It happened the first time about a month after their return.  
Scully awoke from one of her more harrowing nightmares, to 
hear an echoing scream dying away downstairs.  Since their 
return from the west, she had dropped all pretense of 
maintaining a strictly professorial relationship with the 
boy, and he had all but moved in.  She had even gone so far 
as to offer him one of the guest rooms as his own, but he 
showed a marked preference for the sofa in her study.  It was 
from there that the scream had come.  She hurried down the 
stairs in the predawn darkness, calling out breathlessly for 
the lights as she went.

He was sitting up when she arrived, holding his head in his 
hands and breathing heavily, covered with a fine sheen of 
sweat.  He started when she touched his shoulder, then 
recognizing her, fell back heavily against the sofa, his eyes 
closed.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he apologized.  "It was just a 
dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, sympathetically.

He cracked his eyes slightly, peering at her from under the 
lids.  "I think maybe we've talked about it too much already.  
It was a lot like the dreams you've described to me.  I think 
maybe I'm not old enough for scary bedtime stories," he 
cracked.

Smiling slightly at his attempt at levity, she encouraged, 
"Tell me anyway."

So he did, and as his tale progressed, Scully's expression 
grew tighter and more guarded.

"And then, everybody that was with us started to, I don't 
know, dissolve.  There was a gas, it stung my eyes and I 
couldn't breathe.  I reached for you, but there was a man, 
he'd already gotten to you, and I couldn't move because of 
the gas.  He took your hand, and you both stood up and turned 
toward me.  You were fine, the gas didn't seem to be 
affecting you anymore, and you came over to me, and he looked 
down and said, 'You're part of this, you can stop it.  Don't 
fail her, son.'"  

Scully breathed the word with him.  Son.

"And then he reached down to me, too, and suddenly I could 
breathe again, but just as I got my breath something came 
behind you both, a thick black ooze, not even light reflected 
from it and it enveloped you and all I could do with the 
breath was scream."  He sank deeper into the sofa, spent with 
the telling of the tale.  

They sat that way, still and quiet, for long moments, while 
Scully debated with herself whether to address the most 
astonishing aspect of his dream.  At last he broke her 
reverie asking, "It means something, doesn't it?  What aren't 
you telling me?"

Since she had come to recognize the echo of Mulder in his 
hazel eyes, she had stopped being able to keep any truth from 
him.  "I don't know what it means, David, any more this dream 
than the ones before it.  But I know one thing, and that is 
that it wasn't your dream.  It was mine."  She paused, 
letting the revelation sink in.  "Image for image, event for 
event, you described the dream that woke me, just in time to 
hear your scream."

"Weird," finally, was all he said.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The research had continued apace when they had returned.  
Scully was distracted by her efforts to determine the overall 
level of immunity of the population, and spent hours each day 
mining the huge database of genetic data that existed on the 
population, gathered routinely as part of almost any medical 
procedure.  While the benefits to medical research of such 
information gathering were indisputable, to Scully, the 
practice seemed nearly as invasive as the trackers.  And yet 
she had no better recourse than to deny her own sense of 
ethics for what she believed was a greater good.  It seemed 
it had always been this way.  If she were to be denied death, 
she wished at least for a life where she no longer had to 
make these choices.

Outright immunity to the virus was indeed at an all time low, 
but there were unmistakable genetic changes in the population 
at large that could clearly be traced to modifications 
introduced by the original vaccine.  They were subtle 
changes, nothing likely to be recognized without 
foreknowledge of what had been done.  At the time, they 
hadn't expected the treatment to prove particularly 
heritable, although they had expected it to affect fetuses in 
utero at the time of the inoculation.  She was frustrated by 
the scale of the task in front of her.  There wasn't anywhere 
near the kind of time available, if her ever present sense of 
foreboding was to be trusted, to isolate family lineages, 
trace the changes, and try to understand them.  It wasn't 
even clear if the changes were meaningful, or merely a 
remnant, since they tended to be found on intergenic regions 
that weren't well studied.

She kept David focused entirely on their continuing research 
of the expanded Gray DNA, sensing instinctively, and 
reinforced by vivid dreaming, that gaining a fundamental 
understanding of their essential nature would be critical to 
withstand whatever was coming.

Tiring, for the moment, of her own investigations, she 
decided to join David at his console to check his progress.

"I'm almost done," he said, sensing her attention.

"You know, that's getting a little creepy," she commented, 
"the way you always seem to know when I'm about to check on 
you."

He shrugged.  "We've been in this lab together for a year, 
now.  I'm just getting to know your habits."  He pinched the 
bridge of his nose and stretched while she crossed the room 
to join him.

"Another headache?" she asked, concerned.  He'd been 
complaining of them steadily since the night they had shared 
her dream.  He was working too hard, they both were.  "Maybe 
you should take a break.  You haven't gone for a run in a 
long time.  It might make you feel better."

He shook his head.  "No, but thanks for offering.  Actually, 
it's usually better here.  It seems to get worse when I'm out 
in a crowd.  The noise, all the chatter, really seems to get 
to me.  It's quieter here."  Dropping the subject he turned 
back to his console.  "Look here, it's not quite complete, 
but it's very revealing."

Together, they looked over the findings.  Based on the 
strange triumvirate of major systems they had discovered the 
previous trimester, and the fact that in most cases, at least 
one of the three bore a striking resemblance to the human 
genome, David had been attempting to discover if a complete 
human-like genome could be isolated out of the expanded Gray 
DNA.   It was eighty five percent complete, and the results 
were surprising.

"Look at what I've found here," he said, bringing up a long 
section of code related to blood chemistry.  "This," he 
pointed, "looks incompatible with our blood chemistry.  
Toxic, even."  He shook his head.  "I wish I knew what this 
meant.  This genome describes something that is so nearly 
humanoid, and yet the differences are so perplexing.  I keep 
worrying that I've accidentally pulled in data from one of 
the other two apparent species."

"Well, it's possible, but I think you've been as thorough and 
careful as possible.  I think your feel for differentiating 
between the three has surpassed my own, at this point, so I 
won't second guess you."  Reaching around him, she touched 
the controls that brought up the overview of the recognizable 
biological systems he had mapped.  "Still nothing on 
reproduction?" she asked, surprised.

"Not much," he confirmed.  "What little I've found all seems 
to correlate loosely to what we'd consider male.  Mechanisms 
for donating genetic material, but nothing for gestating it."  
He shrugged.  "It could simply be that the original sample 
we're working from is some sort of male.  Or it could be that 
the female information is in the parts I haven't mapped yet.  
Or..." he drifted off, considering.  "We don't yet have an 
understanding of why this DNA describes three species, unless 
it *is* some sort of colonial, like you originally suggested.  
So maybe the gestational aspect is in one of the other two 
species."

Scully was impressed by the theoretical leaps he was willing 
to consider, the growth he had shown since that long ago 
evening when he'd flatly denied the possibility of a shape 
shifting man with a tail.  She began a compliment, the words 
forming on the tip of her tongue, when she was interrupted by 
growling complaint of her stomach.

"I don't know," David said absently, already reabsorbed in 
the console display.

"Don't know what?" Scully asked.

"Where Jerry is.  You just asked."

Scully shook her head.  Had she said that aloud?  She didn't 
think so, although she had certainly thought it.  Jerry 
usually fixed dinner when he was around.  "I'll be in the 
kitchen," she said thoughtfully.

-------------------------------------------------------------

It went from weird, to uncanny, to undeniable.  He sensed her 
thoughts.  They came painlessly now, and with clarity, and he 
did his best to learn how not to eavesdrop.  The price of 
knowing her thoughts included knowing exactly how 
uncomfortable that knowledge made her.

In public it was harder.  A large group presented a 
resounding din in his head.  Here, the headaches were 
everpresent.  Focusing down to a single voice, or filtering 
the noise from his head altogether, exhausted him.  He 
learned by necessity, now more than ever keeping up the 
appearance of normalcy at the university seemed paramount, 
but his lab sections depleted him, and Scully went back to 
handling most of the lectures.

She'd told him of her long past but rare experiences with 
human telepathy.  The child, Gibson Praise, who had been born 
with the ability and seemed to bear it with no ill-effect 
other than the melancholy of knowing hypocrisy at far too 
young an age.  Mulder's transformation, which had almost 
killed him before an un-consented to operation removed both 
the threat and the potential.  He knew she was concerned lest 
his own transformation prove life-threatening, and she 
monitored his progress closely, watching for signs of brain 
damage and trying to understand the catalyst to the changes.  
They suspected some interaction between his modern 
physiology, bearing the genetic remnants of the original 
vaccine, and his recent direct re-exposure, but had little 
time to seek proof.

Generally, Scully's house was a sufficiently quiet retreat to 
let him rest, but thoughts accompanied by strong emotion 
carried loudly, and the school's heavily attended athletic 
events always kept him awake.  Gradually, he learned that he 
could hear a familiar 'voice', even at a distance, if he 
concentrated.  

He missed Jerry's soothing presence.  Jerry's mind didn't 
intrude onto his own, and he found it relaxing to have a 
conversation in the strictly verbal sense.  He wasn't sure 
why it was so, but assumed that their different species must 
be at the heart the matter.  Perhaps it was like broadcasting 
on a frequency that David couldn't tune to.  

Jerry's absences seemed to last longer and longer, and he 
never accepted Scully's invitations to her home anymore.  The 
last time David had seen Jerry had been a week ago, when he'd 
gone back to his campus housing to collect some clean clothes 
and water his one frail but tenacious jade plant.  David was 
surprised to feel an unfamiliar buzzing in his head, and 
complained about the new voice.  Jerry hadn't reacted, other 
than to say he was going west for a few weeks, to help Nana 
with some work on the ranch.  Such visits were unremarkable, 
there was always something to be done on a ranch, except that 
this time of year was the quiet time, and it hardly seemed 
necessary.  He fretted for a while that Jerry and Scully 
harbored some discord of which he'd been kept ignorant, and 
later fretted that he'd done something himself to offend his 
friend.  Neither explanation seemed likely, though, and he 
finally convinced himself that Jerry just missed Nana, that 
was all.

As he became accustomed to his new talent, he found it had 
benefits, as well.  He'd long since come to relish his duties 
as a teaching assistant.  He connected well with his students 
in the lab, and had a flair for breaking down difficult and 
obscure concepts, presenting them in clear, manageable chunks 
that allowed most of his students the sense of accomplishment 
that comes from drawing the correct conclusion.  Now, a 
furrowed brow in the third row conveyed more than the fact 
that a student was struggling to make the connection.  A 
quick peek was all it took understand the precise source of 
the confusion, and address it.  At first he worried whether 
it was ethical to peek in their minds without their 
knowledge, but he rationalized that he was only intruding on 
thoughts whose topic was a matter of public record, as 
demonstrated by their being in the class.  And it helped 
everyone.  His students would pass their term exams well out 
in front of the average, while he honed his control at 
listening, and filtering.  And if he couldn't help but 
overhear the romantic daydreams of Amy, the slight, brown-
haired girl in the second row with the secretive smile, well, 
that was kind of his business too, since they were centered 
on him.  For the first time in close to a year, he chafed at 
his responsibilities to Dr. Charles', Scully's, research.  He 
wasn't old and he wasn't dead.  He'd ask the girl out if he 
weren't so busy.

That feeling always abated when he was absorbed in his 
research.  He had begun trying to isolate out the other two 
species from one another, and was particularly interested in 
trying to discover what reproductive interactivity there 
might be between the three.  He never did find time to ask 
Amy out, but though he felt guilty about it, when he fell 
into bed each night, spent from his hours at the console, he 
would seek out her mind, and eavesdrop on the ridiculously 
flattering fantasies of himself that she sent herself to 
sleep with.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Scully awoke from dreaming with the most profound sense of 
dread she had yet experienced.  Odd, because nothing had 
happened in the dream to speak of.  There were no grisly 
plagues, no holocausts, no teeming masses hurrying to their 
deaths.  Just Mulder, floating in a brilliant white light, 
and three words.  "It has begun."

She arrived at her office that morning to find an urgent 
message from the dean regarding one of the school's students.  

Faculty:  

Please assist local authorities as needed in determining the 
last known whereabouts of a South Eastern University student.  
She has been reported missing by her parents, with whom she 
resides locally.  According to her parents, she has failed to 
return home for two nights, without advising them of her 
whereabouts, which is a departure from her usual behavior.  
Concern for her safety has arisen, as a routine tracking 
request appears to have uncovered that the girl carries a 
malfunctioning tracker unit, placing her last known position 
in Africa, and failing to return any biodata.  Your 
cooperation is appreciated.

The message ended with an image of the girl and her vital 
statistics, and had been sent to every professor with whom 
she had a course.  

David arrived while she was checking attendance records, 
trying to recall if she had actually seen the girl at her 
last lecture.  "Do you know Amy Richardson?" she asked.

"Not really," he answered, too quickly.  "I mean, yeah, she's 
in the Wednesday lab, but, uh, y'know," he fidgeted, "I don't 
really *know her* know her, she's just a student."

Scully gazed up at him, her lips lightly pursed, puzzled by 
his stammering performance.  "I never said she wasn't.  Can 
you remember the last time you had contact with her?" she 
asked.

"Contact?" he repeated, "How do you mean?"

She cocked her head at the non-sequitur response.   "Did she 
attend your last lab?  Come for extra help to office hours?" 
she gave as examples, eyebrows raised.  "How else would I 
mean?"  Misreading his blush, she jumped to the obvious 
conclusion, and sat back with an indulgent smile.  "Have you 
been seeing her, David?  How ever did you find the time?"

"No!" he exclaimed.  Then, more calmly,  "No, I mean, I'd 
like to, but I've been too busy."

A crush, then, maybe, Scully thought.  Except that he was 
behaving awfully adolescently about it.

"Why are you asking about her?  She hasn't complained, or 
something, has she?"  

"No, she's missing.  What would she have to complain about, 
David?"

He grimaced, realizing his tactical error.  The question had 
been too revealing.  As nonchalantly as possible, he seated 
himself before answering, "Nothing that I can think of.  How 
long has she been gone?"

"Two days."  She paused, wondering if he would volunteer any 
information, but he simply nodded, schooling his expression 
to one of superficial concern.  She pressed him.  "David, 
you're acting bizarre.  What do you know about this girl?"

"Nothing!  Really.  I don't know where she is.  Why aren't 
they just tracking her?"

"Because her tracker reports her in Africa, David.  It's 
malfunctioning.  She could be in real danger, and her family 
is worried."  She watched his expression while the news sunk 
in.  He furrowed his brows, and stared intently at his hands.  
He'd asked if she had made a complaint.  Perhaps he'd made an 
advance and was rebuked?  She tried another tack.  "David, I 
sense you're embarrassed about something having to do with 
this girl.  I'm not going to pry if it's a personal matter, 
but if there's anything you can do to aid in her location, 
you need to set that aside."

"I might be able to help," he conceded, still looking at his 
hands.

"You know where she might have gone?"  Scully asked.

"No."  He took a breath.  "But, I might be able to hear her.  
I, uh, have some particular experience focusing on her 
'voice'."  His eyes flicked to hers and away again.  Scully 
got the picture.  "She likes you?" she asked.

"You said you weren't going to pry," he confirmed.

She sighed.  It was unconscionably invasive behavior, but 
there were more serious matters at hand.  "David, you're 
fully grown and you don't need me to tell you what's right in 
this matter."  But she did, anyway.  "It's not the subject 
matter that's at issue, it's the willful violation.  You know 
it's wrong to listen in on her private thoughts.  If you like 
her, you should talk to her when she gets back, and if you 
get to know each other well enough to let her understand what 
you do, you can ask her permission.  Otherwise, this needs to 
be the last time you do this.  I won't mention it again, but 
I don't think your conscience will let you off as easily."  
He nodded, abashed.

"Alright, then.  Is it quiet enough here, or should we go 
back to the house?"

"No, it's ok.  I can do it here."  He closed his eyes, and 
worked first on filtering out the disapproval he could still 
feel radiating from Scully.  It was becoming second nature to 
ignore the background noise of the campus, but he filtered 
that as well, working on clearing his mind to a perfect 
silence.  Then, slowly, methodically, he began to search for 
one voice among the static of the world.  He couldn't have 
explained exactly how he did it, how he could find one voice 
he was looking for, but he knew what he had to do.

It seemed to take a very long time, with David sitting 
silently, a look of deep concentration on his face.  The 
office door opened on the heels of a quick, soft knock, and 
Jerry let himself in.  "Dr. Charles, I'm loo..." She shushed 
him quickly, and waved him inside, motioning toward David's 
still form with her head.  He padded softly to table by the 
window, and seated himself in the chair there.

"She's really far away," David finally spoke.  "And she's...  
afraid."  He pressed his lips together, and squeezed his eyes 
more tightly shut.  "I don't know where she is because she 
doesn't know where she is.  She doesn't remember how she got 
there."  He cocked his head to the side as if listening.  
"Oh.  Oh, she's *terrified*."  His breathing quickened as he 
focused down on the girl's thoughts, trying to understand 
what was happening through the muddling veil of her fear.  
"She hears someone coming, now, coming into the room where 
she is."  He felt his heartbeat quicken in sympathy with the 
girl as he concentrated on what she saw, hoping a visual clue 
would give away her location.  "The door is opening and 
they're coming in."  He gasped.  "They're -- AAAAAHH!" David 
flung himself violently forward from the chair, shocking 
Scully from her rapt attention to his performance.  He fell 
to the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest and grasping 
his head.  "Stop, stop, stop!!" he screamed.  "They're so 
loud!  They're in her head and they're so LOUD!"

Scully launched herself from behind the desk and came to her 
knees on the floor beside David.  Grabbing his face in both 
hands she struggled to make him focus.  "David!  David, let 
go!  Filter her out, David, close your mind!  You know how to 
do this, David, focus!"

"Can't," he wailed, "can't.  'Snot her anymore, I hear them 
all and they're so LOUD!"  He wrenched himself out of her 
grip, rolling to his knees, his face to the floor like a 
Muslim in prayer, hands still clasped at his ears.  "Stop, 
stop, stop," he chanted, howling.  Tears squeezed from 
between his clenched lids, and the howl changed to a whimper.  
"Stop, please, stop."  Scully saw with alarm the gush of 
blood from David's nose, just before he collapsed into 
unconsciousness.  Strong arms lifted him from the floor -- 
she had forgotten Jerry's presence in the drama of the 
moment.  Now she addressed him in an authoritative voice.  
"We have to get him to a hospital."

"No," Jerry stated, already halfway out the door.

"No?!" Scully repeated, incredulous.  She half ran to keep up 
with his fast, long strides.  "He's having some sort of 
seizure!  There could be serious brain damage!  We need a 
hospital immediately!"  Jerry's pace increased, and now she 
was actually forced to jog beside him.  "Where are you taking 
him?" she demanded.  "He needs care!  Are you going to just 
let him die?  I thought you were his friend!"

Jerry stopped abruptly, and turned to face her.  "A hospital 
can't help him.  I can.  But not here.  There's no time for 
this."  He resumed his pace, still talking.  "He's safe 
enough while he remains unconscious.  Come with us.  Your 
presence can only help him recover.  But don't stand in my 
way."

Her decision was instant, and inevitable.  "Where?" she 
asked, jogging alongside.

-------------------------------------------------------------

She had found the journey torturous, sick with worry as she 
was for David's condition.  Jerry had simply pushed onward 
with the quiet focus and determination that was his way.  The 
tubes were the fastest way to get anywhere, and they'd 
garnered a few strange looks when Jerry hauled his friend 
aboard, slung over his shoulder.  He managed an affable grin 
at a staring passenger, mumbled something about a party, and 
propped David up in a seat.  The rest of the passengers on 
the sparsely filled mid-morning tube gradually went back to 
their own business.  

They had taken a northeast line that dead-ended in the 
Appalachian mountains in just under an hour, and Scully was 
surprised to find that Jerry had an overland transport 
waiting there.  They drove another hour through the mountains 
into a river valley, and from there Jerry carried David 
toward a conical hill.  It seemed strangely out of place, the 
diameter stretching at least 150 feet, and the summit rising 
perhaps 35 feet, on an otherwise level valley floor.  When he 
led the way to a concealed opening in the side of the hill, 
Scully realized the mound was artificial, and ancient.  They 
crept inside, to a cramped vault in the interior, and there 
he lay David on the floor, lighting two solar torches out of 
a bag of supplies he had brought with him from the transport.

"Where are we?"  Scully asked.

"Your people once recognized the places of power on your 
planet.  They didn't understand their significance, but to 
them they were sacred places.  Such people built this place, 
to take advantage of the power.  There is a special peace, 
here, and recognizing it, they laid their dead to rest in 
this spot."  

Scully shook her head, exasperated.  "That doesn't tell me 
anything."

"It tells you the only thing that is meaningful.  What name 
do you want?  The name before the war?  I don't know it.  
What difference would it make?"

He turned back toward David.

"I have the ability to heal, if I'm free to concentrate.  You 
must be quiet now."  He laid his hands over David's face, his 
face relaxing into an expression of profound meditation.  
Scully crawled to David's opposite side, and sitting beside 
him, comforted herself by holding his hand, fingers wrapped 
loosely around the strong pulse in his wrist.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Thirsty."

David's raspy voice startled Scully from her light doze.  

"David?" she asked, hopeful.

"Thirsty," he repeated.  Jerry handed a bottle of water to 
her out of a pack that he had brought in from the transport.  
She held David's head up and tipped the bottle to his lips, 
watching with satisfaction as he drank a deep draught.  
Thirst slackened, he sagged back onto the ground.

"Quiet here," he said, his voice looser for the water.

"We're under about 50,000 tons of dirt, David," she said, 
gesturing to the roof of the vault.  "In the hill," she 
explained.

He shook his head at her explanation.  "No.  Quiet *here*," 
he emphasized, pointing to his temple.

She looked at Jerry.  "The 'special peace' of this place?" 

He nodded.  "Voices don't carry, here, into the mind.  He can 
hear us, but no one outside.  He will need the silence to 
heal."

"Jerry, what happened to me?" David asked.

"You heard the Grays.  You weren't prepared.  Their telepathy 
is very strong."

"Why haven't I heard them before?"

"At first your skill was not sufficient, and they were too 
far away.  But now that you know the sound you will always 
know it.  They will not go back to being silent for you."

"I don't think I can stand to hear them again," he moaned, 
his voice hitching slightly with the vivid memory of recent 
pain.

"I'll teach you to control it," Jerry assured him.

"How can you do that?" David responded, dismissively.  "You 
don't know what it's like, having all these voices in your 
head all the time."

"Of course I do, David," Jerry insisted.

"Then why don't I ever hear you?  I hear everyone else..."  
He stopped, the obvious conclusion coming only slowly to his 
muddled thoughts.  "Somehow, you block me?"  He asked.

"I have, until now.  You're getting much stronger, though.  
You were beginning to sense me.  I left because I was afraid 
you might break through when I wasn't controlling myself.  I 
was afraid I might harm you.  Listen to me now, David."

David pulled himself up to a seated position, leaning his 
back against the rough, cool wall of the chamber.  He gazed 
steadily at his friend, unsure what to make of the fact that 
he'd hidden himself and his thoughts, and that he was 
offering them now.

Jerry unshielded the uppermost layer of his consciousness to 
his friend, thoughts of confidence and reassurance uppermost 
in his mind.  The tickle of a voice in his head was familiar, 
but David's touch felt different than any he had experienced 
before.  It was to be expected, he supposed.  David was 
another species.  He had never communed with a human in this 
way before.  David's face registered the unfamiliarity of 
Jerry's touch.  He was used to being only an eavesdropper, 
suddenly it was a two way communication, both parties 
observably aware of the connection of the other.  After a 
moment, he grinned.

It wasn't exactly like a conversation.  There weren't words, 
and turns to take.  David wondered if the Smiths were all 
telepathic, and then suddenly the answer was in his head, as 
though he'd always known it.  He knew all at once the 
experience of the Smiths, that they could not hear a Gray 
that did not want to be heard, nor ignore one who did.  That 
they could rarely hear humans because they were so faint, but 
felt a comfort and a kinship in the web of their own voices, 
always available with the reaching out of a thought.   And 
then Jerry closed himself off, slowly, so that David felt the 
experience as is he were doing it himself.  He emulated the 
sensation, awkwardly attempting the new skill.

"Good," Jerry said aloud.  "You're much fainter now."

David had been leaning forward in concentration, now he 
sagged back against the wall.  "That was tiring," he said, 
surprised.  "Usually voices just pour into my head, and the 
only work is just in ignoring them."

"There are many facets to this ability you have yet to 
explore.  You've learned a fair amount through your own 
efforts about filtering voices you do not want to hear, and 
seeking those you do, but those skills need refinement.  And 
there is more to learn, about broadcasting what you want 
known, and shielding what you don't.  It is instinctual for 
the Grays, as it is for my people.  These lessons in 
improving control are what would be taught to the young."

"Hmm..." David nodded, his eyes slipping shut.

Jerry touched him once more, focusing David on his fatigue, 
encouraging him to surrender to the pull of drowsiness.  
David yawned hugely, once, and lay back down.

To Scully, the events had been surreal.  David had awoken, 
thirsty and agitated, and after a moment's conversation he 
and Jerry had sat motionless for nearly 30 minutes, staring 
at one another, with only the occasional facial twitch for 
her to interpret.  A few more words, and David was once again 
snoring softly.  She felt superfluous, and strangely 
vulnerable. 

"You should go back," Jerry said.

"What, now?" Scully asked, incredulous.

"In the morning," Jerry said, shrugging slightly.  "Your 
absence will be noticed."

"What about David?" she asked.

"He will stay with me."

"No."

"You can't take him out of here yet.  He is weak."

"I'm not leaving without him."

Jerry turned on her, snapping with the closest thing she had 
ever seen to anger.  "What does it take for you to trust?" he 
demanded.

Her own anger flared.  "The truth.  Everything you know that 
you're holding back."

"The truth is that he is your last, best, hope.  As he is 
ours.  And your absence threatens him."

"Why?  Why does my absence threaten him?  Who is watching me?  
No one knows who am I, beside you.  Are you sure it's not you 
that I threaten?" she hissed.  "What aren't you telling me?"

"It is not who you are, but what you do that is watched.  
There are those that are eager for you to finish your 
research.  If you vanish again they may look for you this 
time, and if you are here they will find David.  And in his 
case, it is not what he does, but what he is, that matters."  
He looked over at the sleeping form.  "Trust must come before 
truth.  The truth is useless if you lack the trust to believe 
it."

"What does my research have to do with this?  Who's watching 
it?  For what purpose?" she demanded.

"You already have your own suspicions," Jerry replied.  "They 
are what you will believe, regardless of what I tell you."

"The Grays are watching, aren't they?  But why?  What do they 
want?"

"They want what they wanted before," he answered cryptically.

She thought back, peeling through layers of reconstituted 
memories, to the days of the resistance.  "They still want a 
hybrid?  But why?"  And then, the swift connection between 
her abbreviated nightmare and the faculty memo.  "That girl.  
Her tracker placed her in Africa.  They abducted her, didn't 
they?"  Finally, the awful realization.  "Oh my God.  They're 
using my research to mutilate her, aren't they?"  She jumped 
up, moving as quickly as she could under the low ceiling of 
the chamber toward the tunnel that led outside.  "I have to 
get back.  I have to destroy it."

"It's too late for that," Jerry rejected, reaching her easily 
with an outstretched arm.  He pulled gently.  "Your research 
data has already been archived, you know that.  No matter how 
deeply you purge the system, you will not succeed in 
reclaiming the information from them.  That's not the 
answer."

She allowed him to lead her back to the bright circle of the 
lanterns, sinking slowly back to the floor.  "My God," she 
repeated, "that's what they wanted all along, isn't it?  I've 
felt for years that we've been subtly manipulated, some 
sciences reinforced while others were encouraged to atrophy.  
But," she stopped confused.  "I'm working from their own 
information.  I got their genome from their own archives.  If 
they want a hybrid, why haven't they just..." she trailed 
off.

"It all becomes clear suddenly, doesn't it?" Jerry asked, 
sadly.

"Because they can't for some reason, can they?" Scully asked.  
"They don't know how.  All those years ago, those men were 
convinced they were buying time, and saving their families, 
when really they'd been manipulated into offering exactly the 
thing the Grays most wanted.  All that technology, but--"

"But ancient.  Failures are extraordinarily rare.  Their 
technology maintains itself.  They're inarguably adept at 
utilizing it, but they've had no need to innovate in 
millenia."

"They're technicians, then, not scientists.  But now they're 
learning again, aren't they?  By watching us?  I've always 
wondered what they got out of the reconstruction.  You only 
herd animals that you can exploit," she concluded bitterly.

"They are learning, but in this you are still their master.  
Your vaccine came as a surprise to them, 200 years ago.  It 
was a surprise to all of us."

"All of you?" she asked.

In response, his face gradually morphed, his features 
becoming indistinct then solidifying, absent the 
distinguishing elements of eyes, ears, nose, mouth.  

Her breath sucked in with a harsh gasp.

Just as gradually, he returned to himself.

"It's a difficult posture to maintain, voluntarily," he 
explained, "although it can be made a permanent condition.  
And ultimately, a fatal one."

"The faceless rebels," she asked, "the ones responsible for 
the burnings, before the wars, they were you?"

He nodded.  "They were martyrs.  As were your victims.  We 
regretted the loss.  It was necessary to destroy the 
hybridization program, to prevent the initiation of 
colonization."

She was surprised by her reaction to the admission.  She had 
expected a resurgence of the horror that sight had once 
brought, expected to feel anger when finally presented with a 
face to blame.  Instead, she felt resignation, acceptance.  
Her own efforts during the resistance had caused as many 
deaths.  

"It didn't prevent it, though.  It only postponed it."

"It gave you the opportunity to prepare."

"To spread the vaccine," she realized.  "But wait, you said 
our vaccine was a surprise, to all of you."  Her precise mind 
processed the inconsistency.  "You couldn't have been buying 
us time to do something you had no awareness of.  If the 
hybridization program was destroyed, then why was the virus 
released, in the end?"

Jerry refused to meet her eyes, gazing at his feet with 
something remarkably like shame.

"Because you still had a hybrid," was her whispered 
conclusion.  "Cassandra didn't die that day, did she?  You 
took her.  And they found out."  Where her anger had been 
absent before, it flared now.  "Why?  Why didn't you destroy 
her?  Why martyr your people and ours, and then save the one 
life whose end would have prevented it all?"

"Do you know *why* we underwent such mutilations?" he 
demanded, with the indignity of the unjustly accused.

"To prevent infection by the black oil," she stated flatly.

"To prevent *re*-infection by the black oil," he corrected, 
leaning forward into her space, staring intently into her 
eyes.

She stared back at him, defiant, and then she saw it.  A thin 
black film coursing across the surface of his eyes.  She 
gasped, retreating backward, crablike, across the floor, as 
quickly as possible out of his reach.  As she watched, the 
film once again vanished.

"The black oil is part of us.  We can't live without it.  And 
yet it enslaves us.  It is their will, and when they call 
upon it, it is agony to resist, and ecstasy to comply.  When 
we are close to death, the oil leaves us at last.  Our 
martyrs were brought to the edge, their faces sealed when the 
oil escaped, and revived -- to live a short and painful life.  
You can't know what it's like, to live always with the 
possibility that your will may one day no longer be your own, 
the only assurance of your true independence carrying with it 
an implicit death sentence."

Scully's hand crept to the back of her neck, where a scar 
still covered the spot where the chip had once been that had 
staved off her cancer, but had also drawn her to one of the 
burnings.  "I think maybe I understand," she conceded, but 
she didn't move any closer.  The chip was long gone.  At one 
time her loneliness had convinced her that even a slow and 
agonizing death by cancer was preferable to her interminable 
life, and she had removed it.  There had been no effect.

"Humans live without the oil," he continued.   "And when they 
control you through the oil, it never stays in you for long.  
We always believed it was because it can't.  That somehow 
you're toxic to them.  They wanted a hybrid, to make you more 
like us, able to be enslaved.  We wanted a hybrid so that we 
could learn the opposite lesson.  To become more like you.  
Free.  That's why we kept Cassandra."  He dropped his voice.  
"When they discovered we had her, they launched a war against 
us to recover her, and released the virus.  We destroyed her, 
in the end, when it became clear it was the only way to halt 
both offensives.  We destroyed their plans, forcing them to 
start from scratch.  We destroyed our own as well."

"And now it's all beginning again," Scully said.  She had far 
too many lifetimes of fatigue for this battle.

"Your salvation came from the same source as your 
destruction, last time.  It will again," he said with 
assurance.  

"The Gray's genome," Scully said.

Jerry nodded.  "Whatever they have learned from you, you are 
still the more adept at science, at insight.  You mustn't 
stop now.  It is a race."

David sighed in his sleep, and rolled toward the wall, 
presenting them with his back.

"What about him?" Scully asked.  "Where does he fit in?"

"His telepathy is unlike any others," Jerry explained.  "He 
hears, without being heard."

"I don't understand," Scully complained.  "What does that 
mean?"

Jerry shifted, trying to conjure a way to explain.  How do 
you explain color to someone without sight?

"Our telepathy is such that you can't really listen to 
another without the other being aware of it, on some level.  
Even when we're not actively listening, we're aware of the 
web of minds touching ours.  We can't," he searched for the 
word, "we can't eavesdrop.  David can.  And he hears with 
great strength and at great distance.  To use a metaphor, in 
a world of radios, he is Arecibo."

"Is it dangerous for him?" she asked.  "Mulder almost died 
from something like this."

"Mulder also stood to develop an astonishing telepathy.  He 
could have been taught to control it, if he'd been brought 
someplace like this, in time.  It was out of the question, 
though.  The times were treacherous, and too many were aware 
of him.  We couldn't go to him.  David, though, has not been 
noticed.  I can stay here safely, and teach him.  When the 
time is right, he will hear them, and know what to do."

"What about the oil in you?  Will it infect him?"

"I am vanished to my masters while we are in the mound.  They 
cannot hear or control me if I stay inside.  He is safe.  
Besides, you vaccinated him yourself, didn't you?"

She nodded, no longer surprised by anything Jerry might have 
guessed.

"I can never leave this place again," Jerry added.  "You will 
be in each other's hands exclusively once he leaves here."

"Why can't you leave?"

"Those of us who have been allowed some freedom to live among 
you, as we wish, do so at a cost of keeping our enslavement a 
secret.  I have forfeit my freedom by telling you these 
truths.  If I were to leave, my knowledge of my transgression 
would endanger you, and my knowledge of David's condition 
would endanger him."  He smiled sadly.  "I still prefer a 
prison of my own making."

"If your knowledge is a danger to David, isn't mine as well?  
You said the Grays are watching me, watching my research.  
Are they listening to me, too?"

"They may be."

"Then I can't go back either."

"You can't stay here.  If they want to find you eventually 
they will.  Even without a tracker."

"Then we have a problem, don't we."

"There is another solution," Jerry offered.

"What?"

"Have I told you enough now, to earn your trust?" he asked.

She didn't answer immediately.  Jerry had been surprisingly 
insightful when he said that trust necessarily had to come 
before truth.  He'd told her an enormous amount, filled in 
gaps in her understanding of the wars, and the Grays' 
subsequent behavior that had bothered her for years.  And 
yet, he offered no proof beyond his word.  She and Mulder had 
been in this situation too many times to count.  They had 
both made mistakes about when to trust a source and believe 
his information.  Such mistakes had often cost them dearly.  
So the question wasn't really whether Jerry had told her 
enough to earn her trust, but whether he had earned her trust 
enough for her to believe him.  Melissa would have told her 
to listen to her gut.  She considered his gift to her, that 
night at David's grandmother's house.  She considered his 
self-elected exile, if it were to be believed.  She recalled 
their interactions over the previous year, the games of 
baseball in the backyard, the quiet way he had watched out 
for herself and David.  Everything he had done, every 
advantage he hadn't taken could be construed as a 
manipulation, calculated to earn an undeserved trust.  Or she 
could reject the paranoia and take his actions at face value.  
'Missy,' she thought, 'what would you do?'

The silence stretched on.  At last, just as Jerry's face 
began to fall in defeat she whispered, "Yes."

"Then trust me now," he pleaded.  "In the morning, before you 
leave, I'll take these memories away from you.  I can make 
you forget, about what I told you, about the full nature of 
David's skill.  I'll give you different memories of tonight 
instead.  Safe ones.  You'll be no threat to him then, or to 
yourself."

She felt a thrill of dread at allowing such an intrusion.  
"How can I be any use to him, either, without the things 
you've told me tonight?"

"The Grays' part in the girl's disappearance you realized 
yourself.  You will again, because your experience can lead 
you to no other conclusion.  The rest of it, David will know 
himself.  But he'll have the capacity to shield his thoughts, 
I'll teach him.  He'll learn what you need to do, and he'll 
be the one to guide you."

She considered her options, concluded that she had none.

"Ok.  But before you make me forget, I want to hear you tell 
David what you told me.  And I want him to watch while you do 
this, to know what you're doing.  Then I'll go back."

Jerry nodded, accepting the conditions.

They waited out the night together, but only David slept.