Year 30, Week 19.9 Dale Reckoning 

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

"Daniel wants to know why you two haven't come to town," the runner 
called across most of the field. "It's May Day tomorrow. It would be 
a good time he says."

Ben looked my way, clearly hesitating. We both knew that allowing me 
to be seen by people could complicate my life here, but in time our 
continued absence would begin to look suspicious. Ben is one of the 
few genuinely decent and kind people that I have ever known and I 
don't want him hurt as a result of his association with me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We worked for a while in silence. As I said, we were clearing a new 
field. Rocks are amazingly heavy when you drop one on your foot. The 
tough old grass refused to be cut and if you try to pull it out by 
the roots, most of the topsoil came up with it, which has to be 
reclaimed because there was precious little. Then the earth just 
under the topsoil has to be broken up with picks and mixed with 
compost. I'll never complain about having to slave over expense 
reports again. 

Lunchtime comes whenever the first of us sits down for a break. 
Early on, just after the first week when I'd broken in my muscles, 
we reached a point when neither of us wanted to be the first to give 
in. We nearly killed ourselves working from dawn to dark. We don't 
do that anymore. Ben gave in first this time, sprawling out under 
what he said was a roseberry bush and sucking in air and cool water 
from a flask. "We'd better call it a day. Takes hours to walk to 
town and we have to clean up."

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, you should have a small room of your own," Ben repeated. This 
said he allowed himself a cautious glance in my direction probably 
hoping that I would protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughed. "Do you mean my face?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



BENJAMIN:
Year 30, Week 19.9 Dale Reckoning 

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then came the dance. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


MULDER:
Year 30, Week 19.9 Dale Reckoning 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you remember being brought to his planet?" I asked, hoping the 
question would not be too disturbing. I got a nod, immediate and 
matter-of-fact. "How long ago?" 

"I was... the first," he managed quite clearly. "Three years after... 
the colonists." 

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

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

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

That was not the point. Having no choice was the point. Newcomers 
were 'awarded' to this colonist or that like a horse or a prize in a 
lottery, the luck of the draw or in Dale's case by birth order. This 
was bad enough but almost worse was that no one cared whether their 
adoptive 'parent' took the form of father or taskmaster or devil. 

"I'd like for us to talk sometime," I told him and I meant it. 
"Sometime when you are not on working." Also, sometime when Ben 
wasn't around, as he was now, to frown and be embarrassed by the way 
I was breaking at least a dozen of his society's social taboos.

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

"So do we." At this voice at my back every muscle in my body tensed. 
I knew that voice. It was a rough version of Charley's. Mayor Daniel 
had returned. It's not all that easy to catch me unawares and he'd 
managed the trick twice in an hour.

In this study where there was more light, the mayor's resemblance to 
the Hunter was even more pronounced. There was the same massive, 
strong body, the same square jaw. There was the same cold, gray eyes 
and thin lips and the battered look of an old prizefighter. The 
difference besides age was what Daniel had which Charley could never 
mimic. Humanity. Life. Charley always seemed stiff as if for all his 
power his assumed body was too tight a fit. In comparison, this man 
had a power and grace, surprising for a man of his age, which had to 
be at least sixty.

Like the servant, Reese, Mayor Daniel was sizing me up at the same 
time I was doing the same. No point in even trying the poor-newcomer 
act with this wily old fox. 

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

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

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

"He has."

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

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

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

Bringing my attention back to Daniel I found quite an expression of 
surprise on his face. Icy fingers of alarm shivered up and down my 
arms. Ben didn't seem to have noticed the silent exchange on either 
side, however.

"How long have you known?" Ben asked. "Why didn't you just ask us to 
meet you here?"

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

"How?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

"That was cruel," I said.

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

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

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

"What difference would that have made?"

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

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

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

"What?"

"Finding a tiger rather than a pussycat? I wouldn't have put it past 
not of few of them not to cut out your tongue and bash your head in 
with a rock and whatever else was needed to ensure themselves of the 
properly dependent and submissive slave that all the young bucks 
dream of."

It was my turn to shiver. There had been eyes at the festival that I 
hadn't liked the look of and hands that were too personal. It was a 
rough, hard life, barely clinging to civilization. Unfortunately, I 
could see Daniel's scenario happening all too easily. 

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

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

Somehow that came as no surprise.

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

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

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

"I can see that. Fresh air, hard work, healthy food -- compared to 
the early reports you certainly seem to be thriving." His gaze had 
returned to me and though he was outwardly friendly I didn't think 
that I cared for the expression in the back of those cold gray eyes 
any more than that I had seen in Talon Harris's at the festival.

Lowering his large frame into the sturdiest chair, Daniel leaned 
back and laced his thick fingers together. "So how is Bek?" he 
asked.

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

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

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

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

"Better to rule in hell."

"Something like that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not much time since college."

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

Not anymore, thanks to ol' Nicotine Man.

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

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

"Arniesse..." I began not knowing how to phrase my question.

"I wondered when you were going to ask about the Graypeople."

"Graypeople?"

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

"Not a word."

"You weren't shocked." 

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

"Interesting. A rogue I take it?"

"From my understanding, yes."

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

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

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


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

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

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

"We can stop."

"No, let's finish this," and I stared at the board to find what the 
old man had finally moved during my doze. 

And then I saw it. I had no particular long-term strategy in mind 
but he would be much confused over why I did it. The move won me an 
enthusiastic grin and hearty laugh.

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

"How could you have known?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The chess game ceased to exist.

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

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

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

"Let's not bring that up."

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that an order, Sir?

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

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

But I didn't answer, I couldn't even if I had wanted to and I was 
not sure that I did. It was like a heavy black curtain had settled 
over my mind: on one side was pain, on the other nothing, nothing 
at all. No words, no feelings. I stood on the edge between them, 
only barely able to make sense of what he was asking. Nothing less 
critical would have gotten through at all. He wanted to know when 
Charley was coming back. My deepest secret, my only secret, my only 
way home, torturous route though it may be. 

I slid into the black for a while. No questions there and no need to 
respond to any already asked. When I woke sometime later the ledge 
between the pain and the dark was wider, so there was a chance that 
I could hold my balance for a while. I heard a voice I knew and 
forced open my eyes.

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

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

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

"Migraines then, maybe only that."

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

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

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