TITLE: MY TRAVELS WITH CHARLEY 08: Not Kansas (1/15)
DATE: 02/20/02
AUTHOR: Sue Esty
CONTACT: Windsinger@AOL.com
RATING: PG (sex but not graphic)
CLASSIFICATION: TA - Adventure/Angst
SPOILERS: REQUIEM, 7th season, Final Extinction, Genderblender,
Little Green Men, Within, and others
KEYWORDS: Slash, Rape (neither explicit)
SUMMARY: Mulder has survived his first days on the ship (at least
the ones he's been conscious enough to remember) and the boredom of
his life within the mindspeaker colony. Less than intact, he
survives testing, which for the first time reveals to Charley that
Mulder's 'speaker' talent has been destroyed. While Charley decides
what to do with his damaged prisoner, Mulder is allowed to recover
in the company of a young woman whose ancestors were taken from
Earth four generations before to live out a barren existence in a
few rooms on a huge alien space station. From here he is taken by
the Hunter and put into training to pilot a small spacecraft,
training that taxes the endurance of both body and mind. Mulder's
rebellious spirit eventually exceeds even Charley's patience and he
is literally dropped onto the surface of an unknown planet to
survive as best he can. This will be the last home Mulder will ever
know if he does not appear at the rendezvous point when Charley's
returns and is willing to submit to Charley's plans.

ARCHIVING: Gossamer, Emphereal, ATXC, and anywhere with permission
and as long as the author's name is retained.
DISCLAIMER: No, the X-Files and the characters of Fox Mulder and
Dana Scully do not belong to me, I would have treated them better.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is eighth in a series of 'short' stories
chronically Mulder's confusing, agonizing, torturous, lonely and
wondrous adventures following his collection in Oregon. One more to
go. CC never explained those missing months so I might as well. My
older work can be found on Gossamer under 'Esty, Sue' with the newer
pieces at http://members.aol.com/windsinger.

MY TRAVELS WITH CHARLEY 08: Not Kansas (1/15)

BENJAMIN:
Year 30, Week 17.1 Dale Reckoning
 
My name's Benjamin, Dana. Excuse my use of your first name, but
Mulder has talked about you so often that I feel like I know you and
'Scully, after all, is his name for you. Mulder has asked me to
start this segment of his story. Please don't worry, it's not that
he can't, but because he wants you to get to know me. I don't know
why but I'm sure he'll get around to filling me in on that in time.

I had mixed feeling that rainy morning when I first met Mulder. I
was just bartering for some seed at the Grange when six of my
genpack came running into the store and rushed up to me all talking
at once. Finally, Nate's big bass voice cuts through. "You're BoB's
here, Benji! Your BoB!"

I don't think I said anything in response. I just stood there. What
do you say when you've long given up ever hearing those words. In a
daze, I allowed the rambunctious group to drag me along through the
street of rutted mud towards Government House. Just as well that I
didn't have anything to say, as I couldn't have gotten a word in
edgewise. Not that I blame them for their high spirits. This was,
after all, their celebration as well as mine. If good luck could
finally get around to pointing at me, the eldest of our generation
who had never been assigned a newcomer, then their turn by the order
of their birth may come yet. And we had all about given up hope. Ten
years! It had been ten years since the last arrival. The general
consensus around the Grange was that there weren't going to be any
more and so most of the landholders of my age and younger would just
be out of luck. Sadly, I had gotten use to the idea, but then here
out of the blue -- or perhaps I should say the gray because of the
rain -- fell my own miracle.
 
We didn't knock at the door to Government House. I found this
suspicious but then I remembered that the mayor was receiving a
delegation of southerners from South Cove and that was weird
business so perhaps the intent was to keep the ceremony low key.  My
escort didn't knock at the back entrance either but instead headed
for the barn. Now I began to worry. The mayor's headman, Jason,
stepped aside as we entered. Silence fell instantly.

To say that I was not impressed by my first look would be an
understatement.  All I saw was a muddy mass shivering in front of a
tiny brassier. So intent was the creature at trying to soak up a few
more fingerwidths of heat from the clots of peat that he didn't
respond at all when we entered.

"Came stumbling into Jeremiah's farm at daybreak," the mayor's
headman explained as I stood and stared. "Must have tried to sleep
in a tickle bush nest. We found some in his hair."

Yeah, that I could believe. His skin, of which a lot showed, was
swollen with hundreds of bright red blisters. He must have also
fallen into every mud puddle between here and wherever the devils
let him out. He was a mess. As if he were freezing, he clutched a
bundle of mismatched rags someone must have given him. It was
fortunate that the weather was actually mild for that time of year.
Still, I felt alarmed for the poor man's sake. He should have been
taken some place warmer, though as filthy dirty as he was I could
see why they hadn't let him in the house or given him anything
better to wrap his near nakedness in. I guess that that was my job
now.

For the first time I crouched down and tried to get a look at his
face. His muddy hair hung over his eyes and even through the dirt
and the tickle bush blisters I saw the terrible trio of scars down
each cheek. Whatever had the monsters done to him? There was nothing
on record like this. I looked more closely under the dirt through
the rents in what remained of his clothes. There were terrible
wounds above each wrist and ankle and a long older scar down the
center of his chest. Here and there through the mud I could see the
yellow and purple of old bruises as well as more ugly punctures.
Years before I had been trained on the proper attitude of a
landholder towards his newcomer and I knew that distance was
critical, but I couldn't remain aloof, not after seeing this.
 
Automatically, I placed my hand on his forehead. No response, not
that I expected any. What did surprise me was how hot his skin was.

"I assume that's Newcomer fever," the mayor's headman said.

I nodded. "They say that they all get it, but this is worse than I
expected." I didn't add that Dale history also records that not a
few newcomers had died from this fever in the past.

Meaning mine could die.

I looked at him again, at his clothes or lack thereof, at the
slumped posture and bowed head and how he barely seemed able to sit
without falling over. My eyes fell on his terribly damaged bare
feet.

"Is this all he came with? Not even any shoes?"

The 'pack' just stood there, much sobered by all these depressing
revelations.

"Tough luck, Benji," Talon said soberly. Talon is six months my
junior. Only a few minutes earlier he had been practically green
with envy. "Looks like you got a dud. You could at least have gotten
some shoes out of the deal."

"Like a bride without a dowry, " the Mayor's man said, shaking his
head. "Well, you take what's dished out to you. He's all yours."

So much to do, but what to do first. Lamely, I asked. "What about
the ceremony?" As if that mattered. He may not survive the night.

The Mayor's man shrugged. "The Mayor sends his regrets. He's in
conference and can't be disturbed. He's been told that we have a
newcomer and what his condition is. He's the one who looked it up in
the book to confirm that you were the next on the list. He says you
should just take him along and see to the formalities later." His
eyes indicated that the Mayor seemed to feel, as I feared, that the
ceremony to formally assign this particular newcomer to my care
might not be necessary.

I thought for a moment about the long road back to the farm and
considered trying to find a place in town to take him. All at once,
however, I was aware of all the eyes. How I wanted out of there and
away from people like these who could stare at a sick man and do
nothing just because he was a BoB. Home then. Clearly, he wasn't
going to walk the twelve miles. Luckily, I'd brought my handcart
because of the seed so at least I had transportation. With help I
poured the limp, muddy form into the back. There continued to be no
response except that his eyes fluttered a bit when the young men who
held his feet dropped him more roughly than they needed to.

At least some of the Old Ones had feelings. Peter Ruft who runs the
Grange let me borrow a whole armload of seed bags so that at least
my newcomer wouldn't catch the 'grip' before I got him home. Saint
that he was, the old surgeon, Mac MacIntyre, shuffled out of the
apothecary and, unasked, thrust a whole bag of salves and assorted
remedies into my arms. He didn't even make me sign for them. By his
hand on my shoulder I knew that he wished me luck.

As I reached for the handles of the cart, my so-called friends,
whose spirits had brightened again with the preparations, began to
hoot and holler from the porch of the Grange where they stood out of
the drizzle. "Yeah, Benji, that's the way. You tell him who's boss!"

"Why don't you guys go stick your heads in a post hole," I called
back but without rancor. After all, why should I be angry? I'd
probably be just an insensitive if I were in their place. "There'll
be time enough for him to pull his weight." Like the Mayor's man I
hadn't added, 'If he lives.'

The trip was uneventful except that my burden was heavier than six
of the large sacks of grain. I heard a moan or two as the wheels
dipped into deep ruts but otherwise no complaints. At least it had
stopped raining.

I spoke too soon. The rain resumed as gray and chill as the lowering
sky before we were half way to the homestead. The slight rise in the
road between the flat plane of the fields and the knoll where old
William's cabin perched had never seemed so steep, but finally I was
able to pull into the yard. I went directly to the barn and
maneuvered the cart to just inside the doorway where it usually sat,
grateful not to feel the rain pounding on my head any longer. It was
better to listen to its muffled hammering away on the sod roof
above.

Now that all my attention was not fixed on the physical effort of
just getting the cart to the farm, I realized that I didn't know
what I was going to do with my new responsibility. I certainly saw
the dark, dank barn in a different light than during the workday
when it was used for storing seed and rope, plow and tools. In the
fall it stored harvest as well, but it being spring there was not
much harvest left. "Now what do I do with you?" I asked the wet and
silent wretch in the back of my handcart. I didn't really expect an
answer. Without enthusiasm I gave the south corner a long look. Its
clutter was no different than that in the rest of the barn. I had
never set up a room there as a landholder should. Oh, I had made
plans for this day once but when it looked like it was never going
to happen the plans had lain as fallow as a off year field.
 
"Not fit for man nor beast," I murmured out loud to myself, not even
heartened by my little joke. "I guess it will have to be the house
then. Just don't tell anyone."

Slinging his long body over my shoulder I carried my temporary
housemate across the muddy yard and into the cabin that still held
an echo of heat from the fire of the night before.
 

MULDER:
Year 30, Week 17.4 Dale Reckoning (or so I'm told)

My turn, Scully. I certainly seem to be spending an unusual amount
of time on this tour of the galaxy not remembering things. Benjamin
has told you all you need to know about how I stumbled upon the
humans on this planet or at least it was as much as anyone knows. As
we go along a lot of what you don't understand yet will be made
clear. At this time in the story, however, we'll just assume that
you know a lot more than I do.

I woke itching. Oh, I was in pain, too, from the mess I made of my
feet walking for miles barefoot, and I was dripping with sweat and
had about as much strength as a kitten, so I knew that I had been
seriously ill, but the itching was by far the worse.

"Try not to scratch," suggested a hesitant male voice above me. "It
will only make it worse."

I didn't scratch. I didn't move.

"I won't hurt you," the low voice assured me.

Actually, his hurting me hadn't been on my mind. Since Oregon, I
have almost gotten use to being hurt. What had left me momentarily
speechless was the sound of a voice which was not only not hostile
but wasn't Ness's and wasn't Charley's. I opened my eyes and there
he was. A bear. Well, not really a bear, but a strong-looking,
youngish man with a thick, black beard, long hair pulled back and
eyes so blue I could see their color even in the dimness of the
room.

"Took a nap in a tickle bush, did you?" He didn't wait for an
answer. "Can you sit up? I have this salve that will take away the
worst of the sting." Again without waiting for me to answer, he
helped me to sit. I tried to help but the dim room went spinning. I
just sat for a while letting the spin slow, taking in where I was
and trying to remember where I'd been. It was hard to think though
when some total stranger was crouched in front of me and smearing
awful-smelling, black gunk briskly over all the places on my arms
where the blisters were. Where it was applied, however, the itching
did relent so I didn't complain.

"Where am I?" I croaked.

Now I know that I didn't sound so good, but I didn't see any reason
why my benefactor should start so violently. Fumbling with the jar
he held, he lost his balance and fell backwards.

"Sorry," I told him. "I'm fresh out of original opening lines."

Owl eyes not leaving my face, he scrambled into a somewhat more
dignified position but a noticeable distance farther from me even
with the limitations of the room.

"Y-You're home. What I mean is, this is my home."

My eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark. It was a snug, little
hobbit hole less than twelve feet square. Dirt floor, dirt walls,
and a dirt ceiling with wooden support thrusts. From a small stone
fireplace a little, red fire glowed. There wasn't a lot of light but
the heat was delicious at least on the side of my body that faced
the fire. In the way of fires my opposite side was cold. It didn't
smell like a fire, though. The scent was more pungent, like a swamp.
For furniture I made out a solid chair, a rough table and lots of
shelves filled with earthenware crocks, bits of this and that and
baskets that were mostly empty, all in a similar shade of brown.
There was a drying rack on which on a few dry sprigs of some kind of
plant material hung.

"Comfy." What else can you say to Johnny Appleseed who has taken you
into his home and is helpfully smearing pond scum on your itches.
"Peat fire?"

"Y-Yes," he confirmed, still staring.

We just sat that way for a while. For some unknown reason, he
seeming astonishingly perplexed to find me there.

"Is anything wrong?" I asked.

"Uh, n-no."

I gestured to the pot of salve he still clutched. "That seems to
help, awful as it smells. If you let me have it, I can put the rest
of it on for myself."

After a moment's hesitation, he numbly held it out.

"H-How do you feel?" he stammered, as I worked at applying the salve
to my chest.

"Shaky," I admitted, which I was.

"I was afraid for a while that you were going to die on me." He
seemed genuinely upset about that.

"What made me sick?" I asked. "I started getting hot and cold
flashes after only a few hours in the rain. Couldn't have been the
flu, not that fast."

"Newcomer fever. Something in the water. Everyone dropped off gets
it eventually. A few have died from it."

"And those who don't wish for a while that they would."

I remembered crouching against the bank of a muddy hill and shaking
so violently I was afraid that I would rattle out all my teeth. I
had been burning on the inside and freezing on the outside.

More silence. I had worked down to my waist and was trying to get
around to my back when my host moved to kneel behind me. "I'll get
that for you," he offered. As even the little effort I'd put out had
tired me and made the room tilt alarmingly, I handed him the jar and
leaned forward. There was some considerable pause before he began
spreading the noxious stuff and then he seemed very hesitant, which
seemed odd considering how aggressively he'd applied it to my arms.

"Thank you for all your trouble, " I said when the silence had
stretched for longer than I felt comfortable. Still he worked on.
When it seemed that he had covered every inch of my back twice and
was working his way south, I interrupted with, "That's much better.
I'll do the rest," and held my hand out to the side for the salve.

After another awkward pause, he handed it over then rocked back on
his heels. With my host so close and obviously watching, I was the
one who hesitated to lift the blanket that covered me from the waist
down. As if suddenly aware of how uncomfortable he was making me, my
young host jumped to his feet. He obviously knew where the ceiling
was because he didn't hesitate to stand even though his head nearly
brushed one rough log beam. I would have to be careful for if he was
taller than I, it wasn't by much.

"You were unconscious for days," he murmured. "You must be hungry
and thirsty."

Food is not usually my first concern, but it seemed a safe subject.
"If it wouldn't be any trouble."

His next series of rapid, nervous movements around the room brought
the dizziness back. Until it eased, I studied the furnishings in the
section of the room where he wasn't busying himself. When he had
been talking to me before he had been sitting on a chest whose top
was covered with a lumpy pad with a covering like burlap. This was
clearly his bed and a single one, so he lived here alone. I was
sitting on an identical pad laid out before the fire. The guest
room. The rough material -- to which real burlap felt like velvet in
comparison -- was filled with what felt like old straw. It probably
was. A blanket that had fallen down around my loins when I sat up
was of the same material as the bed pad covering. I had hesitated
applying the rest of the salve because I was all too aware that
under the blanket I was naked -- again. I could feel the
scratchiness of the burlap on my ass. I looked around for my clothes
before remembering that, as usual, I didn't have any of those to
speak of either. There hadn't been much left of the coveralls, which
Charley had torn, what with walking in the rain, falling into sink
holes, and blundering through nests of thorns. I bunched the burlap
up around my hips so I could get to my legs and began adding the
salve. By some bending and twisting under the blanket in ways my
body wasn't really ready for yet, the salve eventually got to all
the other places it needed to.

As if aware of the moment when my gyrations under the blanket
ceased, my host placed a clay bowl and jug down on the rough table.
"You can eat now." When I made no immediate move to rise, he rushed
forward to take hold of my arm. "Sorry. Do you need some help?"

"Uh -- maybe -- but first I'm afraid that I'll need to ask if I can
borrow some clothes."
 
Absently, he raised a hand, murmured "Right" as if to himself, and
within seconds produced a bundle. "These are my best. We'll have to
find you some of your own but these will do for now." He watched me
as I held up drawstring pants, eyeing them dubiously. "We're lucky
we're the same size." That must mean that the shapeless things were
going to fit me as badly as they fit my host. Swiftly, he came
forward as if he were now going to help me dress.

Hastily, I waved him away. "No thank you, I can manage this part."
The young man backed away, but only as far as his bench bed where he
sat, obviously intending to watch me dress as if this were the most
fascinating activity in the world. As there wasn't any place else
either of us could go, I hurried.

I tried to draw on the pants while keeping the blanket in place, all
in all not succeeding very well.
"You appear to know a lot more about me than I do about you," I
said, uncomfortably.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," my host said, slowly.

"You called me a newcomer. This indicates to me that strangers being
dropped practically naked on your doorstep is not so unusual."

"Twenty years ago not so unusual, now very unusual. And you're..." His
brow furrowed.

"I'm what? Should I have two heads?"

"We thought..." He sighed. I tried to stand then, the better to get
the awkward, long-sleeved shirt on, but swayed on my feet. Before I
could reach out towards a handy rafter for support, my bearded
companion was at my side, supporting my arm. I didn't shake him off
for the room was listing south again.

In addition to the shirt there was a thick vest and both were made
of pretty much the same rough material as the bed covering and the
blanket. I cringed as it slid over skin that was still sensitive
from the tickle bush blisters. My back-to-the-land friend may have
the hide of a rhinoceros but I didn't.

"Is it true that you were just dropped here?" he blurted out.

"Where is here?"

"On this planet."

"Let's just say that I didn't come for the climate."

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. My
host was nothing if not infuriating. He had something to say, but
damned if I knew what it was. One minute he seemed easy in my
presence, the next extremely uncomfortable, and yet he remained
fixated on my every move with distressing intensity. I assumed that
all would be made clear in time. At the moment, though, I craved
information even more than food.

"These other strangers. Who was responsible for bringing them here?"

"I've never seen one. It's said that they're small, with big bald
heads and huge black eyes."

"Close enough," I confirmed with a sigh. "At least we have friends
in common." I ignored my host's confused expression to bask in the
knowledge that I had not stumbled into some lost civilization of
barbarians. These people knew that they were on a planet and it was
a relief to find that no new villains had been added to the picture.
 By now I had finished dressing and my host was still staring.
Seeing that I was dressed, he decided to help me, willing or not, to
the table although the distance was no more than three feet.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, more abruptly than I'd intended, for
his fawning was becoming damned irritating.

Three different expressions of confusion and embarrassment showed on
his face at once. "It's just that the other newcomers have all
been..." He pointed to his right temple. "... not all there in the
head.
Most don't say much even after many years. I was just surprised. You
seem...all right. Maybe you aren't a newcomer after all."

So why did my state of lucidity and the fact that I may not be a
'newcomer' depress him totally? I was ruminating over his unease as
I gingerly sat in the splintery chair in my more-than-rough homespun
pants and looked down at what he had provided for me. There was a
rough clay crock beside a cup of the same material. The food itself
was also brown but its smell was far from unpleasant. On the
contrary, my stomach instantly reminded me of how hollow it was and
of how long it had been since I had had anything to eat which didn't
come up almost immediately.

The first bite of the cold stew was even more pleasant. It was good
vegetarian fare made up of grains and beans and roots, nicely
flavored with herbs and dried fruit. Too bad that its color made my
heart ache in sympathetic memory of those left behind in that room
on the Portjam.

"This is good!" I murmured around the bite. My words and obvious
surprise brought a shy smile to my host's lips, a fact that was
amazingly easy to see despite the heavy beard.

"Thank you. That's my spring specialty. Won first prize at the
winter fair."

He watched me eat with the same fascination with which he had
watched me dress and didn't speak until I began to slow down which,
due to my shrunken stomach, wasn't long.

"What did you do to get sent here?" he asked.

Now that's a long story. I decided on the simple version. "I flunked
pilot school." When he looked at me strangely I revised it to, "I
pissed off a shapeshifter."

His face registered instant understanding. "One of them? I've heard
stories. Don't worry. They never come here."

"How would you know if one did or not?"

He looked thoughtful at that. "I see your point."

It struck me just then, Scully, how absolutely refreshing it was --
weird, but refreshing -- to be able to talk about alien races and
shapeshifters and abductions and be instantly believed. I kept
feeling like I should be pinching myself to see if I was awake and I
would have if the itching weren't doing that job all on its own.

"Our history records that this colony," my host was saying, "was
started thirty years ago, Earth time, with fifty-two rejected
mindspeakers and a dozen others whose talents didn't mature."
Something about my jaw dropping open -- I hope there wasn't any food
in my mouth -- must have caught his attention. "You know what a
mindspeaker is?"

"Failed at that, too," I muttered my mouth half full again.

His eyes widened with respect. "You've been around."

Remembering the flights of the Beast a shiver walked up my spine.

"You should feel at home then. All the other BoB's are deadheads,
too. At least now they are."

That was an odd statement. "To my knowledge, being named 'Bob' was
not a requirement of the mindspeakers I was with." No, they were
Billy and Theresa and Roy. I wondered not for the first time how
they were.

"No, 'B-BoB' is not their name, just short for --" The light was
dim, just the firelight augmented by a couple of oil lamps, but I
thought that the inch of skin between my host's beard and eyes
flushed.  Abruptly, he turned away to pluck a jar off a shelf an
arm's length away. "Try these dried applecorns; they're special."

That numbness I get between my shoulders when something is 'up' was
suddenly buzzing big time. "For newcomer?" I asked, hoping it
sounded like an innocent question. "'Bob' is short for newcomer?" My
host shrugged, noncommittally. Seeing that I wasn't going to get
anymore on that subject at least at the moment, I reached my hand
across the table in greeting. "My name isn't Bob, though there are
times I certainly wish it were. Call me Mulder."

End of Chapter 1

~~~~~~~~~~~
 

MULDER
Year 30, week 17.4 (continued)

Considering all the touching he'd been doing so casually before, my
host just stared at my proffered hand. After a moment he took it but
only for the briefest handshake. "Excuse me, I'm Ben, Benjamin,
Holder Benjamin, and this," he gestured at the tiny cabin and
surrounding land, his face lightening with pride, "is my holding."

"Does that mean you're holding it for someone?"

Benjamin hesitated. "It's an old term, left over from when the
colony first started. Officially, I guess you'd say that I work the
land for the colony. I inherited it from my foster father when I was
eighteen." This last was also said proudly. Quite an accomplishment,
I assumed, though looking around at the accommodations, it didn't
look like much.

"It's very nice, Ben. Thank you again for all your help."

The bearded man shuffled uncomfortably. "You'd - ah - better call me
Benjamin or Holder Benjamin. It wouldn't do for you to call me by my
genpack name."

"Genpack name?"

"The name I'm called by the men of my generation."

"Ah." I didn't mention at this time that I was probably of his
generation, unless the beard and his outdoor life made him appear a
lot older than he was. Though still weak and disoriented, I felt my
investigative feelers extend. Clearly, this was an isolated human
colony that had been left to develop its own idiosyncrasies over the
years. With or without an itchy butt, I could get interested in
this. The drink in the clay flask was even palatable as well as
being mildly alcoholic. Yes, I could get use to this. Behavioral
Science had been my undergraduate major after all.  I looked around
the tiny, one-room cabin. Well, maybe not for too long. Too many
days in here and I'd come down with a serious case of
claustrophobia.

But academia for later. As usual when a member of the human species
finds himself in a new place, his first thoughts are always on
locating the basics of life -- food, water, shelter, and where it
was permissible to take a shit.

"Benjamin, I think I need to know where the -- outhouse --  is?
Toilet? Latrine?"

Ben jerked upright with an apologetic, "Ah, sorry... yes." Rising
hastily from his seat on his bench bed, he went to the room's only
door and threw open the massive sheet of rough-hewn planks.

Blinding sunlight flooded in.

"Ow!" I cringed, shielding my eyes. The cabin was so dark that I had
assumed that it was night. For the first time I noticed that there
were no windows. Considering the level of technology I'd seen so far
there was probably no glass in this society or, if there were, it
would be prohibitively expensive. Still, light and air were
important so to do without the weather on this planet must be every
bit as inclement as the night of my arrival had led me to believe.

Squinting and stooping as he did, I followed my host to exit the low
door. First, we took care of the necessities --and I do mean we. Ben
had to come to show me the proper method of managing bodily waste
which, if left to decompose sufficiently, makes great fertilizer,
don't ya' know. Clearly, this society lets nothing go to waste --
pun intended -- but they don't know much about privacy. There is
something to be said about taking care of business in the sunshine,
however.

For there was sunshine. Warm, low morning sunshine touched my face
and warmed through my badly fitting clothes even though there was a
chill bite to the slight wind. Ben had talked about the stew being
his spring specialty. In an agrarian society 'spring' must refer to
whatever foodstuff is left over after the winter. Standing before
the door to his cabin and looking down across the rolling land to a
small river, I could believe it was spring. New, green shoots
sprinkled the ground that was generally covered with dry, flattened
grass. The few trees close by had that fuzzy appearance deciduous
trees get after winter just before the new leaves burst out.

A smile tugged at my lips. If you were standing by my side, Scully,
and we were looking for the first time over some alien landscape, I
would interject at some point that we weren't in Kansas any more. In
the case of Dale, however, I couldn't really say that with absolute
certainty. There may actually be places in Kansas with this many
trees, and where the land rolls as this does, and where a small
river passes by the foot of a far cultivated field. And yet I
remember two moons and I know that this is not Kansas, nor is it
Pennsylvania. It's also a good deal farther from you than Africa or
Australia or even Frostbite Falls.

As pleasantly bucolic as the scene was, my heart lay heavy and
desolate in my chest. Harvest, Charley had said. He would return at
harvest time. That would be months away.  I appreciated the fact
that this poor, young farmer had taken a stranger in, cared for me
in my illness, fed me and clothed me, but I couldn't expect to
depend on the hospitality of strangers indefinitely. I was going to
need a permanent place to live and what passed for a job here and
neither behavioral scientists, FBI agents, nor windmill tilters were
likely to be much in demand.

Looking over my shoulder, I took in the cabin for the first time.
From outside its resemblance to a hobbit hole was even greater. It
had been carved into a hillside. Walls and roof were sod. Its front
door faced their equivalent of south while the hill behind rose up
to block the north winds.  "No wonder you're happy to see the
spring. Your winters must be hard." And damned lonely for a man by
himself.

"Bad enough." My host looked my way from under a lock of black hair
that fell over his forehead and murmured, "It will be easier now."

Making his little embarrassed shuffle again, he stooped suddenly and
took a small handful of damp soil in his hand and rubbed it between
his fingers. I've seen farmers do that in movies. In an attempt to
show I was 'one of the people' I did the same. Now dirt is not just
dirt to me. I can tell you approximately how long it has been since
the last rainfall, how much clay there is so what the chances are
that it will hold a print or a tire track or stand up to a plaster
cast. I can even track as long as the UNSUB is moving like a
locomotive and about as interested as one in covering his trail, but
I know nothing about what grows in the stuff or how to convince it
to do so.

"First quality, isn't it?" Ben said about the soil, his pride
showing again as he looked off happily down the slope towards where
several fields had already been plowed. At this point be began to
talk in expansive and energetic detail, not only about the crops
he'd planted, but also about the lineage of each type of seed. Most
of the genealogists I've met would have been put to shame. The
change in the man was remarkable, and I realized that he really was
younger than I had thought at first. On this topic, with his feet in
the soil, he was a different person entirely.
 
I'm afraid that I didn't have much to add to the conversation.
"About all I was ever able to grow were smooth seed bean plants and
rough seed bean plants for a science experiment when I was fourteen.
I regret that I don't really know anything about farming."

Ben was not dismayed. In fact he beamed. "You'll learn, I'll teach
you. Less to unlearn."

Is there something going on here that I don't know about?

"See those three fields." Ben was pointing to our right at three
weed-choked expanses the size of football fields. "I think we can
get those under seed within a week and then there are two new ones
we can begin clearing."

What do you mean 'we', white eyes?

Very carefully, I began addressing the grinning idiot at my side.

"Benjamin -- Holder Benjamin --" I revised, trying to sound
respectful despite the alarm growing in the pit of my stomach, "I'm
a newcomer, remember? Emphasis on the 'new'. I really don't know
what's going on here. Why am I here with you? I vaguely remember a
kind of village. And what the hell is a BoB which is what I'm
suppose to be?"

Ben does a very good imitation of a deer caught in headlights. This,
I thought, is a pleasant, competent farm boy who, as a manager, is
way out of his depth. Could be worse. He could know what he was
doing.

Suddenly, my host uttered an expletive, or I assume that 'Rains!'
uttered that way is an expletive in this place. Considering what I
remember of the night of my arrival, I would agree with him. At the
moment Ben was looking left towards a low ridge. On the thin ribbon
of a narrow dirt track was the tiny shape of a running man.

"We're going to have visitors," my host announced with dread.

* * * * * * * * * * * *
BENJAMIN:
Year 30, Week 17.4 Dale Reckoning (continued)

The last thing I wanted at that moment was to see Jonathan Ironlegs
coming down the road. My B-Bob caught on right away that something
was wrong. Hell, I can't even think the word without stuttering,
he's so un-Bob-like I guess I'll have to call him Mulder, after all,
if that's his name.

"What's wrong? Trouble?" Mulder asked and he seemed to perk up at
the thought as if responding to trouble was something he did every
day.

"A runner from Stony River, our town. Johnny is the runner for the
Mayor. He probably wants an update."'

"On what?"
 
"On you."

"Such as am I alive?"

"That and how you're settling in."

Mulder's relaxed manner had turned to something harder than even
when he had asked what a BoB was. He was going to want explanations
and I had never expected that I would need any.

"'Settling in' has a very permanent sound which I don't remember
being consulted about. In that respect I guess you could say that
I'm not settling in very well."

His gaze was so direct, so -- masterful -- that I felt the cliff
that I had heard crumbling around me ever since he spoke his first
coherent words come crashing down.

"It's all wrong," I found myself jabbering. "It's not like they
said, not like it should be." He just kept studying me with these
intense eyes. What the freeze was I suppose to do? Where was my
tractable, obedient field hand ever grateful for the food on his
plate and the guiding touch of my hand? Helplessly, I gestured
towards the house, then the barn.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Well, for one you aren't suppose to be sleeping in the house."

"I'm not?"

"You're suppose to be sleeping in the barn. BoB's sleep in the barn.
They're just... That's just what they're suppose to do."

I found myself running into the barn where I'd maybe moved around a
few bales of sleeping straw since his arrival. I had had three days
while Mulder lay in fever to get ready and I hadn't done more than
that. I had spent all my time sitting and staring at the newcomer --
MY newcomer, my pleasant, child-like companion -- as he tossed and
turned and sweated. Part of me had been busy being terrified that he
would die, but the rest had jumped far ahead to all we could do
together in the future. They have a precautionary tale on Dale about
the man who 'counts his bushels' before the harvest. That's a bad
thing to do, especially foolish when only half your fields are under
seed.

In my panic it took me a while to realize that he had wandered in
behind me and was standing there, cool-like, watching as I
frantically pushed bales and boxes and bundles about.

"Now this is definitely wrong!" I yelled at him.

"What?"
 
"You're suppose to be doing this."
 
He frowned, the lips compressing to a pouting, stubborn line.

"Please?" Rains, I shouldn't beg, but I was desperate.

The hard line of those lips softened. "Give me an explanation later
and I'll help. Only what is it that you're trying to do?"

He had a point. I was doing this all ass backwards. I felt tears
come to my eyes. I thought I'd find him laughing at me but he was,
if anything, far more willing than before. "Tell me how I can help."

"Go into the house and get your mat and the blanket and an oil lamp
and bring them back here."

He hesitated as if there was something he wanted very much to ask.

"Look, we don't have much time. It will take Johnny a quarter hour
to reach here from where we saw him."
 
 To that he gave no argument but headed for the house as fast as he
could go on his sore feet, which wasn't too fast but fast enough.
Even though he was clearly intelligent, I was surprised when he came
back quickly with everything I asked for on the first trip. The
stories I'd heard about some of the other newcomers had led me to
expect far less.
 

I don't know how it was managed, certainly not all of it was my
doing, but I was outside on the step before the cabin braiding rope
when Johnny came trotting up the slope. With hand outstretched to
shake his, I rose and asked coolly what brought him around to visit.
Although it was twelve miles from the town to my door, his palm was
barely damp, but then Johnny Ironlegs is in great shape. Acting far
calmer than I felt, I went back to braiding while my visitor got
himself a mug of cool water from the well. I hoped that he wouldn't
notice that the last half-inch of braid was far looser and more
uneven than the ten feet before it and that my hands shook.

After trading the pleasantries about the weather and his praising my
land and my asking what stops he had made that day -- two before
mine -- he finally blurted out with what he had been bursting to ask
every since he ran up.

"So, Ben, where is he, this Bensman of yours. Hey! Come on bring him
out and let's get a look at him!"

"Slow down. His fever just broke last night. Can't this wait?"

"Ben, come on. I have to see him. I've got to report."

After a pause as if I had to think about it first, I called out,
"Mulder!" as languidly as I could manage and with, hopefully, none
of the hysteria that I felt inside. Would he come when I called?

I found Johnny staring at me with mouth agape. "What was that?
'Mulder'?"

"That's his name. Unlike most of the newcomers," I drawled with a
kind of casual pride, "he remembers his name."
 
Much to my relief, Mulder came out of the barn on his own, eyes
shadowed with irritation, but John didn't seem to notice.

"Snow but he's tall. No one saw him upright the other night. He's as
tall as you." As if he were sizing up someone's new cabin or a new
method of storing ropeweed, the runner just stalked up to Mulder to
stare without apology into his face. I don't know how he missed the
flaring of the man's nostrils, but I did and hurried to join them.

"Too bad about the scars, though," John said. "Once he doesn't have
to use the black tickle grease any more, he'd be fine, really fine,
if it weren't for the scars."

I didn't think the scars detracted all that much from Mulder's looks
and from the interest in John's eyes I don't think he truly thought
so either. I know his hunger was not to my liking and clearly was
not to Mulder's either. Neither did Mulder care for being talked
about as if he wasn't there. Even though I'd treated BoBs in very
much this same way ever since I can remember, a surprising anger
rose up in me that John should insult mine so.

As was the custom, I took the runner into the house for food and a
drink and a bit of gossip and a rest, leaving Mulder outside to
'finish the barn'. His answering gaze at my limp command was black
but he wandered back to what he had been doing. I was glad later
that I took John into the house as quickly as I did because what he
proceeded to talk about was not anything that my visitor was ready
to hear. Visitor? houseguest? companion? Field hand?

Again, maybe I'll better just stick to 'Mulder'.

When it was time for Johnny to head back to town, he detoured by the
barn for another look. Some work had been done since we left but not
much.  Instead, Mulder was sitting on a bale in the sun, head bowed
over elbows on knees. To tell you the truth he didn't look so good.

"What's he doing sitting down?" John exclaimed. "Ben, you can beat
him for that!" There was such a note of glee in his voice that I
sensed that he'd love to see me do so right then and there.

"And what do you know about it, John Ironlegs, you who practically
has a fit at the sight of a field ready for plowing? No one will
ever assign a BoB to you. I told you, the man just rose from his
sick bed a few hours ago."

The runner shrugged. "I guess he does look a little poorly. Well,
all right then. This time." Thankfully, he let the matter drop,
though I knew that my 'lazy' newcomer and lackluster discipline
would be the main topic of conversation around the supper tables of
the colony for the rest of the week.

Reluctantly, John turned towards the road. "Got to run up to
Caymon's before I head back, any messages? Oh, wait, the mayor says
that you're to bring him to town next Tensday to finish the
adoption."

"That's a long trip for a five-minute blessing'" I grumbled, not
interested in taking Mulder to town any earlier than I had to. "Tell
Daniel that we'll come the first Tensday we're free after plowing.
I've got two mouths to feed now which means more fields."

Finally John left, sprinting up the drive as if his legs were made
of iron. Mulder didn't watch the runner leave; he only stared at me
with those hooded, hazel cat eyes of his. I fled into the house and
even though it wasn't supper time yet, came out with ale, bread, and
a bag of nuts, spiced grains and dried fruit.

We ate and drank in silence. Mulder made no move to get up and
continue with his work and I didn't push him. As I watched him raise
the heavy ale bottle to his mouth, I knew that I'd only told the
truth to John. I wasn't sure that he could have lifted the bottle
twice, he was that unsteady.

"Sorry if I asked you to move around too fast. Do you want to lie
down? Maybe take a nap? It's okay."

"Oh, thanks," he replied with a bitter irony. Quickly, too quickly,
he rose as if his body was ready to explode with some long-
smoldering anger. He had to reach out for the doorpost to steady
himself. "Do I need your permission to shit, too?" he growled. "To
breathe? Do I sleep on the floor in front of the fire like your dog
or in the barn with the other ani--" He paused, studied the barn and
sniffed. "Where are your animals?"

I shrugged.

"Cows? Pigs? Chickens?"

"Not on Dale. A few insects. The rare bird which no one can catch."

His eyes fell on the plow looking more like posthole digger then the
drawings I've seen of plows from old Earth. It was heavy and
awkward. "How do you plow your fields?"

"Slowly," I replied, "and with sweat. There's a big plow for the
common town fields but that takes six Bo -- six men to manage. I'd
rather take care of mine myself. Not that I couldn't ask for the
team to come out, but then I'd have to barter for their time and
trouble and feed them. That's expensive. A lot of teams eat more
than they're worth."

About half way through my explanation I had begun to doubt that
Mulder was listening. His shoulder was against the roofing post now,
and I think it was all that was keeping him upright. Even his eyes
had closed. I touched the back of my hand against his damp brow. His
head came up like a shot, eyes blazing, even as I leaped back.

"Sorry, just checking. You've got a touch of the fever back. You
really should lie down."

"You're not going to order me to? I want to know what's going on and
I want the truth. What have I been dropped into the middle of?"

It felt as if that cliff was coming the rest of the way down. "This
is not how it's suppose to work."

"You've said that before. How's it suppose to work?" When I couldn't
get the right words to start off with he did it for me. "When a
newcomer gets dropped off I take it that they're assigned to one of
the farmers? I thought at first that it was something like living
with a host family, giving the newcomer a chance to get acclimated,
but it's a more permanent relationship than that, isn't it?"

I found that I was staring down at my dirt-stained fingers. "You got
to understand how strange this is. You see, BoBs -- they're not
expected to ask questions. Like I said, most can't even talk."
Mulder's eyes were more interested than angry now. Very well, I told
myself, this maybe wouldn't be so much different than storytelling.
"From the beginning then. From the start the colony was left on its
own. A lot of people died." Mulder nodded, not surprised. "Then they
started dropping off the newcomers; only a few at first, but then
fairly often. These newcomers were not like you, they were very..."
I waved my hand in front of my unfocused eyes. "They just weren't
all there."

"From shock or actually brain-damaged?" my companion asked.
 
I shrugged. "They could barely take care of themselves, that's all I
know. Most had to be told when to go to bed and when to piss. A few
couldn't even feed themselves and that's even after we gave them
food. They certainly couldn't organize themselves to grow anything.
We were a little community, dying ourselves when the crops were bad,
and with no Earth animals like horses or oxen we had so much heavy
work to do. What were we supposed to do with these people? At least
they were physically healthy."

"So they were assigned to a farmer who put them to work." His eyes
were cold. "BoB..." his voice trailed off. "Beast --"

"-- of Burden." I admitted sheepishly.

"That's demeaning."

"It started out as a joke. The program had a fancier name when it
started but that was lost over the years. 'Social Responsibility' I
think they called it."

"Government-sponsored slavery," he sneered.

"Listen, you weren't here. You don't know. At least everyone has a
home, everyone has food -- most years anyway -- and some BoBs get
better with time."

"And what happens when they do? Are they given a choice then?"

I opened my mouth but nothing came out at first. True, there were no
laws that covered any kind of smooth transition, and there were some
truly ugly stories. "There's Peter," I stammered, coming up with the
one example everyone always used when the topic came up, "Old
Theodore's BoB. He went on to inherit his Holder's farm since Theo
had no son. That will happen more in the future since there are no
children."

Mulder's bright eyes had lost that accusatory look and showed
interest again. "Why are there no children?"

"Because there aren't many women. Half a dozen women and as many
children but you won't find them on any farm. They are very
precious. You don't see them. There are less every generation." I
felt myself blushing. "I'm one of the lucky ones, second
generation."

He seemed to put a couple of ideas together. "I want to ask about
your women and children but later. So you were born here, born to be
a Holder one day, and that's where all the 'this is not the way it
should be' stuff came from. And you've been expecting to be assigned
a newcomer for years --"

"--But there just weren't any. They stopped coming. Ten years and
nothing. I never thought... and then you..." I blushed again though
I don't think he noticed.

"There were female mindspeakers where I was. Fairly equal numbers.
Why did they send so few women here?"

"They didn't. The numbers were pretty equal to start with." I felt
the sadness sweep over me when I thought of what I've been taught
about those years.

"What happened to the women?" Mulder asked and the gentleness of his
voice somehow made it worse. I struggled to hold the tears back. It
was weird the way the man could pinpoint exactly where the critical
point was.

"R-Remember I said that a lot of us died at first? Most were women."

"Why?"

"Childbirth." My voice dropped to a whisper. "They bled horribly...
something about this planet they say. My own mother..."
 
"Thirty years," he mused, his concentration far off. "And fewer
women and children every year. Where are the ones who are left?"

"Oh, in the town. You see them sometimes on holidays, from afar.
They have to be shielded. Protected."

His hand was resting heavily on the barn support again. He looked
down at me, his expression serious and weary. "I'm sorry about your
mother, Ben. I'm sorry for your community, but I'm not one of your
gifts of slave labor from heaven." This last he said with absolute
finality. "I'm not a BoB in any of the ways your people mean by
that, and from some of the things Runner John said I think you know
what I'm referring to."

I swallowed, disappointment flooding my belly. So he had listened
and had heard. "I realize that -- now. But about you're not being
like the others, how were we to know? You were just so sick from the
fever. Even with John, you didn't actually say anything. So they
still don't know."

"What will happen when they find out?"

"I don't know, but new ideas aren't welcome." I didn't have to say
more. A good deal of my anxiety must have transmitted itself to him
for he leaned against the post silently for a long time, his
expression grave.

"Damn you, Charley," he muttered under his breath, words not meant
for me to hear. "You intended purgatory and purgatory I got."

"You're very intelligent," I went on, "which means that just like
now you are going to ask questions, and there are too many people on
Dale who don't want to hear such questions, much less the answers."
And less from a Bob than anyone, my thoughts continued. "There are
lots of scared people who don't want things to change. Those would
be the back-knife politicians who haggle for places on top in the
town and most of the giant landholders who have many Bobs as well as
landless men who work for them. Some nasty stuff goes around which
is why I got myself adopted to old William so that I could live out
here. He's been dead ten years and I still spend almost all my time
here."

Mulder was smiling softly. Nearly took my breath away that smile.
"That's a very astute observation, Ben. Societies on the decline
fall apart in more ways than one and staying out of the fighting is
probably the wisest thing you can do. If you're willing to keep our
secret, perhaps it would be best if they continue not to know about
'me' until I understand the lay of the land better."

I was relieved that he could grasp the problem, but I knew that he
didn't understand all the reasons for my fear, not the personal ones
anyway.

"I'll tell you what...," he said, stretching slowly. "Until we get
this all sorted out, I'll help with the farm work. If it makes you
feel more Holder-like you can even give me orders and I'll pretend
to do what you say. When we're around other people you can even say
that you beat me. When we're around other people I can even do my
newcomer best to appear properly distracted." His eyes took on a far
away look. "Actually, Scully would say that the distracted part
would come naturally."
 
It was as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud, that's how
the lines in his face relaxed when he said that name. "Who's
Scully?"

His smile was back, gentle and sad. "A friend whom I think you would
like very much. Correction, a friend whom I _ know _ you would like
very much."
 
End of Chapter 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

MULDER:
Year 30, Week 19.5 Dale Reckoning

Farming... Farming is hard work, damn hard, sweaty, backbreaking
work... but rewarding for all that. I saw the first shoots come out
of the ground today. They were in the field Ben had planted before
my arrival but our three additional fields are all planted and I'm
checking the soil daily, walking down after breakfast with the sun
on my face. It warms my back as I lean down.

Kind of like watching the grass grow only this is life for these
people.

'These' people. Notice that I don't say 'us'. I'm still apart,
separate. I guess that I'm destined to never be part of any herd.
You see, I haven't forgotten about Charley's promise... that he
would be back after harvest. I have a way out. These people don't.
That's what sets us apart. Does that mean I'll leave? Most of the
time it's not even a question I need to ask. Of course, I will. But
then the memories of the ship come back and the Beast on that ship
and an uncontrollable terror squeezes my heart. At those times being
a beast here doesn't seem so bad after all. When the frost is on the
pumpkin, however, I know I will go. That's still months away,
however. In the meantime I live here quietly with Ben and we work
the land.

The best part is waking in the morning in my little nest in the
south corner of the barn. I like waking up alone. It's almost like
old times though a lumpy mat of sleep straw is not nearly as
comfortable as my old couch. And who needs coffee when you're
greeted with cold dew between your toes as you scurry shivering to
the latrine? It's after the first chilly shock wears off that I
spread my arms to the sun and glory in the pure simple pleasure of
being free. I have clean air to breathe and no walls except when I
want them and no company except when I want that either. And the
company? The company is Ben. We work in silence or we work and talk
or -- God, help me -- we work and sing. Work songs. No wonder they
put radios in cars early on.
 
Ah, I hear you, Scully, and you are right. Though I have told Ben
about Charley and the ship -- I thought his eyes would fall out his
head -- I haven't told him that I have a way off this dirtball and
that I intend to leave as soon as I possibly can.

Two weeks and more of the same. Since their weeks are ten days long,
that is twenty days our time. Just Ben and I and dirt. If only there
were some metal tools but I haven't seen a one. Every chore takes a
very long time, but at least I'm sleeping well. I fall asleep
exhausted every night, but it's a good feeling to work with your
muscles towards something that will be appreciated. Better than
hitting your head against brick walls for ten years, which is how
long that I lived and breathed the X-Files. Working in the fields
keeps my mind off other matters as well. If Charley thought this was
hell, he didn't know me very well. If he had wanted this to be hell,
he would never have said he would come back. THAT would have been
hell.

As I've said, Ben is a good companion. He's cheerful and hard-
working. He's also silent when I feel the need for silence, which is
often. I found myself telling him much of what I told Ness about
Earth. There is only one problem: he is like a puppy in his hero
worship. It's when we get close physically that he is anything but
puppy-like in the strength of his physical response. There's no way
around that in a cabin as small as Ben's or when we work together in
the fields harvesting rocks. Now I've known plenty of women who have
had crushes on my person. They see the face and the form but not the
whole package. They think they can 'save' me. I've learned to ignore
that. There have even been a few men, gays who feel the exact same
way. But with Ben this is much tougher. Though he envisions himself
the hermit, he's actually dying for companionship. So what would you
expect? Here he is, finally alone with another human being, he's
never known a woman, doesn't expect to ever have the opportunity to
know a woman, and as I understand it his society has totally
accepted the man-man thing. I'm also fighting this fairy-tale he's
been telling himself ever since he stepped in line to become a
landholder at thirteen about the ideal relationship between the
lordly Holder and his worshiping field hand. Let's just say that we
have the makings for considerable tension here.

The worst part is, I'm lonely, too, and here I have the possibility
for a real friend, which is rare for me. I do feel an ache when I
see that boy-man's back turned to me as he sleeps alone on his shelf
bed. That's another reason why I sleep in the barn most of the time.
The only time I sleep inside is when it's too cold at night, which
it often is even though I'm told that it's nearly summer. When I'm
forced inside, I stretch out under the table in the cabin, unwilling
to sleep again in front of the fire at Ben's feet. He may be only
ten years younger than I in age, but he's a century behind in life
experience.

Look who's talkin'? Mr. Sophisticate.
 

Year 30, Week 19.9 Dale Reckoning

John Ironlegs came visiting, two and a half of their ten-day weeks
since his last visit. We were working on clearing a new field, which
was fortunate for us both. Stinking, filthy, sweaty and sunburned as
I was, I looked every inch the non-too-bright plowhorse.

"Daniel wants to know why you two haven't come to town," the runner
called across most of the field. "It's May Day tomorrow. It would be
a good time he says."
 
Ben looked my way, clearly hesitating. We both knew that allowing me
to be seen by people could complicate my life here, but in time our
continued absence would begin to look suspicious. Ben is one of the
few genuinely decent and kind people that I have ever known and I
don't want him hurt as a result of his association with me.

As if maneuvering to get a better hold on a very large stone, I
turned my back on the runner and spoke softly so that only Benjamin
could hear. "Ben, you should go."

"These festivals are overrated," he murmured so John couldn't hear
or see his mouth move.

"That's not the point. You can't isolate yourself out here with me.
That will only raise questions." I didn't say what my real reason
was, that when I left with Charley I didn't want Benjamin to have
burned all his bridges here. If I understood his history correctly,
he had been enough of a recluse before.

After catching my eye to confirm that I was serious, Ben shouted to
John, "Very well, I'll come!"

"And what about 'him'," John called back, gesturing to me. "Don't
tell me that you're going to leave him tied up in the barn!"

"That's not a totally bad idea," I murmured to the rock I was
laboring with. "I mean about staying  here, not the tied up part.
I've never been very much of a party-person."

"We'll BOTH come!" Ben answered, a hint of humor in his voice, and
that was that. With a skip John's swift feet were flying to finish
his rounds.

We worked for a while in silence. As I said, we were clearing a new
field. Rocks are amazingly heavy when you drop one on your foot. The
tough old grass refused to be cut and if you try to pull it out by
the roots, most of the topsoil came up with it, which has to be
reclaimed because there was precious little. Then the earth just
under the topsoil has to be broken up with picks and mixed with
compost. I'll never complain about having to slave over expense
reports again.
 
Lunchtime comes whenever the first of us sits down for a break.
Early on, just after the first week when I'd broken in my muscles,
we reached a point when neither of us wanted to be the first to give
in. We nearly killed ourselves working from dawn to dark. We don't
do that anymore. Ben gave in first this time, sprawling out under
what he said was a roseberry bush and sucking in air and cool water
from a flask. "We'd better call it a day. Takes hours to walk to
town and we have to clean up."

Muscles aching in that good way from honest, physical labor, I
dropped down onto the dry grass next to Ben, there being no other
shade. Unfortunately, I sat on a half-buried rock, which I quickly
chucked into our ever-enlarging pile. "We should do something with
those," I said gesturing to the pile. "With no neighbors to worry
about and no animals, I guess you don't have any need for stone
fences."

"Hardly. They build houses with them in the town and, Freeze knows,
that there's clay enough for mortar, but it's not worth the trouble
to drag them so far."

I gestured up the hill towards the sod cabin and barn, their grassy
roofs barely distinguishable from the hills at this distance. "It's
a long way from the river. What about a rock-lined cistern or
another storage shed?"

Ben munched on his lunch of bread and bean spread, his eyes
animated. "Or another room on the cabin. It's going to be very
crowded this winter with the both of us stuffed in there day after
day. You'll freeze in the barn." There was the slightest catch in
his voice as he finished with, "And I won't have you sleeping on the
floor for months at a time."

This was actually very kind of him because I knew where he wanted me
to sleep. He had shyly offered space on his bed bench more than once
on the colder nights.

"Yes, you should have a small room of your own," Ben repeated. This
said he allowed himself a cautious glance in my direction probably
hoping that I would protest.
 
In truth I did hesitate. Kicking puppies was not my favorite
occupation and I hadn't planned on telling gentle Ben that I would
not be around this winter until much closer to the time of my
departure. On the other hand I didn't want him wasting time and
effort building a room that I had no intention of ever needing.
"That's an idea but I have another one. When the weather's good you
bath in the river. I assume the river freezes. What do you do in the
winter?"

"Stink," the black-bearded, young man said with a grin.

"Ever thought about building a sweat lodge or sauna up against the
outside of the existing chimney? It would be a way of getting really
warm every once in a while during the winter. I know I've had enough
of being cold on this trip."

Ben was thoughtful and, though he tried to hide it, quietly hopeful.
I instantly regretted the expectations my refusal of a room and bed
of my own had spawned.

With the ease of a strong and active man, Ben rose to his feet and
reached for a rough sack at his feet. Earlier we had taken turns
going up to the cabin to fetch going-to-town cleaning supplies.
"We'll talk about this more later. For now I'd better start washing
otherwise there won't be time for both of us to get ready."

I dropped in beside him with my own bundle of 'clean' clothes, extra
sacking that could serve equally well as a towel or Brillo pad, and
some of the colony's rough-milled soap. "I might as well come
along."

He stared at me, startled. "I thought bathing with me made you
nervous."

"Having you looking at me while I'm bathing makes me nervous. Since
you wash first and then back track to hide in the bushes to watch me
bath anyway there's not much difference."

Ben's cheeks blushed scarlet. "I'm sorry."

"Benjamin, I'm flattered by your offers of... closer encounters of
the intimate kind, but, as I've said, it's not the way I'm put
together."

"It's because you have a lover back on Earth, isn't it? A woman."

I nearly choked. Scully, I swear that I never discussed you with
Ben, not in those terms, but Ben is very perceptive for a recluse.
"That's probably it, though Scully is far more than a lover. I
'love' her. There's a big difference. If she were just a lover, I
could possibly trade one for another, but with what Scully and I
have, that's not possible."

"And I'm not female," Ben said dismally. "They're always better, so
they say."

I rolled my eyes. "The sex of the partner matters less than you
think, at least to me. Sure I prefer women. Like many men where I
come from I experimented with other combinations when I was young
but one man, one woman does work best for me. Still, I'm open to
everyone deciding that for themselves. Living the way you do here,
with no access to women, I can see why you might assume that more
could develop between us, but you must know by now that it won't."

Benjamin kept walking. We were at the steep edge of the riverbank
where we had to watch our footing so his eyes were on the ground,
his lips a stoic line. We sat on the bank and began the laborious
process of removing the generations-old work boots that were held
together with winding upon winding of the rough homespun. Ben jerked
with obvious frustration at his and then paused. He sighed once
deeply and started the unwrapping only more slowly.

"Back when we were in our teens, my friends and I used to sit around
and talk about how it would be when we got out own BoBs." Ben shook
his head over the crumbling boot. "Some of the things my friends
planned made me sick, but I couldn't let on. Sadistic stuff. They
kept talking about holding these parties where they'd bring two of
those poor, dumb wretches together and watch to see if they knew
what to do."  I felt, rather than heard, the young man at my side
clear his throat and then go on, his voice thicker. "I never said
what I would do when my turn came. In those days it was a given that
the newcomers would keep coming. But I knew he would be frightened,
confused. I would go slow and I would be so gentle. They're like
children, you know, the BoBs, and yet they are not. I would have
seen to it that mine would look forward to the end of the day and
the long winter nights."

With a lurch, Ben jerked off the last loosened boot, then stripped
off the sweaty shirt and trousers. Within seconds he was on his feet
and quickly executed a graceful dive into the cold water of the
small river. I sat on the bank, the image of a bare, strong back in
my mind and a pair of firm, white buttocks. Something clutched at me
deep inside. Damn, but he would be just what he said he would be; a
good lover, gentle as he said, and considerate with skillful hands.
He made carvings in the winter; they were all over his cabin. He had
very skillful hands.

A larger than normal bead of sweat trickled down into my beard.
Irritably, I rubbed at it with the back of my hand.

"What's wrong?" came an amused voice from the river. Ben had
returned to the bank to get soap from his sack.

"This beard. It's hot; it itches. I've give anything to get rid of
it."

Ben's eyes were wickedly mirthful. "Mulder, you are so lucky that
I'm not the kind of a man to take advantage of another man's
suffering." With a flourish he produced an object from his sack that
looked very much like a slice of rock.

I stared. "Shit, is that a flint razor?"

"It's May Day, the first day of the new year. The traditional time
for the shearing of the winter growth." Deftly, he sawed off a hunk
of his own black bush. I grimaced while he merely shrugged. "Seems
like it needs a bit of sharpening."

Ben pulled out a wet stone, small chisel and a small hammer stone
and proceeded to do just that, flaking as easily as the most
accomplish aborigine.

This seemed an appropriate time to bath my own dirty, sweaty body.
Years before Benjamin and his foster father had made rock steps down
into a natural pool and lined the bottom with stones. Too bad that a
few thousand years hadn't passed since to wear away the sharpest
edges. Still, it was better than sticky mud up to your ankles. As it
was still spring, the water was more than just cold and raised a
good crop of gooseflesh on my skin. It gave me the incentive to work
even more energetically to try to raise some kind of lather with the
nearly useless soap. In truth I didn't mind the chilly water. I had
spent so many of the past months living in my own stink that any
chance for a bath was welcome. I didn't linger, however, especially
when Ben came down with his newly sharpened 'razor' and more of the
terrible soap to sit on the wet steps to shave. This was my signal
to exit to a sunny spot behind him to dry in the sun. Dry enough, I
slipped on a long, T-shaped tunic and went to see how he was doing.
Amazingly, ninety percent of the thick black beard was gone. For the
first time I glimpsed Ben's real age. He was even younger than I
thought. Maybe not even thirty.

I cringed as he groped with the razor-sharp flint for a stubborn
patch of curly black hairs under his jaw. "Don't you have a mirror?"
I asked.

"There's only one in the whole colony. I've always done it by feel,
but then there's never anyone around to tell me what kind of a job
I've done. So how bad is it?"

"Amazingly good considering what you have to work with."

He laughed. "Do you mean my face?"

"Not your face, I mean the razor and the quality of the soap."  And
I meant that because the soap was indeed awful and his face, now
that I could see it, was a nice face.

Ben was pointing to a spot under his chin. "If you're going to be
critical, you can get this spot for me."

Tentatively I took between my fingers the arrowhead-size piece of
flint. "Aren't you afraid that I'll cut your throat."

"No, because, if you do, I'll cut off your nose when it's my turn."

"You'd have a large enough target," I murmured. "Seriously, maybe
I'll stay bearded after all."

"Coward, " Ben hissed. "Come on, I'll do it for you. I'm harmless."

It was all I could do to suppress a grin but Ben was being serious.
He just didn't have the cultural background to understand that no
man where I come from wants to be considered harmless.

And so he stood naked on the riverbank and holding the stone blade,
the very picture of sober, responsible barbarism. "You can trust me.
As I only have experience shaving myself, however, I'll have to take
you from behind."

Barely able to stifle peals of helpless laughter, I stripped off my
clean clothes, waded into waste-deep water and soaped up the
offending bush on my chin. As ready as I was going to get, I felt
Benjamin slid in behind me and reach around my shoulders. After
allowing a few minutes to get use to the arrangement -- and for my
bubbles of silent laughter to die down -- he did a credible job,
though I couldn't help but be aware of the hard planes of his work-
hardened muscles against my buttocks and back. He didn't try a
thing, but I still sent a prayer up to the gods for the snowmelt
waters of spring.

End of Chapter 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

BENJAMIN:
Year 30, Week 19.9 Dale Reckoning

The first beardless hours of the spring are always special. Strange
and special. You expect to feel cool, you don't expect to feel five
pounds lighter as well as vulnerable. Every breath of wind is like a
gentle slap on the newly naked skin of your face. Thus with the
breeze slapping at our chins, we started out on the road when the
sun was about two o'clock in the sky. The 'o'clocks' are a holdover
from old Earth. They never made much sense to me, but Mulder
understood readily enough so I guess we haven't strayed too far from
the original idea. I started out at my normal clip but within half a
mile I'd left Mulder behind. He was fast enough. It was just that
his feet did not have the years of toughening mine had. We were, of
course, barefoot, the disintegrating work boots being too rare to
waste just walking.

While he sat and rubbed stone sores I took fifteen minutes to rig up
some sandals for him from bark and moss with ropeweed straps. He
said that they looked godawful but beat the alternative. I stared at
his hands as he worked to make the jury-rigged straps as comfortable
as possible. When he shaved that little awkward patch under my jaw
for me, those long, fine fingers, now so ingrained with my farm's
dirt, had been steady as a rock. If it had been me that close to him
for the first time, I don't know how cool I would have been. I
wonder what he did for a living back on Earth? He'd never said. My
guess is that it took a steady hand.
 

Two and a half hours of walking took us to within sight of Stony;
the colony's only collection of buildings that could be considered a
town. I explained to Mulder that its full name was Stony River as it
was located on the Big River, the same one that flows by my farm.
The Stony part refers to the land it's built on. Best to locate a
town where the land is too poor for farming.

True to our plan Mulder didn't speak a word once we started meeting
people on the road. I realized quickly that he may be able to manage
not speaking, but he was going to find imitating that distracted,
unawareness of most BoBs more difficult. We'd lived and worked
together long enough for me to be conscious of how his body hummed
with curiosity about the buildings, the catch-as-catch can dress of
the townspeople, the food stalls and games, the music and songs and
entertainers. I really should have exposed him to the town on a
normal day first. Normal BoB's would have found the distractions on
a festival day overpowering, but then Mulder's not normal. Dalemen
who wanted to meet the first newcomer to be dumped upon our shores
in a decade stopped us every five feet. I had expected this and
prepared a credible story based on the daydreams of fifteen years.
What I should have done was fill Mulder in on my tale beforehand as
the fiction of our life together was far more of a surprise to him
then to my friends and neighbors. To all appearances he stood
quietly, hands clasped, head bowed, but I could sense an angry
stiffening from time to time, that and occasional sputter of
amusement that he covered with a few well-timed coughs. A cold, I
explained with much concern, picked up as a result of the chill, wet
night of his arrival. This topic inevitably led to fanciful
speculation on how we spent other nights. The ribald jokes made his
fingers curl into their palms and the tops of his ears redden. I
tried to turn the conversation but going on about clearing new
fields and plans for new buildings only works for so long.

The worst for Mulder was the invasion of what he calls his personal
space. He was right; it was degrading. You could bet that every time
I was occupied deflecting questions on my right, some insensitive
jerk was poking his fingers into the scars of Mulder's face or
trying to push back his clothes to see if there were others. They
didn't want to hear me go on about how strong and healthy he was,
they wanted to look into his mouth themselves and touch the firm
muscles. Rains! If anyone touches that skin it's going to be me! I
knew we were in trouble when I heard a low-pitched warning growl.
Talon, green with envy to see how well the sick and muddy wretch we
had seen in the barn that day had turned out, wanted to see with his
own eyes how expandable were certain parts of this newcomer's
anatomy.

Seeing the explosion coming, which hopefully could be dismissed as
no worse than a very slight fit, I clutched Mulder in my arms, a
handy position for protecting the body part in question from
inquisitive hands and, coincidentally, something I'd been longing to
do. For once he couldn't sidestep me either, not and maintain his
'cover'. It took all the joy out of the moment to feel him tighten
like a cart that's beyond overloaded. I prayed that he'd hold
together long enough for me to lighten the load.

"Talon Harris, now you back off. He's not yours to be touching that
way. Even if he were your newcomer, it's not polite. Give the man
some room. Can't any of you see how shy and sensitive he is."  The
last statement was pretty unbelievable. Even though he was able to
project a fair impression of Bob-ness, Mulder was clearly anything
but shy and sensitive. In his present mood, some barely leashed
madman would have described him better though maybe I was the only
one who saw him that way. I was relieved that at my ridiculous
comment he stuffed his fist in his mouth to stifle the laughter. I
felt the bubbles as a kind of hiccuping in the tension of his hard
stomach against mine. It might have been a considerable effort
because the teeth marks were visible for days.

We had ceased being the center of attention by the time night fell.
Mulder was more than ready for it. I felt the cooling sweat through
both shirt and vest as I helped him on with the night coat I
requisitioned for him from group stores.  Dale is almost always cold
at night. Snow in mid-summer is not unheard of. Though the coat was
in poor shape -- after all he was only a newcomer according to the
rolls -- at least it was warm. Mulder seemed equally grateful for
its concealing shape and large hood. Now that it was dark and the
lights few, most of the Dalesmen were standing around the open
windows of Government House, the only two-story dwelling on the
planet.

"Listening to Mayor Dan's moral-raising speeches is a festival day
tradition," I explained. "With all respect, those speeches with
their visions and plans for our future are about all that has held
us together all these years." I grinned. "More importantly, now that
almost everyone is occupied, we can see what is left on the food
tables."

For my contribution I'd brought only a string of dried, spiced
applepears, but I knew that Mulder was extremely interested in the
preparation of our food. It was a limited diet but for that very
reason we had learned to be inventive. We were at least lucky in
that what Dale lacked in the way of food animals, fish and fowl, it
made up for in herbs and greens, fruits and berries, roots and
beans. There was also a long, boring winter to test all the possible
combinations. As we tasted each dish, I explained the contents and
the spice. I could tell from the flash in his eyes that he was as
grateful for the knowledge as he was for the food.

On the whole, however, we spent the evening in the shadows. We
watched a play whose Earthly progenitor Mulder knew well. We
listened to songs, the tunes of which Mulder could also identify
though the words had changed. In whispers I explained the games of
chance the men played.

And then came the dance.

I got us a good spot early as everyone at the gathering would
eventually gather to watch. Extra torches were brought out. The most
skilled musicians played. Then the dancers came out. Small, slender
creatures they were with long hair and delicate, smooth faces. Soft
rounded bodies. Our women. All of our women. There were eight. They
danced only with each other, their movements mesmerizing. Two were
older women with long gray hair. Though they danced along with the
others, they seemed as frail as light itself. Three of the younger
women were obviously pregnant. Only two babies were shown, only two
born over the winter and only one was a girl. You could almost feel
the despair of the crowd. Mulder stood as transfixed as the rest of
us, looking at our dying future. I wondered how he could sympathize
so with our sorrow since there were millions women were he came
from, but then I noticed that his eyes were for one young women
only. She did not have the wasted thinness of most of the others;
she was one of the pregnant ones. Her skin was pale, her hair, red,
and her face prettier than average. There were tears shining in his
expressive eyes by the time the dance was done and the women taken
back to the strong houses and walled gardens where they lived out
their lives.

We melted away from the crowd, not staying for the elaborate,
stamping, weaving circle dances of the men that followed. We walked
in the shadows in silence. "Your woman, does she have red hair like
that?" I asked softly.

He answered with a single slow nod. I don't know if he didn't speak
because he was keeping to his role or because there were just no
words sufficient to describe the sadness that I saw in his face. Did
he remember that the red-haired girl was as like as not to die
before spring? I didn't ask him any more questions.

I took the opportunity while the rest of the revelers were toasting
the official end of winter and the beginning of the new year to lead
us away from the crowd. I found my feet taking us towards a long,
stone building on the edge of town. Only a few torches burned but
there was the scuff of feet coming and going in the dark. A distance
from it in the blackest shadow under a large tree I halted. After
seeing 'them' -- the women -- and having to be so close to Mulder
for so long and our not 'doing' anything, I had considerable tension
to release. "I need to stop here for a while. Maybe half an hour," I
told him.

For the first time since the dance he came out of his own thoughts.
He listened for a few minutes to the stray, muffled sounds and
watched the shapes moving in the dark. His lips formed a small,
almost apologetic smile. "I understand."

I fumbled in my pocket for a scrap of dark fabric with holes cut for
the eyes. I felt myself blushing as I held it up for him to see. "I
know it's a sham. We all know who we are but it makes it easier to
meet on the street the next morning. But what do I do with you? Some
of the holders bring their BoB's with them. They sit in the corner
and watch. Maybe they want them to learn some new tricks for when
they get home, but I couldn't bear that and neither could you. If
you waited out here, however, I'd be afraid that someone might
stumble over you and, considering the state of mind of the men who
come this way -- " 'Then there's your looks,' I thought, though I
didn't say that part out loud. "-- I'm afraid of what they'd try to
do."

He glanced up into the branches above our head. "I could sit in this
tree until you got back though the last time I remember climbing a
tree I fell out."

"Better not try it then," I said with a grin.

He gestured towards a cluster of woods north of the long house. "I
could hide there," he suggested. "I'll stay quiet. You stay as long
as you want."

I tried to keep the laughter out of my voice, "That would be just
about the worst place. It _ is _  very private. It's also very
popular, if a little cold at this time of year."  Mulder's eyes
actually widened at that thought but with the low light, it was hard
to be certain.

Before we could present and reject any more alternatives, a deep
voice that didn't belong to either of us came like a knife out of
the darkness. "Perhaps it would be best if you both came along with
me."  In the next moment their owner came nearer so that we could
make out his face in the tiny oil lamp he had carried shielded until
now. I knew the man, everyone on Dale did, but unexpectedly I
tensed. What I didn't understand was why at the sight of our visitor
Mulder went completely rigid and even in this dark I could see his
face go pale.
 

MULDER:
Year 30, Week 19.9 Dale Reckoning

Benjamin didn't understand why I stood there, frozen, to stare at
Dale's mayor as if I had seen a ghost. The truth was, I had. Mayor
Daniel was Charley, only decades older. Ben tugged at my arm,
whispering that there was nothing to be afraid of. Under the
circumstances I didn't believe him. The mayor's broad figure led us
over the dark field and through the silent streets. He was easy to
follow as he wore a thick, full cloak and carried a stoat walking
stick that he did not seem to need despite his age. We approached
the sturdy two-story building the crowd had been gathered around
earlier in the evening. In little bursts of commentary Ben informed
me that not only was this structure the seat of what government
there was on Dale, but the mayor's residence as well. I was
concerned that that very individual would hear us talking -- 'me'
talking -- but Benjamin did not seem particularly distressed. "He
would have to be told sooner or later."  To my way of thinking Ben
was far too trusting but it was too late for that.

Government House looked deserted to my eyes but the lack of electric
lights have that affect. One lone torch held vigil outside. As we
drew near, it became clear that shutters now covered the windows
that the townspeople had peered through earlier. No, not shutters
exactly, but frames covered with crude oiled paper so that the dim
glow of a goodly number of lamp flames could be seen now that we
were near. All in all, built solidly of native fieldstone as it was,
Government House came across more intimidating that impressive.

As we approached, the wide front door opened from within by an aging
man with a marked attitude of servility. He even shuffled more than
his age would account for as he moved away to allow us to enter. We
huddled for a moment in a small foyer while the serving man -- the
first obvious BoB I'd seen -- took the mayor's cloak. The garment,
centuries more stylish than anything Ben owned, was placed into an
armoire rather than hung on one of the hooks clearly intended for
visitors. Through an open doorway could be seen a well-furnished
room. With its clean wooden floor, the house certainly looked less
like a fortress from the inside though there was still the chill of
thick stone walls. In size and appointments it reminded me of some
of the less grand but still very habitable houses in the historic
section of Williamsburg.

As his heavy walking stick was taken, the mayor waved casually to
his serving man. "Bring something to eat and drink for my guests,"
but his eyes, full of pointed humor, were for me. "I will return in
a few minutes. Reese will serve you." Then he disappeared through a
doorway in the rear of the foyer and we soon heard footsteps on
wooden stairs. Before we were shown into the impressive side room
there was time to note the presence of two well-crafted wooden
benches in the foyer in addition to the armoire. I suppose that
there had to be someplace for the supplicants to wait.

But there was no waiting for us. The room we were shown into seemed
a busy and meticulous man's study. There were all the personal
touches, especially the books, even though these are few in number,
few in pages, and crudely made. Benjamin stared openly at the
furnishings. There were curtains of rough but precious cloth at the
windows, a desk, a good-sized table and ample chairs. One of these
last was especially large and well built. All were luxuries in this
metal-starved world where each tree brought down with stone ax,
wedge and mallet was a triumph. Ben's work-worn, wood-loving hands
drifted over the well-planed top of the table as his eye busily
memorized the design of each chair.

"Haven't you been here before?" I asked.

Ben's fingers reverently touched a bentwood chair back. "Only on
business and not alone. I wouldn't have dared touch anything." His
voice was full of awe as he caressed the top of the table. "The
months this must have taken."

I left Ben admiring the furniture to exercise my own senses. As
expected, the room smelled less of the ever-present earthy scent of
sod and peat than any other dwelling I'd been in. The fireplace was
burning wood. There was also the silence. In a civilization without
radios, televisions, automobiles, boom boxes or crickets, I had
gotten use to the sound of the wind against tree and grass, but
there wasn't any of that here. Boards creaked as someone walked on
the floor above. By the slowness and heaviness of the tread it had
to be the sturdily built and aging Mayor Dan.

So curious was I upon what was going on on the second floor that I
missed the silent entrance of Reese. He bore a tray with cakes,
bread, and a popular spread like humus. There were also glazed
ceramic cups, the first I had seen, and a crock of what was probably
a kind of beer, the popular beverage. I studied the man almost
guiltily until I noticed that even though he kept his head bowed in
what I assumed was the correct deferential posture for a product of
Dale's system of 'social responsibility', he was watching me just as
closely as I watched him. I had told myself over the last weeks that
there were probably worse ways to deal with an overabundance of
physically strong but emotionally disturbed men. What rankled was my
own automatic inclusion in that company of people who needed 'taken
care of' as if they were children.

"Can you speak?" I asked, hating the softness in my tone.
Automatically, I had pitched my voice so as not to startle someone
who was easily upset or frightened.

An emotion disturbed the lined face. Not, I noticed, fear.
Gratitude? How long has it been since he had been addressed directly
as if he were a person? With intense concentration he managed, "S-
Some."

And now what do I say? He was what I so easily could have been, a
man touched with something 'special' from his heredity that failed
to completely impress our alien invaders. Perhaps he had been a
mindspeaker with no useful level of mindspeech who was sent into
exile on a mind-destroying spacecraft. Unprepared, unprotected, he
had lost touch with so much of what he once had been, even to the
loss of most of his language.

"Thank you," I said, gesturing to the food and drink and trying not
to sound as if I was talking to a mental deficient. Too many times,
when I was spaced out on drugs or ill or temporarily out of touch
with reality, well-meaning, do-gooding nurses and therapists had
talked to me that way. Humiliated does not begin to describe the
feeling. But you never did, Scully, you never did, and for that I
will be eternally grateful. For that I will not talk to this man of
pride and sorrow as if he were a child of three.

"Do you remember being brought to his planet?" I asked, hoping the
question would not be too disturbing. I got a nod, immediate and
matter-of-fact. "How long ago?"
 
"I was... the first," he managed quite clearly. "Three years after...
the colonists."

And the colony was thirty years old. That meant that this man had
lived here from about the time Ben had been born, and yet due to an
accident in timing and birth what a difference in their status.

"And you've been with the mayor ever since? Was that your choice?"

The eyes that met mine were as sane as my own. "Even if I had ... a
choice... where would I go?"

That was not the point. Having no choice was the point. Newcomers
were 'awarded' to this colonist or that like a horse or a prize in a
lottery, the luck of the draw or in Dale's case by birth order. This
was bad enough but almost worse was that no one cared whether their
adoptive 'parent' took the form of father or taskmaster or devil.
 
"I'd like for us to talk sometime," I told him and I meant it.
"Sometime when you are not on working." Also, sometime when Ben
wasn't around, as he was now, to frown and be embarrassed by the way
I was breaking at least a dozen of his society's social taboos.

Reese inclined his head and left us but not without a backward
glance that found and caught my eye.

Reese knew more that he said. As with the babytalking 'speakers' in
the colony of the Portjam, there was nothing wrong with his hearing
and that last glance told me that he had heard plenty in this house.
He knew what I was, that I was like him and yet unlike. He just
didn't have the words. I wonder if Ben knew what was going on here
below the surface like a current deep underground. All at once I
wanted to meet more of these second class citizens. Here was a way I
could start sewing my own fields on this planet. Fields of dissent.
First, however, I needed to know more. What intellect that remained
in the newcomers would be variable but how much more had been merely
suppressed through low expectations? Martin Luther King, be with me
now.

"You mustn't do that," Ben admonished nervously.

"What?"

"Talk to another man's... newcomer."

"Another man's newcomer. Does that mean I'm yours?" I thought we'd
gone beyond that but then what was three weeks in my company
compared to the equivalent of twenty-eight years in this society.
One night in the company of his friends had brought a lot back.
"Ben," I said in as friendly as way as I could, "we need to have a
long talk."

"So do we." At this voice at my back every muscle in my body tensed.
I knew that voice. It was a rough version of Charley's. Mayor Daniel
had returned. It's not all that easy to catch me unawares and he'd
managed the trick twice in an hour.
 
In this study where there was more light, the mayor's resemblance to
the Hunter was even more pronounced. There was the same massive,
strong body, the same square jaw. There was the same cold, gray eyes
and thin lips and the battered look of an old prizefighter. The
difference besides age was what Daniel had which Charley could never
mimic. Humanity. Life. Charley always seemed stiff as if for all his
power his assumed body was too tight a fit. In comparison, this man
had a power and grace, surprising for a man of his age, which had to
be at least sixty.
 
Like the servant, Reese, Mayor Daniel was sizing me up at the same
time I was doing the same. No point in even trying the poor-newcomer
act with this wily old fox.

"I congratulate you on your game, Benjamin. Having this one keep
silent was a good plan, but you need to be more careful in the
future." In this first long speech I caught Charley's accent.

Ben was doing a very excellent impression of a sheep. "It wasn't my
plan," he admitted. "It was his," and he nodded my way.

Mayor Daniel's eyes widened with interest into mine. "A talking and
reasoning newcomer. I take it that Benjamin has informed you as to
just how rare that is?"

"He has."

"I assume you remember your name then? Most of the others didn't."

I was trying to decide what to give him, maybe Ishmael again, as I
had used with Ness when Ben popped up with "He says his name is
Mulder." Poor Ben, still trying to be my keeper. On the other hand,
I've always preferred to keep silent at this stage and let others do
the talking.

As you so often did the talking for us both, my dear Scully.

Bringing my attention back to Daniel I found quite an expression of
surprise on his face. Icy fingers of alarm shivered up and down my
arms. Ben didn't seem to have noticed the silent exchange on either
side, however.
 
"How long have you known?" Ben asked. "Why didn't you just ask us to
meet you here?"

"I suspected ever since John Ironlegs' report, but I didn't want to
upset the game by calling attention to the two of you any sooner
than necessary. Besides I wanted to see for myself how well you
could maintain the pretense. Don't worry, the others saw only what
they expected to see though even without my earlier information I
would have known."

"How?"

"These." Daniel touched his face and for the first time I saw the
faint traces of nearly invisible scars. Ben stared open-mouthed from
those scars on his hero's face to mine, for hero I knew this Daniel
was to Ben as well as to the rest of the colony.

A faint smile on his face Daniel raised his voice and called
"Arniesse!"

Within seconds a pale young man of about twenty appeared. Dressed in
a long, gray robe like that of a monk he was less tall by inches
than any of the rest of us in the room. His smooth skin suggested
that he was too young even to shave yet. Those who liked the type
would say that he was quite good-looking in the pretty boy way. My
assumption that he was Daniel's bedwarmer was immediate and probably
unfair.

"Arniesse, I think Holder Benjamin would appreciate a tour of the
second floor of the house. Please see to that... and take your time."

There was no trace of menace in the mayor's voice -- in fact there
was much that I could have sworn was parental -- and yet I had
learned not to trust that voice. With concern I turned to Ben and
found that he had undergone the most amazing transformation. He was
locked in place, a look of total astonishment on his face. While he
stood frozen, the young man, Arniesse, came forward, a clean,
slender hand outstretched. It was clear that that hand had not spent
the last five weeks planting in the fields.  Awkwardly, Ben wiped
his own against his going-to-town pants as if embarrassed that he
had spent the last weeks doing just that. Then he raised that hand
and accepted Arniesse's.

I was concentrating on faces, not hands, so I didn't catch every
movement, but they did stand face to face and hand-in-hand for quite
some time, longer than one would expect for a greeting between
strangers and odd because neither spoke again. Daniel still stood
with that expression of amusement, Ben with obvious excitement and
expectation like a child on Christmas morning, Arniesse...

Having seen Charley morph often, I should not have been surprised
and yet I was, perhaps because the change was so subtle. The young
man's smooth, delicate face began to blur and shift and then the
form beneath the robe began to draw together, shrinking across the
shoulders and yet swelling across the chest until there were obvious
curves beneath the robe's dark folds. When the transformation was
complete Arniesse still held Ben's hand or at least 'Annie' did.
Most amazing was that Ben was not in the least surprised. On the
contrary, his expression was one of blissful attention. Here was a
facet of Dale he had neglected to mention.

"Why don't you two run along now," Daniel said, looking all the
world like that proud father instructing two children to run off and
play. There was certainly a childlike glow about Ben as he allowed
the faintly smiling young woman to lead him, dazed, from the room.

End of Chapter 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

MULDER:
Year 31, Week 00.0 Dale Reckoning (May Day)

Grinning to himself, Daniel closed the door to the rest of the house
and gestured towards the refreshments.

"That was cruel," I said.

"Benjamin doesn't think so. He'll have a night like none other. It
may even keep his mind off your fine figure for a few days. I dare
say that both of you will appreciate that."

I felt heat rising to my cheeks. "You certainly do know a lot about
what goes on outside your little town."

"Not a lot.... Everything." He paused. "Except your name. My spies
must not have thought that important. On another point I also
slipped." He poured two mugs of beer and extended both to me to take
whichever I wanted. "When you came in I should have gone to take a
look at you myself. They didn't report the --" He gestured to his
own facial scarring. " -- until much later."
 
"What difference would that have made?"

"You never would have gone to Ben's place. Just from the scarring I
would have been surprised if you _ had _ been like the others. I'm
also aware of Benjamin's romantic tenancies. What a shock that must
have been to the poor boy to expect a son, a wife, and a brother all
wrapped up into one and to get you." Daniel seemed to find that
extremely amusing. Strangely enough I could see his point.

"It was traumatic for a time... for both of us. But you did find out,
so why the silence? Why leave me there?"

"I knew Ben was harmless. Actually, I could have provided you with
no better teacher to introduce you to our life here. If the duty had
fallen on some of the others, however..." The old man actually
shuddered.

"What?"

"Finding a tiger rather than a pussycat? I wouldn't have put it past
not of few of them not to cut out your tongue and bash your head in
with a rock and whatever else was needed to ensure themselves of the
properly dependent and submissive slave that all the young bucks
dream of."
 
It was my turn to shiver. There had been eyes at the festival that I
hadn't liked the look of and hands that were too personal. It was a
rough, hard life, barely clinging to civilization. Unfortunately, I
could see Daniel's scenario happening all too easily.

"So where would I have gone if not to Ben's?"

Daniel opened wide his arms to indicate the house. "Here. You would
have come to live with me."

Somehow that came as no surprise.

"How would you have explained that to Benjamin? I take it he was
next in line."

"For his beast of burden, yes, but you're no drifting man-child as
well he knew the minute you opened your mouth; therefore, you never
had need of fostering." The mayor raised his eyes towards the second
floor from where faint noises were coming and frowned. "I must admit
that I'm surprised that he didn't send word of your mental
intactness to me immediately."

For Ben's sake I felt the faint stirrings of unease. "Don't let him
be in any trouble over me. He has been very kind."

"I can see that. Fresh air, hard work, healthy food -- compared to
the early reports you certainly seem to be thriving." His gaze had
returned to me and though he was outwardly friendly I didn't think
that I cared for the expression in the back of those cold gray eyes
any more than that I had seen in Talon Harris's at the festival.
 
Lowering his large frame into the sturdiest chair, Daniel leaned
back and laced his thick fingers together. "So how is Bek?" he
asked.

If he expected a reaction from me, he didn't get one. "Who?"

"He left you on my doorstep. It was Bek, I'm correct, am I not?"

"Are you referring to the 'shifter' who wears the face that you must
have worn thirty years ago?"

"So he still does that. Until you reacted at seeing me, I didn't
know. I also suspected from the scars. You see, he tried to train me
the same way you thirty-five years ago. What happened? Not live up
to your potential? From looking at the set of your jaw, I think I
know the answer to that one. Don't feel bad about failing. It's
impossibly hard. Bek's the only shifter to my knowledge who
continues to believe that the human mongrel can be taught. He always
was an optimist. He was determined that I learn or die in the
attempt. By the evidence of your injuries when you arrived, I
imagine you had a similar experience. A good enough reason to fight
him.  I chose neither to learn very well nor to die so I was sent
here with their other castoffs. It was actually my idea to start the
colony. Far better than the method the council would have used for
disposal of excess baggage. So I was thrown out of his idea of
heaven and given a choice -- come back and be his dog, his
instrument, or rot here. I chose to rot."

"Better to rule in hell."

"Something like that."

His eyes went sad then and distant as some old pain passed through
him like a ghost. "This particular planet was a bad choice
unfortunately. That was not my doing."

I fingered the smooth glaze of my mug uncomfortably. "Benjamin told
me about your women. I'm very sorry for your loss."

A gut-deep sigh escaped the old man. "'For our loss', yes.
Eventually, the end of everything. It's just going to be a slow
death rather than something a good deal more dramatic. But there's
nothing to be done. We are powerless." There was nothing powerless
about the voice, however. There was anger. It was still an
impressive force, ancient though it may be in its origins. "We knew
what the problem was within a year. Some bleeding disorder. A
chemical in this world disrupts the clotting process. No only do the
women die in childbirth but any person who suffers any severe injury
is likely to die. That's one reason why we don't try harder to find
metal on this deathtrap. In the early years I saw Bek from time to
time. The bastard wouldn't help, or said he couldn't." Daniel took a
long drink. He must have used the pause to shut the anger away into
its cupboard because when he spoke again he was back in control.

"So Bek's taken to wearing my face? All the time?"

"I've seen Charley under many circumstances but he chooses yours by
default."

"Charley? I like that. That's what you call him?"

"Only me. We spent some time at a space station. There they call him
Rodan."

The old man laughed and that was a very, very weird thing to see as
well as to hear because I've never seen Charley even come close to a
real smile. "Does he? That's humorous considering that my full name
is Dan Rowe."

And they call me Spooky. Charley has some serious identity crisis.

With only a slight stiffness for one of his age, Daniel rose from
his chair to retrieve a low wooden box, which he brought to the
table. "You know, I would very much like to play chess with you. Do
you mind? We can still talk. I know any student of Bek's could do
calculus in his head at the same time he recited the Gettisburg
address. I take it that you do play?"

"Not much time since college."

"Then we'll be evenly matched. The only opponents I've had for
thirty years have been more interested in seed rationing and the
weather report. Now you don't read minds or anything do you? That
wouldn't be fair."

Not anymore, thanks to ol' Nicotine Man.

While he set up the board of crudely carved pieces I tentatively
sipped at my drink for the first time. I'd had it before, a spicy
beer, but this was a far superior batch both in amount of alcohol
and flavor. I gestured with my cup. "You make some things well."

"One must have a hobby for the winter months."

"Arniesse..." I began not knowing how to phrase my question.
 
"I wondered when you were going to ask about the Graypeople."

"Graypeople?"

"Or Grayrobes because of those clothes they normally wear. Or
'changelings'. Ben didn't mention them?"

"Not a word."

"You weren't shocked."

"I've seen these creatures before, long before I ever met my first
green-blooded shapeshifter. There was a sect of them. To all
appearances they lived quietly, almost like the Amish or Mennonites.
The only problem was, one of them began killing its human partners
and on a fairly regular basis."

"Interesting. A rogue I take it?"

"From my understanding, yes."
 
"Ours live in the south. The Graypeople were actually planted here
at nearly the same time we were. Gene splicing between shapeshifters
and humans, I'm told, so 'Graypeople' has a double meaning if you
think of the changelings as being distantly related to our little
gray alien race even though they are themselves not gray. Come to
think of it, though, they don't tan easily. I assume we were put
together to see what would happen to the trait when we interbred,
but there hasn't been much of that. Their female stage is lovely and
fully functional, but barren, and so many of our women had already
died by the time they came that we don't know about their sperm
count. You would think that they would be welcome here, if merely
for their physical attributes, and you'd be right. Maddeningly
seductive as they are, however, they're a cold race and build no
emotional bonds. They don't stay long and always leave bad feelings
when they go. The reason that their town is separate from ours is
obvious. Over the years we have drifted even farther apart. Not that
there isn't contact. There is from time to time. Productivity drops
on Dale for the duration but, otherwise, the interaction is
harmless. So you do not need to worry about Benjamin. Yes, I've seen
you glancing towards the ceiling. He'll come away from tonight with
a raving infatuation, something we call the Southern Sweat, but as
such things go with the young, that will pass in a few weeks."
Daniel raised his cup in a toast. "Meanwhile, enjoy the lessening of
his ardent attentions. Now as to this game, age before beauty. If
you don't mind, I will start."

The moves at first were rapid as players new to each other send out
familiar decoys to identify their opponent's strengths and
weaknesses. I found myself enjoying the game. The old man was a
good, if erratic player, and we were well matched.

We talked of general things. His fears over the harvest caught my
attention. I was asked my impressions of the colony so far. Twice
Reese glided in silently to refill cups and to bring bits of choice
new foods. One time he built up the fire. At the end he threw on a
handful of leaves and wood chips that were kept in a separate bin
and the room was soon filled with a slightly pleasant scent. The
small room warmed quickly and I soon found myself nodding over the
board as I waited for the old man. He seemed to be taking longer and
longer with each turn. Not surprisingly I was tired. Ben and I had
worked hard from sunup until after noon and then walked the twelve
miles to town. Then there had been the stress of being shown off at
the festival and meeting Mayor Dan and his 'man'. Add to that the
late hour, the food, the strong beer, the warm room and my eyes
closed.
 

The call came out of nowhere. With a jerk my head came up, but I
still felt groggy. I shook it as if that would help.

"I apologize that my company is not more exciting," the old man
across the table said lightly, but though his tone was casual, Mayor
Dan's intent gray eyes met mine.

"It's not you. It's just been a very long day."

"We can stop."

"No, let's finish this," and I stared at the board to find what the
old man had finally moved during my doze.
 
And then I saw it. I had no particular long-term strategy in mind
but he would be much confused over why I did it. The move won me an
enthusiastic grin and hearty laugh.

"There! I knew, I knew you would play well!"

"How could you have known?"

"The same way I knew you weren't going to be some poor damaged
mother's son like the others. The scars." He touched his face. "No
one who has been picked by Bek for flight training would have been
affected so badly by mere space travel. That's how I also know that
you're tough, as tough as I am. You see, your Charley, my Bek, he
doesn't make mistakes."

Tough? At the thought of the Beast and Charley's so-called 'flight
training', one of the larger rocks from Ben's field dropped into my
stomach. "I don't know about tough. I was sick enough to die and I
never got it right except maybe for a moment and just that once."

He laughed his terrible incongruous laugh again. "But one time right
is better than one man in five million could manage. And I admit
it's unpleasant, even when you're just a passenger, but while the
likes of you and me only get sick, these poor others actually lose
significant chunks of their sanity. Their genetic and physiological
makeup can't stand up to the stress of multiple dimensions."

Where had I heard that before? "You weren't, by chance stationed at
Ellens Air Force Base, were you?" I had meant it as a joke, a joke
between us, Scully, and hadn't expected a reply, but Daniel's
response was immediate and almost suspicious.

"I thought you said that you couldn't read minds?"

"I can't any more. You know about Ellens?"

"I was a test pilot there. The best of them. Not such a good idea as
it turned out. That's where Bek found me." He looked me up and down.
"But you were no test pilot."

"No, but I infiltrated Ellens once. It didn't turn out well."

My response made him laugh again. "We, my boy, have a lot to talk
about."

Another couple of moves followed and I could tell there was
something on the old man's mind. It wasn't on the game any longer.
Finally, in the midst of a move, his head came up, eyes widening.
"Now I remember where I heard the name before. Mulder. I knew a
Mulder once."

The chess game ceased to exist.

The mayor was thinking hard, thinking back more than thirty years.
"A humorless man, Bill Mulder. Worked for the Project. Came to the
base now and then."

And I thought that particular ghost was good and buried. "My
father."

He studied me. "You don't have the look of him."

"Let's not bring that up."

This was a chance, however, to finally find out more about the
Project. I knew its basic outlines but not the details. Somehow with
all the players dead, however, that no longer seemed very important.
But Daniel wasn't sitting there waiting for me to ask about either
my father or the project. He was gone again, thinking along lines
far away.

Finally he began. "I was five years with Bek," he sighed. "From time
to time we would return to Earth to update our records on the status
of certain special individuals."

Suddenly the room was no longer hot. It was very cold. "What kind of
special?"

"People born with naturally-occurring but dormant genetic traits.
The people Bek followed had had those genes activated by an earlier
team. That was how we found them whenever we wanted. I was one that
Bek followed." The old man looked steadily at me, his gray eyes full
of compassion. "If your name is Mulder, Fox Mulder, then you were
another. In fact, I saw you during my five years with Bek on at
least three occasions. You were, of course, a child."

My face must have gone the color of clay. The golden light in the
room shrunk in a swirl of colored lights to a single, tiny spark,
which slowly... winked... out....
 

I don't faint often. I don't know if I did then but, if not, it was
a damn near thing. Someone held a cup to my lips and poured in a
swallow of something fiery and tart that was not the local beer. The
shape of the room and its furnishing reformed from the darkness as I
sputtered and coughed.

"Fox, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He was kneeling beside me, his face
full of the deepest concern. He had never looked less like Charley.
His expression nearly triggered a memory of someone known a long
time before. A big man, a stranger who had taken pity on a terrified
child. How old would I have been? For the colony to be thirty years
old, Daniel Rowe's five years of 'training' with Charley must have
gone on from the time I was about four until I was nine or ten. Had
my father known? Had my father helped? Or had the Consortium known
nothing at the time about the cuckoo in their midst? I think they
found out later, however. Time enough for someone to change their
mind about who would be taken. Between my father, Daniel, and
Spender then, my world, my life, had been manipulated more times
than I can count before I was even thirteen. The first was when they
turned that mind horror on in me, but the worst when they took Sam
and left me powerless to help her. But nearly as bad had been when
that folder was carelessly left around for me to find. Or had I been
maneuvered into finding it? For it should have been me. From the
first it should have been me.

I tried to move but the room spun. Rowe had pushed my head down
between my knees, but everything still seemed pretty distant. And
all the time, the old test pilot just kept talking though I wished,
fervently, that he would shut up.

"I can't believe it's you, and yet it is. That skinny little boy; so
scared. You would hold my hand when they came to get you for the
treatments. Other children would scream and scream, but you would
just hold my hand. I feared that when you were older that you'd
start breaking bones. Somehow it was worse that silence of yours,
that drawing in."

I was shaking my head, trying to stop his talking, when between one
second and the next pure agony exploded like a bomb in my head.
Distantly, I heard a sound, half cry, half sob. I think I stood up
then, I know I fell down. Never had it been this bad or come on this
suddenly.

There was nothing but explosions of light and dark and an incredible
dizziness as I was carried from room to room and awkwardly upstairs.
The bed they placed me on was soft and smelled freshly of something
like pine. The cool cloths that unseen hands placed on my head
opened a tiny window of relief. I tried to imagine slender, soft
hands, but these were large.

When I dared to crack open my eyes, I was further disappointed to
find that the face looking down on me was not even Benjamin's. It
was Daniel's. When had Ben come to be my second lifeline?

"Don't die, Fox," the old man ordered in a way one can only learn in
the military. "Damn you, don't you dare die!"

Is that an order, Sir?

But seriously, there were tears in the hard, gray eyes. "Listen to
me, listen. If there is any way you can talk, I need to know, I must
know: When is he coming back and where will it happen?" His voice
was so low now that I could barely hear him. Was he sensitive enough
to know that loud noises were like knives to my poor skull, or was
he only afraid that his own people would hear? "Fox, you have to
try, you have to tell me. This is important. I know he's coming back
to give you another chance because I got the same deal. I elected to
stay, but that was before we knew that this planet kills. I have to
see him, Fox, don't you see? I have to get him to listen to me. I
need to save my people. Do you know what it's like to stand by
helplessly and watch your people die, people you are responsible
for, your own wife, your own daughter?"

His voice faded to something even softer. It was almost as if he
were right inside my head. * I cannot bare this any longer! *

But I didn't answer, I couldn't even if I had wanted to and I was
not sure that I did. It was like a heavy black curtain had settled
over my mind: on one side was pain, on the other nothing,  nothing
at all. No words, no feelings. I stood on the edge between them,
only barely able to make sense of what he was asking. Nothing less
critical would have gotten through at all. He wanted to know when
Charley was coming back. My deepest secret, my only secret, my only
way home, torturous route though it may be.
 
I slid into the black for a while. No questions there and no need to
respond to any already asked. When I woke sometime later the ledge
between the pain and the dark was wider, so there was a chance that
I could hold my balance for a while. I heard a voice I knew and
forced open my eyes.

The room had been darkened in respect for my pain, but there was
clearly daylight beyond the hangings that covered the small windows.
Heavily, my lids slid closed again. I really didn't need to see to
identify the voice. It was Benjamin's but for the moment so full of
fear and guilt that I couldn't make out the words. A soothing
fatherly voice answered him.

"Of course, it's not your fault. And, no, I don't think he's going
to die. Now has he had these headaches before?"

"A few. Maybe more. He wouldn't say anything, but I could tell. He'd
go off by himself and stay for hours. But I doubt that they were
ever as bad as this."

"Migraines then, maybe only that."

Only... It felt as if my head had split this time. For Ben's sake I
managed to crack open my leaden lids once more and in a moment there
was his face, that boyishly clean-shaven face still a surprise. His
blue eyes, their rims red from weeping, seemed huge. He sniffed,
wiped his face on his shirtsleeve like a child, and then placed his
hand briefly over mine. This was what I had been missing, the hand
of a friend to hold in the dark.

"Daniel says you can stay as long as you like. He says you can stay
here always." His roughened voice was full of fear. "He says that
it's not safe for you to be alone with me at the farm. What if you
got as sick as this again?"

Yes, Daniel would like me to stay and, poor Benjamin, he's afraid
that I'll want to. He probably is sure that I'll want to. But I
can't stay here in this soft bed. I can't remember at the moment
why, but I can't stay here. I tried to sit up but didn't do a very
good job of it. Ben's young, strong arm went around my shoulders. My
mouth was bone dry, but still I managed to murmur, "I want to go
home." I meant home to Scully -- Scully is always first for that is
where my heart is -- but in this strange and lonely place Benjamin's
quiet little farm will do.
 

BENJAMIN:
Year 31, Week 00.0 Dale Reckoning

I couldn't believe it when Mulder said that he wanted to come home
with me. The mayor's residence is magnificent, but also a little
overwhelming. The problem was how to get a sick man across a dozen
miles of rough road. I had no cart with me this time. When I got up
from where I'd been kneeling beside the bed -- the mayor's own bed -
- and saw Daniel's frowning face, I became afraid all over again.
Maybe he wouldn't let Mulder leave.
 
"Benjamin, I don't think this is wise."

My mouth opened and closed and opened again. I couldn't say what I
wanted to say because I didn't have the words for it. Even if Mulder
wouldn't let me touch him the way I wanted to, the farm would seem
unbearably empty without him. It was as if all the years I had
worked contentedly in the fields alone had never happened. But most
of all I wanted him back, unreasonable, as I knew it sounded. I
wanted him back because he was mine. Mine! That shouted loudest of
all.

Finally, I offered Mayor Dan the only practical argument I could
come up with. "But we started three new fields and I can't possibly
manage them by myself."

Mayor Dan was all reason. "Benjamin, the man can't help with work
like that. Look at him."

I did look. Mulder was sitting on the edge of the bed, long legs
dangling, and hunched over as if he hadn't the strength to sit
upright. He was very pale but his eyes were his own eyes and not the
staring unknowing ones of few minutes before.

"It passes," he assured us and his voice was already a little
stronger. "And there really isn't anything you can do for me that
Benjamin can't."

"Are you certain of that? These headaches are bad. When did they
start? Are these from something Bek did?" the old man demanded to
know.

Bitter irony twisted his smile. "Human intervention, not alien. They
started months before Charley took me."

"I haven't forgotten what you said about not being able to read
minds 'any more'. Care to elaborate?"
 
Clearly, Mulder didn't. He was that tired, but I saw him resign
himself to make the effort. "Almost two years ago, a scientist found
an alien ar