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CHAPTER TWENTY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dzeh huffed with irritation. "I will not."

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

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

"He brought Gini home."

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

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

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

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

"She is nearly dead!"

"And he was trying to save her."

"Or show us how vile he is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Get up!" Yeh-hes shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

A breeze stirred her hair.

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

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

How soon before she became completely disoriented?

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

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

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

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

Missy. Missy had taught her about spiders.

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

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

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

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

"Like bees and ants?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should she sing? Pray?

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

What were the words?

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

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

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

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

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

She sat up straighter to peer over the log.

There was nothing there.

Had she imagined the sound?

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

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

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

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

"I f-fear no, no--"

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

Oh God. It had enormous fangs.

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heads swiveled. Fingers tightened around spears and knives.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Eda-ele-tsood?" Chal asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  *   *

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

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

"No one has saved my life."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Help me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

EARLY EVENING, AUGUST 13
LATE PLEISTOCENE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh God, was she already dead?

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

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

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

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

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

"Scully, wake up, sweetheart."

She was so cold.

"Please," he begged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tree lifted a fraction of an inch.

"Thala-na-nah," Chal said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For what?"

"Going above and beyond."

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

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

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

"Don't shortchange yourself."

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

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

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

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

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

"We're going home?"

She nodded and smiled. "Apparently."

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leaving it to bobble, he knelt beside the furs.

"Gini? Are you awake?"

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

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

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

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

Unlike now.

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

"It was our Joining Day, I think."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm fine."

Doubt thinned his lips.

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

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

"Scully, it's cold out here."

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

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

"You'll do fine."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mulder laughed and shook his head in mock frustration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dzeh dovetailed his fingers with hers and drew her away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scully repeated her question, clarifying with hand signals.

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

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

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

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

"Eel Clan?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Day-nuh?"

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it, she was crying.

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

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

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

"Scully?"

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

"How long have you known?" she asked.

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

"About Klizzie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why would you do that?"

"I don't know!" she keened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What does that have to do with anything?"

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

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

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

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

God damn it. Why was life so fucking complicated?

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

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

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

Story of their lives.

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

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

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

She blinked at him. "What?"

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

"You're sorry?"

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

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

Self-loathing swallowed him. He hated himself.

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

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

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

"You're not going to leave me?"

"Of course not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He'd been wrong not to trust her.

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

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

"What do you need, sweetheart?"

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"To wash up."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

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

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

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

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

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

"Watch it, Scully."

"Are you admitting these need attention?"

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

"I'm admitting nothing of the kind."

"Turn toward the light, please."

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

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

"Later."

"Mulder--"

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

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

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

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

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

"Why wouldn't there be?"

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

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

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

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

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

Would they?

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

"That's not possible, Mulder."

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

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

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

"I won't say no to that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aural? Did I hear that right?"

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

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

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

"You've got to be joking."

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

Slow down, he reminded himself. Make it last.

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

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

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

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

"Or the man."

"Am I in for a long night?"

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

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

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

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

"But it would end the speculation."

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

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

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

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

"As early as that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"All paths lead to the same destination?"

"Something like that."

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

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

"Works for me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can see that. What else?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, it will."

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

"Plateau phase?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Before...before..."

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

"Before...what, Scully?"

"Before...I reach..."

"Reach...?"

"Orgasm," she whispered, sounding desperate.

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

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

"Meaning?"

"I'll curl my toes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me how you feel," he insisted.

"Oh, God--"

"Tell me."

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

"How do you feel, Scully?"

"Please, I...I--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I feel...happy."

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

"Bring 'em back," he ordered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

SEASON OF THE MASTODON FEAST
SOMEWHERE EAST OF TURKEY LAKE

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

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

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

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

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

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

She stilled her movements and glared at him.

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

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

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

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

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

His gaze targeted her stomach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

Gini gave a quick, firm nod.

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

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

"Why then?"

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

"A brave girl like you?"

Her head bobbed.

"Tell me what made you afraid."

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

He would have to coax the words from her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Were they?"

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

"They never hurt you?"

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

She nodded, looking contrite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Always?"

"As long as you want."

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

"What did I say?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes. Very first."

"What else will you say?"

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

"Oh."

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

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

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

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

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

"True. He helped me search for you."

"Yes."

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

"Uh-huh."

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

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

"Perhaps," Dzeh agreed.

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

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

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

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

Dzeh pretended to be surprised. "You do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

"To wash my back."

"Need help?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ten to one he's got Klizzie."

"We must find her."

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't be afraid," he shouted.

"W-what's going on?"

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

"I'm scared!"

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

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

"What is it?"

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

"I need to see him," she says.

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

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

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

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

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

He replies with a noncommittal, "Mmm."

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

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

"It's clean."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She is not pregnant, she notices.

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

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

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

"I know what I'm doing."

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

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

Regret swamps her. Her heart feels ready to burst.

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

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

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

"I know you had no choice."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Considering what? she wonders.

"How many miles to Shiprock?" he asks.

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

"Eighty miles. Why Shiprock?"

"Shiprock is a 1700-foot eroded volcanic plume. It's sacred to
the Navajos. They call it Tse Bi dahi, which means 'Rock with
Wings,'" Mulder explains. "It comes from an ancient myth about
a great bird that