=====o===========================================o===== "Xibalba" by Mary Ruth Keller E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net =====o===========================================o===== Part III - Under the Ballcourt (Disclaimed in Part I) -----o---------------------------------------o----- First Witch: When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning, or in rain? Second Witch: When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and won. The Tragedy of MacBeth -----o---------------------------------------o----- Seibal Ruins Border of Mexico and Guatemala Monday September 2, 1996 12.19.2.9.16 2:30 am "Do we try to get back to warn the others, Mulder?" Scully twisted around to face her partner, who was staring down at the camp. "No, Scully, we don't. We hide. *Now*." She moved over to him. "What did you see?" "Our assassin executing his termination order." Mulder had observed several silent flashes of light down by their tents, and knew they were trapped. He and Scully walked away from the stairs, finally hiding behind the remains of a low wall of a temple part way down the back of the pyramid. Once they had concealed themselves as best they could, they waited, listening. Several pairs of feet were climbing the steep approach to the pyramid's summit. Scully reached behind her partner to touch his leg. "It's in DC. I was on vacation, you know." She winced, chastising herself for forgetting to check for his gun when she stopped to feed the fish. "Mine's in my tent. I was sleeping, you know." She squeezed his shoulder. Both of them were glad Mulder's dream had brought them up here. "So, we just sit, hoping they go away?" She felt her partner's breath on her ear. Mulder tapped her shoulder once. "I thought we'd offer your Linux knowledge to the Zapatistas as a bargaining chip." She punched him, very lightly. They needed to function tightly now, as they had in March, to stay alive. There would be no more talking; the feet were too close. --o-0-o-- Ux Balam took no notice of the pale-skinned pair. As he expected, his descendant was the leader, and the Adept the second in command. It was good to see the old ways respected, after a fashion. The shade of the King reached into the leader's mind. He too, had one of the pale-skin's names: Jesus Garcia. But even that name reflected his ancient status as one who was believed divine. Garcia felt the touch of the shade. He had heard the call from the mountains to the west, and his group had worked their way to these old ruins. Ux Balam felt enormous pride. His Blood was strong enough, even as diluted in these veins, to cross between worlds easily. He allowed himself to become visible. Mulder and the Maya men gasped, never having seen a warrior in the Tlaloc headdress of feathers and obsidian, with the chin-guards and peaked brim. Ux Balam rose into the air. As he hovered, the Maya fell to the ground, all but his Heir and the Adept, whose minds he touched, sharing what he knew. --o-0-o-- Malcom Evers packed his pistol away, having followed his orders. Although Rubins was designated radio operator, tonight he pulled rank and kept the unit in his tent, just for this. He broadcast the coded message on a secure frequency: 'Problem Solved.' Tomorrow the FBI agents would be found dead and their bodies loaded on helicopters bound for the Embassy. Their mortal remains would never arrive, but be dumped in the Gulf of Mexico. After a few days futile search for the "Zapatistas" responsible, the CIA agents would leave as well. The pair had revealed too much information that threatened the nation's security. It was better this way, and he would sleep well tonight. --o-0-o-- Mulder and Scully waited behind the low wall, motionless. The Maya had regrouped into a small circle, speaking softly among themselves in their native tongue, Chol, then spread out, searching. Ux Balam had revealed their presence to his people as he was explaining the locations of all the Americans, as he had learned they were called. Scully began checking the steep wall of the pyramid behind them, attempting to decide if they could escape down into the jungle. But her partner's hand on her shoulder stopped her, and she turned back to see they were surrounded by Zapatista guns. Then they were grabbed, not roughly, brought out from behind the wall and held up to leader. Garcia scanned their faces. "My ancestor tells me you have been to the other side, guided by a Great Northern Shaman." Thinking of the Blessing Way ritual and Albert Hosteen, Mulder nodded. "Then, you will live, as will your partner. My ancestor also tells me she would be a great lady among his people. My name is Jesus Garcia." The agents exchanged puzzled looks before Mulder replied, "I'm Agent Mulder and this is my partner, Agent Scully, from the FBI." The leader laughed. "Surprised at my lack of accent? Don't be. Presbyterian Missions School. It was started with the purpose of civilizing us, eliminating the Maya way of life. As if the Priests hadn't tried all these years." Garcia looked Scully over, Mulder beginning to edge into his view as he did so. "You are a healer?" Scully nodded. "I'm a medical doctor. Are any of your people injured?" Garcia shook his head. "But we can always use a doctor in the village." He looked from one to the other. "Do you know who I am?" They waited. "I'm a descendant of the King who lay in the grave at the bottom of the pyramid. He's here, you know, watching us, speaking to me." "If he's here," Mulder interposed, "then how does he suggest we get out of this mess? There are armed CIA agents, six of them, down below. They're expecting Zapatistas, and now you're here." Garcia smiled. "And one of those agents thinks he has killed both of you, just now. My ancestor has told me, too." He stepped up to Mulder. "We go out the way we came in. The CIA down there are desk jockeys who took this duty because they thought it would be a free trip to Mexico. They won't be a problem, just watch your step." --o-0-o-- Seibal Ruins 7:00 am Rubins rolled over in his tent. This trip in the jungle was fun, but he was bored now. He itched, he wanted to get back to his own bed and a good hot bath, but most, he needed to take a leak. He unzipped the tent flap and slipped out. The light was just enough to avoid tripping on tent lines, like that Scully woman had done last night. He had wondered about those two, always with their heads together, and all that touching. So unlike the intelligent woman he met in DC. Finished, he prepared to return to camp. He looked over at the FBI agents' tents, noticing Mulder's was torn on the side, as was Scully's. He ran over, catching his foot only once, finding both tents empty. The bullets had ripped into their balled-up sleeping bags. Perhaps that extracurricular exercise saved their lives, or perhaps they were dead in the jungle. Rubins had to get Evers. "Hey, Malcom! We've got trouble!" He banged on Evers' tent flap. Inside, Evers rolled out of his sleeping bag, having been waiting for this. "What are you saying, Rubins?" He wanted all the others to witness the moment of discovery. "Is there a problem?" He watched the remaining four creep out of their tents, concerned. Rubins nodded. "It's Mulder and Scully. They're gone. Someone shot up their tents and they're gone." "Let me see." He walked over and made a show of inspecting the tents. "They must be..." He bent down to look into Mulder's tent, but it was empty, as was Scully's. He was truly upset now. "Okay People! We have a situation here!" Andrews was snickering behind his hand. "You want to share the joke, Funny Man?" The DC-based CIA agent nodded. "I saw them last night. She tripped over my tent lines, as they were talking about star-gazing together." A ripple of laughter ran through the group, prompting Evers to take charge again. "Then let's split up, people, form into pairs. We'll find these two lame-brains and kick their butts back to DC! You two, check the pyramid. If they were stargazing, they might be asleep up there. Funny man, you and Rubins check the pit. You, with me. Go!" The three groups went their separate ways. --o-0-o-- Mexican Rain Forest 2:30 pm But they were long gone. The Maya had slipped past the sleeping men in the night. Now they marched at a steady, rapid pace, not speaking, until the long overdue rains began to fall. Scully was relieved that because she had bladed so much over the summer, her legs didn't ache once they stopped, unable to see in the downpour. The Maya second in command, who had introduced himself only as Jose, had given the agents a tarp for shelter. After Mulder had draped it over a tree branch, they huddled together beneath it. He turned to her, his eyes aglow. "Did you see it? Did you see the Maya warrior's ghost?" Scully pushed a clump of wet hair behind her ear. "I know what I think I saw." His face darkened. "Scully! He was standing right there!" She dropped her head into her hands. "Mulder, please. We can't do this right now. We need to concentrate on staying alive. We are captives of a guerilla group, and the only people who might look for us want us dead. You know the assassin will discover in the morning that he didn't kill us. He'll come after us; they always do." Neither of them would ever forget the shape-shifting alien who kidnaped Scully and left Mulder on the ice to die. She took a deep breath before she continued. "I'll do whatever it takes to get out of this situation, no matter how strange it may seem. I'll even kick around a giant rubber ball with men claiming to be the Lords of Xibalba." At this moment, I don't care about what is scientifically verifiable. I just want to get through this. Once we are back in our basement office trying to piece together a semi-coherent report for Skinner, we'll argue until we're rolling around the floor with our hands on each other's throats, okay?" He smirked, just as she had hoped. "Promise, Agent Scully?" "Promise, Agent Mulder." The joke over, he sobered, retreating behind his all too familiar mask of guilt and worry. Scully knew he would be no good in the depths of depression, so she poked him in the ribs. "Phoebe was wrong about you, you know?" He blinked. "Phoebe? What does she have to do with anything?" She patted his arm. "You do know how to show a girl a good time." As silent thanks, he reached behind her to shake her shoulder. --o-0-o-- Seibal Ruins 9:00 am Rubins stared at Evers. "You want us to do what, Malcom? Just run off in the forest trying to find those two? What about the Zapatistas? We know there are at least a dozen in the group. Shouldn't we call for reinforcements?" He and Andrews had found the path the guerrillas used to come and go from the pyramid. At that moment, Rubins knew the FBI agents had been kidnaped. But he was confused by the damage to their tents. Why was someone after these two? And who was it? He knew Evers' reputation as a good soldier, but he was unfamiliar with the others. Rubins had heard rumors from Stu of a shadow government run out of some dark part of the FBI. After their discussion, he had brought up the Gunmen's home-page and reviewed the D'Amato papers. The documents indicated a UFO had been shipped out of the Black Forest at the end of the Second World War, but no supporting physical evidence had ever been found. Malcom Evers's words interrupted his thoughts. "We have to find these two and bring them out. If none of you are willing, I'll go in alone. The helicopters can be here in a few hours, if you people want to back out now." Rubins shook his head. He had to stick to the man, find out what he was up to. In a way, Rubins felt responsible for the agents' disappearance, since if he hadn't asked, they wouldn't have been here in the first place. The rest had decided that they wanted to go back to DC. He couldn't blame them, but he had to stay. The helicopters were summoned, and the other agents departed as Rubins watched. Evers turned to Rubins. "Looks like it's just you and me. Let's go." They slipped into the jungle following the Zapatistas' trail as the rain began to fall. --o-0-o-- J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington, DC Monday 6:30 pm "Gloria? Any word from Mexico?" Walter Skinner had stepped into his receptionist's office, waiting. She shook her head. She wasn't angry with her boss, knowing he was concerned for his two agents, not micro-managing her job. The X-files team, of which he was a sometime member, had not contacted him since the two wires on Saturday. She was worried about Agents Scully and Mulder as well. Dana Scully had always been cordial, chatting with her about their families while she waited to meet with Director Skinner. And Fox Mulder. She had caught him leaving a single white rose bud on her desk the day she came back after burying her husband last year. Gloria folded her hands in her lap. "No, Mr. Skinner, no word. Should you try the Embassy? Maybe they're back, but haven't checked in yet?" He nodded, passing through, then closing the door to his office. She watched the button for his personal line illuminate, blinking, indicating an outgoing call, then steady as the connection was completed. The instant the light went out, she heard her boss call out her name. She ran into his office to find he was pacing. As soon as he saw her, he began barking orders like the ex-Marine he was. "I need tickets to Villa Hermosa, now! The CIA agents from Washington are flying out of there. Agents Mulder and Scully are missing!" --o-0-o-- Mexican Rain Forest 9:30 pm Scully stepped over the twisted roots of a ceiba tree, barely picking up the trail in the dim light of the pitch-burning torches. When she reached back to touch her partner's arm, he responded by stepping over the obstacle. After about an hour, the rain had let up just enough for them to resume walking. But Mulder had remained distant, almost detached. A few short months ago, his silence would have panicked her, but not now. She knew he was working through something, so she limited her speech with him to short warnings about the trail. She would however, touch him regularly, just to let him know she was there, if he needed her. She had learned, in her years with Mulder, that for him, speech conveyed information only, but communication of his thoughts and feelings was through his eyes and his hands. Initially, that had proved a distraction, she thinking he was being forward with her. But they were used to each other now, and the occasional pat on the shoulder or elbow, a grip of the arm or back, seemed as natural as breathing. Jose had retrieved the tarp, so they were both soaked to the skin. Mulder's short hair was plastered to his head as if glued, and hers hung in dripping strings around her face. The rain had finally turned to a light mist at dusk, and the temperature was dropping. Scully wondered if they were going to walk through the night. Her legs had ached for a while around sunset, but she felt numb now, concentrating only on the trail and guiding her partner's steps. The heel of her boot hit a stone, and she stumbled, not falling only because a strong pair of hands supported her. "Scully, you okay?" She looked up, relieved to see his eyes focused on her face, not off in the distance. "I'm okay, Mulder." He smiled at her. She began to walk on, but he hadn't let go of her. "They've stopped. I think we get to rest now." The agents spotted the fallen limb of a rubber tree and sat, grateful for the break. Watching her rub her calves, he spoke softly, almost in apology. "You were right, you know." "Hum?" She frowned, attempting to recall their last conversation. "We can't argue about what happens here, not for a while, anyway. There's something funny going on with Garcia and Jose. Do you remember last night, when I said I thought I saw someone on the pyramid with us?" She nodded. "Well, I don't know how, but it's as if I know what Ux Balam is trying to say to Garcia and Jose, if I don't use my conscious mind." Her words from earlier sounded in her ears: 'Whatever gets us out of this situation.' She smiled to herself. Her definitions of 'whatever' had certainly expanded over the past few months. After they had discovered the tangible proof of the D'Amato papers, she found she was questioning her unthinking denial of the unexplained. As a result, she had spent her recovery from her second surgery reading over the X-Files. Scully had never had the luxury of an extended amount of free time in DC since being partnered with Mulder. Quarantines to determine the possibility of infection by the various exotic organisms had forced them both into inactivity, but those had kept them well away from the basement and the Files. So she had never examined more of the folders than had been absolutely necessary for whatever case had been most pressing. Those two months had been a revelation, reading over decades of reports of unexplained phenomena, talking them over with her partner. She had developed new respect for the intuitive connections he made between what seemed initially to be unrelated events. He, on the other hand, had learned, again, just how clever she was at logically building a framework that would support his speculations and at pulling him in before his leaps sent him off a cliff. They had together developed reasonably plausible explanations for some of what had been stuffed in the basement of the Hoover building, even closing a few of the cases. Given her physician's strict orders to rest, Mulder had done the footwork, while she, with his enthusiastic prompting, had handled the theorizing. Now, as she analyzed what he was saying, a semi-rational theory formed. She touched his arm. "Mulder, I think I see some reason for what you've experienced. If Garcia and Hosteen were right about you, and you have been to the other side and back, then you might be more sensitive to impressions than most people. So what *is* happening with Garcia and Jose? They were arguing furiously about Ux Balam about an hour ago." He glanced over at the Maya, resting in a loose circle. "Ux Balam is trying to warn Garcia about something, but Garcia only wants to know where all the Americans are. Jose wants to know about the myths he had heard, are they true. Garcia seems jealous, almost, whenever Ux Balam tries to communicate with Jose." He shook his head. "I don't like the dynamic that is forming in this group, Scully. With all these guns, if either Garcia or Jose decides to go after the other, we may get caught in the cross fire." Scully feigned a look of shock. He frowned, puzzled. "What? What did I say?" "For a moment there, Mulder, you sounded like an Oxford trained psychologist, not a mystic." He snorted, then sobered, as they heard footsteps approaching the camp. It was a pair of women, carrying food, fresh hot flat breads and strong thick cacao for the guerrillas. Jose directed one of the women towards the partners, and, to the agents' surprise, the food was shared equally with them. Scully didn't realize until they smelled the cooked maize, just how hungry she was, or how long it had been since they had eaten. As she accepted the soft yellow bread, one of the women touched the cross on her neck and nodded. Mulder smiled up at the Maya as she handed him his food, thanking her in Spanish. "Looks like you've impressed the natives, Scully." The women disappeared into the forest. They ate and drank in silence, letting the warm loaves and steaming liquid drive the chill of the rain from them. --o-0-o-- "And I won't have my orders countermanded, even if you are the Agency Representative!" Evers stalked off to set up his tent, ignoring Rubins. Rubins watched him go. He decided he would sleep with his gun loaded by his side, in case Evers tried to attack him. Once inside his tent, he sent a coded message to the Embassy, asking if the other Agents were back yet. It was late, and the way things worked in his office, it would probably be morning before there was a response. --o-0-o-- Somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico Monday 10:30 pm Assistant Director Skinner drummed his fingers on the armrest of his seat. Dana Scully was one of the most rational agents he had ever met. She identified the cause of death for Peter Torres sitting in his office, then had verified her conclusions at the autopsy. That was the only good news he had heard in his conversation with Maria Santina. It was like sending lambs to the slaughter. He could only hope that his agents were missing because the lack of a message had been as informative as the actual message would have been, not that they had been killed in their sleep. He half suspected that Mulder had dragged Scully off following some wild supposition, and that they were hiding from Evers right now. Especially after having seen Mulder in the field, his agents' productivity amazed him. The way Mulder single mindedly pursued his theories, Skinner never thought the tall agent could keep a partner for more than a few weeks, but whatever Mulder and Scully had, worked. He checked his watch. He took off his glasses and chewed the end of one earpiece, impatient. --o-0-o-- Mexican Rain Forest Monday 10:30 pm Mulder felt Scully shiver, once. Jose had loaned them the tarp again and the agents spread it out on the torn grasses and leaves they had gathered, as the others were doing. But their clothes were still wet, and as the night wore on, the damp air felt colder still. He was supine, attempting to work out plans to diffuse the dangerous situation developing among the Maya. Garcia had shouted at Jose, in front of the others, about His Ancestor, His Vision, His Way. Any further conflict would split the little group into two factions. But now, he couldn't see what had been so important then, compared to what they were together. She shivered again. He looked over at her back, since she was curled up, facing away from him. He gently slid her towards him, until her head was resting on his chest, facing him. The movement awakened her. "Mulder?" she sleepily inquired, opening one green-blue eye. "Sorry, Scully. No first class accommodations this trip." He rubbed her shoulder, attempting to warm her. "That better?" "Mm-hum." She opened both eyes, prodded by a thought. "No breakfast in bed? I wanted croissants and coffee." He touched his hair, exaggerating a frown. "Scared me there. Thought I'd gone bald for a minute." They laughed softly together. "Mulder?" "Hum?" "Any more brilliant insights from the Otherworld?" He tapped her nose lightly once. "No. Go to sleep, Doctor Crusher." --o-0-o-- Scully awoke less than an hour later. Her partner had turned on his side, throwing an arm over her back, so as she pushed herself up, he felt her moving, and stirred. "Scully?" She spoke close to his ear. "Nature calls, Mulder. I'll be back." She looked over at the Maya, apparently asleep, and slipped out of camp. When she returned, she found Mulder standing with several of the Zapatistas, including Garcia, holding guns on him. All focused on her as she stepped out of the trees into the clearing, but her partner caught her eye before he spoke defiantly. "See, I told you she'd be back. Now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me." He slipped into the forest as they watched. Turning to Garcia, Scully stood her ground. "You don't need the guns." "There's nowhere we could go, and you know it. Mulder will return, just as I did." They waited until her partner reappeared, then the rifles lowered, and Garcia sent the Maya back to their blankets. Scully frowned. She remembered the women, who must have come back after she and Mulder were asleep. "Hey." Settling on the tarp, he reached up to take her by the arm and draw her down next to him. "You think you can sleep now?" Scully sat beside him, her legs crossed at the ankles. "Not for a little while, anyway. You?" He shook his head, his eyes focused on the other side of the camp. She had no sense of anything physical in that direction, so she waited. Mulder turned to his partner. "Ux Balam is upset with Garcia. He doesn't think his heavy-handed control is appropriate in a warrior. I don't like this, Scully." Jose approached them. Unlike Garcia, he knew no English, only Chol and a little Spanish. But the Ancestor respected these two, and he believed in the wisdom of those who were dead. Mulder was sitting with his legs pulled up, holding himself upright by wrapping his arms around his knees. Scully had curled on her side facing away from him, her head on her hands. The Maya held out one of the blankets, woven in the traditional way, with many bright threads in patterns unique to the family that made it. Mulder accepted the cloth, thanking him in Spanish as he had the woman with the corn. He draped it over his partner, who, despite her earlier assertion, was drowsing. She rolled onto her back. "Mulder? Aren't you cold? I'll share." He was still sitting up, crosslegged now, his arms wrapped around himself. "No, Scully, I'll be okay. I need to think." But she saw he was frowning and hunched over. Rather than fight, she rolled over and snuggled next to him, throwing half the blanket over his legs. Had this been anyone but Mulder, Scully would never have initiated an action so open to misinterpretation. But, despite his infamous video collection and the never-ending stream of teasing comments, she knew he could easily have been accused of monkery. Scully's considerate attempt to help him rest reached him, so he complied, hearing her quiet voice in his mind, 'Doctor's Orders.' Remembering a similar situation, hearing another soft voice asking, he slid under the blanket and tucked her head on his shoulder. Before he knew it, Fox Mulder, Ace Insomniac, was asleep. --o-0-o-- Mexican Rain Forest Tuesday September 3, 1996 12.19.2.9.17 7:00 am The light from the rising sun filtered into Rubin's tent. He stretched and yawned. He poked his head out the tent flap, seeing that Evers had started a fire and was making camp coffee. "Morning, Malcom. Sleep well?" Evers was humming to himself. "Yup. You?" "Well, I'm still here." Evers glanced at him. "Yah know, Malcom, this whole business with that crazy theory of Mulder's really had me worried." "Oh?" "I'd read the D'Amato Papers on the Net before you guys arrived, and I was convinced someone was trying to kill the FBI agents over them. Nuts, huh?" Evers started. "Well Tom, you hear every day about alien abductions, and then see something like that. Does strange things to your mind. Want some coffee?" Rubins nodded. "I'll just get my mug." Evers slid his mug behind a rock. "Looks like I'll need mine, too." Tom Rubins poured the coffee into a beaten steel cup with no handle. He turned to the other man's tent. "Hurry up, Malcom, or it wi..." The cooling coffee spilled out of the mug onto the ground, as unshaven, unwashed CIA Agent Tom Rubins fell on his back and was still. --o-0-o-- Seibal Ruins Tuesday 8:00 am Walter Skinner knelt in front of one of the two tents still standing. He had roused a helicopter pilot from his Mexican mistress' bed after royally chewing out the Washington-based CIA agents. He remembered them standing in a row, bleary and tired from their few days in the jungle. As the helicopter rotors whined behind him, he verified that this was Mulder's tent. The pitiful few pieces of clothing in the small bag were soaked from the rain, and his razor was rusting. But the AD collected them, then checked the rest of the tent, finding three slugs imbedded in the ground. Scully's tent had suffered less damage, so its contents were dry. He found her loaded gun lying beside the torn sleeping bag, and her laptop at the bottom of a small duffel bag. Retrieving her possessions as well, Skinner took the laptop outside, and flipped the screen up. Searching her report files, he found one from Sunday night at 11:47 pm. "The theory that the archaeologists are missing due to some opening between the Middleworld and Xibalba, while beyond normal experience, is the only hypothesis consistent with all the facts in hand. Until such time as a better explanation can be developed, the Xibalba idea will be treated as the reason for the unexplained disappearance of Drs. Waters and Harris." He frowned, expecting to read such a statement, not here, but in one of Mulder's infrequent solo reports. First he had to find them, then at his leisure he would demand an explanation. Scully had used her clothing as padding for the computer, he noted, so he replaced the box in its nest, then picked up both bags to run back to the helicopter. Alex Gonzales opened the door for the man from the FBI, leaning close to his passenger's ear to be heard over the rotors. "Where to now, Sir?" Pulling a small black GPS receiver out of his jacket, Skinner waited for the tracking software to lock onto the satellites passing silently over head. He shouted latitude and longitude values in the pilot's ear corresponding to the location of Rubin's last transmission. Perhaps he would catch Evers before he killed the man, or his agents. The two-seater lifted off the grass covered plaza, heading west. --o-0-o-- Mexican Rain Forest Tuesday 3:30 pm All the Zapatistas were shouting in Chol, as the final confrontation between Garcia and Jose was playing itself out before the partners. Mulder had that far-away look in his eyes that told Scully he was listening to the argument through Ux Balam. But Scully wasn't waiting for the firing to start, so she grabbed his arm, pulling him along until they found a huge toppled tree trunk for cover. She whispered his name urgently when she saw the eyes like saucers before she shook his shoulder, attempting to bring him back to her. He blinked, then focused on her face before him as she shrugged out of a brightly colored shoulder bag. Jose had slipped over to them when they awakened, leaving the bag for Scully. She was carrying the tarp and blanket, assuming they would need both again tonight. He touched her arm. "It's Garcia. Early this morning, Ux Balam called him a coward. Said he wasn't worthy of the Blood in his veins for threatening to shoot us last night." He peeked up over the trunk, then ducked back down. "Ux Balam has left his mind, moving into Jose's. They've been discussing Maya lore. I wish I could follow it all, but so much doesn't make sense." "And all you're getting are impressions, not words." He nodded, relieved that she understood. "It's so hard. The emotions I'm feeling are so powerful. They keep blocking out the real world." The march had started before sunrise, but Mulder was lost in the Otherworld as soon as he had awakened. She had pulled him to his feet, and had guided his steps on the trail like he was blind. Now he looked as he did when he returned from his dead father's house, fevered and drugged. As shots rang out, he cringed, the popping sounds drowning out the animal noises and the wind. "Mulder!" She shook him, hard, afraid his mind was with one of the dying men in the clearing. Ux Balam had materialized at the last instant, trying to stop the fight. But the shade of the king was still linked to Jose, and her partner to Jose through it. He gasped, then started retching. "It's Jose. Garcia has shot Jose. Scully, he's dying." She was desperate. If a gentle touch wasn't effective, she would have to try stronger measures. She propped her partner up, then drew back her arm and struck his chin with her fist, as hard as she knew how. He flopped on his side, propelled by the blow, but his eyes were alert. It had worked. "Ow, Scully! That hurt!" As he rubbed his jaw, she saw the blood darkening the bruised flesh while she helped him sit up. "Mulder, I'm sorry. Are you okay?" He winced at the pain. "Yeah, I'm okay. At least you didn't shoot me this time." He looked up at three of the guerrillas, who were pointing their rifles at them, shouting back to the others. They stood, slowly, prepared for the worst, certain Garcia would resent the kindnesses Jose had shown them on the trail. The partners walked back to the clearing where Jose and three others lay. Garcia was ashen, but enraged. "Find a safe place to hide, FBI?" Mulder could just make out Ux Balam, equal parts horror and fury, hovering over the dead men's bodies. The specter was speaking more distinctly in his head than Mulder had yet heard. Scully touched her partner's arm as he swayed, buffeted by the King's emotions. Garcia swatted at the air to block out the thoughts, before he turned on her, reaching out to stroke her face. "I should kill you both, but you could be useful. As well as beautiful." She pulled her head away and Garcia turned to Mulder. "You will live as well. My Ancient Father will no longer communicate with me, but you are important to him." The group resumed walking on the trail. --o-0-o-- Mexican Rain Forest Tuesday 10:00 am Alex Gonzales pointed to the clearing where a man lay in front of a burned-out fire and a single tent. It had been the bright orange nylon he had spotted first, then circled for a closer view. From the air, the man looked like Mulder, so Skinner had gestured down. Gonzales yelled in his ear. "It's not large enough a clearing for me to land. Get ready to jump." Old memories and fears from Vietnam surfaced in Skinner's mind. The Assistant Director nodded, then opened the door. He jumped as the bird hovered at about the height of his head, rolling immediately to reduce the impact. The helicopter ascended to begin wide sweeps over the jungle, looking for traces of Evers' path. As Skinner examined the dead man's face, his relief was tempered with guilt. The man had a family in Villa Hermosa, Maria had told him. There was nothing he could do for them now but find their husband's and father's killer. He checked the tent, finding that the transmitter had been smashed, preventing him from calling back immediately to the Embassy. He stepped out of the tent, waving to Gonzales. Once he was aboard, Skinner relayed the sad news on the radio. "I'm going in after him on foot. Nothing is visible from the air." When he nodded to Alex, the helicopter dropped close to the ground. He threw an extra clip in his jacket, checked his gun in his shoulder holster, then turned to the pilot. "Hope you get things worked out with Concita. Thanks for your help." Gonzales nodded his farewells, then Skinner jumped again. --o-0-o-- Chiapas Highlands Tuesday 6:45 pm The agents had walked in silence, rubbing arms or shoulders as they climbed over roots and trunks. Mulder's eyes had been clear since the shooting, the specter's raging having subsided into grief. Shortly after they walked away from the bodies, rain began falling, harder than yesterday. But the group had not slowed their pace, Garcia wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and his shame. The Maya guerrillas had been silent as well. They were climbing now, mists enclosing them as they topped small hills. After the light faded, they realized they would not be stopping for the night, but would walk straight through. Scully began catching raindrops for water with her tongue, since without Jose, they couldn't count on any assistance from the Zapatistas. Her partner chuckled, then copied her. It was the first sound he had made, the joy in his voice in stark contrast to their desperate situation. --o-0-o-- Ux Balam heard the laughter. He hovered over the pair, not touching the man's mind. He had no desire to bring harm to any others, too many having gone down to Xibalba since he had returned to the Middleworld. The closeness between the two reminded him poignantly of his bond with Yax-Zoc. She had joined him at the end of her life, sitting on the stone bench watching the Ballgame in the world below. Their women operated independent of family or kin, forming alliances on their own, as these two had, making him feel lost in this world at the end of Time. He needed to warn someone of the shaking earth, but he could not trust this Garcia to do anything. The One of his Blood knew nothing of the responsibilities and sacrifices that leadership entailed, seeing only the glory of bending others to his will. --o-0-o-- Mexican Rain Forest Tuesday 8:30 pm Evers would push on through the night as well, faster now without Rubins. He had just left the bodies. He had checked for the two agents, finding two strands of brown hair tangled in the bark of a fallen tree trunk. At least Mulder and Scully had the sense to get out of the way when the shooting started. It would have made his life a little easier, his hands free of their blood. The termination orders seemed so cruel, since they were both so alive, and so careful with each other. --o-0-o-- Chiapas Highlands Wednesday September 4, 1996 12.19.2.9.18 7:00 am Mulder took Scully's arm, steadying her, and she smiled in gratitude. The group had halted just minutes before on the saddle of a ridge. Two of the Maya left the group earlier, and now rejoined the rest. Garcia conversed with them in Chol, then walked over to the agents. "We're almost to the village we use as our base camp. We will rest there." He was unnaturally calm, as if expecting trouble again, then the Zapatista leader waved his arm, and the rest followed him down the hillside. At the bottom, in a clearing, stood a few dozen adobe houses and a small Catholic church, clustered loosely around a central plaza and a stone-sided cistern. Mulder was surprised at the number of buildings, since he hadn't noticed anything from the ridge. Women came streaming out of the houses, followed by barefoot children. Some clung to their husbands, but there were four who sent up a keening mourning chant as the group trailed in. Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance. Garcia gestured towards a wooden framed building. "That's where you two will be staying for a while. You'll feel comfortable there, Healer. It's our clinic. We were funded by a French group to build it and stock it with supplies. It even has a pump to bring water from the river into the building." He motioned to two of the Zapatistas, who escorted the partners inside the building. There was no lock on the door, but the agents knew the armed men had stayed outside, so they were imprisoned here. --o-0-o-- The pair leaned against each other, the respite coming before each was too exhausted from walking to think clearly, and relieved to be able to stay dry. Their jail was a two-room house, with one open window in the back of the main room and a side room joined by an doorway, close to the front entrance. There were no chairs or tables, only a water faucet over a steel basin. All the walls, however, were covered from stone floor to thatched ceiling, with shallow cabinets. Scully couldn't see in, but she guessed the cases held the medical supplies Garcia had mentioned. Mulder looked down at his partner. "How are you doing, Scully?" She glanced up, a strained expression on her face. He answered with a worried frown. Curious, she turned to her left to begin systematically reviewing the contents of the cabinets. As he peered over her shoulder, he noted the surgical equipment in one case. "Need to send to Denver for more supplies, Michaela?" She flashed him a very tired glance. "I'm looking for some water purification tablets. We're both dehydrated, and if we drink this water straight, we'll be dead of dysentery in a week. Ah. Here they are." Mulder took the large beaker she holding and filled it with water from the tap. Lifting a packet out of a box on one of the shelves, she tore it open and dumped the tablets in. After a few minutes, they drank, making faces at the sulfur taste. Mulder stepped into the side room, and leaned back against the wall. "Scully! A four poster bed!" Rolling her eyes as she rounded the corner, she stopped in front of him. A lone cot was folded against the wall in the otherwise empty, narrow room that ran the full depth of the house. "Mulderrr!" He leaned over her back, his face close to hers. "Made you look." She growled, sliding to the floor by the wall between the two rooms, and glanced up as he joined her. "You know we're easy prey here." He sobered, considering. "I know, but we should have some protection. They must have sentries in the jungle, so perhaps our assassin will have a harder time reaching us than we had getting here." He scratched the three days of beard on his chin. "If you don't mind, Doctor Quinn, I'm going to use some of that tainted water and one of those razors to make myself presentable again." She shrugged. "Sure. The supplies all look new, so I won't have to treat you for infection from a cut with a rusty blade. Quantity notwithstanding, this is the last place I want to try some frontier surgery." He looked back at her as he crossed the room to the tap. When he finished, he turned, surprised she was eyeing him critically. "What, Scully, what?" He had shaved by feel with a razor from the surgical kit, but no mirror, and he wondered if he had missed half his face. "Oh, nothing. Just envisioning you in buckskins, Mulder." She began to grin, then found herself yawning. When she opened her eyes, he was kneeling by her. "You should get some sleep." She raised one eyebrow. "So should you. You're the medium, I'm not, and we should keep watch." Pushing herself to her feet to emphasize the point, she volunteered, "I'll take the first shift." "But you looked out for me on the trail, again. Let me set the cot up." Scully followed him, a thousand medical-sounding reasons why he should rest first running through her head. As she waited, he unfolded the aluminum frame, placed the tarp at one end as a rudimentary pillow, and spread out the blanket. Mulder looked over at his partner. "Okay, we'll try this. Flip you?" He pulled a quarter out of his pocket. "Call it in the air." "Heads." He smiled. He grabbed the coin and slapped it in her outstretched hand. The profile of George Washington in his wig reflected the morning light. "You win, so off to sleep you go." "Hey, I thought if I won, I got to say that!" His only response was a wide grin as he pocketed the two-headed coin from Gibsonton, Florida. "See you in four hours." --o-0-o-- Maya Village Wednesday 11:00 am Malcom Evers looked down over the village from the same saddle where the Zapatistas had regrouped. He snorted, scanning the surrounding forest for sentries. He thought he saw one, not a half-mile ahead, partially concealed in a tree. There was probably a loosely spaced ring at that radius from the village. He considered his options. If he took out one, then went straight in, it would be quicker, but he couldn't be sure the others wouldn't raise an alarm. If these people were typical, there would be other spotters, further out, and guards in the village itself. Scanning the huts with his field binoculars, he saw the two armed Maya at the door. Ten to one that was where the agents were held. He decided. If they were guarded, he could take them at his leisure. He would locate the sentries and eliminate them, then finish his job and go home. --o-0-o-- Ux Balam was ecstatic, having finally found his Maya. When he saw his city, overrun by time and the jungle, but still standing, he knew his people had left voluntarily. They had not been captured in war, but had come to this place to make a new home for themselves. They had held to many of the old ways, even though they no longer used scribes, for which he was proud. The women here were beautiful and serene, with carefree children. They lived off the forest, trading items like their blankets for metal and cotton thread. But he had to warn someone of the shaking earth. The Adept was in Xibalba, standing on the Great Ballcourt, using the knowledge he had given him to keep his soul from the Lords of the Dead. He would not speak to Garcia again, since the sin of his descendant was too great for him to be trusted. That only left the pale-skin, Mulder, who perhaps would hear Ux Balam and warn the others. --o-0-o-- 1:25 pm Scully rolled over, too hot to sleep anymore, and restless, despite the dull ache in her legs. Her watch had slipped around her wrist so she twisted it back into place. Dropping her feet to the floor, she stepped into the doorway, stopping immediately. Her partner was rigid in the middle of the room, facing a scintillating white light, like the one she had seen on top of the pyramid. His lips were moving, as if he were speaking to the luminary, but he made no sounds. As she watched, the light blinked once, then vanished. Mulder collapsed in a tangle of long limbs. She crossed the room to him, kneeling to touch his face. He felt cold to her, and she saw he was shivering in the still, humid air. Running back, she yanked the blanket off the cot to wrap him in. She sat down and held him close, relieved to feel his steady breathing. Mulder began to revive, slowly, wrapping his arms around Scully's warmth. --o-0-o-- At first, all he could sense were impressions and emotions. Ux Balam had taken control of his mind as he paced the room. Listening in his head, the images solidified into a single thought: shaking dirt. Waves of emotion kept breaking over him: grief, fear, anger, betrayal. Somewhere in his conscious mind, now wandering, he knew that the feelings were not directed at him, but at Garcia. That helped, but the sensations were too strong for him to resist, and he was lost in them. When Ux Balam, grateful to have been heard, released him, the loss of connection overwhelmed Mulder, until he felt the presence of another. The calm radiating from this personality helped center him, but he could also sense fear for a dear one weighing heavily on the other with him now. There was warmth, and, noticing how cold he had become, he reached for it. His other senses returned, smell first. Something musky, but sweet, utterly familiar. She was here with him, so he knew he would be recover. Second, his hearing. Scully was whispering his name, calling him. He wanted to respond to her, to tell her not to worry, but couldn't move his mouth to form words. He opened his eyes, seeing only blue. Finally, he could speak again. "Scully?" His voice was barely a whisper. "Mulder, can you hear me?" She began to turn him over, to read his level of awareness in his face. But he forced himself to sit up, to leave the circle of her arms. She released him reluctantly, since he was still very cold. "You okay, Mulder?" He nodded, his eyes wide and unfocused. "Did you see him, Scully? He was right here! Talking to me." She couldn't tell him all she had seen was a light. They would discuss this later, but now it was enough he was aware of the material world. She thought of the priests' words to her in the confessional: "Something only you were meant to see." This then was something for Mulder, not for her. "I saw, Mulder, I saw." She pulled the blanket back up around his shoulders. "How are you, really?" He focused his eyes on hers. "Exhausted. How are you?" She shrugged. "All right, I guess. Let's get you to bed. It's my watch now." The image from Ux Balam was tickling at the back of his mind as she helped him to his feet, supporting him until they reached the cot. He sank down on it, letting her tuck the blanket around him as if he was a small child. He would think about it later. --o-0-o-- 3:30 pm The Maya guard on the path crumpled to the ground and Malcom Evers stepped over the body. Now he could finish with his orders and leave. He had circled the village several times, finally locating the back of the house with the two guards at the door. Initially, he thought he could scale a tree in the forest, wait for the FBI agents to appear in the window, then pick them off. But, he had discovered that another house blocked any clear shot into the window, and that two others stood between the forest and his prey. He would have to shoot them from directly outside the window. He frowned. If he were quick about it, with the silencer, he could be in and gone before the guards thought to check their captives. He began scouting the area around his targets, finding that only the guards were there. The women and children must be sleeping, he reasoned, shaking his head. He noted the blank walls of houses that would let him slip in and out, undetected. --o-0-o-- Ux Balam moved around the slumbering Maya, drinking in the thoughts of his people. They had abandoned the way of the Kings long ago. If he appeared to them now, he would frighten them, just as he had on the pyramid, except for the few who were prepared. He thought of the pale-skinned man. Mulder *had* tried to hear him, at great cost to himself, and if not for his partner, he would not have returned from the Otherworld. The shade of the king grieved. He wondered if Yax-Zoc missed him, if Jose and K'awil were holding their own. --o-0-o-- Mulder murmured in his sleep. He was restless, trying to remember something, something that was very important. There were images dancing in his head, of a rectangular field with stone benches on each side. Men were playing soccer with animals. No, not soccer. The ball was red, and about three feet in diameter. He wanted the images to stop. He was so tired. --o-0-o-- Scully was checking the supplies again. It forced her to move around, so she could ignore her hunger and stay awake. Antibiotics, bandages, analgesics, insulin, splints, and most of the supplies needed to treat injuries from falls and fights. Thinking of Mulder's Dr. Quinn jokes, she smiled. A few months back, when they had almost torn each other apart, she had turned a cold shoulder to his jests, which had hurt him worse than all the yelling. He teased her like that because he wanted to connect with her, and let her know she was important to him. She had also learned how much he liked her to joke back, unlike her own brothers, who had ignored her sly remarks. Smiling to herself again, she realized their partnership was like a living thing, growing and developing new richness with each case. --o-0-o-- Mulder pulled himself upright, throwing off the blanket. "Scully! We've got to get..." He ran out of the side room, then squinted as reflected sunlight flashed in his eyes. He felt two puffs of air just behind his head as he dove to knock her to the ground. Ducking as shots rang out, they kept low, listening to voices that rang across the square and running feet converging on the house. "Just what the hell do you people think you're doing!" Mulder and Scully stared at each other, both thinking. Mulder helped his partner to her feet, and they pushed the door open, finding the guards were gone. They heard more shouting, and a few thumps as punches were thrown. The agents stopped once they reached the back of the house, Garcia running up behind them, waving his pistol. Walter Skinner was wrestling with two of the Maya, his glasses hanging from one ear. But Malcom Evers lay on the ground, blood seeping from the back of his head. The Zapatista leader rounded on Mulder, furious. "How did they find us? Tell me! Who is he?" The tall agent shrugged. "Followed bread crumbs?" Skinner looked up at his agents as the Maya pulled him to his feet. "Agent Mulder, if you please?" Scully poked him in the ribs. Mulder replied to Garcia's other question. "This is our boss, Assistant Director Walter Skinner. How he found us, we don't know." The guerrillas released Skinner, who began dusting himself off, glaring at Mulder. "Agent Scully?" She turned to Skinner. "We're fine, Sir. Thank you." She understood what had happened, even if Mulder was still sparring with the guerilla leader, who sought to control of the situation. Garcia was angry his Great Father had chosen to converse with the white man, but he was still in charge, so he spoke to the others in Chol, ignoring the outsiders. Mulder, Scully, and Skinner were 'escorted' back to the clinic. Once they were alone, the Assistant Director faced his agents. "Would you two mind telling me why you're here?" Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance. Mulder spoke first. "Well, Sir, I had a dream, you see." Skinner rolled his eyes. His male agent continued breathlessly. "It was about canoes and twins and turtles..." Scully touched her partner's arm. "Then he woke me up. His dream was Maya astronomical lore. We climbed to the top of the pyramid to get a better view of the sky." Skinner held up his hands. "Okay, I'll wait for the novel. Did you know Evers was on your tail the whole time?" Scully nodded. "We didn't know for sure who the assassin was, but the loss of the second cable told us there was one around. We expected he would follow us." Mulder held out his hand. "But we didn't expect you, Sir. Thank you." The Assistant Director grasped it. It was then the shaking started. --o-0-o-- END - XIBALBA - UNDER THE BALLCOURT