Okay, so maybe it wasn't the brightest thing he'd ever done.

Guss peered around the corner hesitantly.  The two company guards
hadn't moved.  Their straight-backed postures indicated that they
weren't planning on doing so for quite some time.  Nor did they
appear at all sleepy.

He doubted--no, he knew--that he couldn't handle them both.  One,
now that he might have attempted.  His gun in its holster rested
lightly on his hip.  If there was only one guard he would have
had it against the man's head by now.

Not exactly Bureau policy, of course.  But neither was breaking
an entering and spying on private property.  Not without a
warrant.  If there had been a chance to get a warrant Guss would
have gotten one in a flash.  But the evidence was all
circumstantial.  For a private citizen he might have trumped up
drug charges or something, but a private company tended to have
private lawyers with large paychecks who knew how to block
warrants indefinitely.  Particularly private companies hiding
things behind their walls.  Illegal things.  Like kidnapped
victims.

Guss had known for certain that the Browning Co. was hiding just
that in its main warehouse.  He had had his suspicions for a
week; but over the weekend he had followed every lead he had, and
every clue pointed at Browning.  All three of those kidnapped had
been visited the day before by a sales representative from
Browning, for instance.  Of course, so had a lot of other people,
but it was one connection.  Then there was the fact that
Browning, like many companies, had several largish trucks in
their possession.  Just the sort to idle on streets and carry off
kidnapped victims unseen in the middle of the night.

There was more, but the clincher was the money in Browning's bank
account.  A very large sum of money, and on the tricky side to
trace, especially because it was a private account and Guss
shouldn't have been able to examine it without some sort of
permission, at least from the bank.  Oh well; electronic
espionage was minor sin compared to his current crime.  

What he had found in the account justified it--that money was
nothing less than a government grant! Oh, it was worded oddly
enough and came from several sources, but the fact was that the
government had paid Browning Co. for something and they didn't
say what.

Guss might not have thought much of it, but after speaking with
Pender...it was so possible, suddenly.  The government, paying
for a kidnapping, paying for examinations of three people in a
town where an abduction might have occurred.

In fact, it went beyond possible--Guss was convinced it was so. 
Trouble was, his chances of convincing others were slim at best. 
Even the X-files team...they would believe him, he was sure. 
They would believe him, but it would take a little time to act,
to get moving, and the legalities would be tricky to work
through...

And the people had been gone for almost a month.  Who knows what
kind of tests were being performed?  We all do what we can,
Pender had said it.  So Guss did what he could.

He hoped that he was an official X-files agent by now, because he
was going to need their immunity to save his career after this
fiasco.

But he had the proof!  The real proof; he had seen them, the
victims of this nightmare.  Locked in a little room and drugged
but they were still alive.  So this wasn't a failure.

The only problem now was getting out to tell everyone.  And Guss
had no idea how to manage that trick.  Getting in had been
tricky.  Actually it had depended almost entirely on luck, he
realized, looking back.  Unfortunately it was one-way luck. 
There might have been a convenient fire escape on the other side,
but from inside that window was a good six feet above his head
and there wasn't anything to stand on.  Out of reach.  And
besides, the alarm was on the outside.  Easy to get at and
deactivate from there.  Sort of impossible from here even if he
could reach the window.  Apparently they were much more concerned
with people getting out than with those sneaking in.  Guss sort
of wished he had known that before sneaking in to begin with.  He
would have done it anyhow, but maybe he could have composed a
better plan.

Or maybe Pender could have.  Maybe he should have stayed on a
little longer and told Pender more than what state he was in.  It
hadn't exactly been his choice to hang up, but the approaching
footsteps of some man or another who would /not/ be happy to see
Guss had convinced the agent that silence was better than
communication.  The only reason he had called at all was so that
if he didn't make it out, the X-files team would know where to go
to crack the case.  And Guss didn't want to risk trying again. 
For all he could guess they might have some electronic
surveillance equipment and had picked up the call.  They might
even have traced him already, maybe they were even watching him
now...

Dammit, all he wanted to do was get out! Pressing himself even
deeper into the shadows behind the door, Guss watched the two
guards.  They wore uniforms like any regular company watchman's. 
They also wore holsters with big, visible guns.  Really nice
guns, the sort with laser sights that never missed.  The sort
that could be loaded with either the new humane tranquilizer/
stunners or real bullets.  Guss had no desire to find out what
was in their weapons.  Either way it would be rather unpleasant.

Particularly, he realized, because the people on this project
showed a singular lack of sympathy concerning human life.  So
what would they do with a lone FBI agent, invading their privacy
and secrets without permission? An agent who quite obviously was
not obeying laws and who very likely was there without anybody
knowing about it?  An agent who could be shot and left anywhere
and there wouldn't be a single way to trace the body back to
Browning?

Guss couldn't say what they would do for sure, of course, but he
could say with certainty that he had no wish to find out.  

He could also say with similar certainty that he had no idea what
to do now.  He had the proof, he had even reported it, now all he
wanted was to escape.  As soon as possible.  Unfortunately the
only exit in reach was guarded by two alert, gun-holding guards
who probably had orders to shoot on sight, and Guss had only one
gun himself.  His mind chased itself around in little circles. 
If there was only one guard...two, Guss, there's two.  If there
were another exit...lots, but none that /you/ can reach.  If he
could think with certainty that nobody knew he was here and he
could just hide out until an opening presented itself...except
you made that call.  Bright move, Guss.  Very smart.

He wondered if he could be expelled from the X-files on the basis
of sheer stupidity.  Unorthodox methods and semi-legal actions
were one thing, but he had to admit to just being dumb here.  So
you want to be a hero, Agent.  Anyone ever explain to you that in
most cases, courage equals idiocy?  

The fact that he hadn't really more than dozed the entire weekend
might have had something to do with his distinct lack of
judgement.  And if he (correctly) blamed the sleep deprivation on
Pender's story, then this whole mess was really Pender's fault.

Now if only Pender would get him out of it...

Guss might have continued along that train of thought
indefinitely, except he heard footsteps behind him.  He froze,
knowing that his best chances were to rely on his black clothes
and motionless-ness to keep him hidden in the shadows.

He wasn't hidden enough.  His mind gave him that one flash of
thought between the second that the gun-butt impacted his skull
and the second he fell to the floor unconscious.

Guss awoke with a pounding headache and the sincere hope that he
didn't have a too terrible concussion.  Any FBI agent knows that
whacking a person on the head can do more damage than just
knocking them out for a while; he wished that his captors had
been more solicitous.

As soon as his vision cleared he realized he had some more
pressing concerns.  The principle ones were the two guns, pointed
barrel first now, aimed straight at his head.

The secondary concerns involved two men shouting at each other
close by.  At first Guss just wanted them to shut up because
their annoyance wasn't helping his headache any.

Then he started listening to their words and found a much larger
topic of worry.

"You're telling us to kill him and throw him in the street?"

"He won't be traced.  They can't know he's here."

"FBI, doc.  He's probably just the first agent sent in.  The
others will be coming anytime now."

"FBI, exactly.  CIA maybe would do something like that.  The
Bureau?  They follow procedure, they would've come with a warrant
and twenty cops.  They wouldn't have sent a single agent wearing
all black to infiltrate a warehouse."

"Well...maybe it's an accident."

"What, he got lost?"

"Or something.  Do we know he saw anything?"

"He certainly wasn't coming in to buy carpet cleaner! And he was
near the exit.  He saw.  He was trying to get out to report us."

"You said he made a call--"

"Saying he was in Minnesota.  We heard the whole conversation. 
He didn't specify us, he spoke for one minute, and he didn't even
request back-up.  They don't know he's here.  Get rid of him."

Guss decided he didn't care for the bored monotone of that voice
in the least.  He couldn't see the man's (doctor's?) face because
he was turned away, but he could see the guard he was talking to. 

The guard didn't look happy.  Because he didn't want to shoot
Guss?

"You're sure nobody knows?" Or because he was worried about his
criminal record.  Didn't anyone give a damn that they were
discussing murder here?

"No one, I assure you.  If he gets out we'll all be caught. 
You'll go down as fast as me, guaranteed.  Faster, even.  We've
got to take precautions right away."

"And..." the guard said hesitantly, "why can't you use your drugs
and whatnot, erase his memories too, like you're doing with the
subjects?"

Guss definitely didn't like the annoyed tone of the doctor's
voice.  "Bullets are a helluva lot cheaper than those chemicals
and heavy hypnosis sessions." Great, he was going to be done in
because murder was more cost-effective?  "Take care of it, this
is your job."

Guss /definitely/ didn't like /anything/ about that doctor.  He'd
dealt with a few psychotics and serial murderers personally, but
he'd never heard anyone sound so cold-blooded.

>From his horizontal position on the floor he saw the doctor's
retreating feet and back.  The guard looked down at him,
frowning.  Seeing Guss's eyes were open, he turned on the two men
guarding him. "I told you to keep him out!"

Without giving them a chance to respond he shrugged, muttering,
"Guess it doesn't hurt things any." 

Then he pulled his gun from its holster, aimed it square at
Guss's head.  And the agent knew that there weren't tranquilizers
loaded in it.

Guss struggled to sit up.  His hands were tied tight behind his
back but he wasn't bonded in any other way, though his pounding
skull would probably make escape a bit tricky.  And even in his
best condition out-running a bullet was slightly beyond his
abilities.  So he defended himself the only way he could, with
words.  Nothing too dramatic, particularly with his throat
croaking the way it was. "They know I'm here."

"Shut up," said the guard, and kicked him in the stomach.

Guss coughed and curled into a ball.  He glared up at his
tormentor, and then at the two other guards. "You'll be
accomplices to murder," he gasped to them.

"No, you won't," snapped their commander.  His gun was still
pointing in the wrong direction from Guss's point of view, that
is, right at his temple; but he hadn't pulled the trigger. 
Killing a man in cold blood wasn't his style, apparently.

But he was still going to try.  Guss watched him take a deep
breath and a few steps backwards.  Distancing himself.  The other
two guards also moved away, lowering their own weapons, finally
figuring out that he wasn't going anywhere.

Guss took a breath of his own and pulled himself into a kneeling
position.  Why, he wasn't sure; but something in him had an urge
to take death like a man.  Or something like that.

Death.  I'm going to die.  Guss is going to die.  Special Agent
Terry Guss, shot at twenty-six because of his own stupidity...

No matter how he worded it it didn't sound real.

"Wait," he croaked.  His throat had never been so dry.

The guard's gun didn't waver.  Guss could see him swallow,
though. "Wait, you really shouldn't do this--"  They taught you
things at the Academy; Guss was sure someone had taught him what
you say when a man is under orders to kill you and is preparing
to do it, but he couldn't remember what it was.  Probably
something a lot more intelligent than pleading for your life.

And the guard closed his eyes, and so did Guss, cowardly as it
was, because he knew that the guard was hiding his eyes from the
actual murder and he didn't want to see him pull the trigger and
see the bullet coming at him and he didn't want to see himself
die because he couldn't die, he couldn't possibly--

"FREEZE!"

Guss opened his eyes.

Agent Pender was at the exit of the warehouse and his gun was out
and aimed right at the guard.

Looking quickly to either side Guss saw the other two guards were
also covered, one by Gibbons and the other by Dubzinski.

"Drop your weapon and put your hands behind your head," Pender
ordered.

When the guard didn't move immediately Pender repeated the
command.  His volume didn't increase a hair but his voice brooked
no contradictions.

The guard slowly began to lower his gun, and then he lunged
forward and pressed the barrel against Guss's skull. "No," he
said flatly. "Drop your own." With a twist he had his arm around
Guss's throat, the gun still at his temple, and the agent between
the guard and his partner's line of fire.

Guss considered kicking him as payback and also as distraction,
but the guard was shaking slightly and he didn't trust him not to
have a hair-trigger.

At least he had lost that frozen feeling of terror.  Something
was happening now; death wasn't inevitable anymore.

"Drop it!" shouted the guard.  Guss winced a little; his headache
increased a couple of notches.

Pender dropped it.  The gun sounded almost like a shot when it
hit the cement floor.  Guss and the guard both jumped.  Pender
was still as a rock.

"Now," the guard's voice even was shaking, "Get your agents out
of here.  And tell them not to come back."

With one nod of Pender's head Dubzinski and Gibbons began to move
out.  They took the other guards with them; Guss couldn't even
tell who was holding who.  The agents.  It better be the agents
who had control.  Neither Pender nor the guard protested.

"Hands behind your head," the guard ordered, and Pender obeyed. 
His glare should've killed the man on the spot but he didn't have
much of a choice, not with Guss in that position.  Guss wanted to
tell Pender to shoot the guy.  Well, no, he didn't want to do
that; but if he was going to die there was no reason Pender
should, too.  Which is what is was looking like right now; Guss
could see it in the guard's eye.  Shoot them both and run like
hell.  Well, maybe it wouldn't be fatal...

At least not to Pender.  But the gun was touching Guss's head!
"Wait," he tried again, fought back deja vu. "It's more dangerous
than ever now.  You won't get away."

He was speaking to the guard alone but Pender either heard or was
thinking along the same lines. "Shooting a federal agent is a
major offense," he said. "Kill one and you'll be lucky to get out
of here alive.  I've called in the police, and they don't take
kindly to dead officers.  No matter what their agency is."

"You're lying," spat the guard. "You're here on your own."

Well, talking was much better than shooting.  "If you put down
the gun and enter custody willingly they'll go a lot easier on
you."  

But Guss could hear the sheer desperation in the response. "You
don't know what they'd try me for."

That's right.  Kidnapping at least, not to mention assaulting a
federal agent.  And maybe more.  Guss wondered if murder was in
fact a new thing to this man.  He didn't hear any madness in the
guard's voice, but the fear was palpable.  Fear could be worse
than insanity.  It was even harder to reason with.

And fear was telling this man to pull the trigger on both of them
and make a break for it.  "Listen, man, just stay cool, think out
what you're doing--"

Pender tried too. "Just drop the gun and I promise you it'll work
out alright." His voice wasn't suited to being soothing but he
did his best.

Too late. "NO," said the guard, and Guss saw his finger tighten
on the trigger--

He closed his eyes at the gunshot and felt nothing.

Except for the guard's arm being torn away from him and the cool
metal barrel of the gun move off his temple.

Guss opened his eyes.  The guard was thrown against the floor,
bright red flowing from the side of his chest.

"Call an ambulance," he heard Pender shout.

He looked to his right, to where he had heard the shot.  Someone
was climbing through the window, that damn one-way window that he
hadn't been able to leave from.  A man, entering the same way he
had, pushing through and dropping quietly to the floor.

Section Director Mulder.

Guss stared, mouth slightly open, as the director strode over and
stood before him.

"Agent Guss," and Guss flinched at his tone; it was the verbal
equivalent a bath in liquid nitrogen, "you are not to put the
team in similar danger again.  If you do, then you will no longer
be part of that team."

"Yes, sir," Guss said hoarsely, but the director was already
moving away, standing over Gibbons, watching as she applied first
aid to the man he had just shot.

Jesus, he's a cold bastard, was Guss's first thought.

His second was: Jesus, he just saved my life!

Pender came over. "You okay?" he asked casually as he cut through
the ropes around Guss's wrists with his pocket knife.

"Fine."  Guss's headache or concussion or whatever it was got the
upper hand then, and to prevent himself from falling over he
leaned against the wall.  At Pender's expression he excused
himself, "Just a bit dizzy."

"You're sure you're alright?" Pender repeated.

Rubbing his wrists, Guss assured him, "Completely."

"Good.  If you ever do something like that again I'll shoot you
personally," Pender said.

"Didn't know you cared so much," Guss muttered.

"The director hit it on the head," Pender explained. "You put the
whole team at potential risk.  Not to mention possibly taking us
away from where we might be needed."

"I'm sorry," Guss hissed, and was surprised to find that he
honestly meant it. "Really.  I--I don't know exactly why I just
went and did this..."

"Care to try to explain?"

No. "I was trying to do something.  I don't know, be a hero,
something dumb like that.  Accomplish something.  And, it just
seemed important that I did it right away.  No delays, rescue
them right now--" He shoved himself away from the wall. "Pender!
The--I had a reason, the kidnapped people, they're here--"

"We found them." Wasn't Pender answering, it was the director. 
"We took care of them before we even found you here.  Wong and
Burnett are with the doctors and the false abductees are at the
hospital now."

"There was a doctor here--"

"We got him the moment he walked out of here," Pender informed
him smugly.

"Good," Guss said, with more emotion than perhaps was needed.  He
would have liked to have seen that monster's face when he was
grabbed, right after telling the guard that there was no way Guss
had back-up. "How's the guard?" he added as an afterthought.

"If he's lucky, he'll live," the director reported emotionlessly
as ever.

Guss heard sirens then, and a paramedics team rushed in with a
stretcher, rushed out with the wounded man and Gibbon's
accompanying medical report.  She wasn't a doctor but she knew
enough first aid to help them.

The three agents watched the affair in silence.  Guss looked
closely, but he couldn't detect a modicum of guilt in the
director's face.  Guss knew that if he had shot someone he'd be
in some sort of state now but the director never seemed to show
anything.  Guss wondered if he simply hid it all or if he
honestly never felt anything.  Even after what he knew of
Samantha, even though he knew the story, Guss couldn't help but
shiver internally at the director's coldness.

He didn't have time for more speculation because Pender chose
that moment to round on him again. "Even though you did
accomplish something, don't be expecting to run off like this
another time and get away with it.  And if you do don't expect
that we'll be there to drop our guns and save your ass at the
same time again."

The director only gave him a long, hard look and walked away,
toward the door.  Pender stayed. "This really was a perfect
example of stupidity," he said, "illustrates exactly why agents
are told to work as partners and call for backup and not to work
solo."  He watched Guss watch the director's progression out the
door.  "And just because it seems to be a standard act of just
about every X-files agent," he added, "doesn't mean it's a bright
thing to do."

Guss regarded Pender with a tiny hint of meekness. "I am sorry,"
he offered, "and I admit it was pretty damn dumb."

Maybe the oath convinced him; whatever it was, Pender nodded. 
Then he mentioned in a low voice, "If you find something out that
just can't wait, not even for the X-files, just do one thing,
okay?  Give me a call.  Drag your partner along with you."

"Even if I'm heading straight out of the FBI?" Guss asked,
thinking of the jeopardy his career should have been in now,
except he was an X-files agent.

"Then I'll head out with you," Pender assured him cheerfully. 
"What else are partners for?"  He slapped Guss lightly on the
back. "C'mon, let's get back to the others--we have some
interrogations to perform."

They had lots of interrogations, as a matter of fact.  Even
divided up among three groups--the partners; the director moved
around between them--it took over two days before the agents had
asked the bulk of their questions.

Part of the problem was that getting straight answers turned out
to be near-impossible in several cases.  It soon developed that
only four people knew exactly what was going on, the four doctors
in charge of the project.  And they were closed-mouthed to the
extreme.  

One of them was the wonderful man Guss had already encountered. 
He was icy as ever in an interrogation room.  Guss let Pender ask
the questions while he stood back and watched and tried to keep
from fingering his gun.  The doctor--Lapier was his name--denied
all knowledge of anything; his favorite response was "No
comment."  After three hours Pender sent him back to the jail
cell.  "We're not getting anything from him."

Guss sighed agreement. "Well, maybe the others have something."

His partner shook his head. "Those four docs, they're the key. 
The other doctors didn't know it was a kidnapping; the only
things we can catch them on are malpractice and violating certain
medical standards.  Fines, suspend their licenses to practice,
but not a prison sentence."

"What about the guards?" Guss demanded, thinking of the one who
had nearly shot him.  He certainly had known he was up to
something illegal.

Pender replied negatively, "We can lock most of 'em up, sure, but
they don't know who hired them beyond the doctors.  That's the
trouble, Guss, we aren't going to be able to find the ones really
responsible.  It won't be done."

Guss protested.  "The government!  Some organization in the
government--"

"Which is going to sit back and let us throw cuffs on it?"

Guss described the evidence, the government grant.

Pender raised his eyebrows at his partner. "You really think that
that'll still be there?  The only reason you found anything is
it's pretty evident Browning hadn't had much experience with
illicit activities.  By now whoever's behind it knows that;
they'll have covered their tracks quite thoroughly by now.  Our
only link is the good doctors, but I'm sure that's a dead end."

A deader end than Guss guessed, at any rate.  Pender seemed less
than surprised when they were informed the next morning that
Lapier and the other three doctors had been removed over night. 
Not a break-out; a prisoner transference.  To a non-accessible
facility, and all records of their existence had been wiped.

"Dammit!" Gibbons snarled, when the team met to discuss their
options.  Guss echoed her oath but didn't imitate her punch to
the wall.  It left a small dent.

"Easy, partner; the plaster's innocent," Dubzinski murmured. 
Grimacing, Gibbons apologized to the others, pinking very
slightly when it occurred to her that the director had seen her
loss of control.

"With your permission, sir," Pender said, "I think we should stay
here and nose around a bit more.  If we can't find out who was
responsible maybe we can at least find out what they were after."

The director gave the project his blessings, then suggested their
first move, the obvious one.  They interviewed the abductees.

All three were in the hospital still.  Their memories of the
actual kidnapping were clear--a man had rung the doorbell
sometime around ten o'clock at night.  He had been wearing an
official uniform; from photographs they identified three of the
guards at Browning.  When they answered, they had been grabbed
and a needle had been stuck in their arm.  They had vague
memories of being lead to a van outside and then nothing.

Their memories of their incarcerations were cloudier.  For much
of the time they had been drugged to unconsciousness.  It also
became clear that the memory treatments had already begun; they
remembered hypnotism sessions, slow voices leading them into
trances.  

None of the three had any idea at first why they had been the
ones kidnapped.  But two of them had had therapy in the past;
when the agents delved into this they found the key.

"Previous abductees," Guss reported to the rest of the team. 
Since he had lead them all here, he was arbitrarily the leader. 
Not a position he was overjoyed to have, but fortunately the
director made most of the decisions, leaving him to feed data to
the rest.  

"When Pender and I checked out their psychiatric evaluations it
became pretty clear that they were both suffering from what's
been termed 'Post-Abduction Syndrome.'  One of the therapists
identified it as such, the other one wasn't positive but the
symptoms match.  'Missing time', nightmares, inexplicable phobic
reactions to darkness, bizarre feelings of deja vu--"

"We all know the symptoms," Pender murmured.  To stop the list,
but also to tell him that the team agreed with the diagnosis.

"Anyway," Guss continued, "as far as can be known, one of them
was abducted in her early twenties, about fifteen years ago; and
the other was taken about five years after that, when he was
nineteen.  From what their therapists know, these were real
abductions--alien ones."

There was a small silence as the X-files team absorbed this. 
Then Wong asked, "What about the third abductee?"

"Well," Guss answered, "she hasn't undergone therapy.  But she
does show minor signs of PAS.  And I took the liberty of talking
with her family.  When she was seven years old she went missing
for two days; they found her in the backyard, badly frightened
and unaware that anything had happened since she had been tucked
in bed two nights before.  They attributed it to sleep-walking,
but for two days..?"

They all nodded slowly.  Then Pender sighed. "This is all
interesting," he said, "but it doesn't help us much.  We've seen
this pattern before--a real abduction, then a false one.  Someone
out there is keeping tabs on abductees, why we don't know. 
There's not much we can do about it--"

"We got them back," said Dubzinski. "That's not bad.  No matter
what methods you use to manage it," and he grinned at Guss.

Burnett spoke then, and they all turned to him.  Anything he had
to say was well-worth listening to, Guss had already learned. 
"You're all forgetting something.  These aren't the only
abductees from their hometown."

"Mary-Ann Lane," Wong added to her partner's comment.

They all remembered the name; it was one of the complicating
aspects of the case.  Four months ago Lane had vanished; three
months ago she had been returned.  And everything about her,
including her own self, had said that she was an actual, genuine
alien abductee.

It hadn't seemed like she had much to do with the current case,
but maybe she was what had drawn the government's--or whoever's--
attention to the little Minneapolis suburb.  Attention that had
lead to three abductions.

"Gibbons, Dubzinski, Burnett" the director said, and those
addressed were immediately at attention, "you speak with the
three abductees more.  Find out whatever more they can tell you
of either of their experiences.  Wong, Guss, Pender, you'll come
with me."  Without another word he was out the door.

The three agents scrambled after him.  Before they raced out Guss
grabbed Pender's arm. "Are we going to interview Mary-Ann Lane?"

Pender shrugged, a grin threatening to curve the edges of his
mouth. "Maybe.  Makes sense if we are.  We'll find out when we
get there--where ever we're going."

Guss decided that getting there was not half the fun when your
driver was Director Mulder.  Getting there alive would be a real
treat.  The director drove with the same passionless expression
as always; he also kept his foot on the gas and Guss thought he
could count the times he used the brake on one hand--two fingers. 
Once when pulling out of the hospital parking lot and twice when
pulling into Mary-Ann Lane's driveway, twenty miles away.

He didn't even ask for directions or look at a map.  Either he
knew the area or he had already checked the directions.  Guss
wouldn't put it past him to simply know the way to the house of
every abductee in the nation.

By now Guss would put almost nothing past Director Mulder's
abilities.

Lane had a nice little ranch house with a carefully tended yard
and tasteful lawn ornaments, so much as lawn ornaments can
justifiably be called tasteful.  They climbed the porch steps
quietly and the director rang the doorbell, Wong beside him and
Pender and Guss behind them, doing their best to look
inconspicuous.  Four FBI agents standing on one's porch tended to
make people nervous.

Lane opened the door and peered through the screen.  She was a
small woman of anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five years. 
Her light auburn hair had grey streaks and makeup hid most of her
slight wrinkles.

"Ms. Lane," the director said, showing her his badge, "we're from
the FBI."

The woman peered at the identification. "Yes..?"

"We just want to talk to you, Ms. Lane. You aren't in any sort of
trouble, but if it's possible we would like to ask you some
questions about your abduction."  Guss was surprised at how calm
the director's voice was.  Calm, but not in the least bit cold--a
relaxing, gentle tone, despite its lack of emotion.

Ms. Lane frowned up at him. "That was over with months ago, I
told the police that it wasn't a crime."

"We know that, Ms. Lane.  As I said, there are no suspicions
around it--we only want to talk," the director assured her.

"Well..." She looked them all over, then shrugged with one
shoulder. "Alright then," and opened the screen door.

As they all filed in she glanced at each in turn. "Can I get you
anything, tea, coffee?"

They all politely refused, though the director told her she was
welcome to make some for herself.  She refused--"Don't drink
anything hot myself, just offer it to company." Then she stood
against the wall, watching them. "Could you call me Mary Ann when
we talk?  And what should I tell you about?"

Mulder and Wong both seated themselves on the sofa, and the
director gestured for her to sit down too.  Guss would have found
a chair but Pender shook his head slightly, motioning for him to
stay in the background.

"I have some basic facts," the director began, still speaking in
that gentle voice and looking her in the eyes. "It happened three
months ago, right?"

Mulder told her what he knew of the case already, and she
verified it all.  After making sure that she had indeed been
taken from her bed, and learning that the backyard had been
scorched by this event, he looked to Pender and Guss. "Mary Ann,
would you mind if they examined your room and garden?  They won't
touch anything, they'd just look around."

Mary Ann shook her head. "Go--go right ahead."  Her hands
fluttered nervously in her lap; this interview was obviously
upsetting her at least a bit.

As they entered the bedroom Guss could hear Mulder continue the
questioning.  He was shaking his head when Pender closed the
door.  "He's actually good at it!"

"What?" Pender asked quietly. "The director?  Yeah, he may be ice
when interrogating, but when just discussing things with
witnesses--they open up to him in a flash."

"That's why he kicked us out?"

"Oh, you noticed that?" Pender smiled. "Makes 'em nervous, all
standing over them like that.  But we do have a job to do, or he
would have just left us behind, too."

"What do we look for?" Guss queried.

"Signs," Pender said cryptically.  Then watched the confusion
appear on Guss's face and be suppressed. "Nothing major.  Just
evidence to support her story.  Also, checking other
possibilities."

"Kidnapping," Guss stated grimly.

"Yes.  After three months, evidence may be scanty, but..."

They searched.  The room had two windows.  Being only a one-story
house, they were easily accessible from the ground outside.  They
had locks, though, and they found the windows locked from the
inside.  Pender flipped the latch, opened one window.  It slid
aside almost silently, and Pender climbed out. 

"Hey!  Better watch for the garden," Guss said.

"No flowers out here, just grass," his partner replied.  "Hmm..."
He bent down and examined the ground.  Guss leaned out to watch
as he sifted the dirt through his fingers.  "New sod here, it's
maybe only a few weeks old.  And look at this--" He held out a
handful of black dirt.

"Looks like good soil," Guss said.

"Well, it's got nutrients at least.  I've seen it before--it's
ash, Guss.  Or fertilizer and ash mixed."  He rubbed his hands
together and climbed back through the window.  "No burglar alarm,
either."

"Wouldn't that make a kidnapping easier?" Guss actually thought
that she was telling the truth, that she had been abducted, but
playing the devil's advocate was part of his job, he supposed. 
It was wrong to rule out possibilities simply because of personal
opinion.

Pender was disagreeing, though. "Actually it supports her story. 
It's been three months, remember.  A woman living alone who's
been kidnapped is likely to be on the cautious side."

"Not an abductee, though?"

"Most abductees tend to doubt the effectiveness of burglar
alarms, at least against alien visits."

Guss, recalling accounts of power drains and electronics going
haywire in the wake of a UFO, nodded. "So should we believe her?" 
He decided to announce his true position. "I mean, why would she
lie?"

Pender switched sides right in sync. "Just because there isn't an
obvious reason doesn't mean there isn't one.  Maybe she's been
threatened not to say.  Or maybe they changed her memories.  They
were going to do it to the other abductees."

"'They' in this case is human, not alien.  But they were going to
erase the abductees memories.  Lane says that she remembers being
on a ship.  An alien ship.  That's not erasure."

"Shh, keep it down, Guss," Pender whispered.  "And keep cool.  I
believe her too.  But one of us should argue the other side, and
if you took that position than I automatically took the other..."

"Is that the way partners always work?"

Pender smiled a little. "In the X-files, anyhow."

"I think we've found everything in here.  Should we go tell the
director?"

Pender silently crept to the door and listened at the crack. 
Then he shook his head. "We should wait a bit longer."

"Why?" Guss joined him by the door, feeling like a child a week
before Christmas.  Don't let the parents hear you listen to them
talk...

They weren't discussing presents, of course.  Guss heard Wong's
voice speaking quietly; he couldn't make out the words. "What's
she talking about?" he whispered.

Pender's response was equally soft. "Hypnosis.  Wong's a
psychologist, that's why the director brought her along--he must
have convinced Lane to agree.  I've seen it before, in their own
home Wong can get most people into a trance pretty fast if
they're willing.  Not standard procedure of course--" He didn't
bother to add the obligatory 'but nothing is, in our section.'

They waited until Pender nodded, then they returned to the living
room.  Wong put a finger to her lips when she saw them; they both
nodded and imitated the gesture.

Mary Ann Lane sat composed in her arm-chair, hands folded still
in her lap and eyes closed.  Across from her the director was
literally on the edge of his seat, staring into her face.  His
tense posture was belied by his still-calm voice.

"So, Mary Ann," he was saying, "you are in the ship, in a big
room--"

"...big space..." she echoed.  Her voice was faint and furry.

"What do you see in the space? Is it empty?"

"No...there's people..."

"Is there anything on the walls or floor?"

"Metal floors...they're smooth.  Nothing....just people."

"What do the people look like, Mary Ann?" asked the director
patiently.

"They're like me...there's a few others..."

"Others?"

"Little...short aliens.  Like movies...white heads and black
eyes..."

"What are they doing?"

"They're....they're only moving around...around the people...The
humans."

Wong had stood and quietly made her way over to Pender and Guss.
Now she explained what they were watching, practically
subvocalizing.  Guss had to strain to hear her.

"She remembers parts of her experience.  The director asked her
if she was willing to undergo hypnotic regression to see if she
remembered more, and she was.  She wanted to do it; I think she
doesn't like forgetting it.  As far as I can tell, the whole
experience wasn't as frightening for her as many abductees find
it.  Scary and strange, perhaps, but not terrifying."

"Any reason why?" Pender asked in a near-silent whisper.

Wong shrugged, then smiled tinily. "I think partly that she's a
science fiction fan--this was probably something she
subconsciously desired.  But the director may have found another
reason..."

Mulder had asked Mary Ann about the humans. "There's a lot of
them...lots of people like me.  The aliens...the aliens walk
around them...they talk to them..."

"Do they talk to you?"

"Yes..."

"What do they say?" Mulder asked slowly. 

"They...they don't say aloud...it's...there's a voice and it's
inside me...but it's not my thoughts...I'm not crazy!" Guss was
startled by the force of that statement.  Mary Ann's eyes were
still closed, her body still relaxed, but she had almost shouted
it.

"No," said the director calmingly. "You aren't crazy, Mary Ann. 
They're talking to your mind.  What are they telling you?" 

"They're telling me....they're saying that I don't have to be
afraid...they're telling me not to be afraid..."

"What do you do?"

"I'm...I'm not afraid, I want to go back, I don't want to be here
even if I'm not afraid..."

"And what do they tell you?"

"They...they tell me I'll go back...sometime soon...they say that
they won't hurt me...they tell me they'll return me..."

"Do you believe them?"

Guss saw Pender jerk.  He couldn't attest to it later, and when
he looked at Pender he was still, watching with the same
intensity as before. But he was sure that in the corner of his
eye he had seen his partner react somehow, to what, Guss couldn't
tell.

"...yes..." whispered Mary Ann.

"Why?" Mulder's voice was also a whisper.  "Why do you believe
them?"

"Because..." Her voice faded, then gained strength.  "Because of
the people...the human people...they tell me that they're telling
the truth..."

"These people...How do they know?"

"They've...they've been there a while...they know the aliens. 
There's a lot of them, they've been there for a year...that's
what they tell me.  They tell me not to be afraid...they say that
I'll go back soon..."

"What do these humans look like, Mary Ann?  Do they all look
alike?"

"No...they're all different...they're people.  There's men and
women...most of them are my age...no one old and no
children...they know the aliens.  They don't like the
aliens...but they aren't scared of them..."  She trailed off.

There was silence; the director didn't ask another question right
away.  Guss looked away from Mary Ann's calm blank sleeping
expression to Mulder.  He was equally still, holding himself in a
crouched position before her, not touching his chair anymore.

Guss saw him lick his lips, a quick furtive gesture, and then he
spoke.  If Guss had even breathed he wouldn't have been able to
hear the words. "There are women there?"

"...yes...women and men..."

"Mary Ann, do you see a woman, a woman who looks a little like
you?" His next question was so low that Guss couldn't make it
out, only heard though low hiss of a whisper.

"...red hair... The lights are bright.  And then they're off and
it's dark and I can't see...There's a lot of people...there's a
woman with red hair like mine...all our hair looks so odd in this
light..."  She giggled nervously.  Guss jumped at the sound.  

Mary Ann's next words sounded like she was speaking to someone,
someone in her memory. "Yours looks green...and mine looks even
worse.  There's another woman with my hair--vomitus shade...I
don't like these lights, I don't want to be here..."

She sobbed suddenly, one sob and then she was calm.  Guss could
see a tear making its way down her face, though her eyes
otherwise were dry.

"It's alright," the director murmured.  "You're not there, you're
here, in your home, where it's safe.  You're safe here.  They

brought you back."

"I'm here, I'm here," echoed Mary Ann faintly.  Then she said,
"They were telling me the truth...they said they'd bring me
back...good-bye..." Sadness in her tone, and then she sounded
almost happy. "They...they said that they would come back too,
they said they were going to be brought back...after me...they
were going to be returned soon, finally..."

This time Guss heard Pender take a short breath and hold it.  He
was watching the director, though.  Mulder had frozen, not even
breathing anymore, unblinking eyes focused entirely on Mary Ann.

Wong stepped forward, touched Mary Ann's hands.  The woman
started.  "Mary Ann," the agent said quietly, "When I count to
five you will rise off your pillow and climb those stairs again,
until you're looking out of your own eyes.  One...two...three...
four...five."

Mary Ann opened her eyes.  In the same instant the director
leaned back into his chair and Guss heard Pender exhale softly.

"How do you feel?" Wong asked.

Mary Ann blinked. "Fine.  Well-rested.  How long was I...under?"

"How long do you think?"

"A couple of minutes...I remember you saying to walk down the
stairs and lie down and then I heard you counting me back out
again.  But I figure it was longer?" She glanced at her watch. 
"Oh my god.  Three-quarters of an hour?  Did I tell you anything
interesting?"

"Yes," the director said.  "Mary Ann, do you remember being in a
large room on the ship?  Or perhaps on another ship?"

Mary Ann closed her eyes. "Oh," she said.  "Well...I don't
remember it exactly.  But lately...I've had a lot of dreams, when
I'm in a large, enclosed space, and there are other people with
me.  Human and alien people." She lifted her eyelids. "No.  I
can't call up a clear picture.  Just little flashes."

"Apparently, you were in a room with other abductees, who were
there already.  Both they and the aliens told you not to be
afraid and that you were to be returned soon, and you trusted
them."

"I guess."  Mary Ann looked down at her hands.  "I wish I could
remember.  Why can't I?"  

"You might someday," the director comforted her. "Many abductees
regain their memories slowly."

"Why did I forget?"

"I can't say for certain," she was told, "but some people,
abductees among them, think it has something to do with the way
the aliens communicate.  Through telepathy--"

Mary Ann squeezed her eyes tight momentarily.  "I remember that,"
she said. "Voices in my head..."

"Those voices might, either on purpose or accidently simply by
how they work, affect your mind.  Cause you to forget."

"They told me not to be afraid..." Her voice sounded almost as
soft as it had when she was hypnotized.  "I remember that.  They
told me and I wasn't.  Though," and she glanced around at all of
them, "I was right.  I was right to trust them, because they did
bring me back, just like they said."

"You were right," agreed the director. "Do you have any questions
you'd like to ask us?"

"No..." Mary Ann shook her head. "I think...Thank you for
hypnotizing me, Agent Wong.  It's something I've always wanted to
experience."

Wong smiled and nodded.  "We'll leave you now," the director
said, standing, Wong immediately following suit.  They all
departed.  Guss could tell that Mary Ann was not particularly
unhappy to see them leave, though before they were out the door
she caught his eye and asked, "Did you find anything in my
bedroom?"

"Only evidence to corroborate your story, ma'am," Pender answered
her, smiling.  Guss, watching him, bet odds to evens that the
smile was faked, though with Pender it could be hard to tell. 
But his partner's eyes weren't looking at Mary Ann Lane; they
were on Director Mulder, watching as he shook hands good-bye and
strode out to the car.  The agents took off after him.

The drive back was spent in speculation. "Didn't help this case
any," Pender grumbled.  "Not that I think there's something else
we could have done."

Wong sighed. "I think this case is closed, Pender."

"I /know/ it is," Pender told her. "It doesn't mean I'm happy
about it."  He turned to Guss. "Well, this is it, the end of the
first case that's truly yours."

"We got the kidnapped victims back at least," Guss said.

"Yes," Wong agreed.  "Good job there, no matter how you did it." 
She twisted around in the front seat to face the back. "Remember,
oh newest agent, don't get yourself shot if you can help it.  But
other than that, good work!"

Pender nodded emphatically. "Keep it up and you'll go far..."

"...As far as one can go in the X-files," Guss completed. "Don't
you ever get tired of putting yourselves down?"

"Nope," Pender told him cheerily. "You're a fast learner."

"So," said Guss, "now what? How do we close this case?"

Pender grinned at him. "You are lucky enough to be our leader on
this one, so you get to write up the report yourself.  Two hints: 
try to be as concise as possible when you can be, and try to find
a way of recording what you did that makes it sound nice and
legal and as if you had full permission to do so."  He glanced
ahead of him at the back of the driver's seat. "Sir, I presume
that Agent Guss had full support of the team in his actions?"

After a pause the director replied, "Of course you did, Agent
Guss."

"Thank you, sir," Guss said, uncertain of what else to say.  A
swift peak at his partner neither confirmed or denied his
response.  Pender was frowning at the back of the director's
head; if Guss could read him correctly, he was concerned about
something for whatever reasons.  "Is anything wrong, Pender?" he
asked in an undertone.

Pender shook his head rapidly.  Then he returned to giving Guss
advice about his report, punctuated by Wong's occasional--and
generally more helpful--comments.

Guss found he could use all the help he could get when he
actually started to write the report.  He wasn't sure what was
worse--the incredibly convoluted logic he used to justify what he
had done (when he hadn't quite justified it to himself yet); or
the fact that the conclusion wasn't really a conclusion at all,
just sort of an ending that trailed off uneasily into nothing. 
Yes, they had found the false abductees, no they didn't know
exactly why they were taken, yes they had a theory, no they
couldn't prove it, yes they had caught the actual kidnappers, no
they didn't know who had hired them...it went on and on.  Yes, we
interviewed a real abductee, but no, she couldn't tell us
anything.

The case was considered closed, but Pender showed him the
addition to an older, still open file.  A huge list of abduction
cases, all of returned abductees, not alien but human abductees,
and all with unknown causes, unknown abductors.  "If this gets
large enough, maybe they'll put the entire Bureau onto it, and
we'll have a chance of breaking it.  Until then..."

Until then, it was a yellow-marked file--open, but not
investigated currently.  Guss agreed with Pender and the rest of
the team--it wasn't enough, but what could they do?  All they
could--try to save those who were abducted by those unknown,
Earth-based forces, try to find more evidence against them, and
try to find the little branches they could cut on their own.

Browning Co. at least was under inspection; it would probably be
closed down.  A little company in a small city.  Everything
helps, but Guss still wished that there was more.  He would
definitely keep up this fight with the other agents.  And he
would watch out for dangerous situations, but he made no promises
to himself about staying out of them...only told himself to look
before he leaped next time, and to make sure that he could break
out of the places he could break into.

And a week went by.  Guss passed in his report.  He wasn't called
up for a conference with Skinner, so it must have been at least
partly acceptable.  

There were new cases.  There always were new cases, he had
figured that out already.  Pender picked one that had nothing to
do with abductions but did involve some rather gruesome murders
in New York; the reason it had been made into an X-file had to do
with the manner and time of deaths.  Identical murders happening
at precisely the same time in opposite parts of the city was too
strange even for the NYPD to handle on their own.

They returned from the Big Apple six days later, mentally and
physically exhausted, but triumphant.  Taking Pender's advice,
Guss went home and slept for twelve hours straight.  He woke up
in time to reach the X-files office by noon, slightly
embarrassed, but Burnett and Wong treated it as if nothing was
amiss and Pender had only stepped through the door forty minutes
before and was therefore in no position to even comment.

The director had nothing to say.  The director was in his office
and had been there since the week before, according to Burnett
and Wong, who had "minded the store" so-to-speak while the other
two pairs did field work.  He had left to see Skinner several
times; he had also gone out midday for hours and returned in the
evening when the two agents were leaving.  Guss was no longer
surprised by the precision of the reports.  Pender was apparently
annoyed with the lack thereof, in fact.  "Where has he gone in
the afternoon?"

"What, we were supposed to put a tail and a tracker on him too?"
Wong asked.

"You could have asked.  So you don't know?"

"No, so terribly sorry, Pender, I didn't get his boxer colors,
either."  At Pender's expression she relaxed. "Sorry.  What's
wrong?"

"I damn-sure hope nothing," Pender muttered in reply. "He wasn't
driving out to us--have Dubzinski or Gibbons mentioned hearing
from him?"  They were on an alien-sighting-hoax case, no
abductions but a possible homicide, suicide, or natural death--
which it was was what they were checking.

"No."  Burnett answered. "There aren't any active alien cases at
the moment, Pender.  He's not likely to get involved.  He has his
own projects."

"I know," Pender said. "Well, okay.  He can handle them.  What
does he want us to do?"

Paperwork, it turned out.  The dreaded finale of any case.  Guss
had learned quite a lot of things in the last months.  He liked
knowledge usually, but he could have lived a full happy life
without knowing how to write case reports.  

Particularly when his partner was not doing his own fair share. 
Pender spent more time staring at the door to the director's
office than at his computer monitor, where he was supposed to be
looking.

Since he had missed lunch, he got dinner for Mulder instead. 
Guss at his desk watched Pender rap on the door and enter the
office.  He eavesdropped unashamedly; at their desk he saw
Burnett and Wong doing the same.

"Here, I got an extra hamburger."

"I'm not really hungry now, but thank you."

"It's seven PM, eat the damn burger, Mulder." Guss caught Wong
raising her eyebrows at her partner and at him.

"Since when do directors answer to agents?"

"Since six fifty-nine, when this agent invoked the partner's
clause--once a partner, always a partner."  After a pause Guss
heard rustling of paper--Mulder, like most agents in any academy
class before Guss's, preferred hard copies of files as opposed to
just what was on a computer screen.  "So what are you
investigating now, sir?"

The director's voice was muffled; talking with his mouth full. 
"Agent Pender, my business is not your own."

"I beg to differ."  Pender's voice was cooler than Mulder's
usually was.  "These are X-files; therefore they are the business
of the X-files team."

"They aren't active cases now.  I'm re-organizing them, Pender. 
Or would you like to have the incredibly rewarding task of re-
classifying three dozen files and seeing to it that the computer
actually saves them correctly?"

"Any reason why these cases, at this time, sir?" 

"Because they are there.  Thank you for the burger, Pender.  I
see your opinions on nutrition haven't changed a bit in the last
few years."

"Nutrition?  I think I dated her once..." Pender's voice
answered, in a tone proper to the summoning of old jests.

"Now, if you want me to sleep at all tonight, I suggest you let
me get back to work."

"Yes, sir."  The three agents in the other office promptly
returned to their work as well, only glancing up sneakily to
check on Pender's expression.

What Guss saw he didn't like.  The moment his partner stepped out
of the office his half-smile fell into a dark, brooding frown. 
But of course, when asked, he only said that nothing was wrong,
at least nothing he could pin down.

Gibbons and Dubzinski returned the next day.  Pender filled them
in on the director's current habits, and then Guss made an
private addendum concerning his own partner's responses.  An
expression almost identical to Pender's dark worried look flitted
across Gibbon's face when he told her about Pender, but she
didn't talk about it any more than he had.

Guss came in the day after that bright and early (he had been
making a special effort to atone for the noon appearance). 
Pender was already in, and his worried look had apparently become
permanent.  Gibbons and Burnett were there as well; Dubzinski and
Wong walked in soon after.

Director Mulder did not.

About two minutes after noon, Director Skinner entered.  Pender
was on his feet in less than a second.  "Where is he, sir?"

The Director eyed Pender darkly.  "He's not at his apartment, I
sent an agent over to check.  Obviously he's not here.  He did
not call in today, or give any other sign that he was going to be
absent.  He hasn't bought any plane tickets under any of his
known aliases."

"Like that's useful; we discover his aliases by finding where
he's been and deducing from there," Pender snapped.

"Agent Pender," Skinner said in a warning tone.

Guss jumped in. "Director Mulder is missing?"

"Apparently," Skinner glanced sidelong at Pender, "yes, Agent
Guss.  Since no one has any clue of his current whereabouts."

"He's done this before, right?  Is there any reason to be
concerned?" Guss pressed.

"Yes, agent, this has happened before.  And no, there is no real
reason to be concerned," the Director said slowly. "He is
fortunate to have a secured career.  The reason I came down here
was because to inform this section that since their director is
absent, they are to report to me."

"Yes, sir, we all understand," Gibbons verified this, when it
became clear that Pender wasn't going to do so.

"Good.  I believe you have your assignments already, agents." 
The director nodded at them and departed.

Pender immediately pursued him; Guss, for lack of better options,
followed.  His partner cornered the Director in the hall.  "Sir,
hold on!"

Skinner's look was such that Guss was grateful it wasn't aimed at
him.  "Yes, agent?"

"It's a lot worse than you seem to think.  This isn't going to be
one of his two-day vacations."

Director Skinner pinned his agent with a glare.  Pender didn't
even seem to notice.  "I told you in my report what that woman
said.  Mary Ann Lane.  You know what he's looking for."

"What else is he ever looking for?" Skinner asked.  It was
clearly a rhetorical question.

Pender answered it anyway. "Clues.  Usually he's just out to find
some notion, some idea, something to support a theory.  He's
after the genuine item, this time.  And if he can't find--"

"I know, Agent Pender." Resignation was obvious in the Director's
tone.  "I knew that this was coming as well as you did.  But
you've missed one detail--what can we do?"

"Find him.  Find him before he gets himself killed or taken or
something."

"Pender, I've sent out inquiries to every branch of the bureau. 
I can't officially put out an APB because with no evidence of
foul play he can't be declared missing for forty-eight hours but
I've done what I can.  If you have your own sources, agent, I
suggest you call on them."

"I will."  Pender's jaw tightened momentarily.  "Sir, I'm sorry."

"For what, agent?"

"For not giving you more warning.  I should've known this was
coming.  I should've found some way to track him, or told you so
you could--"

"Agent Pender," Skinner cut him off, "This has nothing to do with
your actions.  You were not assigned to the X-files to babysit."

"Sir, I--"

"No," the Director shook his head, "I am not going to accept
excuses or recriminations.  And you are not to blame yourself for
any consequences of this." He stared Pender down.  "Am I
understood?" he asked quietly.

Pender looked him right back. "Yes, sir," he said in equally
subdued tones.

"Good." The Director nodded and continued down the hall.

Pender glared after him. "Guss," he asked, "why the hell is
everyone so damn concerned with me and guilt? Why is everyone
convinced that I'm beating my head against some invisible wall
every time something goes wrong?"

"I don't know," Guss told his partner.  "Maybe if you didn't try
to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders they wouldn't
be."

Pender's glare turned on him. "C'mon," Guss said to escape it,
"we've got work to do."

The rest of the team was already in action.  Burnett and Wong
departed shortly after some clue or another; Gibbons and
Dubzinski were on their phones.  Pender and Guss took to the
electronic highway, chasing down sighting reports and also
looking over the same files Mulder had been perusing.

Guss had already guessed what they were; his supposition was
proven correct.  The abductee files, those thirty-something
abductions from the time of Samantha's return.  Pender went
through Mulder's office and emerged with an armload of the hard
copies, throwing them onto their desk in front of Guss.  "Look at
these, Guss, he's got them here."

"What?"

Pender handed him one of the files. "Look for these in the
database," he said grimly.  "They aren't there.  He had hard
copies of all the files."

"You mean--" Guss glanced at the files. "These are the ones that
were deleted?"

"Bingo.  Almost all of them, as far as I can tell.  I remember
there were sixty."

Guss flipped through them. "Fifty-nine here.  Wonder what one's
missing?"

"He's got it with him," Pender said slowly.  "I know what file it
is and I'm willing to bet that he's always had it.  I wish I'd
known where he kept these--maybe there's more lost files that
really still do exist."  He frowned at the array on the desk.
"I've been through all the ones in the database a thousand times. 
They don't have much in common."

"What elements are the same?" Guss asked. "We should compare them
to the ones you haven't seen."  He opened the new discoveries and
laid them out as methodically as possible on the desk, the
chairs, the filing cabinets behind them.  

Pender circulated around them.  "Okay.  They've all experienced
previous abductions.  They all were adults, the oldest was just
under fifty and the youngest was twenty-five." He stopped.

"What else?"

"They all were living in the main United States when taken.  They
were all considered middle class--no one below the poverty line,
no one wealthy.  Fairly low-profile people."

"And?"

"That's it." Pender folded his arms and stared grimly at his
partner. "That's all the commonalities I found.  Gender about
half and half.  Race basically evenly divided--somewhat more
whites but that is the middle class majority in the US.  And
before you ask, as far as I know of the abductions were only in
the US."

"Patriotic aliens?" Even to Guss the joke sounded flat but Pender
half-smiled. "Get a little darker than that, Guss.  You've heard
this theory before--the aliens took government abductees. 
Apparently the government under suspicion is that of the United
States."

"Some branch of it, at least.  And we don't know why."

"No."  Pender might have gone on but Dubzinski approached them
then. 

"Gibbons and I have talked with MUFON, NICAP, about six other
smaller UFO-watching organizations."

"And?"

"Two things.  One, our director's been in touch with them quite a
lot lately--to the tune of three or four calls a day.  Two, if he
was looking for something specific in terms of flying saucers he
might have found it right about now--UFO activity sky-rocketed
upward this week.  Apparently sightings have been increasing
steadily in the last few months, but yesterday alone there were
on the order of five thousand confirmed sightings."

Pender and Guss both stared at him. "Five /thousand/?" Guss
asked.  Ever since Samantha's return alien ships had been taken
more seriously and usually a few were seen every night, but even
with all the watchers eagerly gaping at the skies most ships went
unnoticed by most people.  

"Five thousand," Dubzinski repeated. "And those are confirmed--
they weren't clouds, weather balloons, human air craft.  Lots of
pictures snapped too.  The papers are going to have a field day
when this gets out."

"Where were the sightings?" Pender rapped out.

"That's the trouble.  All over the place.  In concentrations,
usually, a hundred here, a hundred there.  Total about twenty
major sites.  Gibbons's put pins in the map already but there
isn't any pattern, at least none that we or NICAP can deduce."

"Any in the Minneapolis area?" Guss asked, thinking back to Mary
Ann Lane.  Pender obviously thought that her hypnotism was the
starting-point of the director's behavior...

Dubzinski was shaking his head. "No luck there.  A couple of
random lights that maybe were UFOs but only about ten people
reported them." He turned to Pender. "Should we call the areas,
ask around?"

Pender nodded. "If we're lucky, he's contacted someone where ever
he's gone, and we can get hold of them.  NICAP and MUFON didn't
have any word from him?

"No, but I've informed them of the situation and they're e-
mailing their members--if he contacts anybody from any
organization we'll know." Dubzinski tapped his fingers on the
desk. "Pender, you know him.  Why'd he run off without us again? 
It's not like we'd try to stop him if he told us he was going. 
You seem convinced he need our help, but why didn't he just ask
us for it?  He's got to know by now that we'd all willingly jump
off a cliff for him--so why did he go and leap on his own?"

"Because he doesn't trust us," said Gibbons, coming up behind her
partner. "Pender, don't give me that look.  He doesn't.  He
thinks that he's the only one devoted enough to risk his life for
something like this."

"He's an asshole," Dubzinski muttered. "I'd take a bullet or five
for him but he's still an asshole.  Sorry, Pender."

"I don't care what you call him," Pender said, "as long as you're
on his side.  And I know you are, Dubz."

"But where is he?" Guss demanded, cutting back to the root of the
problem.

"We might know," called a voice from the door.  Instantly every
iota of attention was focused on Wong and Burnett.  "We've just
crashed the LG offices and they've been in touch with him.  Not
today but last night they recorded three transactions betwixt the
boss and an airline ticket booth."

"Under an alias?" Pender demanded.

"A new one, David Dokuvni," Burnett reported, then let his
partner pick up the telling again. 

"He got three different tickets," Wong said, "One to Boston, one
to Chicago, and one to LA.  Unfortunately they lost track of him
then; they can't say what plane he actually boarded."

"So he could be anywhere in the US," Gibbons muttered.  "Simple
connecting flight from any of those places to anywhere else."

"He must think he's being followed by someone more dangerous than
just us," Dubzinski remarked.

"He doesn't just think so," Wong said. "He is.  The LG knew what
they were looking for--and they found it.  Couple of known
'government officials' is what they said--I don't even want to
know how they know.  But these mysterious officials took the next
flight to Chicago.  And there's more--the army's being mobilized
out in Wisconsin."

"Wisconsin--Bardton!" Gibbons exclaimed.

"Who? What?" Now they were all looking at her, except for
Dubzinski who had dashed over to the map. 

"Where.  Bardton," he said, pointing. "It's one of the sites
NICAP and MUFON and all were raving about--six hundred sightings
last night.  Little nothing town in the middle of the woods."

"No longer nothing," Pender said. "If what everyone knows adds
up, then that place is going to be the UFO hotspot of the century
sometime soon."

"Like, tonight," Gibbons added. "If the boss's instincts were
right."

"Aren't they always?" said Pender.

"The plane leaves for Chicago in an hour and a half," Burnett
spoke up suddenly.  Wong specified, "We didn't know where we'd go
from there, but we have the tickets already."

"Good work.  With some luck, we'll be there before a toxic spill
suddenly occurs," Pender said, and the other agents laughed
shortly and then took off to grab what they had time to get.

Guss caught Pender before they left.  "Sorry, I seem to need to
be told this a lot, but what the hell is going on?"

"We're going to find the director.  In Bardton, Wisconsin."

"Where'd this information come from?  Why do we have to rush off
so fast?"

Pender obviously used a great deal of effort to slow himself down
enough to be intelligible.  "Because the director took off so
fast, did you hear Wong?  He bought the tickets last night,
though it would have been safer to buy them in advance and sit on
them.  Harder to trace."

"And who found out about the tickets?"

"One of those special sources Skinner referred to.  Someday, when
it's not an emergency, you'll meet them.  Next question; make it
snappy because we both have to move."

"How did the director and the army know where to go?"

"The army knows 'cause the director does.  As for Mulder..."
Pender trailed off. "I can't say.  We'll have to ask him that,
but first we better find him--" And he dragged Guss along to the
parking lot.

Once on the plane the agents chatted and fidgeted.  Guss could
practically see Pender fighting the urge to hijack the 747 and
force it somehow to fly faster.  He himself was amazed at how
fast they had moved already; it was the same day, for heaven's
sake!  Or night, as it was; they were flying right along the
twilight line, actually.  They left Washington at five and
reached Chicago at eight, Illinois time.  

The flight gave him plenty of time to press more questions on
Pender and the others.  The most major one was, "Why?  Why do we
have to hurry?  What are you so worried about?"

Pender sighed. "Guss, remember you and a warehouse and a guard
with a gun to your head?"

"Sort of a hard thing to forget, Pender."

"Well, those were just small fry.  A minor operation.  This is
the big one, if what I think is correct."

"What do you think?"

"That the organization behind the original abductions is going to
try their damndest to see that these abductees never come to
light."

"What Mary Ann Lane said about being returned...the aliens are
dropping off everyone they took five years ago?"

"That's what the director thinks, I'm convinced.  That's what the
organization thinks, consequently."

"What do you think?"

"I don't know.  But Guss, whatever is true--he's going to be in
deep trouble.  Something is happening out there, and if he sees
it, they aren't going to care how high-profile Fox Mulder may be-
-they're going to see to it that no one finds out anything more
from him.  Ever."

"So it's him and us against the army and this organization..."

"And who knows what else.  Cross your fingers on this one, Guss--
we're going to need all the luck we can get."

Guss didn't comment that, so far, his luck hadn't exactly been
the sort that they were going to require.  

The "fasten seatbelts" light went off then, and the plane angled
down to the runway of O'Hare Airport.  From there the agents
rented two cars and drove out of the city and Illinois.

Bardton was over a hundred miles away.  Pender and Gibbons at the
wheels made the drive in well under two hours; fortunately the
weeknight highways were on the empty side and there weren't any
state troopers on the route.  Not that FBI badges couldn't shield
them from tickets but none of the agents would have taken the
delay in good spirits.

Shortly before ten o'clock they pulled into the Bardton Police
Station.  Pender had already called ahead and explained that
there was an emergency.  The chief had come back for the night
and was waiting for them in his office when they arrived.

"So what is the problem, agents?" he asked, surveying them all
with a touch of nervousness.  Local law generally wasn't fond of
the Bureau and six suited agents flashing identification was
enough to unnerve the chief.  Particularly when they appeared
with very little warning in the middle of the night.

"Sir," said Pender, trying hard to attain that calm, smooth tone
that the director always had and nearly managing it, "we're going
to need the assistance of your entire force on this.  We," and he
indicated the six of them, "are all assigned to the X-files
division--"

"This is about all those flying saucer sightings?" the chief
demanded. "I knew that was going to be trouble.  I'd like to
blame it all on some juvey prank--"

"It's not, sir, I can assure you of that," Pender said.

"I know.  I saw the damn things myself."

In a quick, terse tone, Pender explained the situation to him, or
at least the relevant parts. "It's possible that these UFOs are
here to return abductees.  That's only a hypothesis.  What I can
tell you for sure is that there are going to be a great many
people around here from an organization that is not going to like
anyone seeing those UFOs and may try to do something about it.  I
can also tell you..." He hesitated, then decided not to hide it,
"one of our agents is here, somewhere.  On his own looking for
the UFOs and the abductees.  It is imperative that we find him
before these others do.  And if there are abductees, we have to
find /them/ before they do, too."

"You lost one of your agents?" asked the chief incredulously.

"Our director, in fact," Pender affirmed grimly.

The chief blinked at all of them. "Damn, you people must be
desperate.  I've had one encounter with the Bureau before and
they told me nothing.  And you come in and spill the entire story
out in about two minutes." He stood and went to the door, turned
back to face them.  "Don't just sit there!" he admonished. "From
everything you've said, this is urgent!" And he got on the CB
himself to contact his officers, ordering them all to keep a
watch for someone of Mulder's description and also to report any
lights, noises--UFO signals.

"So you don't know where this supposed return is going to be," he
asked while awaiting confirmation. 

Pender shook his head. "Almost definitely where the director is,
but beyond that...where are the UFO sightings occurring?"

"Everywhere," the chief replied, shaking his head. "No help
there.  The entire town is surrounded, or at least that's what
I'm being told from the desk sergeant--she's getting two calls a
minute at this point.  Nothing in the center, but the
outskirts..."

"I bet there's UFO watchers out there," Gibbons said.

"You got that right.  At least they don't call in--every hotel,
inn, motel, campground in the area is full and I still saw people
sleeping in their cars today."

"They'll know where the best places are," Pender said.  "We
should go out and talk with them.  Call in a couple of cruisers,
chief.  We'll split up, every agent goes with an officer and
report whatever you see, hear, sense, got that?"

                          *              *             *

Guss found himself with a policeman almost two decades older than
him who obviously thought his chief was acting a little odd.
"We're going to talk to those UFO freaks?  Talk to them?  We
should be slapping the cuffs on 'em!"

"We need information from them," Guss said in his best FBI voice.
"Have they committed any felonies?"

"Drunk 'n disorderly, disrupting the peace, trespassing on
private property..." catalogued the officer in a mutter. 
"Misdemeanors should count for /something/...even if you need
their help."  

Even if there's way too many of them to actually control, Guss
thought, knowing that this was why nothing had actually been
done.  Beyond calling in the army or dropping tear gas on the lot
the Bardton police would have to put up with them.

Anyhow, if Mulder and Pender were right the UFO activity would
stop after tonight and the crowds would soon trickle away.

He could understand the policeman's trepidation, though, when
they reached one of the UFO parties.  Guss had been to a couple--
he had been in college at the time of Samantha's return and had
attended a few campus-wide ones then.  This one was a fair rival
to those frat-hosted ones.  Boisterous, bright, and /big/.  There
looked to be at least five hundred people crowded onto the small
field, all talking and laughing and dancing to the loud music
being pumped out of several enormous boom-boxes.

Guss was at a loss as to who to talk to.  Rather than seem
confused, he simply pushed into the crowd.  Grumbling and glaring
at the mass of people with their signs and t-shirts and
everything else, the policeman followed.  The two found a man at
a booth selling baseball caps and beer, mostly.  He looked as if
he might have been set up for several nights already.

"So, I take it this is a good place to see things?" Guss asked
him, raising his voice over the dance music.

"If you're on the look-out for flying saucers, ain't no place
better!" the man hollered back cheerily. "I've been to lots of
spots but the action these last two nights is unbeatable!"

"When does it start?" Guss questioned.

"Anytime now--around eleven, usually.  Hovering, zipping around,
it goes on for maybe a couple of hours.  Gone long before dawn of
course."

"How many?"

"Depends!" shouted the boothman. "Sometimes looks like about ten
lights on one ship, but maybe they fly in formation!"

"Where are they?"

The man gestured widely. "All over!  Though they tend to be
brightest to the east--" and he pointed.  "There's an old quarry,
maybe there's nuclear waster buried or something! They like it
over there, must be a reason!"

"Has anyone else asked you questions like this?"

"Tons of people!" Guss was assured.

"Anyone official-looking?  You know, in a suit or something?"

"Like you?" He shook his head.  "Nah."

Next to Guss the police officer spoke up.  "You got a license to
operate this booth?" he demanded.

Guss was about to round on him when the booth man leaned over to
speak to them, rather than shouting. "Okay, there was a guy early
today in a suit and trenchcoat just like yours, and he asked the
same things.  He told me not to tell anyone but since you guys
are on the side of the law and all...he a spy or something?"

"Tall man, grey and brown hair?"

"Sounds right."

"He's not a spy.  Thank you, you've been very helpful."

"Anything to assist a cop," the man said, tossing a mock salute
and a vicious grin in the officer's direction.  The policeman
bristled and might have fined him on the spot but Guss pulled him
away.  "Sorry, we have bigger business."

As soon as they reached the cruiser Guss called Pender. "The
director was at this site, and he was told the UFOs prefer an
abandoned quarry in the area."

"The director," he was informed, "has been to every party.  And
has gotten a different site from every one.  The quarry sounds
more promising then aliens over the town hall at least.  Check it
out, report anything you find, got it?"

"Yes, sir! Or yes, Pender!"

The officer, knowing the area, drove.  He also assured Guss that
they were on a false lead, if one can actually have a lead when
one is tracking down figments of overactive imaginations--aliens
might be real, but why the hell would they hang out in a small
Midwest town?

He went on in this vein for several minutes, and was telling Guss
that the quarry was at the next turn when the CB went haywire,
squealing static at its top volume.  The regular radio turned
itself on and tried to simultaneously broadcast every station in
a ten second burst, the headlights flickered and went out, and
the cruiser rolled to a stop as the engine went dead.

"What the hell!" shouted the officer.

Guss had opened the door and was out of the car before it was
fully halted.  "Call for backup!" he ordered through the window.

"I can't!" the policeman growled amidst louder oaths, "the
radio's dead!"

"It should come back; when it does tell Pender that we've just
had an X encounter and to get over here--this may be the place!"
Without waiting for a response he took off, running down the road
to the quarry.

The ground sloped downward; Guss wasn't aware of this until he
realized he was in the quarry pit, looking up at manmade cliffs
of sand.  The moon was nearly full and bright enough that he
could see where he was going without his flashlight.  He quickly
checked to make sure that he still had it as well as his gun. 
Then he visually searched his locale.

Small mountains of rock and sand surrounded him, throwing
everything into pitch-black shadows.  It was silent; too early in
the spring for insects and birds must all be asleep.  The
mountains were even blocking the wind's howling, and between the
light and dark patches of moonlight and shadow and the near-total
quiet it was quite spooky.

Guss was tempted to shout, both to call the director if by chance
he was here and to break the stillness.  But he recalled too well
that he was far from the only one looking for Mulder.  As softly
as possible he moved deeper into the quarry, turning on his
flashlight to peer into the shadows.

He heard the hum before he saw the lights or the figure.  Before
he even heard the sound he felt it, a vibration in his eardrums,
and even the ground itself seemed to quiver very little. The
sensation grew more pronounced and it occurred to him that this
was exactly what Pender had ordered him to report, only he hadn't
any way /to/ report it.

At last it was high enough in pitch that he could hear it, a low,
omnipresent hum that filled his brain.  Any louder and he would
have a headache that would rival the one given to him by the
guards back at Browning Co.  He put his hands against his ears--

--And then Guss saw movement in a stripe of shadow and moonlight. 
With one hand he pulled his gun and with the other he aimed the
flashlight.

Even from fifty feet away he recognized the figure silhouetted by
the beam.  "Director!" he called over the hum, heedless now of
who might be listening.

The director, seeing the illumination on him, started to turn,
but simultaneously the hum increased in pitch and volume and the
manmade light was obliterated by a brightness of artificial--but
not human--origins.

Guss cried out and threw his arms over his eyes, an autonomous
response.  He managed to keep his hold on both flashlight and
weapon, at least.  Slowly he forced his hands away, squinting
against the brilliant white glare.

The director stood, back to Guss, facing the light, his arms at
his side.  As Guss watched he took a step forward, towards it.

"Sir!" Guss shouted at the top of his lungs. "Director Mulder!"

Far ahead the figure turned partly, so Guss could see his
profile, then turned back.  Took another step forward.  Guss
started running in the same direction, not precisely sure what
his goal was, still shouting the director's name.

Somehow the light grew even brighter.  It was so prevalent that
Guss lost all orientation, could not tell up from down, much less
forward from backwards.  He forced his way ahead regardless. 
Somewhere in his field of vision, which was starting to flash in
dark many-hued colors, he could make out a thin black stripe that
he knew was the director.  Even with his eyes closed he could see
it, or at least its afterimage.

The hum had grown so loud that Guss couldn't hear his own shouts. 
He wasn't even sure that he was still shouting, or if he was
still running for that matter; he couldn't think at all in the
brightness and loudness and sheer power surrounding him.

But he felt it when the ground was ripped away from his feet and
then slammed him in the back.  At the same time the light burned
hot across his face and then faded out entirely, and a thunderous
boom rang through his ears.

Guss landed rolling; when he finally stopped he lay still for
several seconds, gasping for breath.  In a moment he realized
that he could hear himself inhaling; his ears were ringing still
but the hum had vanished.  He forced his eyes open.  All he could
see were bright flashes of light but they were fading out into
darkness and he hoped his eyes would adjust back to normal
eventually.

He felt his holster and then remembered that he had been holding
his gun as well as his flashlight.  No longer; his hands were
balled into fists but they didn't clutch anything.  

After taking such swift inventories of his body and his
possessions, Guss pushed himself onto his feet.  He stood shakily
but nothing seemed to be broken that he could feel.  So he had
other matters to worry about--"Director Mulder!" His voice still
sounded pretty strong, at least.  And his legs were willing to
carry him forward, in the general direction he thought Mulder was
at.

His vision returned fairly quickly, taking only a little longer
to re-adjust to the night, and then he could see the black form
lying on the dark ground.  He ran toward it as well as he could,
and then noticed the other figures beyond it--

Most of them were standing, a few were sitting or lying.  Some of
them moved around but most stayed in place.  They were fairly
tall, as tall as humans, and the dim silhouettes Guss could make
out looked human as well.

A return.  A drop-off.  Could they possibly be the abductees--

No time for them now.  Guss dropped down onto his knees by the
director.  Looked him over, took his pulse.  He was breathing at
least, short sharp pants.  His heartbeat was also fast, even
rhythm but going at about twice normal rate.  Guss thought
perhaps it was shock but he was not knowledgeable in first-aid. 
Have to change that, he thought to himself crazily.  Pender's
gonna kill me if the director goes and dies when I've found
him...

His breathing seemed to be slowing, at least, and so was his
pulse, Guss thought.  Or maybe that was just hopefulness.  He
heard rustlings and looked up.

Slowly he was being surrounded by the people, tall shadows in the
moonlight.  Or not so tall; he was kneeling, after all.  He could
make out in the shadowed faces the gleams of wide eyes.  They all
seemed to be dressed in white, visible in the moonlight, simple
white jumpsuits it appeared though of course it was hard to tell. 
And a lot of them were looking at him.  Guss wished he could see
their expressions.

He was aware of whispers, quiet, inaudible exchanges between the
people.  Then a voice, a whispered voice. "This...we're...this is
Earth?"

"Yes," Guss answered.  The voice sounded almost like it was
speaking in a trance, the way Mary Ann Lane had when she was
hypnotized.  That was okay; Guss's dazed voice sounded the same.
"This is Earth." He went out on a limb and added, "You're home."

The gasps, the whispered joy, came across very clearly.  He heard
questioning noises, throats being cleared as they prepared to
speak louder, make themselves and their queries heard.  

Feeling cruel but desperate, Guss cut them off. "I'm sorry, I
can't talk to you right away, we're all in danger here and this 
man's hurt--"  He paused, looked them over as well he could in
the dimness. "Are any of you injured?" he thought to ask.

"We're all fine," came the whisper, or maybe it was a different
voice; it was hard to tell.  Then there was a rustling through
the crowd, and someone either stepped or was pushed forward.

"I'm a doctor," the person said.  The voice was obviously female,
but what surprised Guss was that it wasn't a whisper, it was
quiet but it actually used vocal cords. "I helped people on the
ship.  Let me look."

She knelt next to Guss; once she did he realized that she was not
tall at all--she was quite a bit shorter than him in fact.  She
was also clearly a human woman, with pale skin and hair of some
light shade.  Guss relaxed slightly, then tensed, remembering
that these were abductees, these were people gone from this Earth
for five years, and that there were people out there who would
rather they stayed gone.

Somehow she sensed his tension.  As she took the director's pulse
she looked at him. "What's wrong?" In a whisper this time, as if
to prevent the others from hearing.

Guss was about to tell her, tell all of them, but the director
moaned.  The doctor immediately turned back to her patient,
reached out one hand and laid it against his forehead, smoothed
the hair back.  And then she leaned forward, and even in the low
light Guss could see her eyes grow huge.

As if she had been burned she leapt back onto her feet.  Her eyes
were focused entirely on the director, and Guss could hear her
speaking, or at least try to speak.  Only choked whispers left
her throat.

"What's wrong?" he now asked her, and she turned her face, her
whole body, towards him.

"How long?" Like it was forced from her lungs. "How long?  What
year is it?"

Guss told her.  

"Five years."  A gasp, a sob, not really a voice at all.  "It's
been five years they didn't tell us it would be they said time
passed but I thought only a year for me it was only a year..." 
The words poured out, intelligible, incomprehensible.  Guss
stood, almost took a step in her direction but stopped himself. 
Couldn't threaten her or scare her.  She had been through enough
already. 

Instead he spoke, calmingly.  "It's alright.  You're safe now,"
however untrue that may be, "you're back."

At least she looked at him and spoke normally.  Calmly, even. 
"Are you with the FBI?"

Guss felt a massive rush of confusion, how come everyone in the
universe seems to know more than me?  But somehow he managed to
answer sanely, "Yes, and so is he.  I'm Agent Terry Guss, and
that is Director--"

He didn't finish.  The director was awake, his eyes had opened
and he had even struggled into a half-sitting position.

And frozen there.  His eyes were on the woman, the doctor.

She looked away from Guss, staring at him instead.  Guss turned
and saw the object of her vision. "Sir! You're alright--"

The agent heard a sound, like a moan or a sob only deeper, and he
couldn't tell who it came from, the woman or the director.  But
he saw the director lunge forward, and the woman knelt or fell or
crouched somehow so that she could catch him, or so he could
catch her.

Somehow they were together, arms wrapped tightly around each
other, her white garments shadowed by his dark coat.  Their heads
were on each other's shoulders and they were kneeling on the
rocky ground.

Guss watched mutely, and so did the other silent figures.  The
agent thought the two might be whispering or maybe crying; he
couldn't be sure they were making a sound at all.  Both were
shaking, or one was shaking and so the other was too, the sort of
shaking one does when crying though Guss couldn't hear any sobs.

Light flashed.  A murmured cry shifted through the crowd,
exclamations of terror.  But there wasn't a hum, only a loud
beating sound; and wind started blowing dust everywhere.  A
helicopter, or several.

The Bardton police did not own a chopper. "Sir!" Guss shouted. 
"We're in trouble!"

They were caught in the beam of the copter's searchlights.  The
woman looked up; with the light Guss could see silvery tracks of
tears running down her face.  He wasn't particularly amazed; it
surprised him more when she struggled up, supporting the
director.

The director also raised his face skyward and after seeing the
copter turned to Guss.  The agent saw his face was streaked with
water as well, shining in the light.  But his voice was steady as
always. "We have to get these people away from here, Guss."

No time to think.  "Run!" Guss cried loudly to them all.  He
called on all his voice-projection training from high school
drama club.  "Run this way, get out of the searchlights!" Then he
started to shove people in the correct direction.  The director
and the woman helped; soon everyone was moving, racing toward the
quarry entrance.

Guss, at the end of the group with the director and the woman,
hadn't run more than ten feet when he heard the sirens.  Red and
blue flickered in front of them; the crowd was blocked off by an
arc of vehicles.  Guss stopped in his tracks, his mind finally
going dead, unable to cope.  Go around them, he wanted to shout,
but that would be too hard, he'd have a difficult time dodging
the soldiers they were certainly sending and he doubted these
newly-returned abductees had a chance in hell...

The car doors opened and men started climbing out and Guss stood
there frozen until one of them began to wave.  Several of them
began to wave.  "Hurry, get in here, we don't have much time!"
shouted a voice that Guss thought was familiar.

Another voice he knew that he knew called, "Guss!  Over here!" 
And a third voice, "Director! Mulder!"

The searchlights flashed into life around them, blinding Guss for
a moment.  Through them he saw police officers helping pile the
abductees into cruisers.  The chief was giving orders, again
shouting for them to hurry.  And five agents were waving and
calling to Guss and the director.

"It's alright," he heard Mulder shout out. "They're on our side! 
We're safe!"  Turning Guss saw him, saw the director talking to
the woman, smiling widely.  "We're safe!" he repeated.  "Guss, go
with Pender and the rest, we'll go with the chief."  He shoved
Guss in the general direction and ran toward one of the cruisers,
the woman running with him.  He hadn't let go of her hand yet,
Guss noted.

Then he ran too, out of the searchlight into the rented car.  He
squeezed into the front seat, wedged between Pender at the wheel
and Gibbons on the other side.  In back Burnett, Dubzinski, and
Wong vied for leg room.

Pender stepped on the gas the second the door was slammed shut
and the car leapt onto the road.  Surrounding them were the blue
strobes of the police cruisers, making a midnight parade of
vehicles.  Guss soon saw they weren't heading back toward the
center of town.

"Where are we going?" he gasped.

"Next town over's larger, has a hospital.  Some of these folks
might need medical help and besides, Bardton's probably not safe
for them.  It's overrun by army-types we've been told, all not
sure where to go and waiting for people to come to them."  Pender
was grinning like a madman, hunched over the wheel and obviously
relishing in pushing the car to its top speed along with the
cruisers.

They were all grinning, Guss included.  They shouldn't be, a
sensible voice in his head was saying.  They weren't away yet,
they could still be pulled over--but being surrounded by police
and knowing that everyone had made it inside, that they all were
hurtling down a dark highway toward the same goal...it was
electrifying.  He had to speak, and not knowing what else to say
he asked, "How'd you know to come?"

"You said come to the quarry--" Pender began.

"It was that crotchety old police codger--" Gibbons said.

"He may not believe in UFOs that much but when he sees bright
white lights where an agent just ran he knew enough to call--"
Wong clarified.

"As soon as he got the radio back," Burnett reminded her.

"'Course it didn't hurt that these backwoods cops'll take any
chance they can get to actually switch on the sirens and put the
pedal to the metal," Dubzinski added in a rush.

"Which is how we all showed up so fast," Pender completed the
tale.  "You did it again, partner--ran off without me!" He
absolutely whined it, and Gibbons next to Guss snickered.

Guss couldn't help it.  He started to laugh, tried to defend
himself, and ended up choking and laughing even harder. 
Dubzinski did not help matters any be leaning forward and
whacking him on the back. "Hey, give him the Heimlich, partner,"
he said, "I can't reach."

"He's /Pender's/ partner," Gibbons protested.

"I'm driving!" Pender protested in return, just as Wong and
Burnett at the same time cried, "Let him drive!"  They were
watching the road with some terror.

This was too much; every one of them started to giggle, with the
exception of Pender who was driving ferociously after all and
contented himself with an even wider, more insane smile.

Gibbons noticed his smile and sat up straight. "Did anyone else
see it?" she asked.

General questioning tones filled the auto. "See Mulder?" she
clarified. "I swear, when he first ran up, he was with you Guss,
did you see it--"

"--He smiled!" Dubzinski completed the exclamation.

"Yes," Burnett agreed; "Exactly!" Wong chimed in.

"Except that he can't smile." Gibbons said this absolutely
matter-of-factly. "I've worked with him for four years, the man
does /not/ smile."

"He doesn't laugh, he doesn't cry," recited her partner.

Guss said nothing.  Pender too was silent.  Guss looked at him,
opened his mouth but couldn't quite figure out how to word what
he wanted to ask.

"Something else, too," Wong said.  "Did anyone else see who he
smiled at?  It wasn't us."

There was some debate about this.  They had all seen the woman,
red hair shining in the searchlight.  Whether or not she was the
object of his incredible unnatural cheer was called into
question.  "She was one of the abductees," Gibbons conceded. "He
probably feels close to all of them, after Samantha."

"You're the one who's argued the 'lost love' theory," Dubzinski
reminded her. "Are we jealously ignoring the truth now?"

"He didn't look like he was about to kiss her," Gibbons said. 
"I'm not ignoring anything.  I just don't think that they're in
love...sort of hard to start a love affair in five minutes,
anyhow."

"They weren't in love," Burnett said quietly. "That was obvious
from the two second view we got.  But they knew each other
already."

"They aren't *in* love.  They know each other." Pender corrected,
bringing everything into the present tense.  Reminding them that
she and the director both were still around and in the cruiser
ahead of them.

They all peered ahead but couldn't see anything through the
tinted glass of the leading vehicle.  Then Gibbons changed her
focus to back in the car. "Pender?  Care to tell us what's going
on?"

"I don't see why I'd understand it anymore than you."

Gibbons would have pressed him but Dubzinski spoke up. "Hey,
Guss, how about you?  You were there before, you see anything?"

Guss shook his head, not trusting his voice to keep his secret. 
The director's secret.  He would have to confront Pender about
this later.  For now he was content to sit back and watch the
highway flow under them.

Pender too was silent in the debate raging around them.  Two
patches of quiet and the rest of the car was filled with four X-
files agents shouting at one another.  Not quite loud enough to
be heard by the other vehicles, maybe.

They weren't.  In the cruiser ahead it was silent, except for the
roar of the motor as it rolled them along the highway.  In the
back three abductees--former abductees--stared out of the
windows, watching dark shadows of tree whip past.  They'd never
thought they'd see them again, sometimes.  Only a year had passed
for them, in the alien ship, but sometimes it had felt like a
century and they had paid for it by losing five years back on
Earth.  

The chief, driving, was also quiet.  Every once in a while he'd
glance over to his right.  Where the man, that lost agent, their
director he had said, sat against the door.  Pressed between
them, touching because there wasn't much choice, was the woman. 
Both of them were silent, obviously lost in thought.  

The chief wanted to ask them questions.  He wanted to ask them
all questions, what had happened to them, where had they come
from...but he had too much sympathy for them, for that lost
frightened look they all had.

Except for the woman, he had noted.  And the agent too, though he
wasn't an abductee.  They had a different expression on their
faces.  It wasn't an absolutely contented look.  Both of them had
too much in their eyes for that, too much loss, anger, pain,
etched into their faces for complete happiness.

But it was a satisfied look.  As if no matter what the world did
to them it couldn't quite touch what was deep inside.  As if they
both were protected, shielded, warm and safe somewhere, somehow.  

Well, they were safe.  They had almost reached the hospital; it
was coming in sight now, and they couldn't be attacked in a town
center, the chief was sure.  No matter who would attack them--the
army, his officers had said?  These people would need that inner
sanctum.  Every one of the chief's instincts insisted that they
were going to be in danger for quite a while after this and they
would need all the assistance they could find.

Even barely touching as they were they supported each other, the
chief thought.  And their look...the entourage was slowing down
now, so he could examine them slightly longer.  No, not
contentment, not happiness, not joy, not exactly.  But vast
satisfaction, as if sitting, hardly even in contact, was more
than they had dreamed was possible.  As if they had both found
something they thought could never be found.

Nothing is lost forever, thought the chief.  It almost looks as
if they just figured that out.

And then they, followed by the rest of the cruisers and one
rented car, pulled into the hospital parking lot.  And they all
were safe, at least for the moment, and they had been returned,
and they were together again.



The End