Magician II - The Runaway

Chapter Six Part A

     "AAAAAGHOOOOOFFF!"  The three voices sounded as one as they fell
together in a heap among the reeds.  They sprawled there, motionless
for a time, doing mental inventories of their body parts and trying to
still the dizziness. Slowly, the realization came upon them that they
were on soft but very wet ground.  One by one they pulled themselves up
to a sitting position.
     Tarnor was the first to stand, and stripped off his dripping
jacket.  "Where have you landed us, Professor?  I see none of the
speeding machines that you warned us about.  In fact, I see nothing but
these reeds and this bog and these insects.  Pahh!  It's as hot and
steamy as Corvay's workroom on a summer day - and it smells almost as
bad!"
     The two older men rose slowly, helping each other to stand.
Reinald winced as he tried to put weight on his right leg.
     "Reinald, are you all right?"  inquired the Professor anxiously.
He helped the Mage to sink down once again on the swampy ground.
     "Yes, Professor, I will be fine.  Although I must admit that I
did not anticipate having to use Corvay's medicines quite so early in
our adventure."  From a packet in the sack he carried he took some
powdery green material and sprinkled it into his flask.  Closing the
flask, he shook it vigorously, then opened it and drank the contents
with a fierce grimace.  "Let me sit for five minutes and all will be
well.  So Professor, this is your world - do you have any idea where
you have landed us?"
     Neumann stretched to his full height and gazed around him.  Much
taller than Tarnor, he could see over the reeds.  Unfortunately, all he
saw was more reeds, some shrubs and cypress trees, and areas of ground
that were even wetter than the one they occupied.  He swatted
ineffectively at the cloud of mosquitoes and gnats which surrounded his
head, and squatted down to be on an equal level with Reinald and still
avoid the boggy ground.
     "Judging by the heat and the insects and the topography, I'd say
we were in a big swamp,"  the Professor said helpfully.
     Tarnor snorted.  The fact that the insects could not penetrate
his leathery skin was not stopping them from trying, and he was in
constant, frenzied motion, slapping and swatting at the persistent
pests.  "I think I could have figured that out, Professor Neumann, and
I am not even a native of your world.  How far is this swamp from
Mulder and Scully?  And how do we get out of here?"
     "How far is it from Washington depends strongly on which swamp it
is.  There are several it could be within the 2000 or so kilometer
margin for error we have.  Let's see, we could be in Louisiana in the
north easternmost part of the Bayou country, or we could be in Florida
in the Everglades, or we could be in Georgia in the Okeefenokee - I
think those would be my best guesses.  And I think I tend toward the
latter two, judging by the openness of the area.  As to your second
question, Tarnor - I really don't have a clue how to get out of here,"
Neumann admitted.  "I have spent most of my life in cities.  Now I know
why I have done so."  Shuddering, he batted away a prehistorically
large insect which had drawn a bead on his ankle, and wiped the sweat
from his forehead.  "I know very little of swamps, other than that they
are wet and are crawling with bugs and snakes and alligators and other
revolting creatures.  And even that is more than I ever wanted to know
about swamps."  His knees aching, the Professor lowered himself onto
the boggy ground with a disgusted expression.
     For a time all that could be heard was the distant call of some
bird, the slapping of their hands on their bodies in a vain attempt to
kill attacking insects, and some very ominous slithering sounds in the
reeds not far away from them.  No one uttered a word, each keeping his
misery to himself.  The Mage looked with affection at his companions,
and started to smile.  Soon, the smile became a grin. And then Reinald
began to laugh out loud, his sides shaking and tears of mirth rolling
down his cheeks.
     In spite of his discomfort, Neumann smiled over at the Mage.
"Exactly what did Corvay put in that medicine, Reinald?  And when can I
have some?"  Then he started to chuckle himself.  Tarnor looked at both
of them as if they had gone mad.
     The Professor's words and Tarnor's expression sent Reinald off in
a new fit of giggles.  With an effort, he brought himself under control
and sat gasping for a few moments.  Finally, when he could speak, the
Mage apologized to his companions.  "I'm truly sorry," he said, a final
chuckle still threatening to escape his lips. "I was suddenly struck by
the absurdity of our situation - a brilliant scientist and two powerful
magicians stuck in what is possibly the only situation that we are all
ill-equipped to handle."  He giggled again, then sobered.  "And I may
indeed have to speak to Corvay concerning the side effects of his
concoctions.   All right, now.  What can we do?  I'm open to
suggestions."
     But no one had a plan to suggest.  Again they sat in silent
misery for a several minutes.  "What I wouldn't give to have Mulder
here with us. With his eidetic memory, he would be able to recall every
map he had ever read and would be able to get us out of here," Neumann
said mournfully, obviously unaware of Mulder's poor innate sense of
direction.  "I drove down through the South once several years ago.  If
I could only remember...I know I passed near the Okeefenokee Swamp when
I was driving through southeast Georgia, and I was on a main road.
Let's see, the sun is there... so we must be....and the road is...."
The Professor looked up into the white-hot sky, then turned his head in
all directions.  Finally he gave up in frustration.  "Well, if we stay
here, we'll be eaten alive by the insects, or worse.  And no one's
likely to just stumble across us here.  We have to move."  He stood up
and peered around him.  "All right, the ground looks more solid that
way," he said pointing at right angles to the direction of the sun.
"We might as well go in that direction.  Tarnor, you have the be
st hearing of all of us - let us know if you hear anything strange.
Very well, are we ready?"
     The sorry trio got to their feet and, with jackets and packs in
hand, started slogging their way through the swamp.  The boggy ground
pulled at their feet, releasing them only reluctantly with a moist
sucking sound and making every step an effort.  The longest and one of
the most unpleasant hours the Professor ever spent carried them less
than a mile on their journey.  The heat and humidity were overwhelming.
 Before they had even begun their exertions, the Professor and Reinald
were clammy with sweat.  In half an hour, their clothes were wringing
wet, their faces red from the strain.  All over their exposed skin,
welts from dozens of insect bites were starting to appear.
     For the most part they walked in silence, needing every bit of
their energy to propel themselves forward.   The Professor cast an
anxious glance at his companions.  The Realm never became this hot and
humid, and none of the three was used to these conditions.  He was
especially worried about Tarnor.  From what he had observed, the little
gargoyle was not sweating.  Indeed, he very likely was physiologically
incapable of doing so.  Neumann was extremely concerned about the
prospect of heat stroke for all of them, but since the body's major
cooling mechanism was perspiration, he was especially anxious about how
Tarnor was physically coping with the conditions.  The gargoyle, for
his part, was doggedly marching, keeping up with the rest of them, but
wavering and stumbling occasionally.  He was suffering too much even to
grumble about it.
     "I know we haven't made much progress, but I think we need to
have a rest stop,"  the Professor declared.  He looked around for a
likely spot and saw some logs lying by a wall of tall reeds in the
distance.  "Over there!"
     The party made its way over to the logs, preparing to drop
gratefully onto them when Tarnor shouted.  
     "No!  Our way is cursed!"  he cried.  "An evil mage has been here
to cast a spell.  He has made these logs come to life - I can hear them
breathing!"  At Tarnor's shout, some of the "logs" were startled into
wakefulness, most of them slipping into the deep water beyond the
reeds.  The biggest, however, stood its ground,  whipping its massive
head toward them and emitting a hellish hiss.
     "By the gods!" said Reinald, his voice a hoarse whisper, his eyes
wide and never leaving the gaping maw of the beast.
     In a low voice and moving scarcely a muscle, Neumann said, "No
evil mage has been here.  Remember I mentioned alligators earlier?
This is a gigantic example of the species.  He must be fourteen feet
long.  Not to put undue pressure on you, gentlemen, but I have read
that alligators can sustain surprising speeds for short distances when
in pursuit of prey.  I strongly believe that we risk becoming lunch for
this fellow unless we remove ourselves with all due swiftness."
     "Are you saying that this beast would actually EAT us?  What sort
of a land have you brought us to, Professor?"  rasped Tarnor.
     "I suggest that we discuss that later, my friend.  At this point,
 it would behoove us to start taking very cautious steps backward -
immediately."
     The three slowly began to move backwards. The alligator began to
move slowly in a forward direction.  They increased their pace.  The
alligator matched it.  Suddenly, Reinald stretched out his arms, stood
completely still and started murmuring in Old Realm, the language of
most of his spells.   The beast also stopped and closed its mouth on a
very impressive show of teeth.  Its eyes became glazed.  A few minutes
later, Reinald said softly to the others, "I believe we can move back
safely now.  I have entranced the creature.  But make no sudden moves
or loud noises."  The Mage staggered a bit, and briefly put a shaky
hand to his head.
     "Reinald?"  the Professor whispered hoarsely, alarmed.
     The Mage gratefully accepted Neumann's supporting arm.  "It's all
right, my friend.  It appears that my use of magic here will be
accompanied by some physical effects that I could do well without.
Gods, but I feel weak, and my head hurts!  No matter - the beast will
not stay somnolent forever, we must move back now.
     "But Reinald..."  began Tarnor.
     "Not now, Tarnor, just continue to move back.  That's right,"
the Mage said, as they moved away from the dazed beast.
     "Mage, I think you should know-", Tarnor whispered urgently,
until a sharp look from Reinald silenced him.  He shrugged his
shoulders and continued stepping backwards.  A few seconds later an
annoying sound, something between a buzz and a whine, could be faintly
heard in the distance.  Soon, it was apparent that the sound was coming
closer.  The alligator began to stir.
     "What the hell is that?" asked a tense Neumann, eyes on the
alligator.
     "It's the sound I was trying to tell you about,"  snapped Tarnor
in a low voice.
     "I think we should pick up our pace, my friends.  The spell I
used is likely to give the beast a large headache, and his demeanor
towards us will not be improved."  Reinald turned away from the
alligator and started to move as quickly as his weakness and the boggy
ground would allow, followed by his companions.  The buzzing noise was
getting louder, and the creature was moving faster in pursuit of them,
making, in fact, better progress over the distance than the three
travellers.
     The Professor chanced a look over his shoulder.  "Faster, Tarnor!
 Faster, Tarnor. He's gaining on us!"  he yelled, straining for breath.
 The trio redoubled their efforts but did not speed up significantly,
and the alligator was now just a few meters behind them.
     Suddenly with a deafening cacophony, an airboat edged its way
through the reeds not far to their left.  Neumann grabbed Tarnor by the
shoulder and began pulling him toward the craft, waving his free arm to
Reinald to signal him to follow.  The operator of the boat lost no time
in taking in their situation, grabbed a long pole, and used it to keep
the beast at bay while the three scrambled on board.  Then he restarted
the engine, reversed, and soon they were headed away.  The alligator
glowered from the bank.
     The Professor and Reinald both jumped at the same time as they
remembered another danger.  Glancing into each other's eyes, they
quickly pulled Tarnor's jacket over his head.  Unable to make
themselves heard over the roar of the engine, they had to trust that
their friend would realize why they were shielding him from view as
much as possible.  The Professor nudged his own water flask under the
jacket, and in gestures, encouraged the little gargoyle to drink.  He
had no idea what normal body temperature was for a gargoyle, but
suspected that Tarnor's far exceeded it and feared he was showing the
first signs of heat stroke.  He had to keep him hydrated until he could
get into a cooler area.  He settled back and watched the reeds rushing
by as the airboat negotiated the waterways of the swamp.  Now that the
threat from the alligator was over, Reinald was contemplating his
newest predicament - riding on this infernal cart which made more noise
than a thousand Vortexes and which travelled too fast.  Much too fast.
The Mage closed his fingers around the side of the boat and held on for
dear life, the wind whipping his long white hair across his face and
blurring his vision
     Soon, signs of civilization - of a sort - began to appear.  There
were boats full of tourists and guides with loudspeakers, presumably
extolling the virtues of the unique ecology of the swamplands.  As they
neared the shore, the inevitable souvenir and refreshment stands came
into view.  The operator cut the engines and in unexpected and welcomed
quiet, the airboat drifted toward the dock.   The boat was moored in a
few seconds and the operator helped them onto the dock.
     Reinald shielded Tarnor as much as possible as the Professor gave
the man their thanks for saving their lives.
     "No problem at all.  What I want to know is - how did y'all git
yourselves way out there?  Y'all lose your boat or somethin' ?"
     "Ah, yes, something like that,"  replied the Professor.  "Can you
tell me - what is the name of the nearest town with a hotel, and is
there some way to get transportation there?"
     The man eyed them appraisingly.  He was a thin but wiry man of
medium height, with dark, slightly over-long hair, bright blue eyes and
a two-day growth of beard.  He evidently decided favorably, for he
stuck out a somewhat grimy hand and introduced himself.  "Hi, I'm Bobby
Joe Murtry.  I'm headed back to Waycross myself.  If y'all don't mind
ridin' in the back of a pickup, then y'all are welcome to come along
with me."
     "Yes, yes, that would be wonderful.  As you can see, we're in a
bit of a fix here," the Professor smiled nervously.
     "Okay, well, that's mine, parked over there," he said, leading
them across the broilingly hot parking lot.  "Y'all don't come from
around these parts, do you?"
     The Professor assisted Tarnor and then Reinald into the back of
the pickup.  "Now, hold on," he told them in New Realm.  "It might get
bumpy and will seem very fast to you, but it will be alright."  
Reinald looked like he was in a state of shock, but he gave Neumann a
slight nod.  Tarnor remained shrouded, except for two oddly shaped
boot-clad feet which protruded from the coverings.  Then the Professor
and Bobby Joe climbed into the truck and they started for  Waycross.
Between the rifles mounted on the gunrack across the rear window, the
Professor peaked back anxiously at his friends.
     Bobby Joe looked sidelong at the Professor.  "Like I said, y'all
don't come from 'round here."  It was a statement rather than a
question.
     The Professor smiled.  "Very perceptive, Mr. Murtry.  I
originally come from Germany, but that was many years ago.  I have
lived in the North for some time.  My name is Gunther Neumann, by the
way."
     Murtry nodded noncommitally.  "What about them?  I never heard
that language before."
     "Yes, well, that's a long story.  The older gentleman is my, ah,
cousin.  He does speak some English, but it's rather difficult to
understand him sometimes.  He comes from, um, one of the old Iron
Curtain countries."
     "Is he a Commie?  I don't hold with Commies,"  said Bobby Joe,
his expression darkening.  He began looking for a place to pull over.
     "No!  No, no, Mr. Murtry.  In fact, these men are heroes!  Why,
my cousin was a contact for the CIA and helped to bring about the
downfall of Communism in his country.  He's even been decorated by the
President for his work!"
     "You don't say!  Well, how 'bout that."  Murtry was plainly
impressed by the calibre of people riding in the back of his truck.
"Now what about the little guy?  I didn't see too much of him when
y'all were running from that gator, but Gunther, I gotta tell you, from
what I did see he's one weird lookin' little mudsucker.  No offense,
mind."
     "Ah, no.  No offense taken."  The Professor's mind raced to put
together a story Bobby Joe might believe.  Then again, Bobby Joe
appeared to be pretty gullible, if he had swallowed what the Professor
had dished out so far.  There - he had it!   He put on a mournful
expression.  "He, too, is a hero, Bobby Joe - may I call you Bobby
Joe?"  Receiving the man's nod, he continued.  "Yes, he was a valiant
resistance fighter, but was captured when one of his group turned
traitor.  He was never a tall man, but he was as normal looking as you
or I.  But by the time he was released from their prisons, he, well -"
the Professor broke off abruptly, as if overcome by emotion, and turned
his head away from Murtry.
     "I'm sorry to bring up such terrible memories for you there,
Gunther.  I'll bet those Commie devils experimented on him.  That'ud
account for that weird gray skin, too.  Well, I'm just real sorry to
hear 'bout that, Gunther.  Don't worry, I won't let on like we was
talkin', okay?  I wouldn't want the little guy to feel bad, now."  He
looked in the rear view mirror at the two in the back of his pickup.
     The remaining miles to Waycross the two maintained a
companionable silence, which suited the Professor well.  He managed to
check out the date on a newspaper on the floor of the truck, satisfying
himself that the vortex had transported them to the right timeframe, if
not the right place.  Soon, the truck pulled up in front of the Holiday
Inn.
     For the first time, the Professor started looking around for his
sack, realizing to his chagrin that he had not seen it since they had
left the airboat.  "Much as I would like to repay you for your
kindness, Bobby Joe, I seem to have left my sack back there in the
swamp.  It had all our money in it.  I do apologize."
     "Well, it was a pure pleasure givin' you gentlemen a lift.  I
wouldn't take any money for it even if y'all had any to give.  Hey,
what about the hotel - y'all goin' to be able to stay here?  Y'all
could come home with me but it might git a bit crowded."
     "If the proprietor will allow us to make a telephone call, I
believe all difficulties should be overcome, Bobby Joe."  
     "Well, that shouldn't be too much of a problem.  I think my
cousin Bettie should be on the desk today, I'll just go on in with
y'all and have a word with her, how'd that be?"
     "That, Bobby Joe, would be outstanding."  The Professor got out
of the truck and quickly went to the rear to help Reinald and Tarnor
out.  He called to them in New Realm, but they seemed frozen.  Finally,
he clambered into the bed of the pickup, pried Reinald's fingers from
the side of the truck and spoke softly to him until the Mage showed
signs of reviving.
     "I feared we would be destroyed!  I have never imagined moving
that fast!  The boat was bad enough, but this cart...."  Reinald stared
wide-eyed at Neumann.
     The Professor gave Reinald an affectionate, reassuring pat.  "All
things move fast in this world, my friend.  Don't let it get to you -
it's all right."  He smiled.  "How's Tarnor?"  The shrouded figure
mumbled something indistinguishable.
     "Well, the speed did cool things off a bit, and I was able to
uncover his head partially for some of the journey.  He's not well,
though.  When we get to an inn, I would like to be able to treat him."
     "We're at an inn, Reinald.  You need to stay down and just wait
here for a few minutes until I get us registered.  Try to be
inconspicuous, if you can."
     Receiving Reinald's nod, he watched as the Mage assisted the
gargoyle to duck further down in the bed of the truck, then walked with
Bobby Joe into the air-conditioned iciness of the hotel lobby.  A
bleached blond with too much make-up stood behind the desk.
     "Can I help - well, it's just you, Bobby Joe.  I thought you was
goin' gator huntin' in the swamp,"   she said.
     The man looked around nervously, and said in a loud voice, "Now
Bettie, you got no call saying that.  You know I'd never hunt gators in
a protected wetland area.  That's illegal."
     She looked at him sourly.  "Who's your friend?" she asked,
turning her attention to Neumann.
     "Well, that's why I'm here.  This here's Gunther Neumann and I
rescued him and a couple of his friends out in the swamp.  They was
bein' chased by Old Tom and probably woulda been his dinner if I hadn't
come along."
     "Bobby Joe, I declare, you lie more every day - "
     "I assure you, madam, he is speaking the Gospel truth.  He saved
our lives."  The Professor smiled his most charming smile.  "Now I
wonder if I can persuade you to allow me to make a collect telephone
call.  I would like to arrange some recompense for your hostelry in
exchange for a night or two of lodging."
     "Huh?  Oh, sure - phone's right over there," she pointed to a
bank of telephones on the wall across from the reception desk.
     Neumann picked up the phone, dialed the number he had been given,
and held his breath.  So far, the journey had been difficult, but not
nearly as difficult as it would get if they were unable to connect with
     "Mulder."
     "Oh, Mulder - thank the gods!"
     "Professor Neumann, is that you?  Are you all right?  Where are
you?"
     "We are in the Holiday Inn in Waycross, Georgia."  Briefly, the
Professor told him about where they had arrived and their adventures up
to that point.  "But you see, Mulder, Tarnor needs some treatment - I
believe he is dehydrated and suffering from early heat stroke - and I
left my sack with all our money in it in the swamp."
     "No problem, Gunther.  Ask the receptionist to come to the
phone."
     A few words and a quick check of a credit card number finally
brought a smile to Bettie's face.  Then she handed the phone back to
the Professor.
     "Gunther?  You should be all set now.  Get anything you need.
I'll look into the fastest way to get there, but I've been to that area
before, and it's tricky.  I may just end up driving the whole way and
save myself the frustration - not to mention the fact that I can't
figure out for the life of me how we could get Tarnor on a plane.  I
have your number.  Stay put until you hear from me, okay?"
     "Okay, Mulder.  And Mulder?  It's wonderful hearing your voice
again."
     Mulder chuckled.  "It's nice hearing yours, too, Professor.  I
don't mind saying that I was getting a bit worried.  Scully left last
night to get Aldara and Jourdain."
     "Oh, then they have arrived safely!  Wonderful!  Last night, you
say - how very interesting.  Perhaps the difference in the gel-flow of
time can be explained by..."
     "Professor, you might want to think about that later and register
now and get Tarnor out of sight."
     "Ah, yes, of course - first things first.  Very well.  We will
stay here until we hear from you.  Goodbye."

--------------------------
End chpt 6 Part A
--------------------------


Chapter Six  Part B


     Neumann quickly completed the rest of the registration
procedures, finding that Bettie's disposition had improved with the
knowledge that a credit card with a stratospheric credit limit would
cover the expenses.  He bade goodbye to Bobby Joe and thanked him
again, then took the flat plastic room key and found his friends.
     "Reinald, this way."  He led the Mage and the shrouded form of
Tarnor through the lobby to the elevators and pressed the button.
Reinald looked around him and gaped open-mouthed at the wonders that he
saw.  
     "Professor, why is it so hot outside, but so cold in this
dwelling?"  Suddenly, the elevator doors opened.  "Gods!  That wall
split in twain!"  The Mage jumped back as if stung.
     The Professor switched to New Realm in an effort to diminish the
attention they were drawing.   "Try to be a tad less conspicuous, my
friend.  This is called an elevator.  It will take us upstairs.  Go
inside."
     The trio got on, two of them very reluctantly, and the doors
shut.  With a slight jiggle and a hum, the elevator started ascending.
     "By the gods, a room that moves!"
     With a sigh, the Professor attempted to explain the use of an
elevator and the mechanics behind it to the two Realm natives, even as
he dragged them off the elevator and down the hallway to their room.
He took the perforated plastic card and slipped it into a slot.  In a
second, a green light went on and the Professor opened the door.
Reinald stood staring at the mechanism until pulled into the room by
Neumann.
     "At last!  Tarnor, we are alone, you may take your wrappings
off,"  he said as he fastened the deadbolt and the chain lock on the
door.  With a disgusted grunt, the little gargoyle threw off the
garments, then swayed and was steadied by Reinald.
     "Lie down upon the bed, friend, you are not well.  At least beds
in this land appear to be the same - a bit on the low side perhaps, but
at least their function is discernible and there is no magic involved."
 Quickly, he took some packets of herbs from his sack and sorted them
on the dresser.  "Professor - please go outside and draw me some
water."
     "Reinald, come with me," the Professor said with a sigh.  He
crossed to the bathroom and snapped on a light, causing Reinald to jump
once again.  Blinking at the brightness of the illumination, the Mage
watched as the Professor went to an oddly shaped deep depression in the
shelf, and turned a shiny metal knob.  Instantly, water poured from a
spout.  "What magic is this?" he said, awed.
     "No magic, my friend,"  smiled Neumann.  "Welcome to the world of
modern plumbing.  Turn this faucet, "  he said, demonstrating, "and you
will get cold water.  Turn this one, and you will get hot.  It's the
same with the bathtub, there."
     "And what is this?" queried the Mage, pointing to the final
remaining porcelain object.
     "Uh...that's for, uh...."  The Professor hesitated.  He had
learned early on in his Realm stay that according to their complex
rules of etiquette, those particular bodily functions were never
mentioned, as opposed to the casual and earthy way that sexual matters
were openly discussed.  The Professor was trying, and failing, to find
a polite way to answer Reinald's question when the Mage's face lit up,
then reddened.  
     "Ah - yes, Professor, point taken."
     Neumann was relieved.  "Yes, quite so.  And after, this...." and
he pressed the glistening chrome lever.  The Mage started at the sound
but was soon fascinated, watching the swirling water disappear with a
glugging noise, only to refill.  Speechless, he looked over at Neumann
and shook his head in wonder.
     Neumann unwrapped a glass and filled it with water, then added
the herbs Reinald had set aside on the dresser.  Raising the gargoyle's
head, he helped him steady the glass as he thirstily gulped down the
water and medicine.   Tarnor's skin still felt abnormally hot, and had
a dusky cast which the Professor had never before seen.  He went back
into the bathroom, brushing by Reinald who was still experimenting with
the faucets, and began to fill the tub with slightly cool water.
"Reinald, go get Tarnor undressed - we need to get him into the tub to
lower his body temperature."
     The Mage turned all of his attention back to his stuporous
protege, gently helping him out of his clothing and into the tub.
Using the ice bucket, he repeatedly poured cool water over the
gargoyle's head and large, hot ears.  Finally, when Tarnor was
beginning to shiver and his fearsome pointed teeth chatter, his
companions hauled him from the tub, dried him off with soft towels, and
tucked him into bed where he immediately fell asleep.
  Reinald quickly checked him, and recognized the normal, healing sleep
that his friend was now in.  Indeed, seeing Tarnor sleeping peacefully
forcefully reminded the others of just how exhausted they were
themselves.  The Mage stretched out next to Tarnor and Neumann lay down
on the other bed, and they were asleep in seconds.
     When Tarnor awoke, it was dusk, and he could hear the gentle
snoring of his companions.  Once again, he had a raging thirst, and a
hollowness in his belly that reminded him that he hadn't eaten since
they had left the Realm.  He grabbed what looked to him like a
strangely shaped crystal goblet from the wooden stand by the bed and
drank down the water it contained.  Feeling a little better and unable
to control his curiosity, he wandered towards the bathroom to explore.
As he flicked on the light as he had seen the Professor do, a piercing
sound suddenly filled the room, pulsating insistently.
     "Aaeeeiiiiii !"  The startled gargoyle fled the bathroom as the
Mage jumped to his feet and peered around wildly for the source of the
infernal din.  The wind outside began to pick up as the Mage's shield
wavered in his surprise and fright.  The Professor rolled off the bed
and grabbed the phone.
     "Hello?  Oh, Mulder, it's you.  No, no bother.  We may have to
peel Tarnor and Reinald off the ceiling, however."  He looked over
appraisingly at the two men who had collapsed on the bed but were still
shaking, the Mage looking somewhat pale and drawn.  He spoke to Mulder
for a few more minutes, then replaced the receiver.
     "Gentlemen, that is the telephone - it makes that sound when
someone is trying to contact you.  Mulder is driving down to meet us,
and will be here sometime tomorrow morning.  In the meantime, we shall
stay here."
     "Professor, is there food on your world, because right now I
would fight that swamp beast for a crust of bread, "  Tarnor
complained.  As if on cue, his stomach rumbled loudly.
     Neumann chuckled.  He crossed to the dresser where the room
service menu rested.  "What would you like - everything they have to
eat is on this list, and we can order anything we want on Mulder's
credit card."
     Reinald and Tarnor, heads together, studied the menu, asking the
Professor for assistance with the more unfamiliar words, and for his
opinion regarding the best choices.
     "I will have the 'mouth-watering Yankee pot roast with fresh
garden vegetables and a delicious rich gravy'. And a 'fresh-baked
crusty roll' and a 'delightful Burgundy with a full-bodied nose and a
crisp finish'," said Tarnor, trembling with excitement and
anticipation.  
     "And I will have the 'delightful Chicken Cordon Bleu with country
ham and melted cheddar cheese accompanied by oven-roasted potatoes and
fresh garden vegetables'.  And tea!" declared Reinald, salivating.
     "Don't set your expectations too high, gentlemen,"  the Professor
said dryly.  "Frequently the description on the menu is the best part
of the meal."   He phoned in the order, adding his own selection and
hot fudge sundaes for dessert for all three of them.
     They spent the time waiting for their food in a thorough
exploration of the visible wonders of the room - the 'crystal globes
with the tiny fires in them', the water taps, the thermostat, and the
commode.  The digital clock fascinated them, as did the concept of
having an accurate way to measure time.  However, the hair dryer was
not so impressive; Tarnor, who was virtually without hair, thought it
rather silly, and Reinald, with flowing silver locks, did not disagree.
 Why bother with a magical device for something that the air and time
did anyway?  
     The only misadventure was when the two were trying out the
various controls on the bathtub.  Tarnor incautiously touched a lever
and icy water shot from the shower head onto the unsuspecting Mage, who
leapt up with an enraged howl.  His mood was not helped by his
companions' amusement at his predicament.
     The Mage's further discomfiture was avoided by an opportune knock
at the door.   The Professor stifled his chortles and closed the
bathroom door, hiding the wet, glowering Mage and the giggling gargoyle
from view.  Then he ushered in the waiter, pushing his food-laden cart
before him.  The smell of the food wafted under the bathroom door,
whipping Tarnor and Reinald into a frenzy of impatience.  Finally,
Neumann signed the check, adding a generous tip, and hurried the waiter
out the door.  The next second, Tarnor and Reinald burst out of the
bathroom, dancing around Neumann as he checked under the shiny domes on
the plates to distribute their meals.
     If the Realm natives found the food strange, there was no sign of
it.  Even the fastidious Tarnor displayed all the manners of a troll.
Once they had finished their main course, the Professor smiled, handed
them spoons and passed their sundaes to them.  Reinald was so startled
he nearly dropped his dish.
     "It's cold!" he exclaimed.  "And warm!" as he tasted the dark
rich chocolate sauce.  "And sweet and wonderful!  What IS this,
Gunther?"
     The Professor's grin broadened.  "I thought you might like it -
it's called a hot fudge sundae.  It happens to be the one thing I
missed from this world when I was in the Realm.  How about you,
Tarnor?"
     The gargoyle, a dollop of whipped cream on his nose, merely
nodded and never missed a beat as he gobbled down his sundae.
     When all the plates and bowls and spoons had been licked clean,
the three men sat back, Tarnor rubbing his stomach contentedly.
     "Wonderful, wonderful,"  Reinald murmured.  "Professor, the food
here alone is worth the trip.  Worth the swamp beast and the speeding
machines and the moving rooms, and even worth the chamber waterfall.
Hot fudge sundae, is it?  I will have to remember that - perhaps devise
a spell to recreate this wonder when we get back home."
     Stomachs full and still tired from the extraordinary events of
the day, the men took their turns in the bathroom, then settled down
for the night.  Reinald and Neumann were sleeping peacefully within
minutes, but Tarnor was too excited by their adventure to sleep.  He
reached out onto the night stand and his hand struck a sort of wand
with buttons on it.  Ever curious, he brought it closer to his eyes to
try to discern what kind of a device it might be, randomly hitting
buttons, to see what would happen.
     Suddenly, a blinding light dazzled him and his ears were assailed
by the loudest music that he had ever heard.  Reinald fell out of bed
and started the third weather disturbance of the night, while the
Professor sat bolt upright, his hands to his ears in a vain attempt to
block the din.  He finally reached over and grabbed the device from
Tarnor, and held a button down.  The sound diminished to acceptable
levels, only to be replaced by the ringing of the phone.  Impatiently,
the Professor grabbed it.  "No, sorry, it was an accident - it won't
happen again, I assure you."  Tiredly, he hung up, rubbed his face with
his hands, and looked over at his companions.
     Tarnor was sitting transfixed, an expression of awe upon his
face.  Reinald, after reasserting his controls once again, was also
gazing at the source of the light and sound.  The Professor sighed.
     "It's called television.  I had hoped to spare you from it,"  he
said resignedly.
     "But what is it?  Is this really happening?  Look!  Look at those
beings!"  breathed Tarnor, as Lando Calrissian piloted his craft into
the midst of the Death Star to the appreciative audience of beings back
at Headquarters.  Suddenly, Tarnor did not feel quite so out of place.
     One question led to another.  For the next two hours, Neumann
attempted to satisfy his friends' curiosity about television, movies,
cable, networks, fantasy and reality.  Head aching, he gave up when the
channel surfers' questions turned to MTV.  "Gentlemen, I'm finished.  I
will not even attempt to explain what you will see and hear on MTV.
I'm going to sleep, and I strongly advise that you do the same.  He lay
down and purposefully rolled on his side, turning his back on the
television screen.
                         - - - - -

     When the Professor rose the next morning, his friends were
snoring.  He knew that they had been awake well past 3 a.m., utterly
entranced by their newest discovery.  He tiptoed into the bathroom and
had his first shower since going to the Realm.  He luxuriated in the
steamy water cascading down on him for so long that he experienced a
twinge of guilt, feeling he must surely have used the whole hotel's
supply of hot water for himself.  Toweling off and making good use of
the complimentary toiletries, he shaved and brushed his teeth.  Opening
the door, billows of steam escaped with him to the bedroom.  With not a
little distaste, he pulled on his clothes from yesterday.  Rinsing them
in the sink last night had removed only a modicum of the pungent swampy
odor, and they were still slightly damp.  He had just finished dressing
when there was a soft tap at the door.
     "Mulder!  How good to see you!"  He wrapped his arms around the
younger man.
     Mulder awkwardly hugged the Professor, never very comfortable
with such expression of affection.   Breaking the embrace, he peered at
Neumann's face.  "You look different, but good.  How long do you
estimate you've been gone?" he asked in a low voice, spotting the
sleeping forms of the others.
     "Well, in Realm time it's been a little over seven years, but
just a few months in your time, as far as I can tell."
     Mulder regarded him for a few seconds.  He seemed fitter somehow,
not muscular by any means, but sturdier.  He looked tired, too, and
Mulder told him so.
     "Yes, the last few days have been a bit worrisome, trying to find
Andalor in space and time, and trying to contact you and devise plans
and all.  And there's a bit of guilt, too, I suppose.  If I hadn't been
experimenting, the boy never would have been able to run away.  Not
this far, anyway," the Professor finished grimly.
     "Let's go down and have some breakfast and you can bring me up to
date, Professor Neumann.  They look like they'll probably sleep for a
while longer."
     The pair closed the door on their friends and went downstairs,
signing the bill and completing most of the checking-out process at the
reception desk on their way to the restaurant.  The Professor marveled
at Mulder's effect on women, as he charmed Bettie in person even more
than his credit status had.   Entering the restaurant, they sat in a
remote booth and consumed a huge breakfast, including the inevitable
grits.  The Professor sipped gratefully at his scalding hot coffee.
"Well, maybe there was something else I missed about this world," he
said, smiling.
     Mulder grinned.  "I know, I felt the same way."
     The two exchanged reminiscences and Realm experiences, and the
Professor briefed Mulder on the events leading up to Andalor's running
away.  Finally, glancing at his watch, Mulder said, "We'd better get
back up there.  We don't know what trouble they may be getting into."
     The Professor smiled ruefully.  "I have some experience of that.
Believe me, you don't WANT to know."
     The elevator doors had just opened to the second floor when a
piercing shriek split the air.  With a feeling of apprehension, the two
set off at a trot for the Professor's room,  their worst fears realized
when they spotted the housekeeping cart outside. A second later, a
housekeeper in an advanced state of distress streaked out of the room,
her scream demonstrating the Doppler effect quite nicely as she rushed
past them and down the hall.
     "Tarnor must be up,"  Mulder said mildly, then he dashed into the
room.  "Okay guys, I think a little speed is called for here.  We seem
to have outworn our welcome.  Yes, Reinald, it's wonderful to see you
again, too, but I think we can save this for the car.  Everyone here?
All right, down the back stairs to the car, as fast as you can."
Actually, Mulder was fairly sure the hefty gratuity he had added to his
bill might buy him a little time, but it was stupid to take chances.
     Reinald and Tarnor dived into the back seat of the car - just as
soon as Mulder opened the door for them.  The Professor jumped into the
passenger seat. Mulder started the car and moved smoothly away from the
Holiday Inn and Waycross, Georgia.

End of Chapter 6

=====================================================================
======

THE RUNAWAY
The Magician - Book Two
An X-Files Fantasy by
Jennifer Lyon (jennyann@ix.netcom.com) and
Suzanne Bickerstaffe (Ecksphile@AOL.com)

Chapter Seven

     Holding the P200 with a steady hand, Dr.  Mather aimed a tiny
droplet at the center of the "V"  on the hemacytometer and slowly
pressed down her thumb.  Just as the bright blue, cell-rich fluid was
rushing to fill the space beneath the coverslip, an insistent voice
disturbed her concentration.
     "Well, Doctor?"
     Damn! Her hand slipped just a little too far, the pipette-tip
flipping up the small piece of glass and sending it clattering onto the
lab bench.  Furious, she spun on her heels.
     "Perhaps if you didn't interrupt me in the middle of my work, I
*might* have some results,"  she said, each word clipped and cold.
Then deliberately turning her back, she rescued the errant coverslip,
replacing the pipetteman into its rack.  Reaching to the left, she
picked up the plastic squirt bottle of ethanol and threw a vigorous
stream over her wasted sample.  Her movements were spare and precise,
all tuned to shut out the man staring implacably at her back.
     Gordon waited calmly for her to finish cleaning up, preparing a
new sample and loading it onto the small plastic grid.  As she placed
it under the inverted microscope and bent over the eyepiece, cell
counter in hand, he walked around to the side, pulled over a rolling
chair and perched himself on it.  He hadn't gone to the trouble of
'obtaining' Dr.  Mather's invaluable services, without being willing to
be patient for her to finish...  within reason.
     Watching the thin, blond fortyish woman as she gazed intently
into the eyepiece of the complicated - and obscenely expensive - piece
of equipment, he mentally reviewed her qualifications.  A doctorate in
quantum physics, supplemented by a masters in medical diagnostics.
Several years experience in utilizing lasers and magnetic resonance
generators to diagnose disease, riding on the cutting edge of modern
medical  technology.  Then the sudden move to Dimensional physics under
Dr.  Neumann - which had been a surprising demotion in both authority
and responsibility.  It was also the primary reason that he had desired
her services.  And though it had taken some serious effort on his part,
it was his discovery of the very cause of her abrupt career change that
had given him the leverage he needed to 'persuade' her to accept his
offer of employment.
     Gordon smiled to himself, a expression that had all the subtlety
of a wolf baring its teeth - the instant before it jumped its prey.
Karen Mather stilled the shiver that raced with icy fingers up her
spine as she turned to catch the edge of his grin.  Taking a deep
breath, she forced herself to stand erect and composed.
     "All right, Gordon, what do you want?"  she asked with open
hostility.  
     "The boy's blood work.  Did you find anything?"  This brought a
small smile to her lips as she paused to consider her answer.
     "You could say that,"  she said casually, leaving him hanging as
she walked down the length of the lab bench and picked up a black-bound
notebook.  Writing in it, she casually angled her head around to meet
the ice of his eyes.  "In fact, his blood contains a number of
anomalies, including at least one cell type I have been unable to
identify as yet."
     "What! Are you sure?"  he leapt to his feet, a small level of
excitement petering through his impassive demeanor.
     Without speaking, she gave him a look that said quite clearly
that, of course, she had not made a mistake.
     Gordon wasn't fazed.  "Is he alien?"  he demanded intently.
     Dr.  Mather frowned, then shook her head.  "I can't say either
way at this point.  He's close enough to being human to pass all but
the most detailed examination.  Yet his cell counts are all off.  The
white blood cells are too numerous, and the ratios of their types are
all out of kilter.  His red blood cells have some odd morphology, as do
his T and B cells.  At first glance, cell chromosome smears look
ordinary enough, though he has some banding patterns I've never seen
before.  But I'm hardly an expert on molecular genetics.  I've got a
lab tech working on some RFLP analysis, and another is sequencing some
known genes.  But it will be a while before we have the results."
     "How long?"
     She shook her head.  "A few days, maybe the first set of results
late tomorrow.  In the meantime, a more complete physical examination
of the boy would probably yield more information.  I'd also like to get
him in for X-Rays, and maybe a CAT scan.  Though that would mean moving
him somewhere with the necessary equipment."
     Gordon frowned.  He wanted the answers, but the logistics of
moving the boy while keeping it under wraps could prove to be a
nightmare.  "Do the physical exam with what you have available here.
I'll let you know about the X-Rays and CAT scan later."  With that, he
was gone.
     Karen Mather leaned back against the lab bench and breathed a
deep sigh of relief.  She found herself pinching her arms tight against
her chest.  Even though he never laid a finger on her, Gordon always
made her feel like she was steeped in filth.  Even the air in the room
seemed contaminated, as she drew it into her struggling lungs.  She
felt, again, like an animal in a trap.
     There had to be a way to get out, a way to free herself and
her...
     No, those thoughts could lead to disaster.  Gordon's threats had
been real, she believed them utterly.  Just as when she had been a
child and it had been her father who had been threatened.  Now she was
the adult, and it was *her* child who was threatened.  Her precious
child...
                         - - - - -

     Shannon paced the tiny room incessantly, partially out of need,
partially because she knew it annoyed her cellmate.  The boy was spread
out on his bed, staring at the ceiling with a pained look of utter
exasperation on his face.  Shifting, he rolled onto his side and
cradled his head in the crook of his arm, emitting an exaggerated sigh.
     His cellmate threw him a look of irritation, then plopped herself
down on her bed to lay staring at the ceiling.  One, two,
three...sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two...  She had counted the small brown
spots in the ceiling tiles a thousand times.  Laying in that exact same
position, she had studied the patterns of the tiny specks over and
over, like a child seeing shapes in the clouds of the summer sky.
Except that here there was no sun and no sky, just the dull dreary
little room with its too-familiar shadows and cold floor.
     Finally, out of boredom, she turned on her side and gazed bleakly
at her companion.  "So, 'Prince,' what's your name again?"
     He drew his feet up under him, and twisted into a sitting
position.  Swiping the longish blond hair out of his eyes, he answered
simply.  "Andalor."
     "That's a funny name,"  she replied, ignoring the flash of
irritation on his face as she sat up to lean against the wall facing
him.  "I think I'll call you Andy."
     Andalor frowned.  "My name is Andalor,"  he enunciated each
syllable proudly.  "It was my grandfather's name.  He was a great
warrior King."
     "Unh huh - Sure, Andy,"  Shannon answered.  Though at this point,
she was bored enough to be willing to listen to his fantasies.  Better
that than re-reading one of the few books she had been able to get her
captors to give her.  Throwing the pile of romance novels and spy
thrillers a disgusted glance, she angled her head at Andalor.
     "Are they holding you for ransom or something?"  she asked.
     "I don't know."  Andalor bit at his lower lip, frowning in
concentration.  "Considering how annoyed they were when I fell through
the vortex, I don't think they planned on my arrival."  It took every
bit of self-control he had, but he managed not to let his fear show as
he spoke the next thought.  "I think I made a mistake letting them know
I'm a friend of Mage Mulder's.  They are obviously his enemies, and I'm
worried they may try to use me to hurt him.  Not that they will
succeed."  Andalor brightened up, his voice ringing out.  "Mulder is
too powerful and too smart to let them win."
     Shannon frowned, though she didn't understand all of it, she did
know that name.  She had heard it in conversations between her mother
and that slug Gordon.  "Mulder?"  she said thoughtfully.  "Isn't he
some kind of fed?"
     "Fed?"  Andalor shook his head, as that word was not within his
grasp of English.  The Professor had told him his English was
excellent, but apparently it wasn't as good as he had thought.  "He's
the most powerful magician I've ever seen.  More powerful even than my
Regent, Reinald."
     Shannon thought that trying to communicate with this nutcase was
like trying to see clearly through stained glass, everything was
distorted and out-of-shape, but if you looked very carefully, there
were some small focused areas that came clear.  Mulder was obviously
important, the hatred that Gordon felt for the mysterious man had been
obvious, as had her mother's respect.
     Not that Shannon respected her mother, but she knew Karen was
smart and that she was only working for Gordon because he was holding
Shannon.  So if Andalor did know this Mulder, and this Mulder was
someone who could irritate Gordon, then maybe he could prove useful.
"Tell me more about Mulder,"  she asked, her dark amber eyes glinting
with interest.
     Andalor brightened instantly.   Talking about his hero was
something he could do gladly and at length.
                         - - - - - -

     Shannon had to admit that Andy spun a fascinating tale, she
especially loved the parts about the battle with the evil creatures, as
well as about the warrior women, Aldara and Scully.  Closing her eyes,
Shannon faded into a wonderful daydream...  Riding on a swift black
horse, swinging her six-foot long sword, she raced into the enemy
stronghold to rescue her imprisoned lover.  Men fell around her, blood
spurting from their wounds as she grew closer and closer to the
stockade where his tall, muscular frame was chained...
     "Shannon! Shannon!"  An insistent voice broke into her thoughts,
causing her to jerk upright.
     Crack! Her head hit the wall, and she swore viciously.  "Damnit
Andy, don't do that."  Lifting her head, she saw him looking at her
with an aggrieved look on his face.  "You weren't listening,"  he
accused.
     Wincing, she rubbed the back of her head, then contradicted him
automatically.  "I was, too, listening.  But you talk too much."
     "I do not! Besides, you asked me."
     "I know - but that didn't mean you had to tell me your life
story."
     "Well, if you weren't interested, you could have just said so."
     "I'm saying so now."
     They glared at each other, violet eyes clashing with honey brown.
 But before either could speak again, the door opened, causing their
argument to vanish in the face of a common enemy.
     The two bulky men who entered the room didn't bother wasting any
time achieving their ordered objective.  Seizing Andalor by the arm,
one dragged him off the bed and onto the floor, where he tumbled to his
knees with a cry of outrage.
     "Let me go at once!"  he insisted, his voice chiming with
accustomed authority.  Glaring at the men from her perch on her bed,
Shannon almost called out her support, delighted to hear such courage
from the strange youth.
     One of the men eyed her poised body with suspicion, as he stood
blocking the doorway.  He still had the marks from her last break-out
attempt, a small semi-circle of reddened indentations along his right
wrist.  She had nearly broken through the skin, and he had no desire to
experience her bite again.  Shannon gave him a predatory smile,
deliberately baring her smooth white teeth at him, watching for the
slightest relaxation on his part.
  If only Andalor could distract them just enough...
     Refusing to ruin what was left of his dignity, Andalor struggled
to his feet, giving the man who held him in a bruising grip a regal
glare.  "I can walk by myself, thank you,"  he hissed.
     "Move it,"  the man said blandly, yanking again on the boy's arm,
eliciting a strangled gasp.  But Andalor sucked in his breath, and
forced his back up as straight as he could.  Pushing forward, he
stalked out of the room between the two guards.
     SLAM! The door swung shut, just as Shannon made a dive for the
opening.  She came up hard against the steel, the collision knocking
her to the floor.  Sprawled on the tile, the furious girl took a deep
breath and let out a vehement, high-pitched scream.  Silence answered.
                              - - - - -

     This time Andalor was careful to try to mark his route through
the winding corridors.  But his efforts were wasted as they came up
against another odd door in the wall at the end of a corridor.  One of
the men stabbed at a small round button on the wall, causing it to
light up.  Then there was a clanging sound within the wall itself, and
suddenly, the wall split into two.
     Andalor backed up in surprise, but the guards simply hauled him
through the opening, tossing him into the tiny room.  He hit a metal
railing in the back, then fell to his knees.  By the time he had
righted himself and turned around, the floor fell out from beneath his
feet.  Abruptly realizing why the metal rail was there, he grasped onto
it and held on for dear life.  His stomach turned over in his belly as
he felt the small space slide downwards deep into the earth.  Down and
down they went, the two hulking men standing like stone, the boy, pale
and trembling, clinging to the handrail.
     Finally, they stopped and the wall parted itself again, to reveal
another corridor so alike to the one they had come from that Andalor
wasn't certain if they had even moved at all.  Only his dizziness, and
the memory of feeling the world rise around him, remained to convince
him they were not where they had been.
     "Move it,"  came the terse, almost bored command, and Andalor
jumped to obey it, preferring not to be dragged around like a sack of
horse feed.
     Dwarfed by his guards, the slender youth walked slowly down the
white hallway, again letting his eyes flicker over every aspect of his
surroundings.  He noted instantly that there was a green streak on the
walls instead of brown, and that the doors were spaced much further
apart.  
     An iron hand on his shoulder wrenched him backwards.  "In here."
     A door opened, and he was propelled inside.
                         - - - - -

     Dr.  Mather looked up as the door swung open.  Two of Gordon's
thugs entered, pushing the wide-eyed blond youth in between them.
Sighing, she stepped into the middle of the lab.
     "Put him over there,"  she told them, pointing at an available
chair.  When they had deposited the boy, they turned to stare at her
with dead eyes.
     "You can go,"  she said dismissively.  They hesitated, but she
glared firmly at them, standing her ground.  The larger of the two
shrugged and headed for the door.  His counterpart gave the implacable
woman one last look, then followed.  Only when the door was closed shut
behind them, did she turn to Andalor.
     "Let's get this over with,"  she told him, reaching for a
stethoscope.  Inside she was seething, furious with Gordon for putting
her in this position.  She was not a qualified physician, yet he
expected her to perform as though she was.  Furthermore, she was
expected to examine someone against his will.  At least she had
convinced the goons to wait outside, having them stare at her back
would have only made a bad situation worse.  Cursing under her breath,
she attempted to approach Andalor.
     As she came closer, Andalor gazed at her warily, his bright
amethyst eyes wide in his narrow face.  He edged back in his seat,
pulling his shoulders upright, attempting to regain some dignity.  But
she was all business, trying to get an unwanted, unpleasant task over
with as soon as possible.
     "If you cooperate, this will be quick.  I just need to do a
simple physical exam.  If you would take off your shirt..."
     Andalor shied backwards as she reached for him, giving her a
frantic look.  
     She sighed.  "Look, don't make me have to get them back in here
to do it for you.  I just need to check your lungs and heart, and do
some simple palpitations to check your kidneys and liver."
     Andalor frowned.  He didn't understand, and didn't like the sound
of the unfamiliar words.  "Don't touch me."  In a sudden fluid
movement, he was up out of the chair and across the room.
     Dr.  Mather took a deep breath and spun on her heels to face him.
 "Please don't make this more difficult than it already is.  I'm not
going to hurt you.  I just have to..."  Her eyes narrowed.  Was it
possible he truly didn't understand what she was about to do? If
Professor Neumann's theories were correct and he was from a feudal
society, he might have no conception of modern medicine.  Thinking
fast, she tried to take another tack.
     "What is your name?"  she asked softly, halting in place.
     He stared at her for a moment, the spoke defiantly.  "Prince
Andalor."
     She nodded gravely.  "Nice to meet you, Prince Andalor.  My name
is Doctor Karen Mather."
     He nodded politely in return, though his stance remained tense.
     "Prince...Andalor...  I am what we here call a Doctor."  Well,
sort of...  "That means I am responsible for keeping people
healthy...for curing the sick."  Ahh good, that got his attention, he
apparently did understand that idea.
     "You're a healer?"  he asked.
     "Yes,"  she replied.  "And after all you've been through, I want
to make sure that you are not hurt."
     "I'm fine,"  he said.
     She shook her head.  "We don't fully know what happens to someone
who has gone though the vortex.  Wouldn't it be better to check?"
     He grimaced.  She had a point, but he still didn't trust her.
This room looked like a torture chamber.  There were some similarities,
it was true, to Corvay's chambers, such as the bottles and oddly-shaped
cups full of liquids and powders, the space and utensils for mixing
potions.  But the rest of it was nightmarish.  Blue light glowed out of
a partially glass-enclosed cabinet along one wall.  The long center
bench was covered with oddly-shaped contraptions.  Big square things,
that looked almost like wardrobes, though made of unfamiliar materials,
stood along the walls, humming like a hive of angry bees.  The amount
of power being utilized here was terrifying, and drove home the
recognition that these were black magicians.  Only they could throw
power around so profligately - since they could drain it from their
victims.  A white Mage  would never waste his own strength in such a
way, and would never deign to stealing strength from others.
     "No!"  he answered, his mouth thinning in a mixture of fear and
anger.  For all her suddenly kind words, this evil woman was planning
to use him.  Perhaps in a spell to catch Mulder.  Andalor could not let
her succeed.
     Before Dr.  Mather could speak again, he charged her.  Swiftly,
he bolted out of his corner and knocked her flat.
     Whhomph, the breath rushed out of her lungs as he hit her.
Groaning, she doubled over on the floor, twisting to stare up at him.
He was poised on one foot, the other just off the floor, his hands held
ready to strike.  
     "Take it easy..."  she started to say, but he was not about to
allow her the chance to bespell him.  Striking out with his foot, he
connected hard with her side.  And then again and again.  She cried
out, curling  up into a ball on the floor.
     Andalor stared at the woman laying below him, his heart pounding.
 He'd never hit a woman before, unless you counted Aldara - and he
didn't, since the half-elf was a better fighter than he'd ever be.
Usually, she'd been the one hitting him.  But this was different, this
black magician didn't seem to be able to fight at all.  Which might not
be too surprising, as most powerful Mages relied on their magic to
protect themselves.  But why wasn't she attacking him magically?
     His eyes darted around the room, searching for a way out.  He
knew the bulky guards were waiting just outside the door he had come
through, so that wasn't an option.  There were no other obvious
doorways, and no windows.
  Spinning around, he studied the walls, praying for another way out.
But there was nothing.  The woman was stirring on the floor, beginning
to pull up to a sitting position.  He could hit her again, but then
what?
     Closing his eyes, he finally turned to his eidetic memory,
searching for something that could help him out of this mess.  If only
he had more magical ability.  Reinald said that as he approached
coronation, his abilities would increase, as he was invested with the
mystical power of Kinship.  So far, Andalor had seen little sign of
such power, but then he'd never needed it like he did at this moment.
     YES! There was a spell he could do.  He remembered watching
Reinald do this one, and had tried it once himself in order to escape a
particularly onerous troll ambassador.  It had only half-succeeded
then, leaving him semi-transparent for almost two days.  Reinald had
left him in that embarrassing state as a lesson.  It wouldn't have been
so bad, if he hadn't been able to see the contents of his own stomach.
Shaking those memories aside, he tried to focus on the spell itself.
He *had* to get it right this time.  If he could only just
concentrate...
                         
------------------------
End Chpt7 Part A
-----------------------

Chapter Seven Part B

     She could barely breath, her abdomen felt like it was bathed in
fire.  Each intake of air into her lungs sent shocks of pain across her
chest and down into the pit of her belly.  Cradling her side
protectively, Karen remained huddled in a fetal position on the floor
for an eternity of agony.  At long last, the fireworks eased enough to
allow her to lay back and slowly, her entire body braced for another
assault.  When the attack never came, she cautiously opened her
eyes.     
     The boy was standing a few feet away, his face screwed up into an
intense look of concentration.  His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips
barely moving in time to the nonsensical, but musical whisper of his
chant.  His hands were by his sides, palms facing outwards, fingers
spread wide, almost postulant in attitude, while his feet were planted
square beneath his shoulders.
     The unintelligible sounds grew louder, his voice rising in pitch
as well as a volume, until he screeched over the edge and fell flat.
Then the slow whispering began again, rising faster this time, an edge
of desperation coloring the sound.  Her own groan mixing with the boy's
singing, Karen managed to pull herself to her knees, and then to one
foot without the movement registering on the youth's closed, inwardly
focused eyes.
     Just as she was able to get fully to her feet, his voice hit the
top of the crescendo and suddenly stopped.  His eyes flew open, and,
facing him across a few spare feet of tiled floor, Karen braced herself
for another attack.  Instead, in less than a blink of an eye - he
disappeared.
     Karen stood motionless, then spun on her heels, a gasp of pain
accompanying the sudden motion, her eyes darting over every corner of
the room.  Full circle she turned once, and then again.  Closing her
eyes, she opened them again and looked again, but there was nothing.
     Her eyes flew to the door, but it stood closed and silent.  Her
eyes flew to the shadows beside the refrigerator, beyond the big
freezers, but yet again, nothing was there.  Rubbing her eyes with one
hand, while the other probed the tenderness beneath her ribs, she tried
to think.  He had been there.  He couldn't just disappear.  There was
no way out of the room, except through the door.
     She ran to the doorway, seized the knob and yanked the door open.
 Two faces turned to stare coldly at her, one thin and pinched above a
burly, barrel of a body, the other thick and craggy over a ripple of
muscle and burgeoning fat.  Both pairs of eyes had less emotion than a
stone, both regarded her flushed and rumpled appearance with calm
disregard.
     "The boy, did he come out?"  The words tumbled out of her in a
rush.  One man shook his head, the other's expression turned to one of
pure disdain.
     "He's gone!"  she yelled.
     "What?"  That stirred them into action.  Shoving her aside, they
rushed into the empty lab.
                         - - - - -

     Andalor held his breath, and slid silently aside as one of the
men came within inches of stepping on his feet.  The slender youth
pressed himself back up against one of the cabinets for support, a wave
of intense dizziness washing over him.  Fighting hard to remain awake,
he tightened his grip on the edge of the long countertop, and waited to
see if the spell would hold.
     After several long, anxious moments, Andalor allowed himself to
breath more easily.  Carefully watching the movements of the people in
the room, he slowly made his way towards the open door step by cautious
step.  But just as he was about to bolt out into the hallway, he came
face-to-scowling-face with the black Mage Gordon.
     The man's icy blue gaze seemed to hover over the very spot
Andalor stood, making the boy's heart tighten within his chest.  Then
just as abruptly, the bitter sapphire gaze moved on, glinting as they
seized upon the woman's face.  Andalor was only barely fast enough to
remove himself from Gordon's path as the man relentlessly strode into
the room.  Almost gasping for breath, the invisible Prince shrank back
against the heavy door, his mind spinning.
     The evil magician hadn't seen him.  Hadn't sensed the magic of
the spell.  Or had he? Could he be somehow toying with Andalor? The
Prince didn't know for sure, and frightened of walking out into a trap,
remained pinned where he was, listening and watching with every part of
his being.
                         - - - - -

     "What the hell do you mean, he just disappeared!?"  Gordon hissed
at the obviously frightened Dr.  Mather.
     She cringed satisfyingly, but simply shook her head and spread
her hands wide.  "I don't know.  One second he was right there in front
of me, the next he was just...gone."
     Gordon glared fiercely at her, but she met his eyes directly.  He
bored into her just long enough to force her to drop her eyes, but not
without finding himself convinced she was telling the truth.  At least,
the truth as she knew it.  He cast his eyes around the room, his mouth
drawn thin.  There was no way out except through the door, and his two
best men had been standing just outside.  He might believe that Dr.
Mather had betrayed him - though the presence of her still-captive
daughter in the cell three floors above made that unlikely - but he
couldn't accept that both of his soldiers had as well.
     Turning back to the ashen-faced woman, he took her through it
again and then again.  She repeated herself with increasing confidence,
as the story became less frightening in its familiarity.  Though she
was aware of the possibility of interdimensional travel, that
possibility was focused solely on specific moments, accompanied by an
enormous outlay of equipment, time, and electrical power.  That she
could cope with, but a teenage boy disappearing in front of her eyes
like a stage-magician's trick - that was harder to accept.  So her mind
slowly placed filters between itself and the impossible, allowing her
to regain her foothold on reality as she knew it.
     Gordon sighed, and brushed a hand back through his close-cropped
graying-brown hair.  This was getting him nowhere.  The boy had to be
somewhere, Gordon simply did not believe he had disappeared into thin
air.  Growling at the watching men, he shouted his order.
     "Don't just stand there, FIND THE BOY!!!!!!"
     Then he spun around and stalked from the room, unaware of the
shadow that peeled off from the door and followed in his wake.
                         - - - - -

     Andalor followed Gordon down the hall, his leather boots treading
soundlessly on the smooth tiles.  Gordon halted at the end of the
corridor, and this time Andalor was not surprised to see the wall split
in half.  Watching carefully for his chance, he slipped into the
elevator after the larger man.  The Prince wasn't completely certain
why the obviously powerful Mage couldn't see through the simple spell,
but it was becoming obvious that not only did Gordon not sense the
spell itself, but he didn't have an idea that such a spell existed.
Surely, if he had known of such an incantation, he would not have been
so skeptical of the woman's words.
     Feeling the first rush of accomplishment and relief, Andalor
concentrated on not betraying his presence.  It was risky to stay so
close to Gordon, but Andalor was not quite ready to flee.  First, he
had to recover his pack, especially the magic rings he had brought as
gifts for Mulder and Scully.  If Mulder's enemies discovered the
bespelled rings, which were attuned to the intended recipients, they
could use the rings against the Blue Mage and his bond-mate.  Andalor
could not allow that to happen.
     He also desperately wanted to bring Mulder information of his
enemies' plans.  Andalor's invisible back straightened as he imagined
how grateful and proud Mulder would be when he came to him with
knowledge of the evil ones' fortress and purpose.  Perhaps, Mulder
would want him by his side when he went to demolish the black
magicians.  Eyes filled with dreams, Andalor almost didn't notice when
the slowly rising room came to a halt and the wall slid apart.
     The clang of the sliding doorway broke Andalor's reverie, and he
bolted out of the magic room just barely in time.  He nearly gasped
aloud as his foot was almost caught, only barely stifling the noise.
Still, the intake of breath was enough to catch the edges of Gordon's
awareness, and he turned to stare at the apparently empty hallway
behind him with narrowed eyes.  Seeing nothing, he shook his head and
strode away.
     Andalor wiped his sleeve across his brow, then tucked some
wayward strands of hair behind his ears.  Another close one, but his
luck was holding.  As was the spell.  His strength was slowly
returning, though he still felt like each step was mired in mud and his
head felt like he had just suffered one of Aldara's training sessions.
Stifling a yawn, he hurried after Gordon, intent on not letting the
Black Mage escape him.
     Gordon turned two more corners before he came to a stop in front
of a door.  Realizing his timing would have to be perfect, Andalor got
as close as he dared, standing poised on his tiptoes behind the taller
man.  Gordon flung the door open and stepped inside, the invisible boy
following right on his heels.  Again Gordon got an uncomfortable sense
of being watched, and he spun around in a full circle, glaring at the
room.  That was just the chance Andalor needed, and he moved quickly
into the far corner of the room then stood breathlessly still.
     Gordon frowned, rubbing at the back of his neck.  Then with a
sigh, he slammed the door shut and went over behind his desk.  Seating
himself in the big leather chair, he reached for the telephone.
     "It's me."  He listened intently.
     "No, no more information yet.  Dr.  Mather somehow managed to let
the boy escape..."  Gordon's frown deepened.  "Yes, I know.  But
there's no way he'll get out of the building.  We'll find him.  In the
meantime, is there anything on Mulder?"  Andalor's ears perked up.
     "Unh huh, you're sure? Where? Who?"  Gordon leaned back in his
chair, a look of confusion crossing his taut features.  "Where are they
now?"
     "All right, stay on it.  I want to know every move he makes.  I
mean, EVERYTHING!"  Gordon hung up the phone, only to have it sound off
insistently the moment his hand left the receiver.
     "What now?"  he muttered as he picked it up again.  In the
corner, Andalor pressed a hand to his chest, his breathing coming hard.
 That sudden blaring sound had startled him - but not enough to make
him betray himself.  As he recorded Gordon's conversation into his
memory, he cast his eyes around the room.  It was a simple square,
dominated by the big wooden table in front of Gordon, who was seated in
a big, black, cushioned chair that looked across the table at two
stiff-hard-backed wooden chairs.  One side-wall was lined with
bookshelves, the other had a smaller, longer table covering its length.
 There was no window, but a couple of large leafy plant
s added the room's single note of warmth from a corner.
     Andalor tried to take in the contents of the main table, but he
couldn't read anything clearly from this distance.  His eyes moved on
to the back wall, and the odd metal cupboards that stood to his own
height.  Then as he turned his attention to the floor near his feet,
Andalor's heart skipped a beat.  His pack!
     Crouching down, he studied it carefully.  There was no doubt it
had been searched, and until he was out of Gordon's sight, Andalor
dared not check to see if anything had been removed.  He couldn't even
risk attempting to extend the invisibility spell.  Gordon might feel
the exercise of power, or he might notice that the pack had
disappeared.  Besides, Andalor had to admit to himself that he wasn't
sure he had the strength to craft another spell.  
     So, he settled down in the corner and waited while Gordon
alternately shouted into the white-colored contraption or studied some
of the large piles of papers in front of him.  As time passed, Andalor
slipped downwards, his eyes blinking rapidly in an attempt to stay
awake, his head drooping sideways to rest on the comfortable presence
of his pack.  The last thing that crossed the Prince's mind, before he
drifted off to sleep, was an image of Reinald, the Mage's eyes
pleading, his hands outstretched...                    
          - - - - -

     Andalor jerked to awareness, curled up on the carpeted floor.
His eyes came open instantly, and he rolled into a ready position.
Feet braced beneath his crouch, he gazed around the room - the now
empty room.  Rising slowly to a full-standing position, Andalor checked
again and then again.  Gordon was gone.  
     Rubbing at sleep-dazed eyes, he wondered how long had he been
asleep? Then he wondered whether the invisibility spell still held.
Unfortunately, Andalor could see himself whether the spell was in
effect or not.  So unless he wanted to take a chance on one of the evil
ones seeing him, he'd simply have to hope it was still functioning.  In
the meantime, he finally had the Black Mage's lair to himself.
     His spirits soaring, Andalor first grabbed his pack and emptied
the contents onto the floor.  All of his food and clothing was still
there.  One of his knives was resting on the bottom, though the larger
one was missing.
  The gold and jewels were gone, but the bracelets were still there.  
     And the rings? Thank the Gods, they remained were he had secreted
them - hidden in a small pocket within the cloth lining.  Holding the
two small metal circles in his fist, he reached around his neck and
pulled on the chain caught between his hair and skin.  As it came up
over his head, the symbol of his house, the winged falcon of the Rulers
of Fairwood Demesne, dangled from the thick silver chain.  Yanking it
over his head, Andalor fumbled with the clasp, then pulled the loose
chain through the two rings.  Only when he finally had them nestled
securely against his chest, concealed beneath his shirt, did he breath
a sigh of relief.
     Replacing the contents of the small sack, he held out a chunk of
bread.  It was a bit stale, but sill tasted sweet to the now starving
boy.  Munching gratefully, he hoisted his pack over his shoulders and
began to search the room.
     He wasn't certain what he was looking for, but he hoped to find
something he could bring to Mulder - something that would prove his
worth and his courage.  Rummaging through the papers on the big table
was a frustrating task, as his knowledge of English proved again to be
less than he had thought.  His eyes screwed in concentration, Andalor
tried to make out most of the words, finding that while he could read
them, only some of it made sense.   But he did his best, committing the
patterns of letters to memory, one document after another, even when
they appeared to be gibberish.
     Then suddenly, a word jumped out at him, "Mulder,"  repeated
twice within the same paragraph.  And then Scully, repeated several
times.  Deciding that despite the exactness of his eidetic memory this
page was worth bringing along, he transferred it, and the next few
pages as well, into his pack.  Then casting his eyes around once more,
he decided it was far past time to move on.
     Walking over to the door, he paused with his hand on the
doorknob.  He knew that this building had several levels to it, but he
had no idea how to find his way out, or even in which direction he
might find a door to the outside world.  He did know that the floors
were color-coded.  This one was yellow, the one with the room he had
first appeared into, as well as the healer-woman's room, was green, and
the floor he and Shannon had been held on, was brown.
     Shannon! His mind raced in response to the image of the girl
still imprisoned below.  Her nearly elven face gazed at him with
defiant strength.  How could he even consider escaping and leaving her
a prisoner? What kind of adventurer or hero would he be if he abandoned
her to her fate? No, he told himself firmly.  He *must* save her.
                         - - - - -

     Andalor sped along the hallway, knife in one hand, the pack slung
over his shoulder.  As he approached the final corner before the moving
room, he slowed to a more careful pace.  So far he had been lucky, but
there was no way to know when someone might come out from the magic
sliding wall.  Pressing back to the side, he angled his head around the
corner, leaving the items he was carrying far enough around the corner
that they couldn't be seen.  He couldn't be absolutely sure the
invisibility spell was still working, but it was the best chance he
had.
     His eyes focused on more empty hallway, and then on the
motionless wall beyond.  Steeling himself for the possibility of sudden
discovery, he pulled away from the wall and raced down the center of
the floor.  His leather-clad feet slipped on the freshly waxed tiles,
and he slid down the end feet first, landing sprawled on his back in
front of the still-closed sliding wall.
     With a soft groan, he scrambled upright, then paused.  The little
button in the wall was quiescent, and Andalor was hesitant to attempt
it.  What if there was some kind of spell he needed to do in order to
activate it safely? What if by trying to touch it without the proper
incantation, he would betray himself to his enemies? Yet, there seemed
to be no other alternative.  If he didn't brave the moving room, he
would remain trapped where he was.  He hesitated, his finger poised in
mid-air, mere inches from the small round surface.  Then he took a gulp
of air and stabbed it hard.  
     <BING> The little circle glowed a soft yellow, and he could hear
grinding sounds from within the wall.  Jerking his hand back, he stared
suspiciously around him, but was rewarded with an eerie silence.  The
only sound besides the harshness of his own breath came from within the
wall.
     The hidden bells sounded again, then the wall began to slowly
split apart.  Braced for it this time, Andalor waited until there was
enough space for him to pass, then he darted inside.  The tiny room was
empty, again giving him an adrenaline-pumped rush of relief, and he
settled back to watch the doors slowly close again.
     Once he was enclosed from outside view, he gazed around him with
wide eyes, then focused in on the rows of little buttons to the left of
the door.  Both the guards and Gordon had used those to direct the
movement of the little room, but unfortunately, Andalor hadn't been
able to see clearly which buttons had been used.  Besides, he didn't
want to stay here or go back to the green floor, instead he needed the
brown.  Closing his eyes, he concentrated hard on remembering Gordon's
movements.  If he could recall which button meant this floor, then
maybe he could work from there.
     His photographic memory obliged with a moving picture show
against the backs of his eyelids.  Yes, there - he could see it.
Gordon had pressed the fourth button from the top of the left row.  And
that had been higher than the green floor.  However, the green floor
was below the brown one.  Frowning hard, he tried to catch a sense for
which journey had been longer.  Maybe the one to the green floor had
been...
     Taking a chance, he reached out and chose the next button up from
the one he was sure went to the floor he was on.  No sooner had he
pressed it than he felt again that strange sense of being in motion.
Upwards, this time, and quick.  His stomach settled uncomfortably into
his groin as the doors began to open.  Holding his knife outwards,
Andalor peered out through the widening crack...
     And found himself facing one of the guards, the big craggy one
with steel-gray eyes and massive shoulders.  Those cloudy eyes focused
first on the knife, then just over Andalor's shoulder, then dilated
rapidly.  The thick mouth fell open, and the bulky figure froze in
place.
     It suddenly occurred to Andalor, the spell was still in effect.
All the guard saw was his knife and his pack, apparently floating in
mid-air.  Eyes dilated in shock, the man pulled out his gun and aimed
it at empty air.
     Andalor saw the man take the odd-shaped weapon out of the holster
on his belt as though in slow motion.  He didn't know what the object
was, except for the certainty that it could only do him harm.  As the
sleek, iron-gray barrel rose up towards him, the youth ducked to the
side, leaving his knife-hand stretched out to his right.
     <BANG BANG> The noise of the foreign weapon was deafening, the
heat and stink of it terrifying to the foreign youth.  But he tumbled
away, unhurt, only to see two large, blackened holes appear in the wall
mere inches from where his chest had once been.  Fear and rage striking
deep, Andalor's training took full hold upon him, and he drew the knife
back, then launched it with all of his weight and determination
speeding its flight.
     "AAAAGGGH!"  The guard screeched as the sharp, shiny blade
imbedded itself in the meat of his shoulder.  Stumbling backwards, he
fired several more shots into mid-air, the bullets slamming into walls
and ceiling.  As he landed on his back, his gun hand struck the floor
with a crack, and the weapon slid across the floor.
     Andalor scooped it up, then held the heavy object with uncertain
hands.  The guard was writhing on the floor, hands yanking on the
knife-hilt, yelling fluent, unfamiliar curses.  Unwilling to abandon
his knife, but seeing no alternative, Andalor slipped around the guard
and grabbed for his pack.  Only then did his eyes focus on the red
streak running along the center of each wall.
     He was on the wrong floor! Andalor silently let out a curse of
his own, then he raced back to the sliding wall.  Stabbing at the
button anxiously, he watched the wounded man stagger to his feet, the
blood-drenched knife in his hands.  Those gray eyes had darkened to
pure black, and the mouth was twisted with pain and rage.  
     Seeing nothing more than his gun and the small sack floating in
mid-air, the man let out a bellow and charged forward.  But even as he
let out the scream, the doors were beginning to open.  Andalor pressed
his back against the opening, then moved to the side, one foot lashing
out and hitting the man just below the knees.
     Emitting a strangled cry, the man tumbled forward to lie on the
floor, his head less than an inch from the opening.  Andalor leapt over
him into the moving room, then stabbed desperately at the next higher
button.  All too slowly, the doors squeezed shut, leaving Andalor with
the last impression of an enraged scowl glaring through before they
came finally together.
     Andalor would never have believed he'd feel relieved by the odd
feeling of motion, but at this moment it was a gift from the gods.  Up
and up, then an abrupt dropping down, again causing his stomach to do
an awkward flip within his belly.  Still holding the powerful foreign
weapon in one hand, he waited tensely for the door to open.
                         
---------------------
End Chpt7 Part B
---------------------


Chapter Seven Part C

     "LET ME GO!"  Shannon screamed, twisting, struggling, dragging
her toes against the floor in a vain attempt to find some leverage.
The guard holding her right arm grunted in annoyance as one of her legs
tangled with his.  On the other side of the flailing girl, Gordon's
face hardened into stone.  Pausing just long enough to wrench her
aside, Gordon tightened his grip on her upper arm and shoulder.
     "Enough!"  he told her through clamped lips.  She spat at him,
her hair a whirling ebony cloud around her face and upper body.  Her
eyes flashed fire as she bared her teeth in a half-smiling snarl.
     Taking careful aim, she kicked out at him, and he slapped her
hard in return.  "Try that again and I'll have you chained and put on a
leash."  His voice ended on a note of mixed irritation and
satisfaction.  
     All the response he got was an angry hiss, her body slumping
between them so that they had to literally carry her towards the
elevator.  Shadowed by a wing of raven hair, her face was grim with
concentration - waiting, prepared, ready to take any chance she was
given.
     As they waited for the elevator, Shannon wriggled in their grasp
one more time, then tossed her head back to free her eyes.  Just at
that moment, the door slid open to reveal the heavy muzzle of a handgun
floating in mid-air, the rough shape of a leather sack bobbing behind
it.
      All three freeze in shock, eyes squinting.
     There! - Shannon saw it first - the shimmering, semi-transparent
shape of a slender human, the head shining pale gold, the eyes a faint
bluish glimmer, fading in and out of sight.  
     Then it moved in a soft ripple of light and shadow, light
reflecting and passing through in deflected waves.  A voice, rich and
colored with a lilting musicality, leapt out of mid-air warning Gordon
to release her, and the gun wavered, then pointed unerringly forward.
Stunned as she was, Shannon was ready to take advantage of the chance
to get out of Gordon's grasp, yanking herself free, then turning to
claw at the guard's hand.  He cried out, jerking back in pain, leaving
her to spin out of range, though not without first delivering a fierce
kick to Gordon's shins.
     Gordon swore viciously, one hand falling to his wounded leg, the
other unsuccessfully grabbing at her, but she was too far away,
pressing her back against the wall.  Her hands came up in a defensive
posture, hands curled into claws, teeth bared and ready.
     Meanwhile, Andalor was slowly becoming semi-visible - a faint
outline of his form coming clear to the startled men.  The guard
reacted predictably, reaching for, then pointing his own weapon at the
boy, while Gordon trained his on Shannon.  
     "You won't shoot me,"  she challenged.  "Kill me, and my mother
will never do your dirty work for you."  
     Gordon sneered at her defiance.  "I don't have to kill you, just
wound you.  I think she could use a good reminder."  
     Shannon edged backwards, one sliding step, then another.  Her
eyes still blazed, challenging, her body tense and poised, giving no
sign of the terror striking deep within.  Holding air deep in her
lungs, she glared at the gun aimed at her chest, then looked past to
where the shimmering, semi-transparent Andalor was engaged in a
standoff with the guard, their weapons trained on each other.    
     Andalor was caught between fear and fury, simply grateful that
the guard obviously didn't realize that he had absolutely no idea how
to get the unfamiliar weapon to work.  They remained frozen on the edge
of violence for a long tense eternity, then Shannon broke the silence.
Yelling at the top of her very capable lungs, she charged at Gordon.
Not expecting an unarmed girl to run straight at him and the gun in his
hand, Gordon hesitated for one split second too long before pulling the
trigger.  
     <BANG> The shot rang out, causing the guard to spin in response.
Suddenly the tableau was shattered into a chaotic melee.  As Gordon
tried to fight off a kicking, biting, screeching Shannon, dropping his
gun in a fruitless effort to protect his eyes from her gouging nails,
Andalor leapt for the guard using his gun as a club.  The guard tried
to bring his gun to bear, but the one shot he got off went wild, nearly
hitting Gordon, who tumbled to the side.
     Andalor struck again and again with the gun, the big metal object
twisting in his grasp.  He yanked at it the wrong way, and it stunned
him by firing, the recoil tossing him back onto the floor.  The guard
wavered on his feet, trying to bring his weapon to bear, a rich, red
stream of blood rushing from the center of his chest and gurgling out
of his mouth.  
     Shannon and Gordon broke off in surprise, then both dove for
Gordon's lost gun.  By some miracle, Shannon managed to reach it a
second before him, and she fell to her back on the floor, turning to
aim the deadly black metal on him with fierce determination.  He stared
coldly at her, almost daring her to use it, while Andalor watched the
guard he had accidentally shot die, panic and a sudden sense of guilt
wrenching at his gut.  But Shannon's primary concern was their escape
from this prison.
     "Come on!"  she yelled at Andalor, keeping the gun pointed
mercilessly at Gordon, her fingers tight on the trigger.  "Back off,"
she told her captor in a cutting voice, the fierceness of her
expression telling him that she was unafraid of shooting him.  Andalor
stared at her, then scrambled to his feet, letting the gun fall out of
his hand.  As he sidled up closer to her, Shannon reached out with her
left hand to grab Andalor's now fully-visible arm, and half-dragged him
down the hall.  
     "But the..."  he tried to gesture towards the elevator, but she
was insistent.  
     "It's not safe.  Come on, hurry!!!!"  She fired a couple random
shots in Gordon's direction, making Andalor wrap an arm around his head
in protest, then turned and ran like a startled deer down the hall.
Not knowing what else to do, Andalor raced after her.
     Shannon led the way around corners and down long hallways, her
eyes darting around as the blaring sirens of the alarm bells began to
sound off.  Still clutching the gun, she yanked at several doors along
their way, kicking at the locked ones, scowling at the wrong ones,
until, in the far end of the building, she found the one she wanted -
the stairs.  Andalor kept after her, any hesitation lost in the clamour
of the bells and the shouts that echoed down the long halls from their
pursuers.  
     The race continued downwards, deeper and deeper into the
building, until they swung out through the last door into the dim,
dirty basement.  Tucking the weapon into her belt, Shannon shoved her
way deeper into a maze of steam pipes and piles of old equipment, not
bothering to look back to see if Andalor was following her.  With no
where else to go, he followed instinctively, pupils dilating in the
darkness, his slender body squeezing through after hers.  Finally
hitting a dead end, she came to a sudden halt, nearly causing him to
crash into her.  She threw him an irritated glare, then stared around,
eyes narrowing as they focused on a small window several feet above
their heads, light peeking through the dingy glass, half-covered with
rotting boards.  Shoving over some of the wreckage lining the floor,
she yelled to Andalor for  help.  But he had already followed the dir
ection of her gaze and was moving to help even as she spoke.  
     Working together, muscles straining, they built an unsteady pile
of junk, placing broken chairs on top of broken desks, wooden planks on
top of plastic odds and ends.  Feeling the press of time, Shannon let
out a sigh of frustration, then began to clamber upwards.  Andalor went
up behind her, ready to catch her if she fell, but she moved like a
cat, sleek and graceful and always sure-footed.  When she finally got
within reach of the window, she tugged on the boards, groaning under
her breath as they resisted, then at last came free.  Andalor ducked as
she tossed one down, nearly hitting him on the head.  She ignored his
yell, managing to pull another couple loose before loosing her balance.
 He was lucky to catch her, and for a moment they tottered on the top
of the junk heap until she was able to regain her footing.  Glaring
fiercely at him, she received an unabashed grin in return as he
released his hold on her waist.   The she swung away to try again.
Using the gun as a hammer, she carved out enough space to crawl though.
Andalor shielded his face and eyes as the glass shattered under her
flurry of blows.  
     Replacing the gun in her belt, she took hold of the edges,
protecting her hands with the tails of her shirt.  Straining hard, she
leapt upwards, propelling herself towards the opening.      
     Behind them, the sound of heavy footsteps, followed by shouts,
rang out, coming closer and closer.
     "Hurry!!!"  Andalor urged, giving her a big shove from behind.
Despite her anger at the placement of his hands, it was the help she
needed to bring herself up so that she could get her shoulders through
the jagged hole.
  Andalor pushed at her feet, forcing her upwards, until she was able
to slide out onto the ground.  Turning on her knees, she reached down
to give Andalor her hand, bracing her feet against the wall of the
building.  He handed her his pack, and she almost threw it down, but
something in the look on his face convinced her otherwise, and she
tossed it aside in poorly disguised annoyance before re-extending her
hand.  Grasping onto her, he was able to get high enough to press his
shoulders through the aperture, but before he could pull the rest of
his body through, a shout rang out from immediately below.  
     "Dammit!"  Shannon swore, and letting go of Andalor, she
retrieved the gun and pointed it down between his arms and chest.
Features stretched taut in urgency, fear, and rage, she fired a volley
of shots at their pursuers.  This elicited more screams, including one
from Andalor, as he tried desperately to both get up through the window
and avoid getting shot.  
     With one mighty groan, he managed to find the strength to wriggle
all the way through the window, even as a full-fledged fire-fight broke
out between Shannon and the men below.  
     <BANGGGBBBAANNGGG> Then suddenly <CLICK> Her gun was empty.
     Andalor fought all the way to his feet, retrieved his pack and
shouldered it, then grabbed her by the arm, just as she was about to
toss the empty now-useless weapon down at their pursuers.
      "Let's get out of here!"  he yelled into her ear.  Shannon
complied instantly, scrambling to her feet,  the gun still clasped in
her hand.
     Feet-flying, side-by-side, the pack bobbing on his thin
shoulders, they raced off down the alley and out into the street.
          
End Chapter Seven


Chapter Eight Part A


     An unseasonable tropical spell gripped Washington, D.C.  Between
the muggy weather, the travel and the lack of sleep the previous night,
Scully felt wilted and stale by the time she unlocked the door to her
apartment.  A glance at her companions showed her that they were
feeling much the same.  Jourdain had looked better after a battle with
the Dark Creatures, and even Aldara was a bit daunted.
     As usual, Scully was awed and surprised by her friend.  Aldara
had been consistently upbeat, enthusiastic and intrigued by all the new
things she encountered.  Scully knew that she must be missing Daanna
badly, and was probably more than a little apprehensive about the
strangeness that surrounded her, but she showed neither.  This happy
fascination with new experiences was a side to Aldara that not only had
Scully never seen, but she had also never suspected.
     Scully clicked on the air conditioner to High-Cold and set her
overnight bag down in the living room.  Food and rest were what the
trio needed right now.  Crossing through to the kitchen, she pulled a
couple of steaks from the freezer to defrost in the microwave and set
about making a salad.
     Aldara wandered into the kitchen.  "Can I help?" she asked,
almost shyly.
     Scully looked over her shoulder and flashed a smile at her
friend.  "Sure, you can set the table, if you want, and then help me
wash some vegetables.  Silverware is in the drawer to the left, and the
plates are in the cabinet directly above that, if you can reach."
Scully dried some crisp leaves of romaine lettuce on a paper towel.
"Unfortunately, kitchens always seem to be designed and built by
excessively tall individuals, not 'normal sized' people like you and
me,"  she observed, only half-joking.
     The two finished preparing the meal, companionably chatting as
they worked.  Aldara adjusted quickly to the many unfamiliar wonders of
Scully's kitchen, and was soon using the running water and the garbage
disposal as though she had grown up with them.
     "Jourdain!   Come and eat, love!" Aldara called.  But her summons
was met with silence.  "Jourdain?"  Puzzled, Aldara moved into the
living room to see her husband sprawled on the couch and softly
snoring.  She kissed him awake, gently brushing back the salt and
pepper hair from his eyes.  "Eat first, husband.  Then bath, then
sleep."
     "Ugmmmmph."  Bleary-eyed, Jourdain pulled himself to a sitting
position on the edge of the couch and then stood, dwarfing his wife.
"Ah, what a nag you're becoming, Aldara.  Remind me to beat you."
     She smiled up at him.  "I really wouldn't advise trying it -
Scully gave me back my knives."  
     He chuckled as they went arm-in-arm into the kitchen.  He stopped
briefly to shake his head in wonder at the strangeness of the room, but
the scent of the freshly grilled steak quickly captured his attention.
He sat down and started in on his meal.  Scully watched amazed as he
devoured the huge Porterhouse on his plate, half of Aldara's and
several slices of Italian bread, gulping down an ice cold beer in
between bites.
     The beeping of her cellular phone took Scully's attention away
from Jourdain.  She picked it up from the counter and pushed a button.
     "Hello?" Her face eased into a smile.  "Yes, about an hour
ago....Pretty well, all things considered....Oh, no!"  She listened
raptly and then laughed, then listened a few minutes more.  "Yes, I've
been wondering that myself..."  Her voice became softer.  "I know, love
- me too....  Okay.... See you tomorrow.  Bye."  She replaced the phone
on the counter.
     "That was Mulder," she said, returning to her seat.  "He's on the
way down to pick up Tarnor, Reinald and Professor Neumann.  It seems
they landed in a swamp a few hundred miles south of here and were
chased by an alligator."
     "What manner of beast is this?"  exclaimed Jourdain.  He had
finished his meal and was leaning back in his chair.  Scully spent the
next several minutes explaining what alligators were and answering the
concerned couple's questions about the welfare of their friends.
     When they were finally at ease, Scully stood and began to clear
the table.  Refusing Aldara's offer of assistance, she suggested that
they might want to shower.
     "Shower?"  Aldara asked.
     "Come with me."  Scully led her friend into the bathroom and
demonstrated how the shower worked.  Then the pair went into the
adjoining bedroom.  "Toss your clothes out the bedroom door and I'll
pop them in the washing machine.  I'm sure most of my stuff will fit
you, Aldara, so borrow anything you want."  Scully laughed.  "You're
just not allowed to look better in my clothes than I do.  And I think
Mulder has an old robe or something in the closet that Jourdain can
wear until his clothes are out of the dryer.  Look around and grab what
you need, okay?  And you guys have the bedroom while you're here.  When
you're through in the shower, get some rest.  I don't quite know where
we're going to put everyone when they get here, but I guess we'll
manage."  Aldara nodded, even though she had not understood all of what
Scully said.  Washing machine?  Dryer?  
     Smiling at her friend's confused expression, the auburn haired
woman went to her bureau and grabbed some underwear, shorts and a tee
shirt from the drawers and closed the bedroom door behind her when she
left.
     Scully returned to the kitchen and had the room spotless and the
dishwasher loaded in a few minutes.  Hearing the shower running, she
went to the bedroom door and collected the dirty clothing on the floor.
 Quickly changing into the items she had retrieved from the bedroom
earlier, she added her own belongings and started the washer.  Scully
smiled.  Judging by the giggles and poorly-suppressed squeals emanating
from the bathroom, Jourdain and Aldara were finding the shower as much
fun as she and Mulder usually did.  She busied herself with a few tasks
- checking her e-mail, inventorying supplies of food and bedding -
until the washer was finished, and then she put the clothes in the
dryer.
     Walking into the living room, Scully sighed and pulled a light
blanket and a pillow from the coat closet.  She dumped them on the
couch and slumped down next to them.  She hated being separated from
Mulder.  Their lifebond ensured that there was always a connection of
some sort, but the greater the distance, the more strained and
indistinct that connection became.  Ever since their lifebond had been
validated, she had become accustomed to being able to communicate with
Mulder without talking.  Indeed, the couple was startled to discover
how often they now communicated through their bond rather than
speaking.  More than once the apparent unnatural and prolonged silence
between them had been noticed and commented upon at the Bureau.  She
missed it bitterly on those occasions that they had been separated by
enough distance to make that same level of communication impossible.
She could feel Mulder's essence and know that he was not in danger or
threatened in any way, which of course was reassuring.  But the
emptiness she felt at her inability to talk to him anytime she wished
was overwhelming, and somehow more than just emotional.  She reminded
herself to ask Reinald about the effect of distance on lifebonded
partners - there might be more information that they needed to know for
their own safety and well-being.
     She must have drifted off on the couch, because it was dusk when
she opened her eyes.  She wandered into the kitchen, removed the
clothes from the dryer and folded them, taking some comfort from the
simple task.  Tapping gingerly at her bedroom door, she tiptoed in to
place the freshly laundered clothes on the bureau and turned to leave.
She glanced at the sleeping couple, wrapped in each other's arms, and
felt a sharp pang.  Closing the door behind her, she returned to the
living room, shutting the blinds, drawing the drapes against the
darkness.  Then she settled down on the couch for the night, to dream
of her own - absent - partner.

                         - - - - -

     An outburst of giggles was the first thing she was aware of as
she floated up to wakefulness.  Squinting, Scully barely opened one eye
to see sunlight pouring in between the slats of the blinds.
Tentatively she sat up and kicked the blanket off her legs.  In spite
of her extreme fatigue and melancholy the night before, she felt
surprisingly good.  She padded out to the kitchen, the source of the
laughter.
     Both Jourdain and Aldara were looking refreshed.  Jourdain had
his Realm clothing on, as Scully suspected he would.  Although he and
Mulder were much the same height, where Mulder was slight, the warrior
was massive, and Scully had doubted that Mulder's jeans and tee shirts
would fit.
     Aldara was obviously taking a very feminine pleasure in having
access to a whole new wardrobe.  She was barefoot and had on a pair of
green satin running shorts.  Her top was a white eyelet sleeveless
blouse with a ruffle around the scooped neckline that Scully had
received as a gift from Melissa.   She had never worn it because she
felt that it was not really her style, and had relegated it to that
part of her closet where all her gifts from Melissa resided.  It suited
Aldara perfectly, however.
     "I thought I told you that you couldn't do that," Scully began
with mock severity.
     "What?"  asked Aldara, confused.
     "Look better in my clothes than I do," replied Scully, and smiled
at her friend.  She crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out the
makings for breakfast.  The eggs, bacon and toast were a complete
success with the Realm natives, the coffee a complete failure, no
matter how much cream and sugar were added.
     Over the meal, they discussed their plans for the day.
     "Mulder should be home with the others by supper time,"  she
said, munching on a crisp strip of bacon.  "I hate to waste any more
time, with Andalor out there somewhere.  Aldara, do you think you could
describe Andalor well enough for someone to draw a picture of him?"
     "Yes, I'm sure I could,"  Aldara said.  "Why?"
     "Because we have people where I work that are specialists in
drawing those pictures,"  Scully said thoughtfully.  "If you came down
to the Bureau with me, we could have a composite sketch made.  Then we
could release it to the Boston FBI office and the police departments in
the Boston and Cambridge area.  You never know, someone might spot him
and report it.  Or even pull him in off the street and sit on him until
we can pick him up."  She looked at her guests, a hint of a gleam in
her eyes.  "It means driving into the city - lots of traffic, lots of
big buildings, lots of people.  How about it - would you two like to
visit the Bureau?"
     "Yes!"
     "No!"
     The answers were simultaneous and their sources not unexpected.
Aldara looked pleased and excited by the prospect of another foray into
this strange new world, and Jourdain looked horrified by the same
prospect.
     Scully smothered a grin.  "That's okay, Jourdain.  There's a
rather important job right here at home.  We need someone to stay by
the phone in case Andalor calls.  I have a machine that answers the
phone if I'm not here, but I think that might confuse him.  If he
calls, I think it would be better for him to hear a familiar voice that
can answer his questions.  I was hoping you might want to stay here to
do that."
     There was a momentary flash of relief on Jourdain's face, quickly
replaced with his usual look of stolid dependability.  Aldara was
grateful that her friend had found a way to preserve Jourdain's
dignity.  He had confessed to her in the night how unsettling he found
Mulder's world.  Dark Creatures and soul eaters and dastardly plots by
the noble houses he could deal with.  This world had upset him badly,
and it was going to take some time to come to terms with it.  Aldara
knew he half-envied, half-resented her easier transition, and was glad
that Scully had not inadvertently made a difficult situation even more
difficult.
     The agent gave Jourdain a few lessons in telephone etiquette and
set out the notepad and pen.  By that time, Aldara was dancing up and
down with excitement and impatience.  "Are we going?"