Roadside Assistance 4, repost

[Polly Moller]

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Roadside Assistance, pt. 4. by Polly Moller
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The stairs led first to the school level. The back door to
the storeroom was open; Will had probably run out too fast to think
of shutting it. Mulder and I made our way through stacks of practice
mats, and past a wing chun practice dummy, and I opened the door to
the main teaching room.

Jason had turned off the overhead lights before leaving. My
eyes adjusted slowly to the dimness as we crossed the floor, with our
dim reflections marching alongside us in the mirrored wall. The
computer monitor spilled light out the office door up ahead. Mulder's
mind was racing again; the impression, although silent, reminded me
of a hard drive muttering to itself as it retrieved data.

Entering the office, I saw that Jason had left the computer
in the middle of reconciling the books. I shivered. Jason was
meticulous about doing all the bills in one sitting, balancing the
accounts and hurrying immediately out to mail the payments. I
closed the files carefully, saving everything he had done. Messing
it up would only add to any misunderstanding, when this was all
over.

Mulder watched silently as I telnetted my account at the
University. I wondered if the situation would be over soon. Would
we be able to find Will? Would we be able to clear up whatever it
was he'd gotten into? Had he done anything illegal? And suppose
we were to find him, and make everything all right--would Jason
still believe he could not trust me?

I blinked. My eyes stung a little and I was resolved not
to cry. Mulder had stepped politely away from the screen to allow
me to look at my e-mail in privacy; he didn't see my eyes. Five
e-mail messages had listed themselves on the screen, and I examined
each one. They were all bureaucratic-looking university announcements.
One, from the Music Department chair, warned of unexpected cutbacks
up ahead.

I caught Mulder's eye and shook my head. He stepped over
to the desk and picked up a pad and pen. THEN WE'LL WAIT, he
wrote.

"Would you like some coffee?" I asked out loud, raising
my eyebrows. I imagined somebody surrounded by technology, wearing
a headset, listening very hard to what we were saying.

"I'd love some," Mulder answered. His eyes and presence
took on a subtle cast of laughter. "You got any of that flavored
non-dairy stuff?"

I chuckled, but it came out painfully as if I had something
stuck in my throat. We walked back through the teaching room,
and the storeroom, to the stairway. One more carpeted and squeaky
flight of stairs led to the living quarters on the next floor. I
wondered how the humor came so easily to him in a time that felt
so wrong and strange. I reminded myself that this situation was
probably a lot easier to take than most of his cases. There
wasn't any murder, no physical harm of any kind yet, unless I
counted being knocked down by the guy in the windbreaker.

At the top of the stairs, we emerged into Jason's kitchen.
My eyes lit upon the sink, full of dirty dishes, and I felt the
ludicrous impulse to call out, _Jason, I can't cook anything
without clean dishes, y'know_. Checking the wall clock, I found
it was already two in the afternoon, but the fog made the
daylight pretty dim. I turned on a light, and indicated the
kitchen table and chairs to my guest, who nodded and set the pen
and pad quietly down in the middle of the tabletop.

He took off his coat after he sat down, shrugging it
backward over the back of the chair and revealing the holster
by his side. He swung both legs up to put his feet on the table,
and I felt a twinge of resentment. He'd gotten all comfortable.
He was taking advantage of my hospitality. I had to press my
lips together hard to shrug the feeling off.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw that he'd seen my face,
and swung his legs down. I felt myself blushing, and covered my
mouth. His face was apologetic, and I saw him silently mouth to
me, _Sorry_.

Something was rising in my throat that threatened to
choke me. "Excuse me just a minute," I managed to say, evenly,
without my voice cracking. I paced my exit from the kitchen
carefully, not showing any hurry. From the kitchen I crossed
the carpeted living room floor, from there into a dark hall,
from there into the bathroom.

I got the door shut in time, but I didn't get my shield
down in time. The rage and sorrow rebounded and intensified,
and I doubled over, grabbing upward for a towel. I could not
let him hear me, I could _not_. My ears rang and my skin
prickled painfully all over. The tears were very hot and seemed
to pour from my eyes. I willed myself to silence, and made myself
into a ball on the floor, shuddering. My head screamed Will's
name, and then Jason's name, repeatedly. Where was Will? Where
was Jason? Why wasn't Jason here to help me and Mulder? Why
didn't Will and jason trust me? Who had made Will run? Would
they kill him?

My shield finally dissolved. I gulped for air amid the
sobs. The towel had not been washed in a long time, and the smell
of it was a little unpleasant. I tried not to gag. What was Jason
thinking? Why wasn't he here? When would this be over so that I
could be close to him again? Where was the trust that had always
been between us?

_Goddess_, I wept inside. _Goddess give me strength. I
can't be here like this. It's not helping anything_.

Her name helped a little. I was able to unclench my
fists, which were close to ripping holes in the towel. I pressed
my right hand against the cool bathroom floor, and took a deep
breath. Slowly spaces appeared between the sobs, and I reached
my mind downward, imagining a descent through the floor, through
the floor below, through the floor of the garage, finally, until
my soul touched the earth. _Lady and Lord, I call upon what is
mine as your daughter_.

My practiced mind envisioned the rage and anguish leaving
me in a dark stream, and energy travelling into me like sap up
a tree's trunk. Slowly, I pulled myself away from the tense
ache in my chest, concentrating on the spot three floor beneath
me where the earth was. I imagined the warmth of grassy ground,
willing my body to relax. The tears continued, but I stopped
shaking.

Some time later I sat upright, staring at the towel,
crumped and damp. I had felt the earth's energy entering and
realigning me a little bit. The tears had nearly stopped. I
thought resentfully of my guest, still sitting in the kitchen.
All he'd done was be considerate, and it was enough to dissolve
me into my component parts. There had been no reason for him
to apologize to me silently like that; surely anyone listening
would not care. There had been a kind of intimacy about it.
I hoped I could rejoin the problem at hand with no break in
my composure; as far as I knew, I had made no sound. For
safety's sake, I counted backwards from ten in a whisper,
readying myself to get to my feet.

I staggered a little and had to lean on the sink, and
my hands ached from gripping the towel. My reflection in
the bathroom mirror had frighteningly red, swollen eyes.
Numbly I turned on the cold water tap and looked around
for a washcloth.

I looked normal when I left the bathroom. Modulating
my walk carefully, I strolled back to the kitchen, and
assembled my shield in time to sense Mulder's full knowledge
of what had just transpired. He sat at the kitchen table
with the pen in his two hands, up before his face.

"I've done what you just did," he murmured out loud.
"Too many times."

There was silence except for the hum of the refrigerator
and the electric clock. My first impulse was to run as fast
as I could, but I stood still in the kitchen doorway, fascinated
by my shield's image of Mulder, surrounded by a dark and tremulous
tenderness, and something terrible at its center. My arms
crossed around me and I wondered if I should deny it, or ask him
what he was talking about. I still didn't want any perceived
deficiency on my side. I didn't want him telling me, patronizingly,
that he'd better handle things from here on in. I didn't want him
to be understanding.

"I haven't seen my sister since I was twelve."

His voice, low and even, still sounded as though he were
some distance away from me, rather than in the same room. As
he spoke the words his presence trembled and tried to withdraw.
My feet carried me forward to sit at the table with him, and my
ears rang as I got closer.

His eyes, staring fixedly ahead, suddenly became shiny.
"I don't know if she's alive or dead."

I did not notice having taken his hand until I felt his
grip, and the intensity of his impression increased, growing until
it surrounded me with warmth and cacophony. It was as though I
were once again in a ball, shuddering, on a cold floor somewhere,
but from the unfamiliar, crowded atmosphere around me I knew
it was his memory, not mine. I dismissed my shield quickly,
unwilling, and afraid, to intrude further.

I would not insult him by snatching my hand from his,
as I would from a hot stove. He had shut his eyes as though the
light hurt them. I pulled myself into tight focus, and tried to
achieve just the right amount of grip to encourage him to pull
away first.

In the silence, I tried to keep my presence calm. His
eyes opened and he seemed about to speak, as he slowly released
my hand. I noticed that his upper lip came to a point in the
middle, and that his lower lip had a cleft in it that matched,
as if he'd pressed them together and left a mark. My shield,
which reformed quickly, felt a dark, painful quietude around
him. "I met you less than twenty-four hours ago," he
murmured.

"Yes," I answered, and took a deep breath. "We will
probably know each other for a long time after this."

He did not answer. It occurred to me suddenly that any
listeners would have heard everything we had just said about his
sister. I reached for the pen, which was now on the tabletop,
and held it up. Catching his eye, I glanced at the pen question-
ingly.

His mouth twisted ruefully, and he reached with his right
hand to take the pen from me. OLD NEWS, he scrawled on the pad.
Discomfort was increasing around him, and after a pause he began
writing again. CHECK EMAIL? I'LL DO COFFEE.

He wanted a minute's solitude. I rose from my chair, and
reached down to squeeze his shoulder. It had to be all right,
since he'd done the same to me. "Be right back," I whispered,
and felt the deep breaths he began taking as I descended the
stairs.

*

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Copyrighted all to heck by Polly Moller. Guard it with your life!
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ROADSIDE ASSISTANCE, part

Crossing the main teaching room on the way to the office where the
computer was, I paused and stood in the middle of the darkened space. Above
me I could feel my guest very still, calming himself, trying to put away
the darkness around him. Casting my eyes upward, I sighed. It felt
disturbingly significant to be able to pinpoint his location so well, to
feel his impression so clealry at a distance. I was able to do this with
family, certainly, and with Jason. Agent Mulder was the first person,
besides these people, that my shield had adapted itself to in this way.

In the office, I telnetted my account and found no messages.
NO MAIL FOR STEVENSON, the computer announced. I took a deep breath,
and let it out quickly. _No reason to panic yet,_ I told myself.
_Will is a big guy. He can defend himself. There's also a large
city out there for him to blend into._

I took my time crossing the teaching room, keeping intuitive
watch on my guest. He seemed more at ease now, and was moving around
the kitchen above my head. I heard water running; he was probably
filling the coffee maker with water.

As I began climbing the stairs, I head Mulder's phone ring,
and heard him answer it. "Hi Danny," he greeted the caller, after
a pause. I wondered who this was. Pausing on a step halfway up, I
listened.

"Nothing?" I could not interpret this, and bit my lip. My
ears began to ring a little bit with listening. "I was afraid of
that. Thanks a lot."

I resumed my climb, and emerged into the kitchen to hear the
cofee maker beginning to sputter. Mulder leaned against the kitchen
counter, with the mobile phone still in one hand. Seeing me, he placed
the phone on the kitchen table, grabbed the pad and pen, and began
writing.

When he was finished, he tilted the pad toward me. FRIEND OF
FRIEND LOOKED IN WILL'S FILE. NO LETTER OF RESIGNATION.

No letter. I held my hands out, and receiving the pad and
pen wrote, _Not anymore, or never was?_

Mulder shrugged his eyebrows. I felt that he didn't know. Next
he took the pen from my hand. WE NEED TO TALK, he wrote.

I nodded, and took the pen back. Before I could write an answer,
though, Mulder's mobile phone, sitting on the tabletop, trilled stridently
in the quiet. "Mulder," my guest answered it, straightening up slowly
from bending over the table.

In the next moment, his presence snapped to attention. I could
hear nothing from the phone, no garbled distant voice speaking. He
lowered the phone slowly, staring ahead in tight focus. It seemd as
though something highly significant had happened, something he had
half expected. My heart accelerated. Taking down my shield, I reached
with my left hand to grip his arm through his blue sleeve, trying to
keep his attention--I had felt him concentrating somewhere else.

He turned quickly to meet my eyes, and beckoned with his
eyebrows, indicating I should follow him downstairs.

By the time we reached the garage, several scenarios had run
their course in my mind. Will had called. Jason had called. Someone
else, nameless, had called with some kind of threat. Whatever it was
had taken very little time. I doubted Dana Scully, or the mysterious
Danny (a friend of a friend?), could have had such an effect. We
crossed the garage, stepping around Jason's Jeep, and Mulder stopped
me, standing so close I almost dismissed my shield.

"That was a signal, just now," he whispered. "Somebody
wants to meet me. He calls me when he's got information to help with
my cases."

I looked up, waiting for him to continue. His eyes were
dilated in the dimness, with thin rings of unidentifiable color.
There was a lot he wasn't telling me about this contact; it loomed
in the silence behind his gaze. There was an abstraction of danger,
and of pulling containment down around oneself.

"I've met him before in San Francisco," he went on, in a
whisper so low I doubted any equipment could catch it. "I know where
to find him, but I want to know if he's telling me the truth."

I took a deep breath, anticipating what he would say next.

"Would you be able to tell if he lied to me?" The words
came out quickly, and although his face did not change, static rose
around him.

"Yes," I whispered.

"If you don't want to, I'll respect that," he went on,
"but I need your help."

It was captivating, sensing how important my help would be
to him, and again I missed his arm's movement: he reached out to
touch my right arm before I could react. In a brief flash, I was
surrounded by his thoughts of a pier, with sounds of seagulls and
lapping water. A strange man walked beside me, older, and distinguished.

I felt myself flinch as my shield dissolved, pulling me
out of his memory. I looked up to see Mulder frowning, and he
withdrew his hand from my arm. "Am I hurting you?" he asked
anxiously. His voice rose, out of the whisper to his usual murmur.

"No, no." I shook my head, and met his eyes. "I was in
your memory. Couldn't get the shield down in time." I paused,
sifting through the scene I had just felt around me. His memory
had words for the strange man. "Deep Throat?" I whispered,
smiling.

The corners of his mouth pulled back in a smile, and his
eyes opened in admiration. "Yeah," he replied slowly, hushed.
"You felt that?"

"He's not _the_ Deep Throat?" I asked.

Before he spoke again, his eyes wandered and I knew he had
overlooked my question. "You can feel things that specifically?"

"Only when you get too close, like you just did." I
wondered if I really had time to explain, but he wanted so badly
to know. With my hands I measured out a few inches of space in
front of me, and a few inches in front of that toward him. His
eyes followed the gestures meticulously. "This is about where
my shield is. The closer a person gets to me, the stronger I
feel their presence and their emotions. Things get more specific,
and if the person touches me or gets inside this space before I
can turn off that sense, their impression goes all around me. It
feels like I _am_ that person, and I feel their memories."

"You felt a memory of me and my contact," Mulder concluded.

I nodded. "I don't like to do it. It doesn't feel right
feeling other people's emotions. It's not my place."

Again, it seemed as if he had barely heard me. He drew
closer, holding his left hand a few inches from me, as he had at
my house in Felton. I dropped both my hands to my sides to avoid
him. "But what does it feel like?" he whispered.

"Mulder, trust me, you don't want to know." I was starting
to feel warm. My face tingled a little, and I stepped back from
him, taking my jacket off to relieve the heat. "You can find out
things you really didn't want to know about people. And when you
remember them, they feel like your own memories."

He nodded slowly. I crossed my arms over my jacket, waiting
for him to answer. After a pause, he took one step back. I sensed
a dark center had returned to his impression; he was probably thinking
of his sister again. I felt sure that was part of his eagerness to
help me find Will. "You could watch while I speak with him," he
suggested in a whisper, returning to the subject of Deep Throat.
"We need to get to Fort Mason separately, so he doesn't connect us."

"Fort Mason? Where exactly?"

"Near Building D, right on the water."

"Yeah, I know the place. There's a theater there where I've
played." The scene assembled itself in my head--the building, containing
a theater and galleries, and a small pier with benches. Boats in slips.
I could take one of Jason's pads of paper, and sketch unobtrusively
while Mulder met with his contact.

"Don't take your car," Mulder advised in a whisper. "I'll
give you a head start while you get a bus, and then I'll follow
driving it. If you can slip out, it'll just seem like I borrowed
your car and left you here."

"Right," I agreed, and dug my keys out of my pocket to hand
them to him.

Mulder's eyes followed me as I walked over to the drawing
table and selected a large manila pad, and went through a drawer
for pencils. I felt his approval of my pretext.

Struck by an idea, I turned quickly and returned to the closet.
I could make sure that I heard what Deep Throat said, if what I
remembered were true. Standing on tiptoe, I craned my neck at
the overhead closet shelf, where I knew Jason kept some of his old
surveillance equipment.

Mulder appeared at my right shoulder. "Need light?" he
asked, and shone the penlight up into the dimness. "What are you
looking for?"

With the added light, I spotted what I needed and reached
to pull it down: one of two Listenaiders Jason owned. "It looks
just like a Walkman," I explained in a whisper, "but it amplifies
sound." I showed him the box, with the headphones attached. "Low
tech, but it works."

He nodded quickly. "Good. Now you have to slip out
without being seen." He frowned. "Is there anything you can wear
to look like a homeless person?"

"I'm sure there is." That did seem like the quickest way
to go about it.

He pressed my right arm lightly and headed for the stairs.
"Good luck," he murmured over his shoulder. "I'll be on the
phone to Scully. That should keep their attention."

Only when his impression retreated into the distance above
did I realize that my heart was beating very fast indeed. My hands
started to tingle, and I stretched my arms ahead of me, turning my
wrists and trying to relax my shoulders.

I found a plastic trash bag and put the pad, pencils and
Listenaider in it. In the closet, I looked through Jason's old
clothes until I found an old fatigue jacket, and hung my own
jacket up in its place, first pocketing enough change for a bus
to Fort Mason. I looked for something to wear on my head to hide
my red hair, and finally tore the back off a threadbare gray T-shirt
hanging in the closet. Jason had hand-painted the front, years ago,
with Chinese characters. I shivered and hoped he would understand,
later.

There was no mirror in the garage, so I looked down at
myself. My pants and shoes looked far too clean for a homeless
person. Hurriedly I took my shoes off and put them in the trash
bag, and put on Will's scuffed white high-tops. They were huge,
and I hoped they drew attention away from my purple pants.

Taking a deep breath, and twisting the trash bag in my
hands, I approached the back door. With no windows, I could
not see out into the alley; there was no way to tell if anyone
was watching.

I cast my intuition upward, and found Mulder's presence at
the furthest upward edge of my range. He had to be on the third
floor, in the kitchen, maybe. His impression felt controlled and
businesslike, but at that distance I could make out nothing more.
I heard the faint sound of water running, elsewhere in the building.
It took me a few moments to realize that Mulder had probably left
water running somewhere, to represent me washing my hands or
something--still in the school, not sneaking out into the alley.

I sighed and reached for the doorknob, turning it as
slowly as possible. I had to believe that the watchers, surrounded
by technology, were listening hard to Mulder talking on the phone,
and were not watching the back door of the Jade Mantis Academy.

The door opened and I let it swing ajar by itself. A slice
of the alley appeared in front of me--a hopelessly exposed expanse
of concrete, with back fences impossibly far away. There was nothing
to hide behind.

Thinking of the last time I had encountered a sick, miserable
being on the San Francisco Metro, I gritted my teeth and imagined
getting too close to her, not getting my shield down in time. The
cough would have to be there, the painful chest. I imagined
arthritic joints, a sore back.

Hoping all these were convincingly in place, I shuffled out
into the alley, and clutched my right arm around the trash bag,
pulling the door to behind me without looking at it. I started
walking, keeping my eyes on the ground and my right side touching
the wall of the school.

_Goddess, I must be invisible._ I pulled my energy close
inside me, and reached with my soul through the soles of Will's
high-tops, into the pavement of the alley. _I must be unimportant.
Divert their eyes, Lady, and let me escape._

I pushed away the thought of my guest and the hurry he was
in to meet his contact, dragging my feet, taking my time. The
corner of the wall appeared, and the dumpster I'd hidden behind
after being knocked over.

It was all I could do not to look over my shoulder at the
alley. Instead I loosened my attention from the asphalt and cast
my intuition backward, trying to find those who were watching the
school building, but found nothing. Was no one there?

For safety's sake, I stayed in character while I traversed
the distance to 19th Avenue, rounding the corner onto Taraval and
passing in front of the school. I saw my car out of the corner of
my eye, and imagined Mulder driving it. Briefly I wished I'd
cleaned it out first, and almost laughed out loud at myself.

At 19th Avenue, I slipped behind the bus shelter where a
small crowd of San Franciscans waited for the bus 29. This would
take me to Fort Mason, and hopefully the traffic would remain
cooperative. The transit riders averted their eyes nervously and
I was able to change shoes, and remove the rag from my head, with
none of them acknowledging my presence.

The bus arrived, and I took one of the single seats on the
right side. I tried not to grip the trash bag too hard, and
steadied myself for the long ride to the waterfront.

*

Before the bus reached Fort Mason, I took the Listenaider
out of the trash bag and arranged it like a Walkman--sound box at
my belt, and the headphones in my ears. I took the manila pad out
too, and put the pencils in one of my pants pockets. I wondered
about Will's shoes, and decided they had to remain behind, on the
bus, in the bag. I was sure the driver could find someone who
needed a pair of high-tops.

By the time the bus door opened, and I stepped out, I
thought I looked very much like an art student ready to sketch
the boats on the marina--fatigue jackets were was much a fashion
statement as a disguise. The bus pulled away, and before I could
avoid it, it spewed warm, thick exhaust onto my legs as I crossed
the street.

I made my way between buildings and through parking lots
to Building D. Looking around carefully, I did not see any sign
of my car or Mulder, and breathed a sigh of relief. I would be
in place before the meeting got underway.

Selecting a bench on the pier, I opened the pad to a blank
sheet and set to work. Breathing deeply, I tried to ignore thoughts
of Will, Jason, or Mulder and think about Building D, ahead of me--
three stories tall, with large, square banks of windows. I went
about it as if I really wanted to draw the building--light outlines
at first, spacing the windows evenly, counting the panes.

The lapping water lulled my heartbeat somewhat, and I started
some more committed lines, a little shading. I was wondering if I
should include a broken window on the second floor when Mulder's
presence appeared at the edge of my intuition.

My heart leaped and I bit my lip, determined not to turn my
head to look at him. He was contained and centered, and directed
completely toward his meeting with his contact. I could not tell
if he had seen me sitting on my bench, but I figured he could hide
that even from me beneath his professionalism.

Reaching casually for the controls on the Listenaider, I
turned it on and played gingerly with the volume. The seagulls
become almost unbearably loud. I heard footsteps, slow and relaxed,
behind me and found they corresponded with Mulder's position in
my shield. Car engines in the distance became thunderous. I
winced and hoped the encounter wouldn't take long.

Another set of footsteps began at the other end of the pier,
and Mulder began speaking. He sounded as if he were leaning over
my shoulder, when in fact he was some distance away. "Are you
here for the Warriors, or the Forty-Niners this time?"

"Have you ever seen the San Jose Sharks, Mr. Mulder?"
Another voice, older and a little professorial, answered the question
with another question. My right hand quivered in mid-air, holding
the pencil. I made out another presence approaching Mulder's, and
had to raise my eyebrows in admiration. This newcomer was so
withdrawn he barely registered on my shield, so restrained it seemed
almost ludicrous that he would be discussing hockey with Agent Mulder.
His impression felt as though he were speaking to Mulder from some
great height.

"No." Mulder fell into step beside the older man, and their
footsteps came close to unison. I stared at the half-finished sketch
of Building D, and touched up one of the banks of windows. I wished
I could look around and see Deep Throat. He seemed really aloof and
at the same time, tired.

"The new arena in San Jose will be open in time for their
upcoming season." Both men continued walking, passing behind me at
a distance of about twenty feet. "How did you involve yourself with
Will Stevenson?"

"A favor for a friend," Mulder responded evenly.

"A happy coincidence," remarked Deep Throat. "I gave some
information to Mr. Stevenson that was intended for _you_, Mr.
Mulder."

Mulder's reaction was muted but palpable. He felt betrayed,
but restrained what he said next, giving nothing away. "Isn't that
introducing a variable?"

I considered the older man. He appeared to be telling the
truth so far. "I was under very close scrutiny at that time. Mr.
Stevenson made himself known to the intelligence community as a
willing courier, and was given instructions to leave a package in
a location I would later to reveal to you."

There was a pause. "And he stole the package," Mulder
concluded.

"So it would appear." The two men's voices grew louder as
they reached the pier railing and turned toward me. I adjusted the
Listenaider's volume, and stroked at the pad absently with a pencil.
"I expect that the two of you will find each other. It is essential
that you recover this package and keep it safe, Mr. Mulder."

"What does he want? Money?" Even at a distance I felt a
little static around Mulder as he weighed the implications of Deep
Throat's words.

Without answering, the older man walked away from Mulder,
leaving him at the railing. I felt Deep Throat walking diagonally
across the pier, and heard his footsteps pass close behind me,
before he disappeared from the pier and my shield's view.

Uncomfortably I wondered what to do next. Did Mulder want
me to continue to ignore him? He appeared in my line of vision,
walking over to the pier railing a few yards in front of me, but
without looking in my direction. "So, what's the verdict?" he
asked, staring out over the water toward Building D. The Listenaider
amplified his voice to a painful level.

Turning the device off, I thought hard before answering.
"He's telling you the truth," I said finally. I stared at the pencil
in my hand, and my grip on it tightening. Will had stolen secret
material. Wasn't that spying? Was he hoping to sell it to someone?

There was silence while Mulder considered what I'd said.
Finally he turned around, and looked at me intently. "You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." I folded the pad shut in my lap. "He
wasn't lying to you at any time. There was a lot he didn't tell
you, though."

Mulder nodded agreement. He looked at a spot to the left of
me, thinking. "It doesn't make sense. Something's missing here."

I remembered what he'd said earlier, that he didn't understand
_why_ Will ran to California. Nothing new had come up to enlighten
either of us on this point. Behind me in the silence, a few tourists
walked out onto the pier, and started taking pictures of the boats
in the marina.

"Will is given something to deliver." Mulder began recounting
events quietly. "He doesn't deliver it. Instead he runs here, with
the package. In a briefcase. He makes no demands." He frowned
at me. "Why didn't he deliver the package? What reason could he
have?"

"He looked at the information?" I volunteeered lamely.

"Maybe. It might not have been anything he could understand,
though." Mulder paused, and then continued as if thinking out loud.
"Why is he still holding onto it, when he isn't trying to sell it."

Without warning I felt his impression begin to thrum with
an idea. Excitement appeared behind his eyes, and he stepped
forward to sit on the bench near me. "Mari, does your family
have a history of psychic ability?"

"What? What do you mean?" His look was insistent, and
I answered perplexedly, "Yeah, I guess. My mother...she never
had any training, but...why do you ask?"

"My contact didn't lie to _me_." Mulder took the manila
pad and set off toward the parking lot. I jumped up to follow
him. He continued talking to me over his shoulder. "But I
believe he _did_ lie to Will, and Will knew that. Let's go,
we have to find him."

*

Somehow I got to the car, and into the passenger's seat. Mulder
started the car up, and I realized dully that my hands were tingling.
Of course Will could have inherited some of the family tendencies. It made
sense, objectively. But the very idea of Will, my Hawk, having any
abilities shook me terribly. He was the last person on earth who
would want any.

"You know," Mulder observed languidly, "that's a good look
for you."

I looked at the camouflage print of the fatigue jacket. He
was trying to be funny. "Mulder, Will's never wanted to hear me
talk about my shield." My mouth was going a little dry. "Ever
since he hit his teens, he didn't want to hear about it. And after
he started college, and studying psych, he started laying case histories
on me."

"Will, the family skeptic." Mulder smiled a little. I could
sense him relishing the irony. "It fits. If he just had his first
psychic event, that might shake him up enough to go into hiding."

"Yeah, yeah." I found myself pulling the fatigue jacket
close around me. "So where are we going now?"

"Well, first of all Jason came back right after you left.
I had to make good my escape out the back door before he saw me."

"He has a class to teach," I remembered. "That's why he
came back."

Mulder nodded. He was guiding the car through the Marina
district, in the general direction of Highway 1 and the Golden Gate
Bridge. I hoped he wouldn't take us to Marin by mistake. "Before
that, though, I got through to Scully. A check of phone records,
both Jason's and Will's cellular phone, show nothing unusual. In
fact Will hadn't used his phone since the end of November, which
probably means he didn't bring it with him when he came here."

I nodded. "He's using all his knowledge not to leave
any trail."

Mulder navigated the car through a brief tunnel, and we
emerged on the road through the Presidio, heading south back
toward the Jade Mantis Academy. "This theft of information
would ordinarily put him, and my contact, in pretty serious danger.
The fact that he's survived unhurt for months is another puzzle."

"_With_ the briefcase," I agreed. "Nobody's even tried
to get it back; they've just been watching him."

"Which means they attach some value to him." Mulder
cast his eyes about at the scenery as we began winding through
Golden Gate Park. "We should see what we can find out from
Jason. That's if his class is over."

I looked at the car's chronometer. "By the time we get
there, yeah." It was a quarter to four. "He's got another at
four, too."

"Then we'll be quick about it."

The sun had descended appreciably by the time we reached
the Academy, illuminating the western horizon behind the fog.
Mulder parked the car and we entered through the front door, to
find ourselves surrounded by small kids milling around in ghis and
sweats. Parents, seated in the foyer on sofas and chairs, eyed
us curiously as we entered.

Mulder followed me into the teaching room. My heart
leaped apprehensively when I spotted Jason, flanked by small
students, helping them with their snap kicks. A small Asian girl
furrowed her brow with concentration and lunged forward as her
leg snapped out. She landed awkwardly with her weight on her
kicking leg.

"Not so hard," Jason told her quietly. "You're a
little off balance. Make sure you're always standing on your
back leg, like this." The girl watched with huge eyes as he
demonstrated. The leg of his black ghi made an impressive breathless
sound with the kick. "When you're done, you can put your
leg back in the stance--see? Brenda, show me yours."

Brenda, as fair and blonde as a porcelain doll, did not move.
Her blue eyes were fixed on Agent Mulder. Jason looked up, saw us,
and bristled with suspicion and resentment. "Practice it some more at
home," he told the two girls. "I'll see you day after tomorrow, okay?"

The girls nodded and headed for the hallway. Brenda
stared back over her shoulder at Agent Mulder. Under other
circumstances, it might have been funny.

Jason waited until the girls were out of earshot. "Well.
It's Batman and Robin," he remarked coldly.

"Rosencrantz and Guildenstern," deadpanned Mulder. I
grinned in spite of myself. "Quixote and Dulcinea."

"If you'll excuse me, I have a class to teach," Jason
replied. I felt my hands looking for their familiar pockets,
having to settle for the ones they could find in the fatigue jacket.
Jason felt we _both_ were a threat to Will. He felt I was no longer
to be trusted. The look in his eyes made me want to shrivel away.

"Mr. Demnos, Will has a briefcase that needs to be
returned to its owner." Mulder took a few steps toward Jason.
He had straightened up to his full height again.

Height had never intimidated Jason, who stood his
ground and leaned his presence forward in his answer. It was
a self-assured way he had that flushed my face with memories.
"Will doesn't want to work for you. You're wasting your time."

Mulder blinked. "I'm not here to recruit Will," he
replied evenly, although Jason had definitely gotten his attention.
"There's very little chance of anyone ever working for _me_."

There was a pause. Jason's focus did not relax. "If you
don't work with those people, then why approach Mari?"

"He didn't approach me," I blurted anxiously. "I
picked him up on Highway 17 when his car broke down. He
never heard Will's name before I mentioned it."

"I'm not here to force him to do anything," Mulder
insisted in a low voice. A group of three students, boys
around ten years old, emerged loudly into the teaching room,
deep in an argument.

Jason's eyes moved to the children, then back to us.
His impression was relaxing a little of its defensive posture,
but he remained cool and still in his outward demeanor. "I'm
sorry, but I can't help you right now. I have a class to
teach."

Turning away from us, he admonished the boys, who
hushed each other sheepishly and sat down on mats on
the floor. I beckoned to Mulder, leading him into the office
where the computer was. "What now?" I whispered. "I'd better
check the e-mail again." I reached behind the computer to turn
it on.

"Now we know why they haven't harmed Will," Mulder
murmured. "Seems like he couldn't keep his ability a secret.
He attracted the attention of some covert organization."

I stared at the computer screen, waiting for it to
warm up. I was beginning to feel a little more optimistic.
Whoever was watching, apparently didn't want to harm Will,
which was a great relief--but they wanted him to work for
them? Who were they? Feeling the need to lighten up, I
remarked to Mulder, "Nice classical references there."

He smiled, eyeing the computer screen. "I went
to Oxford. It was inevitable."

"Ever investigate any windmills?" I teased.

He grinned wider, and raised his eyebrows. He began
speaking in the formal stilted way of a news anchor. "Denying
allegations of a coverup, the military explained today that
the objects in the night sky were harmless windmills."

I chuckled. Mulder's smile disappeared slowly as he watched me
telnet my account. Some of my mood evaporated when I discovered, again,
that there was no email waiting.

My attention drifted as I wondered what our next
move would be. Maybe Jason would be more willing to help
us, now that one misconception had been cleared up.

Maybe I would be trustworthy once again in his eyes.
I peered into the teaching room, looking for him. He was
somewhere just out of sight, but I could see that small
group of boy students. One of the boys jumped to his feet and
called out, "Sifu? Sifu, can _we_ bring the practice dummy out?"

The others quickly followed suit, clamoring for their
chance to honor the class with the wing chun dummy. Jason appeared in
my line of vision, with a quiet grin on his face that barely
hid the fact that he was feeling just as exuberant as his students.
"You can only do it if you lift from your knees," he warned.
"No lifting with your back. Is that understood?"

I listened to the boys' footsteps as they raced to the
storeroom door. Jason followed behind, and out of my sight.

"Why Dulcinea?" I murmured, without looking at Mulder.
"Why not Quixote and Sancho?"

"Sancho didn't believe," Mulder replied softly. I
glanced at him and saw he was looking off into the teaching room
as well. After a pause his eyes slid sideways to look at me.
"You also don't strike me as the blindly loyal type."

Jason reappeared, keeping a close eye on two boys who
were carrying the practice dummy between them. _You'd be
surprised,_ I thought.

"Mari." Mulder murmured my name. I saw him pointing
at the screen. A chat request had appeared, silently. Somebody
with a guest logon on the SF Coffee House Network wanted to
talk.

My hands shook as I typed the commands to begin chatting.
The screen divided in half, and I barely gave the cursor time to
appear before I pounded words onto the screen.

HAWK? IS THAT YOU?

HI MARI

WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT'S GOING ON?

JASON THERE?

HE'S TEACHING. WHERE ARE YOU?

MULDER THERE?

YES. WHY?

CAN I MEET YOU 2 SOMEWHERE?

ME + MULDER? SURE WHERE? ARE YOU OK?

YES YES. CAN YOU MEET ME

Words stopped appearing. I was holding my breath, wondering why
the cursor wasn't moving, when the typing resumed.

CAN YOU MEET ME @ WHERE YOU USED TO GO WITH THAT
COMPUTER GUY?

I blushed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mulder's
eyebrows glide upward.

OKAY. YOU BE CAREFUL HAWK! YOU SURE YOU'RE OK?

YESYESYESYES. I MIGHT BE AWHILE. LATER.

The main system prompt reappeared as Will disengaged the chat.
Mulder murmured, "I suppose we know it's Will."

"Yeah, it's him." Typing LOGOUT, I waited for the
screen to declare my exit from my account.

"Where did you go with the computer guy?" Mulder asked
nonchalantly, with a wide grin.

"I'll tell you in the car," I answered hurriedly.

As soon as I could shut down the computer and turn it
off, I led the way through a throng of fifth-graders to the
front door, and from there to the car. Mulder handed me the
keys, and with his hand on my arm stopped me from getting in.
Breathing deeply, I watched him walk around the little Hyundai,
checking intently for I didn't know what.

When he nodded permission, we both got into the car,
and I tried not to speed as we headed for the Great Highway.
The L Metro train loomed behind me, and I nervously tried to
stay ahead of it. "Fort Funston," I said finally.

"Hmm?"

"Fort Funston. Jason doesn't know I used to go there,
so he won't know where to look for us after his class is over."
I cast a side glance at Mulder, who was admiring the ocean on
our right. It was nearly dark, and the horizon glowed bright
pink in the sunset. "This guy and I used to watch the hang
gliders." Hoping I could change the subject before he started
asking questions, I asked one of my own. "What were you looking
for on the car?"

"I got some sand on the hood, before we went in," Mulder
answered. "If somebody had opened the hood, it would've been
disturbed, and it wasn't."

I felt parts of me growing cold as I considered the
implications of what he'd said. "You think they want Will to
work for them that bad?"

"We don't know anything yet." Mulder paused. "They
might feel that the fewer people who know, the better--who
know they're recruiting operatives with psychic abilities.
On the other hand, nobody would believe that kind of allegation."

He was right. It sounded like something to be read in a
supermarket checkout line. "If they are, it sounds like they
want law enforcement experience too." It was funny in a dark
sort of way. "So I guess they won't be coming after _me_."

"How public are you about your abilities?" Mulder asked.
I realized he was serious.

"I'm not," I assured him. "Only the immediate family
know, and Jason. I'm really good at hiding my reactions to things
I sense. It helps with teaching, though. In a lot of ways."

"Sounds like it would," Mulder agreed.

When we reached Fort Funston, there was plenty of parking.
That seemed right for a weeknight in December. The wind off the
ocean was painfully cold, and I pulled the fatigue jacket tight
around me as I stepped out of the car. I felt Mulder's surprise
at the cold, and saw him do the same with his long coat, stuffing
both hands in his pockets.

"Sunny California," he remarked ruefully.

"Well, the sun's gone down, and it's winter," I
reminded him. There were no hang gliders in the air; a few
were packing up their gear and loading it in trucks. Mulder
followed me out onto a wooden deck surrounded by railings,
jutting out over the beach and giving a spectacular view of
the Pacific Ocean and the coast. He was slowly buttoning
each of the large round buttons on his overcoat.

Leaning on the railing, I remembered standing there with
"the computer guy," as Will had always disdainfully referred to
Josh. Naturally, our activities had not been limited to watching
the hang gliders. I resolved not to shudder in front of Mulder.
There was nothing inherently bad about Josh's occupation, of
course--that of a "computer guy"-- but he had not been the greatest
of human beings, at a time when my shield practice had been limited.
I had been unable, or unwilling, to perceive his dishonesty.

It occurred to me that bringing Jason there might help,
at some point, toward dismissing that ghost from an otherwise wonderful
place.

The wind lulled briefly. A breeze fanned my hair back
from my face, and instinctively I leaned toward it, feeling the
air on my cheeks and tingling along the roots of my hair. Mulder
appeared on my left side, and leaned on the railing. The rough
surface of his coat made a sandpaper feeling against the sleeve of
my fatigue jacket. "They may or may not have followed us," he began
casually. "I didn't see anyone."

"If they're still trying to persuade Will to work for
them," I replied slowly, "they wouldn't get violent...right?"

"I don't know who these people are," Mulder admitted.
His hands closed themselves slowly into loose fists, then opened
back up. "I don't know who my contact works for. I _hope_ they
don't get violent."

In the silence that followed I turned up the neck of
my turtleneck, trying to shield my throat from the wind. I was
feeling a little light-headed, and slowly realized that I had
not eaten anything since the toast we'd had for breakfast.
Before I could open my mouth to mention it, though, Mulder was
digging in one of his coat pockets. "Seeds?" he offered
languidly.

"Yeah, thanks. Great minds think alike," I told him.

"Really?" He unrolled the crumpled mouth of the plastic
bag.

"Well, food in general. Not seeds specifically."

I soon discovered they were the salty kind. I was going
to be very thirsty later. "I guess when Will gets here, you'll
be able to tell, right?"

"Yes." I inserted a seed, pointy end first, between my teeth
and cracked it while still holding on to it.

"Would you be able to sense the people who want to
recruit him?" He was talking around a seed in his mouth.

"I don't know. Probably."

He looked at me with his head on one side. "I bet you
aren't afraid of anything, are you?" He seemed both wistful,
and envious. Turning away, he tossed a seed shell over the
railing.

"What gave you that idea?" I swallowed my seed kernel
quickly and dropped the shell over the railing. "Sure I'm afraid
of things sometimes."

"But you already know what people want," Mulder pointed
out. His presence became murky as he considered what he was saying.
"You can go ahead and act on it. And turn it to your advantage."

"Mulder, you're just as intuitive as I am." Selecting
another seed, I looked back out at the ocean.

"Really. How's that?" His presence began retreating as though
I'd caught him in something he didn't want me to know.

"There's no reason for you to believe in my abilities,
but you do." I turned to face him.

"Yeah, well, but you've proven them." He crackled the
seed bag uncomfortably in his hand.

"Not in any concrete way," I persisted. "You've got
very little reason to trust me at all. But you do. I think
that happens to you a lot."

He looked at the wooden deck we were standing on.
"Yeah." His voice was barely audible.

"I'm right, aren't I?" I bent my head and tried to
meet his downward gaze.

He returned to looking at me, briefly, then shook his
head and looked out at the rapidly fading sunset. "I don't
know why I know who to trust. It just seems really obvious
at the time."

"You see, you've got all the ability I have," I
concluded. I tried to lighten the tone of my voice. "Just
because I worked so hard on getting mine organized into a
shield, doesn't make mine better."

For a moment, the surf pounded in the distance undis-
turbed. Silently, the street lamps came on on the road nearby
and over the landing. I watched warily as Mulder's presence
developed that dark center again, and the edges of him grew sharper.
"But you can go inside people's memory." The end of the
statement was hollow and dark. "I can't do that."

"It wouldn't serve you to know how," I replied
slowly.

"It might. I don't know." He grew even darker, and
his right hand moved slowly to hold itself before his mouth.
I looked down at his shadow in the light of the street lamps,
trying to nail down what he was feeling. It was difficult,
but specifics began to distill themselves.

"Mulder, whose memory do you want?" He didn't
answer me. "Were you a witness when your sister disappeared?"

He turned his back on me and I knew I had found the
answer. Carefully putting away my shield, I reached for his
arm. "I don't know how yours would work, but my intuition
never helps me with my own memory. I don't have any more
recollection than anybody else."

"But you could help me with mine, couldn't you?"
Looking back over his shoulder, his lips remained open
after the question.

I backed away from him, slowly, as he turned
around. Intuitively, in my re-established shield, he was
looming hugely at me like a great truck about to run me over.
I wasn't sure he was even seeing me any more. "I only remember
a bright light. And somebody in the room. I heard voices...but
I don't remember everything. Maybe you could tell me
more about what really happened."

"Mulder, you're scaring me." My voice sounded
very confident in my ears, for someone whose heart was
beating as fast as mine. He wanted me to relive his
most horrible memory for him? He wanted me to see if
he'd forgotten anything?

"What?" He blinked.

"You can't just ask me to dive in there. You
don't know what you're saying." Shaking my head, I put
more distance between us. My hands reached toward him
palms forward, as if to fend him off. I reminded myself
that he didn't really know what he was talking about--that he
could not under any circumstances force me to use my ability,
but I grew more and more afraid.

"I need your help." He was like the blade of
my knife, single-minded and oblivious. I choked back
anger when I realized that I was only a means to an
end, right now.

"No, you don't." I planted my feet in my
firmest stance. "Damn it, Mulder, you don't understand.
You're talking about giving this memory to me. This is
something that's made you dark all over for all your
life, and you're asking me to take it upon myself.
I won't do it."

His steely gaze faltered. I persisted. "It's
_your_ memory. It's _yours_, and it's not fair for you
to ask me to go inside it like that."

The waves rushed softly in the distance below us.
The edges of his presence began to relax as he took my
words in. Slowly I realized I had never been in any
danger--he would not have tried to force me to help
him, but still my heart was pounding and my breath was
short.

I took a few steps across the landing, gazing at
my car in the parking lot. Mulder's voice reached me,
absent-mindedly. "No, of course not." He paused.
"I'm sorry."

When I looked back over my shoulder, he was leaning
on the railing, looking out at the dark sea. His presence
had withdrawn as far as it could, like a dark sliver in the
space his body occupied.

I took a deep breath, and let it out. _You did the
right thing,_ I told myself. _You've got rights too, you
know._

The lump forming in my throat seemed to say that I
only half believed it.

*

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Polly Moller * ni...@netcom.com *...yadda yadda yadda...*
Flutist, Conductor, Teacher / Producer, Women's Alternative
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