The Four Corners Cycle
      Book Four  - Yekaterina's Kiss
      Chapter One
      Spookey247 



      Feedback- Cherished and answered: Spookey247@msn.com
      Archive - Gossamer, Ephemeral, ok. If you archived my other story, go 
      ahead. Anybody else drop me a line and let me know.
      Rating - NC-17 for sex, language, and potentially disturbing situations 
      Classification - TRA, AU, Post-Colonization with MSR and MM (Mystic 
      Mulder) Disclaimers - Most of these characters are mine, with three 
      notable exceptions, who belong to Chris Carter and the suits at Fox. 
      Spoilers - general for season eight, but not past Per Manum, really. 
      Keywords - Post-Colonization, Mulder/Scully Romance
      Summary - Truths lurk in a dark place. Our friends descend and delve.
      Thanks and Dedication - To Amanda, for beta, great ideas, web-mistressing, 
      virtual hand-holding, and believing I could finish this when I really, 
      really didn't. Hey A, GODDESS, you. <g>
      Suggested Listening: Radiohead "Kid A" over and over and over and over
      Author's Notes: This is the last in a series of four stories I started 
      posting in April. If you haven't read the other three, they can be found 
      on my website:
      We could say this tale takes place in an Alternate Universe, or we could 
      pretend everything after TINH and DeadAlive didn't happen. Either way, 
      whatever. Choose one. <g>
      There's lots of Native American imagery in this story. I just want to say 
      that the words, symbols, and locations found here were carefully 
      researched and used with respect. Whatever liberties I've taken are meant 
      harmlessly. My understanding of some concepts is bound to be incomplete. I 
      apologize in advance for my oversights and welcome any feedback that might 
      gently teach me something new.
      More notes and thank-yous at the end of 9/9.
      Yekaterina's Kiss 



      He is buried alive in a dark, empty place; afraid to move for fear the 
      night will swallow him.
      Hands pressed over his ears, he tries to become as small as he feels. 
      You've always wanted me to be a man, he thinks, but I'm not. I never will 
      be.
      She's calling his name, but he doesn't want to answer. He doesn't want to 
      answer because he doesn't want to see. He cannot bear to look at her 
      belly: taut and distended; bloated beyond reason.
      He listens to her wailing in the chamber below. She needs him now. She 
      pleads. She cries.
      But he has no intention of going to her.
      Screams and whispers. Screams and whispers.
      Screams fly like buzzards, streaking up from the depths. They seize the 
      soft pink core of his heart, rending and shredding, gobbling and gulping. 
      Screams summon the darkness. The darkness takes form. It shrieks like a 
      devil and whisks him away.
      Suddenly, solid ground. A river rushes past his toes. The water is as 
      black and treacherous as their lies.
      His father's voice whispers in his head. You can cross, son, he sings 
      softly. Fly. Fly over.
      Meet me on the other side.
      What about Mama?
      Screams and whispers. Screams and whispers.
      Her screams scurry across the stone like rats. They swarm around his boots 
      and climb up his legs. They crawl inside his shirt, nest in his hair, feed 
      voraciously from his mouth and his eyes.
      "Turn around," she begs, desperately. "Look what they've done."
      He moves backward into the blackness. "It's too dark," he gasps. "I can't 
      see. Where are you?"
      "I'm here, baby," she whispers. "Mama's right here."
      His foot sinks almost imperceptibly, slides forward slightly. Something is 
      oozing out from under his boot.
      Brittle with terror, he forces himself to look down.
      Her head is small and delicate, poking up from the rocky floor like a 
      newly sprouted melon. Lidless eyes stare up at him, trembling on the tiny 
      sphere, fragile as a pair of robin's eggs.
      Her belly has blown wide open.
      He drops to his knees in the midst of what remains: smooth brown 
      shoulders, ruined breasts with ragged pink nipples, disembodied legs that 
      lie askew, cast off like an old pair of trousers.
      Her flesh pools around him. Bone. Meat. Blood.
      "Mama, oh god," he cries. "Oh god, Mama."
      Lidless eyes stare up at him accusingly. Her moist, red-velvet mouth hangs 
      open. Spectral arms thrust two tiny creatures toward him, dangling like 
      newborn kittens from spattered, bony hands.
      "You have to take them, son," she whispers. "Keep them for your father."



      Early Afternoon June 6, 2036 Desert View, Arizona 
       
      "I think the last time I saw anything that looked like this I might have 
      been watching 'Bonanza'."
      Mulder stretches his legs, kicking a pile of coiled rope out of his way. 
      "No, Scully," he deadpans. "I think it was the Brady Bunch. They came 
      here, you know. It was a two-parter."
      She laughs. "Mulder, of all the things you could choose to remember...that 
      is just, well, disturbing."
      The trading post seems to be sinking into the desert. It is a gray-brown 
      building with an Old West design that was obviously built to impress 
      tourists, decades ago. The plastic sign dangling in the front window says, 
      "open" in faded rust-brown letters. Nearby, a teenage boy slouches in a 
      rocking chair, his body imitating the crippled sag of the front porch. He 
      stares at them dully as Ben pulls the truck into the parking lot.
      Ben gets out of the truck, stretching his long arms toward the sky and 
      yawning. "Damn," he says. "This place has seen better days, hasn't it? 
      Want me to go in and ask about that van we found, Will?"
      "No, that's okay. I'll go."
      Mulder reaches up impulsively and smoothes Dana's hair, brushing his lips 
      against her ear. "Come inside with me," he murmurs.
      ~~~~
      The boy on the porch stands up as they climb the front steps. Dana judges 
      him to be about Kaya's age. He drags a thin hand down the front of his 
      t-shirt, pulling the dirty fabric tight over his malnourished frame. He 
      crams his hand into the pocket of his jeans.
      "We're out of gas," he mutters. The words slip sluggishly under the cleft 
      upper lip, dropping, leaden, before they have a chance to be heard.
      "Excuse me?" Mulder says, stepping closer. The boy takes a quick step 
      back, flinching slightly.
      Dana puts her hand on Mulder's arm. "He said they don't have any gas," she 
      says, quietly.
      "Oh." Mulder moves closer to the boy, watching him intently. "We're not 
      here for gas."
      The boy stares out at the parking lot, mouth dropping open. Dana follows 
      his gaze. Kaya and Matthew have gotten out of the truck. Kaya is 
      unwrapping her dark hair from its scarf, re-wrapping the fabric around her 
      head and smiling at something Matthew is telling her.
      Mulder watches the lanky youth watching his daughter. "We were hoping you 
      might have some kerosene for sale."
      The boy takes a step back, swallowing nervously and wiping his nose with 
      the back of his hand. He gives a vague nod, jerking his head in the 
      direction of the door to indicate they should follow him inside.
      "Ben," Mulder calls. "Hand the kerosene can up here, will you?"
      As the screen door slams behind them, Dana's nose wrinkles automatically 
      at the stench of unwashed dishes and untended animals. The boy reaches 
      under the cracked linoleum counter and takes out a small key.
      "Kerosene's in back. You got goods?" he asks, speaking with difficulty.
      Mulder reaches into the hip pocket of his jeans and retrieves a well-worn, 
      brown-paper sack. He sets it on the counter. "I've got a little tobacco. 
      How much will you give me for that?"
      The boy's lips stretch toward his oversized ears in the semblance of a 
      smile, revealing the tips of yellowed front teeth. "Give ya quarter gallon 
      for it."
      "Make it three-eighths and you've got a deal."
      Without another word, the paper sack disappears into the boy's pocket. He 
      picks up the kerosene can.
      "Hey," Mulder says quickly, taking advantage of their clerk's momentary 
      goodwill, "We passed a white van, parked, maybe broken down, by the side 
      of West Road about ten miles back. Has anyone come through here in the 
      last day or so? Possibly a group of men?" The boy frowns, shaking his 
head.
      "I'm looking for my son. He might have been with them. He would have been 
      just a little older than you. Tall. Very dark. Long hair."
      The boy's eyes widen slightly. He crams his free hand back into his 
pocket.
      Mulder takes a step forward. "He has a snake tattooed in blue, on his 
      forearm, right here. It's easy to see."
      The boy shakes his head again, harder this time. "I ain't seen nobody, 
      Mister."
      He disappears into the back of the store.
      "That kid's a bad liar," Mulder mutters. He puts both hands on the 
      yellowed counter-top and presses back against the linoleum with a sigh, 
      dropping his head to his chest.
      "Maybe he's just afraid of strangers, Mulder," Dana says, gently. She 
      trails her fingers down his spine. "It doesn't seem like they get many 
      visitors here."
      He pushes away from the counter, spinning toward her impatiently and 
      crossing his arms over his chest as he props himself against it. "Yeah, 
      but...that van, it's just a few miles away from here, and the trailhead 
      Stephen showed me is just past that watchtower outside. There's no way 
      they wouldn't have come through here. And that kid..."
      His voice trails off and he bites his lip.
      "What about him, Mulder?"
      "I've seen him before. I know him. I just can't remember why."
      Dana leans against the counter next to Mulder. She rests her head on his 
      shoulder. He shifts, lifting his arm and wrapping it around her back, 
      pulling her closer.
      "Mulder," she says in a low voice.
      "Yeah?"
      "This morning..."
      His voice softens. "Yeah?"
      "I just...I keep thinking," she says, feeling inexplicably shy and 
      hesitant. "Was that real? Did we just..."
      "Yes, we did." He lifts her hand, planting a kiss in the center of her 
      palm.
      "I was...god, I feel so funny saying this..."
      "Go ahead."
      "I left my body, Mulder."
      "I'll take that as a compliment."
      She smiles. "The experience was so...authentic. I flew over a canyon. I 
      was told something... It's all fuzzy. It's hard to remember."
      "You were shown the confluence of two rivers and told you'd find our 
      daughter there."
      She looks up at him, bewildered. "Was that a vision you put in my head, 
      Mulder?"
      "No. You went there on your own. I went along for the ride."
      "How? I mean, I'm getting used to the idea that *you* can, um, see 
      things...but... "
      Mulder's arm tightens around her. "It's not easy to explain, Scully," he 
      says, carefully. "Because of what we've been exposed to, you and I are, 
      well...we're wired up differently than other people. Our brains are 
      different, our body chemistry is different. The experience you had this 
      morning was just the beginning. You're going to find yourself seeing 
      things, drawn to places and situations..."
      He waves his free hand toward the back room of the store, smiling wryly. 
      "You'll feel like you know people, without knowing why."
      "Mulder, I don't understand any of this, and I really need to."
      He takes a long, slow breath and lets it out again, turning toward her and 
      cupping her face gently. "Understanding is something that's going to take 
      time, Scully. I'm still trying to make sense of it myself. The one thing I 
      know for sure is that people like us are capable of making contact with 
      the minds of others...it's not telepathy, per se. It's not that literal. 
      It's more of a kind of profound identification. A kind of...consummate 
      intimacy."
      "But Mulder, sometimes I hear your voice in my head. I know you've put 
      thoughts and images there on purpose. How can you say that's not 
      telepathy?"
      "It's different for people like us, Scully. When you meet the survivors 
      from the Labs, you'll see that."
      "People like us? You're telling me I can do this, too?"
      He nods. "Where you've been, the state they kept you in, you probably 
      weren't aware of it happening. But you can learn to use it, Scully. To 
      direct the energy when you need to. It just takes practice."
      Dana thinks back to her conversation with Kaya this morning. "The psychic 
      ability...it's because we've been changed somehow, isn't it? It's because 
      there's a part of us that's not human any more."
      Not human anymore. Dana can't believe she's saying the words so calmly. 
      Mulder's answer is equally matter-of-fact. He strokes the back of her hand 
      as he speaks.
      "That's a hard one, Scully, but the answer is yes, in a sense. As I 
      understand it, everyone has alien genes. They've been here as long as we 
      have. It's kind of an ancient symbiosis. People like you and I have had 
      those genes switched on, in a way. We're what the Colonists wanted the 
      Consortium to create, what they needed to take over the earth: genetic 
      hybrids. Human bodies, already perfectly suited for life on this planet, 
      carrying alien genes, used to perpetuate an alien bloodline. It's why my 
      sister was taken, the thing my father died for."
      "But Mulder...there was an invasion. The bees, the virus, the people 
      dying..."
      "Yes. The invasion started exactly the way we were afraid it would, 
      Scully, but we couldn't see the whole picture. Now the nature of the 
      invasion is changing. At first I couldn't understand, but lately I've 
      begun to see..."
      His voice falls to a murmur. "Scully, the real Colonists..."
      He falters.
      She urges him on, gently. "The real Colonists, Mulder?"
      "People like us will give birth to them."
      Suddenly, Dana understands why the Hopi Elders were so afraid. She wraps 
      both arms around Mulder's waist and lays her head on his chest. They hold 
      each other silently.
      "Mulder?"
      "Hm?"
      "How are you going to explain our marriage to your family and friends?"
      His body stiffens. He pulls back from her, twining his fingers in her 
      hair, eyes searching her face intensely. "Who have you been talking to?" 
      he murmurs.
      "Kaya," Dana answers.
      The corners of his mouth turn downward; his eyes darken. "What did she 
      tell you?"
      "Mulder, please," Dana says quickly, smoothing her fingers over his 
      furrowed brow, "This has been so hard for her. She's confused and hurt. 
      She doesn't understand. She told me about the restrictions because she was 
      worried. She thought I ought to know."
      "There was no point in her telling you that. I've abided by those 
      restrictions for years, but only because it didn't matter one way or the 
      other to me. I didn't have you. Now that I do, I can't acknowledge those 
      rules anymore. They're pointless, anyway. They just stave off the 
      inevitable."
      "But those are the rules in your community, Mulder. And we've broken them. 
      How are we going to handle that?"
      "I don't know." He releases her and paces restlessly toward the back of 
      the store. "It doesn't matter. We'll figure something out. Where's that 
      goddamn kid with our kerosene?"
      It's been a good ten minutes. The boy has not returned.
      "Okay. He's not only lying, he's trying to rip us off." Mulder heads 
      behind the counter and flings open the door to the back of the store.
      Dana follows him as he moves swiftly through the doorway. "Hey, kid. 
      Where's my..."
      He stops short. The boy sits on a cot near the door, his back against the 
      wall and his knees drawn to his chest. He starts. He stares at them 
      intently.
      Mulder sighs impatiently. "Wanna tell me why you're hiding back here?"
      The kerosene can sits on the floor near a bedside table. Mulder picks it 
      up and shakes it. It is still empty.
      "Mister, I..." Tears spring into the boy's eyes. His cheek twitches 
      steadily, as if someone is jerking it with an invisible thread.
      "Tell me the truth." Mulder takes a step forward. The boy flinches. "I 
      know you saw the boy I described to you. Are they still around here 
      somewhere?"
      "Mulder, take it easy," Dana cautions.
      "Was he alright?" Mulder asks, stooping to look the boy straight in the 
      eye and lowering his voice slightly. "I need to know."
      Dana's gaze sweeps over the room. The level of squalor is unbelievable. 
      Animal hair and bits of trash cover the floor. Piles of cast-off junk fill 
      every corner. The boy's bedding looks as if it has never been washed, and 
      every surface in the room is smothered in dust.
      It's so dirty she wants to wash her hands and she hasn't even touched 
      anything.
      Someone has traced a picture in the dirt on the top of the bedside table. 
      She leans closer. It's the crude outline of an automobile. Inside the 
      lines there are three letters.
      Dana puts her hand on Mulder's arm. "Mulder."
      Turning toward the spot where she's pointing, he stands quietly for a 
      moment, looking at his son's name in the dust. He reaches down slowly and 
      wipes the name away. Then he turns back to the boy abruptly, seizing him 
      by the front of the shirt and hauling him to his feet. "You better start 
      talking, kid," he says with deadly calm. "Or I'm going to have to hurt 
      you."
      "It wasn't me!" the boy wails. "I didn't do it!"
      "Didn't do what?" Mulder asks, giving him a hard shake.
      "It wasn't me that killed him. I swear it wasn't me!"



      Mid-Afternoon South Road near the Western Labs 
       
      The smoke is still visible, a dense gray cloud hovering in the canyon just 
      beyond the turn-off. Sam stares down into the haze. It's hard to believe 
      anyone would waste good explosives on a place like that, he thinks.
      He's seen all he needs to see. There's no point in going down there.
      He turns to his companion, a kid called James. James lives at Riverbend; 
      Will's friend Elise took him in after his father died. Sam has known James 
      for a long time. He sees him all over the place: at all the big dances in 
      Second Mesa, hanging out in the parking lot of the exchange in Tuba City.
      James is really Dru's friend, though, one of hisparty buddies, someone who 
      has a tendency to pull up in the yard and honk without getting out of the 
      car.
      Sam can't figure what Will must have been thinking; it's totally weird 
      that he trusted James to deliver his message. Will has never thought much 
      of James. At one time he even tried telling Dru to stay away from him.
      "Dude," Sam says, quietly, his stomach in a knot. "This sucks. Let's go."
      "Yeah," James answers, wistfully. "Hard to believe, ain't it? I'm really 
      gonna miss that place."
      They get back into James' truck, an old, green Chevy Blazer. The words 
      "Riverbend Estate" were once emblazoned on the doors, now the gold paint 
      has faded to a dull, patchy brown. James sits for a minutewith the motor 
      running, staring down at the smoke rising up the red canyon walls.
      "I wish I'd've seen the muthafucker go up, though. I bet that was pretty."
      ~~~~
      One of the wheels of the Blazer slams into a pothole and James nearly 
      loses control of the truck. He lets out a long string of curses. "Goddamn 
      holes," he mutters. "Sorry, man. Getting so damn many of 'em these days I 
      can't keep track of 'em all."
      "It's okay, man. Don't sweat it."
      "Where'd you stash the little guys, Sam? When I didn't see Kaya toting 'em 
      I figured they must be hanging on your leg instead."
      "I left them with a friend of Will's in town. You know, Wynn, the 
      blacksmith."
      "Oh yeah? Shee-it. That bitch is tough. I don't know who to feel sorry 
      for."
      "Well, they like her better'n me, anyway."
      James laughs. "Shit, they oughta come live with Elise. They'd be glad for 
      you then, boy. They'd think you was sweet as their Granny."
      Sam shifts in his seat, rubbing his stomach. He's been feeling like he 
      swallowed a bag of rocks all day. He figures it's because he slept so bad 
      last night; laying awake worrying about where everyone had gone, with his 
      brothers taking up all the room in the bed.
      Then, when he finally got to sleep, he had that dream.
      It was a relief to leave the twins with Wynn this afternoon. He knows 
      they'll be fine there, well taken care of. The food is good and there's 
      fire to play with, in the shop. They probably won't want to come home.
      Now the only thing that seems important is to get to his father. 
      Something's wrong. Something's bad, bad wrong.
      "Hey Jimmy, did Will have any idea how far into the Canyon they were 
      headed?"
      "I don't know, man. I wasn't there when they was talking about going. All 
      I know is Elise calls me and Will says, 'Go tell this to Sam.' So I did. 
      He went to find brutha Dru is all I know."
      "Why the fuck does he think Dru's gone off into the Canyon?"
      "How should I know? I heard from Matty he got the word from chasing down a 
      dead guy, but more'n likely that was a load. It'd be like Matt to tell me 
      some big fat lie so I could go around telling it to people and end up 
      looking like a dumb shit. He's probably laughing his ass off right now."
      "Damn, Jimmy, c'mon. I don't think Matt would joke about something like 
      that."
      Sam's not laughing, that's for sure.

      Book Four  - Yekaterina's Kiss
      Chapter Two

      Late Afternoon Near Temple Butte, Northeastern Grand Canyon


      Yekaterina sits on the edge of a warm, sandy rock, looking down into the 
      Colorado River, far, far below. She scrapes loose soil off the rock with 
      the heels of her boots, raining debris down into the river.
      She lifts an old pair of black-plastic binoculars to her eyes with a 
      murmur of excitement. She can see them in the distance, making their way 
      up the trail on the other side of the river. Black smudges, walking. A 
      mule, maybe, carrying supplies.
      Dropping the binoculars into her lap, she lifts her cap, pushes a strand 
      of long, red hair from the pale skin of her forehead, and jams the cap 
      back onto her head again. Her face breaks into a tremulous smile, 
      fracturing its normal mask of melancholy.
      He's on his way home. If she starts now she'll get back in time to have 
      dinner with him.
      Yekaterina scrambles around the rock and climbs back onto the trail. She 
      shoulders her pack and turns toward home, heart tapping briskly. Stephen's 
      been gone a long time, she thinks. I didn't know I was going to miss him 
      this much.
      She picks her way along a deep drainage, looking for the trail marker. 
      She's been out in the open three days, much longer than ever before. The 
      weather has been fine, not too hot, and she's enjoyed the fresh air, the 
      space, the freedom.
      If there were anything but desert beyond this canyon, she would have just 
      kept walking.
      Papa's going to take a chunk of my hide for this, she thinks. I won't get 
      up to the surface for months. He'll be watching me like a hawk.
      Watching me like a hawk. Yekaterina smiles. She learned that phrase from 
      Stephen.
      Yekaterina wonders if her father can remember hawks. She wonders if he has 
      any recollection of the kinds of animals and birds Stephen has showed her 
      on the surface. She figures her father never thinks about it, that he 
      probably doesn't care that all he ever sees are people and bats and fish 
      and snakes.
      She knows the only living things he cares about are the ones he can 
      personally engineer.
      ~~~~
      He is sitting where he always sits, in the big armchair near the heating 
      unit. There's a thick cardigan wrapped around his body. His gnarled 
      fingers clutch it closed at the neck. He's always cold these days, it 
      seems. He's becoming old and sluggish.
      Yekaterina can remember a time when her father was vital; a time, when she 
      was very young, when he was handsome; a time when he played with her, took 
      her to the lab on his shoulders, proudly showed her the fruits of the 
      latest experiments.
      Those were happy times.
      He twists in his chair as she enters the room, face darkening. He is paler 
      than usual and he gasps as he forces himself out of the chair, moving 
      toward her.
      "Where have you been, Katya," he says, crossing the room swiftly, black 
      eyes flashing in the gloom.
      "In the canyon, Papa. I needed to breathe..."
      "You bitch. You're trying to kill me," he snarls.
      He sweeps her into his arms and locks his mouth to hers.
      The pink tongue reaches into her mouth. His lips are hard and thin. 
      Yekaterina wills her body to relax. She used to struggle, in the 
      beginning. Lately she just lets him have what he wants.
      She's come to understand that there's more going on here than just a 
      simple prelude to fucking.
      Her father reaches between her legs and moans, rigid with pain, just like 
      always. There was a time when Yekaterina thought this was simply how men 
      acted with women, but when she started sleeping with Stephen, five months 
      ago, she quickly realized her father's behavior was not normal.
      She allows him to unfasten the clasp of her trousers and slip his fingers 
      inside her undergarments, leaning against him as he clutches and strokes 
      her, listening, detached, to the familiar keening sound rising in the back 
      of his throat. He presses his mouth deeper into hers, and Yekaterina feels 
      his thoughts filling her mind, the way they always do. His emotions unfold 
      one by one in her consciousness, just like a story in a video show: 
      melancholy, hatred, lust, obsession... she watches hazy memories rolling 
      by; pictures of dead men, monsters, and violence.
      He worries habitually about the fate of the Project. So many burdens, so 
      much despair.
      And now she sees
      that Stephen
      is dead.
      Yekaterina jerks away from her father, wiping her mouth and taking a step 
      backwards.
      He follows her desperately. "Katya. Baby."
      She fastens her clothes with trembling fingers. "Papa, what happened to 
      Stephen?"
      "What do you mean?"
      "I saw. Don't lie to me."
      He stops, eyes stony.
      "If you saw, you already know all about it, babe. Why are you asking me?"
      Yekaterina's feels like she's floating. Her body spirals upward. "He's 
      dead, isn't he?"
      His upper lip curls slightly. "That's what they tell me."
      She wills herself to become nothing. Wishes for endless blackness.
      "How?" she whispers.
      "Didn't you see?"
      Her voice rises. "Don't be cruel. You know I don't see everything. Stop 
      keeping things from me."
      Her father passes his hand slowly over his genital area, rearranging his 
      erection. His eyes are bright with the pain he's suffering. Tears of rage 
      spring to his eyes.
      "I told Birch I didn't care about the details. I guess this time you'll 
      have to get your information the way the rest of us do."
      ~~~~
      Yekaterina crosses swiftly through the medical bays, bloodlust raging 
      through her body. She's headed for a ventilation shaft that is her usual 
      escape to the lower reaches of the cave.
      The lower passages are her domain. No one else knows them the way she 
      does. Most of the people who work on the Project, her father, the doctors, 
      Birch and his people, use the upper access to come and go. You have to 
      climb the bluff to get to it, but once you're inside the way is easy. The 
      lower access is tricky; one wrong turn and you could be lost forever.
      Gary Birch is standing in the passageway, flanked by his right-hand-man, 
      Jonah, and that idiot, Wallace. He's talking to a doctor by an open steel 
      door. Yekaterina's afraid to stop and speak to him. She's afraid of what 
      she might do.
      "Yekaterina," Birch says, brusquely, as she pushes past.
      She stops, looking down at the floor. Talk, you troll, she thinks. Say 
      what you have to say and then leave me alone.
      "Your father told you about Stephen."
      She nods; eyes steady on the stone below them.
      "I'm sorry. I know he was a friend of yours."
      "Tell me how he died."
      Jonah speaks up. "I hate that it happened. There was a fight. We were 
      drinking...I don't know what else to say."
      "Where's his body?" she mutters.
      Jonah's face is a mask of studied innocence. "The van broke down. We 
      buried him by the side of the road."
      "I understand." Yekaterina starts walking. She wonders which part of the 
      story is a lie this time.
      "Yekaterina, wait..." Birch says. She can hear his footsteps behind her. 
      She speeds her pace; feels her soul growing blacker.
      One of these days, I'll kill you, she thinks. I'll eat your brain for 
      breakfast.



      Midnight Tanner Delta Near the Colorado River, Northeastern Grand Canyon 
      Dana wakes to the sound of thunder rumbling gently across the sky. Dark 
      clouds drift like long fingers across the waning moon. Lightning flashes 
      in the distance.
      She sits up on her blanket, rubbing her aching legs. They're going to have 
      to cover a lot of miles in the morning. She wonders if she's going to be 
      able to keep up.
      A small fire flickers peacefully nearby, stretching shadows up the side of 
      the tall rock that shelters the camp. Dana looks around, shaking her head 
      in disbelief at how serene and comfortable Ben and Matthew look, lying 
      asleep on the hard, rocky ground. Ben is curled on his side with a flannel 
      shirt pulled over his head, using his boots for a pillow. Matthew is 
      propped against the rock with his pack padding his back, arms folded, chin 
      dropping low to his chest. Kaya sleeps practically on top of him, wrapped 
      in a blanket, her cheek resting on his thigh.
      Mulder is gone. So are his pack and blanket.
      For a moment, Dana feels a surge of panic. She forces herself to her feet 
      despite the burning in her legs and paces along the edge of the circle of 
      firelight. Within a minute or two her breathing calms. She can see a 
      lantern glowing, not too far away.
      Broken moonlight bathes the path to the river. Thunder and lightning 
      continue in soft, distant concert as Dana picks her way to a sandy spot 
      near the water, where Mulder sits under a rocky ledge, studying a map he's 
      laid out on his blanket.
      He starts as he hears her footsteps, reaching for his rifle and rising 
      quickly to his knees.
      "Don't shoot," Dana says. "It's just me, Mulder."
      He relaxes. "Sorry."
      "Can't sleep?" She settles herself on the blanket next to him.
      He shakes his head, staring at the map intently. "I'm still trying to 
      figure out this trail that goes upriver," he says. "It's hard to make out 
      the trailhead, but it should be right around this area somewhere. I just 
      can't figure out if we go up into the bluffs here," he points, "or here."
      She takes his hand. "I'm sure in the daylight it will be easy to find."
      Thunder sounds in the distance. He looks up at the sky. "The rains don't 
      normally come 'til July," he observes, hoarsely.
      Mulder's eyes are round and dark. He falls silent, biting his lip.
      "Maybe that kid was lying, Mulder."
      "I can tell when people are lying." He closes his eyes. "He wasn't."
      "So he believed what he told us." She strokes the back of his hand. "But 
      you don't, do you?"
      He shakes his head, running his tongue along his lower lip and sighing. 
      "No. I'd know if Dru was dead." His voice drops low. "In some ways, that 
      would be easier."
      "God, Mulder, what do you mean?"
      "If he were dead, I'd know where to look for him. I'd be able to see him 
      again. Then I could tell him..."
      "What would you tell him?"
      He shakes his head. "Oh, god. I don't know. Whatever you need to tell a 
      kid like Dru. I'm sure you've noticed that we don't get along."
      "Mulder, we'll find him." Dana shifts on the blanket, grimacing at the 
      stiffness in her legs.
      A look of concern washes over his face. "Are you all right?"
      "I'm just a little sore, Mulder. I'll be fine."
      "You should be sleeping. Do you think you're up to this?"
      "Yes. This is good for me. I'm getting stronger all the time."
      "Here, lie down." He moves off the blanket. "I know what'll help."
      The coarse sand shifts under the weight of her body as Dana lies down. 
      Mulder takes hold of one of her legs and begins to knead the muscles 
      slowly. His hands are rough, but incredibly warm. Within moments, Dana's 
      body begins to hum.
      The sky rumbles. The storm is coming closer.
      "Mmmmm," she murmurs, as he circles her thigh with all ten fingers and 
      drags them slowly down the length of her leg. "You do have the healing 
      touch, Mulder."
      "Shh," he says. "Rest."
      He pauses for a moment to turn the lantern down. "Probably shouldn't waste 
      the fuel," he observes. "We're going to need it, where we're going."
      He turns again to his work. Dana sinks into the blanket and tries to lose 
      herself in the lush feeling of his hands stroking her leg, but she cannot 
      take her eyes from his face. Even half-hidden in darkness, the furrow in 
      his brow stands out clearly.
      He removes her boots, peels back her socks, draws lazy circles with his 
      thumbs on the sole of her right foot. Dana's relaxation deepens with each 
      touch. She feels herself drifting, but not towards sleep...
      ...towards him.
      He opens.
      For an instant she sees his fear clearly, knows it as fully as she has 
      ever known her own. She sees the shining steel of the narrow compartment, 
      feels her heart racing with the threat of imminent suffocation. She fights 
      the urge to gag on the fat plastic tube invading her throat, winces at the 
      bite of the metal claws that anchor her head to the floor of the 
      compartment.
      Mulder would rather face Dru's death than allow his son to experience that 
      level of suffering.
      There is a sudden clap of thunder. She jerks back to full consciousness.
      "Mulder," she gasps. "I just...I was... with you."
      She's not sure if she can trust what's happening.
      "Shh. I know. It's okay, Scully."
      He does not miss a beat, switching evenly from one leg to another.
      "Talk to me, Mulder. Tell me about Dru."
      His palm cups the soft flesh of her inner thigh. "What do you want to 
      know?"
      "There's something wrong between you and him...it's not just a simple 
      teenage thing, is it?"
      He works silently for a few minutes. Then he pauses, trailing his fingers 
      across her kneecap. "No, it's never been simple," he says, quietly. "He 
      was ten when his mother died. Um, they...they were very close, and she and 
      I...anyhow, he's always blamed me."
      Dana sits up, reaching for his hand. "For what?"
      His voice is bleak. "For not being the one who died, I think."
      A gust of wind pelts them with blowing sand. Dana lifts herself to her 
      knees and wraps her arms around Mulder's neck. He pulls her closer and 
      kisses her, deep and hard. She allows his despair to wash through her.
      Be empty, Dana, the old man said. Be empty, like the riverbed.
      "You'll feel better if you keep talking," she tells him, tenderly. "Tell 
      me about Maia, Mulder. I need to know."
      ~~~~
      There's no denying it now. The storm is coming their way.
      They lie in the blackness together, Mulder's arms wrapped around Dana's 
      body. Dana's presses her ear against Mulder's chest and listens to his 
      voice, throbbing low as distant thunder:
      "Verbena was a true believer. The Resistance was her religion. Maia was 
      twelve when the Resistance liberated the Labs, and even as young as she 
      was, she never missed a day while they were working on the tunnel. She 
      went with her mother on all the raids, even the very first one. On the 
      third raid, the day I was brought out, it was Maia who opened my cell. I 
      don't remember that day, but anyhow, that's what Verbena told me, years 
      later.
      I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only half-wit they brought home, but I know I 
      was the only one who stayed. I think for the first couple of years I was 
      so far in shock that all I wanted was to be put out of my misery. I would 
      refuse to eat. I would get violent, thinking maybe they'd just shoot me. I 
      was a real pain in the ass. I still can't understand why they put up with 
      me.
      One day I woke up and I don't know how, but something like three years had 
      gone by. Just like that. And I realized that this kid who'd been helping 
      to take care of me for such a long time, this kid, who'd somehow become my 
      closest friend, had turned into a woman. I don't know why that surprised 
      me, but it did."
      Lightning flashes. Grains of sand fly through the air, mixing with a fine, 
      driving rain.
      "It was Maia who made me live in the world again. She would come up with 
      some excuse why I had to go to the exchange with her, then drag me all 
      over the countryside visiting her friends. She would pick at me and call 
      me names until I got so mad I would do something, like ride a horse or 
      climb a rock or go to a dance with dozens of people, just to show her I 
      wasn't an idiot. I started to get my confidence back. I learned how to 
      talk to people again.
      About that time I started seeing things. Having dreams. Hearing voices. 
      Verbena was excited. She said I was being called by spirits. I had no idea 
      what she was talking about.
      I went to live in Moenkopi for a while, to learn from Verbena's uncle, who 
      was a healer and a shaman. One day while I was in the kiva there, drumming 
      for a ritual, I just kind of...fell over, I guess. That's what they said, 
      anyway. I was lying on the floor, and I met this lizard. The lizard showed 
      me how to crawl through this tiny little hole in the earth, and so I 
      followed her, and she taught me how to fly under the ground. That doesn't 
      make any sense when I say it out loud, but trust me, Scully, it can be 
      done. I woke up singing a song the lizard taught me. The funny thing was, 
      I was wrapped in a shroud and they were piling kindling underneath me. 
      They said I had been dead for three days.
      Then I understood what Verbena was talking about. But if I had chosen to 
      believe what she was telling me, that would have meant taking on a lot of 
      responsibility, and I didn't want to have responsibilities, so I left 
      Moenkopi and moved to Tuba City, to live with Wynn. Then, a few months 
      later, I had a vision about you."
      "Me?" The wind gusts, dies. Dana feels like she's coming out of some kind 
      of trance state. She's not sure if Mulder has been telling this story out 
      loud or if she's been living it with him, inside his head.
      "Yes. Listen. I was lying in bed one night when I heard you crying. It was 
      so clear. You were begging to be left alone." There's a catch in his 
      voice. He swallows and continues. "The things you were saying...you used 
      exactly the same words after Ben and Matthew brought you to Tuba...asking 
      to be killed, not to be tortured any more."
      Dana tries to breathe, remembering. They cling to each other, two rivers 
      merging.
      Mulder continues, speaking in a hoarse tenor. "I was...god, I was beside 
      myself. I got out of bed and I walked out into the street, and then I 
      walked to the exchange, and out to the road, and I couldn't stop, Scully. 
      I couldn't stop walking. I walked all night and part of the next day. I 
      didn't stop until I got to Moenkopi. All the way there I was crying for 
      another vision. My teacher said he would do whatever he could to help me 
      look for you, and I tried for weeks, but it was no good. I didn't see you 
      or hear you again. After a while, Maia came to me and told me I had to 
      choose...live or die, she said. By then I didn't care. I told her to 
      choose for me. So she did."
      He pulls Dana closer, drawing a long, painful breath. "I'll always be 
      grateful to her. She gave me...everything. But we couldn't...we didn't 
      love each other like a husband and wife. We both tried, but after a few 
      years..."
      His body is rigid. He fights to retain control.
      "Tell me about her death," Dana whispers.
      "When she was carrying the twins...god, Scully. There was nothing about 
      that pregnancy that was normal, and I *knew* the babies weren't mine..."
      "You mean..."
      "It had been years since we'd slept in the same bed...probably since 
      before she got pregnant with Kaya."
      "Mulder, I'm so sorry."
      "Even so, when she died having the twins, I felt..."
      Dana reaches up to run her hands over his face in the darkness. His 
      muscles are taut with grief. "Mulder, what? You felt what?"
      He forces the words through clenched teeth. "If I had been a better 
      husband," he chokes, "she wouldn't have ended up sleeping with whoever 
      fathered them."
      The rain is light and steady. There is another wide burst of lightning; a 
      roll of thunder, seconds later.
      Dana cups Mulder's face between her hands. "Do you really believe that?"
      He stifles a sob, his body drawn and trembling.
      "Mulder, no. It's not your fault..."
      She presses her lips against his. Darkness runs like a brook into her 
soul.
      His mouth searches hers, the tip of his tongue warm and salty. She sips 
      it, gently, tasting his sorrow. He breaks away from her, shuddering, 
      weeping without making a sound.
      Dana's heart aches. Some things never change.
      He has always mourned in silence.
      She rakes her fingers into his hair, pulling him close, pulling his mouth 
      deep into her own. He responds with a muffled cry, arms tightening around 
      her.
      She is his sanctuary.
      She knows what he needs.
      "I know how hard you must have tried," she tells him, pulling back just a 
      little, her lips brushing his. She reaches for his shirt, unbuttoning it 
      by touch alone, slipping her hands underneath the worn cotton, pressing 
      her palms against the fine, soft hair.
      "No," he murmurs. "I didn't try."
      Fathomless kisses, stealing her breath.
      "I couldn't."
      His tongue, rushing in, then retreating.
      "All I could think of was you," he whispers.
      The clatter of the rain intensifies. The wind whips around them. Dana 
      unfastens Mulder's jeans, helping him tug them down.
      She runs her hands lightly down the length of his naked torso. Her lips 
      glide toward the base of his ear.
      She blows softly. He shivers.
      Her tongue travels downward, caressing his throat, tracing his Adam's 
      apple and dipping into the hollow that lies just beneath. Lips follow 
      fingertips, tasting every inch of his chest: the muscular contours, the 
      rock-hard nipples...
      Tiny, soft kisses, dropping like the rain through the silky hairs that 
      cover his belly.
      He moans, he whispers, yes, yes...
      She can sense how hard he's growing.
      Yes, she tells him. Yes, yes, my love. Forget about everything. There's 
      only this now.
      Pausing to trace the rim of his navel, inching slowly downward...
      Heat. A rich, musky aroma.
      He whimpers like a little boy.
      Her fingers stroke his ankles, slipping across his calves and along the 
      backs of his knees. Slow caresses, like a bouquet of feathers, moving in 
      circles across the tender flesh of his thighs...
      He is insensible. "Scully, oh god..."
      She slides her fingers smoothly over his balls, runs them up the length of 
      his straining cock. Nuzzling the soft fur at its base, her tongue slips 
      slowly toward the head of his shaft.
      Animal noises. He twines his fingers in her hair.
      She buries him deep in her throat.
      "Yes," he moans, "Oh god, oh yessssss..."
      She caresses him tenderly, with delicious languor, careful not to bring 
      him to a climax too soon. He writhes on the blanket. She hums with 
      delight. His pleasure courses through her, she grows wetter by the 
      instant...
      "Scully," he gasps. "Oh my god, stop, don't move..."
      She waits while he controls himself.
      "Come here, you," he mutters, pulling her body on top of his own. He 
      captures her lower lip and sucks, seizing the hem of her dress, trying to 
      rip it away. She lifts up, straddles his body, pulls the dress over her 
      head. He lifts on one elbow, mouth locking on to her breast, but she 
      pushes him back onto the blanket, leaning down to find his lips again.
      She reaches for his cock with a sigh. They cry out together as it slides 
      inside her.
      A pulsing rhythm. The tempo increasing.
      They drum against each other, steady as the rain.
      ~~~~
      Dana lies dozing in the cool desert air. Mulder's arms circle her body, 
      heavy with slumber and more comfortable than the plushest blanket. He is 
      her safe haven. He gives her all she needs.
      Even in this forsaken landscape.
      Her eyes float open. The storm has cleared, gone to douse some other 
      place; she gazes out at the starry sky and listens to the Colorado as it 
      courses nearby.
      She hovers. Sleep beckons. She allows herself to drift.
      Snap.
      Lamplight, rosy, glowing.
      She starts.
      She is lying on her back in a richly furnished room. Her legs are raised 
      and spread apart, locked into stirrups jutting from an examination table.
      Wait, she thinks, gaze flying, wait. Maybe I shouldn't. I've changed my 
      mind...
      She tries to close her legs but finds they've been restrained.
      A heavy-set man in a golf shirt stares intently at her loins. He holds an 
      unfamiliar instrument between manicured fingertips.
      Wait, she screams, wait, I don't want this...
      Someone takes her hand.
      Her head twists toward his face. Please, she begs, I've changed my mind. 
      Please don't let them. Let's talk first. Let's talk.
      His watery blue eyes stare down at her tenderly. The white beard wags as 
      he speaks. "We'll never forget what you've done for us. Maia, brave girl, 
      brave girl..."
      Snap.
      The river rushes.
      Mulder murmurs in his sleep.
      Dana whimpers, shuddering, pressing against his body.
      Trying to hide in him.

      Book Four  - Yekaterina's Kiss
      Chapter Three

      Just after dawn, the next morning Desert View, Arizona 


      James steers around a sharp bend and slows down. Some kids are sitting on 
      the concrete steps of a box- like house by the side of the road. They 
      stare at the Blazer as it bumps down the decaying asphalt road. James 
      lifts his fingers off the steering wheel in a half-hearted wave. One of 
      the kids raises a hand in response, his thin brown face devoid of 
      expression.
      Sam studies a stand of pine trees passing by the window. "Didn't you used 
      to live here, Jimmy, when you were a kid?"
      James grimaces. "Yeah. It's a shithole. I ain't been here since I ten."
      Sam yawns. He didn't sleep last night. Normally, he sleeps like a baby at 
      Riverbend, stretched out all by himself in a clean, soft bed. It's a far 
      cry from sleeping at home, where he has always shared a lopsided mattress 
      and threadbare sheets with at least one other person. Last night, though, 
      after Elise bedded him down in the attic room, he just laid there for 
      hours, staring up into the darkness.
      Wondering if he would still have a family tomorrow.
      Whenever Sam closed his eyes and tried to sleep he would feel his soul 
      rising out of his body. He would feel the spirits calling him, beckoning 
      to him like a bunch of peddlers from the corners of the room. He could 
      feel how many things they wanted to tell him. He could feel how important 
      those things were.
      But he had no intention of speaking to them.
      Whenever Sam closed his eyes and tried to sleep he would remember how he 
      had always had to rescue Dru when they were kids. Dru was always doing 
      stupid things, climbing too high, riding too fast, picking fights with 
      kids bigger than him, just to see if he could win. He never seemed to mind 
      that he'd end up falling or wiping out or getting his ass kicked. Pain 
      didn't bother him. He never got discouraged.
      Dru's lost somewhere, now. Shut away in a dark place, having a really bad 
      time. Sam doesn't want to think about it, but the feeling won't leave him 
      alone. Last night he felt how scared his little brother was. He can still 
      feel how scared he is now.
      "Dude, wake up." James pokes him in the shoulder.
      "I'm awake."
      "Want me to take you to the trading post?"
      "Yeah. I need to ask if Will came through here."
      James wraps his fingers around the steering wheel more tightly and falls 
      silent, working his jaw back and forth. He's spoken maybe two or three 
      times since they left Riverbend, no dirty jokes, no running off at the 
      mouth...it's really not like him.
      "Hey, Jimmy. Is Elise gonna kick your ass for bringing me up here?"
      "Hell, yeah. But, whatever. She kicks my ass for a lot of things. No big."
      Last night after dinner Sam had tried to talk Elise into letting him take 
      some of the guys, like a search party, to go after his father and sister. 
      Elise had listened, quietly and thoughtfully. Then she asked him why he 
      couldn't trust his father to take care of things. She did, she said.
      Elise thinks nothing can kill Will. She worships him like he's some kind 
      of helpful ghost.
      So Sam had told her about his dream, his vision of his father standing on 
      the other side of a dark river, his vision of his dead mother, telling him 
      he had to take charge. Elise wasn't impressed. She patted his arm and said 
      it was simply a nightmare. Then she sent everyone to bed without giving 
      him an answer.
      After staring at the ceiling in his room for hours, Sam had gone and 
      awakened James. He knew he couldn't afford to wait for Elise to decide. He 
      knew if she denied him help he'd never make it to the Canyon in time.
      The trading post is quiet and dark. Sam and James stand on the porch, 
      looking out across the parking lot toward the scattered trailers and board 
      houses that line both sides of the used-up highway. Far away up the road 
      there is one house with a light in the window. Otherwise, there are few 
      signs of life.
      James shoves his hands into his pockets. "Nobody's up yet," he observes, 
      tightly.
      "I can wait. So, if you're from here, Jimmy, what's your best guess on 
      where they went down into the Canyon?"
      "Only one good trail into the Canyon from here, Sam. Trail head's about a 
      mile or so up that little road there." He waves his right hand toward an 
      old dirt service road that takes off from the main road several hundred 
      feet away.
      "After we check with folks here, think you could show it to me?"
      "Um..." James pushes his hands deeper into his pockets and looks down, jaw 
      working harder. "I guess I could."
      "Hey man, are you okay?"
      "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."
      They sit down side by side on the splintered wooden steps, watching the 
      morning light begin its slow fade from lavender to yellow. A skinny, 
      spotted dog runs through the parking lot, pausing to sniff in their 
      direction and then continuing on its way.
      James sits lost in thought for a few minutes, slowly flipping the key to 
      the Blazer end over end between his thumb and forefingers. "I want to go 
      with you, Sam, but I can't," he says finally, quickly, with a hint of 
      anger in his voice.
      "I wasn't really expecting you to, Jimmy."
      "I know." James gets up from the top step and climbs down to the bottom, 
      jamming his hands in his pockets again and turning back to Sam. "You know 
      what kind of people you and Will's headed for, don't you, Sam?"
      "I guess. They're not good people, I know."
      "Shit. 'Not good.' That's a laugh."
      "Whatever. It's not like I have a lot of choice."
      A screen door slams. Sam and James exchange a look and then leave the 
      steps, following a cracked sidewalk through the weeds toward the back of 
      the trading post.
      They pause at the corner of the building. There's an outhouse a hundred 
      feet or so back. A scrawny kid stumbles out, yawning and zipping his 
pants.
      "Fuck," James mutters, stamping his foot down into the dirt, his whole 
      body jerking in frustration. "Bitty."
      "Who?"
      "I know that kid. Um, that dead guy I was telling you about that Will 
      burned up night before last...that kid's his little brother."
      "Shit, you *knew* that guy? Why didn't you tell Will?"
      "Oh, right. Stephen was already dead. I couldn't of helped him. All that 
      woulda gotten me is the third degree."
      The kid disappears into the trading post, leaving the screen door swinging 
      open behind him.
      James leans against the wall and stares at the sky. "What the fuck," he 
      mutters. "Might as well see what he knows."
      Sam and James follow the boy inside. They find him stretching out on a 
      dirty cot in the back of the store.
      "Hey, Bitty. Wake up," James says, kicking the leg of the cot.
      "Wha - " The kid pops up fast, reaching instinctively for his boots.
      Probably got a knife or a gun stashed in there, Sam thinks, kicking the 
      boots out of reach. "We're not here to cause trouble," he says, evenly.
      The kid blinks at them, rubbing his eyes. He looks up at James. "Shit. 
      'Zat you, Jimmy?"
      "Yeah. Look, this is Sam. We gotta ask you something."
      Bitty's heavy lids swing open a little wider as he looks at Sam. "I don't 
      know nothin'." He gets up off the bed and takes a few steps towards the 
      stove.
      "Hey man, just hear us out," James says, following him. "Sam's looking for 
      his daddy and his brother and some other folks. We just need to see did 
      any strangers come through here yesterday."
      Bitty opens the front of the stove and starts filling it with kindling and 
      bits of tinder. "I can't talk to you, Jimmy," he says, his voice shaking. 
      "You know it. And I ain't talking to him, either."
      He lights a wooden match and almost drops it as he reaches out to touch it 
      to some paper in the stove.
      James is undeterred. "Oh, shit, man. Whatever. Hey, no one's around. Just 
      pretend I was never here. All's we need is for you to tell Sam, here, if 
      you saw a fella that looks a lot like him, only older. Some other folks 
      was with him. They was driving a gray truck."
      Bitty opens a metal box and starts scooping coffee into a dented coffee 
      pot. "I ain't seen nobody."
      "You sure?"
      The boy shakes his head. "Nobody. Shit, Jimmy. Red'll be here soon."
      "Okay, we'll leave. Listen, I know you probably know about Stephen..."
      The boy freezes, holding the coffee pot, staring down at the floor.
      James keeps talking, lowering his voice. "I was there when they sent him 
      off, Bitty. At Riverbend, okay? Sam's daddy did the sending. It was done 
      right. Just so you'll know."
      Bitty doesn't move. His knuckles get white as he squeezes the handle of 
      the coffee pot. "They was here," he whispers, after a few moments. 
      "Yesterday afternoon early. I don't know where they went after that."
      "Good man," James tells him, laying his hand on Bitty's shoulder.
      ~~~~
      James pulls out of the trading post parking lot in a hurry.
      "What the hell was that all about?" Sam asks, as they turn up the service 
      road. "Why the hell was he so scared to talk to you, man?"
      James drives, lips set in a straight line. "Okay, listen. Like I said, I 
      wasn't around when Will and them was talking about coming up here, but I 
      know who it is they're chasing."
      "Who?"
      "A guy named Gary Birch."
      "Yeah, I know that. Little guy. Real ugly. He was at our place and Dru 
      went with him."
      "Well, he *owns* Desert View, and he's no one to fuck with, boy."
      "He Resistance, like he said?"
      "Oh hell, no. I think he *was* Resistance, like, a long time ago. Like, 
      before you and me were even born. But now, shit. If there's a Resistance 
      around here, I ain't ever seen it. Naw, this is something else."
      "Like what?"
      "Them people in the canyon, where you're headed. They're doing something 
      really bad up there, Sam. I don't know exactly what, but..."
      James pulls into a weed-covered parking lot and stops the truck.
      "What?" Sam asks, urgently. "Dude, I'm going after my father and I need to 
      know whatever you know."
      James closes his eyes. "Bitty was scared to talk to me because he works 
      for Birch. Everybody in Desert View works for Birch. If you cross him, you 
      get it, POW. I don't know what Stephen did, but he must've done 
something."
      Sam's stomach twists. "Where's that trailhead? 'Round here somewhere?"
      "Yeah. Right through those bushes, I think."
      They get out of the truck. Sam opens the back of the Blazer and gets out 
      his pack and canteen. "So Jimmy, what'd you do to piss Birch off, then? 
      Shit, you were just a kid when you lived here."
      James leans against the car, face suddenly gone sullen. "It's not me, Sam. 
      It was my dad."
      "Ah, shit, of course. You mean..."
      "Yeah. That's it. Birch killed him to make him be quiet."
      Sam sets his pack down. "Tell me what happened, Jimmy." Suddenly he can 
      feel James' fear and grief, blowing through his body, like a chilly 
breeze.
      "Oh, shit, Sam," James rasps. "There's not much I can tell."
      "Tell all you can, then."
      "Okay, listen. This is all I know. Birch came to our place one night and 
      gave my daddy a job. Take a car and meet a woman out on West Road, near 
      Moenkopi. Take her to Riverbend. Wait and then take her back. I was 
      sitting right at the table in the kitchen when Birch gave my dad the 
      orders. It was like, just a normal fetch-and-carry kind of thing, the kind 
      of shit everybody did for Birch. When my daddy came back from that job he 
      was hot. I never saw him so mad. He told me if he ever heard of them doing 
      again what they did to that woman, he was gonna start telling folks. He 
      was gonna spread the word. He didn't just tell it to me, he told it around 
      Desert View, too. So Birch came to see him again. They were outside 
      arguing, and I came out the back door and hid under the porch. And all I 
      remember hearing was my daddy telling Birch he was gonna go to that 
      woman's husband and tell him what they'd done to her. Wasn't five minutes 
      later he was dead. Shit, I just went back inside and hid. Next day, 
      Elise's daddy, you know, Mr. Solomon, he pulls up and tells me I live with 
      him now."
      Sam takes a deep breath. He exhales, slowly. "Shit," he says, running his 
      fingers through his hair.
      James slumps against the Blazer, kicking at the ground. "That's why I 
      can't go with you, Sam, even though...god dammit, it seems like I should."
      ~~~~
      They cross the parking area, headed toward a thick stand of bushes on its 
      far side. "I wonder if this is where they went in," Sam muses as they 
      walk. "Ben's truck should be around here, somewhere."
      "If I was him, I wouldn't leave it sittin'," James observes. "Someone'll 
      come along and pick it clean."
      "Ever been down this trail, Jimmy?"
      "I been to the river, just to go swimming. Trail's steep as hell, about 
      ten miles long, I think. There ain't no water 'til you get to the river. 
      My dad used to stash some along the trail for the way back."
      "Your dad ever tell you where Birch and his people hide out?"
      "Birch and his people all live in Desert View. They don't need to hide. 
      The people Birch works for, now, *they're* the ones that hide out in the 
      Canyon. I don't think my dad was ever there, though. It's upriver 
      somewheres is all I know. Daddy always figured at least a days walk, just 
      from watching Birch come and go."
      Sam looks down as they reach the edge of the parking area. "Jimmy, look."
      In the dirt beside the concrete there is a fresh tire track. His eyes 
      follow it for a couple of feet, then it fades into the soil. "Damn you, 
      Ben," Sam mutters, pointing down. "Matt was probably cussing like hell 
      when he had to come back and wipe out all those tracks."
      "You can still follow 'em, though..." James says, squatting down and 
      peering. "It's all still fresh."
      They find Ben's truck a good quarter mile away. It's parked behind a big 
      boulder, locked up tight with the cab crammed full of stuff. "Damn." Sam 
      peers inside at the jumble of clothes, books, and miscellaneous supplies. 
      "Damn," he says again, more emphatically. "I thought if I found Ben's 
      truck I'd find..."
      "What?"
      "You know, maybe they made camp, maybe someone stayed with the truck..."
      "You mean, you was hoping maybe Kaya didn't go into the Canyon after all."
      Sam sighs. "Yeah, I guess I was hoping that."
      "Hey, Sam."
      "Yeah?"
      "What the hell is this?"
      Sam straightens up and looks where James is pointing. Drawn on the hood of 
      the truck in red dirt is an eye- shaped oval, with a circle of rocks in 
      the center. A small, horned doll, made of human hair and feathers, rests 
      in the center of the rocks.
      Sam smiles. "Don't you know what that is by now, Jimmy?"
      James snorts in exasperation. "It's a charm, ain't it? What the hell."
      "It's the sign of a 'powaqa', Two Hearts, a sorcerer." Sam laughs. "Either 
      that's Will's idea of a joke or it's to protect the truck. To make people 
      afraid to touch it."
      "Well, shit. It's working."
      "There's nothing to be afraid of, Jimmy," Sam says, gently. "Will's never 
      done evil to anybody or anything. He just knows what scares folks, that's 
      all." He reaches over and picks up the doll.
      "Holy shit, Sam." James takes a step back.
      "Settle down, puss-boy." There's a scrap of paper hidden underneath the 
      kachina doll. Sam picks it up and unfolds it. "West Road to Desert View. 
      Twelve miles due north into the Canyon. Ten miles upriver to the mouth of 
      the Little Colorado. North side of the wheel. Forty feet up the canyon 
      wall."
      Sam folds the paper again, puts it in his pocket. He sets the kachina back 
      in place. "Thanks a lot, Will," he murmurs.



      Afternoon Near the Confluence of the Colorado and Little Colorado Rivers 
      Northeastern Grand Canyon __________
      Pale, gauzy curtains drift in the shadows, nudged against the bedpost by 
      the cool night breeze. There's a soft, steady swishing sound off in the 
      distance. She's not sure if it's the river rushing or the wind simply 
      stirring the pines.
      His arm tightens around her waist; the fingertips of his free hand gliding 
      slowly the full length of her leg. His lips stroke her breast, gently, 
      like a baby, nuzzling, searching. He traces her nipple with the tip of his 
      nose. She laughs softly, savoring the dark, musky aroma that rises from 
      the tangled sheets. With a luxurious sigh, she draws her lips across his 
      forehead, burying kisses in his hair like pieces of gold.
      This is the perfect moment. The moment she's been waiting for. "Mulder, I 
      have something to tell you..."
      Curious. Her voice has changed, become higher, more musical.
      Mulder wraps his lips silently around her breast, pulling her nipple 
      softly, deeply into his mouth. With a muted cry he suckles, insensible, 
      unheeding.
      "Mulder, please. Can you listen for a minute?" With a growing sense of 
      urgency, she cups his face between her hands and tries to lift it. He 
      whimpers and fights her, pushing deeper into her body.
      "Mulder, you've got to look at me. There are things you need to know."
      "No," he whispers, hiding his face between her breasts. "No, no, no...."
      "Will," she begs desperately, "Will, you have to listen..."
      The voice of a stranger echoes inside her head.
      "I have to tell you what they did to me. You need to know what they've 
      done..."
      Dana jerks awake. Her eyes fly open. She didn't mean to fall asleep; she 
      can't imagine how it happened. She lifts her head from Mulder's shoulder 
      and shifts wearily away from the sharp rock wall that's digging into her 
      back.
      "Scully. I'm sorry. We have to get moving again."
      "Oh," she gasps, heart pounding, "Okay..." She struggles to her feet, 
      blinking in the glare.
      His arm slips around her; for a moment she leans against him.
      "Are you all right?" he asks.
      "Yes, I...um, I just had a really weird dream."
      "Here, drink this." He hands her a canteen and she takes a swig of 
      metallic-tasting water, swallowing with effort, the warm liquid running 
      down her dry throat like a sudden downpour washing over parched earth.
      Dana feels like they've spent the day scouting craters on the moon. Since 
      they left the river at daybreak they have ascended and descended at 
      regular intervals, traveling laboriously, on treacherous switchbacks, up 
      and down out of the cliffs. They have slipped in and out of numerous dry 
      creek-beds, wandering in search of elusive, decades-old trail markers.
      Earlier this afternoon, they came over a rise and got the first glimpse of 
      their destination. Dana found herself trembling as she stood watching the 
      distant swirl of the two converging rivers. The descent to the confluence 
      was long and torturous. They traveled back downstream a half-mile or so 
      and crossed a ford to the north side of the Colorado. That was perhaps 
      half an hour ago. Their clothes are still drying and they just stopped to 
      rest after climbing yet another steep switchback.
      Mulder takes a few steps up the trail, shading his eyes with his hand. He 
      scans the cliffs that tower behind them. "This landscape feels right. This 
      is the area he showed me."
      Dana kneels and tightens her boot-lace. She has never been so exhausted. 
      "What are we going to do when we find this place, Mulder?"
      He frowns. "I'm not sure yet."
      Kaya stands a few feet away, her pack on her back. She is red-faced and 
      grim, jaw set in determination. She has not spoken for hours. Matthew 
      stands next to her. By contrast, he still seems energetic, even though his 
      body is loaded like a pack animal, wrapped in yards of heavy rope, a rifle 
      strapped across his broad back. He shifts his load, ready to start walking 
      again.
      Ben watches his young friend pacing restlessly back and forth. He is still 
      lounging on the ground, his back against a boulder. "We should make camp. 
      Light'll be going soon."
      "We're close. We need to keep going." Mulder shoulders his pack and takes 
      a drink from his canteen. "Just another mile or two and we'll find what 
      we're looking for. I'm sure of it."
      Ben drops his head to his chest, rolling his head from side to side. "But 
      this is a good place to make camp. It's sheltered."
      "Ben, come on."
      "Everyone's beat, Will. We've been walking all day."
      "We're almost there."
      Ben chuckles ironically, lifting his eyes and regarding Mulder evenly. 
      "Almost *where*, Will?" he asks softly.
      Mulder slams his boot down into the dirt and glares at his friend without 
      speaking.
      After a long moment, Ben heaves a weary sigh. "You're a fucking maniac, 
      you know that?"
      Mulder's face softens. He removes his specs, wipes sweat from the bridge 
      of his nose, and puts them back on again. Finally, he looks down. "I know 
      we're all tired. It's just...I've got a really bad feeling," he murmurs.
      Kaya turns toward her father with a stricken look. "About what?" she asks.
      "We just need to keep moving, that's all."
      ~~~~
      They walk. The sun beats down.
      Matthew lopes along a good twenty to thirty feet ahead of them, as he has 
      all day. He scans the rocks for trail markers and calls out warnings 
      whenever hazards present themselves. Mulder isn't far behind him. Dana is 
      beginning to think it would have been better if Mulder and Matt had come 
      into the canyon alone. She is sure they would have made better time. She 
      steps on a loose rock and loses her footing, the weight of her pack 
      pulling her off her feet.
      "Whoa, Dana." Ben catches her as she tumbles backward. "You okay?"
      "Yeah, I just tripped. Thanks."
      "Need to rest for a minute?"
      Dana watches Kaya's back as she disappears between two boulders ahead of 
      them. She drops her pack wearily to the ground. "Maybe for just a 
      minute..."
      "What are you carrying? Can I take something for you?"
      Dana opens the top of her pack. "I'm not carrying that much, Ben. I have 
      some food, a lantern, the kerosene can..."
      "Put the kerosene in my pack." He reaches in and helps himself to the can. 
      "You shouldn't be carrying anything, Dana. It's too soon for you to be 
      making this kind of trip in the first place."
      Dana falls silent, watching him rearranging the supplies. "Ben..."
      "Yeah?"
      "I've never thanked you. For what you did for me. I've wanted to, but I 
      didn't know how."
      Ben stops moving. He stares into the depths of his pack. "You don't need 
      to thank me."
      "Oh, I know. I know. But you've been so...um, nice to me, you know. So 
      kind. I know if it wasn't for you and Matt I'd probably be dead."
      He closes his pack, jerking the drawstring. "I did what any decent guy 
      would have done, Dana."
      He stands up. "I'm glad things are working out for you," he mutters.
      There is a shout from the trail ahead of them. "Ben!"
      He turns away quickly. "Here!"
      "Ben!"
      Kaya appears at the spot where they last saw her, emerging breathlessly 
      from between the boulders. "Ben, it's Matt. Hurry."
      They follow Kaya up the trail until they come to a spot where Mulder's 
      pack lies abandoned at the edge of a steep embankment.
      "Matt was looking for the trail marker," Kaya tells them, tearfully. "Some 
      rocks came loose..."
      "My god," Ben says, heading for the edge. "Where is he?"
      "There." Kaya points. "Down there."
      Matthew has fallen a good twenty feet. His body is motionless, lying in a 
      tangle of rope just a few feet from the edge of the river. Mulder is 
      picking his way toward him, the sharp incline of the hillside forcing him 
      to turn sideways, practically lying on his side as he descends.
      Ben throws the supplies he's carrying to the ground and starts down the 
      slope. Dana shrugs her pack off her shoulders and follows suit. Dirt and 
      slag tumble downward in sheets as she slides toward the bottom, the harsh, 
      rocky soil scraping her bare legs. Other stones roll by her, kicked loose 
      as Kaya comes behind. By the time they join Mulder and Ben on the ledge, 
      Matthew is sitting upright. He has a goose egg on his forehead and his 
      face is scraped and bleeding, but he seems, at first glance, to be all in 
      one piece.
      "God, Matt, are you all right?" Kaya drops to her knees and whips the 
      scarf off her head, using it to dab at the blood on his ruddy face.
      "Yeah, I'm fine. Shit. Guess that wasn't the trail."
      Ben instantly sets to work freeing his friend from his pack and the mass 
      of rope that encircles his body. "Lucky you had all this shit for padding, 
      my friend."
      Mulder probes the lump on Matt's forehead. Matt winces, pulling away. "Be 
      still and lie down," Mulder tells him. "That was a hell of a fall. Let's 
      check you out."
      Matthew reclines, laying his head gratefully in Kaya's lap.
      "Does anything hurt?" Dana asks him.
      "Everything hurts," he replies. "But nothing bad. Except I turned my ankle 
      when I slipped on those rocks."
      Mulder pulls his boot off, feeling for broken bones. Matthew groans as 
      Mulder runs his fingers down both sides of his ankle. "Damn, now, Will. 
      That *does* hurt."
      "Nothing broken, as far as I can tell," Mulder observes. "You're a lucky 
      bastard, Matt. But it's sprained, I think. This is going to slow you 
down."
      "You mean 'slow *us* down," Matt quips. "I'm sorry, Will. This sucks."
      Mulder nods ruefully. "Yeah. Kaya, can I have your scarf?"
      Mulder folds the scarf into a triangle and starts wrapping Matthew's 
      ankle. Dana examines Matthew's pupils while Mulder works.
      "Are you at all dizzy?" she asks.
      "If I am do I get to keep my pillow?" Matthew looks up at Kaya with a wry 
      grin. She makes a soft, sympathetic sound and lays her hand against his 
      cheek.
      "I don't think there's any head trauma, Mulder. I think he just got a 
      bump."
      "Holy shit," Matt exclaims.
      "Sorry, man," Mulder says. "Did I pull it too tight?"
      "No, *look*." Matthew lifts his arm and points. His eyes are locked onto 
      something behind them, something above their heads. They turn en masse and 
      raise their eyes to the spot.
      "Oh my god," Dana breathes.
      "What is that?" Kaya asks.
      "God, Matt, if you hadn't fallen down here we would have walked right past 
      it," Ben says, staring in awe up the canyon wall.
      The stone stairway is ancient, cut into the bluff above them; its bottom 
      step hanging suspended some forty feet over the ground below.
      "Who would put a stairway there?" Kaya asks, bewildered. "It just stops. 
      Where's the rest of it?"
      "That must have been the river level at one time," Ben muses. "The stairs 
      led to the river."
      Mulder rises from the ground, staring up at thestairway with a look of 
      stupefaction. "How the hell do they come and go through that?" he asks no 
      one in particular.
      "Guess we'll make camp here."

      Book Four  - Yekaterina's Kiss

      Mulder sticks like a fly to the rocky face of the bluff. He digs in with 
      the toes of his boots and stretches toward yet another craggy handhold. 
      For the last several minutes he's been moving laterally across the rock 
      toward an area of deep fissures and sharp outcroppings that lies no more 
      than ten feet beneath the bottom of the ancient stone stairway.
      Dana and Ben stand side by side at the foot of the wall.
      Having latched on with his fingers to a rugged protrusion, Mulder reaches 
      out with his foot. Dirt and gravel plummet downward as his boot digs into 
      the rock, searching for purchase. He hesitates, working up the nerve to 
      trust his weight to the foothold. Dana presses her hand to her mouth. She 
      inhales sharply as he shifts himself up and sideways.
      "This is easy for him, Dana," Ben says calmly. "I've seen him go up higher 
      walls than this one."
      "Really," Dana says, eyes locked to the face of the bluff. "When?"
      "Years ago. Before Maia...before the twins were born. We used to all climb 
      for fun. I'm too damn old to do it anymore, but nothing ever changes for 
      Will. He's spry. He sticks to rock like a lizard."
      True to Ben's word, Mulder finds a series of solid outcroppings and begins 
      climbing straight up the wall at an astonishing rate of speed.
      "You've known him a long time," Dana says, lowering her voice.
      "Will? Yeah. Forever. Since I was a kid. I grew up in Tuba."
      With a sinking feeling, Dana realizes that Ben has probably known Will 
      over twice as long as she knew Mulder.
      Her voice drops even lower. "And you knew Maia, obviously."
      Ben stares up for a few minutes without speaking. Then he nods, slowly, 
      his gaze steady on Mulder's form as it travels up the side of the bluff.
      "What was she like, Ben?"
      He shrugs. "Hard to sum up a person like Maia. She was a good woman. She 
      loved her kids."
      Dana watches as Mulder reaches the spot towards which he's been working. 
      He anchors himself to a ledge and begins hauling himself up over its edge.
      "Did she love her husband?"
      Ben doesn't answer. He watches Mulder ascending, jaw working hard. "Far as 
      I know," he answers, finally. "I mean, they were always really good 
      friends. The match made sense. It meant a lot to Verbena. Gave her a lot 
      of prestige within the movement."
      Mulder stands up on the ledge, reaching toward the overhang above it. He 
      jumps, grabs hold, begins pulling himself up by brute force.
      "You're saying the marriage was arranged?"
      "Not exactly." Ben looks down abruptly, dragging his fingers across his 
      forehead and back through his long gray hair. "Not so much arranged, 
      as...expected."
      Mulder pulls himself up onto the bottom of the stairway and slumps across 
      the steps, breathing hard. "Hey," he calls down. "I'm going to go check it 
      out. I'll be right back." He disappears triumphantly up the stairs.
      Dana turns toward Ben. "What do you mean, 'expected'?" she asks.
      His dark face has gone pale. He studies his boots. "You asked me what Maia 
      was like," he says softly. "I'll tell you what she was like. She and I 
      were both raised in the Resistance, hearing every day about what a noble 
      thing it was to make sacrifices for the cause. When it came right down to 
      it, though, most of us learned fast that it doesn't do any good to be 
      noble if you're dead. We tended to put a high priority on looking out for 
      our own asses. Maia was different. She took all that crap about duty to 
      heart. She lived it. She was the most selfless person I ever knew."
      "So she married him because her mother wanted her to?"
      "People in Tuba treated the survivors from the Labs like they were holy, 
      so Verbena already considered Will to be a good match for Maia. When he 
      was called, you know, when he started seeing spirits..." He raises his 
      gaze to meet Dana's. His eyes swim with bitterness. "At that point there 
      was no arguing with her. She expected Maia to do her duty and give up 
      everything else."
      He looks up at the stairway, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. 
      "So she did. She gave it up," he mutters.
      There is a long silence.
      "She gave *you* up, didn't she, Ben?"
      His eyes close briefly. He does not answer. A hawk screams, far above 
      their heads.



      Afternoon Beamer Trail Northeast of the Tanner Delta Colorado River, Grand 
      Canyon 
      Sam walks.
      One footfall after another in the soft, rocky soil. He travels up, then 
      down, left, then right, first west, then east, back and forth, lower and 
      higher, ascending cliffs, dropping into creek beds, climbing over boulders 
      and jumping sharp gashes in the dry, red earth.
      Sam remembers.
      A night in the springtime when he was eleven. Visiting Grandmother's 
      family in Moenkopi. Sitting cross-legged on the ground late at night with 
      his left knee brushing Will's and his right knee brushing Dru's, looking 
      around at a gathering of relatives, dark brown eyes glowing in the 
      firelight, dark faces upturned in wonder as his father's teacher, Uncle 
      Edward, told the story of the First World and how it ended with a journey.
      Sam walks.
      The first world was called Tokpela, Endless Space. Its people were happy. 
      Like all living things, they had been created by Spider Woman to make the 
      earth vital, to fill it with color and movement. They understood that this 
      was their true purpose. They revered and loved Taiowa, the Creator, who 
      showed his face in the sun each day.
      But gradually there came a time when some of the people forgot to respect 
      their Creator. Instead of following their own inner vision, which told 
      them right from wrong, they let themselves be corrupted by Lavaihoya, The 
      Talker, and Kato'ya, The Handsome One, who led them away from peace and 
      unity and into duality and suspicion.
      After a time Sotuknang, the nephew of Taiowa, came to those people who 
      still revered the Creator and told them Taiowa had decided to destroy the 
      first world and replace it with a new one. Sotuknang told these people how 
      to escape the destruction, and because they had not forgotten how to use 
      their inner vision these people were able to see the signs he left for 
      them, following clouds by day and stars by night. They walked to a certain 
      place where Sotuknang met them and led them to the kiva of the Ant People. 
      Sotuknang stamped on the roof of the kiva, and the Ant People took the 
      people down under the ground, where they took care of them for many, many 
      years, while the Creator destroyed the old world and made a new one.
      Sam remembers.
      The night Uncle Edward told that story, Sam laid awake for hours. He 
      stared into the darkness, listening to Dru breathing in the bed beside 
      him, listening to the murmur of voices in the kitchen: Uncle Edward's 
      voice, dry and crackling, always joking under his breath; Maia's voice, 
      higher, laughing at the jokes; Grandmother's voice, scolding them for 
      their lack of respect. Now and then he would hear Will's voice, always 
      low, no word uttered without prompting.
      He couldn't quit thinking that night. How would it be, he wondered, to 
      live away from the sun, shut up under the ground, never to study pictures 
      in the clouds or see the three colors of the dawn? What would it be like 
      to live, all mother and no father, all earth and no sky, without being 
      able to tell east from west or night from day or summer from winter?
      Sam walks.
      The night Uncle Edward told that story, Sam had a terrible dream. He was 
      standing in the desert in total darkness with a sickening crawling feeling 
      in his feet and ankles. Even though he couldn't see, he knew his feet were 
      buried in an enormous ant hill and that he was sinking into that ant hill, 
      disappearing, the sand underneath him cascading downward in a strange, 
      slow-motion crumble. As the ants pulled him deeper into their home, his 
      body melted, became soft and elastic; filled the dark passages like a long 
      stream of honey poured from a ladle to fill the depths of the earth.
      Then he was standing at the bottom. He didn't know what bottom, only that 
      it *was* the bottom, and that there was no place lower, no place darker, 
      no place more airless or further from the sun than the place where he 
      stood in that moment.
      The Kachina came out of nowhere, looming toward him with a huge black face 
      that blended with the dark, defined the dark, *was* the dark. Its eyes 
      blazed white. Hot stars shone forth from its massive head. It held a 
      helpless woman in its wildcat claws. Flinging the woman to the ground, it 
      fell upon her, pushing her legs apart and penetrating her cruelly.
      Sam wanted desperately to cover his eyes but found his hands glued to his 
      sides and his feet frozen to the ground. The woman looked up into his eyes 
      as the Kachina violated her body. She begged him to forgive her. She 
      begged him to be silent. Her voice was high and musical, "I'm right here, 
      son. Mama's right here..."
      Sam stops walking and drops to his knees. Suddenly, he can't stop 
      remembering.
      Soyal, the Winter Solstice, a time of long, solemn ceremonies. Will was in 
      the kiva praying with Uncle Edward and the other men from the village. Sam 
      was supposed to be in bed, but he had slipped away from Uncle Edward's 
      house that night. He was waiting by the entrance to the kiva, listening to 
      the prayers below, waiting and listening and dreaming of the next winter, 
      when he would be a man.
      From his hiding place near the kiva, Sam noticed a figure in the shadows, 
      walking quietly and carefully near the edge of the main road of the 
      village. It moved hesitantly and appeared to stop now and then to give a 
      backward glance.
      Curious, Sam stole away from the kiva and followed the figure, silent as a 
      ghost through miles of high desert. He thought maybe it was a spirit. 
      Maybe it was leading him somewhere special. Maybe it wanted to tell him 
      something.
      But as the first full moon of winter rose high in the sky, he realized the 
      figure he was following was a woman.
      The figure he was following was his mother.
      When the car picked Maia up near the main road, Sam was left behind, 
      hiding behind a rock in the moonlit darkness, wondering why his mother had 
      left them behind, without any explanation, without saying good- bye. He 
      didn't expect her to return, but later she did, dropped off by the very 
      same car in the exact same spot. Sam had been waiting for the sunrise so 
      he could find his way back to the village, and as the sky began to glow 
      with the purple light of early dawn, he followed his mother again.
      Maia made guttural moaning noises as she walked. She paused now and then 
      to double over in pain. Near the village she knelt by the side of the road 
      for a few moments. Sam could hear how desperately she wept. He could see 
      how hard her shoulders were shaking.
      Sam wanted to go to his mother, but he was too afraid.
      When she returned to the village, the men were still in the kiva. Will 
      never knew that she had gone.
      But Sam knew.
      Sam gets up off the ground, dragging a sunburned arm across the tears 
      streaming down his face.
      Sam keeps walking.
      All through that winter, through that spring and that summer, the 
      nightmares would come before he knew he was asleep. He would wake in the 
      dead of night, screaming and crying. At first, Maia would come to him with 
      her ever-growing belly, the product, he knew, of that horrible night. She 
      would try to comfort him by stroking his forehead, but he always shrank 
      from her touch. After a while, she just quit coming. Sam knows his mother 
      must have wondered why he wouldn't let her touch him.
      She died late that summer, still wondering.



      Late afternoon 
      Yekaterina kicks the grate off the ventilation shaft and climbs through 
      the wide opening into the medical bay. She sets her light down and takes a 
      moment to replace the grate. Someone should do me a favor, she thinks, and 
      just install a door here. Everyone knows how many times a day I come and 
      go through this stinking hole.
      She's been in the depths all night, sitting by a clear subterranean 
      stream, numbing her feet in the ice cold water and pelting the blind, 
      pasty fish with pebbles. She's been trying to find a way to forget about 
      Stephen, trying not to think about how sad his pale blue eyes always were, 
      trying not to remember how the sadness melted away when she touched him. 
      She's been telling herself she shouldn't have let herself get so attached. 
      Everyone dies, she thinks. Especially around here.
      She douses her lantern and stalks up the passageway with its dim, 
      artificial lighting. Steel doors have been affixed to the ancient living 
      spaces that line each side of the narrow stone hallway. Yekaterina wonders 
      what the natives who lived here eons ago would have thought of the 
      pointless partitioning of this venerable hiding place.
      Most of the doors are locked, for reasons Yekaterina has never been able 
      to fathom. Where the hell does her father think the women are going to go? 
      They're wired to the beds like summer squash in the hydroponics bay, all 
      tough and yellow with big, swollen bellies. She can't see why anyone would 
      waste energy keeping track of a key.
      Why, indeed. Her face melts into a twisted, wistful smile.
      Looking around to make sure she's alone, Yekaterina sits down on the floor 
      and takes her boot off. Hidden underneath its insole is the key to the 
      compound. Ages ago, when she was just seven, she stole it from one of her 
      father's employees, figuring he'd be too afraid of the consequences to 
      admit to anyone that it was missing.
      She was right, as always.
      Yekaterina unlocks the door to room two and slips inside. Three beds line 
      the walls of the chamber, surrounded by equipment: heart monitors, brain 
      monitors, stands with plastic bags and feeding tubes swinging from them. 
      There are other kinds of machines, as well, but Yekaterina's never 
      understood what those are used for.
      She approaches the beds as she has since childhood, slowly, with a feeling 
      of reverence and awe.
      Mothers of Humanity. That's what Papa has always called them.
      Yekaterina reaches underneath the first bed. The brush is right where she 
      left it; its handle tucked neatly into the bedsprings. She pauses for a 
      moment, smoothing the fine chestnut hair of the woman lying in the first 
      bed.
      Her name is Teresa. She lies on her side. Over the years her body has 
      toughened and twisted, but she still has beautiful skin.
      Teresa's babies always have blue eyes.
      It's been about three weeks since Yekaterina has visited room two. They've 
      been keeping her very busy in room three, the room where they keep the 
      newer mothers, on the other side of the hall. There was a woman who joined 
      the Project just last year, Emma, who bore a baby girl that lived two 
      entire weeks.
      Everyone was excited. When Yekaterina went to work in the lab the night it 
      was born, she couldn't believe how sweet the baby was. Such a tiny little 
      thing, so soft and needy. Spending her shift bathing it and holding it was 
      a nice change. Normally after a birth she just mops up lots of blood.
      But that's how it's been the last few years. The mothers get so big with 
      those green-eyed boys. More often than not, it ends badly.
      Emma got lucky, though. They gave her a girl. These days, that's like 
      getting a reprieve, Yekaterina thinks. A chance to live, to give birth 
      again.
      It was a shame about that baby. Yekaterina's never seen one like that: 
      perfectly formed, and so, so small. Failure to thrive is what they said, 
      when it died.
      Still, the fact that it lived at all was an encouraging sign. Papa says 
      the Project has never been this close to success.
      Yekaterina begins singing, a soft, tuneless murmur: "The night keeps all 
      her light inside, to fill her empty womb..."
      It's an old song. Her father taught it to her when she was a child. She's 
      always loved the way it made her feel.
      Yekaterina moves on, pausing at the second bed. The sheet has slipped off 
      of Colleen's shoulders.
      The Project doesn't ask much of the first mothers anymore. They've been 
      asleep here in room two for months and months. The doctors say their 
      bodies are exhausted. They've given so much. Yekaterina still comes to see 
      them, though. It's habit. She's taken care of them since childhoood. It's 
      not fair, she thinks, to shut them away like this, just because they're 
      not bearing.
      Yekaterina tucks the motionless form securely under the covers and leans 
      down to give it a quick kiss on the cheek. She continues singing softly as 
      she turns toward the third bed.
      "...her breath comes quick and shallow, like a dying bird..."
      Yekaterina catches her breath.
      Dana's bed is empty.
      ~~~~
      Yekaterina drops the key as she tries to lock room two, cursing softly as 
      it bounces across the floor. She bends down, peering in the gloom to see 
      where it ended up.
      She can hear someone pacing, further down the passage.
      The key is lying a few feet away. Yekaterina locks the door with trembling 
      fingers and stuffs it quickly into her boot. She heads for the lab. She's 
      got to find Dana.
      Where could they have taken her, she wonders, desperately. She's been in 
      stasis for years. Why would they move her?
      Yekaterina knows that her father has no plans for Dana. He's never had any 
      luck with her. It's always been hard to get Dana pregnant, and when they 
      do, her babies always come too early. They've tried taking them out and 
      incubating them, but they never make it, not even for a few days. When she 
      asks her father about it he shakes his head in frustration and says that 
      Dana just wasn't meant to give birth. Not like Teresa. Not like Colleen. 
      Certainly not like the younger women, in room three.
      Yekaterina has always wondered why her father is so insistent that Dana 
      should remain with the Project. She's tried reaching into his mind while 
      they're fucking, rummaging around for information about Dana; digging 
      through his memory like it's a dusty supply trunk. All she receives, 
      though, are the same hazy images, the same useless parade of dark 
      emotions. She knows he loves Dana, in his own twisted way. She knows 
      Dana's given him something. Something he treasures.
      Somehow, Dana is Papa's favorite. She's Yekaterina's favorite, too. Unlike 
      the other women in the Project, Dana remains fresh and beautiful, no 
      matter what they do to her.
      "Yekaterina."
      She starts, hand flying up to her throat. "God, don't do that to me."
      Wallace leans against a door, arms folded, staring down at her over the 
      fat, hand-rolled cigarette that dangles from his lower lip. His round 
      cheeks redden almost imperceptibly. "Where've *you* been?"
      "You know where."
      He clips his cigarette between his index and middle finger and spits a 
      fragment of tobacco on the floor. "You're worse than a fucking rat, 
      Yekaterina. Everyone else is dying to get out of this place and you just 
      dig down deeper."
      "I love you, too, dickhead." Yekaterina shifts on the balls of her feet. 
      The key is digging into the side of her foot. "Hey, um...have you seen 
      anyone...have they got anything going on in the lab?"
      "How should I know? Go down and look yourself."
      "Okay, fine. What are you doing hanging around down here, anyway?"
      "Guarding," he sneers. "Guarding a prisoner." He hooks one enormous thumb 
      toward the partially closed door behind his back.
      "A what?" Yekaterina cranes her neck and tries to see around him.
      "A prisoner. You know, another lucky fuck from the surface who's just 
      dying to get buried alive."
      "Really? Where'd they get her?"
      "Not 'her'." Wallace takes a deep drag of his cigarette and blows smoke, 
      contentedly.
      "I guess this is the part where I freak out and beg you to tell me more."
      He smiles. "Yup."
      "Oh, Wallace. I can't stand the suspense," she intones. "Please, please 
      tell me what's going on."
      "It's a guy. A kid. We brought him all the way from Tuba City."
      "No way. Really? Why?"
      "You really want to know?"
      "No, I'm hanging around this door because you're so goddamn sexy."
      "It's because he did something. Something really bad. Mr. Birch was 
      bringing him here to punish him, but then something happened."
      Yekaterina suddenly feels incredibly nauseous. "And what was that?"
      "We got to the trading post at Desert View, and of course we told Bitty 
      his big brother was dead. When Bitty found out that this kid was the one 
      who killed Stephen, he freaked out and stole my gun. He shot the kid in 
      the back."
      ~~~~
      "Scully, watch it. Push off from the rocks as you come up by the steps. 
      There are some sharp edges there."
      "Got it." Dana kicks a foot out as she rises, pushing her body away from 
      the rock wall with its many protrusions. She grips the rope tightly, 
      casting a glance down at the canyon floor, where Kaya and Matthew stand 
      looking up, their worried faces slowly receding.
      She cranes her neck and looks up, toward the aged pulley mechanism that 
      was Mulder's first discovery when he reached the top of the archaic 
      stairway. She gazes with apprehension at the rusted apparatus. It squeaks 
      and strains each time Mulder pulls her higher. The fact that the rope 
      itself is obviously far newer than either the stairway or the pulley 
      affixed to it is of little comfort. It is hard to trust her safety to this 
      conspiracy of corroded metal and lurking dry-rot, despite having watched 
      both Ben and a load of equipment make the journey without mishap before 
      her.
      After an eternity of alternating gasps of alarm with a complete inability 
      to breathe, Dana arrives at the top.
      "Welcome to the Penthouse," Mulder quips, reeling her in.
      "Hope the view is worth the trouble," Ben adds, offering a hand to steady 
      her as she steps onto the landing.
      Still holding onto Ben's hand, Dana extricates herself from the cracked 
      leather sling she rode up in and turns to look out at the canyon. Huge 
      white clouds dot the indigo sky. The sun is dipping lower, casting odd 
      shadows as it streams past jagged formations and slips in and out of the 
      fitful rock walls. Nameless terror raises the hairs on her arms and sucks 
      all the moisture out of her mouth. Suddenly she feels lost, engulfed and 
      immobilized, no more than a collection of frail organic cells waiting to 
      be buried alive and petrified by increments.
      She turns to speak to Mulder and Ben, but instead her mouth drops open. 
      "Oh my god..."
      "Yeah," Mulder murmurs. "That's what *I* said."
      The archway towers above their heads, its ancient hand-hewn stones set 
      around a massive portal that still bears the coarse marks of antediluvian 
      chisels. A pathway is marked in crumbling tile on the floor of the 
      passageway, giving way to packed dirt as the pathway becomes a tunnel and 
      winds off into the gloom.
      A faint, familiar odor wafts up from the interior of the cavernous 
      dwelling, a whiff of something foreign, not of rock or earth, animal or 
      bird.
      Dana's breath comes quick and shallow...
      All at once she's lying on her back in the darkness, paralyzed by tubes 
      and wires and a host of powerful drugs. Gentle hands stroke her hair. A 
      smooth, soft voice sings, tunelessly.
      "The night keeps all her light inside..."
      A horrifying chill runs through her body.
      Mulder's hand is on her shoulder.
      "Mulder, this place..." she begins, turning toward him.
      "This is the place," he answers, softly. He runs a finger over her 
      collarbone, searching for words. "If it's too much for you, Scully, to 
      come back here..."
      "Mulder, no." Dana grasps his hand and squeezes it. "I need to do this."
      "Hey, look at this," Ben calls. He is staring at images carved in the rock 
      near the foundation of the stone archway. A large figure with a square, 
      mask- like head is carved above a smaller human figure. A long line is 
      drawn below the figures, crossed with many smaller lines and ending in an 
      arrow that points away from the cave.
      "What's that?" Dana asks.
      Ben scratches his head. "I'm not sure."
      "From the placement..." Mulder muses, tracing the carvings, "might be a 
      wu'ya."
      "Yeah," Ben agrees.
      "And that is...?" Dana asks.
      "Sign left behind to show how long people were here. Left to welcome 
      anyone from the clan who returns." Mulder points to the large figure, then 
      to the small one. "This is the god. This is the people. The marks might 
      represent years, or tens of years, or hundreds of years."
      He shrugs. "Who knows? Probably carved by the people who built this, but 
      not necessarily."
      "Hey, Will. Give me your lantern." Ben squats down and opens his pack. He 
      fills Mulder's lantern with kerosene. Mulder fixes a coil of rope to his 
      belt while Ben works. He goes to the edge and calls down to Kaya and 
      Matthew. "We're set. We're going in."
      Matthew's voice rises from the canyon floor, fluttering in the wind like a 
      loose piece of paper caught in an updraft. "When do we start worrying?"
      "First light tomorrow. But don't worry."
      "Will!" Kaya's voice sounds childlike after being carried so far up the 
      rocky wall.
      "Yeah!"
      "Be careful!"
      "We will. Kaya!"
      "Yeah!"
      "Remember, Sam's coming. Send him in."
      There is a pause.
      "I will!"
      "We'll see you both soon!" Mulder turns away from the edge and takes a few 
      steps back toward the entryway. He shakes his head with a wry smile. "I 
      bet they'll find something to do while we're gone."
      "Do you think we'll have enough light?" Dana asks in a dry, husky voice. 
      She remembers how vast the darkness can be. How light only makes it seem 
      bigger.
      Mulder stares at her intensely for a long, long moment. Dana can feel how 
      badly he wants to take her in his arms. "Is everybody ready?"
      Ben pulls his pack on his back and nods. Dana takes a deep breath. She's 
      not sure if her feet are going to move when she tells them to carry her 
      toward that blackness. She reaches for Mulder. He takes her outstretched 
      hand, then turns toward the dark and raises his lantern.
      "Okay, then," he says. "Let's do it."

      Book Four  - Yekaterina's Kiss
      Chapter Five

      She's lost track of how long she's been watching him sleep.
      The boy's tall, muscular body covers the narrow bed almost completely, his 
      large, square hands lying quietly against the white sheet. His hands are 
      scarred and stained. They look incredibly cruel. It's not hard to imagine 
      them killing an insect for fun, torturing a dog, striking a woman. It's 
      more of a stretch to imagine them crushing the life out of someone as 
      strong as Stephen.
      But Yekaterina wants to believe.
      She reaches out and runs her fingers over the red- brown skin of his 
      forehead, trailing them back into his long, dark hair. She studies his 
      face, notes the high cheekbones and prominent, hawk-like nose.
      He looks just like the women in room three.
      He's in pain. His brows knit together as he stirs on the pillow, tongue 
      slipping fitfully along the full lower lip, eyelids hovering just on the 
      edge of wakefulness. Yekaterina picks up the hastily scribbled chart from 
      the bedside table. He took a bullet in the lower part of his back. They've 
      had him in surgery to correct internal bleeding. The bullet shattered one 
      of the lower vertebrae. Possible paralysis.
      Yekaterina wonders how much pain Stephen suffered when he was dying. She 
      can't get his face out of her head; keeps seeing his pale blue eyes and 
      his smile, remembering his bewildering gentleness. She had never 
      experienced compassion or tenderness until they became friends, and even 
      after she understood that he was not trying to trick her, that he actually 
      was as kind as he seemed, she had been unable to trust herself to that 
      gentleness. It simply seemed far too good to be true.
      Now she wishes she had allowed herself to love him more.
      The boy moans, very softly. His eyes open briefly, then squeeze shut 
      against the light.
      Hatred is eating her insides like acid. Yekaterina fights to stay calm.
      "I feel like a third wheel," Wallace comments, grinning. He leans in the 
      open door. "Whatcha waiting for, anyway? That kid's never gonna wake up."
      "You don't know shit, Wallace," Yekaterina snaps. "Think they'd waste time 
      and supplies if they didn't mean to save him? He's going to recover." She 
      spits the words out like rancid meat.
      "Well, okay. Suppose he does. Why are you hanging around? Waiting to thank 
      him or something?"
      "Will you just...*go somewhere*, please?" Yekaterina spins on her heel and 
      stalks threateningly toward him. "This is none of your business."
      "You think just cause your father runs this place you're everybody's damn 
      boss," Wallace counters, taking a step back, his sardonic expression 
      unchanged. "You're not my fucking boss, okay? Birch is my boss, and Birch 
      said guard the prisoner. So it *is* my business...I should make *you* 
      leave."
      "You know what? I've kicked your ass before and I can kick it again." 
      Yekaterina takes another step forward, glaring up at him, pulling her 
      jacket off and balling her fist.
      Wallace takes another step back. "Damn, woman. You're really pissed, 
      aren't you? If I didn't know you better I'd think you were in love with 
      Stephen or something..."
      Yekaterina's arm shoots out. Her fingers lock onto Wallace's collar and 
      seize a handful of fabric. She jerks his face toward her own. "Leave," she 
      growls.
      She releases him. He jerks a freshly rolled cigarette from behind his ear 
      and stabs it between his lips. Their eyes lock. After a long pause, 
      Wallace drops his gaze to the floor. "Mr. Birch went to a lot of trouble 
      to get him here, you know," he mutters. "Brought him up from Desert View 
      on the back of a mule. Came in through the lower access and got lost 
      twice. He wouldn't do all that without a damn good reason."
      "That doesn't have anything to do with this."
      "Look. I didn't know you were gonna get like this, Kat, or I wouldn'tve 
      told you anything. You know Birch'll kick my ass if anything happens on my 
      watch."
      "So you're gonna get your ass kicked, one way or the other."
      "Yeah. Listen, Yekaterina..."
      "You owe me. I'll take the blame like before, okay? Birch can't touch me. 
      You'll be safe."
      Wallace reddens. "You're never gonna let me forget about that, are you?"
      "Not likely, man. Not if I need something. And I need this. Now."
      "Jesus, you're not actually going to..."
      "Shut up. Just close the door."
      ~~~~
      The tunnel winds into the earth, its pitch steep and steady.
      Mulder has to stoop in order to keep walking. He raises the lantern, lips 
      pursing as he studies the images carved into the walls and ceiling of the 
      passage: animals and birds, human figures bearing jars and ceremonial 
      items, strange symbols in procession, growing more elaborate and colorful 
      the further they travel.
      "Do those pictures tell you anything?" Dana passes her forearm across her 
      face, wiping away dust and sweat. The air is stagnant, so thick and stale 
      she can taste it.
      "They relate to each other. They tell a story. I think we're moving toward 
      some kind of ceremonial chamber, possibly a tomb."
      Ben's voice floats toward them from the darkness just ahead. "Will, bring 
      the light over here. Looks like a dead end - SHIT!"
      Mulder lunges forward. "Ben!"
      The sound of gravel and debris clattering down an incline mixes with a 
      steady stream of curses as Ben plunges down some unknown slope. There is 
      an ominous silence.
      "Ben! What happened? You all right?"
      They bring the light forward. The passage has widened slightly, arriving 
      at a kind of shelf, from which a steep set of narrow stairs descends. Ben 
      is at the bottom of those stairs, picking himself up and rubbing his 
      backside.
      "Hey man, wait for the light next time," Mulder calls down.
      "Fuck you, Will. I was standing right next to you." Ben straightens up and 
      peers into the gloom. "Damn," he remarks. "There's nothing down here. Just 
      a pit."
      Dana follows Mulder down the precipitous stairway, her hand on his 
      shoulder, the sharp incline forcing them to turn to one side as they 
      descend. They find themselves in a tall, square vestibule; she gasps as 
      the lantern light slowly climbs its walls. It is covered in arcane 
      pictures and symbols, vividly colored and perfectly preserved in the 
      bone-dry air of the ancient dwelling.
      The stairs appear to be the only way out.
      "Could this be it?" Dana wonders aloud. "What do you think could have been 
      in this room, to justify such an elaborate entrance?"
      "This can't be the end of the line," Mulder says.
      He sweeps the lantern along the forward wall. "This is an entryway."
      "Well, where's the way out then?" Ben asks. "Or the way in, or whatever."
      "It's right here." Mulder stares fixedly at something near the floor. Dana 
      and Ben lean down for a closer look. "Here's how we get in."
      At the bottom of a wall is a small, square portal, so tight it looks like 
      it was designed for a child.
      "That's it?" Dana cannot suppress a shudder at the thought of sticking her 
      head inside that hole.
      "That's it," Mulder answers. He drops to his knees and sprawls on the 
      floor, pushing the lantern into the recess, plunging the chamber into 
      darkness. "There's fresh air blowing in."
      "Maybe it's just a vent, Will." Ben shifts nervously beside her. It is 
      comforting to realize that he doesn't want to crawl into the portal any 
      more than she does.
      "No." Mulder pulls the lantern back out of the hole and shines it up onto 
      the wall above it. "See the ornamentation? That's no vent. Sorry."
      He looks up at them from the floor. "If I can fit through this then both 
      of you can, too."
      Dana swallows dust and panic. "Okay."
      "Or I can do this alone."
      "Hell, no." Ben squats down beside his friend, looking grim. "But you can 
      go first. I don't have a problem with that."
      Mulder smiles. "All right, then. Scully?"
      "Go ahead."
      Mulder puts the lantern back inside the portal and, stretching full-length 
      on the floor, shoves his head and shoulders in behind it. Dana and Ben 
      watch as he disappears into the hole, boots digging into the rock to push 
      himself through.
      "The people who built this place, whoever they were," Ben murmurs, "it's a 
      cinch they weren't nearly as big as Will is..."
      Dana wraps her fingers around Ben's forearm. "Oh god, Ben. Don't even say 
      it."
      For several minutes they can hear the sound of Mulder dragging his body 
      through the passage, his labored breathing amplified by the stone in the 
      narrow tunnel. Then, silence.
      Dana holds her breath. "Come on, Mulder," she mutters.
      "It's not too bad." His voice bounces down the portal, the journey 
      reducing its tone and character to a hollow, ghostly echo. "Scully. You 
      next."
      Ben's sighs. "Have fun."
      Dana finds Ben's hand and gives it a squeeze. She stoops and inspects the 
      portal. The lantern glows on the other side. It looks very far away.
      "Try to keep your mouth closed, Scully. Fewer surprises that way."
      "Thanks for the warning." Dana flattens herself against the stone floor 
      and sticks her head inside the hole. Her respiratory system is instantly 
      overwhelmed by the shifting dust. Her nostrils fill with a cloying odor. 
      It's the same foul stench that she has smelled, however faintly, ever 
      since their arrival in this place. Now it's sickeningly clear that the 
      source of the odor is somewhere on the other side of the passage. Her 
      heart pounds.
      She wishes she didn't know that smell so well.
      She fits through the portal easily, the walls just brushing her shoulders. 
      She digs her toes into the floor and presses her forearms down hard, 
      wriggling to move herself forward. She tries to keep her breathing steady 
      and slow, tries not to think about the heaviness of earth and time 
      pressing on the hand- hewn bricks above her, clamps her mouth shut against 
      flying dust and trailing spider webs, keeping her eyes fixed on the light 
      ahead. Tries to hear nothing but Mulder's voice, gentle and reassuring, 
      leading her forward.
      "You're almost done, Scully. Just a few more feet."
      She finds herself reaching for his outstretched hand. He pulls her out of 
      the tunnel and into fresher air. "Alone at last," he jokes dryly, wrapping 
      his arms around her.
      "Amazing what we have to go through just to get a little privacy." Dana 
      coughs to clear the dust from her throat and melts against his body. The 
      air is cold and surprisingly damp. She buries her nose in his shirt to 
      escape the awful smell.
      "Everything all right over there?" Ben's voice sounds disturbingly small 
      and distant.
      Mulder holds Dana fiercely for a long, long moment. Then he releases her 
      and bends toward the portal, pushing the lantern back inside. "Your turn, 
      Ben," he calls.
      Dana finds Mulder's hand in the darkness. She shivers and suppresses the 
      urge to scream.



      Meanwhile 
      He stabs at the intercom with a wiry finger. "Birch. Birch, goddammit, I 
      know you can hear me."
      After several long, annoying minutes, the intercom crackles and Birch's 
      voice seeps toward him, sounding at once attentive and maddeningly 
      unconcerned. "Yes sir. I'm here. What can I do for you?"
      "The patient. You were supposed to report an hour ago."
      "There was nothing to report, sir. I'm with Parenti now. Would you like me 
      to put him on?"
      "What do *you* think?" He pulls his sweater tighter around his bony 
      shoulders, shivering as he crosses the ancient stone room, the intercom 
      clamped as close to his failing ear as he can manage. He slumps into his 
      armchair and puts his feet up near the heating unit, pressing his body 
      into the worn upholstery, trying to shut out the cold. One of the wires 
      from the intercom hangs up on the back of his chair. He jerks it free with 
      a muttered curse.
      "Parenti here."
      "Parenti, you senile old prick, I left very specific instructions. Why 
      haven't you been in touch?"
      "You said you wanted a report when we were certain of his condition. We're 
      not certain of his condition yet."
      "Well what's your best guess, then? Will he live?"
      "Oh, yes. He'll live, undoubtedly. Fields thinks he won't walk again. I'm 
      not sure myself."
      "Walking is not the issue. He's not going to need to walk. All I need is a 
      living specimen."
      "Well you've got that."
      "Good. And which one is it? The older one?"
      The speaker goes dead. He smacks it against the arm of his chair in 
      frustration.
      The intercom crackles to life again. "Birch. Answer me. Did you bring the 
      older one as we agreed?"
      "Birch here, sir. No, it's the younger one."
      "What?" He leans forward in his chair, rising painfully to his feet. "I 
      thought we agreed that the older one was the better choice."
      "The older one was less...attainable, sir."
      "I can't remember. How old is this one? Is he sufficiently mature?"
      "He's mature. He'll do."
      "All right, then."
      "Sir, there's more news. You're going to be very pleased."
      "That would be a welcome change. Go ahead."
      "I've had radio communication from base camp. The Original is on his way."



      A few minutes later, in the Central Chamber 
      They stand shoulder to shoulder, swathed in blackness and total silence.
      Mulder raises the lantern and takes a step forward. The feeble yellow 
      light circles his body and dissipates, swirling away into empty space like 
      water running down a drain. The meager breeze is chilly, damp, and fetid. 
      Dana shudders, frozen in place.
      "This room is huge, isn't it?" she whispers.
      "So it would seem," Mulder answers, sounding nervous for the first time 
      since they entered the cavern.
      "We need more light," Ben observes, in a hush.
      "You gonna crawl back through that hole and get it?" Mulder takes two 
      steps forward. Dana and Ben follow. Risking a few steps forward is 
      infinitely preferable to being left behind in the dark.
      Mulder moves forward again, reaching out with the lantern. Dana and Ben 
      shadow him, sticking close to the light.
      "Lions and tigers and bears, huh?" Mulder's voice is tight and dry.
      "At least Dorothy could see where she was going." Dana seizes hold of 
      Mulder's shoulder with her right hand and reaches back for Ben with her 
      left.
      "I'm trying to move in the direction of the draft." Mulder takes a few 
      more steps, veering slightly to the left. "There's bound to be a passage."
      "There are lots of passages, Mulder," Dana whispers, horror slowly filling 
      her insides. "Lots of them. Some I think we'd really better avoid."
      "Then tell me, Scully. Try to remember. Which way do we need to go?"
      Dana's breath comes quick and shallow. Quick and shallow like a dying 
bird.
      She closes her eyes. Gentle hands stroke her hair.
      "Scully, you all right?"
      "Stay near the wall," she gasps, "and go toward that smell. As long as it 
      keeps getting stronger, we're headed in the right direction."
      ~~~~
      The door swings shut with a matter-of-fact click.
      Yekaterina stares fixedly at the body on the bed. Over the years she's 
      learned, both from her father and the Project, that no matter how weak it 
      may appear, the human body will fight with every available ounce of 
      strength for the privilege of continuing to live.
      And this kid is big. Even in his condition she knows he won't give in 
      easily. She watches his eyelids fluttering. It's now or never, she thinks, 
      grimly.
      There are restraints hanging off of the sides of the bed. Sometimes they 
      need them, when a mother won't cooperate. Yekaterina seizes hold of one of 
      the boy's hands and begins buckling the restraint around his wrist. His 
      eyes fly open. The restrained arm pulls instinctively against the strap. 
      Yekaterina rushes to the other side of the bed. His head turns in her 
      direction as she buckles down his other wrist. His eyes are bewildered, 
      full of fog and fear. He jerks against the restraint, breath quickening.
      Yekaterina picks up a spare pillow from the end of the bed and holds it 
      tightly with both hands. "You killed a man yesterday," she hisses, 
      hovering over him. "He was a friend of mine."
      His eyes go wide as he realizes what she's doing. "You've got it wrong," 
      he murmurs, wincing as he tries to raise his head. "I didn't kill 
anybody."
      Yekaterina closes her eyes wearily. Why is it, she thinks, that they 
      always say what they think I want to hear? She reaches down and hits the 
      tab that lowers the guard rail on the bed. It bangs down with a metallic 
      crunch.
      "You're talking about Stephen, right?" he asks her, desperately, in a 
      weak, raspy voice. "Birch left him in the desert. I don't know if he was 
      already dead or if they killed him on purpose..."
      She stops. "Tricky motherfucker. You'd say anything to save yourself."
      She takes a step closer.
      His chest begins to heave. "Why would I kill him? I didn't even know him."
      She raises the pillow, suspending it over his face. He stares up in 
      horror, struggling to break free.
      "I'm not lying, I swear it. Ask them, they'll tell you..."
      She flings the pillow aside and presses her lips against his.
      His lips clamp shut against the assault. She thrusts her fingers into his 
      mouth, prying his lips apart and plunging her tongue inside. Within 
      moments, his body goes rigid; a stifled wailing noise boils up from the 
      depths of his throat; he trembles in pain.
      Oh my god, I was right, she thinks. Just like Papa.
      She takes hold of his mind and begins sifting memories and emotions, 
      feeling them quickly and letting the drop, like sand running through her 
      fingers. He's angry and wrathful; she sees that instantly. He's afraid of 
      dying. He wants to go home. She sees a beautiful dark-haired woman who he 
      misses terribly, a tall, quiet man who he both admires and resents...
      The tall man is familiar. That's odd. She can't imagine why, but she's 
      certain she's seen this man many times before.
      She searches for Stephen, but finds no hint of him. The boy's mind is 
      open. He has nothing to hide. She pulls away, wiping her mouth on her 
      forearm. "Tell me what you know, and make it quick."
      "About what, goddammit?" he gasps, writhing in pain on the bed. "Shit, who 
      are you? Why did you do that?"
      "If you don't want me to do it again you'll tell me everything you know 
      about how Stephen died."
      "He was hurt. My father tried to help him. Birch left him behind, in the 
      desert near the Labs."
      "Your father. He's the tall man. Quiet, with dark hair. You don't like him 
      very much."
      He blinks back tears. "How the hell did you know that?"
      She bends down and frees his left wrist. "And you. Who are you? Why are 
      you here?"
      "I don't know why I'm here. I don't even know where this is."
      She crosses to the other side of the bed and swiftly unbuckles his right 
      wrist. "It's hell, kid," she tells him. "And my father is the fucking 
      devil."




      Outside the Cavern Just after Dusk 
      Sam keeps walking, though he can't see the trail.
      He walks as he walked the night he followed his mother. Step after step in 
      the clustering darkness. He has a light in his pack but he knows he 
      doesn't need it. He knows the spirit will light his way.
      An old man walks on the trail ahead of him, dressed in an old-fashioned 
      suit and tie. He doesn't seem to notice that his polished shoes are 
      completely wrong for the terrain. He walks without stumbling, like the 
      rocks and dirt are a well-tended lawn.
      Sam has been following him for about two hours, ever since arriving at the 
      place where the rivers meet. He had been squatting on the sandy riverbank, 
      filling his canteen and wondering desperately which way to walk next, when 
      he felt a hand on his shoulder. He dropped his canteen and reached for his 
      rifle, but when he turned he found no one behind him.
      He had been walking since first light. He had eaten very little. He 
      figured he imagined the whole thing.
      A few minutes later he had been climbing up from the river, headed back 
      toward the trail, when he looked up and saw a familiar form standing in 
      front of him. Sam hadn't laid eyes on Miles Solomon for years, but he knew 
      Elise's father; knew he hadn't been well, that he didn't get out much 
      anymore.
      He had accepted the old man's presence with a grateful heart.
      Miles Solomon didn't speak. He just started walking. Sam's legs were numb 
      and his head was light but he started walking, too.
      The old man still hasn't said a word. He hasn't even looked back.
      Suddenly, Solomon stops on the trail before him. He turns. Pale blue 
      light, like a river from his eyes.
      Sam's head is hollow as a drum. Blood roars in his ears.
      Firelight. He finds himself sitting in a massive armchair, thick carpeting 
      under his feet. Sam starts, looking around, recognizing the heavy 
      mantelpiece and rich furnishings.
      Riverbend.
      He stares down at his hands. Translucent flesh. Dark age spots. Twisted, 
      yellow fingernails.
      "Mr. Solomon."
      Sam's head jerks to the right. He looks over his shoulder. A man in a 
      fancy suit is touching his arm.
      "Yes." His voice - like a rusted hinge opening.
      "They've arrived."
      "Show her to the blue room. The doctor is waiting for her there."
      Sam feels himself rising. Turning to greet her.
      Maia follows the butler through the room like an obedient child, head 
      bowed, eyes fixed on the floor.
      He lifts a speckled hand in greeting. "Maia. Brave girl. Thanks for 
      helping us again."
      She looks toward him for a moment. Her tears sparkle in the firelight.
      "Oh my god, Sam. Sam!"
      Sam stops walking.
      "Sam, oh my god, Will said you were coming. Sam, can you hear me? What's 
      the matter, are you all right?"
      Kaya's arms around him. Matt, grasping his hand.
      Sam covers his face with his hands and sinks to his knees.



      At that moment, inside the Central Chamber
       
      "Mulder, listen." Dana tightens her grip on Mulder's arm. He freezes. A 
      high-pitched squeak shrills through the empty space around them.
      "What the hell was that?" Mulder whispers.
      Within moments the squeak is followed by a metallic slam.
      "I can't believe it," Ben murmurs, "a door in a place like this."
      Mulder snuffs the lantern. "Against the wall," he whispers. Far away on 
      the other side of the enormous room they hear quick, determined footsteps. 
      A weak fluorescent lantern flickers into view.
      They press themselves back into the blackness, hoping it will hide them.
      A young woman passes close enough to their hiding place that Dana can see 
      her clearly. She is tall, fair-skinned, dressed in jeans, a faded t-shirt, 
      an old nylon jacket. Her expression is bitter. Dark energy surrounds her 
      person. As she sweeps past them Dana suppresses a gasp, filled with the 
      urge to take another step back, even with a solid rock wall behind her.
      The young woman marches off into the darkness, suspended in a circle of 
      pale, blue-white light. Within a few moments they hear another door 
      opening and closing. Then silence and dark rule the chamber again.
      "Oh my god," Dana murmurs. "I know her."
      "I know her, too" Mulder whispers.
      Dana takes a deep breath, dismayed, wiping tears from her face. "I don't 
      know how I know this, but I think her name is Katya. How do I know that, 
      Mulder? God, how do I know that?"

      Book Four  - Yekaterina's Kiss
      Chapter Six

      Yekaterina slams the steel door as hard as she can, pausing for the barest 
      instant to fling her lantern to the floor nearby. The soles of her boots 
      make harsh slapping sounds on the stone as she follows the narrow hallway 
      toward the musty rooms where she has slept most nights for as long as she 
      can remember.
      Papa's waiting for her there. Just like always, with his clinging fingers 
      and his pinched, desperate expression, always begging for her company, for 
      her attention, for her body. Begging for her love like a dirty, starving 
      dog.
      She knows he would do anything to keep her near him.
      She knows Birch wouldn't do anything without orders from the top.
      There's no doubt the boy was telling the truth. Wallace confirmed the 
      story, after she marched out of the kid's room and slammed him up against 
      the wall. Birch made up the lie, Wallace said, while they were on the 
      trail from Desert View. He hadn't wanted Yekaterina to turn against him. 
      The orders weren't his fault, Birch had said. He wasn't going to take the 
      blame.
      Wallace invented the part about that kid being Stephen's murderer. He said 
      he made it up to piss her off. Watching her rough that kid up would be 
      damned entertaining. He swore he didn't know she'd get mad enough to kill.
      But she did. She is. She will be.
      Yekaterina stops at the door to the quarters she shares with her father, 
      fingers wrapped around the handle, thumb poised on the latch. Her body is 
      trembling. You've got to stay perfectly calm, she tells herself. If you 
      don't he'll take your rage and use it against you.
      Before it's over, she's going to make him confess everything.
      She forces herself to think about mundane, trivial things, like what she'd 
      like for dinner, or when her next shift in the lab is scheduled. She 
      imagines herself bathing the women in room three, runs a mental washcloth 
      over red-brown faces, swollen chests and bellies. She brushes dark hair, 
      cleans crisp white teeth, sings lullabies to unborn babies.
      When her breathing slows, she bends, pulling a long scalpel out of her 
      boot and putting it in her jacket pocket. She lets the door swing open.
      "Katya. Where have you been?" He sits in the armchair, twisting painfully 
      to look at her as she paces into the room. "Baby, there's good news. We're 
      almost there. The sample we needed is on the way."
      "Really. Who's bringing it? Birch is already here."
      "The sample is bringing itself." He grasps the arms of the chair and pulls 
      himself to his feet. His face looks bright, happier than she's seen it in 
      years. "Come here, babe. Give your daddy a kiss."
      Yekaterina glides toward him. She allows him to clutch at her waist. She 
      closes her eyes as his lips press against hers, trying hard not to hear 
      his soft moan, paying no attention to his useless, habitual mind. She 
      tries to focus instead on the reassuring weight of the scalpel hidden in 
      her jacket, thinks about what part of his body she'd most enjoy cutting 
      first.
      He runs his tongue along the inside of her front teeth, starts to push her 
      jacket off her shoulders. He whispers into her mouth. "It's been days, 
      Katya, baby. Let's go to bed early."
      Yekaterina feels like she's made of hot lead. She reaches into her pocket. 
      The scalpel feels smooth and cold. Keeping her voice even, she manages a 
      thin smile. "I'm sorry for the way I acted this afternoon. It was stupid 
      of me to be so upset."
      He runs his bony fingers through her hair. "I'm glad to hear you say that. 
      I forgive you."
      "I don't know what I was thinking. Being so rude to you when you love me 
      so much."
      He pecks at her lips again, hard, brittle kisses. "I know that boy was fun 
      to fuck, but he wasn't right for you, babe. He never could have made you 
      happy..."
      She wraps her arm around his waist, forcing herself to flatten her hand 
      against his buttocks. "You didn't mind me fucking him, though, did you? I 
      know you don't want me to be lonely, Papa."
      He moves his hands to her back and begins stroking weakly. "No, of course 
      not."
      He tries to cover her mouth with his own. She pulls back, mocking him 
      softly. "Listen, I've been thinking, I want to ask you something."
      "All right."
      "Now that Stephen's gone, I thought I might branch out, you know, broaden 
      my horizons." She reaches for the bulge in the front of his pants. "You 
      can share me, just a little, can't you?"
      His hands brush over her back: up, then down again. "Of course I can," he 
      breathes, his voice smooth and oily. "All I want is for you to be happy."
      Up, and down. Up, and down.
      His face lights up. "That boy in the lab might be a fun lay. I'll give him 
      to you, if you want."
      "Actually, I was thinking I'd like to fuck Birch."
      His hands quit moving. Yekaterina smiles cruelly. The lie slips through 
      her lips like a fish through water. "He's already told me he wants to."
      His voice cracks. "God, he's so ugly. How could you stand to look at him?"
      "What difference does that make, Papa? You're ugly, and I fuck you all the 
      time."
      He pulls away from her, rapt expression fading to a blank stare. His black 
      eyes glitter.
      Yekaterina takes a step toward him. Her voice rises. "Hear me out before 
      you get offended. I've been thinking and thinking, and my logic is 
      flawless. If I only fuck really ugly men I won't fall in love with anyone. 
      Wouldn't that make you happy, Papa?"
      He doesn't answer. His lip curls.
      "That way I won't have anything outside of what you choose for me. I won't 
      have any life at all. That's what you want, isn't it?"
      "I only want what's best for you," he whispers.
      "Really." She pulls his bony form tightly against her own, thrusting 
      against his now-flaccid organ, rotating her pubis on the soft, pliant 
      flesh. "Is *this* good for me?"
      She pumps against him roughly, letting him feel the full force of her 
      superior strength. "Do you think this is what I need?"
      His eyes are wounded, wary. "Katya..."
      She wraps her hands around his ass and grinds herself against him. "Is it? 
      Or is it just good for *you*?"
      "Katya, stop it. Stop it right now."
      He tries to pull away, but she just holds onto him more tightly. "It'll be 
      good for Birch, won't it?"
      "What?"
      "Fucking me will make him live forever, won't it, Papa?"
      "I don't know what you mean..."
      She reaches up with her right hand and wraps her fingers around his neck. 
      "What if I decide to fuck Birch instead of you? Would he become the 
      director of the Project, then? Whoever fucks Katya and lives forever gets 
      to control the bodies of the women in the lab, right?"
      "Katya, it's not..."
      She shoves him back into the armchair, hand locked around his throat. She 
      plants a knee in his solar plexus and leans close to his face. "You might 
      as well tell me the truth because I know it already. You fuck me to keep 
      from dying. You had Stephen killed to keep me with you."
      "Katya," he chokes. "Katya, baby."
      His eyes bug out. His face glows with arousal.
      She could kill him right now but then she'd have to remember that 
      expression forever.
      She whips the scalpel from her pocket and puts it to his throat. "Explain 
      it to me, Papa. What makes me so special? "
      "That's not something you want to know."
      She moves the scalpel lower. She presses it against his balls. "You'd 
      better start talking, old man."
      The pain makes him grimace. She squeezes his throat. "You can start with 
      how I'm able to heal you."
      "It was an accidental discovery. I don't understand it myself."
      The scalpel digs deeper. "Tell me about my mother."
      He gasps. "It's like I've told you. She died when you were a baby."
      "Was she special, like me? Could she see into people's minds?"
      "Katya, I can't breathe. You're choking me, baby."
      "Papa, what did you do with Dana?" Yekaterina's voice rises out of 
      control. "Where did you take her?"
      His face is turning bright red. "I...didn't...know...she...was...gone...."
      "God, you're disgusting. Why can't you quit lying?" Yekaterina tightens 
      her grip on his throat, watching his face fade from pink to white. She 
      can't stop herself from choking him. She doesn't even want to.
      She wonders if she can live without knowing the truth.
      ~~~~
      "No lock. I can't believe it."
      "Maybe they're expecting us."
      The steel door emits a high-pitched squeak as it opens. Dim light floods 
      over them as they slip cautiously into the hallway. Mulder eases the door 
      shut behind them.
      "Where, now?" Dana whispers. Her heart is racing like a jet engine.
      Mulder starts down the hall, walking slowly, quietly. The ancient, carved 
      stone is lined with steel doors. The doors are inscribed with numbers. "I 
      bet the people who built this place never meant it to be used like this," 
      Mulder mutters. Suddenly, he stops.
      "What?" Ben asks.
      "Listen."
      A little further down the hall they can hear muffled voices, arguing. They 
      follow the noise until they arrive at a door that amplifies the heated 
      words that fly behind it. Mulder puts his ear to the door.
      "I know her voice..." he murmurs. "God, who is she? Shit, they're coming." 
      He cautiously tries the next door in the row. It is unlocked, leading to a 
      darkened room. They slip inside, leaving the door slightly ajar, as two 
      figures burst into the hallway: the young woman and a man with steel-gray 
      hair, who stands with his back to them.
      "Katya, you've got to understand. I'm trying to protect you."
      Dana leans toward the doorway. Mulder moves aside so they can peer through 
      the crack together.
      "Protect me? God, you're such a liar."
      "Please, come back inside. I need you, babe."
      She gives a sharp, painful laugh, rolling hher eyes toward the ceiling. 
      "You're fucking unbelievable." She takes a step closer and stabs at the 
      man's chest with her finger. "Let me clear something up, Papa. We're 
      through, understand? There'll be nothing more between us until you come 
      clean. And by that I mean I want the truth, not your usual bullshit."
      "Katya, there are some truths that need to stay buried."
      Her eyes burn. She reaches out and lays her hand on his cheek. "You're 
      going to die very slowly without me, Alex, and I'm going to enjoy every 
      minute of it."
      She spins on her heel and stalks away. The man shouts after her. "You hate 
      Birch. You won't go to him. I know you, Yekaterina." As he rubs his throat 
      and turns to reach for the door handle, the man's face whirls into view.
      Dana suppresses a gasp. "Oh my god, it's really him."
      "I told you he was still alive," Mulder whispers grimly.
      Before Dana knows what's happening, Mulder has readied his rifle and is 
      pushing the door of their hiding place open. Alex Krycek freezes when he 
      feels the gun against the side of his head.
      "Keep facing the door," Mulder orders. "Put your hands where I can see 
      them."
      Krycek lifts his hands slowly into the air.
      "Take two steps back."
      Krycek complies. Mulder swings around him, moving the barrel of the rifle 
      so that it points at the back of his head. "Nice to see you again, 
      Krycek," he says, smoothly. "How about taking me to my son?"
      "Mulder. Good to see you, old friend. Why are you so angry?" Krycek twists 
      a little, turning Mulder's way.
      "Face the door."
      "Why? Let me look at you. I've heard you're aging gracefully."
      "You heard me. Do it."
      "I knew you were coming. Is Scully with you?"
      "We're going for a walk, now, Krycek, to wherever it is you're keeping my 
      son."
      "Your son? What makes you think I've got your son?"
      "I don't have time for this," Mulder mutters, jamming the barrel of the 
      rifle forcefully against Krycek's back. "I'm assuming you're not any more 
      interested in dying than you were thirty-five years ago."
      Krycek sighs. "We're going to need a light. There's one in my room, if 
      you'll let me get it. Or we could all go in and sit down for a few 
      minutes. There are lots of things to talk about. It could be very 
      interesting."
      The shadow of a smile drifts over Mulder's features. "Glad to see you 
      still have a sense of humor. Somebody go in there and find a better 
      light..."
      "Back in a sec," Ben says, pushing past Krycek and disappearing into his 
      room.
      "Is that Ben? *Maia's* Ben?" Krycek's voice takes on a mocking lightness. 
      "Well this *is* a trip down memory lane."
      Mulder's body tightens noticeably. He shakes his head slowly. "No," he 
      whispers. "No. I'm not taking the bait, asshole. Forget it."
      "Here, this should help," Ben says, coming back through the door with a 
      powerful battery-operated flashlight in his hand.
      "Let's go, Krycek."
      They follow the hallway back to the central chamber. Krycek leads the way, 
      urged on by Mulder's rifle. Ben walks near them, holding the light. The 
      intensity of the flashlight makes the enormous room much easier to see. It 
      appears to be circular, and the path on which they're walking seems to be 
      some kind of ledge. Dana can make out an elaborately carved and decorated 
      wall to their left. To their right looms the silhouette of a huge statue, 
      sitting on a massive pedestal, which appears to rise out of the middle of 
      some kind of pit.
      "It's amazing you managed to come through this room in the dark without 
      falling to your deaths," Krycek says, sounding a bit like a tour guide. 
      "There's an open crypt in the center of the room. The drop is about fifty 
      feet."
      Mulder doesn't answer. He shoves Krycek forward with his gun. Krycek 
      raises his hands higher and keeps walking.
      "Ben!" he says, "Maia's friend. You probably don't remember me."
      Ben's brow creases in confusion.
      "We met, briefly, about sixteen years ago. Perhaps you remember a night 
      that you gave your friend, Maia, a ride to Riverbend. I was standing in 
      the driveway with Solomon when you came to pick her up at the end of the 
      evening."
      Mulder's jaw works. He digs his gun into Krycek's back. "You are so full 
      of shit," he hisses. "You can shut up now."
      Dana turns toward Ben. His eyes are perfectly round.
      Krycek slows his pace. "How's the little girl, Mulder? What did you name 
      her...um, Kaya, was it?"
      Mulder's face goes dead. "Okay, stop right there." Krycek stops. "Face 
      forward, you bastard. I know what you're trying to do. It's not going to 
      work."
      "We've been keeping an eye on her, you know. Ever since the day she was 
      born. We haven't actually examined her since she was very small, but then, 
      there wasn't any reason to."
      "What the hell are you talking about, Krycek?" Mulder levels the gun, the 
      tremor in his voice almost imperceptible.
      "It was originally Parenti's idea. He had stored the fertilized eggs very 
      carefully. Fields and I were skeptical, I mean, they were Scully's eggs, 
      and she hadn't been able to become pregnant with them. Imagine our 
      surprise when the IVF with the surrogate turned out to be a success."
      "The surrogate?" Dana takes a few steps forward. Suddenly she feels an 
      overwhelming need to look Alex Krycek in the face.
      "Scully. You *are* here. Welcome back."
      Mulder's lip twitches. His eyes grow dark.
      Krycek continues: "The experiment was a total disappointment. Nine months 
      of trouble and expense, and, of course, the birth was successful, but the 
      child, what a shame. She turned out to be perfectly normal. We were 
      praying she would be something special, like her sister."
      "Oh my god..." Dana's heart races. She leans against the wall.
      Mulder tightens his grip on his rifle. "Scully, take it easy. Krycek, I 
      don't know what kind of sick lie you're cooking up..."
      "Oh, it's no lie, Mulder. Not at all. You should have kept a lower 
      profile, you know. Our intelligence about that alien lab was weak - we 
      were never able to find it, then we heard it had been abandoned. We had 
      given up hope of finding you, but then you...god, you're such a fucking 
      overachiever. It's disgusting. You raised a woman from the dead, remember 
      that? When Solomon's daughter got interested in your work and became your 
      disciple, she tipped her father about your exact location. That was about 
      sixteen years ago, wasn't it? It was so incredibly lucky. There you were, 
      like a sitting duck, married to that Native woman, and she had borne two 
      of your children already...we were amazed. Your wife was really something 
      special, brother. We learned so much from studying her genetic profile. 
      She was beautiful. Just beautiful. It was a shame how she died."
      Mulder is nonplused. "Give me one good reason why I should believe any of 
      this."
      "Simply because you know it's true. You never believed Kaya was yours. At 
      least that's what Maia told us, when she brought her to be examined. Now 
      you can be happy, brother," he croons, softly. "Kaya is your daughter, 
      after all. She's Scully's daughter, too."
      Dana's chest rises and falls, faster and faster. She doesn't want to think 
      about what Krycek is saying. She can barely process the words, much less 
      their meaning. She lifts herself away from the wall, trying to 
      concentrate, to keep a clear head. "You're lying," she tells him, voice 
      rising. "That's completely impossible."
      Krycek stands perfectly still. "Is it? Did you analyze the fertilized eggs 
      that Parenti's office returned to you? Were all of them, in fact, yours?"
      Dana struggles to breathe.
      Mulder casts a glance over his shoulder. "Scully, don't listen to him. 
      He's doing this to you on purpose."
      It's all a game, Dana thinks. "Shut up, Krycek," she snaps weakly.
      "You need proof what I'm saying is true? Ask your friend there, Mulder. 
      Ask Ben. He brought Maia to Riverbend, the first time she helped us."
      Mulder's body crumples slightly, as if an invisible fist has just tapped 
      him in the gut. "Ben?"
      Ben's face is terrible, pale and hollow in the bright yellow light. He 
      draws one short, painful breath and barks, "He's lying, Will."
      Krycek lowers his hands. His voice remains calm. "I'm being rude, though, 
      Scully, aren't I? You came all this way and I haven't told you about your 
      first-born daughter."
      Dana can't help herself. She moves toward him, swiftly. "Where is she? Is 
      she here?"
      Mulder lunges forward. "Scully, get back."
      Krycek's voice rises cruelly. "Make him take that gun out of my back and 
      we'll talk about it, Dana."
      "Tell me where she is," Dana pleads.
      "Get behind me, Scully..." Mulder warns, trying to block her path.
      Krycek spins toward them, grinning wildly. "Your daughter's amazing in 
      bed, Dana. I've enjoyed her *so much*."
      Dana charges toward him, roaring like a wounded animal.
      Mulder lunges. "Scully, no!"
      Krycek grabs the gun, twisting hard. Mulder loses his balance as Dana 
      flings herself on Krycek. All three bodies fall to the floor.
      Krycek struggles to pull the rifle free.
      "Get her, Ben!" Mulder shouts.
      Ben throws the flashlight down and pulls Dana free of the fight. As soon 
      as she is clear, Mulder rolls, pinning Krycek, pressing his heaving body 
      to the floor with every ounce of his strength. Krycek clings to the rifle. 
      Mulder fights to keep him from raising it.
      "Ben, help me get hold of him, he's stronger than he looks."
      Dana runs for the flashlight, tears streaming down her face.
      Ben takes hold of one of Krycek's arms, smashing it against the stone 
      below. The rifle clatters to the floor.
      "You're mine now, Mulder," Krycek wails. "This round is mine..."
      His fingers latch on to a loose stone from the floor. Dana screams a 
      warning. The stone slams against Mulder's head. Dazed, Mulder slumps to 
      one side. Krycek reaches up swiftly, seizing Ben by the shirt, pulling him 
      headlong onto the floor. Within moments he extricates himself from the 
      tangle of bodies, snaring the rifle and clutching it like a trophy. His 
      face twisted in rage, he aims at Dana, swinging wildly towards Ben when he 
      struggles up from the floor.
      Mulder remains slumped over on his knees, stirring almost imperceptibly.
      Dana takes several steps toward Krycek, who backs away from them, toward 
      the shadowy rim of the crypt. His voice is shrill. "Anybody who moves, 
      dies. You people are nothing to me."
      Dana tries to soothe him, desperately. "Krycek, put down the gun. All we 
      want is Mulder's son. We'll leave, okay?"
      "You must think I've gone completely senile," Krycek snaps. "Think I'm 
      letting any of you leave here?"
      Mulder lifts himself silently off the floor, blood streaming down his 
face.
      Krycek continues, red-faced, brandishing the rifle. "God, Scully, you have 
      no idea how many times I've fantasized about killing you. Your fucking 
      womb's no good and you caused so much trouble in the lab...damn, if Katya 
      hadn't liked to bruush that stinking red hair of yours so much I would 
      have dumped your body in the river years ago..."
      Mulder launches himself at Krycek. Ben lunges toward Dana, grabbing her by 
      the waist and throwing her to the floor as the rifle goes off. The 
      flashlight crashes to the ground, plunging the room into blackness. The 
      shot echoes through the massive space. Debris from the ceiling showers 
      onto their heads.
      "Mulder!" Ben lifts himself away and Dana rolls over, crawling around and 
      feeling for the flashlight in the dark. "Ben!"
      "I'm right here. Where did they go?"
      "Mulder!"
      "Will! Are you all right? Answer me, man!"
      "God, Ben, where did they go?" Dana finds Ben in the darkness and latches 
      on to his arm.
      "Oh my god, Dana...I think...oh my god."
      "Ben, do you think they..."
      "Shit. Oh, shit."
      A door bangs open on the near side of the room. A powerful light pours 
      into the chamber, illuminating a squat figure, framed in the door. 
      Half-dressed and shoeless, Gary Birch points his gun at them. Another man 
      stands behind him, aiming an electric light in their direction.
      "Whoever you are, don't move or I'll shoot," Birch calls. "Identify 
      yourselves right now."

      Book Four  - Yekaterina's Kiss
      Chapter Seven

      Yekaterina leans against the wall in the medical bay, staring up at the 
      ceiling. She's been standing this way for several minutes, fists balled 
      against the wall behind her back, right knee slowly bending, then 
      straightening again, over and over like a cog in a machine. She's prowling 
      the corridors inside her soul, looking in vain for an empty place to dump 
      her latest load of rage.
      She was fifteen the first time she noticed him staring. She had just come 
      back from bathing in the depths of the cave, and was sitting on the sofa, 
      combing the tangles out of her hair. Sneaking a look at her father through 
      the soaking wet locks that hung in her face, she'd caught him gazing over 
      his book at her. There was a look on his face that she'd never seen 
      before: surprise, mixed with reverence, mixed with hatred, mixed with awe. 
      It was a shocking expression, and she'd tried to pretend she didn't 
      notice, continuing to comb her hair and humming to herself like nothing 
      whatever was amiss.
      That was not the last time she would see that look.
      The staring went on for six months or so, gradually giving way to more 
      disturbing behavior. He touched her every chance he got, found excuses to 
      be in the room when she was dressing...
      Yekaterina shudders, waiting silently for the lump in her throat to melt.
      She slams the palm of her hand against the wall in frustration. Why didn't 
      I kill him, she thinks, what the hell is wrong with me?
      If she could only see Dana, everything would be all right.
      Smooth, red hair, softer than a spider's web. Dana's hair had been like 
      nothing Yekaterina had ever seen. She would spend hours brushing that 
      hair, holding Dana's hand and singing to her...nothing more beautiful, she 
      always thought.
      Nothing more beautiful.
      Every time they woke Dana up she flipped out and gave them holy hell. 
      Yekaterina always admired Dana's spirit. She would brush her own fiery 
      tresses and dream of being just like her.
      Sometimes, when she was young, she used to fantasize that...
      Oh, whatever.
      She shakes her head. It's been a long time since she's been that naive.
      Parenti and Fields are in the lab. A few minutes ago Yekaterina stormed in 
      and demanded that they tell her what happened to Dana. The two doctors 
      traded a stiff, panicked look and muttered senseless, transparent things. 
      You'll have to ask your father, they said lamely, scratching their 
      hairless heads and clearing their throats.
      That told her all she needed to know.
      For her father and his colleagues, hoarding knowledge has become a reflex. 
      They've got no more compassion than a bunch of reptiles.
      There's really no point in sticking around, she thinks. They'll never help 
      me understand anything. Not what I am or where I came from. Certainly not 
      what we're trying to accomplish here.
      She rolls her head to one side and stares intensely at Wallace, who sits 
      on a folding chair nearby, rolling himself another cigarette. "That's not 
      good for you, you know," she announces. "I read that."
      "Whatever. What are you doing back here, anyway?"
      "I need to see him again."
      "Why?"
      "I don't have to tell you that." Yekaterina pushes herself off the wall 
      and heads for the door Wallace is guarding.
      Wallace sighs. "Whatever. Hey, no funny stuff. You're gonna get me 
killed."
      Yekaterina stops, her hand on the door. "Yeah. No funny stuff, I promise."
      The kid is sitting up in the bed. He looks about a hundred times better 
      than he looked half an hour ago. The color drains out of his face as she 
      approaches. His breathing quickens, and he glances furtively around the 
      bed. Probably trying to get his hands on some kind of heavy object, 
      Yekaterina thinks wryly.
      The kid has a good reason to be scared of her. It's going to get worse for 
      him before it gets better.
      She marches up to the bed and seizes him by the head, staring into his 
      eyes. "What's your name?"
      He pulls away defiantly. "What's *your* name?" he asks, his voice low and 
      hostile.
      "My name is Katya. How are you feeling?"
      His eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. "Huh?"
      "Now you have to tell me your name."
      "Oh. Dru. It's Dru."
      "Where do you come from?"
      "What?"
      "Where do you live?"
      "Tuba City."
      "How far from here is that?"
      He looks confused and annoyed. "How the hell should I know? Where are we?"
      "I don't really know. A canyon."
      "A huge fucking canyon, right?"
      "I guess. How far is the place that you live from Desert View?"
      "That's easier. About ninety miles..."
      "Is that a long way?"
      "What? What kind of question is that? It's a long way to walk, but not so 
      long if you've got a car."
      "Can we get there from here?"
      "Well, shit..." He runs his hands through his tousled hair. "Damn, lady, 
      are you always this weird?"
      "Look, Dru. If you stay here things are going to get very bad for you very 
      fast."
      "Well, that's a shame. They're so fun now."
      "So I'm taking you out of here but I need to know where we're going."
      He shifts painfully in the bed. "Look, I'd love to. But I don't know if I 
      can walk."
      "Be still." Yekaterina reaches up and cups her hands behind his head.
      He resists. "What are you doing?"
      "Just be still," she commands, pulling his head toward hers.
      Their lips meet. Yekaterina has never done this intentionally, never 
      touched anyone specifically for the purpose of healing. Although she's 
      frequently suspected that she had this ability, no one has ever explained 
      it or instructed her in its use. She's not at all sure how it works. She 
      tries to relax and focus on his injury, tries to channel the energy that 
      surges through her body, tries to pour herself into him.
      Dru moans, his hands lifting weakly, pushing her away. She reaches down 
      and pins them to his sides. "I know it hurts," she whispers, "but the pain 
      is good. It helps you." Whimpering, he surrenders. His mind races like a 
      bird in flight. God, she thinks, it's beautiful, he's so incredibly alive.
      She'd like to stop and enjoy him further but there isn't time right now.
      She pulls away, leaving him gasping, and lowers the guard rail on the bed 
      with a bang. She spins on her heel, searching the room and finding a pair 
      of jeans folded inside a cabinet. "These yours?" she asks, throwing them 
      at him.
      "Yeah, I think..."
      "How about these boots?"
      "Yeah, those are mine."
      "Get up and get dressed."
      "Um, whatever your name is, I don't think..."
      "Just do it. You can do it."
      Suddenly they hear a strange, muffled sound. Like a small explosion 
      somewhere just beyond the wall.
      "What was that?" Dru asks. Looking amazed, he swings his legs over the 
      side of the bed. "Shit, what the hell did you do to me?"
      "I think that was a gunshot. Stay here, I'll be right back."
      She runs into the hallway. Wallace is standing by the intercom.
      "Hey, what's going on? What was that?"
      "I don't know. Birch didn't say. He just said meet him in the crypt. I 
      have to go. Listen, Yekaterina, I want a live kid when I get back here."
      "Yeah, yeah, right. I'm done in there, anyway."
      She watches Wallace stalk off down the hall. As he moves out of view, she 
      takes a few steps backward, turning very quickly to return to Dru's room.
      She gasps. A unfamiliar old man is blocking her path.
      His hair and beard are snow white. He's dressed in very strange clothes. 
      His eyes are frightening: desperate and intensely sad. "Oh my god," she 
      says, "Who are you?"
      He doesn't answer. He just starts walking. She follows him down the 
      hallway.
      "What are you doing here?" she calls. "Who are you?"
      He rounds a curve in the passage. By the time she reaches the bend in the 
      hallway, he has disappeared. Heart in her mouth, Yekaterina stops, opening 
      doors and calling for him. The exit to the central chamber lies nearby, 
      just a few doors down. She knows she didn't hear it open or close, but she 
      checks it anyway, on the off chance he may have gone out into the 
darkness.
      When the door creaks open she hears angry, unfamiliar voices echoing off 
      the ancient walls of the central chamber. Pulling a small flashlight from 
      her pocket, she slips through the door.
      They're down in the crypt.
      Once, long ago, this room was a temple and burial chamber for the people 
      who built this place. The god of the underworld sits on a pedestal, 
      looming up out of a circular pit that is lined with empty sarcophagi. 
      Yekaterina's never seen its face, which perches in the dark, somewhere 
      near the ceiling, but she's always been struck by the fact that the hands 
      folded in its massive stone lap seem to have animal claws.
      Holding her flashlight in her teeth, Yekaterina drops to her knees, then 
      flattens herself on her belly and crawls across the floor to the edge of 
      the pit. Switching her light off, she peers over the side.
      Wallace is holding one of the big, strong lights that Birch only uses for 
      unloading supplies. There are two forms lying prone on the floor of the 
      crypt. The smell of blood rises on the damp, stony breeze. Birch and Jonah 
      are pointing rifles at two people. All she can tell from looking at their 
      backs is that one is a man and one is a woman.
      Birch levels his rifle. "I said, don't move!"
      The woman struggles in the arms of her companion, trying to get to one of 
      the people on the floor. "Goddammit," she shouts. "He's dying, he needs 
      help. If you won't let me take care of him, please get someone else. I 
      know there are doctors here. Why don't you call them?"
      "Jonah," Birch commands, slowly, thoughtfully, "check the boss. Is he 
      alive?" His voice is strange, strangled and high-pitched. He doesn't sound 
      like himself at all.
      Yekaterina stifles a moan.
      Yes. Check the boss, Jonah.
      She closes her eyes. It's too much to hope for.
      Jonah lowers his gun. Arranging his feet carefully to avoid soiling his 
      boots in the pool of blood on the floor, he squats by what she now 
      recognizes as her father's body, rolling it over. "He's dead, Mr. Birch," 
      he says.
      Yekaterina has to bite her hand to keep from crying out.
      The woman breaks free from her companion and runs toward the other body, 
      which lies several feet away, very close to where Birch is standing. Her 
      hair flashes red-gold in the bright, white light.
      Oh my god.
      Dana.
      Yekaterina instantly starts crawling. She wriggles on her belly in the 
      darkness toward the top of one of the ancient stone stairways that leads 
      down into the crypt. Her heart is thumping so hard and so fast she fears 
      that it might wear out.
      It's a miracle like nothing she's ever seen. Dana is walking. Dana is 
      talking.
      Dana is alive.
      Yekaterina's going to make sure that she stays that way.
      Dana bends over the man's body as Yekaterina slowly descends on the 
      stairway, just far enough to hear what they're saying. "His skull is 
      fractured. He's bleeding internally. But he's still alive, please get 
      someone..."
      Jonah speaks softly, awed. "Jesus, Mr. Birch, is that..."
      "Yeah." Birch's voice sounds pinched. "Take a good look, Jonah. That's who 
      the boss was waiting for. He's the Original."
      Jonah's voice fills with horror. "But...god, don't you think we should get 
      Parenti? Someone's got to save him."
      "Get someone," Dana pleads. "Get Parenti. Please."
      "I don't know..." Birch muses, keeping his gun trained at her head. "What 
      would you do, Miss Scully, if you were me? I've worked for these people 
      for a very long time. They've been in this operation for over thirty years 
      and they're not any closer to success than when they started. There's been 
      so much mismanagement. As things stand, they have no chance of winning."
      "Winning what?" Dana whispers.
      He lowers his gun. His voice is ice cold. "The planet, Miss Scully. The 
      planet. I don't know if you were aware of it, but, as a species, Homo 
      Sapiens has arrived at the end of a long and dubiously successful run. Now 
      that the old model's out of date, the race is on. Whoever comes up with 
      the most efficient design gets to go home with all the marbles."
      "I don't see what that has to do with him."
      Birch stands quietly, thinking hard. "Jonah."
      "Yes, sir?"
      "Get Parenti. Let's see if we can save him."
      Yekaterina eases herself back up the stairway as Jonah orders Wallace to 
      find Parenti. She tries not to think about the blood that stains the floor 
      of the crypt, choosing, instead, to rejoice in the knowledge that Dana is 
      alive and aware. All she wants now is to talk with her, to thank her for 
      all she's done.
      Her mind buzzes with Gary Birch's unexpected words. If I play my cards 
      right, I can have everything I ever wanted, she marvels. Birch has the 
      answers and he's willing to talk.
      But none of it will be any good until she knows that Dana is safe.
      She crouches in the darkness and feels her way toward the wall. Cupping 
      her flashlight in her hand to dim the bulb, she switches it on. She's sure 
      she only has a few minutes. Birch will be busy. She has to get to Dana. 
      She can take her into the catacombs under the compound and hide her there 
      until they figure out what to do.
      Yekaterina hears a rustling sound. Someone is coming through the portal.
      She hits the switch on her flashlight and flattens herself against the 
      wall, sidling toward the small, square opening that glows more intensely 
      with each passing moment. She waits in the shadows, holding her breath, as 
      a hand pushes a lantern through the hole. It is followed by an arm, then a 
      head, then a body. A tall, handsome young man lifts himself to his feet, 
      straightening and pulling a rifle out of the portal behind him.
      Yekaterina pounces, kicking his lantern over, grabbing his rifle with one 
      hand and wrapping her other arm around his neck, slapping her hand over 
      his mouth to muffle his cry. She drags him down the wall to a place a good 
      distance from his point of entry, pushing him against the hard stone with 
      her left arm, pinning him in place with every ounce of her strength.
      She flips her flashlight on and shines it in his face. His family tree is 
      unmistakable.
      "You look just like your brother," she mutters. "You're in danger. You 
      have to be quiet."
      ~~~~
      They wait quietly by the wall while Jonah carries out Birch's 
      instructions. Every few moments the young man starts to speak and every 
      few moments Yekaterina silences him. When the heavy steel door of the 
      medical bay has clanged shut, leaving them in darkness, Yekaterina flicks 
      on her flashlight and shines it toward him.
      "Now," she whispers. "If you want your brother to live you have to do 
      exactly what I tell you."
      "What was all that about, down there?" he whispers back. "I couldn't hear, 
      it was too far away."
      "The shit's hitting the fan. That's what it was about."
      "Who was that man they carried up the stairs?"
      "I don't know. There's no time to talk about it now. Stick close to 
      me...the stairs are really dangerous."
      She leads him down the steep, narrow stairway, placing her feet carefully 
      in the dim gold light. They cross the floor of the crypt, arriving within 
      moments at the foot of the pedestal that fills the center of the pit. 
      Circling toward the back of the stone cylinder, Yekaterina pushes open a 
      carved wooden door. They step into a murky vestibule.
      "What the hell is this?" the young man gasps.
      He stares in astonishment at the winding stairway that leads up to the 
      heavens and into the earth below.
      "It's the Axis Mundi, buddy" Yekaterina answers, grimly. "It's the way out 
      of here. Let's get your brother."
      The small flashlight is dimmer than what Yekaterina usually takes with her 
      into the catacombs, but she knows the stairway and the passages below it 
      so well she could walk them in her sleep. She grabs the young man by the 
      hand and pulls him after her, winding lower and lower into the bowels of 
      the earth.
      ~~~~
      Dana walks behind Ben, down the dreary hallway toward whatever fate Birch 
      has ordered for them. She feels bloodless and transparent; her soul 
      consumed by rage.
      The large, loutish man who accompanies them nudges her with his pistol. 
      "Stop here." He takes a key from his pocket and unlocks one of the steel 
      doors. "In here, both of you," he commands.
      Ben steps inside the darkened room, turning back to face her as she 
      follows him inside. His features are rigid. The door clicks shut behind 
      them, leaving them in blackness.
      Dana fights to keep her sanity. "They shouldn't have moved him," she 
      mutters. "He shouldn't have been moved."
      "Dana..." Ben's voice is tender, cautious.
      "You don't move a person with a head injury like that," she cries. "The 
      risk of trauma to the brain is too great..."
      "Dana, you heard what the doctor said..."
      "No. Parenti is a fraud. I don't believe him." Dana paces, breathing hard, 
      making a tight little circle in the dark. "I've got to find a way to get 
      back to the lab. I can save him, Ben. I can save him."
      He finds her, grasps her hand. "Dana, please, this isn't good for you. He 
      wouldn't want you to do this..."
      "What do you know about what he would want?" Dana rips her hand away from 
      his.
      Ben falls silent.
      Dana crouches on the floor, burying her head in her hands and trying to 
      concentrate. There's got to be a way out of here, she thinks. There's got 
      to be a way to get to him.
      ~~~~
      Yekaterina kicks the grate off her usual ventilation shaft and climbs out 
      into the hallway. She turns to her companion. "No one's around. Hurry."
      When he emerges, she replaces the grate and they run down the deserted 
      hallway. They find Dru waiting, fully dressed in his jeans and the 
      blood-spattered shirt he was wearing when Birch brought him in.
      "Holy shit, Sam." Dru falls into his brother's arms. "How the *fuck* did 
      you get here, man..."
      "God, Dru, I'm not really sure. Will came here after you, with Dana and 
      Ben, and I followed them, but um," he turns and casts a cautious glance at 
      Yekaterina, "...I ran into her first."
      "Dana?" Yekaterina's brain works frantically. "Your father came here with 
      Dana and another guy?"
      Sam nods, looking bewildered.
      "Your father. Shit. He's your father." Yekaterina takes a few steps toward 
      the door. "Shit."
      "Who?"
      "What do you mean?"
      "Boys, I hate to tell you this..."
      "What?"
      She starts for the hallway. "Things just got a whole lot more complicated. 
      Both of you wait here. I have to see what's going on."
      ~~~~
      "Yekaterina!"
      "Wallace. Shit, what's the matter, man? What's going on?"
      "Aw, shit, Katya, everything's going to hell. When Birch called me...damn, 
      I don't know how to tell you this...it's your father."
      "I know, man, I know. I was out there. I saw."
      "Shit. Listen. Birch has lost his fucking mind. He sent me to lock those 
      people up, and when I came back...aw, shit."
      "What?"
      "You're not going to believe it. That guy...the one he calls the Original, 
      well, I think he must have died, and Birch...shit. Motherfucking shit."
      "Calm down, man. Just tell me what happened."
      "Parenti and Fields...bullet through the head. They're both lying on the 
      floor in the lab."
      "Holy shit."
      "Yeah. It gets worse. Jonah met me in the hall and told me to find you. 
      We're leaving. Birch told him to cut the generator and rig the place to 
      blow."
      "Holy shit, Wallace, what about the mothers?"
      "I don't know. Katya, you gotta come with me, we only have a few minutes."
      "Where's Birch?"
      "In records, Jonah said, getting stuff he needs."
      "Listen, Wallace, you have to help me."
      "Did you hear me? This place is going to blow, we have to leave now."
      "Where are those people? What room did you put them in?"
      "There's no time. Birch wants them dead."
      "No. No, we've got to help them get out. I'll take them. Which room?"
      "Dammit, Katya."
      "Wallace, now."
      "He's gonna cut my throat!"
      "I'll take the blame!"
      "Katya, your father can't protect you anymore."
      "Birch needs me. Come on, Wallace."
      "Room four, okay?"
      "I'll meet you...where?"
      "The crypt, Jonah said. In fifteen minutes...hell, no, ten, now."
      "Ah, shit. The lights."
      "Power's cut. Shit. SHIT. Hurry up!"

      Book Four  - Yekaterina's Kiss
      Chapter Eight

      Dana feels her way to the door, trying the lock. She knows it is a 
      pointless, futile thing to do. Over the last several minutes she has felt 
      her way through the room, searching for a light, searching the walls for 
      additional doors, ventilation shafts, anything that might give her a way 
      out, and has come up empty.
      She slams her hand against the door. "Birch!" she screams, for what seems 
      like the hundredth time. "Birch, I want to talk!"
      She slumps against the door, tears of grief and frustration rolling down 
      her face. Ben has remained silent and still during her efforts. She can 
      hear his slow, labored breathing, near the wall, close by.
      "Ben..."
      There's a hitch in his voice, the sound of tears. "Yeah."
      "Was Krycek lying?"
      He doesn't answer.
      "He wasn't lying, was he?"
      Still no answer.
      "How could you do that to Mulder, Ben?" she whispers. "Couldn't you have 
      told him what happened? It might have saved Maia's life."
      He draws his breath in, sharply. "You think I don't know that?" he rasps.
      "He suffered for years because of what she did. I can't believe..."
      "*He* suffered?" Ben's voice has become a moan.
      "Everyone suffered." She listens to him crying in the darkness. "Why did 
      she do it, Ben?"
      "They threatened the boys. They threatened Will. She did it to protect 
      them and she made me promise not to tell. I didn't know about the other 
      trips to Riverbend, Dana. But after the twins were born, when I saw the 
      way she died, it wasn't too hard to figure it out."
      "And you could have told him about it, Ben. Why didn't you tell him?"
      "You'd have to know Maia to understand," he cries. "When she asked for a 
      promise, she wasn't just saying it. It was really important to her, that's 
      the way she was. God," he sobs, "I loved her. I *honored* her. She didn't 
      want him to know, Dana. I promised I wouldn't tell."
      A key turns in the lock and the door swings open. A flashlight beam hits 
      them as they scramble to their feet.
      "Dana?" A woman's voice streaks toward them in the darkness. They can just 
      make out her silhouette, standing behind the light.
      "Who are you?" Dana asks.
      "If you want to keep living you have to come with me, now."
      They follow her into the hallway and are astounded to find Dru and Sam 
      waiting for them there.
      "Oh my god," Dana gasps. "Dru, are you all right? Sam, where did you come 
      from?"
      Sam looks bewildered. "Where's Will?" he asks.
      Dana and Ben exchange an anguished glance.
      "You're going to have to chat later," the young woman whispers fiercely. 
      "This place is going up in smoke in about five minutes."
      The light catches her face. Dana stares in wonder at her shining red hair.
      The night keeps all her light inside. She wonders at the stars...
      "What's your name?" Dana whispers, reaching towards her.
      An explosion rocks the floor under their feet.
      "Follow me," the young woman hisses. "We have to get to the crypt."
      "Ben, where's Will?" Sam asks, as they run down the hall.
      "Katya, where's my father?" Dru shouts.
      They are nearing the door to the central chamber. Katya stops. She turns 
      toward him. "He's dead, kid."
      Sam pales. "No," he whispers.
      "Look, I'm sorry, it's true."
      Another explosion shakes the passage.
      Dana and Ben exchange another desperate glance. "Sam, she's telling the 
      truth," Dana says.
      Sam's mouth hardens into a tight white line.
      Dru stares at the floor. "Where's his body?" he asks harshly.
      "What?"
      "Where's his body?" Sam repeats his brother's words. "We're not leaving 
      without it."
      "There's no time."
      Dana touches Katya's arm. "Please."
      Their eyes lock in the pale light. Blue into blue. "Check that room 
      there," Katya whispers. "That's the lab."
      Sam hands his rifle to Ben. He takes the flashlight and runs into the lab, 
      emerging, moments later, with Mulder's body slung over his shoulder.
      Dana's knees go weak at the sight. She slumps against Ben, insensible. 
      "Dana, please," he begs. "We have to go."
      Forcing her legs to carry her body, she follows Sam toward the entrance to 
      the burial chamber. She wishes she were strong enough to carry Mulder 
      herself.
      They descend the stairs that lead to the crypt. An explosion nearly knocks 
      them off their feet.
      A strong light pierces the darkness. Birch and his people are waiting. 
      "Keep moving!" Katya shouts. They follow her across the floor. Dana hears 
      gunshots echoing, Birch's voice ordering them to freeze. A wooden door 
      looms ahead. Katya rips it open and urges them inside. Sam disappears from 
      view, bent under the weight of his father's body.
      Ben turns back, raising Sam's rifle to ward off their pursuers. "Dana, go, 
      go..."
      Birch and his men return fire. Shots bounce off the pedestal, making sharp 
      cracking sounds.
      Suddenly Dana feels a searing pain across her forehead. The black air 
      swims and swirls. She drops to her knees, dazed, tasting blood.
      Katya kneels beside her. "Dana!" she cries. "You, take her...here's the 
      light, give me the gun. Carry her up. Go, now!"
      Ben carries Dana through the doorway and starts climbing the stairs. Her 
      ears ring with explosions and her head swims with remembrance...
      Soft hands brushing her hair.
      "The night keeps all the light inside, to fill her empty womb..."
      A gentle voice, singing dark lullabies.
      "Her breath comes quick and shallow, like a dying bird..."
      "Ben, Ben...stop. Oh god, put me down. Ben, please...I have to go back for 
      my daughter."
      She struggles. He sets her down. Her knees buckle.
      He catches her. "Dana, you're hurt, you can't."
      "She's my daughter, Ben. She's Mulder's daughter. I have to go back for 
      her."
      Ben holds her tightly. "Dru!"
      Dru, a few steps above them, turns. Ben gestures for him to come back 
down.
      "Here's the light. Go, don't wait. I have to go back."
      He disappears down the stairway.
      ~~~~
      Will picks himself up from the floor of the chasm. He moves his body 
      slowly, gingerly. He is surprisingly free of pain.
      It's hard to understand. There had been a horrifying sensation when he hit 
      the bottom, of his head slamming against some kind of blunt stone object. 
      For a brief instant the pain had been unholy and indescribable. But now 
      it's gone.
      Looking around him, he begins to understand. He's visited this place many 
      times before.
      Black water purls and dances inches from his toes.
      A high, rocky bluff towers over the far shore of the river. A small, 
      square structure is perched on its edge. In front of the structure, a 
      figure stands waiting, wrapped like a mummy in a simple, black shawl. The 
      figure raises an arm and beckons.
      Will knows what he has to do.
      Icy water fills his boots as he plunges into the river. It swirls around 
      his calves, his knees, his waist, threatening to paralyze his body and 
      suck it into the depths. It's a familiar sensation. The secret is to 
      always keep moving. He strikes out against the strong current.
      Pulling himself through the shocking black water takes every ounce of his 
      strength.
      He glances down. Helpless faces stare up at him just under the surface, 
      their mouths and eyes wide with fear. His heart beats faster. He fights to 
      keep his footing. The river bottom drops away, forcing him to swim.
      The hands of the forsaken pluck at his toes and grasp at his ankles, 
      trying to slow his pace. He kicks harder and pushes against the flood, but 
      it's difficult to keep his mouth and nose above the waterline, almost 
      impossible to make any progress.
      It shouldn't be this hard, he thinks. It's never been hard before.
      He goes down. His lungs begin to fill.
      "Will!"
      A familiar voice in his head.
      He breaks the surface, gasping for air, casting a desperate glance upward. 
      A thin, white rope dangles above his head. One determined grab and his 
      fingers close around it. He lifts himself up and out of the current. 
      Slowly, tortuously, he ascends, pulling the weight of his dripping body 
      hand over hand over hand over hand...
      The wind plasters his wet clothes to his body. He's never been so cold.
      There's no choice but to keep climbing, though. He knows that someone is 
      waiting.
      ~~~~
      A deafening explosion rocks the winding stairway. Dust and debris shower 
      onto their heads.
      Sam travels steadily upward. Dru follows, carrying Dana like a doll in his 
      arms.
      She stirs. "Dru, where's Ben? Are they coming? Did he find her?"
      "I don't know. I don't hear them."
      "God, do you feel that?" Sam shouts. "Fresh air..."
      He lays his father gently on the stairs and lifts himself up through a 
      hole in the rock. "This is it," he calls down to them. "Dru, help me with 
      Will..."
      The earth shakes below them.
      "Come on, man, we have to get out of here. This whole damn bluff might 
      come down."
      The rock wall of the stairway threatens to give way. Dru grasps Mulder 
      under the arms, hoisting him toward his brother's waiting hands. Then he 
      pulls Dana up the remaining stairs and lifts her through the hole.
      Sam has laid Mulder on the crisp brown grass at the top of the bluff. Dana 
      collapses beside him, sucking fresh air into her lungs. "Dru," she cries, 
      as Sam pulls his brother out into the night, "is Ben behind you?"
      "Goddammit, no." Dru peers back down into the hole, calling Ben's name.
      "We should go," Sam says. "Birch's people could be behind us."
      "What about Ben, man? What if he's hurt down there?" Dru crouches, 
      preparing to go back into the hole.
      The ominous rumbling below them grows louder. "He'll catch up," Sam says 
      grimly.
      Dru springs to his feet and runs to the edge of the bluff. He looks down, 
      then jogs back toward them. "I can see a fire down there. Is that Kaya and 
      Matt?"
      "Yeah, come on." Sam bends wearily toward Mulder's body.
      Dru stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "Sam," he says, quietly and 
      firmly, "let me, man."
      Sam steps back. Dru lifts his father. He focuses the light and starts 
      looking for a trail.
      Sam scoops Dana up without another word, following his brother.
      ~~~~
      The walls of the chamber are beginning to crumble. Yekaterina squints in 
      Birch's bright light, firing recklessly, blocking the exit that leads out 
      of the crypt.
      "Put the gun down, Yekaterina."
      She fires toward the sound of his voice in reply.
      "There's no time for this, woman. We need to leave!"
      "Think I'm letting you leave here, Birch?"
      Rocks drop from the ceiling. A shot cracks into the wall above her head.
      "We're going through that door and you're going with us. Put the gun down 
      and I won't have to hurt you."
      "Katya, come on..." Wallace's voice is desperate. "We've got you 
      outgunned. Don't be stupid."
      A rock crashes down. Yekaterina dodges, keeping her rifle level.
      The wooden door creaks open behind her. "Katya," an unfamiliar voice 
      hisses. "The place is coming down, come on, come with me!"
      She twists to see who's talking, dropping to the floor as several shots 
      ring out. The man who came with Dana crouches and reaches toward her. 
      "Dana needs you," he cries. "Come with me, now!"
      "Dana won't leave this canyon alive if Birch has his way. Go without me!"
      The earth rumbles under their feet. Long cracks begin to appear in the 
      floor.
      "Give it up, Yekaterina!" Birch and his men are advancing.
      She straightens, leveling her gun and sending a shower of bullets in their 
      direction. Wallace and Jonah scatter. Birch moves forward, unafraid.
      "If you don't put the gun down I'll have to hurt you, Katya. You won't be 
      able to help your mother, then. Give me the gun and we'll talk about it 
      later."
      Yekaterina tries to breathe. Rocks rain down around her.
      "She *is* my mother. God, I knew it. I knew it. That is what you're 
      saying, isn't it, Birch?"
      "That's what I'm saying. Now put the gun down."
      The man in the doorway calls to her. "Katya, come with me, let's get out 
      of here, now!"
      Birch draws so near she can smell him, staring at her over the barrel of 
      his gun. Wallace and Jonah close in behind him, keeping her in their 
      sights.
      Yekaterina lowers her rifle.
      "Let's deal, Birch."
      "Make it fast."
      "Let them all go. I'll come with you."
      ~~~~
      Snap.
      Bright light.
      Will stands at one end of an empty room.
      A heartbeat, slow. Growing slower.
      Everything is made of smooth, polished wood: the floors, the walls, the 
      ceiling. A large mahogany desk and an old-fashioned coat rack sit near the 
      far wall of the room. In its center there is a simple ladder-backed chair.
      Silence, rushing like blood. The heartbeat, sluggish and irregular.
      The room has no clear exit. Will looks over his shoulder to see if there's 
      a door behind him.
      A rustle. A flurry. Wings settle into place.
      His head snaps forward.
      A white owl sits in the middle of the desk.
      Silence, still as glass. The heartbeat, fading.
      The owl is waiting for him.
      His feet make hollow tapping sounds as he walks. He sits cautiously in the 
      ladder-backed chair.
      The owl spreads its wings. It sheds its skin. It hangs its owl body neatly 
      on the coat rack.
      Will blinks and shakes his head. Maia stands before him, wrapped in a 
      black woolen shawl.
      Tears spring unbidden to his eyes. He blinks them back. "I've come here so 
      many times," he says hoarsely. "I've looked for you. Why did you stay 
      away?"
      Her face is grave, earnest, loving. "He's coming for them, Will. You have 
      to keep them safe."
      ~~~~
      Grief, like a bubbling spring. She can't suppress it any longer.
      Dana's spirit is leaden and cold, darker than the night. Sam carries her 
      effortlessly; she feels weightless, more nothing than nothing. Dru speaks 
      occasionally, warning his brother about impending hazards, but Sam's 
      answers are monosyllabic; he works hard to keep his footing as they 
      descend the steep, rocky trail.
      She lays her head against Sam's chest, blood and tears running pink onto 
      his shirt. She keeps her eyes fixed on Mulder's face, lying half-hidden in 
      shadows, rocking gently against Dru's back.
      Dana listens to the breeze rustling the grass as they walk. She prays this 
      is all a dream.
      She feels Sam pressing his face against her hair. "Dana," he whispers, 
      "we're back at camp. I'm going to put you down now."
      ~~~~
      Kaya screams as Dru lays Mulder on the ground. She throws herself over her 
      father's body, hiding her face against him.
      Dana walks unsteadily toward the blanket, leaning against Sam. She kneels 
      by Mulder, laying two fingers on the cool flesh of his throat, checking 
      for a pulse. Kaya lies prone, weeping. Dana reaches out to stroke her 
      back, murmuring soothingly.
      "Is he really dead?" Dru asks, frozen in place behind her.
      Dana stares into Mulder's blood-streaked face, pushing a stray lock of 
      hair off his forehead and letting her palm rest on his cheek. His flesh is 
      growing colder by the second.
      Tears spill unheeded down her face.
      None of this seems real.
      Dru kicks the ground. "I refuse to believe this."
      "Yeah," Sam whispers. "Nothing can kill Will. He doesn't die."
      Dana traces Mulder's icy white lips with the tip of her index finger.
      "Go after him, Sam," Dru whispers.
      The shock of Dru's words raises Kaya's head. She stares at Sam 
expectantly.
      Sam backs away. "I can't go there. He hasn't taught me..."
      "Sam, please," Kaya begs. "Please try."
      "No." Sam says tightly, his face utterly blank. "Will wouldn't want me 
to."
      "It's okay," Dana says, her eyes locked to Mulder's face. "It's okay, 
      everyone. I'll go."
      She closes her eyes, bends to kiss him, collapses on top of his body.
      ~~~~
      Snap.
      She stands inside.
      The sky hangs low as earth.
      Mud. Rock. Air.
      The river flows. Dead fingers scratch the shoreline.
      Moans.
      Unnatural.
      Deafening.
      Hands like the moon. Hands over her ears.
      "Mulder!!!" she screams.
      No answer.
      ~~~~
      Will shakes his head, bewildered.
      "Coming for them? Coming for who?"
      "The babies, Will. You need to understand."
      "Babies? Do you mean the twins?"
      "Your babies, yes. You have to protect them."
      "Who's coming for them, Maia?"
      "A man who wants to control them."
      "What do you mean?"
      "You've been told about Kaya."
      "It's true, then."
      "Yes. I'm sorry."
      "God, why did you..."
      "They said they would kill my children. I didn't have any choice. That's 
      not why I'm here now, though. Listen: seven years after Kaya's birth they 
      came to me and threatened to expose what I'd done. I didn't know then that 
      Kaya was your child, Will. I was afraid I'd lose her, and Sam and Dru as 
      well, if I didn't give them what they wanted. I left the children with my 
      mother during Soyal. I went to Riverbend. The doctor put the eggs inside 
      me, just like he did with Kaya, several, to make sure one would take. They 
      told me this time the pregnancy would be different, more dangerous. They 
      warned I would get very big. We didn't figure out there were two babies 
      until it was too late. Then they told me to prepare myself. They told me I 
      was going to die."
      "And you kept this to yourself? You went through that alone?"
      "I couldn't trust anyone, not Ben, not my mother...the situation was so 
      serious, I knew they would tell you. I knew you too well, Will. I knew 
      what you'd do, go off and get yourself killed. I was as good as dead. The 
      children needed their father. So I did what I had to do."
      Light rushes in silence. Will closes his eyes.
      "Maia, the twins...I need to understand. Who's their father? Where did 
      they come from?"
      Maia crosses the room, her feet barely grazing the smooth, wooden floor.
      "You're their father, Will."
      He whispers. "That's not possible."
      She lays an ice-cold hand on his cheek. "Will, they're you."
      The ladder-back chair clatters to the floor as Will rises, stumbling 
      backward. "What do you mean, they're me?"
      The room fades away. The floor disappears.
      ~~~~
      "Dana..." Kaya reaches for Dana's hand. Dana's unconscious form rolls off 
      Will's body. Sam drops to his knees and feels for a pulse.
      "Holy shit," Dru says. "Do you think she really did it?"
      "Of course not," Sam murmurs. "She's hurt. She's exhausted."
      Matthew speaks quietly. "Where's Ben, Sam?" He stands at the edge of camp, 
      looking out into the darkness.
      Sam doesn't answer. "Dru, help me move her."
      "Don't take her away from Will," Kaya cautions.
      Sam shoots her a wrathful look, but doesn't argue. They arrange Dana so 
      she lies next to Will. Sam shudders internally at the sight of the two of 
      them laid out together on the blanket. He kneels and tends Dana's injury.
      "Looks like a bullet grazed her forehead. Bleeding's slowing down. Her 
      heartbeat's steady. I think she'll be okay."
      He paces, looking around. "We've got to move camp," he murmurs. "I don't 
      know where Birch and his people are, but we need to hide until 
daylight..."
      Boots crunching over rock in the darkness. Ben steps out of the shadows.
      "Ben, you inconsiderate bastard." Matt throws his arms around his friend. 
      "Where the hell have you been?"
      "We've been trying to get down that bluff in the dark without breaking our 
      fucking necks."
      Matthew looks confused. "We?"
      Katya melts out of the darkness and stands near Ben's shoulder.
      "Holy fuck, Katya..." Dru starts toward her. "You've got to help my 
      father."
      Sam moves toward the fire, intending to scatter it. "We need to get 
      moving."
      "Sam, it's all right," Ben says. "We're safe. We can leave in the 
morning."
      Sam doesn't seem to hear him. He scrapes his boot through the embers. "We 
      can talk later."
      Dru grabs his brother's arm. "Didn't you hear Ben, man? Just wait."
      Katya takes a few shy steps into the camp. "Where's Dana? I came to say 
      good-bye to her."
      Sam gestures limply toward the blanket. "There. She passed out a few 
      minutes ago, but I think she'll be okay."
      Katya moves swiftly, dropping to her knees with a small cry and placing 
      her hands on both sides of Dana's face.
      Sam takes a few steps toward her. "She's going to be fine. It's nothing, 
      just a crease. She needs to rest, that's all."
      Still sitting near her father's body, Kaya stares in astonishment at the 
      new arrival.
      "God, they could be sisters," Matt mutters.
      Ben clears his throat and looks at the ground.
      Katya grasps both of Dana's hands. "She's cold," she rasps. "This isn't 
      sleep."
      "She went to find my father." Kaya whispers. "I know that's where she is."
      "You can help them, Katya," Dru urges. "You know what I mean."
      Katya puts her hand on Will's chest. "You weren't dead when I helped you, 
      kid," she says, softly. "I don't think I can do anything for him."
      Ben approaches Katya cautiously, squatting on the ground next to her. 
      "Before you go, Katya, I... I need to tell you something about this man." 
      He casts a glance around the camp. "Something your mother would want you 
      to know."
      "Her mother? Who?" Dru crouches near them, listening intently. Everyone 
      waits for Ben to speak.
      Ben hesitates. He stares at Katya. "No, Dru. This isn't for you, man. It's 
      only for her, for now..."
      He leans over and whispers in Katya's ear. Her eyes go wide. She moans.
      ~~~~
      Will hangs in the wind, bloodless fingers clinging desperately to the 
      high, rocky bluff. He stares down at the rushing black water, far beneath 
      his dangling feet.
      The white owl takes flight above his head, wheeling off into the lavender 
      sky.
      "I have a gift to give you, brother."
      Will looks up. Alex Krycek stands on the bluff above him, the tips of his 
      boots inches from Will's fingers.
      "There's nothing you can give me that I'd want, Krycek."
      "No? Are you sure?"
      The wind buffets Will's body. He strains to keep his grip on the sharp, 
      slippery rocks.
      Krycek leans closer. "Listen to me, Mulder. You can go back to Scully. You 
      can live beyond living. I'll tell you how it works."
      "There's no point, Krycek," Will gasps, his muscles beginning to ache. 
      "I'm not going to listen to you."
      "Did you know that you have the power to save humanity, Mulder? Isn't that 
      what you've always wanted? To be the big hero? Ride in on the white horse 
      and save the day?"
      "The boys Maia spoke of. They *are* you, Mulder. When she came to 
      Riverbend that very first night, she brought us the cells that we needed. 
      There were still some bugs in our method, but we thought we had found the 
      key. The Native women, their immunity to the alien virus...Maia was able 
      to bear your children, Mulder. We hoped she'd be able to give birth to 
      your clone. And she did, Mulder. It was better than we could have hoped 
      for. Now we have not one, but two perfect replicas, with the same cell 
      structure, the same body chemistry. You were engineered by the aliens to 
      repopulate the planet with their bloodline. But we have successfully 
      stolen the design."
      "This is sick, Krycek," Will shouts over the noise of the wind. "I don't 
      believe you."
      "What possible reason is there for me to lie now? I'm trying to help you, 
      my friend. Live. Raise those boys. When they reach maturity Birch will 
      contact you. Breed them with your daughter, Mulder. Repopulate the planet. 
      You'll become the Father of Humanity, Adam in a whole new garden..."
      Will stares up at him in horror. "My daughter? What are you talking 
      about?"
      "Your first-born child. She's a miracle, Mulder. Conceived when the alien 
      virus was ravaging your body. Scully's only successful birth. Think about 
      it. She's the deal, Mulder, the real deal. The new model. When your clones 
      breed with her, we'll win."
      Will's grip begins to fail. "I won't do it. It's insane."
      Krycek stares down at him, smiling cruelly. "Here's my gift to you, 
      brother. The secret to eternal life. It's Yekaterina's kiss, my friend. 
      Yekaterina's kiss."
      He kicks Will's fingers viciously. They lose their hold on the rock.
      Will plummets helplessly.
      Falling.
      Falling.
      The water waits for him.
      ~~~~
      Kaya moves aside, puzzled, as Katya kneels on the blanket beside Will's 
      body. Katya studies him tenderly, tears in her eyes, her face ablaze with 
      rapture.
      "There, the nose," she murmurs. "I know that nose. Those lips..."
      She reaches out to smooth his hair. "When I saw you in Dru's mind, I knew 
      I'd seen you before," she tells him, hoarsely. "...in Dana's mind, in my 
      father's..."
      She smiles wistfully, leaning down to whisper in his ear.
      "I always knew in my heart Alex wasn't really my father..."
      She presses her lips against Will's.
      "Hey. Sam..." Kaya stiffens, looking toward her brothers in alarm.
      "What's she doing?" Sam mutters, taking a step forward, reaching out to 
      stop her.
      "Sam, no." Dru seizes his brother by the arm, pulling him back. "Let her. 
      Kaya, it's okay. She can help him."
      "I don't understand this..."
      "Neither do I. But you guys, I was fucking shot in the back. This morning 
      I couldn't feel my legs. Then Katya came and...look, she has a gift. I 
      know Will would want us to trust it."
      Sam gestures helplessly toward the woman who is kissing his father's dead 
      body. "Dru...dammit, why should I trust her? I don't even know who the 
      hell she is."
      "She's Dana's daughter."
      Three dark heads turn to Ben in amazement.
      "That's what you meant, before," Dru murmurs.
      Ben silences him with a hand on his arm: "And I don't quite know how to 
      break it to you, kids, but she's Will's daughter, too. That makes her your 
      sister."
      Kaya crosses her arms tightly over her chest, her face expressionless. Sam 
      opens his mouth, then closes it again. Dru gives a low whistle.
      Smoke from the compound inside the mountain marches like an invading army 
      through the camp.
      All at once a surge of energy runs through Katya's body. She reaches back 
      toward Dana, grasping for her mother's hand.
      Will's body begins to shake.
      "Oh my god, look." Kaya rises slowly from the ground and backs away into 
      Matthew's arms.
      "She has a gift all right..." Sam murmurs, amazed. He sinks to his knees, 
      taking Kaya's place by Will's side. He reaches for his father's lifeless 
      hand and closes his eyes to pray.

      Book Four  - Yekaterina's Kiss
      Chapter Nine

      Dana runs on the shore of the river, faster and faster, calling Mulder's 
      name. The dead cry out to her, wailing and pleading. She begs them to tell 
      her where he's gone.
      "Come in, come in," they sing to her. "Come in and we'll try to help 
      you..."
      Dana takes a few steps forward. Their fingers brush her boots.
      "Dana, wait. The dead can be a tricky bunch. I wouldn't wade in before I 
      knew where I was going."
      She starts, turning toward him.
      He strokes his white beard and smiles.
      "Water's good, don't you think?"
      "Where's Mulder?" she cries. "I've got to find him."
      "Yes, dear, yes. You do."
      "Help me, then. Where is he?"
      "He's in the earth."
      "What?"
      "Beneath the sky."
      "I don't know what that means..."
      "Behind the sun."
      "You're not making sense. Please help me."
      The old man leans closer. He chucks her under the chin. "He's under the 
      water, brave girl."
      He gives her a knowing wink. "Under the water," he mouths, looking very 
      pleased with himself. "Go ahead. He's waiting for you."
      "You mean..."
      "You were going to cross the river, weren't you? Look for him there, go 
      ahead. Keep moving. Don't stop until the time is right."
      "How will I know when the time is right?"
      "Trust yourself. You'll know."
      Dana turns back toward the river and steps cautiously into the current. 
      She picks her way across the treacherous river bottom. The water is 
      amazingly easy to traverse. The dead swell around her like a school of 
      fish, sighing with pleasure as they curl and slip over the contours of her 
      body.
      Suddenly the current lifts her off her feet. She treads water, looking 
      around for some sign to guide her forward.
      The sound of wings fluttering. A white owl wheels overhead.
      Dana's arms and legs stop moving. The greedy dead surround her body, 
      pulling her toward the bottom.
      Sinking.
      Sinking.
      Sinking.
      Snap.
      She stands on the rim of the earth.
      She squints, lifting her hands to shield her eyes from the bright sun. The 
      air dry and hot. She walks forward, across rocks, red soil and sparse 
      vegetation. Her mouth is dry. Her heart races.
      She finds him standing on the edge of a precipice, staring out into the 
      Canyon.
      "Mulder!"
      He turns. She catches her breath as he reaches toward her.
      He is beautiful. He is perfect.
      His face is dark and troubled.
      "Mulder, come with me, we've got to go back."
      He takes her in his arms. His body feels so real, so alive, the muscles 
      taut and sure and strong. She presses against him, vowing not to let go.
      His eyes search her face. "Tunatya," he murmurs. "Do you remember what 
      that means?"
      "Tunatya," she whispers fiercely, "it means 'hoping'."
      "That's right."
      A bittersweet smile. His mouth bending toward hers.
      "Remember that, my love."
      ~~~~ 
      "Damn." Ben whispers. "Do you think we should stop this?"
      Will's body continues to shake, as if the ground beneath it were about to 
      open and swallow his body whole. Yekaterina sways on her knees, trembling, 
      her mouth locked to Will's mouth, fingers twined with Dana's fingers. A 
      wail is rising inside her body. Dana is stirring, her head rolling from 
      side to side, her lips moving, murmuring. Sam's chanting grows louder by 
      the moment, his eyes rolling back into his head.
      "Are you kidding?" Dru answers, totally incredulous. "God, I've never seen 
      anything like it. I'm scared to touch them."
      "It's holy," Kaya whispers, tears shining like crystal in her eyes. 
      "There's a holy thing happening here..."
      ~~~~
      His mouth is a portal, the kiss a twisted path into his soul. Dana streams 
      inside him, coursing past a mosaic of memory and emotion: his life energy, 
      dancing before her mind's eye.
      A white light burns. She clings to him. They rush down the tunnel 
together.
      Mountains of books and files rise around them. The quest that once 
      consumed him.
      His sister's face, young and innocent. His father's, cruel and rigid.
      Purple terror. Black despair.
      His head in a vice. The drill, coming down.
      He screams.
      Drums. Firelight. A bitter drink in an earthen bowl.
      Newborn babies, drenched and screaming.
      Red passion, like a pool of blood.
      Scully.
      The fire that fuels me, he tells her.
      The heart of my heart, my love.
      Snap.
      He's gone.
      The light stabs at her eyes. She covers them in agony.
      "Mulder! Where are you?"
      "It's okay, Dana."
      A soothing, familiar voice caresses her ears.
      You, she thinks. You were always with me.
      "I came to say good-bye to you. I'm going with Birch for a while. He's the 
      only one who understands what I am. I need to find out what he knows."
      "Please don't go."
      "Someone has to keep an eye on him, Dana. Someone who knows what he's 
      capable of."
      "But I haven't seen you in the light. We haven't talked. I haven't touched 
      you."
      "I'll find you again."
      "Baby, please, stay. I want to know you."
      "Oh mama, you will. In time."
      Soft fingers stroke Dana's hair. The voice sings tunelessly.
      "The night keeps all her light inside She wonders at the stars In and out 
      of time she sings A song that has no words The night keeps all her light 
      inside She's naked in her shroud She knows the earth is hollow She knows 
      her heart is gone..."
      "Yes..." Dana breathes. "The rest, please, Katya..."
      "The night keeps all her light inside To fill her empty womb Her breath 
      comes quick and shallow Like a dying bird The night keeps all her light 
      inside To fill the empty sky She knows the earth is hollow She knows her 
      heart is gone..."
      "I'm going to go now. I'll see you soon."
      "Tunatyava," Dana whispers.
      "What does that mean?"
      "Coming true."
      Snap.
      They stand on a precipice in the blinding sun.
      Mulder lifts his face away from hers. Tears glitter in his eyes.
      "Mulder, please," Dana gasps, "Please. Come with me."
      He smiles. "I'll see you soon."
      "What do you mean? Come with me, Mulder..."
      He releases her, backing toward the edge, raising his arms toward the sky, 
      leaning back...
      "Mulder no, come back, oh my god..."
      He allows himself to plunge over the edge.
      "No!" Dana screams as he drops from sight.
      She falls to her knees, mouth open, face wet in wonder.
      Snap.
      Ben's face hangs over hers, pale and worried. "God, Dana, are you all 
      right?"
      "I saw him..." she murmurs. "Ben! Oh my god, Ben, you made it out..." She 
      sits bolt upright, heart pounding, casting a desperate gaze around the 
      camp. Sam is curled in a ball on the ground, his shoulders shaking. Kaya 
      presses against Matthew at the edge of the circle of firelight, sobbing.
      "Ben, did you find her? Where's Katya?"
      "Katya's gone." Dru squats near her. "She said you'd understand."
      "Oh god, no. I didn't get to see her...god, why did she..."
      Ben bites his lip. "Katya made a deal with Birch, Dana. She goes with him, 
      the rest of us leave the Canyon alive."
      "Alive..." Dana closes her eyes and shakes her head. It feels like it's 
      splitting wide open. "Alive. Oh my god, is he alive? Where is he?"
      She scrambles across the blanket on her knees, snatching Mulder's hand up, 
      pressing it to her cheek.
      Oh god.
      It's warm.
      "You've been screaming his name," Ben rasps. "Calling for him to come 
      back..."
      "He's alive," she moans. "He's alive, he's alive..."
      Mulder's eyelids flutter. She gasps and presses her lips to his palm.
      "Holy..." Dru rushes to his father.
      "Oh my god..." Ben falls to his knees next to her. "Sam. Kaya."
      Sam rises from the ground on one elbow. "Will?"
      Mulder's eyes drift open. He tries to focus on Dana's face, fingers 
      curling against her cheek, lips moving, saying something.
      "Mulder, I'm here. Don't try to talk. We're all here, shhhhhhh. Just 
rest."
      "Tunatya," he mouths at her, "Tunatyava."
      "Yes, yes," she tells him. "I remember, Mulder. I promise I'll always 
      remember."
      Tunatya.
      Tunatyava.
      Hoping.
      Coming true.
      End of Book Four



      Epilogue
      August 22, 2036 Somewhere Near Tuba City, Arizona 
      Dana is dozing in the purple light of early morning. She burrows into the 
      bedclothes, savoring the brush of much-laundered cotton against the naked 
      satin of her suntanned skin.
      She smiles, blissfully.
      Every day begins in silence.
      Her body is still humming.
      Every day begins with him.
      She reaches over and wraps her arms around his pillow, which lies askew 
      near the edge of the bed. She breathes his essence, just as she does every 
      morning, after he gives her one last kiss and leaves their bed to greet 
      the sun.
      She's so, so comfortable...just a few more minutes...
      She's had a hard time getting up lately. But today sleeping in is not an 
      option.
      Dana sits up with a sigh. Her feet find the floor. She takes a moment to 
      make the bed, enjoying the musky aroma that floats up from the sheets as 
      she straightens them. The smell of pleasure, she thinks. The smell of us.
      The bed is full-sized, almost brand new. It was a wedding present from 
      Dru, salvaged from some far away place and brought in on the supply truck 
      from Flagstaff. Dana can only imagine what Dru had to do to get it, how 
      many palms he had to grease, how much free repair work he had to promise 
      to his new boss, the supply man. She knows he's probably still paying for 
      the bed; that bothers her sometimes. But he was so proud when he gave it 
      to them that she could not possibly have refused it.
      She wonders if Dru will come home, today. When he left for work two weeks 
      ago, headed to Phoenix and points beyond, he promised he would be home in 
      time for the celebration.
      Today's a big day. An important day for the family. It's a day that's been 
      a long time coming.
      She slips into a long cotton skirt and pulls a tank t-shirt over her head, 
      wincing as the cotton chafes her sensitive nipples. Her breasts have been 
      sore the last few days. She's not entirely sure why.
      Maybe he's kissed them too much, she thinks, smiling.
      She steps into the hallway, peering into Mulder's old room. The twins are 
      a tangle of arms and legs, crushed against the wall amidst a heap of 
      sheets and pillows. Last night the boys giggled and wrestled until well 
      past midnight.
      Maybe they'll sleep late this morning. A few extra minutes of peace would 
      certainly be helpful...
      Mato and Quinn have been difficult all week. Bouncing off the walls, 
      testing every limit she and Mulder have set. But Dana understands. She's 
      trying to be patient.
      They're excited. No one in the family has celebrated a birthday since the 
      day that Maia died. This will be the first birthday party the twins have 
      ever had.
      Dana pads toward the kitchen in bare feet, glancing into Kaya's bedroom as 
      she passes. There are two bumps under the sheet. Kaya's eyes are 
      half-open, gazing into the hallway over Matthew's arm. "Morning," she 
      whispers.
      "Morning," Dana smiles. She's been noticing, the last few days, how much 
      Kaya looks like her grandmother. She has her grandmother's spirit, too. 
      Her loyalty. Her determination.
      "I'll be up in a minute, Dana. Stir the fire and I'll start breakfast."
      Maggie would be so proud of Kaya.
      She'd be proud of Katya, too.
      Someday, Dana thinks, I'll tell them both about their grandmother.
      After I find a way to tell Kaya the truth.
      Dana swallows the lump that boils up in her throat. She cries at the drop 
      of a hat these days. Mulder keeps teasing her. Calling her 'weepy'. 
      Grinning like an idiot, though she doesn't know why.
      Dana pauses near the sofa to pull on her boots. Throwing the door of the 
      trailer open, she steps out into the dawn.
      ~~~~
      Dana stirs the coals of the cooking fire. She throws a few sticks of 
      kindling in the embers, blowing on them gently to bring them to life. She 
      takes an old metal bucket and starts toward the spring, remembering a 
      morning, not so long ago, when climbing this slope had been like some kind 
      of Herculean challenge.
      She bends down by the cool, clear pool and lifts the ladle to get herself 
      a drink. A few tendrils of sunlight spill over the hillside above her. She 
      lifts her gaze to the top of the rise, knowing she'll find him there.
      He is standing, arms folded, looking out across the mesa.
      He is beautiful. He is perfect.
      Dana leaves the spring and climbs toward him.
      He turns for a moment when he hears her footsteps, reaching for her hand 
      with a delighted smile. "Good Morning, again."
      He is damp and shirtless. He smells like soap. Dana snakes her arms around 
      his waist, nuzzling his bare chest. He buries a soft kiss in her hair and 
      sighs.
      "Let's forget the party and go back to bed..."
      "If only," she laughs.
      They stand holding each other, looking out at the sunrise.
      "I wonder if Sam and Ben will make it this afternoon," Dana wonders aloud. 
      "What about it, Mulder? Can you see them out there somewhere?"
      He watches light creeping across the sky. "They're coming."
      "How do you know?"
      He shrugs. He smiles.
      Sam has been traveling with Ben since Matthew's wedding. They left about a 
      month ago, headed for New Mexico, to visit Ben's friends in the Pueblos.
      "It's so far away. Do you think they even know what day it is, Mulder?"
      He looks down at her with a reassuring grin. "They'll be here after 
lunch."
      Dana reaches up and smoothes the wet hair away from his forehead. A red, 
      angry scar dashes across it and disappears into his hairline. Another 
      scar, she thinks, on a body that's already covered...
      She takes a moment to send her thanks heavenward again.
      He runs a finger over the crease in her brow. "Stop worrying so much," he 
      jokes. "It's a birthday party, not brain surgery."
      "I want this day to be perfect for the boys. I want them to feel special."
      He looks down at the ground, wryly. "No worries there. They're special, 
      all right."
      "Mulder..."
      "I've got some news," he murmurs, lifting his gaze to her face. "When I 
      went to the exchange yesterday afternoon there was a message from 
      Moenkopi...Last night you were so busy with the boys there wasn't time to 
      tell you."
      They've been waiting two months for this message. Soon after their return 
      from the Canyon, Mulder went to Moenkopi to plead their case, to ask the 
      elders there to acknowledge the fact that their offspring were normal, and 
      to ask the tribal council to accept their marriage. The Elders asked for 
      time to consider the matter. Since then it's been like waiting for the 
      other shoe to fall.
      Dana catches her breath. "What did the message say?"
      He gives her an odd little smile. "It said that Maia's uncle Edward was 
      coming with two of her cousins to join us for the party."
      "I'm confused, Mulder. That's good, right?"
      "Well, aside from the fact that it means we're going to be spending the 
      day with an incredibly obnoxious and senile old man, yes, Scully, it's 
      good. It's a sign. It means they've accepted us."
      "That's wonderful news," she says with a brilliant smile.
      "It means they've accepted Quinn and Mato, too. Although I'm not really 
      sure why."
      She lays her hand on his cheek. "They accepted them because there's 
      nothing wrong with them, Mulder. We don't know if what you saw in your 
      vision was the truth. Right now the only thing we know with any certainty 
      is that the twins are normal, healthy children. And this party, this 
      attention, it's what they need. They need us, Mulder. They need you."
      He closes his eyes. "I'm trying," he mutters huskily.
      She stands on tiptoe to kiss him. "I know you are."
      Grief swells, subsides. They ride the wave.
      "Mulder, I keep thinking about Katya."
      "I know."
      She lays her palm on his chest. "Do you still feel her?"
      "Yes, I always do."
      He pulls her closer. "We'll see her soon."
      He bends and runs his lips over the curve of her neck, tightening his 
      grip, pressing her body against his own.
      Dana gasps as her tender breasts crush against his chest.
      He stops.
      He smiles.
      "Are they still tender?"
      "Yes. It doesn't let up."
      His smile gets bigger.
      "You haven't bled, have you?"
      "I don't even know if I do that anymore."
      His face lights like the rising sun. He kneels, lifting the hem of her 
      t-shirt and pressing his lips against the bare flesh of her belly. 
      "Another miracle, Scully," he whispers.
      "Mulder, you're not thinking...no, no matter how much we might want it, 
      it's simply not possible. My womb has been scarred, there's no way I could 
      conceive..."
      Tears appear as if by magic.
      Mulder gazes up at her, grinning like an idiot. "Weepy..." he croons.
      "Stop teasing me, Mulder. I'm serious. There's got to be another 
      explanation for this."
      Mulder rises to his feet. He takes her in his arms.
      He kisses the tears away.
      "I feel her heartbeat when I'm inside of you."
      Dana clings to him weakly. "You're not saying..."
      "I'm saying I'm certain, Scully. I've been certain for days. We're going 
      to have another daughter."
      Tears like a river. Miracles rushing.
      Another wish coming true.

      Here ends the Cycle...



       
      Author's Notes: The references to Hopi ritual and mythology found in this 
      story were taken from two books: The Book of the Hopi, by Frank Waters, 
      and American Indian Myths and Legends, edited by Richard Erdoes and 
      Alfonso Ortiz. Both books are fascinating. I highly recommend them.
      Another good read that served as source material for Four Corners is 
      Dreamtime and Inner Space: The World of the Shaman, by Holger Kalweit. 
      This book rocks. Seriously. Rocks. <G>
      I have to give a nod to Ursula K. Le Guin, principle goddess of my 
      literary pantheon. Her book, Always Coming Home, dreams of a 
      post-apocalyptic culture based loosely on Hopi culture. Although I didn't 
      borrow anything deliberately from that work, I'm sure bits of its world 
      can be found in the world of Four Corners.
      Thanks to everyone who supported me while I was writing this, especially 
      Amanda, and my family, who, for four months, had to put up with a 
      neglectful mother who spent too much time in front of the computer. <g>
      If you liked the Four Corners World, please let me know! There may be 
      other adventures waiting to be written...
      Spookey247@msn.com