BENJAMIN: 
Year 31, Week 00.0 Dale Reckoning 

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

"Benjamin, I don't think this is wise."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I haven't forgotten what you said about not being able to read 
minds 'any more'. Care to elaborate?"

Clearly, Mulder didn't. He was that tired, but I saw him resign 
himself to make the effort. "Almost two years ago, a scientist found 
an alien artifact with writing on it. One of the symbols was a 'word 
of power' or so I'm told. The moment I saw it something like a 
switch went off in my head. And within days, yes, I could read 
minds." He sighed wearily. "Everyone's, everywhere."

Daniel was nodding sagely. "You were just beginning to pick up that 
trick when I last saw you. You were barely ten. They always put a 
block on your mind whenever they sent you back, however. That's why 
you never knew. A 'word of power' is certainly capable of releasing 
such a block, but under uncontrolled conditions the affect must have 
been catastrophic."

Mulder tried to smile but it didn't come out very well. "You might 
say that. One of the men from the Project, a compatriot of my 
father's, you probably knew him, recognized what had happened to me 
for what it was and decided that he wanted the power for himself. He 
had the focal point of the activity surgically removed and attempted 
to implant the extracted tissue into his own head. Nearly killed me, 
was in the process of killing him last time I heard."

Daniel's face wore an expression of absolute horror. "No!"

Mulder shrugged. "Though I wasn't given any choice in the matter, 
the trade off was well worth it, or so I thought. Months after the 
headaches began. The doctors assumed that they were related to the 
operation." Mulder's head shook wearily, but carefully, from side to 
side. "They thought at first it was an infection, later a tumor. 
They told me that it would kill me." He raised his head to catch 
Daniel's eye. "I think you can understand what that was like. I 
settled all my affairs. I paid up the rent on my apartment for a 
year in advance just in case I should become incapacitated at the 
end. I didn't want Scu -- my work partner -- to have to pick up the 
pieces. I even updated the family headstone so she didn't have to 
worry about that. I was too chicken to tell her though. I wanted to 
a hundred times but, among other things, her ethics would not have 
allowed her to withhold my little problem from our supervisor. 
Selfish of me I know, but they would have forced me to go on medical 
leave. I would have been locked out. I couldn't afford to spend my 
last months, not even my last weeks, that way."

"Yet here you are."

"I didn't just get a third opinion. I investigated avenues that 
witch doctors would have steered away from. Then a new 'doctor', one 
of the alternative medicine bent, gave me a different prognosis. He 
didn't know what I had, but he was certain that it wasn't fatal. 
There wasn't time to pursue further. A week later we were called 
back to Oregon where I was eventually 'collected' by Charley " A 
kind of wan smile came to his lips. "That tombstone is going to 
confuse a lot of people. The prognosis in my medical records even 
more. But clearly the new practitioner was right because I'm not 
dead, despite wishing to be from time to time."

Mulder had looked my way at the end. I hadn't thought about his 
other life much, his life before his abduction, though we had talked 
about the alien places he had been and about Earth in general. It 
was clear, however, that besides having someone close with whom he 
had worked, he had had a place of his own and a job he cared about. 
How lost he must feel. He had none of that now, except, I hoped, a 
friend.

"And how often do you have these headaches now?" Daniel asked in his 
judge and jury voice. "The truth, now."

Unbelievably tired, Mulder seemed to have to rouse himself to 
answer. "Every three or four days. None this bad though for a long 
time."

Daniel looked from one to the other of us, resigned but not 
convinced. "Very well, return if you must, but I lay some ground 
rules. Benjamin, you should know that Mulder's first name is Fox. 
That's what you will call him."

Mulder stiffened abruptly.

"But he prefers --" I began.

"In private, you may, of course, call him what you want, but Fox is 
his first name. He is one of us now and we use first names. He'll 
draw his shares from the store under 'Fox', that's how he'll appear 
on the town rolls." The old eyes that fixed on Mulder were firm 
though not unkind. "In remembrance of the boy I once knew. Humor an 
old man."

Mulder's only protest was to ask with a bite in his tone, "And your 
other orders.... Sir?"

Mayor Dan pointed away from Mulder's eyes and towards the side of 
his face. "You go to Mac, the surgeon; you go now. Have that scar 
tissue reduced. There's no need for you to be constantly reminded of 
Bek's abuse. Mac worked on mine years ago and they were far worse 
than yours." I saw Mulder shiver at whatever memory this comment 
called up. "Don't worry about infection. This planet is a 
pharmacological treasure trove. You never saw a healthier lot of 
dying people." The sarcasm in his voice was so thick you could taste 
it. Ponderously, as if feeling his age for the first time, Daniel 
rose from his seat. "And my last 'command'," he decreed from the 
doorway, "is for you both to come to see me every other Tensday. I 
would make it every Tensday but I know the demands of farming. Fox, 
you and I can then have our game of chess while we discuss topics of 
mutual interest and, Benjamin, I wouldn't surprised if you'll have a 
chance to enjoy Arniesse's company again."

I'd almost forgotten the changeling. My face felt suddenly hot and I 
know I blushed. The mayor smiled broadly before leaving us as if he 
found my embarrassment highly amusing. I found no humor in the 
topic, however, considering what I had just done with a complete 
stranger and a Grayperson and what a certain someone must know that 
I wanted to do with him. 



BENJAMIN
Year 31, Week 00.0, Dale Reckoning

Daniel was scarcely out of the room when Reese came bearing food. I 
had to encourage Mulder to eat. Free food was, after all, free food, 
and the quality was irritatingly better than mine was. I then helped 
him to straighten the clothes he'd slept in and afterwards to make 
it down the stairs. 

No matter how magnificent the Mayor's residence, it was good to be 
outside. It was a fine day for Dale even for this time of year when 
so many of the days are kind. Growing Days we called them when the 
sun days came after rain days. There was sun yet it wasn't too hot. 

The new year festivities of the night before had taken their toll on 
the colonists. There were few townspeople about even though it was 
nearly noon. I led Mulder to Mac's cabin at the end of the street. 
He was home. He lived with the Apothecary, which was convenient for 
the colony.

Mac was a little wizened man of about Daniel's age. One of the 
original colonists, he knew the mayor about as well as anyone which 
did not mean that he knew him well. Daniel had always been separate. 
Perhaps great men were destined to be so. My thoughts went to Mulder 
-- to Fox -- at my side. Here was another solitary man. Like Daniel, 
he kept his own counsel, and they both bore the marks though I 
wouldn't have noticed Daniel's if he hadn't pointed them out. Was 
Mulder a great man, too? It had been a long time since I felt so 
insignificant, so stupid.

We were waiting for the surgeon in his treatment room and I had all 
these thoughts whirling about in my head, so I suppose it wasn't 
surprising that I found myself blurting out, "Daniel's not going to 
live forever. Are you going to take his place?"

Mulder had been deep in his own head. He came out of it with a start 
and stared at me. "Why would you think that?"

"You're so much alike." I touched my cheek. Mulder did the same to 
his own cheek, feeling there the deep pits with their hard-blackened 
edges. 

His eyes that can be kind were also capable of being hard. They were 
hard now. "Think these are a badge of honor of some kind? Some mark 
of distinction? They are like brands of slavery, signs that show 
just how unfortunate we were to be born the way we were and came to 
be noticed by Charley. That's all they are."

"Interested in telling me what made them?" Mac asked, entering the 
room with the basket of materials he would need for the surgery. 

"I don't think so."

Mac shrugged, wincing from the arthritis in his back. "Not really my 
business. Daniel never told me either." He gestured a lined hand to 
an elaborate chair of wood. "Benjamin, how about you and your new 
friend move the chair into the sun. You know what to do. It's just 
after noon so the second window." 

Indeed I did. First, I pulled on the second of five ropes that hung 
down in one corner of the room. In response a three-foot square of 
wall opened. Direct sunlight brightened the examining room. I 
directed Mulder and we moved the chair, not into the sun, but a few 
feet from it. 

"Climb on up," I told Mulder, but he only stayed where he was eyeing 
the contraption of wood and rope and well-worn pads warily. "It's 
the most comfortable chair in town," I assured him. "I had two teeth 
removed in that chair."

"Most people aren't so happy about going to the dentist," he 
replied.

"Why? It doesn't hurt."

To that Mulder raised an eyebrow in my direction. Eventually, he did 
seat himself but with a kind of hesitation as if he thought Mac's 
marvelous chair might suddenly come to life and bite him. Once 
settled, the surgeon was at his side, opening a flat pottery dish. 
Using two strips of wood like chopsticks -- I'm told you also use 
chopsticks on Earth -- Mac lifted a large, flat leaf from the bowl. 
With a flick of his wrist he shook off drips of stray fluid and 
extended the leaf towards Mulder's right cheek. Instinctively, 
Mulder cringed back against the seat as far as he could go.

"Hush," Mac said in his soothing tone. "Lie still. This won't hurt."

"It's Numb Leaf," I explained. "You're going to want it. You're 
going to need it."

If he relaxed, I couldn't tell, but he turned his head, exposing the 
right cheek. Deftly, Mac laid the wet, palm-sized leaf so that the 
three awful scars on that side were covered. 

Unconcerned, Mac then went whistling off into the next room, 
gathering bits of this herb and that roll of wadding into a basket 
as he went. 

I watched what I could of Mulder's face. I loved to watch his face 
when he was concentrating hard about something. You could almost see 
the thoughts forming.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"Id'z nuhm," he said and stopped at the garbled sounds. The left 
side of his face moved as normal when he tried to talk, but the 
right side lay slack. 

"Better not try to talk unless you don't care about being 
misunderstood. It wears off in a few hours."

He was tense, not afraid but apprehensive. I wondered if I could 
hold his hand again. I've watched the surgeon lots of times. He was 
such a smart man. If I had not been adopted as Old William's heir, I 
would have asked to apprentice here and still could not understand 
why no one else had. At least being a Holder did not keep me from 
stopping by the surgery whenever I was in town. For this reason I 
had walked in on many a procedure and I had witnessed that not a few 
landholders, standing where I stood now, would hold the hand of his 
terrified newcomer as the poor creature was being treated. For some 
reason the chair terrified newcomers. Even Mulder's brow had broken 
out in a fine sweat. I wonder why? All I was certain of was that 
Mulder would probably have to think himself at death's door, like 
this morning at Daniel's, before I would be allowed to hold that 
hand again. 

Both of us were distracted by the return of the surgeon. Moving a 
table close to the chair, he began to lay out all he had gathered. 
Besides little pots of this and that, there were pads of moss that 
he would use to absorb the blood and thick wads of a particular 
grass, boiled and woven, which had been used as a bandage for 
decades. Correctly prepared, such a bandage had special properties 
that stopped nearly all infections and slowed superficial bleeding 
like this. On deep wounds, unfortunately, it had little effect. Most 
rare of all, however, was what Mac carried in a small box of carved 
red wood. From within the folds of padding he brought out a sliver 
of something that shone and glinted in the shaft of sunlight, 
sunlight that had moved closer and closer to Mulder's face, as I 
knew it would. The light just touched Mulder's left jawbone and it 
was, therefore, time to start.

"Considering where you come from," Mac said letting the object move 
about in the air as if it were a live thing, "it must be 
inconceivable to you how such a little piece of metal like this 
could be so precious."

Mulder raised his head to see it better and other than that did not 
seem outwardly distressed unless you happened to look at his right 
hand. The clenched hand seemed ready to crack the arm of the chair. 
Hastily, I wedged into that fist a teething stick, one of the pieces 
of hard wood which displayed the numerous teethmarks of countless 
men who have bitten down hard during treatments not so painless as 
this was going to be. Still, Mulder grasped it hard and Mac hadn't 
even started yet. A little shiver of pleasure fluttered in my lower 
regions at the brief expression of gratitude he sent my way. It made 
me wish that I had offered my hand after all and it wouldn't have 
mattered if the result had been broken bones or not.

In the end the anticipation was far worse than reality. With the sun 
neatly timed to be full in his viewing area, Mac carefully scraped 
away layer upon layer of skin until the majority of scar tissue was 
gone. It was a tedious process.

"Better," Mac said, "better. See, Ben, how the patient relaxes once 
he realizes that there is no more to fear and not much pain either."

The surgeon's words actually seemed to rouse Mulder from a kind of 
doze. His eyes rolled to catch the glitter of the blade. "Wonder 
where this comes from on a planet so devoid of metal?" the old man 
asked. "Dental fillings. We melt down the fillings of all those who 
have been dumped upon these shores. You were checked when you came 
in, though you may not remember." Mulder tensed to the point that 
Mac placed a hand on his shoulder and laughed. "Don't worry. Those 
two little fillings of yours are not large enough to be of much use, 
but they're entered in the records. At some point in the future you 
may be asked to give them up but for the moment they're safer where 
they are."

In time the procedure was complete. My stomach twisted at the sight 
of the large patch of raw skin. In the end Mac applied a healing 
poultice to the wound and then the bandage. A pinch of nightflower 
bulb in tea and Mulder slept. As there were no other surgeries 
planned, he was allowed to stay where he was. Stretched out as he 
was with arms and legs resting on the chair supports, he looked to 
my eyes very vulnerable. 

We were offered the use of Mac's guest cabin for the night and I 
accepted without asking Mulder. If he complained, all I would need 
to do was describe the raw condition of his face before the bandage 
was applied. I was surprised when he followed me meekly out to the 
little hut in the rear of the surgery's elaborate garden. The town 
being built in a sheltered spot, the rows and rows of medicinal 
herbs and edible plants in their raised beds were already a 
patchwork of greens in a dozen hues. As it was early evening by 
then, we took Mac's offering of supper with us but it was still too 
early for sleep, especially for Mulder who had had his fill for the 
moment, though he did not seem eager for talk either. We sat in 
silence for at least an hour after eating and watched as the last of 
the light left the sky. Only when velvet blue covered all the vast 
space above our heads did Mulder begin to talk. 

He asked about the stars first, about what we called our 
constellations and if there was anything like a 'constant' star that 
could always be found in the same place in the sky. I described the 
Tree and the Loaf, the Mayor's Mouth (he smiled at that one) and the 
Newcomer that is shy and never stays in the sky long when it does 
appear. As the hours passed, I showed him the Baby and the Woman's 
Hair. The blue star called the Woman's Eye behaved most like what he 
asked about. We were silent then until the Moon rose.

"If you call this one the Moon, what do you call your second moon?"

"Little Brother. It's not seen as often and is small and pale by 
comparison."

"How often do you see it and for how long does it stay?"

I shrugged. "Every couple of weeks it rises in the East around 
sunset and sets in a few hours. Stays about four days and then he's 
gone again."

"What about phases?" Mulder asked. "Full moon, half moon, quarter 
moon?"

"For Brother?"

"For both of them." He was lying on his mat with his eyes on the 
heavens, his silhouette a little bulky because of the bandage but I 
sensed an excitement in him. "Is there a predictable time when both 
are full?"

"Twice a year, summer and winter. Last night was the summer 
occurrence. May Day."

He lifted his head at this to stare in the direction of the Moon, 
which was itself no longer quite full. 

"And what will you do in the winter when they're both full? Is there 
another festival?"

"Oh, yes." 

"At harvest time."

"Oh, long after that. We call it Frost's Whiskers. It's supposedly 
the last time we can reliably all get to town, but sometimes the 
heavy snow comes early. One year the snow was so deep that only ten 
people showed."

He didn't laugh as I expected, but was already somewhere else. 
Something I said had disturbed him. He was frowning as his eyes 
fixed on the horizon. 

"Brother won't rise for an hour yet and won't be full any longer," I 
told him. 

But still Mulder waited, his eyes restlessly tracing the stars. 
Finally, Brother rose its head above the tree line and Mulder sat up 
to stare at it. He got up and paced. I noticed with satisfaction 
that he was careful not to step on any young plants even though his 
eyes were almost always on the sky. 

"We should get some sleep," I told him. "There will be a lot to do 
on the farm when we get back." 

He nodded absently and lay down again. 

For myself, I fell asleep almost instantly having had almost no 
sleep the night before. Memories of those hours with Annie colored 
my dreams. I woke once, aroused by the memory of her cool touch on 
my body. I noted that Mulder's face was turned towards the two moons 
and his eyes, still open, glistened as if wet with dew. I slept 
again, eager to return to my own dreams, but this time Annie didn't 
appear. Mulder did, however, and everything was perfect between us. 
Then without warning he was wrenched from my arms. Rising to follow 
I found I was covered in blood.

I took that as a reminder that in the excitement over Mulder's 
sudden illness, I had failed to ask about the long-delayed adoption 
ceremony. If Mulder were formally under my protection then I think 
it would be harder for Daniel to take him from me as I was afraid 
there for a few minutes that he would. On the other hand, Daniel was 
letting him return. Maybe it would be better not to bring the matter 
up. If you don't ask, they can't say 'no'.


BENJAMIN:
Year 31, Week 00.1 through 01.0 Dale Reckoning

The farm hadn't fared too badly in our unexpected absence. In fact, 
it seemed to have exploded in green and too much of it was weed. 
What followed were days of solitary work as we went up and down the 
rows, separating the bad from the good, dividing and pruning to 
increase the yield.

I didn't want to think about my Mulder dream so I thought about my 
Annie one. At night I took the memory of her body to my bed. During 
these days Mulder was... Mulder. He worked hard, so much so that it 
was an effort for me to keep up. He kept his own counsel. We had two 
days of rain, seven of sun and all at once it was Tensday, the day 
of rest. In this case it was our off week for visiting Daniel so 
maybe we could actually get something like rest. 

Morning found us sitting outside in the sun. Breakfast of bean paste 
and flatbread was over and, as I had done every other day, I was 
changing Mulder's bandages. The new skin on his right cheek was wet 
looking from the poultice but otherwise pink and on its way to good 
health. A slight breeze ruffled our hair. I looked from time to time 
with satisfaction down the slope and over the fields. As always, 
because he squinted so in the sun, I couldn't tell what he was 
looking at. 

"It's a free day," I told him. 

Mulder turned his head towards me, the eyes still slitted. "Come 
again?"

"A free day. A day to do what you want. I don't take them during 
planting season but the critical time is over. We can go to town if 
you want, but we'll be going there anyway on our next free day. To 
see Daniel... remember?"

Mulder did not ask to go to town. Instead his brow furrowed and the 
set of his chin, already firm, tightened. "Ben, I need your help."

My eyebrows must have went up in shock. To date, Mulder had never 
asked me for anything. 

"I need to find the place where, Charley -- Daniel calls him 'Bek' -
- dropped me off."

He hadn't said why and by the intensity of his hooded eyes I knew 
that I shouldn't ask.

"I'll help," I said, "But I don't have any idea where that might 
be."

"I know that it's my problem to find the place, but I'm going to 
need your help to get me home again." He looked at me with something 
like embarrassment from beneath his long lashes. "I'll get lost 
within a quarter of an hour, especially in the woods, and I remember 
a lot of tall trees though it wasn't a forest." 

"We're suppose to rest today and contemplate our good fortune. 
Hiking all over the countryside is not what anyone would call rest." 

He smiled a little and my spirits lifted. It was good to have the 
door he kept closed between us momentarily open. 

"That's another difference between where I come from and here. Many 
of the jobs on Earth these days don't require much physical labor so 
free time is often spent doing something active like sports or 
hiking. So even though you don't need the exercise, you'll help?"

"I said I would."

"There's a little side issue." I should have known. Generally, 
Mulder's an easy person to get along with, but when he has a problem 
there are always complications. "If at all possible, no one else can 
know that we're looking."

It was high summer but somehow I felt a little chill just then. What 
I said though was, "That shouldn't be hard. The land is sparsely 
settled at best and considering the fact that you wandered for what 
we think was a day without meeting anyone, I think we are talking 
about one of the less populated areas. Other newcomers have also 
walked out of unsettled areas, but that was long ago and I doubt 
that anyone remembers from where. We're going to need more than 
'tall trees' to go on."

Having looked forward to a swim and a nap and having the time to 
prepare a better meal than the catch-what-you-can of a workday, I 
couldn't pretend to be overwhelmingly in favor of the trip. If there 
was a chance of this openness of Mulder's continuing, however, the 
loss of some sleep and decent food would be worth it.

"But we search for herbs as we go," I insisted. "My stock is low 
from the winter."

He agreed and as we gathered provisions for a wayside supper and 
jars for carrying water, he described every other detail he could 
remember of that night. I knew of no clearing or meadow with a pond 
in the center as he described so we got into discussions about the 
positions and phases of the moons. We discussed how he'd followed 
them that night until he became too miserable from cold and rain and 
Newcomer fever to care in what direction he wandered. 

"This is why you asked so many questions about the moons?" It hurt a 
lot more than I wanted to admit that he hadn't asked in order to 
show that he was taking some interest in my world, the world that 
was now also his world.

"Can't say that it's helped me much, however."

"This isn't a lot to go on," I told him.

For the first time that morning he wore that haunted look that I saw 
now and then. "I know."

Because the moons rise in the south I suggested that we start in the 
northern quarter. It seemed as good a direction as any. The sun was 
warm but there was a breeze so the day would not be too hot to start 
with though it would be by afternoon. 

As we walked I found out everything else I could about what Mulder 
remembered of that night, not about the sky now, but about the land.

He grew thoughtful when I asked about the ground underfoot where 
there weren't any trees. 

"Mud," he said immediately and then "some long saw grass." He looked 
my way never slowing his stride. "There's a plant they call saw 
grass near where I grew up, near the ocean. I don't see any ocean 
here but the edges of this grass was similar to that. I remember the 
tiny, sharp barbs on the blades."

"I know what you mean. Unfortunately, it's everywhere. What about 
cultivation?" 

He opened his mouth to speak, then dropped back mentally to think 
again. There was certainly something about today that was different 
from the days we spent focused on farm work. Mulder was more alert, 
more 'himself' I guess you would say, the way he had been at the 
festival when we weren't being watched. He seemed to come truly 
alive only when there were new things to see and do or in this case 
when there was a problem to solve. My heart sank. How could he ever 
be content on the farm with its endless cycle of planting and 
harvest interrupted by the boredom of winter? 

At this point he came out of his reflection. "As best as I can 
remember, and you can take that as pretty accurate even with the 
fever, I didn't see, or step on, any plowed fields at all."

"The north quarter still seems most likely then. The ground is not 
as good as in the east or west quarters. Hardly anyone lives there, 
though I suppose you could even walk from one end of the East 
quarter to the other and not step on anyone's oats or beans but 
you'd have to be trying hard."

I was pulling up memories of the times I'd been in that area from my 
wandering adolescent years when Mulder invaded my thoughts "Speaking 
of 'hard'..." his voice had an odd quality, teasing and yet not.

"What?"

"When you told me all about this place, you failed to mention the 
Graypeople."

I felt the heat rising to my face and it wasn't the fault of sun and 
solid walking. "I guess that's because I don't think of the 
changelings as being part of our world. They're like aspects of a 
myth, just drifting in now and then."

"And the one we met at the Mayor's on new year's eve was a myth?"

I blushed again. "I swear, that was the first time ever for me with 
one of them." 

He grinned wickedly at my discomfort. "I take it that that as the 
first time for a couple of things." The rising heat on my face must 
have been pretty obvious. "Sorry, that was too easy," he apologized 
and it was clear that he meant it. It was even more clear that there 
was a serious side to this discussion. "I do need you to tell me 
about it -- not your night," he added hastily, "but about them and 
their link to Daniel and your people."

My night... Ohhh, my night. It was a good thing that he didn't want 
to hear because I don't know if I could ever talk to anyone about 
that. "There's not much to tell about the Grayrobes beyond the 
obvious. They have their own colony in the South quarter. We call 
their town South Cove, it being south of Stony River and where a 
sort of bay is formed by two ranges of high hills. From discussions 
with them, Daniel thinks they were brought here about the same time 
we were but while we are totally human -- our elders just had some 
special traits that didn't breed true -- the Grayrobes have 
shapeshifter genes."

"So Daniel told me, but why here? Why exile them here? Sorry, I have 
to apologize again. I didn't mean to infer that your own colonists 
were exiles --"

"But we are, we know we are. But while we were just dumped here to 
be forgotten, the Grayrobes were sent here to procreate and 
stabilize their genes, at least that is what Daniel says. He does 
stay in contact with them even though no one else is suppose to go 
there. He says that that's best." Ben lowered his voice to a 
conspiratorial whisper. "Daniel's man heard some of their talk once 
and spoke to Jim Pete's man who mentioned to Mac that years ago 
groups of them were even removed, but to where and how and by whom 
we don't know. They must still hope for Daniel advises them that if 
they want to get off this planet, they must at least give the 
appearance of being as civilized and normal as possible. It's 
generally thought that the 'urge' is strong is them, that's why they 
keep to themselves most of the time."

Mulder's eyes had taken on a faraway look. "How do the two groups 
get along?"

"As you would expect considering what they are though we don't see 
much of each other."

"It's interesting that Daniel didn't mention a group of them being 
taken away," Mulder mused. 

When he didn't speak again for a few minutes but turned lazily to 
pitch rocks to our right and left, I had to ask, "Why ask now and 
not anytime last week?"

Seemingly disinterested, Mulder pitched another rock. "Because there 
is a group of them following us."

I jumped and instinctively started to turn but Mulder grabbed my 
arm. "No, don't look."

"How do you know?" I whispered which is hard to do when you're 
breathing hard. For the first time I realized that Mulder had picked 
up the pace during the last few minutes.

He shrugged and sent me a smile. "In my old life I was followed far 
too often by people not all that interested in my continued well-
being. One learns."

I shook myself, shivering in the light of that rather feral smile 
more than anything else. Around the farm, though he seemed at peace, 
Mulder seldom smiled. Now that we were being followed for who-knew-
what reason he grinned like the most far-gone of newcomers. 

We came to a rise studded with high sharp rocks and Mulder quickly 
ducked behind an impressive tumble of them, dragging me with him. We 
laid on our stomachs and looked down the steep, ragged hill we had 
just climbed. My heart thumped in my chest as I stared unbelieving. 
Far below, moving from scrubby tree to scrubby tree, were shadowy 
shapes. 

Mulder's expression showed no fear, only thoughtfulness. "You say 
that there are rumors that some of the Graypeople were taken off 
world? I think I met some on mine. They lived isolated from the rest 
of society and followed a strict social code. They also dressed in 
simple clothes. If this is where they came from then their genes are 
even less stable than their breeders believe them to be. A rogue 
appeared from their group that they had no way of controlling. It 
killed."

"What happened to him?"

Mulder shrugged. "Like most of the phenomena I studied over the 
years, he disappeared. They all disappeared. There's evidence, at 
least evidence to my eyes, that they were removed by spacecraft."

"Perhaps they're not following us, " I said, hopefully. "Perhaps 
they are just collecting plants as we are."

"Somehow I doubt it. You say that they live in the South quarter and 
we're north of your town? They're a long way from home then and from 
what you say they don't get around much. Have you heard of any 
wandering in this area?"

I shook my head. "No, but then I may not. There are not any farms 
here, nor any town fields either. Too many rocks, too many trees. 
There is better land and closer. That's why I thought of our looking 
for your drop point here. It's desolate."

Mulder scanned the area, brow furrowed. Desolate was right; uneven 
ground, rises up and slopes down, standing stones and scattered 
vegetation. 

"Trying to imagine it at night?"

"Doesn't look right." 

"From your description I wouldn't think so. The land levels out 
further on and there's more woods. That's where I thought we'd start 
looking."

Mulder looked from side to side evaluating our options for either 
defense or escape. Or attack, I realized, and felt a little sick to 
my stomach. "Are we going to have to fight?"

"Three-to-one odds and they may be armed for all we know? I doubt 
it. Come on." And he started down the path away from where the dark 
specs were climbing but soon left the trail to ease himself down the 
face of the rock. I'm no climber and he had to guide my feet. About 
twice our height from the lip of the trail, there was a slight 
overhang and under it, not a cave, but a slight depression. There we 
huddled in a shadow so deep I couldn't even see his face inches from 
mine. We sat and we listened. The wait wasn't long. Soon we heard 
scuffling sounds of soft shoes on rock and even a few quiet voices. 
The rock amplified well. Then there came another and odder sound.

"What are they doing?" I asked in my softest whisper. "That sounds 
like... Did I hear someone sniffing?"

Mulder's face in the deep shadow was all attentive, wide eyes and no 
small amount of apprehension but again no fear. "That's exactly what 
they're doing. Pheromones, maybe? Do you have anything in your bag 
there that has a really nasty smell?"

We actually had been gathering plants as we walked or at least I 
had. Mulder's thoughts had been largely elsewhere. I had looked for 
herbs as we walked especially the relatively rare ones, which were 
good for barter, as well as the medicinal plants everyone kept. Then 
there were the special ones that only Mac and the apothecary had 
need for. I had even found two that even I had never seen before and 
I'm considered a bit of a fanatic about such things. Now Mulder was 
asking for something with a strong smell. I dipped with certainty 
into the bag and found by touch two rough, prickly pods. I showed 
Mulder how to split the pods and warm the fibers rapidly between his 
hands. The familiar, strong aroma burst forth. We rubbed the juice 
on our skin and then settled down to wait -- settled down except for 
the beat of my heart, that is. Above us bodies were moving about and 
I seemed to sense them smelling for us even if I couldn't actually 
hear them doing so. 

We must have waited a quarter of an hour for them to leave and then 
another hour to be certain they hadn't left someone to watch on this 
high place. Finally, we moved stiff muscles and climbed back up the 
rock face. It was good to move. It was even better to be out in the 
fresh breeze again. The dead air in our little cave had gone 
unpleasant from our onionpod-coated skins. There was no sign that 
the party had even stood on this rock except for a few more 
footprints in the dust, feet wrapped in a soft covering while ours 
were bare.

After taking a few more minutes to scan the area in all directions, 
we proceeded cautiously on our way again. It was only then that I 
thought to ask, "What's a pheromone?"

Mulder used few words in his explanation, but by his very reluctance 
to go into detail about the subject I got the general idea of what a 
pheromone was and how it was used in the animal kingdom to ensure 
procreation. It shook my fondly held vision of romantic love that 
humans had pheromones as well. Mulder laughed and admitted that it 
wasn't a popularly accepted idea where he came from either. Though I 
was not fool enough to believe that I 'loved' Annie, did this mean 
that I did not at least like her for her/his/its self?

We had come down from the highlands to the more rolling plains with 
great care. We did not see the party of changelings again. We didn't 
see anyone. Still we moved from one group of trees to the next and 
stayed in the shadows. At this point, my job as leader came to an 
end. This was, I told Mulder, the most likely area for his drop 
point, at least the best that I could come up with from his 
description. It was clear from my companion's serious expression, 
however, that he was not encouraged. The trees seemed too small. He 
remembered tall trees if not a particularly large number of them in 
any one place. Still, it was more of a possibility than any terrain 
that he'd yet seen. 

For the next several hours Mulder kept moving though he remained 
alert for any other search parties. At this point I simply followed. 
The relative inactivity gave me too much time to think and as usual 
during such times I found my mind and other parts of my body 
dwelling upon Annie and how I would be with her again the next week. 
How much more complicated were my feelings for her now, however.

Occupied with matters of his own, Mulder only became aware of my 
mood when I failed to answer a question. "Anything wrong?" he asked.

I shrugged. 

"Annie?"

"So did I really like her, or did she make me like her?"

"Men have asked that for thousands of years. You've had an 
experience that you might never have had without her. That's worth 
something."

I almost tripped over a rock hidden in a few stalks of witherbush. 
Angrily, I ignored Mulder's proffered hand but steadied myself. "I 
feel like a fool."

"That also has been going on for thousands of years. I said that I'd 
met a group of these gender changelings before. Before we knew what 
they were my partner touched the hand of one of their young men. She 
was only trying to be friendly and he seemed so shy. Their code of 
conduct was very strict, very reserved, so I'm not sure that he was 
even consciously aware of his power. All I know is that they 
exchanged something through the sweat of their palms. That's where 
my pheromone theory came from."

"He had her? Scully?" I had taken to calling her Scully just as he 
did. It seemed to please him to be able to talk about her with 
someone. I was also shocked. From the stories Mulder told I had come 
to think that she could walk on water.

"It was a near thing," he corrected with surprising heat. "I caught 
them together. I was like she was drugged. It didn't seem that way 
with you."

"Probably because I wanted to go." 

We walked on a little farther and passed through a line of trees. On 
the far side was a V-shaped gully cut by a small stream, not what we 
were searching for.

"But what happens next time?" I asked, my mind still on Annie -- and 
Arniesse as well, I had to admit --, as it was really impossible to 
separate the two. "If I'm not willing, will she work that same magic 
on me. Will I be powerless?"

Mulder's smile was a little sad. "I didn't mean to ruin the 
experience for you. Will you go with her the next time?"

I clutched at my gathering bag and shrugged. "I d-don't know. What 
should I do?"

"That's not for me to say." 

Confused as I was, it was a comfort that his eyes were as kind as 
they were amused.

I became suddenly aware of the position of the sun in the sky. How 
had it come to be so low? "Mulder, we need to start back. We really 
do," I added this last when I saw him hesitate, his eyes anxiously 
scanning the miles of land before us. There was still a lot of area 
to search. "It will already be dark before we reach home. We can try 
again on our next free day." 

"But that's not for two weeks!"

There was not much I could say to that. Numbly, he turned in a full 
circle. As far as I could tell, he was storing everything in memory. 
Finally, with shoulders slumped and that crease deep between his 
eyes, he started off.

"Uh, this way," I called.

Almost sheepishly, he made what was nearly a right turn and followed 
me home.



MULDER:
Year 31, Week 01.9 Dale Reckoning

What a difference seven Earth weeks has made. When I first walked 
outside of Benjamin's cabin, the air was cool and only two of the 
fields had been planted. Now the soil of six fields is hot from the 
summer sun under my toughened bare feet and the green plants are 
higher than my knee and full of lush foliage. 

I thought about how quickly time was passing as I trudged up the 
road towards the town for the second time. 'Trudged' is very 
definitely the right word. I didn't want to be making this 
pilgrimage to see Daniel. But an order was an order. I'm adding a 
footnote here that I only went for Benjamin's sake. I believed that 
he would get into trouble if I skipped our appointment. If it had 
been my choice, I would have spent the day prowling that barren land 
in the north quarter as much to find the rendezvous point for my 
eventual return as to keep my distance from Daniel. I didn't trust 
him even after all his talk of our shared past or maybe because of 
it. While we played chess and jousted with words maybe I could 
extract from that wily old man more information about the Project 
and even about Charley. I would need all the edge I could for later. 
Daniel's domineering manner actually made me more uneasy than his 
resemblance to Charley. He's a man of power, after all, and men of 
power will always push their weight around no matter how altruistic 
their intent. It's the means they will go to to achieve their ends 
that so often goes so wrong.

I would have waited to arrive in town after dark but Ben had 
business to conduct. Reluctantly, I assumed my Bob-ness, which meant 
that I was in a bad mood by the time we appeared at Government 
House. A message delivered quietly to Ben by Reese of all people 
instructed us to go to the back door and that's what we did. Reese 
met us without our even needing to knock. The study had been 
prepared; a fine meal laid out for four. It irked me that Daniel was 
so certain that we would come and that we had. 

If Benjamin found some relief from his Southern Sweat, which he had 
in the worse way, it would all be worth it. He had been jumpy for 
the last few days and for Benjamin very quiet. As we waited in the 
study for Daniel he was perspiring visibly even though he stood far. 
Yes, I know it was summer but all nights on Dale are cool. 

"You going to make it through dinner?" I asked.

His smile was shaky. "I don't understand why my desire to see Annie 
should be so strong when I know that it's only ph-pheromones."

"Maybe it's not only that. Men -- and women -- can become enamoured 
from a picture, from a voice. It's not all chemical." My words 
didn't seem to help, but I had to try something. After all, he 
wouldn't have to deal with this relationship if it hadn't been for 
me. How I wanted to play the big brother and take him away and find 
him a nice girl, but I wasn't his big brother and any attempt to act 
like one would be misinterpreted. I couldn't find him a nice girl, 
either. So I stood in the fire lit room that glowed golden from 
polished wood and I did nothing. 

"Farmers, welcome!" boomed a familiar voice. Daniel's. He was less 
formally dressed than before but somehow he looked even more like an 
aging Charley. He threw a great-uncle-like arm briefly around Ben 
and muttered the Dale equivalent of 'How's them Redskins', then came 
over, I thought, to shake my hand. Instead, before I could move 
away, he took my jaw in his big workingman's fingers and moved the 
right side of my face into brighter light. "Wonderful. Mac still has 
the touch." He released my face. "Did I tell you that we called him 
Mac the Knife the first few years that we were here? That, of 
course, was before our lives became so grim. Arniesse, don't lurk 
out there, come in."

The slender changeling, still in his gray robes, entered silently. 
Shyly he looked at Ben who glanced shyly back. The holder's face 
flushed amazingly back and forth between pale white and embarrassed 
crimson. The two didn't touch but stood close together and stayed 
that way, not growing nearer nor drawing farther apart.

Without preamble we sat down at the table, the mayor gesturing for 
me to sit at his right hand, for Benjamin to sit at his left and 
Arniesse to sit across. My stomach didn't share my misgivings for 
the evening. It rumbled expectantly at the thought of the excellent 
food to come. As you know, Scully, I'm no food snob. I'll eat just 
about anything set before me if I'm hungry and I was ready for a 
change after almost fifty days of a diet consisting of something 
like thick oatmeal, a kind of flat seed bread, stewed root 
vegetables, a sprinkling of nuts and dried fruits, and whatever new 
greens we could find growing wild. The good inventive cooking I had 
briefly tasted was clearly for the winter months or special 
occasions. There was just too much to do during the growing season 
to take the time.

Before food, however, Mayor Daniel poured each of us a cup of some 
very excellent alcoholic beverage that I had not encountered before. 
I felt my insides unwind a little as the warm liquid made its way to 
my stomach. I'd better watch my intake, I thought. It had been 
another long day what with working till mid afternoon, the long walk 
to town, the tension of running errands with Ben and now this 
different kind of tension. If I wasn't careful, I would be lulled 
asleep again like the last time.

The talk was of town affairs, weather and crops. Ben and Daniel did 
the talking. Arniesse didn't speak at all, nor did he drink much, 
though his quick eyes showed that he was aware of everything. 
Knowing what he was and what he could do and now a little of how his 
race had been created, I couldn't help but be aware of him. What 
with Charley's older face on my right and this old X-File recreated 
on my left, I had the most amazing sensation of having one foot in 
each of two worlds and neither of them what anyone would call 
normal. 

"Benjamin," the old man said, "would you be useful and step into the 
kitchen and tell Reese that we're ready for supper?"

Ben rose eagerly. Once he left the room, Daniel raised his cup and 
turned in my direction. "I'm told that you and Ben took a long 
excursion into the north quarter on your free day last week. I had 
assumed that you would use these off days for rest." 

I didn't give the old man the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. I 
had had no choice but to make the attempt during daylight. On foot, 
it was too great a trip to take at night and rather defeated the 
purpose of being able to identify the rendezvous point for later. I 
was not surprised that Dan Rowe would have ways of finding things 
out especially since that unexpected party of Graypeople had picked 
up our trail. I was only regretted that he had. 

"May I ask what took you there?" asked the old man when I hadn't 
offered an explanation.

"Pharmacology," I replied and followed that with what I hoped looked 
like a casual sip of the wine. "Benjamin has an interest in 
medicinal plants. He has some new ones to show the apothecary." All 
of which was true, at least in part.

"Ah." The 'ah' conveyed that Daniel was not fooled in the least. I 
knew he wasn't finished with this particular topic. Further grilling 
was interrupted for the moment, however, when all at once the oddest 
sensation raced up my arm all the way to my shoulder. As if my 
fingers had touched a live electric wire, the arm jerked away from 
the stimulus. Immediately, my eyes dropped to the place on the table 
where my left hand had been. Arniesse's slim one lay inches away. 
Though he moved not at all, the eyes that regarded me were huge and 
dark. For a moment I found I could hardly catch my breath, not from 
Arniesse's eyes, but from the incredible ache in my shoulder and arm 
that was taking its time going away. With my right arm I hugged my 
left against my side biting down on my lip. Did it hurt? Yes and no. 
It was not so much pain as a terrible weakness as if muscles and 
bone had turned to jelly. 

"Problem?" the old man asked innocently? 

I struggled, fighting to make sure I could talk normally before I 
did. "Must have pinched a nerve today," I managed.

Daniel refilled the cups. "Hard work, farming. I doubt you were born 
to it. Ivy League, were you?"

What was he talking about? With effort I picked up the thread of the 
conversation. "Oxford."

The mayor's mouth opened in an 'Oh' this time. "Those years were 
after my time. I guess I'm not surprised. You were smart. They 
wouldn't have used you as a test subject if there hadn't been at 
least the seeds of intelligence to start with."

He spoke so calmly of what had so much to do with destroying my 
happiness and that of my sister and, eventually, yours as well, 
Scully, that I wanted very much to smash his face in. 

"How are the headaches by the way?" he inquired, rapidly changing 
the subject once again. 

Before I could construct an evasive answer, Ben's chipper voice 
replied for me from the doorway. "They're much better, aren't they, 
Mul -- Fox? Mac gave him some leaf rolls of something before we left 
town the last time."

The calculating old man's eyes glittered cat-like in the light of 
fire and flame. "That's good news, Fox. I'm so pleased to hear it."

Ben had returned bearing a large platter of bright and exotically 
spiced food. He nearly glowed in anticipation. On the other hand my 
stomach was now queasy from the sickening weakness in my arm, which 
had lessened only a little. Reese followed Ben, carrying crocks of 
spread and a basket of fresh bread.

Conversation ceased as the meal commenced. Arniesse and Daniel ate 
sparingly due to age and a greatly more sedentary life style. I 
would have eaten my fill if only to save the farm a meal but worried 
about how much would stay down. I needn't have worried about 
offending our host; Ben easily ate enough for both of us. I 
restricted myself to nibbling on some bread and moving food around 
on my plate, a technique of how to appear to eat and yet not eat 
that I learned long ago while working on profile cases with you, 
Scully.

<And which fooled me for all of twice,> I heard your voice say, cool 
and clear as a bell. In fact, the words were so clear that I 
actually sat like a stone and waited expectantly for more, but no 
more hallucinations came to me as sweet as that. I noticed another 
sweetness though. Reese had added more of the heavily scented wood 
chips to the fire before he bowed out of the room. I caught his eye 
just before he left. If I knew him better, I'd say he was warning me 
of something. I had no idea of what. When I excused myself to visit 
the facilities out in the back garden, Reese was called in to clear 
the table, giving us no time to talk. Coincidence?

Arniesse was facing Benjamin when I returned to the room. Ben was 
obviously flushed but with eagerness, not fear. I found it 
strangely... civilized... that Arniesse's arms were at his sides. It 
was Ben whose hands raised to gently touch the changeling's 
beautiful face. Even as I watched that face's outlines fogged and 
then magically reformed into Annie's, alike but, oh, so unalike. Ben 
initiated the kiss, too, a chaste, shy meeting of lips. Only then 
did Annie embrace him, pausing after a moment to touch her palm with 
Ben's. His face transformed at that moment into an expression of 
such ecstasy that I knew that even though chemistry was in affect 
now it had had nothing to do with what had gone on before. Somehow I 
had a feeling that this play was being acted out for my benefit so 
that I would have no doubt that it was Ben's choice.

But voluntarily his choice was another matter. The young farmer may 
know everything there was to know about soil and water and seed, but 
nothing about the kind of temptation Annie was offering, with or 
without chemical inducements. A lovely, mystery woman, a magical 
woman. Bloody hell, as my Oxford classmates would say, a woman! At 
least as close as Ben could ever hope to come to one. But her 
origins didn't seem to matter to Ben, certainly not at the moment. 
They were locked together now and his deeper breathing was loud in 
the otherwise silent room. Annie broke off first, restraining him 
enough to lead him stumbling from the room before he took her right 
on the floor of the study. 

I was embarrassed for him, as he was clearly incapable of being 
embarrassed for himself.

"Do you think me cruel?" Dan Rowe said handing me a cup with yet 
another liquor. Was he trying to make me drunk?

"I don't judge him. This is not my culture nor my world."

"But it is your culture and your world now, unless you plan to leave 
it sometime in the future which we both know is impossible, don't 
we?"

I made no response except to take my seat before the chess board 
that had replaced the remains of dinner. Daniel took his place in 
the large chair with a knowing smile and we began. 

We talked of the strangest things. Male stuff like sports. When on 
earth Dan Rowe had been a New York fan, any New York team, and 
wanted to know how each had faired over the thirty years he'd been 
gone. We talked of advances in technology. The computer revolution, 
especially its saturation into the world's information 
infrastructure, sounded like science fiction and Dan Rowe was as 
aptly attentive as any audience a storyteller could ask for.

We faded into silence as the game became more complicated, but 
finally during one of my turns I had to ask, "Do you know what they 
did to me?"

The old man's eyes shadowed. "As I said, they activated some dormant 
genes. I can't be more specific. Some didn't work out too well. Do 
you remember being sick when you were about six?"

It hit me like a blow that until that moment I had entirely blocked 
out that memory. Always so healthy before, my parents thought I was 
pretending to be ill to get attention now that I had to be in school 
all day and my little sister Sam, now two, could stay home. Oh, they 
took my six-year-old self to doctors, but those wise men could find 
nothing wrong. Of course, they only could be expected to look for 
the conventional things. I was carted home, 'phantom' pain and all, 
and forced to go to school no matter how I felt. Without sympathy, 
with no understanding, with the welts of my father's belt under my 
clothes, I dragged myself to the bus. Clearly, it didn't matter that 
there were days when my joints hurt so bad that I could barely walk 
or could hold a pencil only with pain so extreme that I seriously 
considered holding it in my teeth. Nor did it matter on other days 
when it felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest or ants were 
crawling under the skin of my palms and the soles of my feet.

*Poor, poor Fox. I didn't know. *

I looked up to rediscover time and place. It was a mild shock to 
find Dan Rowe's too-familiar face staring into mine. I must be more 
tired than I thought. I didn't think that I had spoken aloud.

"Yes, it was pretty awful, as if you cared."

"I did care," he said emphatically. "I was just helpless to do 
anything about it, except, as I said before, to hold your hand and 
then only when 'he' allowed it."

"But I'm not that little boy any more."

"No? We never entirely cease being who we were." 

"Nor can we ignore what the world has made of us."

His eyes seemed to have misted over. "No, nor that either." He shook 
his head then as if, like a bothersome fly, he were chasing a 
thought away. "You were sick more than once. So one of the times the 
pain was mostly in your joints? What about the other times?"

"Early in second grade I went through a period when I couldn't sit 
still. The teachers had to report their frustration of course, but 
no amount of punishment from ol' Dad made any difference. The back 
of my thighs were black and blue for weeks. If it had happened now I 
probably would be diagnosed as Attention Deficit and put on Ritalin. 
Instead they finally decided that I was bored and moved me to third 
grade. Later that year to fourth."

"Was it difficult?"

I think I surprised myself with my answer for I had never thought 
back on that time if I could help it. "I had to study a little 
harder, but that wasn't a problem. Socially, however, it was hell. I 
was actually pudgy at age twelve but never since then." 

"Got your growth spurt early?" the old man asked with a twinkle in 
his eye.

There was no mirth in my response. "Stopped eating." Stopped 
breathing, too. Stopped being. But this man didn't know anything 
about Sam, about what happened to Sam. He knew nothing about me 
after I was about ten or eleven.

"I don't know what Ritalin is," Daniel was saying, "but it's 
fortunate that they didn't give you any drugs. Your brain was 
growing too quickly and your hormones were already out of balance. 
To try to affect that process with drugs would probably have made 
you psychotic."

But they had. Did this mean that my 'condition' after Sam's 
disappearance had been only partially due to shock and grief and 
guilt? 

"That was hell what he did," I said.

The response was barely a whisper. "I know. If it helps Charley was 
only acting under orders." Then the old man's head bowed. For the 
time being the game was forgotten. Once again, he was millions of 
miles and thirty years away. He looked so old at that moment I 
almost felt sorry for him. I rose to get Reese to see if there was 
anything that should be done but I wasn't even at the door before he 
called me back. He had risen and was pouring a splash of thick, red 
liquid from a small, pottery jar into each of two cups. He handed 
one to me. From the amount we were both given, I assumed it was a 
rare cordial of some type. 

"To our pasts," he said raising his cup, "and to our futures." 

The liquor was as thick as it had looked and sharply tangy on my 
lips. I only allowed it to briefly touch my tongue before I placed 
the cup back on the table. 

"You don't care much for that one? No matter," he murmured with a 
wave of his hand as he dropped down slow and wearily into his chair. 
Old eyes looked up at me but saw what wasn't there. "You were such a 
sweet child. Frightened and sweet and biddable."

I felt sudden urge to laugh but didn't. "I don't think anyone would 
use 'biddable' to describe me any more."

"It would be so much easier if you could be. Can't you? Put your 
life in my hands as you did then?"

I wanted to repeat that I was not that little boy any more, but my 
tongue felt strangely thick. And why did the room and my head, seem 
suddenly so foggy.

The fire crackled sending up its aromatic smoke and the chess game 
sat forgotten. I continued to feel, not sleepy, but a little as if I 
were floating or stoned, the good parts of being stoned. 
Automatically, a misty sort of prayer that I wouldn't have to pay 
for this later drifted through my brain. I had knowingly indulged in 
the weed once and only once and terrible LSD-type nightmares 
followed. Unwillingly, I had inhaled that sweet smoke since more 
often than that. As a rookie agent paying my dues, I dreaded the 
after affects of drug busts where the poor perpetrators tried to 
burn the evidence. 

But the smell from this fire was not the same and if I had known 
what was coming, I would have asked for a joint and gladly.

Daniel was moving about the room, though I don't remember him 
rising. One by one he blew out the candles until only the firelight 
was left. He stood before the hearth now, his broad back to that 
single source of light and heat so that what I saw through heavy 
eyes was only a dark silhouette. 

* There's something I need to show you. Let's go downstairs. *

Did I go with him? Alone? As you may have noticed, Scully, I was 
rather short of backup and, as you also know, I'm a sucker for 
mysterious conversations, so I rose, floating.

"After you," he said with a slight bow and gestured for me to 
proceed him. I did, out the door and into the foyer. Automatically, 
I turned left into a part of the house where I had never gone 
before. I turned left and then left again past the kitchen where 
Reese stood with a glum expression on his long face, his hands full 
of plates. 

I wanted to call out to the old BoB but the words wouldn't come. My 
mouth was beginning to feel numb. 'He's drugged me! Help!'

*Yes, you are but its more than that and you'd know it if you let 
yourself believe. *

I continued on into a narrow hallway with several doors but I took 
none of them. My hand unerringly went to what looked to be a small 
knot in a board above my head and pressed it.

A panel opened into blackness, but my head knew when to duck and my 
feet knew where the trends of the narrow, steep stairs were. I went 
down. I knew rather than saw that there were no windows here and 
that it would have been just as black if it had been bright day 
outside rather than night. Still I could see enough to know that I 
stood in a small hallway with a single door on either side and a 
ceiling so low that the splinters of the rafters plucked at my hair. 
Waiting revealed within a few seconds a dim luminescence reaching 
out like ghostly hands from the walls. 



MULDER:
Year 31, Week 01.9 Dale Reckoning (continued)

Once again, as if I knew where I was going, I opened the door to a 
right hand room. The glow from the walls was brighter here but still 
no more than blue moonlight. I stood on the threshold of what seemed 
a pleasant bedroom except that the bed sat in the middle of the 
room. It was a wide bed and had a real mattress, almost the size of 
what Daniel had in the master bedroom upstairs. There was no 
headboard or footboard, just that mattress on a kind of stage. On it 
was spread a quilt of rare quality for this place. And at each 
corner hung ropes ready for use and their use was obvious. 

"We may have been brought to a new world but our tastes mirrored 
those of the old," the old man admitted softly with resignation. 
"The first few years there was no time to think about sex. We just 
tried to figure out how to survive. We planted our future in the 
soil - corn, barley, children and wives. Corn and barley grew and 
was fruitful; cemeteries are only what they are. After those years 
there didn't seem to be any point in not taking what few moments of 
forgetfulness we could so we acted out the old fantasies. Master and 
victim, is popular. To have total control over something versus 
having no worries at all. Most partners take turns. This place is 
very private, as you can see. It is used only by those of the first 
generation who remain and who have the will to feel at all anymore - 
the first generation and their guests. Participation on both sides, 
of course, is by consenting adults... usually.

Distantly, I felt my balls and my anus contract in tandem bringing a 
brief echo of horrified arousal.

"Next room," he said, amusement in his voice at my paralysis. Numbly 
and without any conscious control, I moved at his command.

The left-hand room was about the same size as the right. Its 
immediate feature was a long shelf that ran against one wall roughly 
the height of a bench and long enough for a man to lie down upon. It 
glowed a bright, violent violet color, nearly red. My feet went to 
it and I stared down. The covering was similar to thick, pile 
carpeting. Velvety. Almost soft-looking. Almost.

Daniel reached for a pottery jar that worked like a watering can and 
sprinkled the verdant felt. Where the water fell, strands of moss-
like plants immediately thickened and began to glow a brighter, 
bloodier, more luxurious crimson. Instinctively backing away, I came 
up with my hip against a massive table so heavy that it didn't move 
even a quarter of an inch when I bumped into it. By the bloody light 
I could see that the top was deeply scratched and scarred by what 
looked like claws and splattered with some dark, dried substance. 
Holes had also been drilled into the thick surface and from some of 
these ropes dangled. I backed away and felt something brush my face. 
More ropes were hiding in the shadows; these tied to rafters spaced 
the width of a man's spread arms. Jerking around I found items on 
the walls, too. Just whips and straps of various thicknesses, some 
like cat-o-nine tails. Having so little metal, the variety of 
implements was not in any way extensive, but the intent of this room 
was as clear as the intent of the other had been. 

My host bid me sit. There were four options: the red, living bed; 
the scarred and stained table; a study arm chair complete with 
dangling ropes; and a simple stool which would put me lower than 
Daniel like the child I once had been. I took the armchair but only 
balanced on the edge and kept my arms away from the ropes. 

"What do you think?" he asked, leaning against the table, arms 
crossed.

I opened my mouth to speak and found it was an effort and the words 
came out no louder than a whisper. "Not very original."

"But basic. We have not had the luxury of time on Dale to develop 
subtlety."

"The blue room I can understand. But who do you bring here? How many 
of Charley's castoffs can there be?"

The old man laughed. "You've grown up to be a very interesting man, 
Fox. I would like us to be friends, I really would. I see so much of 
myself in you as I was many years ago. For that reason I think you 
can be made to understand why I do what I must do now."

I heard the words but they didn't make sense somewhat. Whatever he 
had given me in that last drink which, thank my discriminating 
palette and suspicious nature, I had barely tasted, was causing me 
to drift away from the conversation.

*Fox*

With an effort I lifted my heavy head to find him standing knee to 
knee with me. With a gentle hand he lifted my chin so that I was 
forced to look up into his eyes. * I need information, Fox. I must 
have it. * "I asked you the last time we met. You didn't answer 
then, but you were having one of your headaches at the time and so I 
gave you the benefit of the doubt -- perhaps you didn't hear -- but 
when I asked about your sojourn north today, you lied to me. I need 
to know when Charley is coming back. I need to know where you are 
meeting him. There, see how simple it is? Just that and we can go 
back upstairs and finish our game of chess."

The question sent a wave of dull panic through my numb body. I 
didn't say anything. I had heard him the first time and recognized 
the trap then.

His hand was still on my chin but now with his other he began to run 
his fingers over my hair as if he were petting a dog. I wanted away 
from him but I couldn't move. 

*Wake up, F. I know you can hear me. * 

"You asked about his room? We do have malcontents on Dale, 
troublemakers, and, yes, we bring them here. Domestic quarrels, 
jealously, just like on old heterosexual Earth. We're sitting in the 
center of the courthouse and jail and prison of Dale and I am judge, 
jury, executioner, attorney for the defense and prosecuting attorney 
all rolled up into one. You don't even have to pay me. Can't solve 
the problem among yourselves? The troublemakers come here. After a 
few hours, or a few days, or a few weeks, in either this room, or 
the blue one, or both, he goes back to his own home and rarely 
causes trouble again. We don't have the manpower to waste on prisons 
and guards. So you see I know what I'm doing and I will find out. 
Want to tell me now?"

The weird floating feeling made me want to tell, but I wouldn't, I 
couldn't, not if I ever hoped to see home again, home and you, 
Scully. That scrape of knowledge was the only item of value I 
possessed on this planet. Lose that and Daniel wouldn't need 'me' 
any more, only the muscles and dumb obedience of a plow horse. 
Besides how could Daniel possibly have forgotten the level of pain 
Charley/Bek/Rodan and his Beast could dish out. Whatever level of 
discomfort this old man could exert would be child's play compared 
to that.

He increased the pressure on my jaw forcing my head higher until I 
was standing, moved like a puppet by his touch. *I think it's time 
that you remove your clothes. *

A thunderhead of silent resistance sprang up between us. "Fox, I 
want to see what shape you're in. Strip please." His voice was 
matter-of-fact, analytical. I did nothing. He waited. I waited. I 
waited for the tension storm inside me to come to a head and break. 
Anything to give me some strength, some rage. But there was nothing. 
It was as if the storm had passed me by. I could see it evaporating 
into nothing more than mist. Quiet was all I felt, like the 
stillness of a pond at dawn, a pond that reflected his will at the 
loss of my own. Only distantly was I aware that my hands had gone to 
the long vest I wore for warmth over the crudely woven shirt. They 
shook and my arms and shoulders wouldn't coordinate even enough to 
shrug off such an uncomplicated garment as that. The old man helped, 
not rushing me. After the vest he helped pull the shirt over my 
head. By this time my head and body felt so alien to each other that 
I lost my balance as the shirt came free and nearly fell. Taking one 
of my wrists in each of his hands, the old man raised my arms above 
my head, angling my body so that my hands each touched one of the 
thick ropes that dangled from the ceiling rafters. "Hold on," he 
suggested, "or you'll fall down." 

So I hung to the rough ropes while he casually untied the drawstring 
on the loose trousers and I felt the rough fabric slide over my hips 
to the floor. Damp, chill air goose-fleshed my exposed skin, which 
was pretty nearly all my skin now except for a few inches covered by 
the loincloth. Due to the scarcity of the more finely woven fabrics 
this was all the underwear we wore. Daniel removed the fallen 
trousers from around my ankles as at his touch I lifted my feet one 
after the other like that obedient horse.

That's how I came to be standing naked in a chilly cellar, 
maintaining some semblance of uprightness only by clinging 
voluntarily to ropes whose purpose was not usually so voluntary. I 
said that the underground room was cold and yet a fine sweat aided 
the old man's fingers as they traveled over my body. He asked soft 
questions. He was interested in musculature and how much weight I'd 
gained or lost under Charley's care, then he concentrated on the 
scars. The first he studied were the deep ones near my wrists and 
ankles from the Beast as those were the most recent and had only 
recently begun to heal. 

"These look bad but you should have seen mine. After five years they 
were like craters but toughened over time with scar tissue so that 
the attachment rarely hurt any more. Obviously, you never reached 
that stage." He didn't seem to expect an answer so I didn't give him 
one. I seemed to be drifting farther away again and that seemed a 
good place to be. Familiarly, he patted my hip as he straightened up 
after examining the deep punctures on my lower legs. "Just like the 
marks on your face, Mac can reduce these if you want. On the other 
hand, you might consider keeping them. Your future partners may find 
your battle wounds arousing." 

He went on moving from scar to scar, clucking with dismay over the 
long one on my thigh where the gunshot had nearly cut short my life, 
if not any possible progeny, that night on the docks. When he found 
your bullet hole, Scully, he whistled. "That was close. Careless of 
you." He didn't mention the deep new scar down the center of my 
chest, a souvenir from my evaluation after my collection from the 
woods of Oregon. He seemed to know all about that one.

How long ago that time seems. Sometimes it's hard to believe that I 
had another life. This was one of those times.

>From behind, a finger traced the outline of my left shoulder blade 
stopping suddenly at a spot I could never have seen. "I know this 
scar," he said with some deep emotion. "Bek drew a biopsy from the 
scapular marrow. Though you were only six or seven at the time you 
didn't cry but I thought you might. That was when I first realized 
how strong you were... or stubborn. They are much the same thing." 
He turned me to face him, which forced my hands free of the ropes. I 
had to hold onto him or fall. Like Charley he is taller than I am 
and heavier of bone both naturally and from age. He held me easily, 
all at once staring down at my left arm.

"It's still cold from where Arniesse touched you?" he asked in 
wonder, and then he stared searchingly into my face. "What did they 
think they were making when they created you?" he asked but not of 
me.

"Fox, listen," he snapped with irritation. He must have thought I 
was avoiding him. I tried to focus on his face but couldn't. "This 
is not the time to be either strong or stubborn. This is the time to 
surrender, because I assure you that you cannot win." 

I tried to break away, but my body still behaved like some too 
easily manipulated toy. One shove from him and I stumbled toward the 
glowing red bed. I nearly fell across it. My bare knees did collide 
with the edge. It was all I could do not to touch that shimmering, 
malevolent surface. As florescence will, especially in a darkened 
room, the pulsing energy caught and held my eyes, burning the thick, 
overflowing color into my brain.

Through the dizzying, crimson strands that twisted behind my eyes, I 
heard the voice from my childhood nightmares speaking with devil 
sweetness, "Please understand, Fox, I have no wish to bring more 
pain to the child I helped to torture so many years ago. By 
remaining silent, however, you give me little choice." 

His hand trailed down my spine. *Lie down, Fox. Like the good boy 
you were, lie down on Daniel's Bed.*

Not in a million years. I wasn't that far gone. I didn't know what 
was growing on that bed but it wasn't violets or fine Kentucky Blue 
Grass. In every way this crop was far more alien than anything I yet 
seen on this planet.