CHAPTER 21 

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

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

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

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

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

"Watch it, Scully."

"Are you admitting these need attention?" 

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

"I'm admitting nothing of the kind."

"Turn toward the light, please."

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

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

"Later."

"Mulder--"

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

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

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

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

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

"Why wouldn't there be?"

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

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

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

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

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

Would they?

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

"That's not possible, Mulder."

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

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

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

"I won't say no to that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aural? Did I hear that right?"

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

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

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

"You've got to be joking." 

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

Slow down, he reminded himself. Make it last. 

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

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

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

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

"Or the man."

"Am I in for a long night?"

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

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

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

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

"But it would end the speculation."

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

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

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

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

"As early as that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"All paths lead to the same destination?"

"Something like that."

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

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

"Works for me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can see that. What else?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, it will."

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

"Plateau phase?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Before...before..." 

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

"Before...what, Scully?" 

"Before...I reach..."

"Reach...?"

"Orgasm," she whispered, sounding desperate.

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

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

"Meaning?"

"I'll curl my toes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me how you feel," he insisted.

"Oh, God--"

"Tell me."

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

"How do you feel, Scully?"

"Please, I...I--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I feel...happy." 

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

"Bring 'em back," he ordered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

SEASON OF THE MASTODON FEAST
SOMEWHERE EAST OF TURKEY LAKE 

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

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

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

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

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

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

She stilled her movements and glared at him. 

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

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

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

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

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

His gaze targeted her stomach. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

Gini gave a quick, firm nod.

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

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

"Why then?"

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

"A brave girl like you?"

Her head bobbed.

"Tell me what made you afraid."

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

He would have to coax the words from her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Were they?"

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

"They never hurt you?"

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

She nodded, looking contrite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Always?"

"As long as you want."

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

"What did I say?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes. Very first." 

"What else will you say?"

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

"Oh." 

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

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

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

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

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

"True. He helped me search for you."

"Yes."

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

"Uh-huh."

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

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

"Perhaps," Dzeh agreed.

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

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

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

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

Dzeh pretended to be surprised. "You do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

"To wash my back."

"Need help?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ten to one he's got Klizzie."

"We must find her."

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't be afraid," he shouted.

"W-what's going on?"

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

"I'm scared!"

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

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

"What is it?"

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

"I need to see him," she says.

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

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

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

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

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

He replies with a noncommittal, "Mmm." 

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

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

"It's clean."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She is not pregnant, she notices.

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

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

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

"I know what I'm doing."

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

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

Regret swamps her. Her heart feels ready to burst.

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

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

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

"I know you had no choice."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Considering what? she wonders. 

"How many miles to Shiprock?" he asks.

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

"Eighty miles. Why Shiprock?"

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

"Not particularly."

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

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

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

"Isn't it closed to climbers?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Seems like forever."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dadeeeee!"

"What, pipsqueak?"

"Tickle me!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell was going on?

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

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

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

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

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

She grabbed both phones and ran toward the lake. 

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

Conan sneered and held up the necklace, taunting him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scarred man hit the ground hard.

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

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

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

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

Conan suddenly jerked free. The gun fired. 

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

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

*   *   * 

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

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

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

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

"What the hell is happening?" 

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

"Time distortion. Watch."

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then an unexpected thing happened and Dzeh wasn't sure if he 
could trust his eyes. It was possible he was slipping into the 
dream world of Spirits, and was not really witnessing an 
earthly event. 

Klizzie stepped out of the seed-fogged night behind Klesh. She 
was naked and her bruised skin glowed with the blue-silver 
light of the heavenly bolt. Blood ringed her wrists and 
striped her fingers. The beads in her braided hair rattled 
like pods on a honey locust before a winter storm, and her 
dark eyes glittered with tears and determination. 

"Klesh," she murmured, "it is over." 

He turned to face her. A nasty smile deepened the scar on his 
left cheek. He leveled the terrible thunder weapon at her 
head. "Yes, it is."

Without warning, she ducked beneath his outstretched arm and 
shoved him hard. He stumbled and pivoted toward Muhl-dar. The 
thunder weapon flared. 

For two heartbeats no one moved, startled by the weapon's 
fearsome noise. 

Then Klesh peered down at his belly, where blood was seeping 
from a slash across his gut. Dzeh's knife was embedded deeply 
into his side. The thunder weapon dropped from his open hand 
and his eyes rounded when entrails suddenly spilled from his 
wound like a nest of snakes tumbling down a mountain slope. He 
tried to scoop them up and stop their uncoiling by holding 
them in the clench of his arms. His deformed legs began to 
quake and he collapsed to his knees. He gaped in astonishment 
at the terrible wound, at the blood-soaked sand, at Muhl-dar 
and Klizzie.  

Releasing his belly, he pointed a wet, gnarled finger at her. 
"You...?" 

He was beyond saying more. The Spirits were extinguishing the 
fire in his eyes. He teetered sideways, took three shallow 
breaths and then fell. Clumps of cottonwood seed billowed 
around him and he did not move again.

By now many people were gathering on the shore. Their faces 
wore expressions of terror as they pointed at Klesh, the 
thunder weapon, and the sky. They shouted: "Snake Spirit has 
come to kill us!" "We will be punished." "It is the stranger's 
fault!"

Dzeh knew this was his vision come to life. The lightning bolt 
was growing to an enormous size. Cottonwood seeds clogged the 
night air, making it difficult to see. The stars and moon were 
unrecognizable as they eddied through the air like fallen 
leaves in an autumn river. Would the female Spirit rescue them 
as his vision had foretold, or were his kinsmen doomed?

"Prophecies are often unclear when they are first revealed," 
the Shaman had said after Dzeh divulged his dream to the men 
in Tsa-ond Cave. "Interpreting them is like hunting in fog. 
Sometimes we must wait until events reveal themselves before 
we can know whether it is best to charge or run." 

Flares ignited along the rim of the giant lightning bolt, 
causing it to crackle and expand. People scattered in every 
direction, afraid for their lives. Dzeh lost sight of Klizzie 
in the confusion. Fear gripped his throat, choking off his 
breath when he could not locate her. He tried to rise to his 
feet to go look for her, but dizziness quickly overtook him 
and he fell again to his hands and knees. The wound at his 
temple throbbed. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.

"Do not move." He felt gentle hands cradling his face. He 
looked up to find Klizzie by his side, exhausted and afraid.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded and slipped her arms around his waist to help him 
stand. "We must go. It is not safe here."

"We will be fine. The female Spirit will save us." He drew her 
down beside him on the sand.

At that moment the sky opened, torn in two by the lightning 
bolt. The surrounding landscape rippled and the seeds that had 
been previously falling began to drift upward into the 
widening breach. It was impossible to see what lay beyond; the 
sky had become as bright as a midday sun. Inside it, Dzeh 
thought he glimpsed the face of his dead mother, looking as 
young and happy as she had in life. She vanished as quickly as 
she had appeared, replaced by more faces, smiling children who 
looked a lot like Klizzie. Were these their sons and 
daughters? They, too, disappeared into the brightness.

Silver light filled the valley, illuminating the frightened 
men and women who were mumbling prayers on the beach. Day-nuh 
was standing among them, her eyes focused on Muhl-dar. She was 
dressed in one of the Eel skin cloaks. In her outstretched 
hands she carried two small objects that put off the 
phosphorescent glow of lightning beetles.

Muhl-dar glanced her way before retrieving the thunder weapon 
and plucking the shiny, foreign ornament from Klesh's gnarled 
fingers. Then he went to her and traded the ornament for one 
of the objects she held. She looked relieved and Dzeh was 
uncertain if it was the totem or Muhl-dar's smile that made 
her eyes shine with grateful tears.

They startled when the object in her hand trilled like a bird 
at first daylight. Muhl-dar's soon did the same, and for a 
moment the glowing objects sang in unison. The birdsong was 
followed by a thin, faraway voice. It was the female Spirit 
from Dzeh's dream-vision. She seemed to be living inside the 
object in Muhl-dar's palm. When he replied to her, his words 
galloped with excitement. He dovetailed his fingers with Day-
nuh's, then shouted across the sand to Dzeh, "Take care of 
yourself, buddy. Take care of Klizzie and Gini, too." 

Then the sky became blindingly bright. Dzeh wrapped his arms 
protectively around his beloved mate, and over the crown of 
her bowed head he watched Muhl-dar and Day-nuh fade like stars 
in the dawn.


CONTINUED IN 22/22...