It was Anna's shrieking that woke Scully from the fitful doze 
she had fallen into.  Several Smiths were in the room.  The 
bulkiest had one of David's arms twisted painfully up behind 
his back, and was shoving him none too gently out of the 
building.  Anna was hanging from his free arm, knees locked 
and heels digging for purchase, screaming bloody murder.  
Scully jumped to her feet, and grabbed the hulking Smith by 
the shoulder.  

"Hey!" she demanded.  "What do you think you're doing!"

The Smith turned to look at her, shaking her hand free as 
carelessly as brushing off a fly.  

"Shut up, Scully," David warned.  "I've got this.  Just go 
back."

"The hell you've got this," she retorted.  The Smiths who had 
come for him were not part of the standard collection parties 
they had learned to recognize.  "Where are you taking him?" 
She demanded.  "Tell me!"

"Scully, just watch Anna for me, will you?"  The child had 
not ceased her wailing, and a crowd of abductees was 
beginning to converge around the commotion.  "Anna, honey, 
stay here with Scully, please?" he asked with as much 
reassurance as he could muster, given the Smith's painful 
grip on his arm.  If possible, the child wailed even louder 
at the prospect of letting go of her hero.

The Smith made a snap decision.  "Take them all."

They were marched to the great ship, down a vast central 
corridor decorated with surprising beauty for a species so 
lacking in compassion.  A vast door at the end of the 
corridor appeared to depress slightly, before sliding 
silently sideways, vanishing into the wall.  Beyond it, the 
room was filled with more Grays than Scully had ever seen in 
a single location, even during the wars.

The Smiths brought them forward, forcing them to their knees, 
eye level with the smallest of the Grays, who approached them 
with its peculiar, swinging gait.

David projected the ignorant fear the Grays would be 
accustomed to from ordinary abductees.  The slight creature 
stared at him, membranes contracting and dilating visibly 
beneath the huge, liquid eyes.  It turned its attention to 
Scully, who stared back, defiant.

"The test subjects have been contaminated," she felt, rather 
than heard, deep inside her head.

"Then they are no use to you," she answered.  "Let them go."

"There is no need to speak," the voice in her head responded.  
"We hear your thoughts as we wish."

"I choose to speak," Scully answered, defiant.

"Then speak to this."  Scully's mind was filled with an image 
that could only be interpreted as an infirmary, several Grays 
lying supine on form-fitting receptacles, a variety of 
strange patches on their skin, and unfamiliar instruments 
surrounding them.  Their breathing was clearly labored.  
Scully felt a brief surge of triumph, followed by a sharp, 
punishing slice of pain.

The Gray stared at David again, then returned his regard to 
Scully.  "The others pictured this one when interrogated," 
the voice continued, "but he appears ignorant."  At a glance 
from the Gray, the Smith holding David shoved him prone onto 
the ground, pressing one knee into the small of his back.  

Furious as a lion cub, Anna bit her captor hard enough that 
he dropped her, and she scrambled to David's side, kicking 
the enormous Smith resoundingly in the shin.  The Smith 
laughed, and Scully felt a slight cessation of the pressure 
in her head, as the Gray's attention was momentarily 
diverted.

Anna's own guard moved to retrieve her, but the Gray 
gestured, and he desisted, allowing the child to settle 
protectively beside David.  In a moment, it returned its 
attention to Scully.

"I can sense you know the cause of this," the Gray continued.  
"You will reverse it."

"I won't," Scully said.  "I can't.  It's too late."

She felt the equivalent of a shrug in her mind.  Cold 
indifference.  "They are expendable.  The contaminated 
subjects will be destroyed."

"That won't help," Scully said.  "There is only one thing 
that will ensure your safety."  She felt the Gray probing her 
mind, and pictured them leaving, visualized the nature of the 
threat posed by every native microbe.

"Unacceptable."  The pressure in her head grew sharp and 
painful.

"Wait," Scully cried.  "I can give you something better, I 
can give you what you really want."

The pressure eased.

"Genetic stagnation is your problem, isn't it?" she asked.  
The pressure eased further.  "Your reproductive processes 
have deteriorated beyond recovery.  I can fix that."

The pressure returned.  "We are fixing it ourselves."

"You can't stay here any more," Scully reiterated.  "But if 
you release the test subjects and leave now, I'll go with 
you.  I'm a scientist.  I can help you evolve a new way to 
reproduce.  I'll work on it for as long as it takes."  She 
concentrated intensely on the opportunity she was offering, 
the last ditch sacrifice she was willing to make on nothing 
more than good faith, and on her confidence that she could 
succeed with their cooperation.  The offer hung balanced in 
the air, the possibility of lasting peace a brief reality.

"Unacceptable," said the voice in her head.

"No!  *You* are unacceptable!"  The mental roar far surpassed 
the uncomfortable pressure of the Gray's intrusion.  Scully 
clutched at her temples, felt the familiar trickle of blood 
from her nose.  When she was able to open her eyes against 
the pain, she discovered the room of Grays in similar poses 
of distress.

"We are not your creatures anymore!"  The psychic shout came 
from David, rising to his full stature, the incapacitated 
Smith intent only on the pain in his head.  "We have evolved 
to more than we once were, and you have been offered a chance 
to do the same.  You have chosen your fate."

With the power of David's telepathic exclamation, the memory 
of the day in the cave returned, the block shattered by the 
touch of his mind.  He was magnificent in his conviction, the 
force of his fury coolly controlled and aimed at his own 
personal Goliath, in the form of the roomful of cowering 
Grays.

One Gray, not the one who had interrogated Scully, but in 
close proximity, found the strength to rise and face David.  
Their mental grappling was too loud to escape.

"You are nothing more than scrap," the creature fairly 
sneered.

"We are more than you can hope to become.  And I am more than 
you can resist."  Scully closed her eyes again, the energy 
spilling out of their conflict too painful to bear.  Slowly, 
the Gray succumbed to David's power, sinking to the ground, 
its mental voice weakening, then winking out altogether.

With the death of this Gray, a sense of fear and confusion 
began to saturate the room from the others.  They were 
unaccustomed to being bested.  The experience left them 
bewildered and suggestible.

"You will release the test subjects and leave this world 
today," David commanded.  "You will not return.  If you do, 
you will sicken like the others.  Am I understood?"

Without waiting for an answer from the stricken Grays, David 
turned, and yanked the Smith who had guarded him to his feet.  
Scully saw the weapon she had given to David all those months 
ago held confidently in his hand, the point just in contact 
with the base of the Smith's neck.  The Smith appeared meek, 
ready to respond to David's order, even without the threat.  

"You okay, Scully?" David asked.

Rising, Scully nodded, falling in behind him.

David held his free hand out to Anna, who ran to him, 
triumphant.  As their small party left the Grays' great hall, 
the little girl gave one final look back, and stuck out her 
tongue.

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

There were moments of chaos and confusion when David and 
Scully, guiding the hulking Smith in front of them, came back 
to the zoo to gather the abductees and make their escape.  A 
few of those they had befriended, particularly the woman 
Lainie, and her companion, John, understood what was needed, 
and quickly fell to organizing the large group for a fast 
march back toward the ships.

"You'll fly us back to the abduction site," David instructed 
the Smith, not having to ask whether he knew how.  

The return trip was tense, but uneventful.  Scully took over 
guarding the Smith, although the concentration he was 
expending on piloting the ship made her attention seem hardly 
necessary.  David's concentration was focused on the Smith 
himself.  Scully didn't know what David was seeking, but she 
thought it best not to distract him.

This time, Scully mused, the Grays' memory blocks wouldn't 
bury the truth.  The abductees would return home with their 
memories, of the experience and of each other, intact.  They 
would need the support.  Their tale would be unpopular.  A 
population convinced of the Grays' benevolence would be as 
likely to turn on their own as believe the truth.

The changing pitch of the ship's propulsion system 
interrupted Scully from her thoughts.  She refocused on the 
task of guarding the Smith while he landed the ship, and 
worked the controls to open big doors on the cargo bays.  A 
view screen gave them a clear view of the passengers 
disembarking, and she knew that David was counting each one 
that emerged, just as she was.

At last, David turned to the big Smith.  "I'm offering you a 
choice.  You can end your slavery to the Grays, and stay 
here.  Join us.  It would be useful to have a trained pilot."

The Smith answered without hesitation.  "No.  My service to 
the Grays is not slavery, it is my life.  I've returned you, 
as you asked.  Now go, so that I may return to Africa.  I 
must be with them when they leave."

David tried again.  "I know that many of your kind have 
struggled for the freedom that we have.  Don't be too quick 
to turn down this opportunity."

"They were faithless and mislead.  I want no part of their 
treachery.  I will be leaving with the rest of my kind."

David acquiesced with a quick nod of his head.  "You're free 
to go," he said, gesturing toward the door.

The Smith regarded him with a blank stare.

"I'm keeping the ship," David stated flatly.  

"Absurd," the Smith said, starting to rise.  Scully touched 
the stiletto she held to the Smith's neck, pressing hard 
enough to get his attention.  He sank slowly back into his 
seat.  "You don't even know how to fly it."

David shrugged.  "I've got the rudiments.  You're very 
focused when you fly."

Scully cut her eyes at David for an instant.  So that was 
what he'd been listening to.

"Last chance," David offered.

For an instant, David saw a black film wash across the 
Smith's eyes, and then, as quickly as the thought was audible 
in the Smith's head, the Smith had lunged at him, 
overpowering him with sheer physical mass.  The warning was 
inadequate in the close quarters of the ship's control room, 
and David struggled to breathe against the strong hand 
constricting his windpipe.  In another instant, the pressure 
eased, and the Smith fell away, crumpled to the floor.  David 
watched with grim disgust as a green substance bubbled and 
oozed from the back of the Smith's neck, where Scully's 
stiletto protruded.  

"He had to have known it would come to that," Scully said, 
meeting David's eyes.

David rubbed his neck, gingerly testing the limits of the 
pain left by the Smith's grip.  "It wasn't his choice," David 
said.

He stared a moment longer at the Smith's body, already 
starting to dissolve, shaking his head at the waste, then 
stepped over it.  "You might want to sit down, Scully, it 
could be a rough ride."

Getting airborne was indeed a bit more exciting than either 
of them would have liked, but David's new skill seemed 
adequate to keep them cruising gently once underway.

"Thanks," David said, glancing down at the remains of the 
Smith, now little more than a puddle of green goo.

"I'm sorry it had to go that way," Scully responded.

"I know."  He made a few small corrections to the ship's 
course, then continued.  "You were great back there with the 
Grays, too, Scully.  It wouldn't have worked without you."

"What wouldn't have worked?"

"I had to know which one was the leader, focus on him.  He 
was the only one whose defeat would matter.  When you offered 
to go with them, it was perfect.  Only one Gray could have 
made that decision."

"Oh."  Scully said.  "How did you know I would do that?  Are 
you reading futures as well as minds, now?  I didn't even 
know until the words were out of my mouth.  I just wanted to 
end it as cleanly as possible."

"That's how I knew," David said.  "Nothing extra sensory.  
Just your nature."  He smiled at her.

They flew on in silence for several minutes.

"Where are we going, David?" Scully asked, at length.

"To get Jerry.  And then back to South Eastern.  I'm going to 
hide the ship in your corn patch," he joked.

"Why did you want it?"

"Because you were right, all along.  We *have* lost too much 
technology.  I don't know how things are going to be once 
they go, or how long they'll stay away.  We need whatever we 
can get to jumpstart relearning everything we've lost."  He 
made a few corrections to the controls, and the ship slowed.  
"We're almost there," he said, ending the conversation for 
the moment.

Landing was even rougher than taking off had been, and Scully 
had her doubts as to whether the ship, no matter how advanced 
the technology, would stand up to much of this kind of 
treatment.  They put down in a narrow clearing in the valley 
of the mound where Jerry taken refuge, a few hundred yards 
away from it.

David exited the ship and dashed ahead, gleeful and shouting.  
"Jerry!  Jerry!  C'mon out!  It's over!"  His voice faded as 
he vanished into the mound.  Scully followed more slowly, not 
wanting to intrude upon their moment of reunion.  She was 
surprised to see him reemerge only seconds later.

"Scully!  Hurry, there's something wrong with Jerry!"

Scully ran to catch up, scrabbled down the claustrophobic 
corridor only inches behind David.  A barely functioning 
solar torch in the inner chamber sensed their motion and 
flickered on, filling the cramped room with dim light.  
Scully gasped at the form slumped against the far wall.  
Jerry's eyes stared sightlessly out of a face devoid of any 
recognizable features.  His head was smooth and hairless, his 
face shiny and tight, appearing almost poreless.  His nose 
was an indeterminate lump, his mouth, a characterless slit.  
Whatever minimal concentration a Smith needed to maintain his 
appearance, Jerry was unable to muster it.

An instinct from lifetimes ago prompted Scully to kneel 
beside Jerry and reach for the familiar pulse points.  Her 
frustration at the physiological secrecy the aliens had 
maintained surged when she failed to find any evidence of a 
pulse, although his skin was warm.

"Can you hear him?" she asked David.

He shook his head.  "He's just a jumble.  Static.  Like he's 
not even there anymore."

"Well, we can't do anything for him in here.  I can't see a 
damn thing.  Help me get him outside."

Together, they struggled to lift Jerry and remove him from 
the mound.  It was an awkward trek down the low-ceilinged 
corridor to the outside.  Jerry's deadweight sagged and 
swayed between them, and they stumbled more than once, 
scraping shoulders and hips against the cool, rough walls.

They laid him gently on the ground, and Scully kneeled over 
him, turning her face to place her cheek close to Jerry's 
open mouth.  She held that position for several minutes, then 
announced, "I feel breathing."

David expelled a relieved sigh.

"I don't know what to do for him, David," Scully warned.  
"He's alive, but I don't know for how long.  I don't know 
what his condition means."

David listened again, struggling to find an echo of Jerry in 
the chaos of his mind, while Scully continued her visual 
examination, unsure what she might be looking for.  Something 
crinkled in a pocket as she ran her hands over his chest.  
Curious, she fished a crumpled wad of paper out of his breast 
pocket, and smoothed it.  She read the first few lines, her 
heart sinking.  "David," she said, touching his arm gently to 
break his concentration.  "I think this is meant for you."  
She held out the wrinkled sheet, concern and compassion 
written on her face.

"What?  What is it?"

"It's from Jerry.  I think you need to read it."  She 
extended her arm again, urging him to take the letter.

Sensing Scully's apprehension, he reached for the letter with 
dread.

My Dearest David,

If you are reading this letter rather than sharing my 
thoughts, then I am as good as dead.

Let me apologize first for what grief this may cause you.  I 
knew the risks of my exile.  I could not have let you know of 
them, or you would have refused to allow me to remain, and 
the path you are destined for is of far greater importance 
than the sanity of a single individual.

You must not blame yourself.  The provisions you gathered 
before you left were more than sufficient to meet my physical 
needs, and I did harbor some small hope that your mission 
might end in time.  

David, in our weeks together here, I shared many truths with 
you, but others I kept private.  You are a man of your time, 
a disciple of science and still closed to the mystical 
realms.  In recent centuries, my people have undergone a 
spiritual reawakening.  There is a prophecy that foretells a 
moment in time when the old ways end, and a new order begins.  
It foretells one of your people who lives to bridge the gap, 
and one of mine who lends aid, at great personal cost.  I 
spoke of it once to Scully, because I believed it might be 
she.  I now realize it is you.  And as the weeks of silence 
bear down on me, I realize the nature of the cost.

To be in the mound with one other is intimate.  To be in the 
mound alone is soothing, meditative, for a short while.  But 
for us, exile from the web of voices leads inevitably to 
madness, and I feel myself shredding more rapidly each day.

David, I have one final request that I can ask only of you.  
If you have found me, and read this letter, you must 
understand that I do not wish for the shell of my body to 
live on once my mind has gone.  I know that you know what to 
do.  Put aside any guilt you might feel toward such an act, 
for I am already gone, except from your memory.

Go and fulfill your destiny, knowing all is unfolding as it 
should.  Do not mourn for me.

I remain yours in deepest affection and brotherhood.

Love,
Jerry

David raised his damp eyes to Scully, wordlessly handing back 
the letter.  While Scully read Jerry's final words, David 
concentrated, desperately seeking even the faintest echo of 
his friend in the bland-faced body lying before him.

Quiet, Scully asked, "What are you going to do?"

David fingered the stiletto in his pocket for long moments 
before answering.  He knew what Jerry wanted, but he couldn't 
bring himself to it.  Couldn't bring himself to accept that 
there might not still be hope.

"We'll take him with us," David decided.  "Back to South 
Eastern.  As long as he's alive, there's a chance we can help 
him."  He didn't wait for a response, but heaved on his 
friend's slack arm, hauling him up into a fireman's carry.  
He answered Scully's thoughts of concern as though Jerry's 
weight, and not his wishes, were the only thing at issue.  "I 
can manage him a short way out here, as long as I can stand 
all the way up."

Back on the ship, David lowered Jerry to the deck with a 
grunt of relief.  "Hang on, buddy," he murmured.  "I don't 
believe you're not in there.  We'll find a way to get you 
out." 
-------------------------------------------------------------

In the ship, the trip from the mound back to South Eastern 
lasted only minutes.  And yet, in the span of the brief 
journey, the Grays, defeated but far from capitulating, were 
executing their final, spiteful act.

The great, heavy-bellied starships had risen out of the 
African plains, and glided to points off the populated 
coasts, waiting for the crowds that would inevitably gather 
to witness the sky-filling sight.  Then, as the throngs 
watched, the great oceanic generators lifted silently out of 
the seas, toward the waiting maws of the ships.  A sudden 
flash of light seared away the encrustations of sea life, and 
then the generators disappeared inside.  In an instant, the 
great ships sped from view.  The arc of satellites burning up 
in the atmosphere quickly followed, and then an eerie 
silence, wholly unfamiliar to a technological civilization 
accustomed to unlimited power.  On every pad and console 
worldwide still running from their batteries, the same image 
appeared.  David's face, and beside it Scully's.  A caption 
repeated, in text and voice synthesis: "In an act of 
unprovoked terrorism, these two specieist humans have 
irreparably poisoned the Gray colony.  We do not presume they 
speak for all.  Your justice is your own."

They did not broadcast on the frequency of the hijacked ship.

David set down directly behind Scully's house, more gently 
this time than before.  He was preoccupied with Jerry's 
condition, blocking out the ever-present background noise in 
his mind, so that he could concentrate on flying, and on 
helping Jerry.  Otherwise, he might have noticed the swell of 
rage that was forming not far away.

"We'll leave him here until we're sure where to take him," 
David said, rising to leave the ship.

Scully nodded consent, and followed him to the house.

"Power's out," she commented, when the interior lights failed 
to come on with the open door.  "That's unusual."

"Damn," David swore.  "I need the console to reserve 
facilities for Jerry at the hospital."  The thin, gray light 
that poured through the curtained windows of Scully's house 
provided just enough illumination to avoid barked shins and 
stubbed toes.  "You got a pad around here, somewhere?"

They were startled by the sound of thudding footsteps 
mounting the front porch, and frantic pounding at the door.

"I'll go see," David said.  "Find me a pad, okay?"

Without waiting for a response, David started toward the 
front of the house, reaching out to sense who was pounding 
with such urgency.  "Amy?" he asked, throwing open the door.  

"Oh, David!" she cried.  "It's not true, is it?  Tell me it's 
not true!"  

"Calm down," David said, drawing her into the house.  Her 
mind was a jumble of turmoil.  "What is it?  What's not 
true?"

"I think I have an idea," said Scully, coming down the 
hallway.  She handed him the pad she had found, the image and 
message still playing.

He read it in an instant, the implications obvious.  "How 
long ago do you think was sent?" he asked.

Amy looked back and forth between the two, measuring their 
grim expressions, and their lack of surprise.  "It *is* 
true?" she asked, incredulous.  "Why?  Why would you do that, 
David?"

David handed the pad back to Scully, and turning to Amy took 
her firmly by the shoulders.  "It's true that we made them 
leave, yes, Amy.  But it's not like they're making it sound."  
He bent down to look her directly in the eyes.  "Do you 
remember anything about the time you were missing?" he asked.

Amy shook her head.

"Well, I do.  You were taken by the Grays, and they were 
experimenting on you.  Without your consent."

Shaking her head, Amy resisted the revelation.  "No, I was 
just lost."

"You weren't lost, Amy, and you weren't the only one.  You'll 
meet others, soon.  They were experimenting on humans, and if 
they had succeeded, they would have destroyed most of us."

"It can't be true," she denied, looking at the floor.  

David lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to meet his 
eyes.  "It is true, Amy.  You know me.  Would I have done 
this for any less reason?"  

At length, she shook her head.  "No, I don't think so."

"Then trust me now, at least for a little while."

She went on, distressed.  "David, they've taken everything.  
The generators are gone, they wrecked the satellites..." 

"We'll get by," David reassured.  "It will take time, but 
we'll learn."

When she nodded, David released her, his eyes unfocusing as 
he gazed off in the general direction of the town, gauging 
the reaction of the population.

"David, we may have a more immediate problem, here," Scully 
warned.

"I know," David said.  "I'm sensing mostly confusion and 
chaos right now, but there's a groundswell of anger."

"I don't need to be telepathic to know where that anger is 
going to focus once it gets organized," Scully said.  "We 
need to leave."

"Telepathic?" Amy asked.

"We can't run," David said.  "Running will just make it look 
like that's all true."  He gestured to the pad.

"Oh, good lord," Scully said, exasperated.  "David, listen to 
me.  Mobs are not rational.  This is not the time to stand 
our ground and try to explain things.  Later, when the 
initial shock is past.  Not now.  Listen to them!"

David looked again in the direction of the town.

"Telepathic?" Amy repeated.

David's expression darkened.  "Okay, you're right," he 
conceded.  "We need to save what we can, though.  Because I 
think they're going to burn this place to the ground."

"Would someone please tell me what's going on?" Amy demanded.

David swung back toward her, as though he'd momentarily 
forgotten her presence.  "I will, soon, Amy, but right now we 
need help, and fast."

The three of them raced between the house and the ship's 
cargo hold, hauling everything valuable and irreplaceable, 
especially Scully's painstakingly unearthed and carefully 
preserved documents.  Somehow, David knew that having their 
history back would be important for the Earth's return to 
independence.

"Last trip, Scully," David warned, as they filled their arms 
with another load.  "They're getting close."

Scully nodded, hurrying from the room with all that she could 
carry.  David chose another stack of papers at random, and 
piled them into Amy's outstretched hands.  "Go," he said.

He gave the storeroom a final long look, wondering how to 
choose the one thing that could still be saved from the vast 
collection.  On a sentimental impulse, he threw open the old 
cedar trunk, and shrugged into Scully's old baseball jersey.  
She'd lost so much.  It was just a shirt, but he knew how she 
valued it.  He was just reaching for a box of ancient 
photographs when Amy's scream from outside shattered his 
thoughts.  He raced to the back door, astonished at the scene 
before him.

"Jerry, no!" he cried.

His lifelong friend had Scully on the ground, crushing her 
windpipe.  Scully's hands pressed at Jerry's face, struggling 
to dislodge him, but Jerry's strength came from the 
approaching mob.  His identity and will lost over the long 
weeks in the mound, Jerry was now an empty vessel, a psychic 
receiver echoing the strong hatred and murderous intent 
rolling toward them in waves.  Scully's face was turning 
purple from lack of air.

With a sob, David fell on him, saving Scully the only way he 
knew how.  He pulled the stiletto from his pocket, and 
plunged it into the back of Jerry's neck.

Jerry stiffened, then sagged and rolled to the side.  David 
released him, watching the green, alien blood bubble out of 
Jerry's neck with a kind of numb horror.  He stood, 
transfixed, as Jerry's body decomposed in the rapid, melting 
way he now understood as a Smith's death.   "Oh, shit, Jerry, 
I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he cried, sinking to his knees beside 
the viscous mess.  He felt the sudden need to vomit, and fell 
forward on all fours, heaving.  He barely registered Scully's 
hoarse warning, Amy's shout, or the masculine roar 
approaching from behind, but suddenly, he felt a slice of 
pure fire raking into his lower back.  Through the haze of 
red suddenly swimming before his eyes, he was aware of Scully 
launching herself at his attacker, and then Scully and Amy 
were at his sides, hauling him to his feet by his arms, and 
hustling him into the ship.

With the ship's doors sealed, they were safe for the moment 
from the growing mob.

The blackness gradually lifted, and David became aware of 
Scully's face very near to his own.  "David, can you hear me?  
Come on, David, come back to us."

"I'm okay," he gritted out, then hissed when something 
pressed hard directly on the wound in his back.

"No, you're not.  You have a deep stab wound to the lower 
back.  Possibly an injured kidney.  Amy's behind you jury 
rigging a bandage."  He saw her small hands deftly cross a 
strip of ripped cloth around his torso from behind, and felt 
her pull it tight and tie it off over the wound, where the 
knot would add pressure to the wad of fabric staunching the 
blood flow.  "David, I know a lot has happened and you're in 
a lot of pain, but we need to get away from here, and you're 
the only one who can pilot the ship."  Gradually, David 
became aware that the insistent pounding was not in his head, 
but was the crowd banging on the outside of the ship.  "Help 
me to the controls," he hissed.

The ground fell away with a few deft movements of David's 
hands.  "Seattle?" he asked.

"No, we need to get you real medical attention.  We need a 
hospital, not my lab."

"Don't know if you've noticed, Scully," he groaned, "but 
they're trying to kill us.  I'd rather take my chances with 
you."

"Colorado," she said.  "The inlanders have their own power, 
and they don't believe everything they read on the nets.  
They'll give us the benefit of the doubt.  Can you make it 
that far?"

He nodded, teeth clenched, and set to working the controls.  

Scully watched him from the copilot's seat, frustrated and 
worried.  The knife had compromised a major renal vein.  For 
now, the tight pressure of Amy's bandage was helping, but he 
had lost a great deal of blood, and really shouldn't be 
sitting up.  And it was such a waste!  Jerry wouldn't have 
killed her.  Nothing in over 200 years had managed that 
trick.  She sent up a quick prayer that they would make it to 
Denver in time.

The flight was turbulent.  David was distracted from his 
piloting by the pain of his injury, and every error that 
jostled the ship aggravated the insult.  He struggled to 
remain lucid.  When the first peaks of the Rocky Mountains 
began to appear over the far curve of the horizon, he allowed 
himself to hope.  They were beautiful.  Sparkling, rugged, 
majestic.  He always loved the mountains.  The image of his 
last visit, the hikes in the high mountain meadows with Jerry 
came to mind, and he let them play, smiling faintly at the 
sweet memory.  Scully's voice shouting out to him seemed 
very, very far away.  "Amy, hold on, we're going to crash!"  
And then, he didn't hear her at all.

The crash was spectacular.  The ship plowed a mile long 
trough into the high mountain plains.  A granite boulder 
shattered when the ship made contact, but not without 
crushing part of the hull, and flipping the ship back into 
the air.  From there, it cartwheeled another 1500 feet, 
coming to rest in a searing heap.  The locals noticed the 
descent, and the column of smoke, and sent out a party to 
investigate.

Inside the ship, Scully came to, amazed to find herself still 
seated in the copilot's chair.  She looked over at David.  He 
was unconscious, but still breathing.  Low, orange sunlight 
spilled in through the damaged hull of the ship, glinting off 
the restraints that held him in his seat.  The ship must have 
an automatic safety mechanism, she realized.  She looked down 
at her own chair, saw the same metallic arms curved around 
her own body.  There was something else, though.  She raised 
her head, trying to make sense of the jumble of metal, but 
the contraction of her abdominal muscles caused a searing 
pain.  It wasn't the safety harness that kept her seated, she 
was skewered to the chair by a twisted length of metal, 
sheared off the bulkhead in the crash.  Damn.  This would 
hurt like hell while it healed.  She dropped her head back 
onto the seat.

"Dr. Charles, are you -- oh, no..."  Amy had discovered the 
release mechanism from her own chair, and crouched in the 
wreckage, horrified by Scully's injury.  "I can't bear to 
look," she said.

"Don't look," Scully wheezed, "I'll look instead.  You check 
on David."

She heard the girl make her way delicately over the wreckage 
to the other chair, calling David's name.  'I'll look 
instead.'  Why did that phrase ring in her head?  "How is 
he?" she called out.

"He's breathing," Amy answered, "but shallow.  I don't know 
if he'll make it."

Something darted in the corner of Scully's vision.  Probably 
a hallucination brought on by the pain.  'I'll look instead.'  
She closed her eyes, trying to will away the pain, trying to 
concentrate.  Something thudded.  "Amy?" she called.

"I fell.  It's okay."

'I fell.  It's okay.  I'll look instead.  I fell.  It's okay. 
I'll look instead.'  The words tumbled nonsensically in 
Scully's mind.  She heard David's moan, and Amy's excited 
exclamation.  "He's waking up!  He's opening his eyes!"

And then it came rushing back.  The third warning of her 
dream.  "Fellig says, 'You look instead.'"  And the memory, 
if it was to be believed, of how she came to be this way.  
Fellig took her place.  Pierced through the gut with a bullet 
that day, just as she was pierced through with the shrapnel 
of the ship now.  And he had taken her hand and told her not 
to look.

"Amy, give me David's hand," she said, holding her own out 
towards him.  It was a heavy burden she would lay on him, but 
his talent, and his experiences, had to live beyond this day.  

"Here, Dr. Charles."  Amy's quiet voice.  A warm weight in 
her outstretched palm.  She closed her fingers around his.

"David, can you hear me?" she asked.

"Mmmhmm," his barely audible reply.

"Keep your eyes closed, David, don't look."

"Mmmhmm."

Scully hauled her eyes open, searching for the form that 
flittered around her peripheral vision.  "You watch out for 
him, Amy," she murmured.  "He's going to need someone he can 
count on."

"Dr. Charles, don't talk like that.  I can see people coming.  
You're going to make it."

Scully didn't bother to correct her.  "He's a little sweet on 
you, you know."  There was a smile in her voice.

The figure was getting bolder, coming into the center of her 
vision, the figure of a man, walking toward her from a great 
distance.

"Mulder?" she whispered.

It would be a long time before David recovered enough to tell 
Amy the meaning of Scully's last word.

"Come on, take my hand, Scully.  It's time to go."

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

EPILOGUE:

They sat, shoulder to shoulder, on the other side, looking 
back.

"It's a harsh burden," Scully said, watching him.  

"He'll handle it," Mulder reassured.  "He won't be alone.  
Look, even now."

And time jumped, fast forwarding to another scene.  John and 
Lainie struggling cross country to find him, guided by the 
echoes they heard in their minds.

"The war isn't over," Mulder continued, and Scully was 
surprised to learn she could still feel dread, even here in 
this place.  "But he'll win the final battle."

"I don't understand," she said.

"Each time, we fought the enemy we could defeat.  You and I 
fought the virus.  You and he fought the Grays.  But he'll 
fight the real enemy.  Secrecy and lies."

"The truth is out there?" she asked, gentle, teasing.

"The truth is in him.  It's in all of them.  Look."  He held 
out his hand.  A tiny, insubstantial silver thread floated 
above it, snaking high into the fathomless darkness above 
them.  "Know what this is?" he asked.

She shook her head.  "No."

"Look closer."  The strand swelled, its diameter increasing, 
until the twisted ladder was obvious and clear.  "This is 
me," he said.  As she watched, most of the strand faded away, 
a few short segments breaking apart from the others, coming 
to float above his hand in a tiny, magical dance.

"Remember?" he asked.

"The vaccine," she confirmed.  "I can't believe how many 
times you let me stick you before I narrowed down the nature 
of your immunity."

"But you know more, now, don't you?"  He stretched out his 
hand, holding the quivering strands closer.

She nodded, understanding.  "This is more than we needed.  
The immunity came from here."  She reached out, touching two 
strands.  They brightened, glowing fiercely white before 
fading from view.  "The rest are superfluous."

Mulder nodded, flicking his forefinger at the strands one by 
one.  As they flew from his palm, they vanished.  Finally a 
single strand remained.  "And this?" he asked.

She stared at the final strand, considering.  "Your 
telepathy," she concluded, based on her intervening lifetimes 
of study.  "Though it was dormant at the time." 

"Remember Gibson?" he asked.

The scene shifted, and she saw the faint echo of themselves, 
long ago, in a darkened room, in a trying time.  A young, 
earnest Scully struggling to hold the trust of a young, 
bitter Mulder, wounded by recent defeat.

    "Mulder, these are the results.  DNA from the claw nail 
we found -- matching exactly the DNA in the virus you believe 
is extraterrestrial--"

    "That's the connection," the young Mulder said softly, 
rising.

    "--which matches exactly the DNA I found in Gibson 
Praise."

    "Wait a minute.  I don't know what you're saying.  You're 
saying that Gibson Praise is infected with the virus?"

    "No.  It's a part of his DNA.  In fact, it's part of all 
our DNA.  It's called a genetic remnant.  Inactive junk DNA.  
Except in Gibson it's turned on."

    "So if that were true, it would mean the boy is in some 
part extraterrestrial."

    "It would mean," the young Scully clarified, "that all of 
us are."

The Mulder beside her echoed her words.  "It would mean that 
all of us are."  

"I know," Scully said.

"But we're more than that," he said.  The scene shifted once 
more, and she saw a more recent moment.  Her lab, David 
puzzling out the alien DNA, herself looking for lingering 
traces of immunity in the population, struggling to 
understand which effects of the vaccine had been passed 
through the generations.

Mulder held out the strand once more.  "It would mean that 
all of us are," he repeated.  "But this," a few balls of 
light on the strand glowed brightly, "was different."

"A mutation," Scully said.

"A mutation," Mulder confirmed, "that you passed on to 
everyone, Scully.  It's the final step.  This mutation allows 
for a telepathy that surpasses the Grays'.  You turned it on 
in David, and they couldn't resist him.  You turned it on in 
a handful of others, too.  He'll realize the implications, in 
time."  He closed his hand around the final strand, and it 
too, vanished.  The scene shifted back to a distant view of 
the present.  Mulder draped his arm around Scully's shoulder 
as they watched David struggle with his ostracization.

"Secrets, Scully.  Secrets and lies are the last enemy.  The 
truth is the only weapon that matters."

She nodded, understanding.  "The next step in our evolution.  
A world where the truth is never hidden."

"He'll bring it about.  He'll flip that final switch to turn 
it on for everyone.  It will be a hard transition for some, 
but already, those who can hear are seeking him out.  He's 
all grown up, and he's beginning to grow wise.  He'll lead 
them through it, and the next time the Grays return, there 
will be no one left that they can deceive."

They sat in comfortable silence in the strange emptiness, 
watching as David fought against the trials of the moment.  
At length, Scully asked, "What about us?"

Mulder laughed.  "You just got here, Scully.  Bored already?"

"No," she said, snuggling closer into his side.

"We can go back," he offered, "whenever you want.  We can 
live again."

She contemplated the possibility.  Maybe this time they could 
lead a normal, happy life.

"Would we remember?" she asked.

"Not much," he said.

"You?"

"Yes," he promised.  "I find you in every lifetime.  Or you 
find me."

She nodded again.  "Maybe later," she concluded.  "For now, 
let's just be."  She looked up into his face, and found him 
smiling at her choice.  They stayed that way for long 
moments, basking in the sureness of each other.  Then they 
turned back, and watched the world unfold.