeated, smiling. Not the least self-
conscious, she reached up to stroke his short beard.

He gave her nose a light peck and then pretended to try to 
bite her fingers. The game made her laugh and she teased him 
by waggling her hand near his lips, pulling away just before 
he could nip it.    

Scully climbed the hill to join them.

"We have to take her back, you know," she said, as soon as she 
stood beside Mulder. 

His smile quickly faded. "We can't go back. They'll kill us."

"We don't have a choice."

"But she...she obviously ran away. Wouldn't you say that means 
she doesn't want to go back?"

"She's a child, Mulder. She doesn't know what she wants." 
Scully reached out to give Gini's cheek a gentle stroke. "She 
belongs with her family."

"So Dzeh can beat her again?"

Scully frowned. "You're judging him by 20th Century 
standards."

"I don't care what century it is. It's wrong to hit a child."

"Mulder--"

"No, Scully. We saw him hit her -- *hard*. She's just a little 
kid. I'm not taking her back to be beaten up again." 

Gini's brows peaked with worry. "Muhl-dar a-nah-ne-dzin bilh 
Day-nuh?" 

Mulder had no idea what she was asking, but clearly their 
argument was worrying her. He tried to corral his mounting 
irritation.

Scully appeared to do the same. She lowered her tone and said, 
"We don't know if what we saw was an everyday occurrence or an 
isolated incident."

"She's gone to considerable trouble to get away. That should 
tell us something."

"The fact that she's alive, healthy and educated by 
Pleistocene standards tells me she hasn't been neglected. 
She's been well cared for."

"We can care for her, too." He wasn't convinced it was in her 
best interest -- or theirs -- to return her. Not yet anyway.

"Mulder, she needs her real family. They love her. She loves 
them."

"Shall we test that theory?" If Scully needed proof, he would 
give it to her. He shifted Gini to his left hip. "What was the 
word for 'Turkey Lake'?" 

"'Than-zie tkoh,'" Scully said, pronouncing each syllable 
carefully. 

"'Than-zie tkoh'? Fine. Come on, Gini, I'm taking you to Than-
zie tkoh. I'm taking you back to Dzeh."

Gini stiffened in his arms and her eyes rounded with obvious 
dread when he began hiking north.

"No, no," Gini squawked, using English. She struggled to be 
put down. "No tehi. No ta-yi-the! Muhl-dar, no, no, no."

"Yes," he insisted, gripping her more tightly. He hardened his 
heart against her escalating panic and quickened his pace. 
"Yes, Than-zie tkoh. Yes Dzeh."

"NO!" she shrieked. "No Than-zie tkoh, no Dzeh!" 
 
He felt like a monster for doing this. She was clearly upset 
and desperate to be released. She began boxing his head and 
neck with her fists. He took the blows...apt punishment for 
his cruelty.

"Nooooo, Muhl-dar!" She was crying in earnest now, kicking and 
twisting in an effort to escape. She let out an ear-piercing 
screech.

He stopped walking and spun to face Scully.  

"Can I stop now?" he shouted to be heard over Gini's desperate 
wails.

Scully's chin dropped to her chest. After an excruciating 
half-minute she nodded.

Thank God. Poor Gini was distraught. She must think his 
actions abominable after coming all this way to deliver the 
carving. 

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothed, stroking her damp hair. 
"Shhhh. Demonstration over. No Than-zie tkoh, no Dzeh. Shhhh."

She collapsed against his shoulder, arms and legs dangling 
limply. Her cries slowly dwindled into watery hiccups as he 
carried her back to Scully.

Scully looked contrite. "Okay, we'll give her a day or two to 
cool off."

"Good. Maybe Dzeh will cool off a little by then, too." 

Assuming he didn't show up after dark tonight to kill them in 
their sleep.

*   *   *

Klizzie made it out of her aunt's hut before her oversensitive 
stomach threw back her evening meal. She retched into the 
weeds, feeling sweaty, exhausted, and a little frightened. The 
Shaman's tea had failed to put out the fire in her belly, or 
ease the thunderstorm in her head. In truth, its spicy smell 
made her feel even more queasy.

"Are you all right, Niece?" Ho-Ya approached her, her long 
horsy face puckered with concern. She crouched beside Klizzie 
and rubbed soothing circles between her shoulder blades while 
Klizzie finished emptying her stomach onto the ground.

Klizzie gulped for air. Her skin prickled with fever. The 
world seemed to spin around her. "Oh, Auntie...I do not know 
what is wrong with me. Nothing will stay put in my stomach. 
Whenever I rise to my feet, I am sick. It feels like a fire is 
burning inside my chest."

"Did you visit the Shaman?"

Klizzie bowed her head in shame. The Shaman had said the 
Spirits were punishing her for bringing the strangers to Owl 
Clan. "He told me to drink more bergamot tea. But the smell 
just makes me sicker."

Ho-Ya studied her for a moment. Suddenly a kindly smile split 
her long face. "When was your last Moon Time, my Niece?"

Klizzie thought back. She was always regular, flowing with the 
return of each new moon. But the moon was presently halfway to 
full and she had not bled during its dark phase. "I-I have 
missed a cycle," she said. 

Thoughts of the strangers had been filling her head for weeks. 
And now, with Gini missing and Klesh returned, she had new 
troubles to keep her preoccupied. It was no wonder her moon 
time had passed without notice.

"Come with me," Ho-Ya said as she helped Klizzie to her feet. 
"Rise slowly. I think I know what is wrong with you."

"You do?" She felt confused. Her head ached and her stomach 
churned.

"Of course." Ho-Ya steered her toward the shelter. "The 
stranger from Eel Clan has left a gift inside you."

What was she talking about? Muhl-dar had given her no gift. "I 
do not understand."   

"A baby, Klizzie! You are pregnant."

Pregnant? With Muhl-dar's baby? That was impossible. He had 
not performed the ritual exchange. They had not joined as 
mates. There was no opportunity for a baby to pass from him 
into her. 

"Auntie, I do not think...I cannot...the Spirits..." What 
should she say?

She couldn't admit the truth. Dzeh was already angry with her 
for lying about Klesh. What would he think if he discovered 
she had not fulfilled her duty with his Trading Partner? He 
might accuse her of cursing the partnership. He could say his 
falling out with Muhl-dar was her fault. 

"It is possible I ate spoiled meat," she said by way of 
explanation.

Ho-Ya chuckled. "No, Niece. I know the symptoms. I have had 
six children and I was as sick as you are with each of them. 
Before Chal was born, I was certain I would waste away to my 
bones, he caused such pains in my belly."

Klizzie put her hand over her own aching stomach. If there was 
a baby in there, it had not come from Muhl-dar. It must have 
been given to her by Dzeh. The fertility idol he carved for 
Hare Spirit must have convinced the god to finally answer his 
prayers.

But how could she tell him this good news without divulging 
the truth about Muhl-dar?

"Auntie, I do not know what to do--"

"Do not worry." Ho-Ya patted her arm, misunderstanding her 
concern. "I have learned some ways to make the sickness 
tolerable." She guided Klizzie into the hut and back into bed. 
"You must eat small meals. No eggs, no meat, no fat! And do 
not lie down after you eat. Drink lots of water. I will make 
you some mint tea with honey right now. It will help ease your 
stomach. And tomorrow morning, I will bring you your breakfast 
in bed so you can eat it before you rise. Berries, greens and 
lily buds. These will sit well with the baby inside you."

Klizzie snuggled beneath her blankets, stunned by this 
unexpected turn of events. Long after Ho-Ya brought her a bowl 
of steaming mint tea, she lay awake, trying to guess what Dzeh 
would say when he learned she was finally carrying a child.

*   *   *

Although Scully had eaten her fill of turtle meat she took one 
last bite, hoping to coax Gini to try some, too. The girl was 
staring glassy-eyed at the fire, uninterested in food. Still 
in a funk hours after Mulder's threat to take her home, she 
leaned sullenly against him, tucked beneath his arm, her knees 
drawn up inside his long turtleneck. Only her bare toes peeked 
out beneath the hem, making her appear even smaller than she 
was.

In one fist, she clutched his FBI badge, which he had given 
her earlier. With the other she stubbornly held onto his pants 
leg, unwilling to let him beyond her reach.

Throughout the afternoon and evening he had tried various 
things to calm her fraught nerves. He helped her empty her 
travel pack and rolled out her sleeping skin near theirs, 
hoping this gesture would show her the cave was her home, too, 
at least for the time being. He set the fertility idol on a 
narrow shelf of rock, a place of honor above his and Scully's 
bed, right beside the petroglyph he'd carved the previous day. 
He praised her for the many useful items she'd brought and 
they went together to fetch fresh water from the river in the 
hollow gourd. They picked berries, which they brought back to 
the cave, but she wasn't interested in actually eating any of 
them. She obliged Mulder by popping two or three into her 
mouth, but she chewed without apparent pleasure. All her 
former exuberance had completely vanished.

Remembering how much she'd enjoyed Mulder's binoculars, Scully 
suggested he let her explore the contents of his jacket 
pockets. This activity was moderately successful. Gini spent 
the better part of an hour crouched on the cave floor, 
solemnly examining everything she pulled out of his coat. His 
cell phone piqued her interest, particularly after he turned 
it on to demonstrate its different musical tones, but even 
when he let her try it, her mood was restrained. She was not 
the Chatty Cathy she'd been when she first arrived. 

In the end it was his FBI badge that intrigued her the most. 
She scrutinized the photo ID for quite some time. She was 
still clinging to it almost two hours later, while he held her 
and recited Dr. Seuss rhymes.

"So Horton stopped splashing. He looked toward the sound. 
'That's funny,' thought Horton. 'There's no one around.'" 

Muted by the sputter of burning wood, his voice was pleasantly 
hypnotic, a steady monotone, as velvety smooth as the fire's 
golden glow. Scully found it peaceful and hoped Gini did, too.

"Then he heard it again!" he said, putting almost no emphasis 
on Seuss' exclamation. He gently tugged one of Gini's shiny 
pigtails and smiled when she looked up at him.

After her bath, she had allowed Scully to comb and braid her 
long, tangled hair. One snarl had been so knotted Scully 
decided to cut it out with the knife rather than yank 
painfully at it. The result was a cowlick that sprouted like a 
whiskbroom from the mid-point of her left pigtail.
  
"Just a very faint yelp, as if some tiny person were calling 
for help," he continued. 

A tentative smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. His 
storytelling was apparently easing her fears.  

It didn't seem to matter that she couldn't understand his 
words. She listened intently, and now tried repeating his last 
phrase. 

"Kawl-ing for hel-lep?"

"Like this..." Mulder took a deep breath and cupped his hands 
around his mouth, megaphone style, as if he intended to shout 
at the top of his lungs. Scully braced herself for a loud 
bellow, but he surprised her when he whispered "hellllllp" in 
the faintest voice possible. 

Gini giggled. 

"You try it," he said, encouraging her to parrot him by 
demonstrating his quiet cry once again.

She set down his badge to pose with her hands on either side 
of her mouth the way he had done. "Hellll-lep," she whispered.

He nodded his approval. "'I'll *hellll-lep* you,'" he mimicked 
her Clan accent, "said Horton. 'But where are you? Where?' He 
looked and he looked. He could see nothing there but a small 
speck of dust blowing just through the air."

Gini leaned again into his loose embrace. She no longer 
gripped his ID or his pants leg. Her eyes began to droop and 
her body relaxed as his honeyed cadence lulled her toward 
sleep. 

Scully was impressed by his patience with the girl. He would 
make a good father, despite his fears to the contrary. 

She expected he would make a good husband, too. She just 
needed to give him a fair chance by being more forthright with 
her feelings. No more "I'm fines," whenever he asked about her 
well-being. She needed to be honest, so that he could respond 
with equal honesty.

"What made you pick that particular story?" she asked when he 
finished his recitation. Gini was fast asleep against him.

"I dunno. I guess I've always seen a parallel between 'Horton 
Hears a Who' and the search for extraterrestrials."

I should have known, she thought. "How is that?"

"For one thing, Horton hears the Who because he has this pair 
of reeeeally big ears," he teased, "not unlike the satellites 
used to listen for signals from outer space."

"That's a stretch, don't you think?"

"Maybe." He shifted Gini into his arms and rose to his feet, 
taking care not to wake her. 

Scully stood, too, and crossed the cave to straighten the 
girl's sleeping skins. 

"Thanks," Mulder said, before laying Gini on the furs. He 
retrieved his jacket to cover her. After tucking the coat 
around her shoulders, he snagged Scully's hand and led her to 
the front of the cave, where they sat facing the stars, their 
backs to the fire, far enough from Gini so as not to disturb 
her while they talked. "Could be I like the story because Jane 
Kangaroo reminds me of you," he said, picking up their 
conversation where they'd left off.

"How am I like Jane Kangaroo?"

"She denounced the possibility of people living on a dust 
speck because she didn't believe people that size could exist. 
In other words, she was unwilling to believe what she couldn't 
see with her own eyes." He leaned over and kissed the tip of 
her nose. 

God, she loved this new, easy intimacy with him. She returned 
his kiss. "I guess that makes you Horton," she said against 
his lips.

He chuckled and drew her into a one-armed embrace. "None of 
his fellow animals were willing to accept his beliefs. Story 
of my life, wouldn't you say?"

She nodded. "Too bad aliens don't communicate with Who-Scopes. 
Maybe they could convince us non-believers, too."

"Mm...that's interesting." He turned to gaze to the night sky.

"It was a joke."

"I know, but think about it. If intelligent beings elsewhere 
in the galaxy wanted us to hear them, they would need to send 
a signal using a medium we could hear, at a frequency that 
we're listening to. It would have to be unique compared to any 
natural background signals, like static or naturally occurring 
radio waves. And the signal would have to be powerful enough 
for us to detect it."

"And your point is?"

He shrugged. "Just talkin' out loud, wondering what it might 
take to contact someone far, far away."

"Like 10,000 years in the future?"

"Yeah, kinda like that."

"More than a Who-Scope and a pair of reeeeally big ears, I'm 
afraid."

When he turned to smile at her, she leaned in and kissed him 
again.

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
COMPUTER LAB, HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
7:29 AM

"What are you doing?" Lisa asked. She rolled her chair next to 
Jason's and sat down.

With the stroke of a key, he initiated a diagnostic, setting 
his time model into motion. Then he lowered his voice so the 
guards outside the lab door wouldn't overhear his next words. 
"I'm trying to find those missing agents."

"You think they're the cause of this?" She pointed at the 
disturbance on the computer screen.

"Who else? Agent Mulder came here because he knew about the 
old man's attempt to destroy my work."

Jason still couldn't bring himself to refer to the old man as 
"me."

It was Mulder who had first figured out the truth about the 
old man's identity. Apparently the agent and his partner were 
still working on the case.

And now they were somewhere in the past, causing a progressive 
disintegration to the continuum.

"We have to find them," he said.

"How?"

"I haven't figured that out yet."

"Can we bring them back?"

"In theory. We have to open another hole."

"The field can't be manipulated easily. How are you going to 
control it? We could end up making things worse." 

She didn't realize things couldn't get worse.

"I'll find a way."

She watched him intently. "Maybe we should just leave them 
where they are."

"We can't. Their presence in the past is causing increasing 
instability in the continuum. The longer they're there, the 
more volatile the time field becomes." He pointed to the 
growing perforations in the model. "If we don't get them out, 
the continuum will eventually disintegrate." He turned to 
stare at her. "And time as we know it will end."

This news clearly shocked her. "How long before that happens?"

"I don't know. It's possible we might start feeling the 
effects soon."

She blinked in surprise. "In what way?"

"Flashbacks in reverse, glimpses of the future. It'll be like 
stirring a pot of soup, mixing past, present and future into a 
jumble of confusing moments. Our lifetimes will cease to 
progress linearly."

She stood and began to pace. He hoped she wasn't about to 
panic and go running to Beck.

Turning his chair to face her, he reached out and grabbed her 
hand as she walked past. "It'll be okay," he said, squeezing 
her fingers. "We need to stay calm. Focus on solving the 
problem. You're good at that. Help me."

When she nodded he breathed a silent sigh of relief.

He released her hand and turned his attention back to the 
monitor.

"Jason, why do you think Agent Mulder came here?"

"I don't know." He watched the model writhe. "But I'm betting 
he wishes he'd never left Washington." 

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
JUNE 29, 10:19 PM

Mulder stoked the fire with two knotty pieces of sun-bleached 
tree roots, driftwood smoothed by the river and thick enough 
to burn throughout the night. Sparks floated from the mouth of 
the cave like fireflies when he disturbed the coals. They 
spiraled toward the moon and he watched them until they became 
lost against the backdrop of stars.

In the southern sky Ophiuchus, the celestial Serpent Holder, 
stood upright on the horizon; the snake in his fists appeared 
to be climbing out of the trees. Above him, Hercules faced his 
old enemy, blocked as always from Virgo and crowded by the 
Dragon to the north. The hero's struggle was eternal. God had 
placed him in an untenable situation, one he could neither win 
nor lose. He could only stand bravely, prepared to fight.   

Behind Mulder, the cave glowed with the flicker of fire. Gini 
slept in its warm circle of light, cushioned by furs and 
curled on her side beneath his jacket. A few feet away Scully 
waited for him on the larger sleeping skin. Even without 
looking at her, he knew she watched him. It was a familiar 
feeling, her eyes on his back. Tonight her guardianship 
comforted him more than ever. Her recent confession of love 
let him know her true feelings. Amazingly, she'd agreed to 
marry him. And this was his advantage over Hercules. Unlike 
the solitary hero, he would not be facing his fears alone. 
Scully's declaration had filled him with unprecedented hope 
and knowing she wanted to become his wife gave him newfound 
courage, bravado enough to battle a lifetime of ferocious 
serpents.

He felt a sudden urge to hold her, but before retiring to 
their bed, he went to check on Gini. 

The girl appeared lost on her island of fur, cloaked by his 
jacket. Her small fingers, loosely curved and motionless 
beneath her chin, peeked out from the rolled sleeves of his 
turtleneck. He adjusted the coat over her shoulders, then 
palmed the crown of her head, giving her hair a gentle stroke 
goodnight.

She stirred but didn't open her eyes. 

Satisfied that she was fine, he crossed the cave to Scully, 
lowered himself onto the furs and gathered her lovingly into 
his arms.

"Is she asleep?" Scully whispered, snuggling closer.

"Mm hm." He kissed the curve of her brow. 

Domestic bliss, indeed. This simple cave felt like a haven, 
and the valley an oasis. The most luxurious lodgings in the 
modern world couldn't hold a candle to this place. Contentment 
rolled over him like the fire's welcome heat, despite his 
worries about Dzeh. He held the woman he loved in his arms, 
while their unexpected foster child slept soundly nearby. For 
the time being, they were well fed and secure, and an 
unfamiliar sense of peace settled into his heart as he began 
to experience the pleasure of family life for the first time 
in years.

Gini was not his child, of course, nor a substitute for his 
lost sister, but her arrival seemed to answer a need in him. 
Although she carried the genes of strangers, he felt 
enormously protective of her, much as he did of Scully, and 
was willing to take on the task of caring for her.

It was possible he would fail. Gini might become injured or 
ill or die, despite his best efforts, but clearly he had no 
choice but to try his best. To be honest, he didn't really 
want another choice. Right now, this was what he wanted: 
Scully and Gini, under the same stone roof, within arm's 
reach, and for the time being, safe from harm.

He was beginning to understand what Scully meant by the 
"wrong" reasons for fatherhood. Yesterday, he'd agreed to 
father her children because he'd wanted to tie himself to her. 
But today he grasped that a child was more than a tether 
between two people; she could be desirable for herself, not 
for what she brought to her parents. 

Was this the true meaning of commitment that Diana had spoken 
about? 

Damn, if she hadn't turned out to be right. 

Scully nestled against his chest. He buried his nose in her 
hair. God, she smelled good. If Gini wasn't just a few feet 
away, he would take her again. He would--

"Muhl-dar?" A soft voice behind him.

He rolled over to find Gini standing beside the bed looking 
frightened.

Had she heard something? Was Dzeh outside? 

"What is it? Bad dream?" he asked.

He doubted she could translate his questions literally, but 
she did seem to grasp his sympathetic tone because two fat 
tears began to roll down her cheeks. 

"No Than-zie tkoh," she said, sniffling. "No Dzeh."

So that was it. She was still worried about him taking her 
home.

"No Than-zie tkoh. No Dzeh," he assured her. 

She didn't look convinced.

"You wanna sleep with us?" He pointed to the bed, indicating 
she could join them if she wanted to.   

Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she nodded and crawled between 
them. Scully immediately offered her the harbor of her arms 
and the girl quickly nestled into her embrace.

Scully peered over the top of her head and pinned Mulder with 
a stern look.

"You shouldn't give her the impression we won't be taking her 
back. We could vanish from here without warning, the same way 
we arrived. We need to return her to her tribe as soon as 
possible."

He reached for Scully's hand and their fingers intertwined in 
the dark. The danger was real, he knew. Even if they didn't 
suddenly disappear into another time, they were still subject 
to the strange effects of accelerated aging and regression. In 
another month or two he might actually be younger than Gini, 
while Scully would become an old woman. They'd be defenseless. 
It was wrong to encourage the girl's dependency on them.

With regret he felt his short-lived fantasy of family life 
slipping away. "We will," he promised.

"When?"

"A day or two."

"Mulder--"

"Give her some time, Scully." Give *me* some time, he thought.

She searched his face. "I'm afraid time is the one thing we 
don't have."

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

An enormous beaver crossed the swimming hole each sunrise and 
sunset, nosing logs downstream to its dam. Four hundred and 
fifty pounds if it was an ounce, the oversized rodent was 
eight feet long and resembled a black bear more than one of 
its own 20th Century descendants. It didn't have a wide flat 
tail like a modern beaver, but it was an agile swimmer. And 
with six-inch-long incisors, it was no slouch at cutting 
trees.  

Mulder decided to hunt and kill the beaver while Scully and 
Gini were upstream foraging for breakfast. He figured one 
well-placed spear would do the trick, and then they'd be 
feasting on flank steaks, tenderloins and T-bones for a 
week...uh, assuming beavers had all those parts. 

Hell, even if the oversized animal turned out to be inedible, 
its hide would make a warm sleeping skin, or a couple of 
decent winter coats. And a few logs from its dam would go a 
long way toward building a smokehouse.

The beaver's dam was an astonishing thirty-five to forty feet 
long. Made of mud, brush and logs -- some as thick as a man's 
waist -- it bisected the river, effectively blocking its flow 
and creating a deep, wide pond on the upstream side. Mulder 
climbed out onto its uneven surface with some difficulty and 
took up a position at the midpoint, where he would be able to 
throw his spear at the beaver as it made its morning run.

Sure enough, it arrived right on schedule, guiding a freshly 
fallen tree toward the dam with its nose.

Closer...closer, Mulder silently urged, raising his spear 
shoulder high and gripping the mud-covered timbers with his 
toes.

The beaver swam toward him, oblivious to the danger. If it 
could see him with those beady little eyes, it didn't seem 
perturbed to find him standing atop its weir, armed with a 
spear and wearing nothing but his lucky boxers.

"Your hairy ass is mine," he mumbled under his breath.

Jesus, the thing was the size of a fucking Volkswagen.

Steady...steady...

Mulder squinted against the glare of early morning sun and 
fine-tuned the angle of his spear, thankful for its new stone 
tip. 

The spearhead came courtesy of Gini. She'd brought a nice 
selection of goodies with her from Turkey Lake: scrapers, 
flints, fishhooks and line...her backpack had been chock full 
of useful items. He'd appropriated a yard of her fishing line 
to secure the spearhead to a seven-foot-long shaft, making a 
formidable weapon, much better than that clumsy driftwood club 
he'd used to beat the snapping turtle into submission two days 
ago.

Visions of Scully and Gini dressed in matching beaver-skin 
coats boosted Mulder's courage and fueled his determination to 
nail the unsuspecting animal. He pictured them gnawing happily 
on its huge spareribs while complimenting his impressive 
hunting prowess for the gazillionth time.

The beaver suddenly stopped paddling. It lifted its flat head 
to sniff the air. Could it smell him from ten yards away?

Small eyes blinking, it floated slowly into range, carried by 
the current. 

Mulder waited, itching to throw his spear.

Come on, you ugly... 

The beaver appeared to be staring straight at him.

It was now or never. Mulder hurled the spear. It made a quiet 
whooshing sound as it sailed through the air. The trajectory 
was perfect, the speed more than adequate. Its point sank 
deeply into the beaver's humped back with a satisfying thud. 

The surprised beaver reacted by diving underwater, 
disappearing beneath the surface and taking Mulder's spear 
with it. 

"Shit." He was going to lose the animal *and* his new 
spearhead.

His instinct was to dive in after it, but a breakwater of logs 
bristled beneath the river's surface, blocking his way. So he 
scrambled over the edge, lowering himself feet-first into the 
water.

The river was deep and startlingly cold. Mulder gasped when he 
sank up to his armpits. Gooseflesh sprouted along his 
shoulders, and his testicles felt as if they were being 
squeezed in an icy fist. Not wanting to linger, he filled his 
lungs with air and ducked beneath the surface.

The water was crystal clear, allowing him to see all the way 
to the toe of the dam, where whip-like plants swayed in the 
current, anchored to the logs. A blood trail was blossoming 
out of one shadowy tunnel where two trees crossed each other. 
He swam toward it, using branches as handholds to drag himself 
quickly into the crimson cloud. 

Ten feet ahead, the pale shaft of his spear disappeared behind 
a jumble of timbers. He plowed after it, angling more deeply 
into the dam. Gaining on his target, he came close enough to 
reach out and grasp the spear's butt end. The beaver lurched 
forward, jerking the shaft from his grip before veering into a 
side tunnel. Mulder gave chase, confident he could easily fit 
into any crevice that could accommodate the massive rodent. A 
trickle of air bubbles escaped the beaver's nose, keeping 
Mulder oriented as he insinuated himself between timbers, 
unwilling to abandon his pursuit.

Two powerful strokes brought him within range again. He 
grabbed the spear and this time managed to hang on when the 
beaver started thrashing. It pulled him forward, deeper into 
the labyrinth of logs, scraping his unprotected ribs against 
clawed branches. Pain blazed along his right side from armpit 
to hip. 

The beaver's strength was astonishing and Mulder worried he 
would lose his hold, or dislocate a shoulder. He was pitched 
into another rough-barked tree when the beaver flailed again. 
His lungs began to call for air. Time was running out. 

He braced his feet against a log. Using the leverage to propel 
himself forward, he embedded the weapon solidly into the 
animal's back and lungs.

Blood gushed from the wound and the beaver ceased its violent 
struggle. Although not dead, it floundered as its strength 
ebbed. 

Mulder latched onto a fistful of its long fur and dragged it 
backward out of the logjam. His lungs hitched as he grew more 
desperate for air.

Towing the oversized animal was no easy task, especially given 
his oxygen-deprived state. He felt light-headed. His chest 
ached to take a breath. 

He kicked harder, trying to increase his speed. His pulse 
hammered inside his ears. Sunlight and blue sky guided him, 
becoming brighter as he rose. Stale air leached from his lungs 
in a mass of bubbles that blinded him as they swirled past his 
face. 

*Don't breathe.* 

Damn it, he wasn't going to make it. 

He considered releasing his hold on the beaver.

*Don't breathe.*

Only a few strokes to go.

Hang on...hang on...don't breathe...

Finally he punched through the surface and gasped for air. His 
lungs filled. He swallowed a mouthful of water and coughed, 
but he was okay. Thank you Jesus! He'd made it...with the 
beaver *and* his spear.

Panting, blinking water from his eyes, he hooked one rubbery 
arm over a branch to steady himself while he caught his 
breath. 

After a minute, his heart stopped its awful pounding and he 
gave the beaver a shake...turned it so that he could stare 
into its dull eyes...decided it was truly dead. 

Fingers gone numb, limbs quaking with fatigue, he began 
swimming towards the shore, shoving the carcass ahead of him, 
wrestling it with elbows and shoulders and even the crown of 
his head. By the time he finally beached it, he was covered 
with mud, bark and blood...some his own. 

Muscles trembling from overexertion, he rose on unsteady legs 
to yank the spear from the beaver's lifeless body. Pride 
surged through him as he pulled the weapon free, giving him 
the strength to stagger up the bank onto dry land. Dropping to 
his knees in the grass, he felt exhausted but indomitable. 
He'd done what he'd set out to do. And he couldn't wait to see 
Scully and Gini's expressions when they saw what he'd brought 
home for breakfast.   

*   *   *

Dzeh took no notice of the sun's daily journey, nor did he 
discern the change of terrain from red rock cliffs to open 
grassland to wooded hills as he and his kinsmen traveled 
steadily northward. His thoughts were focused on Gini, and his 
regrets grew heavier with each step toward home. 

He tried to imagine how he might have conducted himself 
differently on that last awful day with his sister, 
scrutinizing his every action, word and decision. But no 
matter how often he reviewed it, he could think of nothing 
he'd done that contradicted Clan ways. He'd followed every 
rule, acted precisely as any reasonable clansman would act, 
and still Gini had run away from home -- away from *him* -- to 
chase after a couple of depraved chindis. She'd left behind a 
loving family to follow strangers. 

Why would she do such a thing? 

Before coming to Turkey Lake -- before the arrival of Muhl-dar 
and Day-nuh -- Gini had been a reasonably obedient girl. At 
times headstrong and independent, but not intolerably so. 
Usually she was helpful and polite, eager to contribute to the 
welfare of the Clan, giving no argument when performing 
everyday tasks like butchering meat, preparing hides, or 
collecting firewood. Truly, she did whatever he or Klizzie 
asked, with very little complaint.

Except when it came to the matter of finding her a mate. For 
some unfathomable reason she'd balked at being Promised. The 
mere mention of it had caused her to run from Lin's shelter 
the day of the yea-go match as if chased by a saber-toothed 
cat. Later he'd had to force her to attend her friend's 
Joining Ceremony, dragging her against her will while she 
screeched and struggled to be let go. 

The members of four clans witnessed her willful disrespect. 
They were clearly appalled by her outburst and expected him to 
put an end to it. 

So he'd struck her. 

What else could he have done? 

It was true he'd hit her more forcefully than he'd intended. 
With every passing heartbeat he wished he had not. She was 
just a small girl and he a full-grown hunter and he could 
understand how his foul temper might have frightened her. But 
was one slap cause to run away? Certainly she knew he loved 
her. He'd never struck her before -- not even once -- although 
it was within his right to do so. Men were always hitting 
their children to maintain peace at their hearths. 

Perhaps he should have been stricter with her from the start. 
If he'd disciplined her more frequently, instead of allowing 
her to go her own way for so many seasons, maybe she would 
have grown used to it, the way other children seemed to. Then 
she might not have overreacted to his reprimand. And she would 
be alive now, safe at his hearth.

Preoccupied by his regret, Dzeh failed to notice the hunters 
had stopped at the edge of the swamp, and he bumped into Chal, 
startling them both. 

"Why are we stopping?" he grumbled.

This dark and inhospitable quagmire was not a place to linger. 
The swamp bristled with dead trees, gray and naked as corpses, 
spearing the sky as far as the eye could see. Blowdowns 
crisscrossed the murky lowland, uprooted by violent storms, 
fallen victim to age and rot. Rancid air snaked into Dzeh's 
nostrils and down his throat like a rattler looking for 
respite in the shadows. 

Chal pointed to the ground, directing his attention to Gini's 
small footprints, still visible in the deep mud.

Dzeh wondered again why she had left the others, only to turn 
back and follow them. Her motives were as difficult to discern 
as doves in fog. 

"I should have asked," he mumbled. 

Lin's brow wrinkled with concern. "Asked what, Nephew?"     

"Asked Gini why she objected to being Joined." He had 
discounted his sister's distress without ever learning its 
cause, and now she was dead and his lack of understanding 
weighed heavily on his heart.

"Gini did not want to be Joined?" Chal's eyes rounded with 
surprise.

"That is absurd," Wol-la-chee said, frowning. "Why would a 
girl not want to be Joined?"

Dzeh shook his head. He could think of no logical reason. 
Taking a mate and having children were desirable, necessary 
things. There was no alternative. Life without family was 
impossible. No one, not even a seasoned hunter, could survive 
for long alone.  

"Perhaps..." Chal's voice grew thin, losing its strength. He 
cleared his throat and began again. "Perhaps she was afraid."

"Afraid?" Lin blinked in astonishment.

"Of what?" Wol-la-chee asked.

The boy squared his slim shoulders and faced the hunters. 
Lifting his chin, he said, "Maybe it is not easy to be sent 
away from kin and made to live with strangers."

Dzeh shook his head, trying to dislodge the boy's perplexing 
words from his ears. "All girls must move away when they take 
mates," he said. 

"It is the Clan way," said Wol-la-chee.

"It is the manner in which these things have always been 
done," Lin agreed.

"Yes, but..." -- Chal licked dry lips -- "maybe...the old way 
is not the best way." He tightened his fists, stilling his 
shaking hands, and locked determined eyes with Dzeh. "Perhaps 
some rules need to be reconsidered."

"You are suggesting we change what is custom?" Dzeh scowled at 
him. 

Clan traditions came from the Spirits and could not be altered 
without their divine guidance and blessing. It was not up to 
men to say, "We will no longer send girls away when they are 
Joined." Only the Spirits could determine such things and 
their rules were made for the good of everyone; going against 
them would bring misfortune to all. If a girl was frightened 
by the prospect of moving to a new clan, she should simply 
pray to the Spirits to give her more courage. 

"This boy knows nothing," Wol-la-chee announced with a wave of 
dismissal. "He is arrogant to think we should amend the 
Spirits' ways."

Lin placed a large, gnarled hand on Chal's recently tattooed 
shoulder and studied the boy's beardless face. "You have a 
season or two yet before you are wise to the ways of the 
Spirits, young man. Until then, it is best that you do not 
question their decisions."

Chal did not back down or avert his earnest, almond-eyed gaze. 
"Even if their decisions are unsatisfactory?"

Wol-la-chee hissed at the boy's disrespect. Lin quieted them 
both with an upraised hand. "There is nothing for us to decide 
here. We still have a full day's hike before we are back with 
our families. Let us not waste the daylight."

With that, he headed north for Turkey Lake. Wol-la-chee fell 
immediately into step behind him. After a moment, Chal 
followed, too, with his head hanging. But Dzeh lingered, his 
eyes fastened on Gini's small tracks.      

He could feel the Spirits squabbling in his chest and their 
quarrel frightened him. Most of their voices seemed to be in 
agreement with Lin, Wol-la-chee and Clan tradition, yet a few 
were casting spears of doubt at their arguments.

Dzeh had lived his entire life according to the customs of his 
people, always knowing which actions were correct and which 
were not. He had never before questioned the Clan's ways. 

Until now. Now he felt confused. He wished he had not struck 
Gini, even if doing so was the accepted way to chastise an 
unruly child. He wished, too, that he had asked her why the 
prospect of taking a mate had been so upsetting to her. 

Dzeh took one final look at Gini's small footprints before he 
turned to follow his kinsmen. Right or wrong, what was done 
was already done. Gini was dead and he would not see her 
again, not until he, too, passed into the World of Spirits.

*   *   *

Scully paused to readjust the pack that hung from her right 
shoulder, while Gini skipped ahead. The girl's unraveling 
braids bounced against her straight, narrow back and the 
sleeves of Mulder's oversized shirt dangled loosely from her 
short arms as she ran.  Scully smiled, glad Gini's energy and 
enthusiasm had rebounded after Mulder's demonstration two days 
ago. She'd even slept peaceably in her own bed last night.

This morning they were heading upstream to collect mushrooms, 
fresh greens and "a-ye-shi" -- duck eggs -- along the 
riverbank. The sun was already warming the post-dawn air, 
causing vapor to rise from the water. It gilded the entire 
valley in blonde light, and the cliffs appeared peach-colored, 
the sky rose-hued. Fluttering tree leaves sparkled with 
silvery dew.

Again Scully was struck by the beauty of this place. The river 
meandered serenely through the flat-bottomed basin, hemmed by 
shade trees and sweet smelling flower blossoms. Herds of 
animals grazed on long grasses or drank their fill along the 
winding shores. Birds celebrated the sunrise with a trill that 
cheered her in a way she wouldn't have thought possible given 
the precariousness of their situation.

Up ahead, Gini stopped to pluck a bright orange bud from a 
long-stemmed lily. She popped it into her mouth, then gathered 
a few more before hiking upstream at a more leisurely pace.    

They had left the cave as the first rays of sunlight were 
cresting the cliffs, and in less than an hour they had 
collected enough food for the entire day. Scully decided to 
extend their hunting expedition a little longer; she wanted to 
learn as much as possible about edible plants from Gini before 
the girl returned to her family. She and Mulder would soon be 
fending for themselves, and everything she learned now could 
help them survive on their own later. 

She stooped to pick a toadstool from a rotting tree stump. 
Holding it aloft, she called to Gini, "Is this one okay?"

Gini ran back to her, a serious expression on her face. One 
glance at the mushroom and she shook her head. "No. Do-ya-sho-
da. No good." Her accent hummed in her nose and her 
pronunciation was flat and gravelly. Her croaking voice didn't 
match her diminutive features and every time she spoke Scully 
was taken a little by surprise.

"What'll happen if I eat it?" Scully pantomimed taking a bite.

Gini frowned and pointed out the toadstool's defining 
characteristics and then, mimicking obvious body sounds, she 
demonstrated quite clearly how it would make her sick. 

Scully tossed the mushroom to the ground and waved the girl 
upstream. 

Gini's knowledge of Pleistocene flora didn't surprise Scully. 
She remembered reading an article in one of her journals that 
described a group of hunter/gatherers on the island of Mer in 
the Torres Strait in Australia. The study had shown that even 
very young Meriam children could quickly master the knowledge 
and skills needed to engage in productive, adult activities -- 
like spear and line fishing -- as long as those activities 
didn't require adult size and strength. Most of the children 
were fishing by age six, and by age nine they'd become as good 
at it as the adults. The children weren't as successful at 
collecting shellfish, however, although it required very 
little knowledge or skill. Apparently their size didn't allow 
them to cover much ground, so they were ineffective at it. 

It was logical that Gini, even at the tender age of seven or 
eight, would have accumulated considerable knowledge about her 
world, and be skilled at whatever survival techniques her size 
permitted.

As the morning wore on, they stopped often to study one plant 
or another. Sometimes Gini would pick and eat what she found, 
or offer it to Scully, while other times she left the plants 
alone, presumably to let them ripen. She cheerfully attempted 
to explain her choices, or describe various methods of cooking 
or practical uses, but Scully found it difficult to follow 
most of her instructions.

For two days they'd been playing word games, exchanging a 
multitude of phrases. She guessed Gini's vocabulary had grown 
to more than four or five hundred English expressions. Scully 
was not as adept at memorizing the tribe's language, so more 
often than not, Gini used English to make herself understood. 

"Who-neh?" she asked in her own language as they continued 
their walk along the river. She pointed at the red cliffs to 
the west and switched to English. "Wha'zat?"

"Cliffs," Scully answered.

"Kiffs."

"Close. Cliffs. Culliffs." She emphasized the L. "What do you 
call them?"

"Tse-ye-chee."

"Tse-ye-chee?" Scully tried her best to pronounce the 
expression and fix it firmly in her mind.

"Lanh. Yes."

Immediately Gini pointed to another object, a dark stone that 
stood like a lone sentinel on the riverbank. "Wha'zat?" 

"A tall black rock." Scully enunciated each word with care, 
uncertain which aspect of the rock Gini wanted clarified.

"Bul-lak rok," Gini repeated, before giving Scully the tribe's 
translation, "Tsa-zhin."

Many of Gini's words began with an unfamiliar "TS" 
combination, making it difficult for Scully to differentiate 
between them. Tse-e meant mosquito. Tsa-zhin meant rock, or 
maybe black rock, or even tall black rock. Tsee...the cheese? 
-- or something like that -- meant cliffs. Already she had 
forgotten the precise pronunciation.

Gini glanced back the way they'd come and began to chew on the 
cuff of her dangling sleeve. "Muhl-dar seep?" she asked 
without releasing the fabric from her teeth.

"Probably not."

He'd been sleeping when they left -- Scully had hushed the 
girl, hoping not to wake him -- but he was typically an early 
riser and, no doubt, was up by now.

She tapped the girl's arm. "Don't chew your shirt, sweetie." 

An embarrassed smile spread across Gini's face and she let the 
sleeve drop. This wasn't her first reminder. 

"Muhl-dar's sssirt." She had trouble pronouncing SHs and THs, 
yet she managed her own tongue-twisting DLs, DZs, TKs and TSs 
with ease. 

"Yes, Mulder's shirt."

"Pretty." She patted the fabric that covered her flat chest. 

Since she seemed cheery and relatively calm Scully decided 
this might be an opportune time to broach the subject of 
returning to Turkey Lake.

Keeping her voice light, she asked, "Gini, why did you leave 
home?"

"Leaf?" The girl scanned the surrounding trees with a confused 
look.

"No, not leaf. Leave. Why did you...?" How could she phrase it 
so the girl would understand? She gestured at their 
surroundings. "Why did you come here...to this valley, this 
river?" She knew Gini understood the words for valley, river, 
come, why, you. Surely she would put it all together. "Why did 
you follow Mulder and me here?"

Gini's sleeve-covered fist lifted once again to her mouth. She 
stopped herself before she actually took the fabric between 
her teeth. "Bring...baby."

The carved bone idol. "Why else?"

"Elz?" She didn't understand.

Scully was hesitant to mention Dzeh, since his name had 
triggered such an extreme reaction two days ago. Obviously he 
was somehow involved in the girl's decision to run away. 

Taking a less direct approach, she smiled and said, "I like 
Klizzie." 

Gini glanced nervously to the north. She bit her lower lip 
instead of her sleeve.

Scully reached out and smoothed a few stray hairs from the 
girl's worried face. "She braided my hair, put beads in it. 
And gave me her pretty comb, too. Remember?"

Gini nodded but said nothing.

"She took good care of me when I was sick. She took care of 
Mulder, too. That was kind of her, wasn't it?"

Still the girl didn't speak.

"I imagine she misses you a lot."

"Klizzie--" Gini stuffed the shirt cuff into her mouth. Tears 
welled in her eyes.

"Sweetie, we can take you back to her if you--"   

"No. No go Too-key Lake. Peese." Her body began to tremble.

Scully set down her travel pack and crouched in front of her. 
Gently, she removed the cuff from the girl's mouth and rolled 
the sleeve up to her wrist. Turning her attention to the other 
sleeve, she rolled it up, too. Then she took both of Gini's 
hands in hers. "Why don't you want to go back to Turkey Lake?"

"Tehi ah-na-sozi." Gini pulled at Scully's hands, urging her 
to stand. "Yah-a-da-hal-yon-ih--"

"No, sweetie. First tell me why you don't want to go to Turkey 
Lake." She spoke kindly but refused to budge. Reaching out to 
stroke the faint bruise beside Gini's right eye, she asked, 
"Are you afraid Dzeh will hurt you again?"

Gini lifted her hand to the bruise. "Hurt?"

Scully nodded. "Dzeh hurt you, didn't he?" She pointed to the 
injury and then pantomimed a slow, left hook.

Gini didn't flinch. Her expression was one of bewilderment, 
not alarm. Scully began to sense she might be on the wrong 
track.

"Sit, please." She patted the ground beside her, then settled 
cross-legged on the grass. Gini squatted beside her. 

They were in a narrow clearing in full sun with an 
unobstructed view of the river twenty feet away. The water 
made a tinkling sound as it flowed south between gravel-lined 
banks. A mother duck and her lone chick waddled along one 
pebbled shore, searching for food among the wet stones.   

Scully pointed to the birds. "See those ducks?"

"Dose duhks," Gini sounded out the new phrase. 

The duckling wobbled after its mother, almost toppling in its 
effort to keep up. 

"Baby duhk run...um..." Gini waggled her head from side to 
side to demonstrate the word she was looking for.

"Tippy?"

"Tip-pee."

"He reminds me of you, Gini."

The girl seemed to take offense at this. "Gini no run tip-
pee."

"No, I didn't mean that." Scully smiled. "He's following his 
mother the same way you used to follow Klizzie."

Gini frowned and stared at the ground between her feet. "No 
talk Klizzie." 

"Is Klizzie your mother?" Scully was determined not to let the 
subject drop. She suspected the girl was a blood relative of 
Dzeh, not Klizzie, because Klizzie looked too young to have an 
eight-year-old child, and Dzeh and Gini shared the same eye 
color and slanting grin. It was possible he was the girl's 
father by a former partner. Or he could be her brother, or a 
cousin or uncle with a strong family resemblance.

"No muht-her," Gini said without a hint of self-pity.

"Your sister then? Or your aunt?" 

"No...want...talk Klizzie! No want talk Dzeh, no want talk 
Too-key Lake!" she said firmly.

"Gini, we have to talk about this."

"Why?" the girl whined. Fear peaked her brows and her chin 
quivered. "Day-nuh no want Gini?" she asked, sounding 
heartbroken.

"Sweetie..." Damn, how was she going to explain? She reached 
out and placed her hand on Gini's back to gently rub circles 
between her shoulder blades. "I'm not angry at you. You've 
done nothing wrong."

"Gini...stay...here. 'Kay?"

"You can't stay. I'm sorry."

Frustration crumpled Gini's face. "Here...good," she said, 
searching hard for the proper words, and staring up at Scully 
with tear-filled eyes. "Day-nuh, Muhl-dar, Gini...ummm...ta-
bilh."

"Ta-bihl? I don't understand."

"Ta-bihl...ummm...means..." She pointed toward the two ducks.

Mother and baby? 

Family.

"Dzeh and Klizzie are your family, sweetheart. Dzeh, Klizzie 
and Gini ta-bihl."

"No, nooooo..." 

Too upset to speak English, Gini rattled off her woes in her 
own language. Tears spilled over her cheeks as she hiccupped 
her way through her concerns. Scully recognized a few of her 
words and phrases: go, Badger tribe, no, want, big...be-zonz? 
Wasn't that the word Mulder said meant penis?

What the hell?

*   *   *

Gini was desperate to make Day-nuh understand. She would not 
go back to Turkey Lake, but trying to remember the right 
combination of Eel words to say so was impossible. The words 
were difficult to pronounce and she didn't know enough of them 
to express her thoughts. So she spoke in her own language, and 
once she got started, her worries poured out of her like water 
from a spring.

"I can not go back there, Day-nuh. Dzeh wants to send me away 
to live with a boy in Badger Clan. He has already Promised me 
to Chal, I think. I am so scared. I do not know Chal! I do not 
want to be Joined with him or live with him. I am afraid he is 
going to make me lay with him on his sleeping skins and it 
will hurt because his be-zonz will grow too big to fit inside 
me, just like that awful stallion with his mare--"

"Sweetie, sweetie, slow down," Day-nuh interrupted. Her voice 
and manner were soothing and her concern was evident. She 
asked several more unintelligible questions, something 
about...Dzeh's penis?

"No, no Dzeh be-zonz," Gini said. What was Day-nuh talking 
about? "*Chal's* be-zonz."

"Chal? Who is Chal?"

"Badger..." She didn't know the Eel word for boy. "Badger 
man," she said instead, before switching back to her own 
language. "I do not like him very much. He looks like a stork 
and he is rude and mean."

Day-nuh shook her head, not understanding. "A-nah-neh...?" she 
asked for clarification.

"A-nah-neh-dzin." Gini lowered her brows and grimaced, trying 
to make her face look as fearsome as possible to convey the 
nasty look Chal had given her on the day they first met.

Day-nuh's eyes widened as if she had been bitten by a 
rattlesnake. Gini realized her impersonation of Chal was 
perhaps unfair. He hadn't been *that* mean. But still, she 
didn't like him and she didn't want to live with him or his 
peculiar Badger Clan kin. She particularly didn't want to 
share his bed or touch his disgusting be-zonz. Ugh!

Day-nuh reached out and wiped away her tears. "Gini, help me 
understand. Explain again what's frightening you."

Although Gini couldn't translate the request word-for-word, 
she'd learned enough over the past two days to know that Day-
nuh wanted a more precise explanation, even if it meant using 
hand signals and a mix of Eel and Owl Clan words.

Gini did her best to detail Dzeh's plans to Join her with 
Chal. She repeated the story about the dreadful stallion and 
his frightened mare several times, too, until finally Day-
nuh's frown changed into a smile.

"What is so funny?" Gini asked in her own language, a little 
hurt that Day-nuh was laughing at her troubles.

Day-nuh seemed to grasp this was serious talk and her face 
grew more solemn. "Sorry," she said. Then she leaned forward 
and embraced Gini.

It felt nice to be held in her arms, like being hugged by 
Klizzie. 

Suddenly Gini missed Klizzie with an intensity that made her 
chest hurt. Tears filled her eyes again, and she hid them by 
throwing her arms around Day-nuh's neck and burying her face 
against her chest, trying to push away any thoughts of 
Klizzie, hoping beyond hope that Day-nuh -- and Muhl-dar -- 
might someday love her as much as Klizzie had.

Day-nuh murmured more unrecognizable but reassuring words into 
her ear, while rocking her and smoothing her hair.    

They remained like that for many moments, until a faint call 
came from the direction of the cave. Muhl-dar was shouting and 
he sounded excited.

"Scully! Sculleee!" His voice echoed off the valley's rosy 
cliffs.

Day-nuh rose to her feet and pulled Gini up after her. "Let's 
go see what he wants."

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
COMPUTER LAB, HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
8:02 AM

Beck dropped the faded Black Sox cap onto Nichols' keyboard. 
"Does that mean what I think it means?" 

Nichols leaned back in his chair to look up at him with mock-
innocence. His hands slid into his lap without touching the 
hat. "I don't know, Colonel. What do you think it means?" 

Lisa Ianelli was sitting in her usual place beside Nichols. A 
3-dimensional computer model undulated on the monitor in front 
of them, disintegrating as it writhed. Beck recognized the 
image as a diagnostic of last night's test. It clearly showed 
a malfunction had occurred while the aircraft was operating in 
gravity pulse mode.

"Just answer the question," he said through gritted teeth.

Nichols shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by Beck's threatening 
tone. Ianelli, on the other hand, appeared nervous...and 
confused. She picked up the hat. "I don't understand. What's 
this got to do with us or our work?"

Before Beck could answer, Nichols sighed loudly and said, "The 
Colonel thinks it's a clue to the whereabouts of the missing 
agents. Isn't that right, Colonel?"

That was precisely what he thought. Security had searched 
every square inch of the Base and had come up empty 
handed...except for the ball cap.

"The Baltimore Black Sox haven't played ball since 1934. I 
checked it myself," Beck said.

"So? It's a reproduction."

"Does it look new to you?"

Nichols shrugged again. "Maybe someone here at Hill collects 
baseball memorabilia."

"My men deny ever seeing it before."

"So it belongs to the missing agents. That doesn't necessarily 
connect it to last night's test...at least not in the way 
you're implying."

"It does when you add to it the evidence on that computer 
screen." Beck nodded at the monitor.

Ianelli glanced at the undulating image, then down at the hat 
in her hands. "You think the missing agents went back in time 
to--"

"To the 1930s, yes, I do," Beck finished for her. "I think the 
anti-gravity propulsion system caused a warp during last 
night's test. Agents Mulder and Scully got caught in that 
warp. That model..." -- he nodded at the screen again -- 
"proves it."

He was guessing a sudden shift in the craft's trajectory 
created the distortion, and that the agents had been in close 
proximity to the AGPS when it malfunctioned, bending time, and 
throwing them several decades into the past, while depositing 
the cap in the present. 

"I want you to find those agents," Beck ordered, "and bring 
them back. ASAP." 

"Suppose they're dead."

"If they were dead, the model wouldn't be reacting like that." 
Beck jabbed a finger at the swirls on the computer screen. 
There was no doubt the agents were still alive and their 
presence in the past was affecting the stability of the 
continuum.

Nichols eyeballed the model, his expression guarded. A twinge 
in Beck's gut warned him that Nichols knew more than he was 
saying. 

"Open a new hole and haul them back," Beck ordered. 

"It's not that easy."

"Make it happen...*before* General Kaback gets here."

Nichols leaned back in his chair while continuing to study the 
model. "It might be possible to open a small hole, to allow 
the transfer of electronic data."

"Electronic data? I want those agents, not a fucking email."

"The data would just be a test...to ensure stabilization of 
the warp before we actually try to retrieve the agents. As a 
matter of fact, we could use the data to send them a message, 
notify them of our intentions, make sure they stay in one 
place long enough for us to pinpoint them and grab them."  

"A message?" Ianelli sounded incredulous. "To what? Their cell 
phones?"

To Beck's surprise, Nichols nodded at her suggestion. 
"Actually, that would work perfectly."

Was such a thing even technologically possible? 

Beck knew that Mulder and Scully carried FBI issued cell 
phones; he'd seen their numbers listed in Captain Linden's 
background report. But would the agents have their phones 
charged and turned on? More importantly, would a cell phone 
work in 1930?

"Do it," he said. "Rerun last night's test, recreate the 
distortion. Make it look routine. I want this done quietly."  

Nichols no longer appeared to be listening. He was already 
punching keys, altering the model's makeup. 

"Kaback's due at 1100," Beck reminded him. "Do whatever you 
need to do before then."

Nichols nodded absently. 

Beck wasn't certain he grasped the seriousness of the 
situation. "We're running out of time, Nichols."

The scientist swiveled in his chair. "Interesting choice of 
words, Colonel." 

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
JULY 1, 10:19 AM

Gini gutted the beaver, while Mulder and Scully watched. They 
sat a few feet away, leaning comfortably against a fallen tree 
in a grassy clearing approximately ten yards from where Mulder 
had beached the animal. The tree was without branches or bark, 
having lost them decades ago to wind and weather. Its thick 
trunk was bleached silver-gray by the sun, and it felt smooth 
and warm against Mulder's sore, bare back. 

It surprised him how happily Gini was going about her grisly 
task. She chattered as she slit the beaver from gullet to 
groin, carefully cutting around its genitals and anus without 
penetrating the bowel, which he supposed was to prevent 
contamination of the meat. She used one of her small stone 
blades, brought from Turkey Lake, having declined his offer of 
the pocketknife. She was evidently more comfortable with her 
own familiar tools.

Using bare hands, she scooped entrails from the gaping body, 
emptying the cavity onto the grass. She pointed to the growing 
pile of organs and rattled off a string of what sounded like 
questions or commands.

"What's she saying?" he asked, not understanding a single 
word.   

"I didn't get all of it, but 'a-chi' means intestines and 
'cha' means 'beaver.' I think she wants to know if we plan to 
use the entrails," Scully said, rising to her feet to inspect 
the gore. "You really should make an effort to learn her 
language, Mulder."

"I'm not good at languages."

"With your photographic memory?" 

"Doesn't seem to help. You should hear my Spanish. It's 
embarrassing. 'Mi nalga se confunde fcilmente.'"

She laughed. "You just said, 'My rump is easily confused.'"

"Did I?" He grinned at his mistake. "Oh, well, considering how 
often I have my head up my ass, that's not too far off the 
mark, actually. But what I meant to say was 'My brain is 
easily confused.' Guess I proved my point."

"'Brain' is 'cerebro,' not 'nalga.'"

"'Patata,' pa-tay-ta. The Vineyard's a long way from the 
Mexican border, San Diego Girl."

Bending over the bloody entrails, she frowned. "How is it you 
were able to remember the tribe's words for the male and 
female genitalia without any trouble?"  

"Easy...that's a guy thing."

She rummaged through the guts and retrieved what looked to him 
to be the liver. 

"You interested in eating this?" she asked, holding it up. It 
draped heavily over her arm, dark, slimy and wholly 
unappetizing. 

His throat closed and his stomach rebelled. "Uh...no, thanks." 

To avoid watching her pick through the gore, he inspected the 
injury on his ribs. The scrape he'd received underwater was 
beginning to sting like hell. It was raw and inflamed looking. 
Carefully, he pulled a long sliver from the wound. 

"I was kind of hoping we wouldn't be here long enough to make 
learning cavemanese a necessity," he said, letting the bloody 
splinter drop to the ground.

"Do you have something more pressing to do?" She abandoned the 
beaver's innards to come inspect his wound. "You should rinse 
that." 

"It's fine." To be honest, he felt too tired to rise to his 
feet and traipse all the way down to the river.

"Mulder..." Her warning tone.

"Give me a few minutes," he wheedled. "I wanna see how Gini 
skins this thing." 

Gini was already separating the hide from the carcass, cutting 
and tugging, while taking care not to puncture it. With 
Scully's help she removed the entire skin in about twenty 
minutes. Mulder was content to simply sit and watch them. The 
work appeared to be strenuous. Sweat was slicking their faces 
by the time they laid the hide on the grass -- sans head -- in 
one unbroken piece. 

Opened flat, it was wider than Gini was tall. Gore still clung 
to its inner surface, making it too unwieldy for Scully and 
Gini to lift on their own. 

"Muhl-dar na-e-lahi?" Gini pointed to the skin and pantomimed 
draping it over the fallen tree.

"Come on, Mulder. Help us."

Reluctantly, and with an exaggerated groan, he rose to his 
feet to help them lift the pelt into position over the log. 
Once it was where they wanted it, Gini crouched beside it and 
immediately began scraping off a layer of sticky membrane with 
her crescent-shaped blade. She held the stone knife at a 
ninety-degree angle while she methodically removed fat from 
the pelt, until the underlying pores began to appear.

While she worked on the hide, Scully butchered the beaver, 
using Mulder's knife. Mulder returned to his comfortable 
position beside the log.

"Too bad we don't have some way to preserve all that meat," he 
said. 

"The tribe had a smokehouse." Scully sliced through what was 
once a muscular thigh, trimming away several perfect steaks. 
"Maybe we could build one, too."

"Maybe." Without tools it would be difficult to build 
anything. He plucked a blade of grass and stuck it between his 
teeth. "If we had another knife, I could help you cut that 
up," he said, glad there was only one.

"You killed it, I can clean it. Nice job, by the way, Tarzan."

She glanced at him and smiled. Her praise lessened the ache in 
his limbs.   

Half an hour later, Scully and Gini were still cutting and 
scraping. Apparently ready for a break, Gini rose to search 
through the pile of guts. To Mulder's disgust, she dug out the 
heart, from which she took a big, bloody bite. She chewed with 
obvious relish and swallowed.

"Mmmmm. Gud!" she said, wiping gore from her lips onto the 
back of her hand.

"Jesus." Mulder's gag reflex kicked in and he felt his gorge 
rise. He looked to Scully to see if she was going to object.

Instead she simply shrugged. "It can't harm her, and I doubt 
it's any worse than the raw snake meat you and I ate."

Maybe not, but... "I'm going to wash up." He stood and headed 
for the river.

By the time he returned, Gini was finished with her scraping 
and Scully was bringing the snapping turtle's shell from the 
cave.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"I don't know. Gini asked for it." She handed the turtle shell 
-- which was as big as a punch bowl -- to the girl. 

Gini set it on the ground beside the log. "Muhl-dar break 
head," she said. 

"Excuse me?" he asked. "Break head?"

Gini smiled and pointed first to the turtle-bowl, and then to 
the beaver's decapitated skull lying beside the entrails in 
the grass. After several minutes of sign language and broken 
English it became clear that she wanted him to crack open the 
beaver's skull with a rock and dump the contents into the 
turtle shell. Why, he wasn't exactly sure, but guessed it must 
have something to do with curing the hide.

While Gini was showing Scully how to rough up the pelt's 
underside with sand and fine gravel, he hunted for an 
appropriate sized rock to hammer open the beaver's head.

A fist-sized stone caught his eye. He brought it and the 
grisly severed head to the log where Gini and Scully were 
abrading the skin. A few well-placed blows between the 
beaver's eyes punched a hole through its fur and bone, opening 
its flat forehead and exposing a gray soup of brains inside.

"There you go." He nudged the mutilated head toward Gini.

She took it from him and scooped the brains into the turtle 
shell. Mulder was reminded of a grotesque little verse from 
his childhood. He began to chant while she emptied the skull: 
"Great green globs of greasy, grimy gopher guts; mutilated 
monkey meat; little turdy birdy feet; French-fried eyeballs 
swimming in a bowl of blood; And I forgot my spoon!"

"But I've got my straw," Scully finished the ditty for him, 
and followed it with the prerequisite slurp, which made Gini 
pause at her brain mashing to giggle.

Her laugh was so throaty and infectious Mulder couldn't help 
but chuckle, too. 

Smiling broadly, Gini held out the bowl to him. "Muhl-dar bel-
dil-khon." 

"Sorry, I didn't quite get that."

"Bel-dil-khon. Um...fill...uhhh..." She thought for a moment, 
trying to come up with the appropriate words. "Muhl-
dar...make...uh, tkoh."

Now Scully laughed. Loudly.

"What?" he asked, not getting the joke.

"She wants you to fill the bowl."

"I get that, but with what?"

Scully seemed to be struggling to suppress another laugh. 
"Urine."

"Urine? She wants me to pee in this?"

Scully nodded. "I remember Dr. Diamond telling us that Sub-
Arctic People used animal brains and human urine to tan 
caribou and moose skins."

"Well that's fine and dandy, but why do *I* have to piss in 
the pot? What's wrong with your urine? Or hers?"

She shrugged. "It could be a tribal preference. Maybe male pee 
is thought to be luckier than female pee."

"Luckier?"

"I don't know, Mulder. Just do it, will you?"

Reluctantly he grabbed the turtle shell from Gini and headed 
for the trees. Behind him he heard Gini ask Scully, "Where 
Muhl-dar go?"

"He'll be right back, sweetie."

Sequestered behind dense foliage, he set the turtle shell on 
the ground between his feet. Didn't this just take the 
proverbial cake? Pissing into a bowl of beaver brains. 
"Highlight of my professional career," he muttered as he 
emptied his bladder.

Walking back to Scully and Gini, he tried not to blush or trip 
over his feet and fall face-first into the damn bowl.

"Here." He passed the bowl to Gini, who set it on the ground 
and began mashing its contents with a paddle-shaped stick.

"Ut-zah," she said after a few minutes of mixing. The gray 
contents had become a greasy slurry, which she applied to the 
inside of the pelt with her bare hands.

"Isn't that...unhygienic?" Mulder asked, face wrinkled in 
disgust.

"Human urine is sterile when it's fresh," Scully informed him.

Twice Gini smeared the entire skin with the brain mixture, 
buffing the surface between coats with a handful of sand. Then 
she rolled the skin into a tight bundle and left it beside the 
log.

"That's it? It's ready to be made into fur coats?" Mulder 
asked.

"Not yet," Scully said. "Dr. Diamond described several 
traditional methods for softening hides, to keep the skin 
flexible."

"Chewed by Indian maidens?" 

"Something like that." She turned to Gini, who was smeared 
with blood, brains, sweat, and no doubt, Mulder's urine. "Bath 
time, sweetie. Let's get you cleaned up."

"Bat-time!" Gini grinned and immediately stripped off Mulder's 
soiled shirt. She dropped it onto the ground and ran naked to 
the river.

Scully collected the shirt from the grass. "I'll wash this."

"You do that. I'd prefer it didn't smell like my pee."

"Your *lucky* pee," she called over her shoulder, waving the 
shirt at him.

From the water's edge, Gini high-stepped into the water and 
shouted at the top of her lungs, "Lug-hee pee, lug-hee pee, 
lug-hee pee!"   

*   *   * 

A knife of defeat prodded Chal between the shoulders as he and 
the others crossed the sun-washed ball field at Turkey Lake. 
He gripped his spear in bone-weary fingers. The weapon seemed 
as burdensome as a bull mastodon tusk, tugging painfully at 
the muscles of his arm. His travel pack caused him irritation, 
too. Its strap chafed his neck with every plodding step, and 
the pack itself pressed heavily against his spine although it 
contained nothing more than a few meager supplies. The 
hunters' journey to Ye-tsan had yielded only empty bellies and 
disconsolate hearts. No fresh meat, no redress for the 
transgressions against Owl Clan, and no happy homecoming for 
Gini.

Chal conjured up an image of her the way she'd looked the day 
he met her at the lake, her eyes flashing with indignation, 
her pretty mouth set in a taut frown, while the midday sun 
glossed her braids and a light breeze rattled the beads in her 
hair. His bones had rattled at that moment, too. It took all 
his strength to quell the trembling in his limbs as he stood 
on the bank above her. No girl had ever set his knees to 
wobbling the way she did. It was as if he had been caught 
unawares by a powerful punch to the gut. The feeling was 
unexpected and alarming, yet he found himself rooted to the 
riverbank, curiously delighted as he gazed at her clenched 
fists and angry wide eyes, eyes that weren't afraid to meet 
his own blinking stare.

It was at that exact moment he decided to bargain with Dzeh 
and the Spirits to make her his mate.

And now...now he must forget that she had ever lived.

How was he to do such an impossible thing? She had occupied 
his thoughts every day and every night since he first laid 
eyes on her, and now her spirit was haunting his heart. While 
awake he imagined himself returning to Ye-tsan and rescuing 
her. While asleep he dreamt that she shared his sleeping skins 
or tended his hearth. Last night he saw their children playing 
by the fire, two daughters and four sons, all strong and 
healthy, long-limbed like him, yet marked by her dimpled 
smile. He was loath to wake from this happy scene, preferring 
instead to imagine a life with her. Upon opening his eyes at 
daybreak, he was met with the disappointing truth that she was 
lost to him forever.      

Four sunrises had come and gone since he and the other hunters 
had turned their backs on Ye-tsan Basin. Finally they were in 
sight of the domed huts of their summer home. The 
mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat greeted them even before 
they heard the cheerful voices of their kin at the lakeshore 
where all the clans were gathered to watch teams of girls and 
boys compete in water games. Even without looking, Chal knew 
his best friends Nash-doie-tso and Tsah were there, winning 
prizes because they were vigorous swimmers and skilled divers, 
able to hold their breaths for long periods. Chal was an 
excellent swimmer, too, but he had no interest in joining his 
friends or competing in the games. Not this season. The 
rituals of the Mastodon Feast had lost their appeal; now Chal 
longed only to see summer end, so that Badger Clan could 
return to their eastern territory, far away from any reminders 
of Owl Clan or Gini.

Chal was walking a few paces behind Dzeh when they arrived at 
the Men's Prayer Lodge. The Owl clansman split away from the 
group to slip sullenly inside, no doubt intending to paint his 
face with white clay to honor his dead sister and make 
offerings to the Spirits on her behalf. Chal would have liked 
to join him and give a heartfelt prayer of his own, but it was 
not his place. Gini was neither kin nor mate, and so any 
prayer or blatant show of sorrow would be considered improper, 
bordering on an insult to the deceased's family.

Wol-la-chee and Lin did not follow Dzeh into the Lodge, 
although it was within their rights to do so. Instead they 
headed to their respective hearths, where they would no doubt 
deposit their packs before going in search of their mates at 
the games. It was up to them as Owl clansmen to spread the 
word about Gini.

Left on his own, Chal scuffed along a worn path between 
shelters. Another cheer sounded from the lake, drawing his 
attention. Even at this distance, three spear throws away, he 
could see the men placing wagers while women congregated in 
groups, chattering like blackbirds. Young children splashed in 
the shallows, imitating their older brothers and sisters in 
mock races. Meat roasted over a communal fire built on the 
gravelly shore. The clans would remain by the lake until long 
after sunset, feasting, singing, dancing and betting.

Arriving at his mother's hut, Chal ducked into its cool, quiet 
interior, eager for its shadowy solitude after spending nearly 
a quarter moon in the company of the Owl clansmen. It wasn't 
that he disliked Dzeh and his kin. To the contrary he found 
them to be admirable men in almost every respect. But he 
associated their company with the misery of Gini's 
disappearance and he longed for a private moment to let the 
ache in his chest escape. He was barely through the door when 
tears sprang to his eyes. A fist of anguish lodged itself in 
his throat. He tossed his spear onto his sleeping skins and 
shrugged out of his pack, which he set beside the spear. 
Crouching, he wiped his wet cheeks and waited for his grief to 
come full force.

The hut was just as he'd left it. Two hearth fires glowed, one 
at each end of the oblong shelter, their red coals 
illuminating the hut's ivory bone supports. Other familiar 
things came into focus as his teary eyes adjusted to the dark: 
the smooth, tan roof, the softly furred beds, twelve in all, 
the stockpiles of supplies along the outer walls. He could 
smell the pleasant odor of sage, which hung from the roof 
supports, drying in upside-down bunches. Its familiar aroma 
helped soothe his uneasy heart.

"Chal?" A woman's voice from the back of the hut startled him. 
Not his mother. One of his aunts?

"Auntie?" He strained to make out her face in the dark.

"No, it's me...Klizzie."

His cousin. His shoulders sagged. Now he would have to be the 
one to relay the heartbreaking news about Gini.  

"Why are you not at the games?" he asked, stalling.

"I am not feeling well." She rose from her bed to come to him. 

At closer range he saw that her face was painted with white 
clay. The mask of grief, created by mixing powdered stone with 
water, then applied as a slip and allowed to dry. Once 
hardened, the thin coat cracked around the eyes and mouth as 
the mourner cried. Tears washed the pale clay away, leaving 
dark rivulets striping each cheek. The mask was frightful to 
behold in its disintegrating state.

For a moment Chal was confused, thinking Klizzie wore the clay 
because she somehow already knew about Gini. But that wasn't 
possible; only the hunters knew. And from the ragged state of 
Klizzie's mask Chal guessed she'd been grieving for several 
days.

Her sorrow must be for someone else.

More bad luck had befallen the Mastodon Feast.

"Did you find my Little Chick?" she asked, sounding hopeful 
and nervous behind her cracked mask. "And the strangers from 
Eel Clan? What of them?"

"We did not find the strangers," he said, avoiding the subject 
of Gini. How was he to deliver such dreadful information? The 
story should come from Dzeh, or one of the other Owl clansmen, 
not a Badger cousin. "We followed their tracks as far as Ye-
tsan Basin." It was remarkable how calm he was able to keep 
his voice. "When we encountered the footprints of giant 
serpents, we turned back."

Alarm lit Klizzie's eyes. "The serpents are real?"

Chal wasn't certain if they were or they weren't. The hunters 
hadn't actually seen any of the mythical beasts. "There were 
tracks in the stone, some as long as a grown man's stride." 

He left it at that, moving away from Klizzie to stir the ashes 
in the hearth. The hut seemed suddenly as cold as midwinter. 
He knew she was going to inquire about Gini again, and to 
postpone her inevitable question he asked, "Why are you not 
inside your own hut, Cousin?"

He hoped his words didn't sound impertinent. He hadn't meant 
them to.

"My hut is occupied." Anger creased her clay-covered features. 
Her voice growled in her throat when she said, "Our cousin 
Klesh has returned."

He pictured their scarred cousin, victim of a saber-toothed 
cat mauling. Chal had been very young when Klesh left the 
Clan, and could not recall the details of his departure. He 
remembered only the man's frightful deformity.

After his banishment, no one ever talked about him. It had 
been as if he had died, yet not a single clansman painted his 
face with clay to show respect.

In light of Klesh's return Klizzie's mask was even more 
perplexing. 

"Please, Chal, tell me about Gini. Is my Little Chick safe?" 
Once more she moved to stand beside him. She placed a feverish 
hand on his shoulder.

He could not lift his eyes to meet hers. "I am sorry," he 
whispered, "we did not find her."

Klizzie gasped. A moan began deep in her throat. It hummed 
behind clenched teeth. Chal had never heard such a mournful 
sound and it made him want to clap his hands over his ears. He 
forced his fists to remain at his sides. When he finally 
looked up at her he was met by a heartrending sight. Klizzie's 
face was contorted with grief, her clay mask a spider web of 
bleak cracks.

Cheerful shouts burst upon them from the lake, startling in 
their contrast to Klizzie's distress.

"I am sorry, Cousin," Chal repeated. He didn't know what else 
to say. He could not tell her that he, too, felt as if 
buzzards were pecking at his heart.

*   *   *

It was sundown when Dzeh finally finished his prayers. He 
painted his face with clay and spoke at length to his mother's 
spirit. Gini was not with her. Not yet. It would be several 
days before the Spirits guided her across the chasm between 
the worlds of the living and the dead. He would need to wait 
before sending his apologies to her on a column of sage-
scented smoke. 

Soon after nightfall, Lin, Wol-la-chee and several others 
arrived to pray with Dzeh. Lin insisted on painting his face 
with clay, although it wasn't required, and Dzeh appreciated 
his uncle's respectful gesture. 

The Owl clansmen ate a meager meal of bitter herbs, 
representative of the many hardships in life. They sat around 
the fire with legs crossed, drinking wo-chi, chanting and 
rocking as they passed the gourd between them. Lin told Dzeh 
that Klizzie had been informed about Gini. 

It was only after three gourds were emptied that Dzeh felt 
ready to rise from the hearth and go to his mate. She would 
want to hear his version of events, and to be honest, he felt 
the need to tell her. Only she would understand the depth of 
his sorrow. 

"Little Chick" she had called the girl, always treating her as 
tenderly as a beloved daughter.

Dzeh stumbled with watery eyes and an unsteady gait from the 
Prayer Lodge to his hut. Wo-chi burned in his gut; it numbed 
his fingers and feet, but did little to ease the pain of his 
grief. His spirit longed to find Gini inside the hut, asleep 
beside Klizzie, dreaming of tomorrow's blanket toss games. 

Wo-chi rose in his throat, stinging the back of his tongue 
with its sour heat when he realized she would never play the 
game again.

He waited outside the hut for the wave of nausea to pass. 
Through the crack at the door he glimpsed a low fire burning 
in the hearth. A lone figure crouched beside it. He pushed the 
flap aside, expecting Klizzie to turn toward him, eyes red-
rimmed, cheeks streaked with tears.

Instead he found Klesh stirring the coals.

Dzeh rocked back on his heels and blinked in disbelief at the 
sight of Klizzie's chindi cousin. "What are you doing here?"

"Keeping your mate company while you have been gone," Klesh 
sneered. A strange shiny bracelet dangled from his wrist, 
reflecting firelight. Except for the unusual ornament and a 
loincloth, which Dzeh recognized as his own, he was naked. His 
body appeared more scarred and deformed than Dzeh remembered.

Klesh regarded him through hooded eyes, black holes in the 
white mask of grief he wore.

Why was he donning a clay mask? He barely knew Gini. This 
presumption was an insult, as was his presence in Dzeh's hut.

"Get out," he said, lurching toward Klesh with fists balled.

"You would put out a grieving man?" Klesh asked, not moving.

"You have no right to grieve!" Dzeh was incensed. He would 
throw this vile man out and then beat him severely for his 
impudence.

Klesh's scarred brows rose. "But I *do* have the right. Tse-e 
was my best friend and my cousin."

Tse-e? What was he talking about? Had something happened to 
Klizzie's brother? "But it is Gini who is dead."

"Muhl-dar killed her, too?" He nodded as if he expected this. 
"He is a cruel man. No doubt he tortured the girl before he 
sent her to the Spirits."

It was too much to take in. Dzeh felt his legs grow weak. The 
wo-chi threatened to fly from his stomach. "What do you know 
about it?" he asked.

Eyes blazing, Klesh leaned toward Dzeh. His face was 
crisscrossed with gouges where the clay of his mask had caked 
and cracked around his scars. "Muhl-dar murdered Tse-e. And he 
left me to die at Toh-ta Lodge. If you desire revenge against 
this man, I am willing to help you."

Under any other circumstances Dzeh would not have considered 
siding with Klesh. He had loathed this despicable cousin of 
Klizzie's for four long years, blaming him for forcing her to 
submit to his sexual demands against her will. 

But...that had turned out to be untrue. 

And now it seemed Klesh was suffering from Muhl-dar's cruelty, 
exactly as Dzeh was suffering. His head pounded from too much 
wo-chi and too little sleep. He felt dizzy and sick to his 
stomach. The stranger from Eel Clan had wronged him. Had 
wronged Klesh, too. They had both lost kin because of his 
treachery.

Feeling overwhelmed by anguish and outrage, Dzeh was suddenly 
seeing Klesh through new eyes. 

"Where is Klizzie?" he asked.

Klesh shrugged his scarred shoulders. "She has been feeling 
poorly. A woman's matter. Ho-Ya has been caring for her."

"A woman's matter?"

"Don't tell me you did not know?" Klesh rolled back on the 
sleeping skins and laughed, a harsh sound that scoured Dzeh's 
ears like winter wind upon a frozen lake. "It seems your 
Trading Partner planted a gift inside your mate before he 
stole your sister."

No, this could not be. Please, Spirit Mother, no. "A g-gift?"

"Yes, Cousin. Klizzie is pregnant. She is carrying the child 
of your enemy inside her womb."     

*   *   *

Mulder squatted beside Gini beneath the overhang at the mouth 
of the cave. He was dressed in jeans and jacket, his unzipped 
coat exposing his bare chest. She was still wearing his 
commandeered turtleneck, and sat without smiling, facing the 
river, legs drawn up inside the loose fabric of her shirt. Her 
arms were folded across her knees, and she glumly propped her 
chin in the crook of one elbow. 

Rainwater, cool and heavy, streamed from the overhang, 
creating a veil that tinted everything beyond it silver-gray. 
Fat raindrops slapped against glossy vegetation throughout the 
valley and the noise sounded like quiet applause. Tree leaves 
pitched and rebounded beneath the relentless tap of water. 
Mulder watched a ruddy rivulet wind its way downhill around 
rocks and tree roots toward the river, until it became lost in 
the thick blanket of mist below.

Behind him, Scully worked on the beaver hide. Gini had shown 
her how to soften the skin, pulling it from side-to-side and 
from head to tail, stretching and buffing it with sand until 
it was dry and supple. The process looked tedious and hard on 
the arms and hands, but Scully didn't appear bored or 
fatigued. She hummed tunelessly as she tugged at a tough spot, 
a small smile curving her lips.

Mulder turned to Gini and tagged her cheek to get her 
attention. "Hey, pipsqueak."

She responded with a shy smile. "Ba-hal-neh Hor-ton Hears 
Who?"

"No, no Horton Hears a Who. How 'bout you teach me some tribe 
words instead."

"Word sted?" Gini asked, parroting him and looking confused. 

Mulder gave Scully a pleading stare. "Tell her I want to learn 
her language."

"Tell her yourself." Scully paused at her task. "She 
understands more than you think."

She did seem to grasp most of the things he said. And it was 
he who had been resistant to learning a new language. 

Knowing his limitations, he decided to start with something 
easy. "What's this?" He tapped her nose.

"Nose," she said.

She had evidently missed his point. "No, what do *you* call 
it?"

"Nose," she said again. A sly grin produced a dimple in her 
plump right cheek.

Scully chuckled behind him. "She's pulling your leg, Mulder. 
Gini, ha-neh-al-enji Ne-as-jah Din-neh-ih."

The girl giggled but explained, "Nose is 'a-chin'."

"A chin?" Mulder repeated. "Well...then what's the word for 
this?" He pinched her small chin.

Again she laughed before giving him her translation. He asked 
for more words and they spent the next several minutes 
pointing and translating simple things like hand, eye, lips, 
teeth, smile, tongue. This last one began a tongue-rolling 
demonstration, which was followed by a face-making contest.

When they'd exhausted every possible contortion of their 
features, Gini quizzed Mulder on his new vocabulary. He failed 
miserably, unable to accurately repeat back most of the words 
she'd just shared. His mispronunciations and wrong word 
choices set her giggling at his expense.

"Go ahead, yuck it up, Miss Smartypants. It's not my fault mi 
nalga se confunde fcilmente."

It was Scully's turn to laugh, a deep throaty chuckle that 
delighted Mulder so much he didn't care that the joke was on 
him. 

Leaning toward Gini, he draped one arm over her small 
shoulders, and said, "Tell me, pipsqueak, what's the word 
for...TICKLE!" 

He began counting her ribs, making her shriek with delight. 
She rolled into his lap, laughing uncontrollably. 

After a moment he stopped to let her catch her breath.

"Atsanh yeh-hes," she said, grinning up at him.

"Atsanh...?"

"Atsanh yeh-hes," she repeated, reaching beneath his coat to 
wiggle her fingers against his bare ribs.

He smiled, then pinned her hand between his chest and arm, 
while thrusting his other hand into her armpit, making her 
curl into a chortling ball.

"Stop!" she said through her giggles. 

Immediately he ceased his tickling. "Did you say stop?"

She nodded, then apparently changed her mind and shook her 
head. "Tickle more, Muhl-dar, peese."

"Really?" He tweaked her belly. "More atsanh yeh-hes?"

"Yes...more...ahhhh!" Again she shrieked, twisting onto her 
back between his bent knees as his fingers crawled over her 
stomach, hunting for sensitive spots. 

"If you insist." He prodded under her arms. Every few seconds 
he paused to ask, "Stop?"

"More, peese," she begged, going so far as to lift her arms to 
give him better access to her ribs.

After another minute or two, she was once again gasping for 
breath, so he announced, "That's it." She was flushed from 
exertion. Her small chest heaved beneath the loose turtleneck. 
"Enough," he said, up-righting her in his lap.

She straddled his legs, facing him, and gazed up at him with a 
contented and ingenuous expression. For whatever reason she 
trusted him...had trusted him right from the start. Emotion 
welled up in him. Trust was a hard thing for him to give or 
accept, and he viewed it as the ultimate compliment. It 
touched him to be on the receiving end of something so 
precious and unexpected. 

He slid his thumb gently over the faint bruise below her right 
eye where Dzeh had struck her.

"My father hit me once...like this...in the eye," he said.

Gini didn't reply to his soft-spoken confession, but Scully 
stopped working the beaver hide to stare at him. "When?" she 
asked.

"The day Sam fell off our backyard swing and broke her 
collarbone. I was ten." He recalled the pain of his father's 
hand connecting with his right cheek, followed by his mother's 
frantic screams and Bill Mulder's hoarse accusation, "Damn it, 
son, you were supposed to be watching her!"

His father's disappointment had hurt more than the slap. 

"Surprised the shit out of me," he admitted. "I think it 
surprised Dad, too. He'd never hit me before. Never did again 
either."

"Prized shhhit outta me," Gini repeated.

"Oops. Guess I need to start watching what I say."

He decided to distract her from his indiscretion by fishing 
into his jacket pockets. Pulling out his handkerchief with one 
hand and his picture ID with the other, he passed them to her. 

"Hangertiff. Badj," she said.  

Scully resumed her work on the hide. "She's not afraid of him, 
you know."

Mulder guessed "him" referred to Dzeh. "How do you know that?"

Gini set the items in her lap and reached back into his 
pockets to look for more.

"She told me."

"Then why does she act so afraid of him?"

Out came his car rental receipt and his keys. The items were 
quickly laid aside.

"He's planning to mate her," Scully said.

Mate her? What the fuck? Blood pounded in Mulder's ears as he 
pictured Dzeh forcing himself on the little girl. Gini sat 
contentedly in his lap, digging into his pockets for hidden 
treasures. "Jesus, she's just a kid! And isn't she his 
daughter or sister or something?"

To his surprise, Scully chuckled. "He doesn't want to mate 
*with* her. He wants to marry her off...for lack of a better 
expression."

Oh. The heat in Mulder's face cooled. 

Gini found his binoculars and, twisting at the waist, used 
them to inspect the valley. 

"She's too young to get married...isn't she?" He thought back 
to the wedding ceremony in the village, the night all hell 
broke loose. The bride and groom hadn't been much older than 
Gini. Ten or eleven maybe. Twelve at the most. 

Gini pointed to the valley and began listing aloud the things 
she was seeing through the binoculars. "Trwee. Boord. Kiffs."     

"It's not the idea of marriage that scares her, as much as the 
wedding night," Scully said. "Apparently she thinks men are 
hung like horses...literally."

"How the hell did she get that idea? I mean..." -- he lowered 
his voice -- "Can she really be that naive? Her people all 
sleep in the same hut. Surely she must have seen...or at least 
heard..."

"She's a kid." Scully shrugged. "She made it up, based on bits 
and pieces of things she's seen."

He didn't even want to imagine what those might be.

Gini set down the binoculars and was once more digging into 
Mulder's pockets. She withdrew his cell phone. "Ffffone," she 
said, and then imitated one of its musical rings.

Mulder took the phone and showed her again how to turn it on. 
"You set her straight, right?" he asked Scully.

"Not really. I mean, I tried, but the language barrier made 
explaining the facts of life more complex than you'd imagine. 
Feel free to give it a try yourself, if you'd like."

"Uh...no thanks. Sounds like a mother-daughter moment, not 
something I'd be very good at."

At the push of a button the phone played a few bars of "Yankee 
Doodle," delighting Gini and making her laugh. "Me do," she 
said, taking the phone from his hand.  

He watched her play, relieved that her objection to going home 
wasn't connected directly to Dzeh. Given more time they could 
learn her language or teach her enough of theirs to explain 
about the birds and bees, allay her fears, and take her back 
to her family without initiating another temper tantrum. 

The rain was letting up. He took the phone from her, turned it 
off and returned it, along with the other items, to his 
pockets. Then he lifted her into his arms and rose to his 
feet. "Whaddaya say we build that smokehouse Day-nuh asked 
for, huh, pipsqueak?"

Gini nodded, although it was doubtful she really understood 
everything he'd said.

"I'll have dinner ready by the time you get back," Scully 
said. 

"She's so good to us," he whispered into Gini's ear before 
bending to give Scully a quick kiss and heading out of the 
cave.     

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
8:20 AM

No matter how many times Jason saw the aircraft he was always 
impressed by its sleek design and alien technology. It 
surpassed anything on the planet, in speed, maneuverability, 
stealth...and so much more. 

He crossed the hangar with Lisa following close at his heels, 
their shoes clacking loudly against the concrete floor as they 
headed for a set of portable metal stairs that led up to the 
cockpit. He paused at the base of the steps to look up at the 
imposing ship. Jet black and shaped like a shallow pyramid, 
its triangular sides extended thirty-two feet to its snubbed 
tail. It cast a chilly shadow over them, dwarfing the hangar 
and making Jason feel insignificant. 

The craft's power and potential were almost unimaginable...at 
least for anyone but him. He'd seen it in action, not just 
last night, but many times in the future. When his older self 
died last year in the fire at MIT, Jason suddenly found 
himself in 2038, where he learned how to open doors through 
time. He'd used the technology to travel back to 1998. Four 
decades passed in a nanosecond. The experience had been 
unnerving, but survivable.

It turned out that his freezing compound was unnecessary for 
time travel, and no one had been more surprised by this 
discovery than him. Advances in technology had rendered 
cryogenic sleep obsolete. Journeying from one time to another 
became an everyday occurrence, as uncomplicated as stepping 
over a crack in the sidewalk. 

And therein lay its danger. 

It was too easy. The world became obsessed with seeing and 
experiencing the future. People wanted to learn how they would 
live...and die. Soon every event of their lives was 
anticipated, expected, and dreaded. Who could have predicted 
the horror of knowing every single moment of one's life, or 
the lengths to which desperate people would go to try to alter 
their futures, even in some small, but impossible way? They 
found themselves living out a nightmare, the same nightmare, 
over and over again. Even the most pleasant experiences were 
unbearable after constant repetition.

The world became a violent, intolerable place, which was why 
Jason returned to 1998. He intended to thwart his own 
experiments and, with them, the development of time 
travel...just as his older self had tried to do. 

In order to succeed now, he needed to return Agents Mulder and 
Scully to the present where they belonged, before their 
existence in the past disintegrated the continuum to the point 
of chaos.

He climbed the steps to the cockpit with determination. Lisa 
followed him up and inside.   

"You weren't serious back there, were you?" she asked, 
settling into the copilot's seat. 

He powered up the craft, causing the instrument panels to cast 
a greenish glow over their skin. Methodically he went through 
the checks, flicking switches and noting the readouts. 
"Serious about what?"

"Contacting Agent Mulder by phone. That can't be 
possible...can it?" 

Lisa could be brilliant at times, but she rarely let herself 
think outside the box.

"It's possible."

"How?"

He tried to tamp down his impatience. They didn't have time 
for lengthy explanations, but he needed her help and didn't 
want to alienate her by showing his annoyance. "Look beyond 
the technology's current practical application," he urged her, 
while he listened for the familiar, low hum of the engines. 
Their telltale vibration tickled the soles of his feet and the 
palms of his hands. "Consider the theoretical potential. All 
the necessary components are there."

"But the physics--"

"There are no physical barriers," he snapped, sounding more 
brusque than he intended. He took a slow, deep breath and 
turned to face her. "Listen, in October, 2001, a team of 
scientists in Wales is going to prove physicist Dr. Henning 
Voss's theory of synchronization by successfully transmitting 
a continuous data signal via a fluctuating laser beam. Their 
data will be recorded on a receiver nanoseconds before the 
transmitter actually sends it."

"That's...incredible, but I don't see what it has to do with 
us." Frustration creased her brow. "I'm not following you, 
Jason."

Of course she wasn't. How could she? She didn't have the 
advantage he had: a front row seat to the future. 

He reached out and caressed her cheek. Her worry seemed to 
vanish at his touch. "At it's most basic, the scientists will 
send electronic data through time. It was -- or will be -- the 
first step in developing a workable process for human time 
travel." He waved at the blinking instrument panel. "We're 
going to do something similar here, only our conduit will be a 
hole through the continuum, created by this ship's warp drive 
instead of a fluctuating laser beam. The agents' cell phones 
will be the receivers."

"Because...they can store simple electronic data...emails, 
digital voice messages."

Yes, she was getting it.

"That's right, and we can use the phone's digital readout to 
alert them. We need to let them know we're going to bring them 
back, so that they'll be ready, waiting for us. We may get 
only one shot and we can't afford to mess up."

She shook her head. "But how are we going to pinpoint their 
location or zero in on the specific frequency of their 
phones?"

Again she was letting herself get bogged down by technical 
details. 

"Don't worry. We'll find the frequency. And our message will 
leave a clear trail, giving us their physical location. I 
already know where they are chronologically."

"In the 1930s, like Colonel Beck thinks?"

"Not exactly." Jason returned his attention to the controls. 

"What do you mean not exactly?"

The footprints in the computer model had led to a rather 
surprising conclusion. "They, uh...they went back a little 
further than that."

"How far back?"

"More like...twelve thousand years."


Lisa gasped at this revelation. "Oh my God."

He'd rerun the model half a dozen times and it always came out 
the same; the agents were definitely in the Pleistocene. 

"The model showed something else, Lisa, something I hadn't 
anticipated. It might complicate things."

"What did you find?"

"The agents appear to have fallen into some sort of 
accelerated time stream."

"Meaning...?"

"Time is passing more rapidly for them than it is for us. As 
far as I can tell, an hour here is equal to about a week 
there. To be more precise, it's equal to one week, twenty-six 
minutes and 16.52 seconds. By noontime today, when we're just 
starting to get hungry for lunch, they'll have already eaten 
their way through a month of lunches. The differential is 
going to make their recovery risky."

"More like impossible."

"Maybe." 

But they had to try. The anomalous distortions to the 
continuum were growing exponentially. If they didn't 
successfully return the agents to the present before nightfall 
today, it would be too late...for everyone.   

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
AUGUST 3
10:19 PM

If Mulder had been keeping a journal, every entry would read 
almost the same for the days between July 1 and August 3:

//Today was another good day. Plenty to eat. No injuries or 
illness. Gini taught us the tribe words for onion and weasel, 
"tlo-chin" and "gloe-ih" respectively. I taught her the words 
"birds" and "bees," but the concept was still lost on her. 
Could be my delivery. Whatever. She showed Scully where to 
find pine nuts (pine cones...who knew?) and sunflower 
seeds...halle-fucking-lujah...although they aren't ready to be 
harvested. Scully still hasn't started her period, but I'm not 
worried...not too much anyway. Neither of us has experienced 
another time anomaly or vision, which is good, I guess. Scully 
asked again when we are going to take Gini back to her family, 
and as usual I dodged the issue by saying maybe tomorrow.//

Every night after Scully and Gini fell asleep Mulder laid 
awake on the furs and wrote a new passage in his imaginary 
diary, listing the events of the day, cataloguing edible 
plants, and outlining the instructions for things like tanning 
hides and making pemmican...necessary survival skills for when 
Gini finally did go back to her people, and they were once 
again living on their own. In his head he referred to his 
fantasy journal as the Mastodon Diaries, and he fell asleep 
each night hoping that the next day's entry would be its last: 
"Going home tomorrow." 

Most days were spent on matters of simple survival, like 
building the smokehouse. He'd started that particular project 
by dismantling the top-most section of the beaver dam, 
selecting sturdy timbers, free of branches and not too heavy 
to haul. Gini and Scully helped him by swimming the logs to 
the shore. Together they transferred four-dozen stout timbers 
to a relatively flat location between the river and the cave. 
Over the course of the next several days, he built a stone 
fire pit and then positioned and stacked the logs around it, 
creating a three-sided shelter with a low-pitched roof. The 
beaver meat was spoiled by the time the smokehouse was 
completed, but he soon speared a pronghorn, which provided 
enough meat for curing.

After finishing the smokehouse, they began a few home 
improvements inside the cave. Gini and Scully wove six large 
sleeping mats out of cattail reeds. Joining three pairs of 
mats along their edges, they created "envelopes," which they 
stuffed with cattail down, dried grass and pine needles, 
before weaving them shut. With the sleeping skins thrown on 
top, these homemade mattresses became moderately comfortable 
beds.

While they were working on the mats, Mulder constructed a 
windbreak of stacked stone inside the cave. It stood about 
four feet high and stretched halfway across the entrance, 
cutting off the worst of the incoming drafts, while allowing 
smoke from the hearth to drift up and out.

Staying warm was a growing concern as autumn approached. Even 
though it was only the beginning of August, temperatures at 
night were already chilly. Twice they'd woken to frost in the 
valley and ice on the edge of the river. Mulder worried about 
snow and the possibility of spending an entire Ice Age winter 
in the valley. They had a decent beaver blanket, but it wasn't 
going to be enough. Gini and Scully were working as fast as 
they could on tanning several pronghorn hides, a deerskin and 
at least a dozen rabbit furs, but they wouldn't have them made 
into winter clothes for quite some time.

Mulder's own lack of wilderness skills continually worried 
him. He'd learned a lot from Gini, and was getting better at 
hunting and fishing, but it seemed he no sooner succeeded at 
spearing a deer or snaring a rabbit when he'd do something 
really stupid that put them all at risk.

Like the time he'd left a butchered carcass lying out on the 
grass beside the river. The remains attracted scavengers, 
including a flock of nasty-looking buzzards and a hungry 
saber-toothed tiger. The cat came nosing around while Mulder 
and Gini were swimming.

They were playing a game in which Gini used Mulder's 
interlocked hands as a diving platform. Standing chest deep in 
water, he had just tossed her up and backwards, and was 
waiting for her to resurface, when he heard the cat growl. The 
sound prickled his scalp, reminding him of his and Scully's 
first night in the Pleistocene.

Gini popped up a couple of yards away, startling him. "Muhl-
dar, do agai--"

"Shhh. Come'ere. Quick!" He motioned her toward him.

Her wide smile vanished and her eyes rounded when the cat 
growled again. Immediately she swam to him and he scooped her 
up in his arms. Edging them toward the opposite shore, he 
tried not to splash or make any sudden movements that would 
draw the tiger's attention. All the while he wondered where 
Scully was. She'd headed upstream about an hour earlier to 
collect greens for their dinner and it was possible she was 
already on her way back. They had to stop her.

Gini clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, eyes glued 
to the cat. "Tiger no like swim," she whispered.

"Good." He kept his voice low, talking directly into her ear.

"Eat bones. Go away."

"That's what I'm hoping."

He tried to still the trembling of his limbs as he backed 
cautiously through a stand of reeds on the far shore. The 
tiger ignored them, content to feast on the carcass. 

"Where Day-nuh?" Gini asked.

"That's what we're going to find out."

Once on dry land, he jogged upstream, carrying Gini. They 
found Scully more than a quarter mile north of the swimming 
hole. She was collecting shellfish, unaware of any danger. He 
waved and waded to her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, obviously surprised to 
see them.

"Big tiger!" Gini said as soon as she was put down, naked and 
shivering. She mimicked its fearsome growl. "Eat bones. Maybe 
eat Muhl-dar and Gini, too!"

"Tiger?" Clearly shocked, Scully looked to Mulder for an 
explanation.

"It wasn't that big, really. Just a kitten. We weren't in any 
danger."

"Then it's okay to go back?"

"Yyyyeah-nooo. I wouldn't."

They waited until nearly sunset before returning to the cave. 
The tiger was gone when they arrived, so Mulder dragged what 
was left of the carcass downstream and dumped it beneath the 
falls at the dam. 

Lesson learned.  

Thankfully most days weren't fraught with danger or filled 
with hard work. One lazy afternoon Mulder built Gini a 
makeshift teeter-totter, using a flat, bark-free timber left 
over from the smokehouse project. He balanced it across the 
driftwood log where she'd scraped the beaver pelt a couple of 
weeks before. 

At first she was apprehensive about the seesaw. She perched 
nervously on one end, hands gripping the log, gasping whenever 
Mulder pumped them up and down.

He was sitting close to the center of the timber to balance 
their disparate weights. "Too fast?"

"N-no." She shook her head, but her eyes rounded in startled 
surprise when he suddenly leaned back, shooting her skyward. 
"Yes!" she shrieked.

Her shout brought Scully out of the cave.

"Can three ride?" she asked when she saw what they were doing.

"Sure. Get on." 

Mulder lowered Gini's end so that Scully could scoot on behind 
her. Then he adjusted his own position to counterbalance their 
combined weights.

"Now we're cookin'." He pushed away from the ground.  

Gini must have felt safer tucked between Scully's legs because 
she soon lost her nervous expression and began to smile. 

"Faster!" Mulder said, rocketing them up.

"Oh!" Now it was Scully's turn to gasp. She burst out laughing 
at her unfounded fears. 

Gini laughed, too, and was soon urging Mulder "Go fastoo, go 
fastoo!" They rode for a quarter of an hour, when Gini 
suddenly demanded, "Sit Muhl-dar now."

Mulder leveled the board and stood stiff-legged, while Gini 
hopped off, ran to his side and climbed on in front of him. 

"Push up, pipsqueak." He nudged her toward Scully. "We're too 
heavy on this end."

After a few minor adjustments they found the perfect balance, 
and began a swift, stomach-churning ride. Gini squealed when 
Mulder propelled their end suddenly upward. Scully squealed, 
too, much to Mulder's delight, as she plummeted to the ground.

Perhaps more than any other activity, Mulder enjoyed telling 
bedtime stories after their evening meal. Every night Gini 
begged him to recount the tales of "Eel Tribe." These were 
usually narratives of events from his childhood, mundane for 
the most part, despite his attempts at embellishment. He 
illustrated a few of his stories on the cave wall, next to the 
stickman and stickwoman he'd carved for Scully. 

Sometimes Scully objected to his choice of pictures.

"Do you really think it's wise to show her what a TV set looks 
like?"

"It's not like she's gonna invent one and change the course of 
history after we're gone. I'm not that good an artist."

Gini's favorite stories were about Sam. 

"Tell baby Sam story, peese?" she asked after settling onto 
her sleeping skins for the night.

"You've heard that one at least a million times," he objected. 
Crouching beside her, he drew the beaver-skin blanket up over 
her shoulders.

"Tell again."

He rolled his eyes with exaggerated incredulity. "All right. 
You start me off."

"Once 'pon time..." She snuggled beneath the covers and gave 
him a satisfied smile.

"Once upon a time there was a handsome boy named Fox who lived 
with his mother and father in an old house by the ocean." 

"What 'howz'?" Usually she didn't interrupt, accepting 
whatever he said without comment.

"Uh...it's kinda like a cave."

"Why no say cave?"

"Because a house isn't a cave...exactly."

"What is?"

"It's a shelter made of wood, like our smokehouse, only 
bigger."

She nodded, then asked, "What is 'o-shun'?"

"A very big lake." 

Satisfied with this explanation, she said, "Okay, story go 
like this: one day Fox muht-ter say 'I haff baby today.'"

"That's right." 

He considered taking the story in a different direction this 
time, using it to explain where babies came from. Her grasp of 
English had improved to the point where such a discussion 
would be possible, but he wasn't quite sure how to approach 
the part about men not being hung like horses. So he continued 
the story the same as always, describing how he'd anxiously 
waited five whole days for his mother to return from the 
hospital with his sister Sam. He'd been eager to see the new 
baby, but fearful he might not like her. "What if she turned 
out to be ugly--?"

"Like bug," Gini said.

"Or mean--"

"Like neighbor cat."

"Which once--"

"Scratch Fox thumb so he get stitch."

"And?"

"Medicine needle in butt!" She giggled.

"Who's telling this story?"

Gini smiled shyly. "Muhl-dar tell."

He finished by recounting the wondrous moment when his mother 
and father finally brought Sam home, instructed him to sit on 
the couch and then laid her carefully in his lap.

"Fox love new baby sister," Gini said, sounding as pleased as 
he had felt at the time.

"Yes, he loved his sister very much."

"Happy ever after," she finished for him. 

"More or less."

She surprised him by suddenly sitting up and throwing her arms 
around his neck. "Gini love Muhl-dar," she mumbled against his 
beard.

Tears sprang to his eyes. He folded her in his arms. "I love 
you, too, pipsqueak."

"Mulder..." Scully's tone warned him it was wrong to let the 
girl become too attached to him. He knew he shouldn't 
encourage any sort of emotional bond, but her innocent 
admission had touched his heart. He couldn't help but respond 
with a confession of his own.

Releasing her, he gave Scully a conciliatory shrug. She 
frowned and he knew she wasn't going let it drop.

As soon as Gini was asleep, Scully nodded toward the cave's 
entrance and said, "We need to talk."

Reluctantly he followed her out around the windbreak. She sat 
down beneath the overhang, her feet dangling over the lip. 
Stalling, he bent to collect a few loose stones from the dirt 
floor.

"Sit, Mulder...please." The air was chilly, causing her breath 
to fog. 

He did as she asked. Rattling the stones in his palm like 
dice, he asked, "Am I in trouble?"

"It's been a month."

He tossed one of the pebbles into the shadowed valley. It 
disappeared into the dark, pinging against rocks and 
vegetation as it plummeted to the valley floor. "I know."

"It's time to take her back."

He threw another stone. "We will...soon." 

"Tomorrow."

His shoulders slumped and he let the rest of the stones fall 
to the ground between his knees. "Why tomorrow? There's still 
so much she could teach us that would help us survive after 
she goes back. You know we can't live with the tribe again; 
they'd never go for it. We'll be lucky if they don't kill us 
just for showing up."

"We're using her."

"No, we're not. Not really."

"Yes, we are, and you know it."

He did know it. They were getting far more from her than she 
was getting from them. "I just think we should wait a little 
longer. She's not ready." 

"You mean you're not ready."

"What does that mean?"

"You really don't see it?"

"Why don't you enlighten me?"

"Gini is a substitute, Mulder...for Sam."

He chuffed in disagreement. "That's not true." 

"No?"

"No."

"Then let's pack up our things tomorrow and take her back to 
her family...where she belongs. We have no excuse for keeping 
her here."

"She's not gonna like it."

"Maybe not, but we can explain it to her. She's perfectly 
capable of understanding what we're saying now."

"Fine. *You* explain it."

"I need your cooperation."

"Don't ask me to haul her back against her will."
 
"You know that's not what I'm asking." To his surprise, she 
reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his. "It's the 
right thing to do." 

It was the right thing to do...but that didn't make it easy.

"All right. You explain it to her and I promise to go along."

"You won't undermine me?"

Would he be able to go through with it? Even if Gini launched 
into a tearful tirade and begged him not to make her go? He 
gave Scully's hand a squeeze. "I'll do my best."

Later that night after Scully fell asleep, Mulder lay awake on 
the furs beside her, staring up at the cave roof and writing 
another entry in his imaginary diary.

//Today was another good day. Plenty of food. No injuries or 
illness. Gini taught me the tribe words for deer liver and 
purple, which are "be-bih-zihde" and "dinl-chi" respectively. 
I taught her the words "house" and "ocean," but chickened out 
again on the subject of sex. She told me she loves me. Scully 
asked again when we're going to take her back to Turkey Lake, 
and against my better judgment I agreed to go tomorrow.//

*   *   *

Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

TURKEY LAKE
FINAL DAYS OF THE MASTODON FEAST
LATE AFTERNOON

Klizzie's tears came as regularly as heartbeats after the 
hunters returned from Ye-tsan Basin. Grief-stricken over the 
loss of Gini, and still suffering from bouts of dizziness and 
nausea from her pregnancy, she remained with her Aunt Ho-Ya, 
while Dzeh moved into a flimsy lean-to at the edge of the 
village.

The lean-to was constructed of rough cedar and cast-off 
mastodon hides -- foul things, full of holes and parasites. It 
broke Klizzie's heart to think of Dzeh living there. 

As the days passed, Dzeh's hair and beard grew unkempt, and 
his skin and clothes became caked with dirt. He declined to 
participate in the Games and he ate alone. He avoided Klizzie 
and the others, keeping to himself except to drink wo-chi with 
Klesh after sundown. Klizzie often spotted the two of them 
together, hunched over Dzeh's meager hearth beneath the pines, 
where the sun never shone and the ground was always damp. The 
two men spoke in low tones, growling like dissatisfied wolves 
about the injustices of the Spirits and the wickedness of 
strangers. 

Dzeh ignored Klizzie whenever she came to his shelter to beg 
him to return home. On six separate occasions she visited him, 
and six times he rebuffed her, standing mute with arms crossed 
and eyes focused in the direction of Ye-tsan. Only Klesh 
seemed to be welcome at his fire.

Klesh had taken up permanent residence in Klizzie and Dzeh's 
old hut. He still wore his mask of grief, so the Clan 
tolerated his presence. He fanned the flames of Dzeh's foul 
temper with stories about Tse-e's death and Muhl-dar's 
depravity, repeating his outrageous tales so often, Dzeh and 
many others at Turkey Lake began to accept his version of 
events as the truth. Some even started treating Klizzie with 
the same contempt that Klesh showed her, because they believed 
her baby was the offspring of Tse-e's murderer...the chindi 
who had desecrated Tsa-ond Cave and stolen a small girl from 
her family's hearth. 

Great Spirit Mother, Klizzie missed her Little Chick. Gini's 
absence left an ache in her chest that refused to be assuaged. 
The Shaman prescribed strong teas to help her mood, but they 
brought terrifying nightmares, not peace of mind. 

In her dreams she often saw Gini caught in the jaws of giant 
serpents. The girl shrieked for help, and Klizzie tried to run 
to her, but found she couldn't because her feet were fastened 
to the earth, as if stuck in the tar pits she'd seen as a 
child in the east. Trapped this way, she could only watch in 
horror as Gini was devoured alive.

She would wake from these dreams screaming. Her frantic shouts 
frightened everyone in her aunt's hut. Ho-Ya did her best to 
console her, holding her or bringing her fresh tea.

The others whispered among themselves when they thought she 
had fallen back to sleep.

"The Spirits are angry with Klizzie," they said.

"They are punishing her."

"Perhaps they will punish us next."

She did not fault them for their suspicions. What they said 
was true. The Spirits were angry, although not for the reasons 
they assumed. Hare Spirit was punishing her for misleading the 
Clan, allowing them to think her baby was Muhl-dar's, not 
Dzeh's. Hare Spirit had specifically chosen Dzeh to plant this 
child inside her, answering years of heartfelt prayers, 
finally accepting the carved fertility idol. She was showing 
disrespect -- to Dzeh and to Hare Spirit -- by keeping her 
secret.

She longed to confess the truth to Dzeh and be comforted by 
him, but he continued to shun her, and his coldness was the 
worst punishment of all. 

As summer wore on, Klizzie's sadness became so profound she 
climbed daily to the topmost cliff of Crouching Cat Mountain 
to recite prayers and search the skies for Owl Spirit, hoping 
the magnificent bird would return and bring with it a change 
of luck.

The owl failed to appear and Klizzie's melancholy increased.

This day was like the others before it. As the sun began to 
set, Klizzie crested the mountain and knelt on its broad stone 
outcropping, overlooking the valley and the village. In all 
directions the forest was spotted with the golden hues of 
coming autumn. The lake shimmered as brilliantly as ever, but 
she knew its depths were growing colder. Her breath fogged the 
air as she clutched her totem pouch firmly in her right fist 
and prayed:

"Owl Spirit, please hear my voice. I seek your patience to 
help me remain calm in the face of what is coming toward me. I 
seek your wisdom to learn the lessons of the world, hidden in 
every leaf and stone and drop of rain. I seek your strength to 
fight my greatest enemy -- myself."

She repeated the prayer three times, but Owl Spirit remained 
hidden. 

Disheartened and tired, she opened her pouch and pulled out a 
bit of carved mastodon bone, an old gift from Dzeh. On it he 
had engraved three tiny smiling faces, depictions of their 
future children. She let her fingers travel over its finely 
etched surface as she studied the first portrait and conjured 
in her mind a son with wide eyes and intelligent brow...like 
his father.

She began to weep for everything she had lost. Far below her 
the clans played blanket toss by the lake, oblivious to her 
tears. Squeals of laughter echoed off the hillsides, breaking 
her heart with their gay sound. Gini's voice seemed to 
reverberate among the others, as if her spirit were there, 
playing among the living. To hear it was almost unbearable and 
Klizzie covered her ears as she cried. 

The Mastodon Feast was drawing to a close. Only a few days 
remained before the clans would pack up their prizes and move 
to their separate autumn camps. Owl Clan planned to travel to 
De-Ji-Kash, a lowland forest where large herds of stag-moose 
were known to graze on an abundance of fallen acorns. 
Distracted by rutting season, the animals would fall easy prey 
to the hunter's spears, providing the Clan with warm hides and 
smoked meat for the upcoming winter.

It would be a blessing to leave this place and all its bitter 
memories, although Klizzie worried her future held no real 
happiness no matter where she went. Dzeh no longer loved her 
and Owl Spirit seemed to have abandoned her.

If her circumstances were to improve, she would have to find a 
way to make it happen without Owl Spirit's help, she decided. 
For the sake of her child she had to at least try.  

The sun sank behind the hills, casting the village in shadow. 
Klizzie dried her tears on the hem of her tunic and tucked the 
carved bone back into her pouch. 

Her stomach rolled in its usual dizzying way when she rose on 
unsteady legs to head down the mountain.

"Lay still, my little one," she murmured to her unborn child. 
She rubbed soothing circles over the budding mound of her 
abdomen. "We have something important to do." Her decision was 
made. "We are going to tell your father the truth about 
you...right now."

Somehow she would make Dzeh listen. She was not going to let 
his anger -- or her own fears -- deter her one moment longer. 
She had worried too long about his reaction. Yes, he would be 
furious to learn she had not consummated the mate exchange. 
And he had every right to be. In all likelihood, her failure 
to fulfill her part of the ritual had cursed the Partnership, 
making Dzeh and Muhl-dar's falling out her fault. 

By extension, that meant Gini's death was her fault, as well, 
she realized. 

Ready to claim responsibility for her wrongdoing, she was 
prepared to face whatever punishment Dzeh and the Clan deemed 
appropriate. She was not a girl of fourteen anymore, cowering 
behind lies, covering up her poor choices and selfish actions. 
She was a grown woman, soon to be a mother. No longer could 
she tolerate deceit. The child she carried was Dzeh's, not 
Muhl-dar's, and saying so was the only way to appease Hare 
Spirit and set things right. For the good of her unborn child 
and for the good of the Clan, she must expose her secret.

She walked with determined strides down the hillside, 
trampling a swathe through the tall, dying grass. The meadow 
undulated around her, tossed by the brisk evening breeze, 
hissing as she moved through it. The air chilled her shoulders 
and rattled the beads in her hair. She ignored its icy 
fingers, intent only on finding Dzeh and making him listen to 
the truth. 

Glittering communal fires drew her forward. They glowed like 
cat's eyes in the growing dark. She aimed for the most distant 
one.

If anyone called out to her as she walked past, she did not 
hear it. If her aunt waved to her, she did not see it. She saw 
nothing but the flame of Dzeh's hearth, and the closer she 
came to it, the harder her heart thrummed inside her chest.

"I *will* tell him the truth," she repeated as she walked. She 
clung to her totem for courage. "I will."

When she reached Dzeh's lean-to, she found him sitting beside 
the hearth with Klesh as usual. The two unlikely companions 
squatted on the ground, a gourd of wo-chi balanced between 
them. She wondered if they had only just begun their drinking, 
or if their minds were already clouded.

As expected, Dzeh acted as if she were not standing within his 
view. Klesh on the other hand leered at her with lust-filled 
eyes. A nasty smirk split his grotesque face, deepening the 
scar on his left cheek.

"Cousin Kliz. How are you feeling today?"

His question was not asked in kindness. He was needling her... 
purposely reminding Dzeh of her pregnancy.

As a woman, she had no right to make demands of this kinsman, 
or of any male, so it took exceptional boldness to steady the 
quaking in her limbs and say, "Leave us." 

Klesh's evil smile vanished and his eyes grew fierce. He 
growled, "I am a guest at Dzeh's hearth. Are you?"

She glanced at Dzeh to see if he would intervene and invite 
her to stay, but he remained as he was, eyes averted, arms 
draped over the hills of his knees. His hands and feet were 
black with filth. Scraps of food spotted his beard. She would 
have been repulsed if not for the single tear that glistened 
along the lower lashes of one downcast eye.

Perhaps he did not hate her so completely after all.

"Dzeh?" She kept her voice soft. "Please, let me speak with 
you...alone."

It seemed she waited a lifetime for him to answer. Her pulse 
thundered inside her ears, so loud she was afraid she would 
miss his words should he decide to speak. 

Fat dripped from a half eaten carcass on the spit above the 
fire, sending up smoke when it spattered into the flame. Its 
greasy smell made her feel lightheaded and sick to her 
stomach. 

"Dzeh?" she prompted again. Please, please do not send me 
away.

To her relief, he exhaled an assenting grunt and nodded his 
head.

Thank the Spirits, he was finally willing to let her explain. 

Klesh rose to his feet, his displeasure obvious. "Come to feed 
him more lies, Kliz?" he sneered.

Dzeh lifted tired eyes to Klesh. "Go. Now." 

"She is here to deceive you."

"Leave my hearth," he said softly but firmly.

"She wants only to please herself. She is a lying chin--"

"She is my mate!" Dzeh shouted, springing to his feet, 
startling them both. His face was flushed and his dark eyes 
blazed with indignation. He balled his fists as he took a 
threatening step toward Klesh.

Both men were muscular, almost equal in size and strength. 
They had lived physically demanding lives and were capable of 
crushing a bison's throat with their bare hands. Only their 
courage set them apart. And Klesh was not a courageous man.

Taking a step back, he chuffed in disgust. "The wo-chi has 
made you a fool tonight, Dzeh. I will return tomorrow when 
your thinking has cleared." He glowered briefly at Klizzie and 
then stalked away.

Klizzie could no longer still her trembling. The encounter 
with Klesh had scared her, but the fury that was burning in 
Dzeh's eyes frightened her even more. 

He aimed his anger at her. Through clenched teeth, he said, 
"What is it you want to tell me?"

She dropped to the ground at his feet, bowing low out of 
habitual respect. It was hard to imagine this man had once 
loved her. Now he seemed as unforgiving as a winter storm.

The fault is mine, she thought. It had been her terrible 
betrayal that had turned his heart to ice.

"I want to apologize," she said, not lifting her eyes to meet 
his gaze. When he said nothing, she continued, "I have lied to 
you and now must tell you the truth."

"You have lied *again*?"

"Yes," she said meekly.

"How am I to believe you when you find it so easy to lie to 
me?"

"Because...you must. What I am about to tell you is the 
truth."

"No. Klesh was right; you are here to deceive me."

She peered up at him through a blur of tears. "I am not here 
to deceive you, Dzeh. You are my mate. You have satisfied my 
heart for more than four years. I have loved you. I love you 
still. Have you forgotten the way we--?"

"You lied to me, Klizzie!" he bellowed. "You let me believe 
Klesh forced himself on you. You kept your secret for four 
years!"

"Yes, I-I am sorry for that." 

"And now you say there is another lie between us?"

Her throat tightened. "Yes," she whispered.

He crouched beside her and took hold of her chin, gripping it 
tightly in powerful fingers. His lips curled into a snarl. 
"Why should I want to hear it?"

"Because...because..." Oh, Spirit Mother, please help her 
speak the words. "Because the baby I am carrying is yours, not 
Muhl-dar's."

His hand dropped away and his breath came in short, audible 
gasps. When he stood she thought he might strike her, but he 
strode a few paces toward the woods, only to return and squat 
again in front of her. "Why do you say this?"

It was time to tell him the worst. She opened her mouth to 
speak, but the words wouldn't come.

"Klizzie, do *not* lie to me about this. It is important. Why 
do you say the child is mine and not Muhl-dar's?"

"Because...I never...Muhl-dar and I...we did not..."

When she paused too long, he snarled, "You did not what?"

"We did not go through with the exchange." There. It was said. 
"I am sorry. I tried to please him, really I did, but he did 
not...he did not want me."

Dzeh's mouth hung slack for a moment; surprise rounded his 
eyes. He shook his head, as if she were speaking in some 
foreign language that he could not comprehend. Finally he took 
hold of her shoulders and pulled her into a sitting position. 
He leaned close and whispered so softly she could barely hear 
him, "You went against Clan tradition?"

"Yes."

"And Muhl-dar did not...he did not mate with you?"

"No."

"This is not just another lie?"

"For what reason would I make up such a thing?" Surely he 
could see she was afraid to confront him this way. "Why would 
I admit I broke a Clan custom when I know how angry such a 
confession would make you?"

His eyes traveled over her face while he considered her words. 
Doubt creased his brow; bitterness thinned his lips.  

"If what you say is true," he said at last, his tone hesitant, 
"then the child you are carrying...?"

"Is yours. Hare Spirit answered your prayers."

A surprising thing happened next. Relief washed the lines of 
uncertainty from Dzeh's face. He loosened the grip on her 
arms. 

"I believe you," he said.

"And you are not angry?" She did not think it was possible.

"Klizzie, I am...pleased." He drew her into a tentative 
embrace and shyly kissed the crown of her head. "We have 
wanted a child for so long. And Spirits be honored, we are 
finally going to have one." 

It felt wonderful to be held by him. So much so she was loathe 
to question his unexpected reaction to her confession. She had 
missed his companionship and his loving caresses. The return 
of his affection brought her joy, easing the awful ache in her 
heart. "Oh, Dzeh, I am eager to tell Ho-Ya this news."

He drew back, a look of alarm on his face. "You cannot 
announce this. Everyone believes the baby is Muhl-dar's."

"So we will tell them the truth." She felt confident in the 
circle of his arms.

"You will tell them you broke Clan custom and did not 
consummate the exchange? Klizzie, they will punish you for 
defying the ways of the Spirits."

Her confidence wavered. "But...it was Muhl-dar who refused to 
participate in the ritual."

"Do you think that will matter? They will blame you, not him. 
They will say you did not make yourself appealing enough."

Her old doubts returned. Was there more she might have said or 
done to convince Muhl-dar that night? Again she reviewed the 
events in her mind, examining each of her actions. The way 
she'd washed and oiled her skin, plaited her hair, donned her 
finest jewelry. She'd perfumed the sleeping skins with cedar 
and sweetgrass. Followed every custom. Acted properly 
submissive, polite and good-natured. Done everything she could 
think to please Muhl-dar, yet he still refused to mate with 
her. 

It was possible she'd misunderstood his unfamiliar Eel Clan 
gestures and words, misinterpreted his wishes, unwittingly 
insulted him. Or maybe she was simply too plain-looking and 
common for a man who was accustomed to finely constructed 
garments, glistening wrist ornaments and a mate with red hair 
and eyes the color of the sky. 

Whatever the reason and no matter how many times Klizzie 
considered the possibilities, in the end she remained baffled, 
unable to pinpoint a specific cause for Muhl-dar's 
dissatisfaction, yet blaming herself for his ultimate 
rejection.

"Perhaps the fault was mine," she admitted.

"It does not matter."

"But it does."

"No, we will keep this secret between us."

Astounded, she looked into Dzeh's troubled eyes. "You would 
lie to the Clan?" 

"To save you, yes." 

This revelation shook her. For as long as she had known him he 
had obeyed every rule and lived in accordance with Clan 
customs. It was not like him to defy the traditional ways.

Something had changed him during his trip to Ye-tsan. His 
disheveled appearance, his self-imposed isolation, his 
complete disregard for his surroundings...these were obvious 
differences. But it was his willingness to overlook her 
failure with Muhl-dar, and then deliberately lie to his 
kinsmen on her behalf, that indicated his spirit was 
transformed.   

"My mate," he spoke with great tenderness, and it relieved her 
to hear the devotion in his voice. He gently captured her 
cheek in one roughened palm. "Since the last moon I have been 
questioning our ways."

Since the last moon? As long ago as that? Again she was 
stunned. 

"Klizzie, I think some of our customs may 
need...reconsideration."

Surely he did not think deceit was better than honesty. "Which 
customs?"

"The ritual exchange, or...sending girls to live with 
strangers when they mate."

So that was it. He was blaming himself for Gini's death.

Shame weighted her heart. Dzeh was not the cause of his 
sister's death. Klizzie was the one who had broken the rules, 
mating with her cousin and not mating with Muhl-dar, lying to 
Dzeh and the Clan about it. Surely their misfortunes were the 
result of her wrongdoing.  

Before she could set him straight and apologize again, he 
said, "They will banish you, Klizzie, or stone you. I cannot 
watch it. I cannot lose you. The night that Muhl-dar was 
stoned I decided to keep your secret about Klesh. Tonight I am 
promising to keep both your secrets." Cradling her, he said 
with conviction, "We will tell no one." 

She listened to the beating of his heart while she clung to 
his solid arms. Deep inside her belly their baby moved for the 
first time, a tiny flutter, barely perceptible, like a 
butterfly's wings against an outstretched finger.

"Muhl-dar is dead," he said, and pressed his lips to her 
forehead. "No one need ever know what we have said here 
tonight." 

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
HANGAR 19
MAY 14, 1998
12:32 PM

"Why isn't it working?" Lisa asked, her voice shrill in the 
tight confines of the cockpit. She glared at the blinking 
console, a deep crease dividing her dark brows and a frown 
thinning her lips.

Jason powered down the engines and the craft went silent. He 
was discouraged, too. They had been sitting in the stuffy 
cockpit all morning, bumping elbows and arguing, while they 
tried unsuccessfully to open a portal to the Stone Age. "Let's 
try it again...from the beginning."

"It's useless. We've been through it half a dozen times."

"So, we'll go through it again until we figure out what's 
wrong. We can get this to work." He consulted the onboard 
computer and reevaluated the readings. Making an adjustment, 
he fired up the engines once more. 

Lisa huffed with impatience. "We're wasting our time."

"If we don't bring Agents Mulder and Scully back, our time -- 
and everyone else's -- will no longer be an issue...because it 
won't exist for any of us. Start the GPM on three...one, two, 
three--"

Lisa did as he asked, initiating gravity pulse mode. The 
aircraft vibrated and the low hum of the drive climbed 
steadily until it reached a teeth-rattling whine. 

She raised her voice to be heard above the noise. "What are we 
even looking for?" 

"An opening, like a tear. You'll know it when you see it."

"Don't we need to be airborne?"

"The GPM can warp space/time no matter where the craft is 
located. And we only need one thin breach to transmit the 
electronic data."

She looked doubtful.

"Trust me, Lisa. It'll work." 

It *had* to work. For the last four hours, while they'd been 
dicking around with the drive, Agents Mulder and Scully had 
lived through another entire month in the Pleistocene. 
Anything could have happened to them. They might have lost 
their cell phones or become separated from one another or been 
seriously injured. Only the fact that time in the present was 
still progressing linearly gave Jason hope that both of them 
were still alive.

"This is all your fault," Lisa suddenly accused.

"What are you talking about?" 

"Last night's test...you sabotaged it, didn't you?" 

When had she guessed? And how? He'd been so careful, giving 
nothing away. 

Deciding to lie to her, he pretended not to understand. "Lisa, 
I didn't--"

An ear-splitting roar ripped through the craft, cutting off 
his protest. The air in the cockpit shimmered, rippled and 
began to separate. 

He'd seen this before. Time was folding back on itself, 
converging and loosening simultaneously, opening a passageway 
from one era to another.

The noise was deafening, like the tearing of metal. It 
vibrated his teeth. He tasted bile in the back of his throat 
when a sudden decrease in pressure caused his stomach to 
contract.    

A thin fissure began to pulsate between them, dividing the 
cockpit in two. Expanding lengthwise, the way a crack grows 
through a broken windshield, it split the aircraft, cutting 
directly through the console and out into the hangar. 

Lisa's mouth opened in startled surprise. The fissure began to 
jitter until it resembled an arc of electricity more than a 
crack. She reached toward it.

"Don't touch it!" Jason warned. His voice sounded dissonant, 
tinny in his ears as it was sucked into the rent where it 
echoed off some invisible wall in another time.

Lisa jerked her hand back. Jason thought she was going to 
scream, but she only stared in wide-eyed astonishment as dust 
spewed out of the crack in fluffy, white globs. It reminded 
Jason of cottonwood seeds, carried in clumps on the breeze 
over his boyhood home in Grande Ronde Valley. 

For a moment he saw himself as a young boy again, standing 
beneath the shedding cottonwoods in the east pasture of his 
father's Oregon ranch. The trees had been planted a century 
before to provide a windbreak, to protect the livestock during 
lambing. The scene looked real, but he knew he was 
experiencing a flashback. This was a consequence of the time 
distortion. He was actually in Hangar 19, still in the cockpit 
of the experimental aircraft, with Lisa sitting in the co-
pilot seat.

And yet...he could smell the sheep's wool, feel the seed 
drifting across his upturned face, as if he were standing upon 
his father's familiar, green pasture, encircled by emerald 
mountains and the shelter of cottonwood trees. This was the 
life he had traded for a lab at MIT, before anyone might have 
guessed the son of a sheep farmer would grow up to discover 
time travel...and trigger the end of humanity.

He turned away from his boyhood to focus on his keyboard. The 
keys were furred with dust...the flotsam and jetsam of time, a 
byproduct of the tearing process.

"Ready?" he asked Lisa. 

She nodded, dislodging several clumps of lint from her long, 
curling hair.

While she locked onto the frequency of the agents' cell 
phones, he typed a short message, data that would overwrite 
the phones directories and be stored in the memory.

"Let's hope their batteries aren't dead," he said, hitting 
Send to transmit the electronic data, "otherwise, we're all 
fucked." 

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
AUGUST 4
7:19 AM

"Third reminder, Mulder: fill the gourd with fresh drinking 
water." Scully was kneeling beside the hearth, sorting through 
their belongings and packing only the necessities. The rest 
she would leave for their eventual return. She was dressed for 
the long hike to Turkey Lake: jeans, jacket, boots. 

Mulder was still barefoot and bare-chested. He stood at the 
cave's entrance, looking out at the valley through his 
binoculars. Clearly he was in no hurry to leave. "In a 
minute," he said in a distracted way.

So far he'd done nothing to help them prepare for the trip.

"You said you weren't going to fight me on this," she reminded 
him.

"Am I fighting?"

"You're not doing anything. That's the problem." She loaded 
smoked meat into the pack, enough to last until their arrival 
at the village.   

Mulder lowered his binoculars and peered over his shoulder at 
her. "I *am* doing something. I'm conscientiously objecting."

"We agreed to this, Mulder." Flints. Fishing line. Where was 
the knife? A quick search revealed it beneath a birch bark 
platter. 

"I only agreed to go back; I didn't agree to like it," he 
said. "I believe my last words on the subject were, 'You 
explain it to Gini and I promise to go along.' Unless you had 
a heart-to-heart with her while I was sleeping last night, you 
still haven't told her."

Scully paused at her packing to glance at Gini's bed. The girl 
was still asleep, which was unusual...she almost always got up 
first. "Actually, your last words were, 'I'll do my best.'"

"What makes you think this isn't my best?" He returned his 
gaze to the valley, binoculars to his eyes. 

"Please fill the gourd, Mulder."

"M-hm." He remained standing where he was. 

She was in no mood for his childish protests. Taking Gini back 
was the right thing to do. They'd discussed it. Agreed to it. 
A delay wasn't going to make it any easier. Irritated, she 
jammed the flints and fishing line into the pack. The hides 
and Gini's scrapers would stay behind, she decided. As would 
the turtle shell. They'd bring Mulder's two best spears and 
leave the rest. "Are you going to wear your jacket or should I 
pack it?"

"Do I have to decide right now?"

"Yes, Mulder. Were leaving right after breakfast. Quit 
stalling." She grabbed the gourd and tossed it at him. It hit 
his right buttock -- her intended target -- before it 
ricocheted into the stone wall and then bounced out of the 
cave. They listened to it clatter down the hillside.  

"I'll *wear* the jacket," he said. Frowning, he crossed to 
where Gini was lying buried beneath the beaver blanket. "Hey, 
pipsqueak," he said, squatting beside her, "rise and shine. 
Help the ol' man get some water."

Gini didn't stir.

"Do I have to tickle you awake?" He inserted a finger beneath 
the furs.

Scully expected Gini to giggle and pop her head out from 
beneath the covers, but she remained motionless.  

"Uh...Scully?"

Mulder's tone warned her that something was seriously wrong.

"What is it?" She was immediately on her feet and heading to 
Gini's side. 

"She feels hot." He stood back, allowing her room.

She knelt and drew back the blanket, then placed a hand 
against Gini's forehead. The girl's skin blazed with fever.

"It isn't serious, is it?" Mulder asked, concern creasing his 
brow.

Even in her sleep, Gini rolled away from the daylight. Dark 
circles shadowed her closed eyes. Dried blood crusted one of 
her nostrils. Her face was deeply flushed and sweaty, and 
petechiae dotted her cheeks. Scully sifted through the 
possible causes: bacterial infection, sepsis, Meningococcal 
meningitis. A tiny moan vibrated in Gini's throat when Scully 
tried to gently pull her into a sitting position. 

"Gini? Gini, sweetheart...wake up."

Whimpering, she curled into Scully's embrace. "Noooo. Hurt."

Scully brushed a strand of sweat-soaked hair from her fevered 
cheek. "Where does it hurt?"

"All place."

"Show me," Scully persisted.

Gini groaned, but pointed to her elbows and knees, then hugged 
her stomach.

Mulder hovered nearby. "What is it? What's wrong with her?"

Ignoring his question, Scully lifted Gini's shirt to check her 
stomach and limbs. Although flushed, she was without a rash, 
making measles or chicken pox unlikely. Her skin was fiery to 
the touch and Scully estimated her temperature to be above 
102. She gently pressed her abdomen. 

Gini doubled over and groaned. 

"Sorry, sweetie." 

Another moan came when Scully flexed her arms and legs. 

"Mulder, I need your flashlight."

He quickly retrieved the light and passed it to her. 
"Batteries aren't too good," he warned her.

It was true. The light was weak. She shook it in a useless 
attempt to brighten the beam, then aimed it at Gini's closed 
mouth. "Open. Let me see your tongue." She demonstrated by 
sticking out her own tongue. 

Gini did as she was asked and Scully examined her tonsils. She 
found minimal inflammation and no "strawberry tongue" typical 
of scarlet fever.

The girl's lips were pale and dry. 

"Mulder, get some water, please."

His head bobbed and this time he hurried from the cave without 
argument. 

By the time he returned, Scully had settled Gini closer to the 
hearth. She'd removed her sweaty shirt, wrapped her in a dry 
sleeping skin and stoked the fire in an effort to ease the 
girl's shivering.

"Here." Mulder passed the gourd to Scully.

She knelt and held it to Gini's lips. "Drink a little, 
sweetheart."

"No want," she protested, batting feebly at the air. 

"You have a fever. You need to drink. Take a sip."

"Noooo." She covered her mouth.

Scully gave Mulder a pleading stare. He had a better rapport 
with the girl and was more likely to persuade her to drink.  

He sat down beside Gini and scooped her into his lap, furs and 
all. "Comfy?"

She looked miserable. Sweat ran in rivulets from her hairline, 
yet she shivered violently in her cocoon of furs. Mulder 
gestured for the gourd and Scully passed it to him.

"Take a sip, pipsqueak."

"No want."

"Do it for me."

"No want. Peese."

"I'll give you a reward if you drink a little."

"What is re-woord?" she asked.

He dug into his pants pocket and withdrew a rawhide cord 
strung with twin car keys.

"When did you make that?" Scully asked, surprised by the gift.

"Last night."

"Before or after our talk?"

"After. I figured it might take the sting out of..." -- he 
glanced at Gini -- "you know."

"In other words, it's a bribe."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a peace offering." He 
jangled the keys, distracting Gini from their conversation. 
"The difference is moot, though, since we aren't going 
anywhere."

We're leaving as soon as she's well enough, Scully thought, 
but didn't say the words. This was not the time to bring up 
the subject. Gini didn't need the additional upset. "Don't 
look so pleased, Mulder. This isn't over." 

He offered the keys to Gini, who fingered them without much 
enthusiasm.

"You want 'em?" he asked.

She nodded, so he looped them around her neck. 

"Now," he said, and held the gourd to her lips again, "take a 
drink." 

She did as he asked, swallowing with obvious discomfort.

"A little bit more," he urged.

She looked uncertain, but tried to comply. Halfway through her 
swallow, she began to choke. "Oh...no," she said, before 
vomiting on the cave floor beside Mulder's knee.

She began to cry. 

"It's okay." Mulder comforted her by stroking her hair.

"M-make m-mess," she hiccupped, staring at the puddle with 
tear-filled eyes. 

"It doesn't matter."

"I'll take care of it," Scully said. "Mulder, why don't you 
move her to the other side of the fire?"

While Mulder resituated her, Scully mopped the floor with one 
of the rabbit skins. The puddle was small and contained 
identifiable bits of last night's supper. It was also tinged 
with blood.

"Her nose is bleeding," Mulder announced, drawing Scully's 
attention away from her task. 

She looked up to find him wiping Gini's face with his 
handkerchief. 

A nosebleed would account for the blood in her stomach, and 
she'd had dried blood around her nostrils earlier.

Mulder caught Scully's eye over the top of her head and 
mouthed, "What's wrong with her?"

She wasn't sure. It could be anything from a non-specific flu 
to something as serious as Dengue Fever. She hoped it was the 
former; they had no way to treat anything more virulent. 

"Let's talk about it later," she suggested when she saw Gini 
eyeing the travel pack, concern peaking her brows. 

"Where go?" she asked, her voice muffled behind Mulder's 
handkerchief.

"Nowhere, pipsqueak. Trip's cancelled." He checked to see if 
her nosebleed had stopped. Apparently satisfied it had, he set 
the handkerchief aside, and asked, "Would you like to hear a 
story?"

She nodded, teeth chattering, eyes sunken with fatigue.

While he told her a tale about a pair of enchanted car keys, 
Scully set the vomit-soaked rabbit skin outside. When she 
returned Mulder was describing the curative properties of the 
new "medicine necklace."

"They're magic," he said.

"Mulder..." Scully gave him a stern look.

"What's the matter, Scully? You don't believe in magic?" He 
met her frown with a smile. "Okay, think of it as the power of 
suggestion. You aren't denying the success of the placebo, are 
you?"

He had a point. Without any real medicine to help Gini feel 
better, the keys might act as a sort of sugar pill.     

"What majik?" Gini asked, eyelids growing heavy.

"Powerful medicine. It can make your bellyache go away."

"Head hurt, too."

"It'll take care of that, too. Just hold the keys in your 
hand, like this..." -- he tucked them into her palm and folded 
her fingers around them -- "and then say the secret words."

"See-krit?"

"Special words, known only to us; they make the magic work."

"Tell see-krit words."

"Okay, but remember, they're powerful. And secret...you 
mustn't tell anyone." He put his lips to her ear and 
whispered.

He glanced at Scully to see if she was at all curious.

"All right, what are these secret, powerful, magic words?" she 
asked.

Gini looked to Mulder for permission. When he nodded, she 
said, "I believe."
 
*   *   *

"I know your secret, Cousin," Klesh mumbled to himself as he 
hunkered beside the hearth in Klizzie and Dzeh's hut...his hut 
now, for as long as he decided to stay. Jabbing the coals with 
a scorched stick, he brought the fire to life. Sparks snapped 
and fizzed toward the roof. "The Clan elders will be like bees 
on a honey thief when they hear it." It was going to be a 
pleasure to watch. Owl clansmen were such sticklers for rules.

What was the punishment for failing to consummate a mate 
exchange, he wondered? Stoning? Banishment? He hoped the 
latter. It would be gratifying to see Klizzie exiled and 
forced to live on her own, as he had been.

His banishment had been unreasonable and unmerited, and it 
still rankled that Klizzie went blameless while he suffered. 
He had not forced her to lay with him as everyone thought. 
She'd been eager to exchange a night on the sleeping skins for 
a pretty hair ornament. Then when Dzeh and the others 
discovered the arrangement, she said nothing. Nothing! She let 
them punish him, while she kept the ornament. It had been a 
rare trinket, too, not easy to get. He'd taken great risk 
stealing it from a kinsman in Coyote Clan. 

Where was it now, he wondered? Did Kliz still wear it and 
remember their night together? The idea made him smile. He 
often thought of that night, of her lying beneath him with her 
young legs spread and her arms tight around his neck. She'd 
smelled as sweet as plum blossoms and there had been no 
repulsion in her eyes. 

It had been a long time since he had lain with an agreeable 
woman.

Maybe he would ask Kliz tomorrow what became of the 
ornament...before telling her he overheard her confession to 
Dzeh. 

Klesh was pleased with himself for thinking to hide beneath 
the cedars while they talked. He'd heard every word. 
Imagine...Dzeh and Klizzie, coconspirators in a lie. The idea 
made him laugh out loud.  

The strange Eel Clan bracelet rattled on his wrist when he 
tossed two crooked tree limbs onto the glowing coals. The wood 
caught fire, brightening the room. 

He rose to retrieve his travel pack from its hiding place 
between two wall supports. It was dirty and bloodstained, made 
from Tse-e's tunic, stripped from his dead body and tied into 
a ragged bundle. He carried it to the hearth, where he sat and 
opened it. It contained only one item: the red-haired woman's 
thunder weapon, left behind in the woods after the mastodon 
stampede.

He had been lucky to find it.

Lifting the weapon, he held it up to the firelight. It was 
heavy in his hand, cold and solid, and it gleamed like 
polished stone.  

If only he could discover how to spark its thunderous clap. 
Some magic incantation perhaps. Or a heartfelt prayer to the 
Spirits. If the red-haired chindi were still alive he would 
make her tell him its trick.

He held the weapon in outstretched arms the way she had done 
when she put a hole through Tse-e's hand from a distance of 
twenty paces. 

"Order me away from your campfire again," -- he pretended to 
aim it at Dzeh's startled face -- "and...boom!"

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
MAY 14, 1998
12:58 PM 

Colonel Beck stood at attention while General Kaback deplaned 
the Lear...two hours behind schedule. Apparently his 
debriefing with Senator Matheson in Washington had taken 
longer than anticipated. Beck wasn't privy to the reasons why 
the Senator was concerned about the missing agents or how 
deeply he was involved in the Project, but the General had 
evidently considered a face-to-face worth the delay.  

Beck squinted against the brightness as Kaback bulldozed 
toward him like a tank. Behind the Lear, scorched air rippled 
above the tarmac, distorting the desert to the west. 

Sweet Jesus, it was hotter than a fox in a firestorm out here. 

The General strode past a contingent of security personnel 
without so much as a sideways glance. He stopped directly in 
front of Beck. "Where are they?" he demanded.

"They" were the missing agents, of course. Beck wondered if he 
should tell the General the truth or stall until Nichols 
managed to make some progress on getting the agents back. The 
General had been told only that they'd breached security 
during last night's flight test, not that they'd been tossed 
back to the 1930s. 

"Haven't been recovered yet, sir," Beck said. 

The General's graying brows drew together until the scar above 
his right eye vanished into one of the jagged crevices of his 
deeply lined forehead. "Why the delay?" he growled. His 
abrasive baritone suited his imposing physique like canon fire 
to a battleship.

"We're on it, sir," Beck answered evasively.

Kaback gave him a god-awful glower, and the color of the 
General's skin reminded Beck of rare-cooked steak. "Take me to 
the craft," he ordered. "I want to see it for myself."

Did Kaback suspect the truth? He was aware of the aircraft's 
true purpose, of course, but had he put two and two together 
and guessed where the missing agents really were?

"Yes, sir." Beck gestured toward a waiting jeep.

Five minutes later they arrived at Hangar 19. The General 
practically vaulted from the jeep to march directly to the 
hangar's small side entrance. Beck hurried after him, sweat 
gluing his uniform to his back. He had a whopper of a headache 
and heartburn worse than when he was flying tactics in the 
Gulf.    

Mercifully, the temperature inside the hangar was at least 
thirty degrees cooler than out on the tarmac. Goosebumps 
sprouted beneath his sweat-soaked uniform as he stepped into 
the shadowed interior, and it took a second or two for his 
eyes to adjust to the relative dark.

"What the hell happened in here?" the General barked. 

Beck wasn't sure. He'd been here with Nichols and Ianelli only 
an hour ago, when they were still struggling to open a hole 
through time. The hangar had looked like it always had. 

Now cottony mounds of dust floated in the cool air, carried by 
unseen drafts and settling like snow on the concrete floor. 
The ship was covered in it. 

Kaback plowed across the hangar to the aircraft, stirring up 
dust in his wake. Lint attached itself to his uniform and 
bristly scalp.

"It worked, didn't it?" he asked once he stood beneath the 
plane's starboard wing. He stared up, all his former bluster 
gone, replaced by slack-jawed astonishment. Maybe even a 
little fear.

Beck felt a little fearful, too. He'd been overseeing this 
project for ten months, had believed in it, truly believed, 
and yet when faced with the real possibility of time travel, 
he had to lock his knees to prevent them from buckling.

"Yes, sir. We...uh...we think..." 

Beck was at a loss what to say. Time travel would change 
everything. In war, it would be the ultimate advantage. In 
peace...who could predict the potential?

The General walked beneath the plane and ran a hand over the 
landing gear, striping its dusty surface with wavering 
fingerprints. "Forward or back?"

"Excuse me, sir?" Beck's feet seemed fused to the floor, 
unable to carry him to the General's side.

"The missing agents!" Kaback snapped. "Did they go forward or 
back in time?"

"Back, sir."

"To when?"

"Thirties."

The General's brows lifted, again hiding his battle scar. "Can 
we recover them?"

"I'm not..." Could they?

"Yes we can." Jason Nichol's voice. The scientist was standing 
on the top of the portable staircase leading to the cockpit. 
An arrogant grin split his youthful face.

Lisa Ianelli appeared in the doorway behind him, also smiling. 
Together they descended the steps. Their footfalls clacked 
loudly on the metal stairs, echoing against the hangar's far 
walls.

"When?" Kaback asked.

Nichols' smile lost some of its flash, and uncertainty made 
his voice quaver when he said, "Two hours, more or less."

Both Beck and Kaback checked their watches. Damn, that didn't 
give them much time. 

"Secure a restricted area and assemble the appropriate 
people," the General ordered Beck. "Who's on hand with the 
most experience?"

"Stroehmer's on Base. Pearsall is better, but he's at Nellis."

"Send for him. I trust him."

"Oskar Stroehmer?" Jason Nichols asked, all trace of smugness 
gone from his voice. He was now standing in front of Beck and 
the General, flanked by Ianelli. "Are you talking about Dr. 
Oskar Stroehmer?"

The General eyeballed him with open distrust and hostility. 
"You know Colonel Stroehmer?"

"No...uh..." Nichols pushed his glasses up his nose. He 
suddenly looked as nervous as an airman flying his first 
combat mission. "I read a couple of his articles on 
concommitive memory lapse and HTR."      

Hypnotic Thought Reform, sometimes referred to as 
psychological coercion or coercive persuasion. In a word, 
brainwashing.

"That's a bit outside your field, isn't it?" Beck asked.

"Yeah, I...it was something I studied as an undergrad."

"Retrieving the FBI agents is your only concern, Mr. Nichols," 
the General growled. He turned his gunmetal-gray eyes on Beck. 
"You know what to do, Colonel. You have two hours."

"Yes, sir."

Two hours to fly Pearsall up from Nevada, assemble Stroehmer's 
team, and prepare the necessary space and equipment. It was 
going to be tight. 

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
AUGUST 4
10:49 PM

Mulder spooned against Scully, enjoying the feel of her back 
against his bare chest...not to mention the heat of her 
smooth, rounded ass in his lap. They were lying on their fur 
bed, he was dressed only in his boxers, she wore her camisole 
and panties. A low, warm fire crackled in the hearth nearby. 
Savory woodsmoke scented the air, blending with the musty odor 
of the mastodon blanket and the faint perfume of Scully's 
shoulders, creating an intoxicating, yet comforting, aroma. 
Golden firelight flickered across the stone walls, seeming to 
bring Mulder's petroglyphs to life. Below his dancing stick 
people, Gini slept soundly in her bed several feet away. Her 
nose hissed as if congested, but her breathing was steady and 
unlabored.

By the end of the day she'd been feeling better. Her fever 
seemed to have lessened and she managed to keep down some 
water and several bites of cooked goose.

"Told you those keys were magic," Mulder had said to Scully 
after he put Gini to bed for the night.

She frowned, but he could tell she was relieved Gini was 
recovering. "It must have been a 24-hour flu," she said.

"Bet you were one of those kids who told all the other kids 
there's no such thing as Santa Claus."

"Easter Bunny, too."

"Spoilsport." He'd chuckled, grazing her cheek with a kiss and 
feeling grateful that Gini's illness had turned out to be 
nothing too serious.

Now he wrapped an arm around Scully and drew her to him.

God she smelled delicious, a mixture of river water and wind, 
dried grass warmed by the sun, and the tart, yellow plums 
they'd eaten for dinner. He whispered against her nape, "I 
want you." 

"Hmm," she said, committing to nothing.

Several seconds passed and when she said nothing more he 
traced her arm from her bent elbow to the ivory curve of her 
shoulder with his fingers. "Honey?"  

"'Honey'?" Her tone registered surprise.

He could picture her eyebrow arching.

"It's an endearment," he teased, circling her shoulder with 
his thumb.

"I know what it is...it's just..."

"Just what?" He kept his voice low so as not to wake Gini.

Scully twisted to peer over her shoulder at him. Her eyes 
glistened with love. "You've never called me that before."

"Shame on me."

She closed her eyes, hiding her liquid gaze, and snuggled 
closer, which caused her backside to rub delightfully against 
his stiffening cock. He pressed his hips forward, increasing 
their contact and his pleasure. She hummed with apparent 
appreciation. 

"Mulder..." Her head rolled beneath his chin. Her eyes 
remained closed. 

He brushed a finger across the shadowed fringe of her lashes, 
traced the curve of her jaw, outlined her lips. His hand moved 
down to caress her exposed neck, then to tease a nipple into a 
firm point beneath her camisole. Her body grew limp, yielding 
to his fondling. 

"We can't..." she murmured.

"Why not?" He breathed the question into her ear. Taking hold 
of the lobe with his teeth, he ran his tongue over its satiny 
flesh. 

"Gini..." she protested feebly.  

Gini's arrival four weeks ago had put an abrupt end to their 
spontaneous intimacy. Any display of passion in front of the 
girl was out of the question. But Mulder had managed to steal 
a few kisses, and occasionally persuaded Scully to let him 
explore her body like this, after dark, while Gini slept. She 
always halted his advances before things progressed too far, 
much to his disappointment. Sweet Jesus, he missed making love 
to her...more than he would have thought possible. How the 
hell had he gone five entire years without her, when now five 
minutes seemed intolerable?

Releasing his hold on her ear, he whispered, "She's asleep."

"Mulder..."

"She won't wake up."

"You don't know that."

"She's exhausted. Down for the count."

"She's a very light sleeper."

It was true; Gini woke up at least two nights out of every 
three, coming to their bedside to complain that she'd heard a 
tiger growl or felt a bug crawl across her leg. These were 
just excuses to get into bed with them. They indulged her 
habit, letting her settle between them, where she would 
immediately fall asleep. Sometimes Mulder would carry her back 
to her own bed; sometimes he let her stay the entire night. 

"We'll just have to be quiet," he said. "You can be quiet, 
can't you?" He grinned and slid his hand from her tight nipple 
to the waistband of her panties, where he nudged his way 
inside to cosset her soft curls. His cock twitched, caught 
between her tailbone and his abdomen, growing harder when he 
felt her thighs part ever so slightly.

"Mulderrr..." Her halfhearted warning sounded more like a 
satisfied purr.

"Yessss?" 

He reached lower, probing for her damp opening. When his thumb 
grazed her clitoris, she gasped.

"Let's take this outside," she said, pulling away. 

Satisfaction and frustration hit him in equal measure when she 
stood. He felt chilled without her, yet the lusty expression 
on her face filled him with eager anticipation. 

He grasped her outstretched hand and pulled himself to his 
feet. Placing his palm against the small of her back, he 
guided her toward the cave's entrance.

"Wait." She stopped when they stood beside Gini. She crouched 
and placed her palm against the girl's cheek.

"Don't wake her," Mulder warned, feeling impatient.

Scully gave him a reproving frown, and whispered, "She's sick, 
Mulder. Don't be so selfish."

He pouted, tugged at her arm, and drew her to her feet. "Hey, 
I'm suffering, too."

Her eyebrows climbed. "Oh, really. With what?"

"Nanophilia."

"Nano...that isn't a grandmother fetish, is it?"

"No, not nan*a*philia. Nan*o*philia."

"Sorry I'm not current with all the paraphilias. What is 
nan*o*philia?"

"Sexual attraction to a short partner." He loomed over her and 
waggled his brows.

His teasing brought a smile to her lips. "I suppose that's 
better than some of the alternatives."

"Very true. Like ophidiophilia..." He paused to see if she 
recognized the term. When she shook her head he supplied the 
definition. "That's arousal from snakes. Or 
siderodromophilia...arousal from trains. Or 
iantronudia...arousal from exposing oneself to a physician by 
faking an ailment. I have that one, too." He grinned and 
pushed her past the hearth, out into the cool night. "Come on, 
Scully. Let's play doctor."

She let him steer her down the rocky slope, beyond the golden 
glow of firelight toward the river. Somewhere in the distance 
a lion roared, causing them to pause.

"You sure it's safe out here?" she asked, not really sounding 
concerned.

Crickets whined in the grass at their feet, the noise pulsing 
like a billion high-pitched heartbeats. A persistent bullfrog 
at the river's edge punctuated the din with a throaty love 
call. In the tree branches overhead, which looked like black 
lace against a purple satin sky, a night bird sang to its 
mate. Every wild creature seemed to be up at this late hour, 
eager to pair off, to copulate before the season was past and 
their chance to reproduce lost. Mulder felt equally impelled 
to join with Scully, to claim her again as his mate after so 
many nights apart.

"The only predator you have to worry about is me." He growled 
and took her in his arms. 

"Miss me?" She smiled up at him.

"You have no idea."

He bent to kiss her. Excitement flushed his skin when her 
tongue entered his mouth. Christ, would he ever get used to 
that pleasant, astounding feeling? He hoped not. It sent a 
lightning bolt of desire straight to his groin. He moaned 
against her lips.

She was standing on tiptoe, hands holding his face, while he 
fumbled with the hem of her camisole, his fingers seeking and 
locating the small well of her navel, orienting themselves to 
the landscape of her body before moving down the gentle swell 
of her abdomen. 

He laid his palm there, soaking in her warmth, when the idea 
of pregnancy poked at him, momentarily suspending his passion. 
Her period was more than two months late, and although she'd 
tried to soothe his uncertainty by offering logical reasons 
for it, he remained troubled by the possibility of a child.

Dzeh's child.

He broke their kiss to bury his face in her neck and hide his 
anxiety. Still cradling her belly beneath splayed fingers, he 
tried to discern any sign of new life...a flutter or 
heartbeat, a hint of consciousness. 

He detected nothing, yet his worry would not abate: if she 
were pregnant, the child might not be his.

Could he love another man's child?

"Will you change your name to Mulder when you marry me?" he 
asked, pulling back to watch her expression.

"Is that important to you?"

He'd never really considered it before. It was the prospect of 
a child that made it suddenly significant. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Staking your claim?"

She amazed him, the way she could bulls-eye his motives. "I 
don't like how territorial that sounds, but there's some truth 
to it. Does it bother you?"

"No," she said without hesitation.  

He knew she already saw him in the role of father. Her vision 
had provided that unlikely perspective. If only he could see 
himself as clearly and unflinchingly as she seemed to.  

No doubt time would lessen his uncertainty. He smiled inwardly 
at the irony of that. Time. If not for an accidental trip 
through time, they might never have come to this point in 
their relationship.

"Take me, Mulder...beside the river." Her voice sounded so 
sultry and full of physical need he wanted to lift her off her 
feet and take her right where they stood. "Make love to me in 
the grass by the shore," she urged, but held him in place, her 
arms locked around his neck, her lips sliding over his.

Desire cycloned through him, battering him from breastbone to 
pelvis with the overwhelming desire to be inside her. He 
scooped her into his arms and carried her down the hill with 
long, determined strides. She smiled against his neck, nuzzled 
his beard, and he tried to capture her tongue when it tickled 
across his lips. 

"Minx," he said, before covering her mouth with his. 

She dug her nails into his back. Her left arm was hooked 
around his shoulder, clutching him, while her right hand 
cradled his head and bit into his scalp.

Breathless, she asked, "Do you have any idea how much I want 
you?" 

"I think so."

She seemed weightless in his arms, which made him feel 
weightless, too, as he followed the sound of gurgling water to 
the clearing beside the river. The lovesick bullfrog went 
silent when they approached, no doubt made nervous by the 
rustle of his footsteps. The grass felt velvety and cool 
beneath his bare feet, a perfect bed to lie on, but Scully was 
so light in his arms, so feminine and sexy, he was loath to 
put her down. He felt like a caveman, carrying her this way, 
his cock rock hard and his intentions very ungentlemanly. 

"What is it?" she asked. "What are you waiting for?"

"Just trying to decide the best approach," he said. "Any 
preference as to how we do this?"

"Well..." She peered up at him through lowered lashes, and 
gave him a coy smile. "If you're letting me choose..."

"Yessss...?" He found himself incredibly turned on by the mere 
hint that she might have a favorite position. "Tell me."

Her fingers furrowed his hair, raking his scalp and giving him 
gooseflesh. "I want..." She paused, looking suddenly shy.

"You want what?"

She cleared her throat and lowered her voice to a murmur. "I 
want you to take me from behind."

Those words, spoken in that tone, sent a jolt of pleasure 
sizzling to his erection. His balls tightened in anticipation, 
and he set her carefully on her feet. 

She wasted no time, peeling her camisole up over her head, 
baring her breasts to the cool night air. The silky garment 
fluttered to the ground and landed like a cloud beside her on 
the grass. 

The sight of her half-naked body made his cock ache. He 
stripped off his boxers, then reached out to cup her breasts 
in his hands. Pleasant creamy mounds, pliable, rigid only at 
the tips. He centered her nipples in his palms and gently 
kneaded her flesh. She leaned into his caress, closing her 
eyes. Ecstasy surged through him at the plump feel of her. The 
idea of making love to her, out here, on the grass...it set 
his heart hammering.

Take me...

From behind.

Sweet Jesus. 

His hands slid from her breasts, down her ribs, to her 
panties. He shoved them down and off her hips. They caught for 
a moment at her knees, until she wriggled and they fell to her 
ankles. She stepped out of them. 

Completely, gloriously naked, she rose up on her toes to meet 
his kiss. Her erect nipples stuttered across his chest, 
tickling him, singeing twin paths on his oversensitive skin. 
Encircling her waist with his arms, he drew her toward him. 
Her pubic bone bumped his cock. His fingers dug into her 
backside and he slammed their hips together, ground into her, 
growled against her mouth, "God, I want you."

"Then take me," she said, her words slippery beneath his 
frantic kisses, "from behind."

From behind.

Oh, God, yes.

He loosened his grip and she turned to present him with her 
backside. Her skin glowed silvery white against the black 
night, and his eyes followed the shadowy indentation of her 
spine down to the two perfect halves of her ass. Each pale 
buttock was branded with the outline of his recent, crushing 
grip.

Placing one heavy hand on her shoulder, he pressed steadily 
downward. "Get on your knees," he rasped, not recognizing his 
own voice.

She glanced back at him, eyes wide with astonishment, yet a 
smile quirking her lips. She lowered herself slowly, 
gracefully into a kneeling position. He collapsed behind her. 
Nudging his legs between hers, he spread her thighs. He 
gripped her shoulders with both hands and urged her to bend 
forward, until she was positioned on all fours in front of 
him.

His fingers trailed along her ribs to her hips. He rocked back 
on his heels to look at her. God, she was beautiful. Her 
center was hidden in shadow, an enticing black fissure 
separating the pale spheres of her ass.

He inhaled. Her scent was pungent and earthy, muskier than he 
remembered. 

Instinct told him to plunge into her beguiling depths and 
thrust relentlessly until he came, but he worried it might be 
too soon. They'd left the cave only minutes ago. Without 
foreplay, would she be ready?

Rather than ask and risk a predictable but perhaps not honest 
"yes," he slid his hand between her legs and insinuated a 
finger into her folds. 

She arched her back. He prodded more deeply, swirling inside 
her, exploring her moist heat.

"You're wet." 

This physical reaction always amazed him no matter how many 
times he encountered it. Here was proof that she wanted him as 
much as he wanted her. 

"You were expecting something else?" she hummed with apparent 
satisfaction. 

"Well, no...it's just...you're *really* wet." 

He slipped a second finger inside her. Lubrication flowed out 
of her, slicking his palm and dripping from his wrist.

She stiffened and gasped, "Wait...stop."

"Sorry, I..." He ceased his prodding. "What's wrong?"

"I seem to be a little...tender. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'll be more careful." He withdrew his fingers, 
intending to lick her juices from them, but to his alarm he 
found his hand was covered with blood.

Had he injured her? 

"Oh," she gasped.

He looked up to find her staring at his bloodstained hand with 
tears in her eyes. That's when it hit him: he hadn't injured 
her...this was menstrual blood...she'd started her period. 

"Scully...I-I'm sorry," he said. 

Her sad expression hardened at his words. "You don't have to 
lie for my benefit, Mulder."

"I'm not lying."

She got to her feet and gathered her camisole and panties, 
then headed for the water.

"Scully, wait, where are you going?" Erection flagging, he 
stood, too.     

"To clean up." 

He wiped his bloody fingers on his thigh, then jogged after 
her. "I'll go with you"

"I'd rather be alone."

The coldness in her voice brought him up short. "Scully--"

"Mulder, you got your wish, now please go away." Her voice was 
thick with unshed tears.

Ordinarily he would have acquiesced, leaving her to recoup her 
equilibrium on her own, but the apparent magnitude of her 
disappointment tugged him forward.

"I wasn't wishing anything."

She turned to confront him. "No?"

"No."

"Mulder, you made your opinion very clear."

He stopped an arms length away. "Okay, I admit, I didn't want 
kids...before." He tried to choose his words with care. 

"And now you're saying you *do* want a baby?"

"Well, no...not...here, now." They'd been over this and had 
agreed the Ice Age was no place to start a family.

She frowned at him before turning again toward the river.

He remained standing where he was, but raised his voice to be 
heard above the sound of flowing water. "Were you actually 
hoping for a baby?"

She didn't answer, so he went after her. 

"Talk to me, Scully. Don't...don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Bury your feelings. In case you hadn't noticed, it doesn't 
work for us."

She stopped at the water's edge, her back to him. She looked 
so vulnerable, standing naked in the dark, underwear clutched 
in one fist, a trickle of inky blood inching its way down the 
inside of one white thigh. 

"I don't want to fight with you," she said.

"We aren't fighting." He reached out to tentatively touch her 
shoulder. When she shrugged his hand away, he asked, "Are we?"

"No," she answered immediately, and then changed her mind. 
"Yes."

"Yes?"

She stared downstream, although there was nothing to look at 
in the dark. A few lightning bugs hovered above the reeds at 
the shore, and something -- a frog maybe -- crawled through 
the grass near their feet. 

He studied her profile, lit by a pale moon, while she chewed 
her bottom lip. The river gurgled over invisible stones, 
sounding like soft sobs. 

"You're glad I'm not pregnant," she finally said, sounding 
bitter.

"I admit I'm relieved...but I'm not glad. There is a 
difference."

"Is there?"

"Yes, of course. Aren't you relieved? Just a little?" 

His reasons for not wanting a baby were the same as hers for 
wanting to return Gini to the tribe: time travel, his 
regression, her accelerated aging, and any number of 
Pleistocene dangers. This was hardly a suitable environment 
for raising a family. 

And there was also the question of paternity. 

Not wanting to bring up that particular subject, he said, 
"Tell me again why we're taking Gini back to Turkey Lake."

She grimaced and her shoulders slumped. Obviously she knew 
what he was getting at. 

"I can't help feeling sad," she said, close to tears.

"I know. I'm not happy either. Really I'm not." 

She searched his face, looking for any hint that he might be 
lying. The surprising thing was he truly did feel regretful. 
Sure, it was a relief she wasn't carrying Dzeh's kid, but that 
meant she wasn't pregnant with his either. And there was 
something sad in that, he realized, despite the inappropriate 
timing.

"It'll happen for us. It will. Just not here," he said.

She leaned against him, giving him one of her silent 
apologies, and he accepted it by wrapping his arms around her.    

*   *   *

Gini awoke damp with sweat and shivering beneath her heavy 
beaver skin blanket. Her head throbbed and her stomach ached 
as if she had eaten spoiled meat. Peering out from beneath the 
furs, she squinted against the bright light of the fire, and 
discovered she was alone in the cave.

Where were Day-nuh and Muhl-dar? Their bed was empty. Fear 
beat in her chest and loneliness closed her throat. Had they 
abandoned her? 

Panicking, she sat up. The sudden motion brought pain to her 
eyes and neck, so severe it caused her stomach to roll. She 
covered her mouth with her hand, hoping she wouldn't throw up 
again. The mess she'd made earlier embarrassed her; only 
babies vomited in their beds.

Her stomach settled after a moment. Carefully, she turned to 
inspect the cave. Her fears lessened when she spotted Muhl-dar 
and Day-nuh's belongings. Muhl-dar's spears leaned against the 
rock wall next to his eel skin coat and his odd footwear. Day-
nuh's shirt and coat were nearby, too, as was her travel pack. 
They had not deserted her.

Gini wondered again why they'd filled the travel pack as if 
intending to go somewhere. What was it Muhl-dar had said? 
"Trip cancelled"? She didn't recognize those words, but felt 
uneasy about them just the same. 

She reached for the keys that hung around her neck, grateful 
for Muhl-dar's gift. Holding them made her stomach less 
queasy, just as he had promised. She'd never worn a totem 
before. It made her feel grown up and she considered asking 
Klizzie to show her how to make a proper totem pouch for the 
keys...only...Klizzie was not here to teach her how to stitch 
porcupine quills to leather, or decorate the pouch with 
colorful snail shells. Dzeh was not here either to help her 
discover her guiding Spirit. Without his advice, how would she 
choose between Muskrat or Fox or Bat...or any of the other 
many possibilities? 

Making the proper choice would be next to impossible without 
guidance, and it was unlikely Muhl-dar could help...he did not 
wear a totem. Neither did Day-nuh. 

"Where are you?" she whined aloud, worrying again that she'd 
been left behind. "You have been gone too long!" She wiped 
sweat from her brow and rose on shaky legs to search for them.

Her stomach bucked, bringing up a sour taste, and her head 
throbbed as if vultures were pecking at it. She staggered 
toward the entrance of the cave. It was pitch dark beyond the 
fire's light, and she could see no sign of Day-nuh and Muhl-
dar outside.

She began to whimper. 

River water murmured behind the cloak of night, and its 
musical sound brought to mind a familiar bedtime song...      

"The Spirits are singing and you are safe, my Little One. Hear 
their voices among the stars, carried down on a kind west 
wind. Tonight you are secure in my arms; the hearth fire burns 
brightly beside us. Tomorrow the sun will shine on your face, 
and food will fill your belly. When you are grown, I will 
still love you, my Child, and I will hope... The Spirits are 
singing and you are safe, my Little One. Hear their voices 
among the stars..."    

Klizzie's pleasant voice trilled in Gini's memory, singing 
this favorite lullaby, a cyclical verse that was repeated 
again and again until she fell sleep. She missed the nightly 
ritual, and Klizzie's generous, caring embrace. She missed 
Dzeh, too...the way he used to rock her in his arms when she 
was sick, and soothe her oversensitive skin with tender 
caresses, kissing her nose to make her smile, holding water to 
her lips to slake her thirst...

No...that had been Muhl-dar, not Dzeh. 

Hadn't it?

Gooseflesh stippled her naked arms. Where was her 
shirt...Muhl-dar's shirt? Her memory was in bits, like the 
leftover flakes of a newly made spear point. She remembered 
Day-nuh pulling the damp shirt up and over her head..."This 
needs washing"...rabbit fur buffing her skin...Muhl-dar 
mopping sweat from her back, neck, chest..."Is that better?" 

"Dzeh?" she sniffled, meaning to call out for Muhl-dar, but 
becoming confused. 

She hugged herself and turned away from the night's chill to 
return to the warmth of the fire. 

Muhl-dar's coat caught her eye again, and she picked it up. 
Wrapping its warmth around her shoulders, she thought again of 
Dzeh's arms encircling her. She imagined burying her face in 
his beard. 

He hugged her tighter. "Is that better?" he asked. 

Muhl-dar's words.

"Dzeh, I am sick," she said, snuggling into his embrace.

"You will be better soon." His kind face was right in front of 
her. He was smiling. "You have your medicine keys to protect 
you now."

The keys...Muhl-dar's keys? She grabbed hold of them and Dzeh 
vanished.

Where did he go? 

Where were Muhl-dar and Day-nuh?

Her legs were shaking, on the verge of collapse, so she 
squatted where she was, a few paces from the fire, to try to 
collect her thoughts. Shivering from the cold, she slipped her 
arms into the sleeves of Muhl-dar's coat.

"The Spirits are singing and you are safe," she chanted, her 
voice unsteady and hoarse. "Hear their voices among the stars, 
carried down on a kind west wind."

A drop of blood fell from her nose to dot her bare knee. She 
gasped when another trickled over her upper lip into her open 
mouth.

"Oh no." She covered her nose with one hand while she searched 
Muhl-dar's pockets for the handkerchief. Where was it? More 
blood ran over her chin, drizzling between her fingers onto 
the sleeve of Muhl-dar's fine coat. "Uh-oh. No."

Quickly she emptied his pockets, frantic to find the 
handkerchief before she ruined the coat. His phone, badge, 
keys, the strange eye ornament he called "glasses," all were 
tossed onto the ground. 

No handkerchief. No handker...no...

Her breath was coming in quick pants. Blood slicked her hand. 
For a heartbeat or two she wasn't sure where she was, or why 
she was alone with a bloody nose and an aching head. She tried 
to orient herself, eyes searching the cave walls. Blood 
continued to drip over her chin. Her vision blurred. Muhl-
dar's drawings, countless pictures etched into the stone, 
suddenly appeared to jump, skip and dance in the flickering 
shadows of the fire. Sam and Fox rode "bikes," watched "TV," 
played "baseball" -- wondrous activities she could only 
imagine.

To Gini's amazement, Sam suddenly stepped out of the rock and 
stood before her as real as any girl. She had long, dark hair, 
and wore a "New York Yankees T-shirt," blue jeans and "PF 
Flyers," just as Muhl-dar had described. And she was smiling.

"Hi, Sam." Gini rose to greet the other girl.

"Want to play a game?" Sam asked. She beckoned Gini with the 
wave of her hand.

Gini followed her across the cave to the portrait of the man 
with his spear, holding hands with his mate. Below the 
picture, the bone idol rested on its narrow rock ledge.

"Let's pretend we are sisters. And this..." -- Sam took the 
carving from the shelf -- "is our new baby brother."

"I know a lullaby." Gini began to sing, "The Spirits are 
singing and you are safe..." 

A wave of dizziness rocked her. Sam's face rippled in front of 
her eyes.

"You okay?" The voice seemed to come from outside the cave, 
not from Sam. A man's voice. Muhl-dar's, maybe? Or Dzeh?

"Quick, take the baby," Sam said. She pushed the idol into 
Gini's hand. "Hide it."

The carving was not a toy and it was wrong to play with it. 
They would be in trouble if Dzeh discovered them. 

"Hurry, Gini. They are coming!"

Gini felt as if she were moving through water. She blinked 
when Sam's face blurred again. The cave swirled around her; 
the drawings wavered like riverweeds caught in a current. 
Trying to keep her balance, she slipped the idol into Muhl-
dar's coat pocket.

"They're almost here!" Sam whispered loudly, just before Gini 
collapsed and blackness swallowed her.       

*   *   *

Scully plodded up the path toward the cave. Mulder was behind 
her, hovering too close, making it impossible for her to shed 
her irrational grief by crying. 

She wasn't pregnant.

Not that she really wanted to be pregnant. To be honest, the 
idea frightened her...here in this place...facing an uncertain 
future. Worse yet, there had been no guarantee the baby...if 
there had been a baby...would have been Mulder's.

She pushed that thought away. She didn't want to think about 
Dzeh, of their night together, of--

None of it mattered now. She wasn't pregnant. There was no 
baby. Things had worked out for the best.

And yet, she still felt sad. 

Her mood was due to a reduction of estrogen and progesterone 
in her body, she told herself, changes that precipitated the 
onset of her period. Hormonal fluctuations were known to cause 
physical and emotional side effects. Her melancholy would pass 
when her hormone levels began to rise again in a day or two. 
She would just have to ignore her grief until then.      

As she walked uphill, the cattail down she'd stuffed into her 
panties to absorb her menstrual flow felt uncomfortable and 
already unclean. It had been embarrassing to ask Mulder to 
collect the cattails while she washed herself. More so to 
break open the seed heads and line her panties while he 
watched.

To be fair, he hadn't actually watched her. Without prompting, 
he'd taken a few steps away and turned his back, allowing her 
as much privacy as possible without leaving her unguarded, 
which wouldn't have been safe. They'd heard a large cat 
earlier, stalking the valley somewhere to the south. She was 
grateful for his protection. And his concern.

It hit her again. There was no baby.

Until she'd seen the blood, she hadn't realized how much she'd 
already accepted the idea of a pregnancy, wanted it...even 
though wanting it made no logical sense. Her desire for a 
child went beyond reason; the baby had become real to her, and 
now she grieved its absence as if it had been stillborn.

Jesus, she was being ridiculous...illogical and unnecessarily 
maudlin. She swiped at her tear-filled eyes and sniffled.

"You okay?" Mulder asked, his voice soft.

"I'm--" She stopped herself short of saying "I'm fine," which 
was a lie. She'd promised herself -- and him -- not to ignore 
her feelings, to tell him the truth. It struck her how quickly 
and easily she could fall back into her old pattern, breaking 
her vow. At the very first disappointment she had begun to 
close down and shut him out. 

She would have to make a concerted effort to break this 
hurtful pattern.

Determined to do just that, she steadied her voice, and said, 
"My emotions are pretty close to the surface. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." His hand caressed the small of her back. "I 
feel bad, too."

Did he? Really?

She had to believe he did. It'll happen for us, he'd said, and 
she knew it would because she'd seen it herself in her vision. 
Their son. William. Bright eyed, with a fuzz of pale hair 
sprouting from his sweet-smelling scalp, his tiny lips curved 
around her nipple as he suckled. 

Her breasts tingled at the memory.

How strange. To have such a clear memory of something that 
hadn't happened yet. 

When they arrived at the cave's entrance, she paused to face 
Mulder. The glow of the fire spilled across his bare skin, 
painting him gold, while illuminating the apprehension in his 
eyes. 

"I shouldn't have lashed out at you," she said. "I'm sorry for 
that."

He nodded, while her momentary disloyalty slid into the past 
without comment. 

"Let's check on Gini," he said.

They entered the cave together. The first thing she noticed 
was his cell phone lying on the ground beside the hearth, 
along with his eyeglasses and badge.

He bent to gather them. "Guess she's been playing again." 
Holding the phone out to her, and using his best ET 
impersonation, he said, "Phone hooooome."

His joke brought a smile, which vanished the moment she 
spotted Gini collapsed on the cave floor beside their bed.

"Oh God." She hurried to the girl and crouched beside her. 
Placing her hand on Gini's forehead, she said, "Her fever's 
back. It's worse than before." 

"But I thought she was getting better," he said, hovering over 
them.

She pulled open the coat Gini was wearing, looking for 
anything that might help her make an accurate diagnosis. Over 
the past twenty-four hours the girl had sustained a high fever 
and experienced facial flushing, nausea, nosebleeds and blood 
in her vomit. She'd complained of muscle and joint pains, and 
headache. And now she was unconscious.

Her skin had an ominous yellow cast. Hoping that this was due 
to the fire's reflection and not something more serious, 
Scully lifted Gini's right eyelid to examine the whites of her 
eyes. They, too, appeared jaundiced.

"What's wrong with her?" Mulder asked for the second time that 
day.

"I'm not an expert on viral and parasitic diseases, but I'm 
guessing she might have Yellow Fever...or something very much 
like it."

"Yellow Fever? Doesn't that occur only in tropical places, 
like rainforests?"

"In the 20th Century, yes." 

She had no idea how widespread a disease like Yellow Fever 
might be here in the Pleistocene. After all, in their time, 
camels existed only in deserts, and beavers weren't the size 
of small cars. Who knew how viruses might vary from their 
modern day descendants? 

"There isn't any chance we--" Mulder's voice cracked. He 
cleared his throat. "We didn't give this to her, did we?" 

"What happened to your theory about the Cosmic Censor?" she 
asked, regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth. 
Clearly he was concerned; her sarcasm was unwarranted. "No, 
Mulder, we didn't give it to her. Yellow Fever is an insect-
borne viral disease. It isn't communicable. It's spread by the 
Aedes aegypti mosquito." 

This information didn't seem to relieve his unease.

"She's going to get better though, right?"

Scully decided to tell him the truth. "Without treatment, no. 
She's going to get worse."

"How much worse? She's not in danger of... She's not going to 
die, is she?" His entire body twitched with nervousness. 

"Symptoms vary in severity from a flu-like syndrome to severe 
hepatitis and hemorrhagic fever. Patients can experience 
delirium, convulsions, coma, bleeding from the orifices and 
pores." 

They stared at her bare skin. 

"She had a nosebleed earlier," he said.

"Yes, and I saw blood in her vomit, too."

Mulder squatted and gently stroked the girl's hair. "She's not 
going to die...she can't die."

In truth, she very well might. "During epidemics in 
unvaccinated populations, case-fatality rates can exceed fifty 
percent."

"Jesus. There has to be some way we can treat her."

"Even in our time there's no treatment beyond supportive care: 
sponge baths to reduce fever, vitamin K and calcium."

"So, we can do that, give her those things."

"Mulder, I don't know which Pleistocene foods contain vitamin 
K or calcium. Do you?"

"No, but..." His twitching stilled. "I bet the tribe's 
medicine man knows. He treated me." He looked at Scully with 
hopeful eyes. "Is there time to get her to him?"

Was there? "I'm not sure, but we should head north at first 
light. In the meantime, let's take her down to the river. See 
if we can lower her fever."

*    *    *

NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE
MIKE O'CALLAGHAN FEDERAL HOSPITAL
MAY 14, 1998
1:58 PM

"Yes?" Colonel Simon Pearsall glanced up from his PC.

His aide, a solemn-faced young airman, held out a note. "From 
General Kaback, sir."

Pearsall took it and felt for his glasses, which were perched 
atop his balding head. Sliding them into place, he tried to 
bring the note's small handwriting into focus. 

Damn trifocals. It was hell getting older. 

The note was short and to the point. He was being summoned to 
Hill and they wanted him there ASAP for...

HTR. Interesting. 

Too bad the assignment meant working with that idiot Oskar 
Stroehmer. The man was a hack and a lunatic, the irony of 
which wasn't lost on Pearsall. Oskar didn't know the first 
thing about memory implantation or selective cognitive drains, 
yet his clumsiness was responsible for the butchering of 
countless airmen's minds over the last ten years.

Oskar should be confined to a mental institution, not 
practicing medicine in a military hospital.

"Transportation is waiting, sir," the aide said.

Pearsall stood, slipped the note into his shirt pocket, and 
picked his hat off the corner of his desk. 

Fitting it to his head, he said, "I'm ready."

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
SOMEWHERE SOUTH OF TURKEY LAKE
AUGUST 7
7:49 PM

Were they on the right path? 

Scully wasn't sure. Two days ago she'd argued with Mulder 
about which direction to take. They had been standing beside 
the river at the abandoned camp where Mulder experienced his 
"time anomaly" earlier in the summer.

Facing west, he'd said, "I think we should go back the way we 
came." 

She gazed north, where the land was ribbed like a washboard, 
furred by yellowing waist-high grass and studded with mounds 
of fruiting rose bushes. The river snaked through the 
undulating landscape for as far as the eye could see. "We 
should stick to the river."

"It might not be the same river we started out on when we left 
Turkey Lake."

That was her fear, too. "Gini needs water." She lifted the 
gourd, sloshing it. "More than we can carry in this." 

He nodded in agreement, but continued to stare west. "If it 
isn't the same river and we veer too far off, we'll overshoot 
Turkey Lake without ever knowing we went past it."

"If Gini dies of dehydration, it won't matter, will it?" 

She hadn't intended to snap at him, or mention the possibility 
of death in front of the girl, but Gini's condition was 
getting worse. Listless and irritable, she was refusing all 
food, and drinking almost nothing. At night she tossed and 
turned between them as they tried to sleep, clinging to Scully 
one minute, whimpering against Mulder's chest the next. During 
the day, she rode limply on his back, piggyback style, like 
now, saying little, starring dully at the changing landscape, 
her head supported between her arm and his neck. 

"You know I don't want her to-- I don't want that," Mulder 
said through gritted teeth, obviously hurt by her insinuation.

Scully reached over his shoulder to caress Gini's sweaty hair. 
"I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply otherwise."

He hid his annoyance by abandoning the western path and 
heading north, following the river as Scully suggested.    

Over the next two days they made good time. Skies were clear, 
temperatures tolerable, and their food was holding out. They 
hiked all day everyday, stopping only for occasional, brief 
rests. They continued until well after dark, to the point of 
exhaustion.

Now it was close to sunset on their fourth day. They were 
traveling through hilly, forested terrain, and the stream was 
flowing swiftly through a deeply carved gully. They didn't 
recognize their surroundings. 

The relentless chug of water drowned out bird calls and 
shrieking crickets. Whenever they spoke, which wasn't often, 
they had to raise their voices to be heard above the din. By 
unexpressed agreement they limited their conversation to non-
controversial topics -- food, water, time, distance -- to 
avoid starting an argument. 

Mulder plodded grimly along, irritated by her, yet 
extraordinarily tender with Gini. She didn't call him on his 
roller-coaster temper; she figured he was as worried about 
Gini as she was.

They both jumped when the girl suddenly screeched.

"Put her down," Scully said, dropping the packs and spears.

He lifted Gini over his shoulder and into his arms. She tossed 
her head and squeezed her eyes shut, then rattled off a string 
of tribe words, which neither of them understood...until she 
called for Klizzie in a voice so full of fear and heartache 
that it stole Scully's breath away.

"Jesus." The word hissed from Mulder's lungs as if he'd been 
punched in the chest. "Look at her face." 

He knelt, keeping Gini cradled in his arms. Scully squatted 
beside them. Even in the twilight she could make out traces of 
blood in Gini's tears...and on her lips.

"Her mouth is bleeding. Give me your flashlight." 

"It's not working. Batteries are dead."

"Damn it, I need to examine her."

"Try using the light on your watch."

She removed her watch and illuminated its face. It cast a 
faint yellow-green glow, which she aimed at Gini's mouth.

"Her gums are bleeding. And her tongue, I think."

"Is that...expected?"

"Yes."

"I'm not sure I really want an answer to this question, but 
what's going to happen to her next?"

Prostration, hallucinations, convulsions, followed by 
coma...and a few days later, death.

"Children survive Yellow Fever more often than adults. In 
general."

"Will *she* survive?"

How far were they from Turkey Lake? Were they even on the 
right path? 

"I don't know. We're running out of time, Mulder. We need to 
get her to the medicine man...as soon as possible."

He rose to his feet. "Then let's go." 

*   *   *

Dzeh brought Klizzie a gutted elk for the final night of the 
Mastodon Feast. It was a large, muscular animal, fattened by a 
bountiful summer. The hide was extraordinarily glossy and 
would make a fine woman's winter tunic. The broad rack of 
antlers could be fashioned into many useful tools and pretty 
trinkets. It was an apology and it was inadequate, but it was 
all he had to give.

The heart and liver he presented to Ho-Ya, to thank her for 
sheltering and caring for Klizzie during the many days he'd 
lived in the lean-to. After Klizzie told her they were 
reconciled and that he was willing to come home, she opened 
her lodge to him, too, in her usual generous way.

His next acts of contrition were to bathe, comb his hair, burn 
his filthy loincloth and return to Klizzie's bed. He felt 
reborn in her arms, hidden beneath fur blankets from the 
prying eyes of her kin, protected from their pity by her love.

Imagine...she loved him still, after the abominable way he'd 
acted. He didn't deserve her trust, her understanding, or her 
forgiveness.

It frightened him to realize how close he'd come to losing 
her. It frightened him more to think the Clan might discover 
their secret and punish her. If she were sent away, he would 
go with her. If she were stoned and killed, he would drive a 
spear through his own heart.

"We need firewood," Klizzie said, kissing his cheek before 
returning to her cooking tasks outside Ho-Ya's hut. Her face 
was flushed a pretty pink and the baby's weight looked good on 
her. 

Tears flooded his eyes as he considered how foolish he'd been 
for turning his back on her. His grief over losing Gini, and 
the anger he harbored against Muhl-dar -- a man who in all 
likelihood was now dead -- had stripped him of common sense. 

Humbled and repentant, he bent to kiss the crown of her dark 
head.

Ho-Ya watched them out of the corner of her eye and smiled. 
She was kneeling beside the shelter's door, preparing a light 
morning meal of greens and nuts for the children, enough to 
keep them from complaining of hunger before tonight's feast. 
Klizzie was crouched next to her, sorting through a basket of 
freshly picked blackberries, which she planned to mix with 
honey, seeds and fat, to be rolled into delicious sweet balls 
for the celebration.    

Collecting wood was generally women's work, but Dzeh didn't 
argue the point. He was glad to do it and left immediately to 
head across camp to the forest. 

On his way he passed several women, who were busy with 
cooking, caring for their babies, and preparing for their 
upcoming departure. They glanced at him with sympathetic eyes 
when he walked by, but said nothing. Like everyone else in the 
village, they assumed Klizzie carried the child of another 
man, and although it was not unheard of for a woman to become 
pregnant by a Trading Partner, it was openly considered 
unlucky. Privately, people said harsher things. They knew 
Spirits honored good men with babies, and denied children to 
those they deemed unworthy. Any man who had displeased the 
Spirits would not be given an opportunity to act as 
intermediary between the Spirit World and this one, because he 
was too undeserving to deliver a gift as valuable as a baby to 
a woman's belly. 

In the eyes of his kinsmen, the Spirits had judged Dzeh a 
contemptible man, and he would carry their dishonor as long as 
he allowed them to believe Muhl-dar, and not he, was the 
father of Klizzie's child. 

But for Klizzie's sake, it was a misconception he didn't dare 
correct. Humiliation was a small thing compared to her life.

The clansmen were gathered in the Prayer Lodge for the day, 
reciting the final rituals before painting their bodies for 
tonight's festivities. They would emerge at dusk, adorned in 
their finest garments, their skins striped with red, yellow 
and black pigments. Dzeh would join them eventually -- it was 
expected -- but he would take no pleasure in the ceremonies 
this season the way he had in the past. 

Entering the woods, he was relieved to be beyond the 
villagers' watchful eyes. He quickly headed upland through the 
eastern forest, letting its shadows cool his shame. He 
breathed in the reassuring scent of pine and black cherries. 
Fallen leaves crackled beneath his feet with each step. He 
wasn't hunting, so there was no need for stealth.   

Most of the blowdowns were too large to lug back to Ho-Ya's 
fire, and smaller branches had been picked clean long ago. So 
he broadened his search, wandering into a birch grove where 
the canopy was thinner and the sun filtered through the trees' 
yellowing leaves. Squirrels scampered unseen in the boughs 
overhead. Blue Jays screeched at one another, alarmed by his 
unexpected arrival. An adequate supply of broken tree limbs 
lay scattered about the dappled glade. 

He loaded his arms.

Just as he was ready to return to the village, he felt eyes on 
his back. He spun to find Klesh standing ten paces away, a 
mean smile curling his scarred lips. He carried a bloodied 
spear in one hand and a dead fox in the other.

A fox was not an easy animal to catch. They were intelligent 
and wary creatures, with keen noses and ears. Most men hunted 
them with snares. Extraordinary slyness was required to kill 
one with a spear.

Dzeh nodded at the limp carcass. "That is a fine looking 
pelt."

"The Spirits were kind to me today." Klesh's gaze flickered to 
the knife on Dzeh's hip and then to the wood in his arms. "You 
are doing women's work now?"

Dzeh bristled at the insult. "Klizzie is not feeling well."

"Ah. The baby does not agree with her," he said smugly. "Or is 
it the lie she is keeping that makes her feel so poorly?"

Dzeh was taken aback. "What lie?"

"The one about her child's father."

Klesh knew! Somehow he'd guessed the truth...or overheard it. 
Panic flared within Dzeh's chest.  

"You were listening!" he accused.

Klesh tightened his grip on his spear, but didn't raise it.

"I find it peculiar that Muhl-dar would refuse to lay with 
Klizzie," he said, head tilted as if genuinely curious. "She 
is an attractive woman...and an eager bed-mate...as we both 
know." 

Fury overtook Dzeh's panic. He hated this man, and he found 
himself wishing Klesh would aim his spear, giving him ample 
reason to kill him where he stood. 

Klesh appeared amused by Dzeh's anger. "Are you sure Muhl-dar 
did not mate with her?" he asked. "Maybe the baby is his and 
she is lying to you again."

"She has no reason to lie."

"No? With Muhl-dar gone, someone must fetch wood for her." 

The firewood fell from Dzeh's arms and his hand went to his 
knife. To his amazement, Klesh burst out laughing. A 
boisterous, despicable laugh that echoed through the trees and 
sent the flock of startled jays flying from their perches.  

"Do not be a fool, Dzeh. A knife is no match for a spear," he 
said, hefting the weapon, while trying to control his 
laughter. "You are right; Kliz has no reason to lie. She and 
Muhl-dar did not consummate the exchange." His smile vanished 
as quickly as it had come. "What do you suppose the Clan 
elders would say if they knew?"

Was Klesh threatening to tell them? 

"What are you going to do?" Dzeh asked. 

"Nothing," he answered innocently. "I have no reason to expose 
your secret. Do I?"

His implication was clear. Klesh was expecting something in 
return for his silence.

"What do you want?" Dzeh asked. He felt trapped in a snare of 
deceit, fighting for Klizzie's life.

"I want what most men want." An unexpected crosswind fluttered 
his beard. "Loyalty, a little respect."

"You will never get those from me."

Klesh shrugged. "I may be willing to accept something else 
instead."

"What...do...you...want?" Dzeh growled.

"Companionship."

"Meaning...?"

"Access to Klizzie whenever I desire her." 

Rage blazed in Dzeh. "Never! You will not touch her again." 

Klesh nodded, as if they were haggling over pelts, not 
Klizzie's life. "The choice is yours, of course. I have 
nothing to lose either way," he said, sounding confident, 
haughty. He turned to go, but then paused and glanced back. "I 
will give you a day or two to think it over." 

With that, he walked away, leaving Dzeh to watch his scarred 
back disappear into the forest.    

*    *    *

Hiking with dogged determination, Mulder carried Gini in his 
arms, while Scully followed several paces behind with the pack 
and spears. It was three hours after sunup, yet the day was as 
gloomy as dusk thanks to a thick, squalid overcast.  

They were traveling through a lowland forest congested with 
spindly alders, stunted cedars, and dying hardwoods. The air 
carried the vinegary odor of rotting vegetation. Gnarled 
trees, many devoid of greenery, leaned precariously over the 
stream, which had turned sluggish and murky about two miles 
back. Bare branches clawed at their coats and snagged their 
hair, adding to Mulder's irritation. He dodged a blowdown, got 
caught in a thicket of prickly vines, plowed onward. The 
ground beneath his boots was becoming spongier with each 
plodding step. 

Four days of travel were taking their toll. Blistered feet, 
bone-weary legs, constant fatigue. Mulder's biceps burned from 
holding Gini for so many hours. Unable to carry her piggyback 
anymore, he cradled her limp body against his chest...dead 
weight that threatened to slide from his shoulder whenever her 
head lolled. 

The boggy terrain sloped gradually downhill to a depression 
several acres across, where the stream widened into an oily 
quagmire. Mud clung to Mulder's boots, slowing his progress. 
The ground seemed determined to suck him in, reminding him of 
the case in Coats Grove, where Phil Rich was pulled into the 
Michigan mud by an orchard of vengeful trees. 

"Think we're going to end up in Karin Matthews' root cellar?" 
he asked Scully, working to extricate his left foot without 
losing his boot.

"It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that ever happened to us. 
Ouch!"

He turned to find a branch had caught her hair. While she 
freed herself, he squinted at their surroundings. 

"I recognize this place."

"How is this swamp any different from the others we've 
passed?" 

He shifted Gini from the crook of his left arm to the right, 
and hissed when blood rushed painfully back into his fingers.

"You doing okay?" Scully asked. "We could stop and rest." 

"No, I'm fine." He swiveled, scrutinizing the lay of the land. 
"I know we've been here before."

"Please don't say we've been walking in circles."

"No, it's..." 

This was where he'd spotted tiger tracks, he was sure of it, 
where they'd turned away from the stream on their way south, 
which meant they were going in the right direction after all. 
Halle-fucking-lujah! He let out a whoop of excited relief. 

"Jesus, Mulder, what was that for?"

"Just happy to be proven wrong."

"What are you talking about?"

"You were right, Scully. This *is* the same stream. This is 
where we turned off after I saw--" ...the footprints of a 
saber-toothed tiger. Damn. He shouldn't mention that.

She looked around her. "I don't recognize--"

"This is the place and that means we could be at the village 
before sundown if we hurry." He slogged forward, hoping to 
distract her from remembering why they'd avoided the swamp in 
the first place.

She sloshed after him without objection, evidently not making 
the connection. He sent up a silent "thank you, Jesus," and 
picked up the pace. 

Five minutes later they were brought up short when they 
encountered a basketweave of downed trees. Enormous rotting 
cedars littered the tarnished water like Pick Up sticks, some 
half buried in mud, many balanced on top of others at 
precarious angles. Splintered branches, devoid of needles, 
bristled from the dead trunks, turning the swamp into a 
treacherous obstacle course.  

"Is there an easier way around?" Scully asked, head pivoting.

Mulder hugged Gini to his chest and climbed up onto the broad 
horizontal trunk of a fallen tree for a better view, taking 
care to avoid spearing them with one of its many jagged limbs.

He could see a slight rise fifty yards to the west, which 
appeared drier, but crowded with evergreens and prickly-
looking shrubs.

"We could try that direct--" 

He fell silent when he spotted something moving behind the 
evergreens.

"Mulder? What is it?" Scully asked.

"Shhh." Whatever it was, it had to be huge to make fifty-foot 
trees sway like that.

Wood suddenly splintered, cracking like a gunshot and making 
Mulder flinch as an evergreen bough was ripped from its trunk. 
Behind the screen of needles, he caught a glimpse of reddish-
brown fur.    

Scully hissed, "What *is* it?"

It moved again, causing the tree branches to bounce. More 
snapping wood and crunching vegetation. A giant eye peered out 
from behind the cedar's lacy limbs, rolling in its socket, the 
whites vividly bright. 

Did it see them? 

Every muscle in Mulder's body went taut when the animal took a 
step forward. It had a snake-like snout and long ivory 
tusks...

Jesus, it was a mastodon. Correction...it was the granddaddy 
of all mastodons. 

Fourteen feet tall if it was an inch, it chuffed, spewing 
sawdust and bark, and pushed through the trees out into the 
open, where it glared at them. Its trunk crooked skyward and 
its maw gaped. A roar like the screech of train brakes poured 
from its throat, vibrating Mulder's teeth. 

Then it lowered its massive head and charged at them.

"Take cover!" he yelled, jumping from the log into knee-deep 
water. He nearly tripped when he sank up to his ankles in mud. 
Gripping Gini, he lunged forward, desperate to find a place to 
hide.

Behind him branches snapped. Timbers bounced and rolled. 
Entire trees toppled, crashed to the ground, splintered when 
they landed atop other downed trees.

The mastodon bellowed again, rattling his spine and his 
nerves. It was closing in. 

Which way had Scully gone? 

Mulder glanced over his shoulder as he vaulted a blowdown. She 
was nowhere in sight, blocked from view by the charging 
mastodon. Another tree collapsed in the beast's wake. Limbs 
spiraled off it, sailing past Mulder's head, spearing the 
sodden ground beside him with a deadly thud. He ducked behind 
the downed tree and crouched over Gini, shielding her body 
with his. Slivers of exploding bark sprayed his right side, 
feeling like shrapnel as they peppered his temple and ear. He 
hunkered lower.

Suddenly, the forest fell silent. He held his breath. 
Listened. When he heard nothing for a full thirty seconds, he 
chanced a peek at the devastation.

The mastodon was standing not ten feet away, ears cocked, eyes 
blinking. It shuffled one step closer before tossing a log the 
size of a utility pole into the air. The log crashed to the 
ground and broke in two.

Gini shifted in his arms and mewled against his neck.

"Shhh, baby, shhh," he whispered. 

Had the mastodon heard them?

It huffed, waggled its enormous head, making its ears slap, 
sending dust billowing skyward. Mulder caught a whiff of its 
musty hide. Then it suddenly turned away and slogged 
southward. Was it heading toward Scully? Where was she?

Logs creaked and rolled as it picked its way across the swamp. 
Mulder's panic rose as he pictured Scully being crushed 
beneath the shifting trees.

The mastodon veered west, back the way it had come, its rage 
evidently forgotten. At the edge of the swamp, it paused to 
feed once more on cedar boughs. Mulder's heart hammered his 
chest as he waited for the damn thing to leave. He wanted to 
go find Scully, make sure she was okay, that she hadn't been 
injured during the beast's short-lived rampage.

It finally disappeared from view. For several minutes Mulder 
heard it feeding beyond the screen of trees. Go, goddammit, he 
silently urged. Gini shivered in his arms. He tried to 
reposition her so her bare feet no longer dangled in the 
swamp's chilly water. 

Several more torturous minutes passed. The mastodon's grunting 
and munching faded, and then ceased altogether. Mulder 
couldn't stand not knowing what happened to Scully a moment 
longer. Carefully, quietly, he rose to his feet to scan the 
swamp, lifting Gini with him. He spotted the top of Scully's 
head twenty feet away in a well between two crisscrossed 
trees. 

Was she all right? He hoped she was just hiding, being 
cautious, shaken but unharmed.

Not daring to call out to her, he struggled across the chaos 
of fallen trees, moving as silently as possible, just in case 
the mastodon was still within hearing range. It took him a few 
minutes to get within eight or ten feet of Scully. 

"Scully?" he whispered. "Are you okay?"

Her head bobbed and she murmured, "I'm fine. Is it gone?"

He glanced again in the mastodon's direction. "Yes. You can 
get up." 

"I-I can't...I seem to be stuck." Gripping a branch near her 
shoulder, she struggled to pull herself from the mud.

"Let me help," he said, looking for a dry place to set Gini. 
"Hold on... I'll be right with you."

He laid Gini on her back atop one of the many horizontal logs. 
It was twice as wide as she was, so he felt confident she 
wouldn't roll off while he helped Scully. 

"Mulder, my foot is pinned. I can't get it out."

"I'm on my way." He climbed over two fallen trees to reach 
her. 

She pointed to the logjam above her legs. The largest timbers 
were three feet in diameter and fifty or sixty feet long. They 
bristled with broken branches, some thicker than his arm. No 
doubt there were as many limbs spearing the mud as there were 
sticking into the air, fixing the trees to the ground. It was 
a miracle she hadn't been impaled with one. 

"Are you hurt? Any pain, broken bones?"

"No, I'm okay, just stuck. The tree I was hiding behind 
shifted when that...*thing* bumped into it." She dismissed the 
mastodon with an irritated wave. She was sitting in about 
eight inches of muddy water. Her right foot was hidden from 
view beneath the tree. "Maybe you can reach in there and free 
me. Your arms are longer than mine."

He moved into position, straddled a branch, and bent down to 
thrust his arm into the cold mud. Sliding his hand along her 
leg, he felt his way blindly toward her ankle and foot. He 
stopped when he encountered wood.

"It feels like you're caught between two crossed branches and 
the main trunk of this lower tree. Not much wiggle room."

"I noticed."

He gently squeezed her ankle. "Does that hurt?"

"No, but I can't pull my foot out." She tried again to twist 
free.

"Maybe I can move the log," he said.

"Move the-- Mulder, it must weigh several tons."

"I don't intend to lift the entire thing. I'm just going to 
shift it enough for you to pull yourself out."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

Good question. He needed something to use as a pry bar. 

He straightened to scan the swamp for a stout branch.

"Give me a lever that is long enough," he quoted Archimedes, 
"and single-handed, I will move the world." 

"Or roll this log on top of me." 

That was going to be a problem. "It's leaning in your 
direction." 

"Maybe you can break off one of the smaller side branches 
instead," she suggested.

"You mean the ones that are as thick as a linebacker's neck?"

"Or...I could chew off my leg."

He didn't laugh at her joke. There was nothing funny about 
this situation. As a matter of fact, he was beginning to panic 
a little. How *was* he going to get her out?

Although it made no logical sense, he placed the heels of his 
hands against the log, braced his feet in the mud, and put all 
his weight into rolling the tree away from her.

It didn't budge. Not even a little.

"Mulder, that's useless."

He gave the smaller of the two side branches a hard tug and 
found it was as solid as stone. He tried the second one with 
the same results.

Shit! 

Gini moaned, drawing their attention. Her head lolled to one 
side, but she remained otherwise motionless.

"Mulder...you're not going to like what I'm about to 
suggest..."

"Don't...don't even--"

"It's the only way."

"No. There's got to be something else...we just..." 

Damn it! 

He threw himself at the log again and shoved with every ounce 
of strength in him, willing it to move. When it didn't budge, 
a mix of anger and full-blown panic overtook him.

Son of a bitch! This couldn't be happening. They were so 
close. One more goddamn day and they'd be at the village.

"Mulder, stop."

He ignored her protest and continued to shove, pitting his 
170-pound frame against several tons of waterlogged timber. He 
refused to consider her alternative. She was about to ask him 
to leave her and go for help, and he absolutely, unequivocally 
would not do it. 

"Mulder...stop, please."

Fucking tree, fucking mastodon and *fucking* Ice Age! He 
pushed harder. 

"Mulder, stop it!" Her shout sliced through his rage, halting 
his struggle. 

Breathless, he slumped into the mud beside her.

She placed a hand on his arm. He almost shook it off, wanting 
to scream, "Don't ask it, Scully. Don't."

"Mulder, you have to go for help." 

No. He was *not* going to leave her here, trapped like this, 
vulnerable to predators and frigid temperatures. 

"Who's going to help us, Scully? Not Dzeh. Not any of them."

"You'll have to find a way to convince them."

He chuffed at her naivete. "And suppose they kill me? Where 
does that leave you?"

"No worse than if you stay right here."

The truth of her words struck him like a punch to the gut, 
knocking the breath from his lungs.

"No, I won't do it." Frustration heated his skin. Tears stung 
his eyes. "I *won't* go and leave you unprotected."

"I have the spears."

He gaped at her. The spears? Two fucking, spindly 
spears...against a saber-toothed tiger or another raging 
mastodon? 

"Scully, it'll take me a day and a half to get to the village 
and back. Assuming I could talk those Neanderthals into coming 
with me, which I doubt, that means you'd be stuck here, wet, 
cold and at the mercy of--" He stopped himself before saying 
more. Listing every possible threat would serve no purpose. 
Trying to reign in his temper, he lowered his voice. "That's 
sixteen hours, Scully...*minimum*. I won't do it."

Her expression hardened. "Then Gini and I will both die."

His eyes flickered to Gini. 

"There *has* to be another way," he said.

"Such as?"

"I don't know. I need a few minutes to think."

"Every minute you wait lessens our chances."

He glanced again at Gini.
   
"Mulder..." Sympathy crept into her tone, drawing his 
attention back to her. Her eyes swam with sadness. "Sometimes 
there are no good choices. Sometimes there are just choices."

Was she thinking about Dzeh and the mate swap? Another 
godawful non-choice. Door Number One or Door Number Two, what 
did it matter? Both were equally objectionable, the outcome a 
disaster no matter which way you went. 

"Take Gini to the village," she urged, quietly. "You can get 
help and return for me."

No. "What if--" Tonight, or days from now, he failed to return 
because the tribe had killed him or delayed him by holding him 
hostage...she would be left waiting...alone, cold, helpless. 

Eventually hopeless.

Yet he knew if he stayed and wasn't able to free her, she 
would just as surely die...while he watched.

This was a fucking nightmare.

"Mulder, what are you afraid of?"

Her question surprised him. "Right now?"

"Any time."

He could rattle off a whole list of things that scared the 
hell out of him; his cowardice ran deeper than he liked to 
admit. But one fear topped all others. 

"Losing you," he answered honestly. He couldn't lose her, 
couldn't be without her, not here, not back home, not 
anywhere.

His admission caused tears to gloss her eyes. One overflowed 
her lower lashes and spiraled down her cheek, and its wet 
trail brought a lump to his throat. 

"And you? Aren't you afraid?" he managed to ask.

She offered him a thin smile, bowed at the corners with false 
bravado. "Nothing scares me, Mulder."

He didn't believe her, knew it wasn't true in fact. But he 
understood why she'd said it. She had faith; she'd always had 
faith. It was one of the things that drew him to her, again 
and again, whenever his own faith was lacking and he needed 
propping up.

Like now.

"You have to trust in something, Mulder: other people, the 
future, God."

"I trust you."

"You need more than that; *we* need more than that." She 
glanced at Gini, reminding him that their responsibility was 
greater than themselves.  

"I-I can't--" His voice cracked and he turned away, ashamed of 
his fear and selfishness. "This is impossible for me."

"No, it's not. Hike north. Follow the stream; go as quickly as 
you can. You'll find Dzeh and you'll convince him--"

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will. Somehow, you'll do it, because you have to. 
Because I'll be waiting for you and I need you to come back to 
me." 

Please, don't ask it. He wasn't that brave. Tears blurred the 
surrounding forest, while dread deadened his arms and set his 
heart pounding. He wanted to be her hero, he truly did, but 
not this way, not by abandoning her.

"Mulder, when I was fighting my cancer--"

"Scully, don't--"

"When I was fighting my cancer," she pressed on, "you never 
gave up looking for a cure. When Emily was dying, you didn't 
give up fighting for her life either. And you didn't give up 
when Duane Barry--"

"Please, stop!" He wanted to cover his ears, drown out her 
rationalizations.

"My point is," she continued, "you didn't give up, you *don't* 
give up. Whether you're fighting to save the life of someone 
you've just met, like...like Lucy Householder...or someone you 
love with all your heart, like your sister Sam."

And you, he thought. Which was why this was so impossible. 

"Look at me, Mulder."

He did as she asked, and found her eyes were glistening with 
admiration, trust, and faith...always faith...faith in him. 

She reached out and squeezed his arm, then nodded at Gini. 
"You can save her."

He heard the rest of her unspoken statement as clearly as if 
she'd shouted it: "Even if I die."

Going would give Gini a slight chance to live; staying would 
kill her for sure.

But how the hell was he supposed to walk away and leave Scully 
waiting for a rescue that would in all likelihood never come? 

Bile prickled the back of his throat, tasting as bitter as his 
choices. 

He couldn't leave her there to die alone. 

And yet that was exactly what he had to do.

Reluctantly, he rose on unfeeling legs to find the things she 
would need. The pack, the spears. He searched among the dead, 
gray trees, scattered like corpses in the murky water, until 
he found them, fallen behind a log, half-buried in mud.

He took them to her and placed them beside her. 

"Mulder, take some food with you."

"I won't need it."

"You're going--"

"I won't need it."

He stripped off his jacket and tucked it around her shoulders. 
When she began to object, he shook his head. Even with the 
extra jacket, she was going to be cold, sitting in several 
inches of chilly mud and water. After sundown, it would be 
worse. "I'll just sweat in it anyway. I plan to run the whole 
way."

Again her tears overflowed her eyes. 

He crouched and cupped her cheek. Of all the unbearable things 
he'd faced in his life, nothing came close to this, to saying 
goodbye for what might be the last time.

"I will come back," he promised.

"I know."

He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips.

"I love you," he whispered against her mouth, while in his 
mind he screamed please, please, *please* stay alive until I 
can return.

She nodded, as if she could hear his unspoken plea. Her thumb 
caressed his cheek. "I love you, too, sweetheart."

He would recall those words over the next hours, repeat them 
in his head again and again, to give him faith, Scully's 
faith, to save her life.

Without another word, he stood and went to Gini. He lifted the 
little girl from the log and cradled her in his arms. Her skin 
was fiery and looked paper-thin, and her breathing came in 
short, desperate gasps that made her chest rise and fall as 
rapidly as heartbeats.

He didn't dare look back at Scully. To see her trapped there 
would anchor him to this place as surely as the log that 
pinned her ankle. So he took one halting step forward, and 
then forced himself to take another, and another, until he was 
jogging north to Turkey Lake.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Scully's fingers grazed her neckline, instinctively searching 
for her cross. An old habit. It wasn't there, of course; the 
scarred caveman had stolen it weeks ago. 

The necklace's absence added to her unease, but it didn't 
lessen her faith. Mulder would return. And she would stay 
alive until he did. 

Her hand dropped away from her collar, and she glanced again 
in the direction Mulder had gone. He was nowhere in sight, yet 
she felt his presence as solidly as if she held him in her 
arms. In her heart she was with him as he ran toward Turkey 
Lake with Gini clutched to his chest, trying to save their 
lives.

She had no intention of sitting idly by while he did all the 
rescuing. Casting his jacket aside, she thrust her hands into 
the muddy water and reached for her trapped ankle, hoping to 
unlace her boot and perhaps slide her foot out of it. Her 
fingers encountered wood, not leather or bootlaces. The knot 
was out of reach on the far side of the branches that trapped 
her. 

Another idea came to her: maybe she could lubricate her ankle 
with mud, allowing her to slip free, boot and all. 

She scooped up a handful of slime from the quagmire and 
applied it to her pants leg, pressing it as best as she could 
into the tight crevice around her ankle. It was cold, but 
slick. She wriggled her foot, trying to work it free.

"Damn it!" It wasn't going to work. The tree branches were too 
snug.

Frustrated she threw a fistful of mud at the fallen tree. It 
hit the bark with a rough slap and clung there for a moment, 
before slipping off and landing with a splash in the swamp.

There *had* to be something else she could try. 

She swiped angrily at a loose lock of hair, smearing mud onto 
her face in the process. When she tried to clean it off with 
her sleeve, she managed only to muddy herself further.

Great. Whatever. She took two deep breaths and tried to calmly 
assess the situation.

Her leg was caught in a triangle formed by the downed tree and 
two crossing branches. The branches were stout -- eight or ten 
inches in diameter -- and were broken off at the ends several 
feet away from the trunk. The larger branch slanted down from 
above and was embedded in the mud. The smaller snaked up from 
underneath her leg and pointed skyward. Together they held her 
foot about six inches above the ground.

She eyed the smaller of the two branches. It might take 
awhile, but she could try whittling away at it with Mulder's 
knife.

She grabbed the pack and quickly rummaged through it.

The knife wasn't there. She looked again, deliberately slowing 
down and searching more methodically. 

"I know I put it in here."

A second and third examination proved fruitless. The knife 
simply wasn't there.

Mulder's coat...maybe he'd taken it out of the pack and put it 
in his coat pocket.

She grabbed his jacket and went through each pocket. Glasses, 
phone, handkerchief...oh...

The fertility idol? What the hell was that doing here? 

She cupped the bone figurine in the palm of her hand. Its 
smooth surface felt surprisingly warm, and its pale luster 
practically glowed against her muddied skin. Strange that 
Mulder would have bothered to bring it, considering all the 
trouble it had caused them.

She stuffed it back into his pocket, along with his other 
things.   

Maybe he'd put the knife in *her* coat. She fished into her 
own pockets, growing more desperate as she removed each item, 
emptying her pockets completely but failing to find the knife.

"Give me a break, please?" she asked God, turning her face 
toward the overcast sky.

A vulture circled high overhead, its wing feathers spread like 
an open hand.

"Don't even think about it," she growled at the bird. 

Mulder must have taken the knife with him, she decided. Or 
left it inadvertently back at the cave.

"Fine," she said, grabbing one of the spears. She'd make do 
with the spear's stone point. It was sharp enough to cut wood, 
albeit not as durable as a stainless steel blade.

Leaning forward, she tested it against the smaller of the two 
branches that held her leg. The blade peeled off a bit of bark 
and made a shallow gouge in the wood. She might be able to 
make some progress after...four or five hours!

She glanced again at the buzzard.

"Get the hell out of here!" she shouted, and began chiseling 
in earnest.    

*   *   *

Intellectually, Mulder knew he should pace himself. He was a 
practiced runner, who jogged three times a week, five miles at 
a stretch. Although built for speed and distance, he 
understood the importance of timing and rhythm, knew he should 
stay hydrated, breathe deeply, evenly, or else he would hit a 
wall of crippling fatigue. If he ran all out, ignoring the 
metronome of common sense, his leg muscles would cramp, his 
heart pound, lungs ache, and eventually, lightheaded and 
dizzy, he would vomit or collapse or both. He knew this. He 
did.

Yet he ignored his intellect and his body's warnings. He 
refused to hold back and conserve his energy. He poured 
everything he had into covering as much distance as possible 
in the shortest amount of time because six, seven, eight hours 
from right now meant nothing. They were an abstract and in his 
current state of worry, he was incapable of comprehending 
them. Only this moment mattered. The rocky path beneath his 
feet, the hill ahead, the downed tree he would either have to 
vault or go around. His legs charged forward, Gini bounced in 
his arms. Each breath burned his lungs and seared his throat.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered...nothing except Scully, 
trapped in the swamp, sitting in mud...waiting...waiting for 
him to come back with reinforcements.

Jesus, how was he going to convince anyone in the tribe to 
help him?

He pushed the question out of his mind and concentrated on 
running instead. Keep going, he told himself, just keep going. 
Scully's waiting. Gini needs help.

Lengthening his stride, he splashed through water at the 
shore's edge. The stream ran shallow here. Gravel lined the 
banks, providing solid footing. Icy water filled his boots and 
momentarily soothed his blistered feet. A few branches 
overhung the path and he ducked as he passed underneath them, 
letting their leaves brush him, welcoming their coolness on 
his overheated skin.

Perspiration pooled in the crevices of his neck, ran down his 
spine and chest, saturated the waistband of his pants. His 
armpits felt sticky, his undershorts sodden. Sweat dripped 
from his nose and beard, from his hair, which flopped in wet 
clumps with every stride.

Gini moaned and he readjusted his grip. His hands were 
slippery and numb, and he was having trouble hanging on to 
her. No doubt he was holding her too tightly, hurting her, but 
carrying her made it difficult to keep his balance and 
impossible to pump his arms for more speed.

"Hang on, baby. I'll get you there," he promised, although he 
was uncertain if she could hear him, and even more uncertain 
if he could keep that promise.

Blinking the sting of sweat from his eyes, he looked for 
familiar landmarks. He'd been practically comatose his first 
time traveling this way, and now he recognized nothing. Only 
the memory of Scully whispering "sweetheart" into his hair 
while he fell asleep in her arms stood out in his mind. 

She had used the same endearment back at the swamp. "I love 
you, too, sweetheart," she'd said.

A painful lump rose in his throat. She loved him. Imagine it. 
It was exactly what he'd wanted, only now he was in danger of 
losing it...losing her. 

His protective instincts were telling him to turn back, guard 
her, keep her safe. They pulled at him like grasping hands, 
weighted him like stones. It took every ounce of his willpower 
to keep moving north, away from her.

A thicket of reeds clogged the stream up ahead, blocking his 
path. To avoid them, he sprinted up the bank and ran beneath 
the trees, covering Gini's head with his open palm to shield 
her from lashing branches. 

The forest was a mix of evergreens and hardwoods. Acorns 
crunched beneath the pounding soles of his boots. Briars 
clogged the understory, snagging his jeans and striping his 
skin with shallow scratches. The air smelled peaty; the stream 
ran brown and thick with silt and weeds. He was thirsty, but 
this wasn't the place to stop for a drink. 

Forested mountains rose to the east and west, creating a 
shadowy corridor. The tallest peaks were capped with snow. He 
imagined their coolness, what it would feel like to lay on his 
back in a deep, white drift, maybe make a snow angel, and 
forget all about swamps and angry tribesmen and running, 
running, running. 

Jesus, how far was it to the village?

He regretted trading his watch to Dzeh. The sun was hidden 
behind a blanket of thick clouds, making it almost impossible 
to judge the time of day. From the ache in his legs he guessed 
he'd been running for about forty-five minutes to an hour, 
which meant he had seven or eight hours still to go. 

Ahead the stream snaked on and on. 

*   *   *

"Dzeh! Join us!" Wol-la-chee shouted from his place near the 
Prayer Lodge hearth. Flanked by Lin and Chal, he beckoned Dzeh 
with a boisterous wave.

"It is good to see you here, Nephew," Lin said as soon as Dzeh 
was settled cross-legged beside them. The older man's lined 
expression was restrained, but beneath his graying brows, his 
eyes gleamed with genuine pleasure.

Wol-la-chee clapped his cousin's arm. "You have been away from 
us too long. I am relieved the Spirits have shown you the path 
back."

Dzeh nodded and grunted with appreciation. He'd missed being 
among his kinsmen -- Lin and Wol-la-chee in particular -- and 
it felt more comfortable than he had anticipated to be back in 
the Lodge.

The oversized room was crowded with men, gathered in clusters 
around the large central hearth fire. They joked, drank wo-
chi, shared food. Many were painting their bodies with 
brilliant pigments or adjusting their fine cloaks and 
ornaments. Hair was being shorn or braided or adorned with 
feathers and beads. An elder from Turtle Clan was getting a 
fresh tattoo. The men's moods were genial and relaxed. They 
had enjoyed another bountiful summer and were making the most 
of their final moments together.

Dzeh noticed Chal's smile had lost much of its customary 
sparkle. The boy nodded in polite agreement with Wol-la-chee's 
greeting, but sadness haunted his almond-shaped eyes. 

"It is good to see you with my Owl clansmen, Chal," Dzeh said, 
acknowledging the new bond between them. Their shared 
experience in Ye-tsan would forever link them as closely as 
kin in Dzeh's heart. This boy carried no Owl blood, but he had 
risked himself on Gini's behalf -- a rare sacrifice among men 
who tended to recognize their lineage before all else.

"How is Klizzie's health?" Chal asked. "My mother says the 
baby does not let her eat."

Lin and Wol-la-chee frowned at the boy's comment. Women's 
concerns in general were inappropriate subjects of 
conversation in the Lodge, but this one in particular was 
unsuitable, given the Clan's belief that Klizzie was carrying 
the offspring of an outsider.

Dzeh knew Chal was not intentionally trying to insult him. The 
boy's mother had been generous to Klizzie, sharing her food 
and fire, asking for nothing in return. It was obvious that 
Chal possessed Ho-Ya's compassionate spirit.

"She is a little better," Dzeh said. He avoided looking at Lin 
or Wol-la-chee's faces, expecting that they wore expressions 
of pity...or humiliation on his behalf. Undoubtedly they were 
embarrassed for him, perhaps even ashamed to be associated 
with him. In their eyes and those of all clansmen, the Spirits 
had judged him a contemptible man, unworthy of the gift of a 
child. Everyone believed that honor had been given to Muhl-
dar.

"When are you going to paint yourself, Dzeh?" Wol-la-chee 
asked, courteously changing the subject. He reached for two 
bowls of pigments...a shade of red that matched the spirals 
above his eyebrows, and a bright yellow, the color of the 
stripe running down the length of his hooked nose.

Dzeh waved them off. He was not in a celebratory mood. 

"You must, Nephew," Lin insisted. "It is tradition."

"Tradition does not concern me the way it once did," Dzeh 
murmured.

Lin and Wol-la-chee exchanged troubled glances. Taking part in 
the Mastodon Feast was a way to express pride in one's clan. 
It reinforced familial bonds, while declaring to the world, 
"This is who we are. Look upon us and know we are a family, 
united and strong."

It was unthinkable to flout the custom. 

"You cannot mean that," Lin said, his tone hushed. "To say 
such a thing insults the Spirits." His storm cloud expression 
warned that Dzeh was in no position to be insulting anyone 
right now, let alone the Spirits. They had already 
demonstrated their displeasure.

Dzeh longed to set his uncle straight on the matter. The truth 
about Klizzie's pregnancy crouched like a snarling cat upon 
the tip of his tongue, eager to spring into Lin's ears. But 
Dzeh bit back the words.

A hush fell over the Lodge at that moment. The men directed 
their attention at the door, where Klesh was standing with 
squinting eyes and proud shoulders. 

Painted with the dark, geometric patterns of Badger Clan, 
Klesh looked more fearsome than usual. He wore only a plain 
loincloth and cloak, but his hair was greased until glossy, 
and his beard was plaited into countless tiny braids, 
resembling slender, scaled snakes. A frayed owl feather 
dangled from one ear, a blatant insult aimed at Owl Clan. His 
face was no longer mottled by his clay mask of grief, and his 
scars seemed to writhe in the flickering firelight. The worst 
of them connected his left eye to the corner of his mouth, 
creating a mean crevice that swallowed all light. 

On his wrist he was wearing the strange silvery ornament, the 
one he claimed had bound him to Tse-e's corpse, put there by 
Muhl-dar. It rattled and twirled as if alive. Even more 
astonishing than the bracelet was the Eel Clan thunder weapon 
he wore around his neck on a stout rawhide cord. It gleamed 
brighter than the smoothest stone, and Klesh stroked it 
possessively with one scarred hand. 

"Where did he get that?" Lin asked, keeping his voice low so 
that only Dzeh, Chal and Wol-la-chee might hear.

Dzeh gaped at the weapon, dumbfounded because he had hidden it 
after Muhl-dar left. Klesh must have discovered it buried in 
the bottom of his tool kit at the back of the hut. Its 
presence stirred unwelcome emotions. He wished he'd thrown it 
into the lake or buried it deep in the woods, so he would 
never have to look upon it again. It reminded him of the 
mastodon hunt, when he and Muhl-dar were still Trading 
Partners and friends...before the chindi's unspeakable 
betrayal.

No one beckoned Klesh to their group. He received no friendly 
waves or welcoming smiles. Many lowered their stares so as not 
to attract his unwanted attention.

Klesh studied each man in turn. A dismissive, deprecating 
laugh chuffed from his nose as he walked to the hearth, wrist 
ornament clinking, owl feather ruffled by the draft. He chose 
an empty spot, as far from the others as was possible in the 
crowded lodge, and squatted beside the fire. Ignoring the 
men's clucking tongues and insulting murmurs, he sat alone, 
eyes fastened on Dzeh.

"Why is he like that?" Chal asked.

Dzeh shifted his position so that his back was to Klesh. "He 
was mauled by a saber-toothed cat when he was a boy."

"No, I mean...why does he act the way he does? Why does 
everyone hate him?"        

"You are a Badger clansman...surely you have heard the 
stories," Dzeh said. He studied the tattoo on Chal's smooth 
shoulder. It matched the harsh, geometric patterns that 
decorated Klesh's scarred flesh, a sharp contrast to the 
curvilinear designs worn by Owl clansmen. Klesh and Chal were 
cousins, he reminded himself. 

Chal's hazelnut eyes remained fixed on Klesh. "I heard he 
saved Klizzie's brother from being mauled by a cat. I do not 
understand why he was banished for it though and not treated 
as a hero."

"He was banished years after saving Tse-e," Dzeh said.

"But why?"

"Because he defied Clan customs," Lin said, narrowing his eyes 
at Dzeh's unpainted skin. His criticism was clear: it was 
wrong to ignore tradition.

"Which customs?" Chal seemed oblivious to Lin's condemnation 
or Dzeh's dishonor.

"It was years ago," Dzeh said, wishing to deflect the boy's 
curiosity. "It is no longer important."

Chal persisted. "If it is no longer important, then why is 
Klesh still treated as an outcast?"

Wol-la-chee huffed with impatience. "You are being meddlesome 
and rude, boy. This is not your concern."

Chal lowered his eyes out of respect, even as he reminded 
them, "Klesh *is* my cousin."

"Then ask your kinsman, not us."

"No!" Dzeh objected. He didn't want Chal or anyone talking to 
Klesh about those troubled times. Klizzie's latest secret was 
at stake. There was no telling what Klesh might divulge if 
given the opportunity. "Chal, because he is your kinsman I 
will tell you this: four years ago he insulted me, he insulted 
Owl Clan, and he insulted Badger Clan. It is a difficult thing 
for us to talk about...or forgive."

"But...is his courage and sacrifice on Tse-e's behalf worth 
nothing?"

"Of course, but there is more to it than that," Lin said. He 
combed gnarled fingers thoughtfully through his beard. "He was 
cursed by the Spirits even before he was born."

This revelation surprised Dzeh. He knew that Klesh had always 
been plagued by the poor reputations of his parents. His 
father was a relentless gambler and his mother paid her mate's 
debts upon the sleeping skins of other men. Everyone knew 
this. But what had it to do with curses? Such choices were 
men's to make. If they chose unwisely, they were considered 
foolish or contemptible by their kin; the Spirits only cursed 
a man when he was truly despicable.

"What are you talking about, Uncle?" Wol-la-chee asked.

"Cursed how?" Chal asked, his brows drawing together, creating 
an unfamiliar crease in his young forehead.

Lin shifted uneasily, clearly reluctant to discuss what he 
knew. After a long pause he glanced at Dzeh and said, "He is 
al-tkas-ei lit -- the son of his father's Trading Partner."

"He is?" Wol-la-chee asked, stealing the words from Dzeh's 
mouth.

The news rocked Dzeh. Lin was claiming that Klesh was an 
outcast not because of his inappropriate behavior with 
Klizzie, or because of his parents' poor reputations, but 
because of the circumstances of his conception. 

The son of his father's Trading Partner. 

Dzeh felt the sting of bees in his belly. He had anticipated 
his own life would be made difficult by the circumstances 
surrounding Klizzie's pregnancy, but not his baby's. 

"I had not heard this about Klesh," he said, trying to hide 
his nervousness. 

"It is something that is known, but not often discussed," Lin 
said. "Especially outside Badger Clan. I learned of it from my 
own Trading Partner." Lin's Partner was Cha-Gee, a respected 
Badger Clan elder. "Chal, you are young and it has been many 
years since Klesh's father passed into the Spirit World. It is 
wrong for us to speak harshly of him, even if he was not well-
regarded while alive."  

Dzeh glanced at Klesh, alone in the center of the Lodge, and 
it was as if he were seeing him through new eyes. Without 
question he was a loathsome man who had done despicable 
things. For as long as Dzeh had known him, he had been treated 
with contempt. Would he be different if he had been shown 
respect and compassion, instead of disgust?

No doubt it was too late for Klesh to become a good man, even 
if the clansmen changed the way they behaved toward him; he 
was who he was. But what about Dzeh's unborn child? Was the 
baby doomed to endure a similar fate?

If Dzeh were to tell the truth about his baby's paternity, he 
would risk Klizzie's and the child's lives. Yet as long as he 
remained quiet, he risked its character.

He could see no way out of this terrible dilemma, and his 
hopes for a happy future sank like a stone in water.

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
HANGAR 19 COMPUTER LAB
MAY 14, 1998
2:24 PM

"His name is Simon Pearsall. I met him in the future." Jason 
shoved a chair out of his way. It careened on screeching 
castors across the lab, where it crashed into a workstation. 
The computer wobbled and a mouse clattered to the floor. Jason 
crossed his arms and dropped into the chair at another desk. 
"He was considered the leading authority on 'Lost Time.'"

Lisa pulled up a chair beside him and sat down. She glared 
with impatience. "Lost time?"

"It's a euphemism for HTR -- Hypnotic Thought Reform." He 
toyed with the computer's mouse, picking it up and twirling it 
by its thin cord.

"I'm not following you. What's Hypnotic Thought Reform?"

"Psychological coercion...brain washing...mind control 
voodoo." He swung the mouse in front of her eyes like a 
hypnotist's watch.

"So Pearsall is a brain washer. Why did General Kaback send 
for him?" 

Jesus, she could be naive at times. "To make sure Agents 
Mulder and Scully don't remember their little Pleistocene 
adventure." 

She lifted her thumb to her teeth and began to chew her nail. 
"Won't the FBI notice when two of their agents turn up with 
lobotomies?"

"It's not done that way."

"Then how is it done?"

"Drugs mostly, and hypnotic suggestion. Selected memories are 
erased, false ones implanted in their place. Non-problematic 
memories are left intact. At least, that's how it's supposed 
to work."  

"You sound like you don't trust the process."

"It's Oskar Stroehmer I don't trust."

"The Base doctor?"

"If you want to call him that. Forty years from now the world 
is going to refer to him as The Butcher. His experiments on 
living subjects make Josef Mengele look like Mother Teresa."

Lisa rose from her chair and began to pace, thumb caught once 
again between her teeth. Jason wondered if she was worried 
about Stroehmer or something else -- like his attempt to 
sabotage the Project. Since asking him point blank about it 
earlier, she hadn't questioned him again.  

"If the agents aren't brainwashed, they'll report what they've 
seen, and that'll shut down the Project," she said at last, 
lowering her thumb and turning to face him. She appeared more 
agitated than usual. "Which is exactly what you want, isn't 
it? You've been trying to put an end to it from the start."

She'd guessed the truth. Rather than lie to her again, he 
decided to convince her to help him. "We have to stop it."

"But why? This is your life's work. Why destroy it?"

"Because I feel responsible." He tossed the mouse onto the 
table. "The future...is my fault."

"Is it as bad as that?"

"It's intolerable." He met her incredulous stare. He *had* to 
make her understand. "Think about it, Lisa. Imagine what it's 
like knowing every detail of your life before it happens."

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Most people 
want to know their future."

"No they don't, believe me. I've witnessed what happens when 
they learn about their failures and grief, the death of loved 
ones, of themselves. Knowing the future is not a blessing 
because it can't be altered...only dreaded."

"If the future is fixed, then what makes you think you can 
change it by ending the Project?"

That was his greatest fear: his fate...and the world's...was 
already set and there was no undoing it.
 
*   *   *

"Mom, please don't sing that song to William," Scully says, 
stepping beyond her kitchen threshold into her living room, 
where her mother is sitting in front of a window. The sun is 
pouring through, highlighting dust and streaks on the cloudy 
glass. Maggie cradles the baby in the crook of her arm. He is 
nearly asleep, hypnotized by his grandmother's lilt and the 
steady rock of her chair. 

"Why not?" Maggie coos, planting her lips briefly on William's 
brow. "'Sweet William' is a traditional folk song. From 
Virginia, I think."

"'Sweet William' dies in the end. Or didn't you notice?"

"Dana, the baby doesn't understand the words." She begins the 
penultimate verse, rocking in time to the song's gentle 
rhythm. "His mother arose, and slipped on her clothes, to let 
sweet William in. No one was so ready as his mother herself, 
to arise and let him in."

"Mom, don't...please."

Maggie scowls, but concedes to her daughter's wishes by 
humming the final verse. 

Watching the baby drift off to sleep, Scully feels suddenly 
overwhelmed by sadness, and it has nothing to do with the 
song. It is something altogether different, a worry that cuts 
so deep it makes her heart ache.

Where is Mulder? she wonders.

She returns to the kitchen to put away the plate she is 
drying, and reaches toward the drainer for another.

Before she gets a firm grasp on it, she finds herself in an 
alleyway at night. She's holding her crying baby's hand, not 
one of the dinner dishes. William is in his car carrier, held 
by Frohike. 

"Hey, Little Man," Frohike says, quieting William's fussing.

The Gunmen's van waits near her car, and a dark-haired woman, 
whom Scully recognizes but has never met, stands beside her. 
This is the same woman who was with her the night William was 
born. She recognizes her from her vision--

This is a vision, too, she realizes. She hasn't had one for 
weeks and wonders: why now?

Frohike passes William to Langly, then retrieves his diaper 
bag from Scully's car.

"Your baby's in good hands." 

He is so beautiful, this child of hers and Mulder's. 

Again she feels that empty ache. Where is Mulder? 

"I need to know that you're taking him to a safe place," she 
says. "I need to know that you're...that you're taking every 
precaution."

Where are they taking him? And why? Panic thrums in her veins.

"We understand," Byers says. His face is sympathetic. He takes 
the baby, while Langly hurries to the van.

"Now, there's a good chance that my phone lines have been 
tapped," she says, "and if they're tapped, they can trace 
you."

They? Who is tapping her phones?

"We thought about that," Frohike says. 

Langly returns with a plastic bag and hands it to the dark-
haired woman. "Six cell phones, their signals scrambled. Use 
each one once and then throw it away."

What is going on? Scully still grasps William's tiny hand and 
is reluctant to let go, yet at the same time she feels 
grateful to the Gunmen for agreeing to take him.

Tenderly, she kisses her son's forehead, closing her eyes 
while she breathes in his familiar, powdery scent. "It's going 
to be okay," she tells him.

When she reopens her eyes, she's no longer in the alley. She's 
sitting behind a desk in an office at Quantico. William is 
gone. The Gunmen and the dark-haired woman are gone, too. 

She reaches down, slides open the bottom desk drawer, and 
removes a printout of an email. The corners are dog-eared from 
frequent fingering. She lays it on the desk and smoothes it 
flat. 

The subject line reads "Dearest Dana." The return address is 
trust_no1@mail.com. 

It's from Mulder.

Her lips quiver as her eyes move over the page.

//I've resisted contacting you for reasons I know you continue 
to appreciate. But, to be honest, some unexpected dimensions 
of my new life are eating away at any resolve I have left.// 

Oh, God, what is this letter? Her eyes flood with tears. The 
words on the page blur, but she realizes she somehow knows 
them by heart.

//I'm lonely, Dana, uncertain of my ability to live like this. 
I want to come home. To you, and to William.//   

Come home? Where is he?

When a tear falls and hits the paper with a slap, it makes her 
heart jump, and she is suddenly in her apartment again, in 
William's bedroom. He is in his crib, the stars and moon of 
his mobile dangling above his head. Beautiful boy. Sweet 
William.

The familiar dark-haired woman appears in his doorway.

"Dana...the room's all fresh for you. I threw out all the old 
bedding and bought some brand-new stuff, okay?"

This woman apparently knows her well. She feels like a friend. 
"Thank you."

"I know it's impossible to stop thinking about what he said 
about William," she says, looking concerned, "but it's all 
lies, Dana, and you were the one who proved it."

What had she proved? Who was this woman talking about and what 
lies had she been told?

She feels as if her heart is breaking.

"And how should I prove it now?" she asks, without knowing why 
she is asking it. She knows only the searing pain of grief in 
her chest. "By insisting that I can protect him...only to 
learn too late that I can't?"

"You say it as if you have a choice."

She looks down at William in his crib. 

"He didn't have a choice to come into this life. I don't have 
a choice about what he is or was...but I do have a choice 
about the life my son will have..."

Oh, God, no. Her son...her baby...Mulder's baby. What is she 
thinking of doing?

"And shouldn't I choose that he never have to be afraid of 
anyone or anything?" She loves him so much. She loves him 
enough to break her own heart to save him. "Can I ever really 
promise him that?"

Her tears are unstoppable. She is giving him up, giving him 
away, she realizes. What has brought her to this terrible 
moment?

And where is Mulder?

William's bedroom fades into a snowy outdoor landscape. The 
dark-haired woman is joined by others, some familiar, some 
not. They are dressed in black. Scully's mother stands to her 
right. Skinner to her left. The Gunmen are a few steps away 
perched at the edge of an open grave with bowed heads and 
sympathetic faces.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." A minister is officiating a 
graveside service. "We are here to deliver the body of Fox 
Mulder to its resting place."

No.

"We pray to God to deliver his soul and to resolve the deep 
mysteries he sought so tirelessly to uncover."

No...no...please...

"Let us pray now for his eternal peace."

No, please God, no, she is losing them both, her son and her 
soul mate. The headstone reads: Fox Mulder, 1961-2000. A sob 
shudders in her chest, bubbling up from a well of despair so 
deep she is certain she will drown in it.

And Mulder is not there to save her this time. 

She guesses there will be no rescue.

There will be no child to raise.

Mulder is dead.

*   *   *

"Mulder!" Scully woke with a start from her nightmare.

Or was it a vision? 

Oh, please, not a vision. It represented a future she didn't 
want. She would rather remain here in the Pleistocene, die in 
this swamp, than give away her baby or see Mulder die. The 
date on the gravestone was 2000. That was only two years away.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she was on the verge of 
hyperventilating. Each frantic exhalation fogged the evening 
air as she tried to control her breathing.  

Night was creeping in like a silent phantom. The day's 
overcast was clearing in the west, leaving the sky blood red. 
An appropriate backdrop, it seemed, for the bats swooping 
overhead, gobbling up pale moths and hordes of whining 
mosquitoes. The bats' fluttering wings were echoes of the 
panicky thudding in her heart. 

A sudden, chilly gust rattled the tree branches. For a brief 
moment she thought she heard the dark-haired woman's final 
words in the creak of wood: "You say it as if you have a 
choice."

Sometimes there are no good choices. Sometimes there are just 
choices. Her words to Mulder, spoken with the hope that he 
would not blame himself if things turned out wrong.

"He didn't have a choice to come into this life," she'd said 
to the woman in her vision about William. "I don't have a 
choice about what he is or was..."

*What* he is or was? That made no sense. What did it mean?

Her throat was raw from gulping air; she needed a drink of 
water. Reaching for the gourd, she discovered she was holding 
the carved bone idol in her fist.

Maybe Mulder was right about it. It did seem connected to her 
visions; it had been with her every time she'd had one. 

She didn't believe in magic. Yet, cradling the tiny fetish in 
her palm, she considered an extreme possibility: the carving 
was some sort of key. She wasn't sure how or to what, but it 
seemed to contain mystical properties, put there by a 
stranger's faith in his gods. 

The sunset tinted the carving's smooth ivory surface a 
pinkish-red, and Scully couldn't help but notice it was the 
exact same shade as Gini's blood-tinged tears.  

*   *   *

It felt like sunset had arrived forever ago, stripping away 
all sense of time. It might be close to midnight. Or mere 
minutes after dusk. Without his watch, Mulder had no idea how 
long he'd been traveling.  

Sapped of energy, he no longer jogged, but shuffled, his gait 
irregular and too slow. His muscles worked mechanically, 
without feeling. Gini drooped in his arms, which ached more 
than he would have thought possible.

He didn't know where he was or how much further he had to go. 
He knew only that he couldn't stop until he reached Turkey 
Lake.

Would Dzeh kill him on sight? Or if a miracle occurred and he 
didn't, what was Mulder going to say to persuade him to help 
rescue Scully? 

"Hey, Dzeh. Here's your sister. Sorry she's in a coma. Now 
would you mind helping me out with a little problem I've got 
back at the swamp?"

Tree leaves brushed against his face and arms, sounding 
unnaturally loud to his ears in the dark. A waxing moon hung 
like a dim streetlamp in the eastern sky. It cast a shattered 
reflection in the water, which attracted fireflies in 
greenish-yellow swarms. The insects floated above the reeds, 
followed by phantom trails of incandescence. Somewhere 
upstream an owl hooted...a soft, desperate sound, which tugged 
Mulder forward.

Keep going, he told himself. Just keep going. You'll figure 
something out.

A sickly odor clung to Gini, insinuating its way into Mulder's 
sinuses until he could smell nothing else. The turtleneck she 
wore was damp with her sweat and urine. He considered removing 
the soiled garment and bathing her in the stream, with the 
hope that it might make her feel better, but he didn't dare 
take the time. He also wasn't sure if he had the energy to 
kneel at the shore and wash her. Christ, if he stopped 
walking, he might never start up again.

The desire to stretch out on the ground and let sleep take him 
was almost overwhelming. He fought against it by picturing a 
future with Scully and the son she seemed so certain they were 
going to have. Wondering which of them the baby might look 
like, he conjured up an image of an impish boy with 
strawberry-blond hair, blue eyes and Scully's lightly freckled 
complexion. If they were lucky, he would inherit her 
integrity, selflessness and intelligence, too. 

She'd be a great mom. Good thing; someone had to 
counterbalance his ineptitude. He had no doubt she would be 
fiercely protective of their baby, and love him thoroughly and 
unconditionally.

Like Emily. She loved that little girl enough to let her go 
rather than allow her to suffer. Putting her own feelings 
aside, she did what was right for her child.

She'd done the same for Gini only a few hours ago.

"Gonna teach'im t'play baseball," he vowed, murmuring his 
promise into Gini's hair, his words slurred from fatigue. "Buy 
him a bat and mitt the day he's born. Little Yankees' cap to 
keep the sun off his face, 'cause the kid'll pro'ly burn like 
his mother."

Mulder noticed he was no longer walking. He stood swaying on 
unsteady legs, while Gini weighted his arms.

"Gotta keep going." He forced his feet to move. 
Left...right...one...two. "Count with me, Gini," he said, 
pushing on.

After several minutes it seemed a drum was beating inside his 
skull, keeping time with his footfalls.

One, two, thump, thump...

He listened more closely. It *was* a drum. Somewhere up ahead. 
Drums were beating and people were chanting.

Squinting past the trees, he spotted the flicker of several 
camp fires. Shadowy figures jittered around them. The smell of 
roasting meat drifted downwind, making his mouth water. 

This was the ball field. He'd made it.

Thank you, sweet Jesus. 

"Almost there, pipsqueak. Hope big bro's in a forgiving mood."

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE
BUILDING 30
MAY 14, 1998
2:41 PM

Simon Pearsall followed Captain Linden down a long, well-lit 
corridor. The conditioned air smelled like rubbing alcohol and 
bleach, tinged with the sinus-tingling odor of urine. Building 
30 wasn't Hill's hospital; it was a human subject test lab. 
Behind these closed doors, a variety of physical and mental 
experiments were carried out on "volunteers" -- airmen who had 
been coerced into participating in Oskar Stroehmer's pet 
projects "for the good of their country."

There were few men Pearsall loathed as much as Oskar 
Stroehmer.

Captain Linden stopped in front of a security door. He took a 
key card from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. The 
catch whirred and the door opened. He gestured across the 
threshold at another, identical hallway. "Sir."

Linden stayed behind when Pearsall stepped through the door. 
It closed automatically behind him, shutting the Captain out.

The corridor stretched endlessly ahead, lined on both sides by 
windowless white doors. He began walking, searching for Room 
158.

The tile floor was polished and spotless, and his shoes 
squeaked with each long stride. Security cameras followed his 
progress. Behind him, sequestered somewhere in a distant room, 
a man cried out for help. The muted screams were silenced 
almost immediately.

A door opened up ahead and a bald man wearing a stained lab 
coat stepped out. It was Stroehmer.

"Ah, Simon." He greeted Pearsall with a half-hearted smile, 
exposing a silver eyetooth. "You're early. I intended to meet 
you down front."

"I'm right on time," Pearsall said without looking at his 
watch.

"Perhaps it was I who lost track of the time then." 
Stroehmer's smile thinned. He had bloodless lips and a wine-
colored birthmark, which stained his right cheek and appeared 
to drip into his starched collar. His neck hung in purplish 
folds above his necktie like a vulture's wattle. "Shall we?" 
He gestured toward the open door with one pale, papery hand.

The door led into an operating theater. Pearsall recognized 
most of the equipment: electrocardiogram, ESU, defibrillator 
and crash cart. Medicines filled the dozen or so glass 
cabinets. Atropine, epinephrine, ephedrine, lidocaine. Tongue 
depressors, gauze, and dozens of hypodermic needles lined the 
countertops in organized containers. A blood pressure monitor 
sat on a cart beside a tub-sized, stainless steel sink. 

The most chilling aspect of the room was the arrangement of 
its operating tables. There were four, radiating out from a 
centrally located island, which contained some of the most 
peculiar instruments Pearsall had ever seen. He couldn't even 
begin to guess their various uses. Four large-screen monitors 
hung over the island, for viewing laparoscopic surgeries. The 
island itself was littered with tools. Drills. Saws. Picks and 
swabs and hoses. The beds were equipped with full-body 
restraints. 

It relieved Pearsall only a little to see a capnometer in one 
corner. It wouldn't have surprised him to discover Stroehmer 
conducted his experiments without the benefits of general 
anesthesia.

"Why am I here?" he asked bluntly.

"Rest assured, the invitation didn't come from me," Stroehmer 
replied, equally blunt. "Kaback insisted on you. Lord knows 
why."

"Probably to make sure you don't kill anyone." No sense 
beating around the bush; they both knew what Stroehmer did. 
"Who is your victim this time, Oskar?"

"There are two." His eyes gleamed as brightly as his silver 
tooth. "Federal agents."

"Federal--" Sometimes Kaback went too far. Clearly not 
everything that happened here at Hill could be blamed on 
Stroehmer. "Why?"

"They've seen some things they shouldn't. Isn't that the usual 
reason for doing what we do?"

It made Pearsall's stomach turn to be lumped in with 
Stroehmer's atrocities.

"When do we start?" He wanted to get it over with.

Stroehmer leaned dispassionately against an operating table 
and fingered the restraints. "As soon as they bring the calves 
in to slaughter."   

*   *   *

LATE PLEISTOCENE
AUGUST 12
9:17 PM

Scully shivered beneath Mulder's jacket, arms hugging her 
chest, teeth chattering. Her legs were numb from so many hours 
of sitting in the cold mud; her hips ached from lack of 
movement. She wiggled the toes on her trapped right foot, 
trying to keep blood circulating through it.

All around her branches snapped, water dripped, crickets 
shrieked. Pale moonlight filtered through leafless trees, 
painting the swamp silver. A spider the size of her palm was 
building a web on the log above her leg. It methodically 
crawled from the main trunk to an upturned branch, weaving a 
delicate trap. Each gossamer strand was meticulously 
positioned, beautiful, despite its lethal purpose.

She thought again about her vision, trying to fit its pieces 
together and figure out what might have made her desperate 
enough to give William away.

I won't do it, she promised herself, no matter what.

The idea of Mulder's Cosmic Censor came to her. According to 
his theory, an all-powerful watchdog made it impossible to 
alter past history or future events.

She refused to believe it. She would never, ever give her son 
away. There were no circumstances that could convince her to 
do such an unlikely thing.

Mulder's spear lay in the mud beside her, its blade shattered 
after four laborious hours of chipping away at the branch that 
held her foot. She'd managed to make only a shallow dent in 
the wood. Hesitant to continue with the other spear and risk 
breaking it, she decided to wait until daylight to start 
again, so as not to leave herself defenseless in the dark.

Feeling thirsty, she reached for the gourd. It was nearly 
empty. She set it back down without taking a drink. Her meager 
supply had to last at least another day, since the swamp water 
was undrinkable, thick with mud and algae.

Maybe she could slake her thirst by eating one of the wild 
plums in her pack. She was about to get one when she heard it: 
the distinctive, heart-stopping hiss of a snake. It prompted a 
deep and primal fear, standing her hair on end and contracting 
her dry throat. Instinct made her fumble blindly for her 
missing gun.

The snake hissed again. She could tell it was only a few feet 
away, on the log above her feet, although she couldn't see it, 
hidden from the moonlight by shadows.

The spear would be useless against it in the dark. She needed 
a light. The flashlight batteries were dead and she doubted 
the light on her watch would reach far enough.

Maybe her cell phone display would be bright enough.

Moving as quietly as she could, she slid her phone from her 
jacket pocket and pressed the on switch.

The display wasn't bright enough to cut the dark, but she 
caught sight of the snake as it slithered through a patch of 
moonlight. It was about four feet long and moving away from 
her. Thank God. It broke through the spider's web when it 
zigzagged along the tree, causing the web to collapse and fold 
in on itself. The spider hunkered down and waited for the 
threat to pass.

A moment later the snake dropped from the log onto the ground 
with a wet slap and headed upland. Moonlight glinted off its 
scaled back as it silently skidded around a blowdown. 
Eventually it disappeared in the underbrush.

The spider cautiously unfurled its legs and began to rebuild 
its web.

Hands still shaking, Scully was about to power off the phone 
when she noticed an odd message in the display: 

//Bringing you home. Carry phones. Stay together. --JN//

JN? Jason Nichols? The MIT scientist? But he'd died in a lab 
fire three years ago, while trying to destroy his freezing 
compound, the catalyst that, in Mulder's opinion, was going to 
make time travel possible.

Either Jason Nichols never actually died in that fire or 
Mulder was right about him coming back from the future. 

She stabbed at the buttons, looking for more information. 
"When? When?" 

There was nothing more.

Looking again at the message, her hope for rescue turned 
quickly to disappointment. Stay together, it said.

A shiver ran through her, not brought on by the cold, but by 
dread. Suppose Jason Nichols launched his rescue attempt 
before Mulder got back? The message said they needed to keep 
their phones with them. Nichols must be planning to use the 
cells to somehow pinpoint their locations. Oh God. She had 
Mulder's jacket, which meant she had both phones.    

*   *   *

"Klizzie, I must talk with you." Dzeh tugged urgently at her 
arm. Worry was evident behind the red spirals and yellow 
stripes of his face paint.

"What is it? What is the matter?" She allowed him to guide her 
across the dark ball field, away from the communal bonfire, 
where drummers had formed a circle and were beating a steady 
rhythm with their clapping sticks. "The celebration will soon 
start. We should not go far--"

"It is important."

"All right." She leaned into the curve of his arm, her concern 
growing.

Dzeh's uncharacteristic disregard for Clan customs was a 
difficult thing to get used to. Earlier he had balked at 
dressing appropriately for the night's festivities, and it had 
taken more than a little persuasion to convince him to put on 
his finest garments and paint his face. He had waved off her 
offer to braid feathers and beads into his hair, until she 
reminded him that to do so would honor Gini's spirit. Only 
then had he allowed her to comb, grease and plait his hair. 
She had divided his beard into two long, thick braids, then 
tied bone ornaments onto their ends. She oiled and perfumed 
his skin according to tradition, until his tanned chest and 
shoulders gleamed, and he smelled like spearmint and pine. She 
fastened ornamental bands around his upper arms and wrists. 
Two more around his ankles. He looked handsome adorned this 
way, reminding her of their Joining Ceremony.

"Are you finished?" he had asked, scowling at her 
preparations.

"Not quite."

She brought him his bear claw necklace and the unusual wrist 
ornament he had received from Muhl-dar when they first became 
Trading Partners.

"I will not wear those. They make me think of times I prefer 
to forget."

She understood this -- the claw necklace in particular 
reminded her of the night Lin had explained the necessity of 
the mate exchange to Muhl-dar and Day-nuh.

"Give them to the boy Chal to thank him for coming to Ye-tsan 
with me," Dzeh said.

She did exactly that as soon as she was finished dressing 
herself for the Feast. The boy seemed to appreciate the gifts, 
smiling sadly as he put them on.

"Are you sure Dzeh wants me to have these?" he had asked.

"Yes, they are to thank you for searching for Gini."

"I was pleased to do that. I need no thanks."

Klizzie liked this young cousin very much and wished things 
had turned out differently. He would have made a fine, caring 
mate for her Little Chick. 

Dzeh led her to the edge of a slough where A-Chi Stream 
separated the field from the forest. Cattails grew as tall as 
a man in the damp soil, and their leaves rustled in the 
twilight like the whispers of Spirits.

Stopping beside a thicket of alder saplings, Dzeh took her in 
his arms and embraced her tightly. A distressing sigh 
shuddered from his lungs.

"What is it?" she asked, listening to the wild beat of his 
heart. 

"I am worried about our baby."

She drew back to look at his face. His eyes were wet with 
unshed tears and his mouth was twisted in fear. "Dzeh, what is 
it?"

"Klesh knows our secret. He knows you did not mate with Muhl-
dar and that the baby is mine."

No wonder Dzeh was so worried. This news stole the strength 
from Klizzie's legs, and she clung to him to keep from 
falling. "Is he going to tell?"

"Not if--" He suddenly stopped himself and lowered his gaze.

"Not if what?"

"It does not matter. It is not my greatest worry."

There was something more? Something worse?

"Tell me, my mate. What is it?"

He took a deep breath. "Lin told me something 
today...something I had not heard before."

"What did he say?"

"He said..." Lifting his hand to her face, he caressed her 
cheek. "He said Klesh is the son of his father's Trading 
Partner. Did you know that?"

She had not heard it. "Why does such old news worry you?"

His hand dropped away to settle on her belly. He cradled the 
curve of her abdomen beneath his wide palm. "Klizzie, the Clan 
believes our child is the offspring of *my* Trading Partner. I 
am afraid our baby will face the same sort of scorn that is 
given to Klesh , and maybe...maybe he will turn out to be like 
him."

Anger flared in Klizzie's breast as she considered this 
possibility. 

"No, Klesh chooses to be who he is. Unkind comments cannot 
make a man evil."

"Are you sure? Perhaps if he had been treated more 
respectfully--"

"We did not even know this truth about him until today, so how 
are we to blame for the way he is?"

"It is true *we* did not know, but the elders knew. And we 
treated him as they did."

"We treated him the way he deserved to be treated. He has 
always invited meanness."

"Because he is al-tkas-ei lit?" 

Al-tkas-ei lit: mixed smoke. It was an old expression -- an 
insult -- often used by elders to describe persons of impure 
or unknown lineage.

"I do remember my father telling Tse-e and me to stay away 
from Klesh when we were very young because he was considered 
al-tkas-ei lit. I thought it meant he was part good, part 
bad."

"That *is* what it means. Good because he carries the Spirit 
of Badger Clan, and bad because he also carries the Spirit of 
outsiders." 

"But people do not think that way now. Attitudes have changed. 
It is not considered shameful to be the son of a Trading 
Partner."

"You are wrong, Klizzie. Attitudes have not changed. My own 
kin are ashamed because they believe I am not the father of 
your child. I have endured looks of disgrace, even from Lin 
and Wol-la-chee."

She had noticed derisive glances directed at her, too, and had 
heard several unkind comments.

"Our child is going to suffer," he said. Misery creased his 
brow, bringing pain to Klizzie's chest. 

"Are you saying you want to tell the elders the truth about 
the baby...that you are its father?"

"No! No, I do not want that. I want to protect you and our 
child."

Again he embraced her, squeezing her so hard she could not 
fill her lungs with air. She was about to object when his lips 
covered hers. His fingers snaked into her hair, trapping her 
braids as he hungrily kissed her. She felt her own desire 
blossom, and gripped his muscled shoulders, while pressing her 
breasts against his chest. Her love for him was overwhelming 
and it brought the sting of tears to her eyes.

She wanted to suggest they slip into the woods to mate beneath 
the trees, but Ho-Ya's warbling voice was calling to them from 
the bonfire, interrupting their unexpected moment of passion.

"We must get back," she said, chest heaving as she tried to 
catch her breath and regain her balance.

"Let's stay here." His mouth captured hers again, although 
only briefly.

"We...we cannot." She regretted saying the words. "There is 
already enough gossip about us."

"Then we will do this later." He linked his fingers with hers. 
"As soon as the Feast is over."

*   *   *

Shrieks undulated across the ball field into the trees where 
Mulder stood hidden and motionless. Drums thundered like 
frantic heartbeats, mimicking his quickening pulse. Unsure 
what to do, he readjusted his hold on Gini and watched as 
figures writhed around a central campfire. It must be some 
sort of group celebration...or a war party.

The dancers chanted as they leapt and spun. Mulder recognized 
an occasional phrase from his word games with Gini, but not 
enough to make sense of their song. 

"Wish you'd wake up, pipsqueak, and help me out," he 
whispered. "I could *really* use a translator." 

Sucking cold air into his lungs, he tried to gather his 
courage. A bloodcurdling scream made his knees go weak. Jesus, 
were they running at him? He considered ducking behind a tree, 
but then just as suddenly they turned and ran in the opposite 
direction. 

"Must just be part of the floor show."

He worked up the nerve to take a step forward. The horde 
raised their spears and charged at invisible prey. Another 
flurry of ear-piercing screeches accompanied their mock 
battle.

"Naz-tsaid...naz-tsaid... naz-tsaid..." they chanted.

He recognized the word; it meant kill.

"Ut-zah...ut-zah...utzah-ha-dez-bin!"

It is done...it is done...it is done...something. He was 
unfamiliar with the last phrase.

"Yeh-wol-ye hi-he a-din." Whatever the hell that meant, it set 
them cheering.

The drummers beat more frantically and flutes punctuated the 
insistent boom, boom, boom, with high-pitched squeals. The 
entire company began to sing and clap.  

"Guess it's time we face the music," he said, stepping out 
from the refuge of evergreens. 

Climbing the slight incline onto the field, he carried Gini 
with one arm supporting her knees, the other beneath her 
narrow back. Her head slumped against his bare chest; strands 
of her hair stuck to his sweaty skin. Lifeless and sallow, she 
looked more like a specter than a living girl. Her mouth hung 
open and her breathing came in ragged gasps. He worried that 
every labored exhalation might be her last.

"Hang in there, baby," he urged.

They'd come all this way. Please don't let it be for nothing.

He aimed for the roiling bonfire and its halo of prancing 
savages. Their screaming rattled his spine and set his teeth 
on edge. He held out little hope they would let him live. That 
he might convince them to help him rescue Scully was as remote 
as the stars. 

"Dead man walking," he murmured as he passed the nearest goal 
post. He winced at the memory of being stripped, bound and 
pelted by stones. If there was a God in heaven Dzeh would run 
him through with a spear this time around, instead of letting 
that angry mob pound him to death with rocks.

He approached the crowd as if in a dream, unable to feel the 
movement of his legs or the ground beneath his feet. The 
dancers' song seemed to fade into silence; the only sound he 
could hear was the hiss of his breath and the thud of his 
heart. His eyes locked onto the crowd as they cavorted, 
singing without sound, their movements becoming more sluggish 
with each floating step he took. Their faces turned gradually 
toward him, one by one, and even at a distance of twenty 
yards, he saw them blink in surprise, astonishment opening 
their mouths.

The bonfire exploded behind them in a silent upside-down 
shower of sparks, which fizzled skyward, illuminating the 
tribesmen's spears, and making the men look as if they carried 
lightning bolts in their fists. Mulder followed the upward 
spiral of one brilliant ember, raising his gaze to watch as it 
dimmed. Behind it, Ophiuchus glistened in the heavens. 

The Serpent Holder, standing as always between Hercules and 
Virgo.

A surprised shout drew his attention back to Earth. 

"Muhl-dar na-dzah."

"Do-ya-sho-da," someone gasped.

"A-tkel-el-ini," said another.

The word "chindi" circulated the gathering.

Most of the tribesmen were now on their feet, watching him, 
waiting to see what he planned to do. Their skin was 
camouflaged with paint and they wore their long, dark hair in 
wild arrangements, bristling with feathers and quills. Their 
shoulders were caped with fur and their limbs rattled with 
bracelets and anklets of shell and bone. Their fierce demeanor 
and scowling eyes scared the hell out of him.

Straightening his shoulders, he scanned their painted faces, 
looking for Dzeh.

He spotted Klizzie first, sitting among a group of women. When 
her rounded eyes met his he raised Gini a bit, to prove to her 
-- to prove to all of them -- that he meant no harm. Klizzie 
stood and tried to come to him, but an older woman held her 
back.

"Dzeh!" she screamed as she struggled to be let free. 

All eyes turned toward a knot of seated men, whose faces were 
adorned with red spirals and yellow stripes, making them look 
like vultures. Mulder guessed the gray-bearded man was the old 
hunter named Lin, which meant the muscular man beside him was 
probably Dzeh.

Mulder crossed the field and stopped about ten feet away him. 
He held Gini out.

"She's sick..." His voice abandoned him for a moment and he 
had to clear his throat to begin again. "She needs help. She 
needs..." 

Shit, what was the word? 

"A-zay...medicine," he said, remembering. "She needs a-zay."

Distrust hummed through the crowd.

"I-I'm not here to cause trouble," Mulder said. "Uh... Neh-
hecho-da-ne." Jesus, he hoped that meant "friendly" and not 
"fuck you."

Dzeh rose to his feet and eyed Mulder with suspicion. He took 
three cautious steps forward, closing the gap between them 
until he stood only an arm's length away. Mulder was keenly 
aware of this man's hatred for him; Dzeh was glowering with 
murderous intent and every able-bodied tribesman was ready to 
follow his lead and attack at the slightest provocation.

Sorely outnumbered, Mulder considered it a minor miracle 
they'd held off killing him this long.  

"A-zay," he said again, nodding at Gini.

Dzeh stretched out a brawny hand and laid it flat against the 
girl's chest, no doubt checking to see if she were alive. When 
he felt her inhale, tears filled his eyes.

"Take her," Mulder said, holding her out to the other man. 
"Yah-a-da-hal-yon-ih."

Dzeh hesitated only a moment before he brusquely snatched Gini 
from Mulder's arms. He carried her immediately to an older man 
who Mulder hoped was the medicine man.

Gini was laid on the ground at the man's feet. All eyes were 
fixed on him as he knelt to examine her. After a minute or 
two, he made a pronouncement, most of which Mulder couldn't 
understand. He recognized only the phrase "jish-cha." It meant 
"among devils."

The tribesmen all turned to face Mulder. A half dozen, painted 
like Dzeh, stepped forward and grabbed him roughly by the 
arms.

"Wait a minute, fellas, I didn't come here to--"

A fist struck him in the stomach, knocking the wind from him. 
If not for the hands that gripped his arms, he would have 
collapsed to his knees. 

"Can't we talk this over?" he wheezed.

Another punch -- this time to his jaw -- silenced him again.

He tasted blood. Holding up his hands, he said, "Dzeh...come 
on, buddy, I--"

A third wallop to the back of his head turned the world black.

x-x-x-x-x-x

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.  
Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The only certain thing was the clutch of Scully's fingers. 
They tethered Mulder to reality while chaos bombarded his 
mind. Memories of his childhood glowed and faded like sparks. 
He was hunkered over a board game with Sam... He recoiled from 
the sting of his father's slap... He blushed at the press of 
Christy McCarty's lips on his. The smell of Mom's gingerbread 
flooded his sinuses. It was replaced by fearsome smoke. Hot 
tears coursed down his cheeks. The chill of the Atlantic 
tempered him. He was outraged, relieved, irritable, hopeful...

"I love you, Scully," he said, gripping her hand. Was she 
okay? He wanted to ask what she was seeing and feeling, but 
another memory snagged him.

"Mom? What's the matter?"

"Fox, you should be ashamed of yourself."

"Why? What did I do?"

"You left your sister hiding in the garage all afternoon. She 
expected you to come looking for her."

"I went to Paul's house."

"You promised her a game of Hide and Seek. Why did you leave 
her like that? I'm very disappointed in you, Fox."

Blinking back tears, Mulder was only partially relieved when 
he suddenly found himself no longer a shamed boy under his 
mother's judgmental eye, but a grown man slumped on the couch 
in his apartment. He was twirling his wedding ring round and 
round his finger. Grief had worn his throat raw. His chest was 
hollow and he knew that only minutes before Diana had walked 
out the door for the very last time. He'd fucked up. Lost her.

In the space of a sigh, his apartment, like his expectations, 
disintegrated around him.

Images from case files began to swirl past his field of vision 
like Polaroids caught in the wind. The first few were 
familiar. A devil woman, a homicidal supercomputer, a vengeful 
pyromaniac. He felt the coldness of Icy Cape and the 
sweltering heat of Puerto Rico. He tasted the tang of barbeque 
sauce and the bitter sting of bile. He smelled fire and vomit 
and cherry blossoms...combined with Scully's alluring scent. 
He watched her eyes laugh and tear up and round with alarm, 
disgust, and delight. He handed her a crime scene photo, a 
vial of monkey pee, a birthday present. He held her in his 
arms, and oh God her heart was pounding, because she'd just 
narrowly escaped death at the hands of a necrophiliac.

The images that followed these were unfamiliar. In them he saw 
himself with Scully, but didn't recognize their surroundings, 
and could make neither heads nor tails of the context. He 
guessed these were glimpses of their future, fragments of 
their life ahead. 

Most of them were too grim to bear.

Scully was bleeding on the cobwebbed floor of a gothic 
mansion, dying beside a counter in a bank, unconscious on his 
living room rug, her snow-white blouse saturated with blood. 
He saw her bruised and blinded and...

Pregnant?

Sweet Jesus, she was lovely, heavy with their child. He longed 
to kiss the worry from her brow.

The scene changed again, and she was lying beneath him in an 
unfamiliar bed, no longer pregnant. He was making love to her. 
An overly warm blanket covered all but their heads. She looked 
older, her face lined, but still achingly beautiful. He 
fingered her hair, thousands of silky strands fanning out 
across the pillow, some shot with silver. She cushioned his 
hard thrusts. The bedroom smelled musty but comfortable, like 
a homecoming. Ecstasy waited only a heartbeat away.

"Dad, where are the car ke--"

Mulder stopped his thrusts to glare at the voice. A redheaded 
teen wearing a wrinkled T-shirt, faded jeans, and a startled 
expression blinked at him from the open bedroom door.

The boy's cheeks darkened and he rolled his eyes. "Sorry," he 
said, grabbing a set of keys from the dresser before turning 
to leave.

"Try knocking next time, son," Mulder warned.

Scully asked, "Where are you going, William?"

The teen kept his back turned and his fingers on the knob. 
"Taking Ella and Ginny for burgers," he said over his 
shoulder.

"Hamburgers for breakfast?" Scully sounded appalled.

"It's after 11:00, Mom. We ate breakfast hours ago. Jeesh. 
Come up for air sometime, would you?" He quietly closed the 
door, leaving them alone once more.   

"Kids." Mulder shook his head and smiled. 

"You might want to have a talk with him later about what he 
just saw."

"He knows we have sex, Scully. He's seventeen years old."

"Still..."

"You think we might have scarred him for life?"

"Probably not, but I once walked in on my parents."

"You did?" He laughed at the pinched look on her face.

"It wasn't funny. I was mortified."

"It hasn't seemed to harm you in the long run." 

"No. A hundred Hail Mary's helped purge me of the awful 
experience." Wrapping her arms around his neck, she returned 
his smile and kissed his nose, his chin, his lips. "Talk to 
him anyway, please," she murmured.

"I will."

She raked her nails across his back, raising gooseflesh. 
"Where were we?" 

"You were about to call out God's name."

"Was I?"

"Mmm." He nuzzled her cheek. "I love you, Scully..."

He wanted to savor this moment, but all too soon it whirled 
away with the others.

His mind cleared and he found himself standing in the cool, 
dim shadow of a massive aircraft, wearing nothing but a 
loincloth. Scully was by his side, her fingers interlocked 
with his. Three Naval officers gaped at them from twenty feet 
away, while a snowstorm of what appeared to be cottonwood 
seeds billowed toward the ceiling.

"I love you, Scully," he whispered, "I love you..." 

*   *   *

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

Jason Nichols breathed deeply, relieved when the maelstrom of 
past and future events finally dissipated and he felt himself 
sitting once again in the pilot seat of the experimental 
aircraft. He knew even before he opened his eyes that the 
rescue attempt had been a success. Only the safe return of the 
FBI agents into the present could account for the restoration 
of linear time.

"There they are!" Lisa gasped from the co-pilot's seat. Her 
face was bone-white and slicked with sweat from her encounter 
with the distortion.

Jason's gaze slid to the scene beyond the windshield.

The rift was gone. The only light in the hangar came from the 
ordinary fluorescent fixtures in the ceiling. Detritus swirled 
through the air -- gossamer fragments of lost time. It was 
hypnotizing the way it remained suspended for a moment at the 
apex of an updraft, before it sifted slowly down again, drawn 
by gravity.

Agents Mulder and Scully must have materialized while Jason 
was caught in the confusion of his past and future lives. He'd 
missed their arrival by only a second or two, he was sure. 
They were standing with shaken expressions, facing Beck, 
Linden and Kaback, who looked equally dazed. Scully was 
wearing an oversized leather jacket and a fur skirt. Mulder 
was dressed in a loincloth, of all things. His face was 
darkened by an unkempt beard, which made him look fiercer than 
the clean-shaven Air Force officers and far more primitive 
than Jason remembered him. He held a gun in his right hand, 
which he raised and aimed at the General. His arm was shaking 
badly, but his stance was fixed and his shoulders squared.

Jason found himself wishing Mulder would fire point blank and 
drop all three lunatics right where they stood. Not that it 
would solve anything -- an entire base of airmen was waiting 
just outside the door.

Already, half a dozen armed guards were scurrying in, 
surrounding the agents with rifles and shouting: "Put down the 
weapon!"

Mulder lowered and relinquished the gun with obvious 
reluctance. Jason hissed with disappointment. "They'll be 
coming for us next, you know," he told Lisa.

"I'm scared," she whimpered.

He took hold of her hand. "Me, too."

"I don't want my memories erased." Her fingers trembled 
beneath his. "M-maybe they'll leave us alone. We could promise 
not to tell anyone."

"They have no reason to trust us."

"We could say we've discovered something new about the 
Project, something important that would--"

Colonel Beck's finger targeted them behind the windshield. 
Four guards peeled away from the squad and scurried toward the 
craft.

"You said it yourself, Lisa -- they don't need us anymore. 
We've proved time travel is possible and now our data is right 
there in the computer for them to use."

"Delete it."

"There isn't time."

The sound of boot heels on metal was followed by the 
appearance of two guards in the cabin door.

"Come with us," demanded the shorter of the two, his M-16 
leaving no room for argument.

Jason powered off the ship's computer and reluctantly rose to 
follow them out. 

*   *   *

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

For the past three months Scully had worn little more than a 
fur skirt and a silk bra, feeling perfectly at ease in her 
scanty attire. But beneath the glare of modern-day 
fluorescents, she became the center of attention for a dozen 
gawping airmen, and their unwelcome stares made her blush 
hotly. She hugged Mulder's jacket across her chest and kept 
her eyes aimed at the floor.

She and Mulder were being escorted at gunpoint down a long 
hall in a non-descript, one-story building, a five-minute jeep 
ride from the hangar where they'd first appeared. The tile 
floor chilled her bare feet and she shivered as they passed 
dozens of closed, windowless doors. The odors of bleach and 
ammonia hung thickly in the air, prickling her sinuses, 
reminding her of the psychiatric ward of Calumet Mercy 
Hospital where Mulder was held only a few days before they'd 
left for Utah. Security cameras, spaced every ten yards on the 
ceiling, tracked their progress.

"How 'bout we skip the brainwashing this time, Captain, and go 
straight to our bon voyage party?" Mulder asked.

Stone-faced and silent, the Captain ignored him. 

"I was kinda hoping to get home in time for Ally McBeal," 
Mulder added.

The guards herded them forward, their boots clomping in 
unison. Mulder walked out of step, his near-nakedness looking 
incongruous next to the uniformed men. He remained as close to 
Scully as the M16s would allow, and she appreciated his 
obvious desire to protect her. Three months ago she would have 
acted irritated by his hovering, but now she demonstrated her 
gratitude by taking hold of his hand in full view of the 
airmen.

Thanks to her visions, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt 
that she and Mulder were destined to be together. A "brain 
drain," as he called it, would only postpone their reunion, 
not prevent it. She lamented the precious time that would be 
lost while they fumbled toward intimacy all over again, but 
she was certain that, in the end, they would be together.

The guards came to a halt at a security checkpoint. The 
Captain used a key card to open the locked door. On the other 
side was an identical hall.

Twin rifles prodded the agents forward.

"Watch where you're poking that thing," Mulder growled, and 
proceeded down the corridor.

A minute or two later, the squad stopped again, this time in 
front of a windowless, unnumbered door. The Captain unlocked 
and opened it. "Get in," he ordered.

Mulder hesitated and Scully peered past his shoulder into the 
room. It was about twelve feet square and devoid of 
furnishings or windows. The walls were white. A security 
camera surveyed the interior from an upper corner. The door 
had no knob on the inside.

"There's obviously been a mistake -- we requested the 
honeymoon suite." Mulder's wisecrack earned him a jab in the 
ribs with a rifle, which forced him across the threshold.

Scully was shoved in behind him, and the door was shut and 
locked.

"Damn it." She pivoted with hands on her hips, eyes exploring 
the ceiling and walls. 
 
There was no removable air vent, no lock to pick, and, with 
the exception of the door, no possible means of escape.

Mulder rubbed his bruised ribs. "Welcome back to the future, 
Scully."

She eyed the security camera and wondered if they could be 
heard as well as seen. Deciding it didn't matter, she asked, 
"Mulder, what do you remember about Yellow Base?"

"Yellow Base?"

"At Ellens. The Budahas case."

"Uh...not much. Which I guess was the point."

"How do you think they did it? Made you forget."

"Drugs."

"Not surgery?" The idea of someone cutting into her brain 
unnerved her. She couldn't help but think of Mary LeFante's 
MRIs, taken after Gerry Schnauz had lobotomized her with a 
leucotome.

"You picked me up just a few hours after I got there. No time 
for surgery. Right?"

"Not using conventional methods. You didn't have any 
noticeable incisions."

He raked his fingers through his hair as if checking for 
overlooked scars. "What do you remember?"

"I remember being ditched at the Beech Grove Hotel." She 
leveled a stare at him.

"Oh...uh...ditched? That's a bit of an exaggeration, don't you 
think?"

"What do you call it when you run off on your own and leave me 
behind?"

"Mmm...independent investigation?"

"Well, whatever...I rescued you anyway."

"And I appreciate that, Scully, I do."

Turning her attention to the walls, she edged around the 
room's perimeter, hoping to discover a hidden means of escape. 
"You were gone overnight. I picked you up shortly after 7:00 
in the morning. You were disoriented. Your speech was slurred. 
Pupils dilated. You asked me how you got there."

"I don't remember any of that."

"You smelled funny."

"Funny?"

She ran her hand over a crack in the plaster and was 
disappointed to find it was just an ordinary crack. 
"Like...chemicals, drugs."

"Anything you recognized?"

"No."

"Well, I don't see what difference it makes how they took my 
memories. The end result was the same -- I don't remember 
anything about Yellow Base, about how I got there or what I 
saw. It's a complete blank." He came up behind her and placed 
his hands on her shoulders, stilling her restless search for a 
way out. "It didn't hurt. It was just...disconcerting."

She spun to face him. "I don't trust these people, Mulder. We 
don't know who they are or what kind of training they've had. 
Their motives are questionable, their techniques experimental. 
I don't want some quack carving into my brain...or yours. It 
scares the hell out of me." 

*   *   *

"Don't do this," Jason begged. "Please." His eyes darted from 
Pearsall to Stroehmer. Neither man seemed to be listening. 

Pearsall drove a needle into his arm and attached an IV. 
Stroehmer sorted drugs at a nearby counter. Lisa was lying on 
the next bed, already unconscious, hooked to monitors, her 
skin ghostly pale. A rift of worry creased her brow even in 
her sleep.

Jason struggled against the bindings that bit into his wrists 
and ankles. He was stripped naked. Cold, amber liquid crawled 
into his veins through the IV, making his arm throb. "Stop, 
please. You don't know what you're doing."

Pearsall gave him an unsympathetic smile. "Try to stay calm, 
Mr. Nichols. Everything will be fine."

"No, no it won't. Not unless you do something."

"Do what?"

"End the Project...end the time travel experiments. You're 
going to kill everyone," he warned. "You're going to end the 
world. Stop Beck. Stop *him* before it's too late." Jason 
craned to get a better view of Stroehmer. "I know what you 
are!" he shouted to the Butcher.

Stroehmer crossed the room, hypodermic in hand. He bent over 
Jason and smiled, exposing a silver eyetooth. Half his face 
was stained purple with a vascular malformation; the other 
half was ashen, the skin papery and too thin. "I'm a doctor, 
young man."

"You destroy people's minds."

"You're mistaken. I'm a military surgeon, perfectly qualified 
to do what I do." Stroehmer injected his neck.

Almost immediately, Jason felt his tongue thicken. Pins and 
needles prickled his palms and the soles of his feet. Panic 
hammered his chest. "Stop him," he begged Pearsall, before a 
mask was fitted over his mouth and nose.

The Butcher cackled, causing the folds of his neck to vibrate. 
He squirted stinging drops into Jason's eyes.

The world blurred. Stroehmer's laugh clanged inside his ears, 
sounding hollow and cruel and too damn close. He could no 
longer see Lisa or Pearsall.

It's over, he thought. I've failed. I didn't end the Project. 

Defeat sucked him into the shadows. Dread squeezed his heart, 
while his last shred of hope vanished into a swirling mist of 
fading memory.

*   *   *

"What's taking so goddamn long?" Mulder paced the room again. 
They'd been cooling their heels for the better part of two 
hours. He pounded his fist against the wall and shouted at the 
surveillance camera "Get on with it already!"

"Are you really in such a hurry to have them come after us?" 
Scully was standing in the middle of the room, watching him 
with arms crossed. 

Swathed in his oversized coat, she looked small and 
vulnerable. He recognized fear behind her irritation.

"There may be some benefits to it, Scully."

"To what? Losing our memories?"

"Yes."

"Such as...?"

"Not everything that happened to us during the last three 
months is worth remembering."

She inhaled sharply. The sound was something between a gasp 
and a sigh. "The swap."

"Yes."

"I told you he didn't hurt me."

"I know...but--"

"But nothing! It's over, Mulder. Don't make it more than it 
was."

"Scully, I--"

"I wasn't traumatized. I'm not emotionally crippled. Can't you 
just drop it?"

"No."

"No?" She was clearly struggling to maintain her composure. 
"I've told you I'm okay. Why can't that be enough for you?"

"Because..." Teeth clenched, fists balled, he was surprised at 
how angry he still felt...at Dzeh...at himself. "Because *I'm* 
not okay." Lingering jealousy burned his throat. Unable to 
stop himself, he grabbed her, wrapped her in a crushing 
embrace, and audibly forced the air from her lungs. "Scully, I 
don't think I can ever forgive myself for what happened. 
Allowing another man to touch you...that way... I want to 
forget it. I want you to forget it. It'll be a relief to never 
think about it again."

She said nothing as he tried to steady his breathing. Only 
when her arms slid around his waist did his desperation begin 
to ebb.

"I know," she soothed, rubbing his back. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

"If I lose my memories of Dzeh, that means I lose my memories 
of you, too." She sounded close to tears. "I-I don't want your 
love taken away from me."

"No one can do that, Scully. I loved you before we went back 
in time. I love you now. I will love you for the rest of my 
life. I don't have to remember it -- it just is." He loosened 
his bear hug, but kept her within the circle of his arms, his 
chin resting on the crown of her head. After a moment he said, 
"I saw him."

"Dzeh?" 

"No, William."

"Our baby?" She drew back, eyes burning with eager curiosity.

"He wasn't exactly a baby." He decided to skip the part where 
their son walked in on them while they were making love. "He 
asked me for the car keys." 

"The car--? Mulder, when did this--"

The door suddenly slapped open, banging on the outside wall, 
startling them apart. The Captain, flanked by his guards, 
hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Let's go."

"Where to?" Mulder corralled Scully protectively in the curve 
of his arm.

"Showers." 

"No thanks. We're fine."

"It's not negotiable."

The guards lifted and aimed their guns.

"I guess I could use a bath." Mulder guided Scully into the 
corridor. 

They were escorted several doors down to a washroom, where 
Scully paused at the door, evidently brought up short by the 
international symbol for "men." 

"Inside," the Captain insisted.

She did as she was told, pushing open the door and entering 
the room. Mulder and the others followed her inside. 

The washroom was divided into three sections: lavatory up 
front, lockers beyond that, and showers at the back. It 
resembled a typical high school locker room, except for the 
fact that it was antiseptically clean.

They walked through to the back, where a dozen showerheads 
projected from a tiled wall. 

"Airman Taylor will take your clothes." The Captain nodded at 
an expressionless young man with blond bristle and a deeply 
cleft chin.

Taylor stepped toward Scully.

Mulder's arm shot out, stopping him. "Back off."

Immediately the Captain's pistol pressed into his cheek.

Mulder met the Captain's unwavering stare. "How about giving 
the lady some privacy?" He nearly choked on the next word. 
"Sir."

Squinting with suspicion, the Captain thought for a moment, 
then relented and lowered his weapon. "You've got ten minutes. 
We'll be waiting outside."

On the Captain's order, the men retreated to the hall.

"Thank you," Scully whispered, when the guards were gone. She 
undressed quickly and crossed to the nearest spigot. Fingering 
the gleaming faucet, she said, "I hardly remember how to use 
these." 

"Scully, uh..."

"Hm?"

"Your tattoo..." Using his best Poltergeist II imitation, he 
said, "It's baaack." 

She turned to face him. "So is your scar." Her eyes dropped to 
his thigh. "Both of them." 

He fingered the old wound on his chest. "Whaddaya know? I must 
be so used to it being there, I didn't even notice it'd 
reappeared."

"It answers your question about whether or not our bodies are 
going to revert back to their original forms."  

"Not really." He ran his hand over his beard. "Why do I still 
have this? Or these?" He held out his arms, displaying the 
cuts and bruises he'd received during his fight with Klesh.

She shook her head. "As far as I know, there is no scientific 
explanation for it."

"I told you we'd find an X-File in Utah." He tapped his bare 
wrist. "How we doing on time?"

"Oh!" She glanced at her watch. "Damn it. We're down to seven 
minutes."

He quickly stripped out of his loincloth and joined her at the 
shower.

Twirling the knob, she stepped beneath the streaming jet. He 
moved in behind her.

"I've got your back," he murmured into her ear as he leaned 
past her for a squirt of soap from the hanging dispenser. He 
used it to lather her shoulders and spine.

Her muscles began to unknot beneath his sudsy caress. "Thank 
you again," she said, "for...for everything."

Hot water pounded his neck and arms, making his blood race. Or 
maybe it was the feel of her flushed, wet skin beneath his 
fingers that warmed him. This might be his last opportunity to 
touch her like this -- at least for a while. Might as well 
take advantage of it. All six and a half minutes worth.

"Face me," he said.

"We don't have that kind of time, Mulder."

"It's okay, my intentions are honorable...for the most part." 
He chuckled and reached to fill his palm with shampoo. "Wet 
your hair."

"You, too," she said, evidently understanding what he intended 
to do. 

Together they ducked beneath the spray.

His knees went weak when she began to briskly massage his 
scalp with sweet-smelling shampoo. Then she soaped and 
scrubbed his beard. When she was finished, he reciprocated and 
lathered her hair.

"Mmmm, feels good," she hummed as he rubbed her.

He kissed her beneath the steaming water.

"I promise we'll do this again," he said against her lips, 
"when we have more time."

"I'm going to hold you to that." She wiped soap from his left 
brow. "Turn around and I'll do your back."

As much as he hated to give up the view, he turned away. His 
eyes closed when she ran her hands from his neck to his 
buttocks. Suds crawled down his legs, tickling the backs of 
his knees, swirling around his toes. Fragrant steam heated his 
sinuses, his lungs, the tips of his ears, his closed lids.

"Better rinse," she said. "Our time is almost up."

"Already?" He turned to see her combing soap from her hair 
with her fingers. Her movements were graceful. She glistened 
like a mirage. He'd give anything to hold time still and make 
this moment last. 

"Hurry up, Mulder." 

He quickly rinsed. When he was soap-free, she turned off the 
faucet. Water rained from their hair. "Damn, I don't see any 
towels," she said.

"Great. How are we supposed to dry off?" He swiped at his eyes 
with the backs of his hands and, dripping wet, walked through 
to the locker room. "Captain? Cap--"

The guards burst through the door from the hall, guns held 
high. They aimed at his chest and he raised his hands slowly 
over his head. "You wouldn't shoot a naked man, would you?"

The Captain strode forward. "Time to go. Dr. Stroehmer's 
waiting."

"Who?" Scully appeared behind Mulder, wearing his leather 
jacket.

"Base physician. He just wants to make sure you're okay, 
ma'am."

"Right." She shouldered past him.

The Captain signaled Mulder to follow her.

This is it, Mulder thought as he fell into step, Yellow Base 
all over again. 

*   *   *

Simon Pearsall loved his country. He was proud to serve as an 
esteemed surgeon in the United States Air Force. His record 
was spotless. He'd received numerous commendations, medals, 
and praise from high-ranking officials. Yet as far as he was 
concerned all his good deeds and all his acts of heroism were 
negated the moment he helped Oskar Stroehmer essentially 
lobotomize two civilians under the pretext of protecting 
national security. It shamed him to think he hadn't tried to 
stop it before it was too late and his complicity in 
Stroehmer's experiment was more than he could stomach.

Lisa Ianelli lay on one of the room's four operating tables in 
a permanent vegetative state. Only an hour ago, she had been a 
vibrant, intelligent woman with a lifetime of love and 
achievement ahead of her. A career in science, and perhaps a 
family of her own. Oskar Stroehmer ended all of that when he 
injected her with an overdose of drugs, which expurgated her 
mind and left her with the mental acuity of a twenty-week-old 
fetus.

Jason Nichols had fared slightly better. Stroehmer had 
regressed his mind to that of a preschooler. It was possible 
he still retained a capacity to learn, and might, after a 
time, reacquire his education, if not the benefit of his 
experiences.

The human mind is too delicate for this type of razing, 
Pearsall thought. They had no right to be playing God this 
way. 

He patted Lisa Ianelli's limp hand. "Take her away," he 
ordered the transport crew.

Paramedics covered her with a white cotton blanket and lifted 
her onto a gurney. They did the same with Jason Nichols, who 
was bawling like an infant.

His caterwauling set Pearsall's teeth on edge. Stroehmer was 
at the sink washing his hands, seemingly immune to the 
pathetic cries. Pearsall recalled Nichols' final plea. "Stop 
him," he had implored before Stroehmer put him under.

If only I'd listened, Pearsall lamented.

A commotion at the door drew his attention. Captain Linden was 
there with several armed guards, a petite redheaded woman in a 
black leather coat, and a naked man with wet hair and a pissed 
off expression. They looked familiar, but Pearsall wasn't able 
to place them. 

The naked man was shouting to be heard over Nichols' cries. 
"What the hell did you do?" he demanded, struggling to break 
free from the guards who held his arms.

The woman's eyes were wide with disbelief. One of the airmen 
bullied her across the room, which seemed to enrage the 
shouting man even more.

"Don't touch her!" he howled.

"Get them out of here," Captain Linden ordered the paramedics, 
referring to Nichols and Ianelli. He glared at Pearsall. "I 
was told you'd be finished by now, sir."

Evidently the new patients weren't supposed to see what was in 
store for them.

The lab was in chaos. The shouting man was thrashing so 
violently he knocked into a cart, which hit the counter. 
Surgical instruments clattered to the floor. "Leave her 
alone!" he bellowed when a guard tried to wrestle the woman's 
coat off her. 

She threw a punch. The guard retaliated by shoving her against 
a bed.

The naked man tried to tear free from his captors. "Let go of 
her!"

His shouts were silenced when Stroehmer jabbed a hypodermic 
into his upper arm. The drug had an immediate effect; he 
slumped between the guards. They dragged him to an empty bed.

"Captain, get your men out of here," Pearsall demanded. He 
waited for the room to clear before he went to the woman and 
asked gently, "What's your name?"

"Special Agent Dana Scully. I work for the Federal Bureau of 
Investigation."

The FBI? He glanced at Stroehmer, who shrugged.

"Do you know why you're here?" he asked.

Glaring at him, she stepped backward toward her unconscious 
partner, grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse. "I've been 
told you plan to steal my memories."

"Not quite. The procedure is called SCD -- Selective Cognitive 
Draining."

"It's brainwashing."

"As I said, not quite. But it's true you've seen some things 
you shouldn't and--"

"Don't talk to me like I'm five years old."

"All right," -- he hardened his tone -- "you've witnessed a 
classified military experiment. We can't allow you off the 
Base with that information."

"We didn't see anything. We were sent back in time."

Back in time? Suddenly Pearsall remembered where it was he'd 
seen these two before: right here in this lab, earlier in the 
afternoon during what Stroehmer called a time distortion. 

Dread skittered down his spine.

Everything was becoming clear. The ultramodern lab that had 
replaced his glimpse of the two agents wasn't a figment of his 
imagination or a place that existed...at least, not in the 
present. It was the future. As was his vision of the shocked 
men and women in the lab, secured by restraints, all screaming 
incoherently...like Jason Nichols. Pearsall was beginning to 
understand what Nichols had meant when he'd said, "End the 
Project...end the time travel experiments." Before the young 
scientist's mind was wiped clean, he had begged Pearsall to 
stop Beck and Stroehmer. "You're going to kill everyone," he'd 
warned. "You're going to end the world."

These weren't the ravings of a terrified man, as Pearsall had 
originally thought. They were the truth. 

Beck and his minions were playing with fire. Somehow they'd 
discovered a way to manipulate time. Only...they must have 
messed up. The experiment had evidently gone awry, sending the 
agents back in time.

And now Pearsall was helping Stroehmer cover up the blunder.

He glanced again at Stroehmer. The man held up a hypo, 
indicating he wanted to get started.

Haunted by the images of screaming men and women, Pearsall 
tried to control the tremor in his hands. 

"Don't worry, Miss Scully."

"Is that what you told Jason Nichols?"

"You'll be fine." Would he be able to stop Stroehmer before he 
went too far? "Please, try to relax." 

*   *   *

Her most recent memories were the first to go. It was 
impossible to pinpoint the exact moment they disappeared, but 
it happened sometime after Scully felt a needle prick her 
inner elbow. An IV was inserted. Anesthesia began to nibble 
away at her consciousness, making her fingers numb and her 
limbs too weighty to lift. A mask was fitted over her mouth 
and nose, allowing cool air to flood her sinuses, thickening 
her tongue and fogging her mind. She closed her eyes, but they 
were pried open a moment later by gloved fingers. Drops were 
inserted and she blinked against their sting. She tried to 
focus, wanting to locate Mulder in the next bed, but her 
pupils were dilating, and the room became too bright to see.

"Mmmmuller..." Had she called his name aloud?

A pair of rough hands rearranged her legs. Electrodes were 
taped to her chest, icy at first but then quickly forgotten 
when other less pleasant sensations taunted her nerves. A 
puncture to the back of her hand. Pressure in her throat. Was 
she being intubated?

She imagined drills penetrating her cranium, allowing the 
insertion of needle-thin scalpels, which would be used to 
excise her memory one microscopic synapse at a time. She 
almost hoped her captors would take such a careful, methodical 
approach, rather than hacking indiscriminately, like Gerry 
Schnauz hunting for Howlers.

Whatever the process, she worried it would be frightening. 
Like the way the first stages of dementia are for Alzheimer's 
patients, when they are still aware of their failing 
cognition, but frustrated by their limited ability to recall 
facts and events.

In the end, it turned out to be nothing like she expected. 
There was no snip-snip-snipping of brain cells, resounding 
inside her skull like Mulder's wire cutters clipping a hole 
through the Base's chain link fence. The images from her past 
didn't fade away, blur or wink out. The process wasn't 
comparable to flicking off a light switch or tearing out the 
pages of a book.  

Instead she was reminded of a time when she stayed late in 
Conference Room C, long after the other agents had left 
Skinner's briefing. She was seated at a sun-drenched mahogany 
table, leafing through autopsy reports, and the room was so 
quiet she could hear the wall clock ticking. Skinner's 
secretary arrived to clear the team's abandoned coffee cups 
and gather up the pens and pads of paper. Arlene tiptoed 
around the room, trying her best to be unobtrusive. But, 
caught off-guard by the faint, unexpected smell of the 
secretary's freshly ironed clothes, Scully looked up, her 
concentration broken. She stared at the crisp, bright creases 
in Arlene's snowy sleeves, and noticed her nails were pink and 
neatly manicured. One stray hair wavered out of place at her 
part as she walked to the white board to erase Skinner's 
notes. Place names, chronology, and a list of victims, coded 
in shades of red, purple and green -- colors too cheerful to 
represent a killer's wicked intentions -- disappeared beneath 
her silent eraser one by one, until the board was restored to 
its original, pristine innocence.

Dr. Stroehmer used a potent combination of drugs to erase 
Scully's memories. As each recollection vanished there was no 
way to know it had ever been there. Whole thoughts became no 
thoughts at all. Scully didn't miss them. Their going caused 
her no torment. It was impossible to grieve something that 
seemed to have never existed in the first place. Like asking a 
man born blind if he missed his sight.

Incrementally, painlessly, the Ice Age was expunged from her 
consciousness. Every past event, every feeling, every insight 
into the future was meticulously wiped clean, and her 
knowledge of Mulder's love vanished along with the rest.

*   *   *

HILL AIR FORCE BASE 
MAY 15, 1998 
7:28 AM 

Colonel Beck fought the urge to pace. He stood on the shoulder 
of the road beside the opened front door of the agents' rental 
car. His driver waited at the rear bumper, eyes trained east. 
The Crown Vic had been washed and waxed, its tank filled. New 
keys had been cut before it was moved out of storage -- 
apparently the originals were lost somewhere in the past. The 
car was returned to the exact location where Captain Linden's 
security team had discovered it the morning after the bungled 
flight test. Jesus, that was only two days ago. It seemed like 
a fucking lifetime.

Heat rippled up from the pavement despite the early hour, 
baking right through the soles of the Colonel's spit-shined 
boots. Sweat oozed from beneath the brim of his hat. 

"Here they come, sir." Beck's driver nodded at an approaching 
jeep.

Sunlight backlit the vehicle, making it impossible to see who 
was inside. If there was a God in Heaven, Captain Linden would 
be at the wheel with the two FBI agents in the seats behind 
him.

Pearsall's report had arrived on Beck's desk an hour ago and 
indicated the SCD had been a success. Evidently the agents 
remembered nothing about trespassing on Base property or their 
detour into the past. Yet their other memories remained 
miraculously intact.  

Nichols and Ianelli hadn't been so fortunate and the loss 
weighed heavily on Beck. Although his specialists assured him 
they could continue the time travel experiments, using the 
data collected by Nichols during the retrieval of the agents, 
he knew the Project would move at a snail's pace without the 
two civilian scientists.

The jeep pulled to the side of the road and parked behind the 
rental car. Captain Linden climbed out, marched up to Beck, 
and saluted.

"They're all set, sir."

"Then get them on their way."

"Yes, sir."

The Captain signaled to Beck's driver, who went to the rear of 
the jeep and removed the agents' overnight bags. He loaded 
them into the trunk of the Crown Vic, beside Agent Mulder's 
wire cutters. Then he returned to escort the passengers to 
their car.  

"Lady's out cold, sir," he said.

"Help him, Captain," Beck ordered.

Captain Linden joined the airman and together they hauled 
Agent Scully from the jeep. She was wearing a change of 
clothes from her overnight bag. Her head lolled when they 
lifted her. Beck could see Mulder watching them, eyes 
blinking, mouth open. He was shaking his head, but seemed 
glued to his seat.  

Linden and the airman carried Scully to the car and worked her 
into the front. Beck shut the trunk. The noise startled a 
snake out from beneath the vehicle. It must have been looking 
for respite from the godawful heat and crawled into the 
shadows. Beck watched it skate into the weeds, where it 
disappeared.  

Just like the clues to the agents' recent whereabouts, he 
thought. Care had been taken to eliminate all evidence that 
might prove they'd been anywhere but right here. The Black Sox 
baseball cap had been destroyed -- although after seeing the 
strange garments the agents were wearing when they returned, 
Beck wasn't altogether sure they'd been watching ballgames in 
the 30s. Their absurd fur clothes were burned along with the 
cap. 

They were allowed to keep most everything else: cell phones, 
the Smith and Wesson, a pair of binoculars, and the few other 
items Mulder had been carrying in the pockets of his worn 
leather coat...including a delicate gold necklace and a 
strange bone carving.

Beck assumed additional items, like the car keys, must have 
been lost in the past. Agent Scully was carrying no gun. She 
was wearing a wristwatch, but Mulder was not. Neither agent 
had shoes, or any other modern apparel, except for the one 
jacket. Beck hoped that whatever they'd left behind wouldn't 
cause serious repercussions.

Linden helped Mulder out of the jeep. The agent was dressed in 
slacks, shirt and necktie. His face was clean-shaven, his hair 
neatly trimmed to match his file photo. Guided by the Captain 
and the airman, he walked stiffly, occasionally tripping over 
his own feet. His eyes were glassy and his expression dazed. 
The drugs would wear off soon enough; in ten or fifteen 
minutes he'd be alert enough to drive. 

Mulder pointed a drifting finger at Beck as he stumbled past. 
"Y'woan giddaway wi'thisss," he warned before the men dumped 
him unceremoniously into the driver's seat.

"You're wrong, Agent Mulder," -- Beck turned away and headed 
for Linden's waiting jeep -- "we already have." 

*   *   *

2630 HEGAL PLACE, APT. 42
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
TWO DAYS LATER
7:36 AM

"I've seen ghouls and hobgoblins and witches..." Mulder sang 
while he showered. "And some moth-eaten werewolves with 
fangs..." He grabbed the soap and lathered his armpits for the 
third time. He couldn't remember ever enjoying a shower so 
much. Except... 

A vision of Scully beneath steaming spray, naked and soapy and 
sexy, came to him like a recent memory. For just a moment he 
swore he could feel her slick, heated skin beneath his palms.

"Naahhh." He shrugged it off. It was one of his favorite 
fantasies. He must have dreamt it last night. 

"There were creatures that chattered and others that 
clattered..." Squeaky clean he let the water run, pounding his 
neck and spine. The tenant in 44 was going to be pissed when 
she discovered he'd used up all the hot. "And Japanese 
monsters with bangs."

He turned off the tap and reached around the curtain for a 
towel. "Frankenstein gives me the shakes, and Count Dracula's 
driving me batty..." The towel smelled nice and he attributed 
it to that new "springtime fresh" detergent someone had left 
behind in the laundry room. He dried his arms and chest before 
stepping out onto the mat, which cushioned his feet in a way 
he'd never really appreciated before this morning.

"But they're not on a par..." -- he draped the towel over his 
head and scrubbed -- "with the worst one by far..."

A swipe across the bathroom mirror cleared the steam and he 
stared at his reflection as he deadpanned the final line, "The 
cockroach that ate Cincinnati." 

Out in the bedroom his cell phone rang. He tossed the towel on 
the floor and went to answer it.

"Mulder," he announced when he had the phone trapped between 
shoulder and chin. Back in the bathroom, he grabbed his razor 
and shaving cream. 

"Mulder, it's me."

"Hey, Scully. What's up?" He sprayed foam into his palm. Had 
it always puffed like that? It seemed fluffier than he 
remembered and smelled more...minty. He checked the label on 
the can to assure himself he'd bought his usual brand.

"I'm thinking about getting my tattoo removed."

"That's weird, 'cause I'm thinking about growing a beard." 
Shaving cream at the ready, he faced the mirror and eyeballed 
the stubble on his chin and neck.

"You're kidding."

"Do hairy guys turn you on at all, Scully?"

"Not particularly."

His shoulders slumped and he lathered one cheek, moved his 
phone to the other ear and coated the rest of his face. "Why 
do you want to get rid of your tattoo?" He let the sink fill 
with water.

"It seems...inappropriate now."

He wanted to say it always had struck him as inappropriate, 
but refrained from doing so. Scraping the razor across his 
jaw, he marveled at the smooth stripe of skin it left behind. 
"I thought you said it represented a need to move forward with 
your life."

"That's just it, Mulder. I feel I'm exactly where I should be 
at this point in time."

"What does that mean?"

"It means...nothing. Forget it. That's not why I called."

"Why did you call?" He tilted his head and shaved underneath 
his chin.  

"To tell you I've got an 8:30 meeting this morning."

"Just you? I'm not invited?"

"Apparently not."

"Why's that?" Finished with his razor, he set it on the edge 
of the sink and reached for a hand towel. 

"Maybe because...you don't play well with others?"

"No, really."

"It's possible Skinner is punishing you."

"For what?"

"Do I really need to spell it out? How about disregarding 
Bureau protocol, losing your gun, our badges, and two pairs of 
handcuffs, or, if nothing else, wasting my time?"

"A visit to Seven Peaks Water Park -- 'the place where 
families play in Utah' -- is never a waste, Scully." 

"While we're on the subject, where the hell are my apartment 
keys?"

"I'm guessing with your badge." He used a corner of the towel 
to dig shaving cream out of his left ear.

"The super had to let me in yesterday."

He grimaced at the mirror and wondered if he could hold the 
phone and floss his teeth at the same time. "What's your 
meeting about?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll fill you in as soon as I can," she 
promised before she hung up.

He released the water from the sink and returned to the 
bedroom. Tossing the phone onto the bed, he went to his 
closet. 

"But the worst one it seems," he sang as he slid a gray suit 
from its hanger, "haunting all of my dreams," -- he selected a 
tie -- "is the cockroach that ate Cincinnati." 

*   *   *

FBI HEADQUARTERS
BASEMENT OFFICE
8:21 AM

"I was afraid I'd miss you before you went to your meeting. I 
seem to have lost my watch."

Scully paused at her typing to glance at Mulder as he entered 
the office and crossed to his desk. "I'm guessing it's with 
your badge," she repeated his own words back to him. "No 
beard?"

"Nah. I decided to wait and grow it out when I go on 
vacation."

"You never go on vacation." She double-checked her last line 
of text before saving and closing her document. "You don't 
know the meaning of the word."

"I was thinking I might travel to Maine, maybe go wilderness 
camping, live off the land, do a little fish-- What?"

She couldn't help but stare. Something was different about 
him, yet she couldn't quite put her finger on what. It was 
more than his uncharacteristic yearning to abandon the city 
for the northwoods. Was it something about his face? It looked 
too...too...smooth, and his clothes were too...neatly pressed. 
He seemed...overdressed, somehow, although he was wearing a 
familiar suit. She blinked at his silk tie as if she'd never 
seen one on him before. And the faint scent of his morning 
shower tickled her sinuses in the strangest way -- shampoo, 
aftershave, deodorant, all familiar and yet...not. She was on 
the verge of going over to him and touching his hair where it 
brushed his shirt collar with perfect uniformity. She wanted 
to prove to herself that he was real, not a mirage or daydream 
or whatever it was about him that was giving her goosebumps. 
"Who are you and what have you done with my partner?" she 
half-joked.

A small grin nudged his too smooth cheek as he settled into 
his chair and started sorting through the files on his desk. 
"You don't know me as well as you think you do, Scully."

"Oh no?" The peculiar feeling began to diminish as she watched 
him shuffle papers. She was being silly, imagining things that 
weren't there. She smiled and said, "You'd have to join a 
twelve step program just to go two minutes without your cell 
phone." 

"I only use it because it's available. I could survive just 
fine without modern conveniences -- if I had to." He powered 
up his computer. "As a matter of fact, I bet I could outlast 
you."

"In your dreams." She checked her watch. "Damn, I'm late." She 
stood and gathered her files. She was halfway to the door 
before she remembered the carving. "Oh, I meant to ask you..." 
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the small figurine. 
It was made of bone or ivory, and it reminded her of the 
primitive carvings she'd seen in Dr. Diamond's anthropology 
classes as an undergrad. 

She crossed the room and set it on the desk in front of him. 
"That yours?"

He picked it up and twirled it between his fingers. "No. Where 
did you get it?"

"I found it in my overnight case. You don't recognize it?"

"It looks like a fertility idol, like the Venus of 
Willendorf."

"Yes, but where did it come from?"

"Don't look at me. I'm not trying to get pregnant." He started 
to give it back, then evidently changed his mind and hung onto 
it, caressing its voluptuous curves, pendulous breasts and 
swollen belly with his thumb. 

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"It feels...warm."

"Well, it's been in my pocket."

"Hm. Can I borrow it?" He sounded distracted.

"Sure. What are you going to do with it?"

"I know a guy at the Smithsonian. I'd like him to take a look 
at it...see if it's the real deal."

"Mulder, it's a reproduction. It has to be."

"Maybe." He set it back on his desk. "I'll let you know."

"Fine. I have to go." She headed for the door.

"Oh...wait." He stood and fished into his pants pocket. "Um, I 
believe this is yours."

Her necklace dangled from his fingers.

"Where did you find it?"

"It was in the pocket of my leather jacket...which looks like 
crap by the way." He came around the desk. "The clasp was 
broken, so I stopped at Friedman's yesterday and got it 
fixed."

She waited while he hooked it around her neck. Her fingers 
went immediately to the tiny cross. "Thank you, Mulder. That 
was a thoughtful thing for you to do."

"I figured I owed you...you know...for dragging you to Utah."

"Mulder, about that. I don't exactly remember..."

"Remember...?"

It embarrassed her to admit it, but she remembered almost 
nothing about their trip. "Mulder, what happened in Utah?"

"We drove to Hill Air Force Base and..."

"And what?"

"Uh...fell asleep in the car?"

"For two days? Mulder, we arrived in Salt Lake City on the 
13th."

"And woke up in the car the morning of the 15th. Mm, I know. 
I've been wondering about that myself. I have a theory, if you 
care to hear it."

She glanced again at her watch. "Make it quick."

"Remember the Budahas case?"

"Ellens Air Force Base, our second case together... 
Wait...you're not going to suggest what I think you're going 
to suggest."

"Two words, Scully. Brain drain."

"No. I've got to go." She headed for the door.

"Then what's your explanation?" he asked, bringing her up 
short at the threshold. "And don't give me that folie a deux 
crap again."

The truth was, she didn't have a logical explanation. And 
she'd been trying to come up with one for the last two days. 
"I'll have to get back to you on it," she said, and hurried 
from the room. Missing a day or two certainly wasn't the 
strangest thing that had ever happened to her and Mulder, but 
it was disconcerting just the same. 

She jogged to the elevator, her mind already switching gears 
to the meeting upstairs.

*   *   *

The elevator hummed beneath her high-heeled shoes as she 
watched the floor numbers rise. Alone in the car, Scully 
reviewed Skinner's case. The background information that he'd 
sent down to her this morning described a sniper hit on a 
Russian chess player named Anatole Klebanow during a world 
championship match in British Columbia. The shooter worked for 
the National Security Agency, which was why the FBI was 
involved. It wasn't an X-File, which could explain why Skinner 
might not assign Mulder to the case, but then why had he 
tagged her for the investigative team? Maybe the A.D.'s 
reluctance to invite Mulder had more to do with his recent 
stay in a psychiatric ward than with the specifics of the 
Vancouver shooting. Or maybe Skinner was still pissed about 
Mulder's unauthorized trip to Utah. 

The elevator came to a stop on the third floor to pick up more 
passengers. Scully edged to the back as Agents Spender, 
Edwards and Maier blustered inside, clipboards in hand and 
scowls on their faces.

"Hold the door, please," a woman called from the hall behind 
them. Spender held out an arm to prevent the door from sliding 
shut. "Sorry," the woman apologized as she hurried inside. Her 
perfume flooded the car and she brushed her dark hair into 
place with a quick swipe of her fingers.

Scully didn't recognize her, but there was something familiar 
about her just the same. She was tall and a few years older 
than Scully. She stood with her head tipped slightly back, 
giving her a haughty demeanor. Her suit was well tailored and 
looked expensive. It showed off her busty figure and long legs 
-- the type of legs that always attracted Mulder's attention. 
Her nails were well manicured, her lipstick freshly applied. 
She wore a Bureau ID, but the glare from the elevator's 
overhead light prevented Scully from reading it.

The woman caught her staring.

Scully forced a polite smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." 
For some reason she disliked this woman on sight, although she 
had no excuse for it. Nothing but a vague sense of deja vu 
that was making her feel uneasy and inexplicably...what? 
Jealous? That was ridiculous. She didn't even know the woman. 
Did she? "Do we know each other?"

"I don't think so." The woman extended her hand. Her 
expression remained stern. "I'm Agent Fowley."

"Agent Scully," she identified herself. "I swear we--"

The elevator dinged, indicating their floor. The doors slid 
open and everyone shuffled into the corridor. 

"Nice to meet you." Agent Fowley nodded crisply, before 
turning toward the briefing room.    

*   *   *

BASEMENT OFFICE
8:47 AM

Mulder returned from the men's room to find Skinner flipping 
through a file folder. The A.D. hadn't brought it with him; it 
was the file for the Pincus case, which had been lying on 
Mulder's desk. His internal warning bells began clanging. 
Skinner rarely made his way down to the basement. The A.D. had 
purposely excluded him from whatever was going on upstairs, 
and yet here he was poking around.

"Wow, you know you're going places in the Bureau when the 
Assistant Director tidies up your office for you. What's up?"

Skinner smiled sheepishly. "I was just, uh...looking."

"For anything special?" Mulder stepped into the room.

"I came down to ask you something. I, uh, I guess I was nosing 
around...wondering about you...your, uh, long-term plans."

"My long-term plans? You've got them right there in your 
hands." He took the folders from the A.D., who relinquished 
them without argument. Mulder crossed to the file cabinet and 
cracked open the drawer.

"What do you hope to find?" Skinner asked. "I mean, in the 
end."

"Whatever I hope to find is in here." He waggled the folders 
before dropping them into the drawer. "And maybe I'll know it 
when I find it. Is that what you came to ask me?"

There had to be more. Skinner never asked stuff like this.

"No. There's a case - nothing I'd send you normally - a 
murder...the assassination of a Russian chess player. The 
shooter is former National Security Agency...one of ours. It's 
got a lot of people upset. This kid, Jeffery Spender - 
Special Agent Spender - he's been given the case. He's 
running it."

This surprised Mulder.

"You give it to him?"

"No. It came as an order from somewhere outside the Bureau," 
Skinner said, making it clear that he wasn't punishing Mulder 
by denying him access to the briefing. "His team's assembled 
upstairs right now. He was very specific that you be 
excluded."

Mulder couldn't hide his smile. "Looks like I've got a party 
to crash."

The A.D. nodded. "Just remember you didn't hear anything from 
me."

"You know me, sir. I can be quiet as a church mouse...when I 
have to be." 

He headed for the door, feeling cocky and optimistic. There 
was a fresh conspiracy to uncover and A.D. Skinner was in his 
corner this time around. Now if he could just get Scully to 
admit that she'd seen the cockroach that ate Cincinnati in his 
room at Calumet Mercy Hospital last week, life would be damn 
near perfect.  

x-x-x-x-x

EPILOGUE

OFFICE OF THE LONE GUNMEN
COLLEGE PARK, MD
THREE WEEKS LATER

"Got it!" Langly announced. "Our headliner for next month's 
issue."

"What d'you find?" Frohike stood at the stove, stirring a pot 
of black bean soup. A few steps away, Byers was peeling an 
avocado.

"Check it out." Langly carried his laptop into the 
kitchenette. He tapped the monitor and smiled proudly. On the 
screen was one of his favorite community message boards. 
"Voila!" 

"Reliable source?" Byers asked without looking.

"D'uhhh, yeah -- paranormal.com."

"Read it to us," Frohike said, glasses steamed by the heating 
soup.

"The thread was started by 'not_alone'--"

"Old Faithful," interrupted Byers.  

"It's in the UFO Forum--"

"Always a treasure trove," said Frohike, nodding approval.

"It starts out: 'They're here. Or to be more precise, they 
*were* here. Archeologists recently unearthed incontrovertible 
evidence of ancient extraterrestrials in a cave in 
northwestern Utah. Ice Age petroglyphs, carbon-dated 11,550 
B.P. and depicting common modern day items such as a bicycle 
and a television set, were found alongside traditional Paleo-
Indian images of mastodons and saber-toothed cats. This one 
ain't no hoax, folks!'" Langly turned the laptop toward them. 
"Feast your eyes on this, dudes...there's a photo."   

Frohike stopped his stirring to wipe his glasses and study the 
unlikely petroglyph: an image of a television set with a spear 
through its screen. "Wow. Is that for real?"

"One hundred percent."

"Wait'll Mulder sees it." He returned to his cooking. "I say 
we run it."

Byers shook his head. "Forget it, guys. It can't be genuine."

"Looks real," Langly said.

"So did the Piltdown Man." Byers reached for a tomato. "We 
don't need that kind of embarrassment. We've got a reputation 
to uphold. I say we wait until we've had a chance to 
thoroughly check it out. If it's the real deal, we'll run it 
next month."

"Byers is right," Frohike agreed, blinded again by steam. 
"It's not too likely ancient extraterrestrial astronauts 
watched TV." 

"Fine. Whatever. We'll wait...and miss the scoop of the 
century." Langly hit his back button and the petroglyph 
vanished. 

*   *   *

YE-TSAN CAVE
SEASON OF THE HOWLING WOLF

"Auntie Gini, tell us a story," whined Dibeh, Klizzie's eldest 
girl. Her pleading eyes were as big as goose eggs.

"Yes, a story, Mama, please, please!" Tse-Le jumped up and 
down on the balls of his small feet.

Content to be surrounded by her family, Gini stirred the coals 
in the hearth and added another stick of wood. This was their 
thirteenth winter in Ye-tsan Basin. Their village was small, 
but growing. Eight large shelters currently lined the 
riverbank below the cave. The occupants were an unexpected mix 
from various clans, linked by a common desire to start anew, 
more than by any long-standing blood ties.

"Stowwy, peese?" begged Yo-Ih, the younger, yet more outspoken 
of Gini's two children.

Unable to resist her little girl's demands, Gini drew Yo-Ih 
into her lap and gave her a hug. The toddler looked so much 
like her father the sight of her could steal Gini's breath 
away. Yo-Ih had Chal's sly grin, his determined chin and 
mischievous hazelnut eyes.

Gini glanced across the cave at Chal, who was sitting beside 
Dzeh at the windbreak. The men relaxed with their backs to the 
half wall, while they talked in genial tones about the proper 
way to knap chert into spear points. Dzeh massaged the deep 
scar at his temple as he pondered Chal's latest innovative 
ideas.

"A new story or an old one?" Gini asked the children.

"A new one," Dibeh said, her sewing needle held mid-stitch. 

"No, no. An old one! Tell the one about the magic medicine 
necklace and the secret words!" Tse-Le begged.

Gini fingered the totem at her neck. Muhl-dar had been right; 
the necklace had brought her good luck. She had survived the 
awful Yellow Sickness, and five summers later, she became 
Joined with Chal.

Sharing Chal's sleeping skins had turned out to be 
surprisingly pleasant, not disgusting and painful, as she had 
once feared. He was a wonderful mate, fair-minded, generous 
and affectionate. The Spirits evidently thought so, too, 
because they had blessed him with two healthy, cheerful 
children. A third, due in the spring, was turning somersaults 
in her belly right now.  

"Tell us about the day Snake Spirit came to Turkey Lake," said 
Nilchi, Klizzie's firstborn, the son who had been growing in 
her womb during that frightening time. Now he was a handsome 
youngster, recently Promised to a girl in Otter Clan. He sat 
cross-legged beside the hearth, carving a pretty hair comb to 
give to her as a Joining gift.

Klizzie and Ho-Ya sat on either side of him, softening deer 
hides. Ho-Ya was an old woman now, her face deeply lined and 
her hair snowy white. Her mate, Chal's father, had died four 
winters ago, a few months before Tse-Le was born. Ho-Ya's 
swollen hands often pained her on cold days like this one, but 
she still managed to work hides until they were as soft as 
chicks' down.

Lin had passed into the Spirit World, too, after a fall 
through thin ice at Tacheene River last spring. He was sorely 
missed, as a hunter and a leader. His two sons, able hunters 
and wise men in their own right, lived with their mates and 
children in the shelter beside Gini's.    

Shortly after settling in Ye-tsan, Lin had wanted to designate 
the cave as a place where the men could offer prayers, but 
Gini had insisted it be available to all people. Since she had 
been the one to lead them to it in the first place, Chal sided 
with her, and Ye-tsan Cave became a communal area where the 
entire Clan could gather to celebrate special occasions, sing 
songs, offer prayers, or just tell stories.

"Gini, tell us one of the old Eel Clan tales," Klizzie 
suggested.  

"Stowwy 'bout baby Sam come home!" Yo-Ih demanded.

"But I have told that story more times than I can count," Gini 
said.

"Tell it again," Tse-Le begged. 

The other children grew excited and chanted, "Yes, yes! Tell 
it again." 

"All right." Gini hushed them. "I will tell it."

Tse-Le clapped his hands and skipped around the hearth. His 
exuberance caused lively shadows to dance across the cave's 
walls. Countless carved images appeared to come to life in the 
flickering firelight. The pictures included representations of 
family and Clan members, as well as every kind of animal found 
in the Basin. These traditional paintings had been fitted 
around and in between Muhl-dar's old drawings, which showed 
wondrous things like bicycles and TVs and foreign games called 
baseball and Kick the Can and Hide and Go Seek. The pictures 
reminded Gini of the many pleasant evenings she had lain 
beneath her beaver blanket, listening to Muhl-dar talk in his 
strange Eel language. //"I'll help you," said Horton. "But 
where are you? Where?" He looked and he looked. He could see 
nothing there...//

Gini's eyes grew misty as she recalled her long-ago friends. 
Where was Muhl-dar now? she wondered. And Day-nuh? Were they 
together with the Spirits? 

"Once upon a time," Gini began, savoring the familiar story, 
"there was a boy named Fox who lived with his mother and 
father in an old house by the ocean." 

"What 'howz'?" Yo-Ih interrupted.

"It is like a cave."

"Why not say cave?" 

Yo-Ih's questions had once been Gini's own, and the answers 
felt as comfortable as her old beaver skin blanket. Her summer 
with Muhl-dar and Day-nuh had been a significant one in her 
life, and for as long as she lived she would remember each and 
every detail.

She gave her daughter's hand a gentle squeeze. "A house is not 
a cave...not quite."

"What is it?"

"It is a shelter made of wood, like our smokehouse, only 
bigger."

Yo-Ih nodded, then asked, "What is 'o-shun'?"

How curious the way life repeats itself, Gini thought.

Her journey had brought her full circle, back to her family 
and to Ye-tsan Basin. Yet she was no longer a naive girl of 
eight, hoping to find happiness by running away from her 
troubles. Two compassionate strangers had shown her the truth: 
Happiness requires no arduous search -- it is always within 
reach, wherever you choose to open your heart. 

She kissed her child's dark, flyaway hair. "An ocean is a very 
big lake..."


THE END

Feedback, good or bad, is welcome on this or any of my 
stories. Send comments to nejake@tds.net.

You can find all my fic at 
http://akajake.philedom2k.com/

x-x-x-x-x

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS, AN EFFUSIVE SHOW OF GRATITUDE, AND OTHER 
ASSORTED RAMBLINGS (Be forewarned, this is long.)

"The Mastodon Diaries" contains 81 illustrations and more than 
255,000 words. It's 1500K and took more than 2560 hours over 16 
months to write. It has drawn both praise and criticism in 
public forums and in my mailbox. It has won awards. It has 
spawned flames. To say it has affected me as a writer and a 
person is an understatement of gargantuan proportions.

Was it worth the time and personal energy?

Ohhhh, you gotta know it. Let me tell you why, while I thank 
some of the people who have earned my everlasting gratitude for 
their generous support, encouragement and friendship.

The Beta Team (or MastoBetas, as they are lovingly called): 

Dr. Guts took non-existent time out of her busy schedule as an 
ER surgeon to beta TMD. She kept an eye on Scully's prognoses 
and medical treatments to make sure I didn't sound like a total 
idiot when it came to things like smoke inhalation, Yellow 
Fever and all the other physical torments suffered by the 
characters...mostly Mulder, poor man. Dr. Guts also gently 
advised me that not all of my writing was as smooth as the 
passages about the Clan. It took me eight chapters to really 
understand what she meant, but when I did it was like a light 
bulb came on in my head. I went back and rewrote the earlier 
chapters, trying to apply what I'd learned. Thank you, sweetie, 
for your honesty and guidance!

Jean Helms was part of the MastoBeta Team for only a chapter or 
two before RL snatched her away. Although her stint was brief, 
it proved invaluable to me as a writer. Her professional eye 
caught many of my amateurish habits, and she called me on them, 
until now I think of her every time I'm inclined to use lazy 
sentence fragments, improper punctuation or various other 
writing faux pas. Thank you, Jean, for lending your expertise 
and helping me become a better writer. Thanks, too, for the 
Mastoholics' Anthem. We miss you, hon, and wish you the best.

Jeri stepped in when Jean left. She proved to be not only an 
eagle-eyed beta, but a generous friend, as well. When it 
appeared the Mastoholics group might need to move off Haven, 
she thoughtfully provided a new forum, nicknamed the 
MastoBoard, where TMD readers could find updates and snippets, 
discuss the story, or just talk among friends. Twice she 
rebuilt the board after it crashed and its database was lost. 
Thank you, jeri, for your kindness.

Mimic117, what can I say, except to thank you a million times 
over and shower you with an unending supply of chocolate-
covered Nekkid!Mulders. You have been with me throughout this 
long journey and I am deeply grateful for your beta help and 
your friendship. Not only have you spotted typos, repeated 
words, implied phrases, and plot inconsistencies, you have 
lovingly hit me upside of the head on several occasions to let 
me know in no uncertain terms that my writing "does *not* sound 
goofy." You have bolstered my flagging self-confidence 
innumerable times with your delightful comments to my comments 
to your comments. I'm eager for the day when we might finally 
meet in person so I can wrap my grateful arms around you and 
hug the livin' daylights outta you. You and I are friends for 
the long haul, Twinsy, and nothing could make me happier.

The Readers: 

Virtual hugs to every reader who sent me feedback (especially 
those who were kind enough to point out my errors). Thanks, 
too, to those who posted encouraging words in the public 
forums. 

There are several readers whose encouragement went above and 
beyond the usual. These tremendous gals thoughtfully sent 
detailed feedback after almost every chapter and I want to show 
my appreciation here for their steady encouragement and their 
delightful and often insightful comments. Thank you Char, 
Laura, emmy, sandee, Foxmom, Sandra and Sdani. (My sincerest 
apologies if I've left anyone out.) By the way, if the fandom 
were to hand out trophies for feedback, Sdani would have a 
houseful. She writes the best damn feedback ever, hands down, 
bar none. I've thoroughly enjoyed her running commentaries and 
have adopted her unique method. She's a real gem in the XF 
universe, and I'm sure I'm not the only author who thinks so. 
And CharSquirrel, you've been absolutely eloquent with your 
praise of TMD. I can't tell you what a boost you've given me.

I also owe a special thanks to my long-time friend Jenka, who 
not only responded to every installment of TMD, but also bought 
me rum drinks in Barbados while I lounged on the beach and 
worked on Chapter 17. FYI, Jenka was the first person to ever 
send me a feedback letter for my fanfic. I credit her with 
getting me hooked on this fic writing obsession, which has led 
to my return to the classroom to pursue RL writing. Talk about 
having an impact! MWAH, Jenka! Hope to see you again real soon.

Okay, now for the part where I'm going to get *reeeeally* 
emotional...

The Mastoholics:

OMG, where do I start? This group of caring, funny, supportive, 
beautiful gals have made my TMD experience extraordinary. The 
Mastoholics represent nearly a dozen countries around the 
world, with members aged 15 to "fogey." And yes, I plan to list 
them all, with their badge numbers, so bear with me, skip 
ahead, or hit that back button.

#91 gos, #90 annaK, #89 LoveGilly2, #88 impervious, #87 Anubis, 
#86 Velveteen, #85 Jackie Leaf, #84 usf5678, #83 DialMforMulder 
(also "emfer" or "tulip"), #82 Semantics (or just "Sem"), #81 
devout2David (and "L'il D," too! Congratulations Mr. And Mrs. 
d2D!), #80 piper, #79 dcsmick, #78 Cristina (the youngest 
Masto, "crisy," who puts up with the unsolicited advice of 
several dozen caring Masto "mamas"), #77 Mel, #76 magic-x-1013, 
#75 Laura, #74 Donna, #73 Keva (who managed to get our mascot 
Giganto on the evening news! LOL!), #72 angelhorn, #71 jeri 
(MastoBeta Extraordinaire), #70 monica1013, #69 rogue925 (a 
prolific poster and maker of MastoCookies, she's teaching us 
Finnish), #68 Ritaann, #67 WilDaFox0619 (a.k.a., Sandra or the 
Wild French Woman. She's a Masto, hear her roar!), #66 
enigmatic76 ("enig," always in the lab. Good luck with that 
thesis, sweetie!), #65 Fifee, #64 bfat (busy ropin' cowboys on 
a dude ranch right now, lucky gal), #63 DSUOphelia (or simply 
"DSU"), #62 Vel, #61 Jade_blue_afterglow, #60 Denise217, #59 
Daggoo1, #58 touchstone1121, #57 FatCat ("FC"), #56 
laura_petrie, #55 amyt, #54 Thomas, #53 Libgrl (self-proclaimed 
Masto-nun), #52 Kim23, #51 jensmuse, #50 Kits1013, #49 
NormaDesm1, #48 Mulderlover1, #47 Leogirl, #46 Nusacme ("Nus"), 
#45 Lilybartsrevenge, #44 foxcat (who probably has more 
nicknames than any other Masto: Foxxy, focci, Granville, 
Sundance, etc. She is our beloved bard, writer of the legends 
of MastoLand.), #43 MSRShipper, #42 Nancy, #41 Kim 1013 (or 
"Kimmie," probably the sweetest person I've met in cyberspace), 
#40 PitiX2002, #39 Audu2 (a.k.a., "trixie," "lulu" or the 
"stealth poster." Often the "last Masto standing."), #38 Je 
t'aime, #37 AliceG, #36 HydroJo, #35 kerieo, #34 Radar33X, #33 
Jean Helms (Cin bows to Jean), #32 abeer, #31 Gillians#1fan, 
#30 Eisoj5, #29 Lisa, #28 push, #27 Liz, #26 nezmai 4, #25 
banlu ("be-zonz snapper," the Masto-fogey who keeps her pals 
supplied with KiltFic and photos of well-endowed nekkid men. 
She has taught us the importance of "relaxing."), #24 
ManaPanda13 ("Li'l Miss PomPom"), #23 pghfoxfan ("pgh"), #22 
XsunflowerX (a.k.a., "yello," our ray of sunshine from Down 
Under), #21 and #21a Tali_Abdn and Maia (more about them 
later), #14 shawntaw (Masto-mutt), #13 InfraL, #12 Ana Sedai, 
#10 VaneXa, #9 mimic117 (my adorable Twinsy), #7 Sdani, #6 
tarras (oh, man, I can't wait to meet her and hear her famous 
laugh next October), #4 danax6, and #3 xandria. More about XFMA 
#1 and #2 in just a minute.

It should be noted that a few of the people on this list 
dropped TMD after the infamous Chapter 11, but I wanted to 
acknowledge them anyway, because everything in life is a 
learning experience and it's all valuable.  

A few words about Tali and her beautiful daughter Maia: I was 
only a few chapters into TMD when Tali announced she was 
pregnant. At the time I was toying with the idea of a tragic 
end for the character of Klizzie, intending to kill her off 
while she gave birth to Dzeh's son. It soon became clear I 
couldn't bring myself to do such a heinous thing, not after 
hearing the joy in Tali's posts about her own pregnancy. For 
the first time ever I decided to change my plot, based upon an 
anticipated reaction from readers, primarily Tali. To be 
honest, I don't believe for a minute that Tali would have 
objected to whatever storyline I presented, but *I* no longer 
wanted to end my story so dismally. And I can't tell you how 
glad I am for the timing of Tali's good news. In part because I 
grew to love the character of Klizzie and I believe the story 
was made better by not killing her off. But mostly because Tali 
gave all the Mastos an opportunity to welcome the first 
"MastoBaby," nicknamed "Minnie," into the world. Maia is now 
"niece" to nearly 90 proud Masto Aunties. Thank you, Tali, for 
sharing this very personal part of your life, for bringing the 
Mastos even closer together, and for making me work a bit 
harder to end TMD without the unnecessary melodrama of a 
character death. 

Okay (drum roll, please), now I'd like to acknowledge two very 
special gals (oh, man, I've got such a *huge* lump in my throat 
as I type this), Mastoholics' co-founders, #2 xdksfan and #1 
Inya. Just when I thought no one would notice if I quietly 
started a new WIP, stalkers Inya and xdks surprised me by 
announcing my latest endeavor at Haven. They quickly formed a 
reader support group called Mastoholics Anonymous. Then they 
aimed their combined poking efforts (legendary in the fandom) 
my way, working tirelessly to prod me along, despite the 
warning in my headers, which said in no uncertain terms "these 
things take time." The Masto group ballooned under the auspices 
of these two delightful ladies. They fostered a welcoming 
environment, where like-minded people could meet and chat and 
be goofy, supportive, and joyous. I respect and admire Inya and 
xdks' boundless enthusiasm, sympathy and tolerance. They truly 
represent the best in the fandom. I look forward to meeting 
them both in RL, so that they can see from the shine in my eyes 
how very much I love them for what they have done for me 
personally, and for what they bring to Haven and the world of 
fanfic. Thank you, gals, from the bottom of my heart. I can't 
adequately convey my appreciation for the wonderful gift you've 
given me. We may live an ocean apart but I will always carry 
your kindness inside of me. My humble story is insignificant 
when compared to your dear friendship. Thank you both for the 
best ride of my life.

Last, but certainly not least, I want to recognize "Mr. Cin" 
for the patient tolerance he shows my ongoing crazy obsession 
with the X-Files. He serves as my editorial sounding board and 
technical advisor. He listens while I ramble endlessly about 
plot twists and writing techniques. He indulges me with XF 
DVDs, action figures and magazines. He's probably heard the 
names Mulder and Scully more times than anyone should ever have 
to endure, and yet, miraculously, he is still with me. I'm 
extraordinarily fortunate to share my life with a man who seems 
to love me unconditionally. He has been my RL hero more times 
than I can count and he is the inspiration for the love and 
respect I write into the characters of Mulder and Scully. He is 
my true soul mate and this story is dedicated to him.


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