Title: “Tanabata” File #98035.1

Rated: PG-13

Disclaimer: Okay, all the Ten Thirteen characters aren't mine, but the story & everybody else is.

This is set early Season 3 & is pretty much my attempt to put mahou shoujo anime (magical girl animation) & the X-Files together.  God help us all;p 
_________________________________________________________________ 

Sasa no ha sara-sara.  
Nokiba ni yureru.  
Ohoshi-sama kirakira, 
kingin sunago.  

[Bamboo tree dancing under the eaves.  
The stars are shining, silver and gold.] 

Goshiki no tanzaku, 
watashi ga kaita.  
Ohoshi-sama kirakira, 
sora kara miteru.  

[Colorful papers, I wrote on them.  
The stars are shining, looking down from the sky.] 

*** 

7:10 p.m.  
July 7, 1994 
Seattle, WA.  

Two thirteen-year-old girls, one dressed in black and the other in t-shirt and jeans, are busily folding paper cranes and other origami.  They can smell the delicious food from Mrs. Fronde's kitchen, and are unsuccessfully trying to divert their growling stomachs from thoughts of dinner.  Instead, Tomoko Fronde, her long brown hair braided away from her face, takes out long thin strips of paper with a teasing smile.  "It's time to write down your wishes," she grinned, passing a several strips to her friend.  Ever since they were little, they've been celebrating all sorts of Japanese holidays, thanks to Mrs. Fronde's being from Japan and not wanting her part-Caucasian daughter to miss out.  

Nicole makes a face.  "You know they never come true, except for the ones you *know* are gonna come true.  'I want to have good grades'--and you *always* do, and 'I want my family to get off my back'," she rolled her eyes, "you've got the mellowest family!" Even though she's pure Japanese, she somewhat resembles a young Audrey Hepburn with her short hairdo and bangs, waving her hands around to make her point.  "You *never* write real wishes.”  But she starts writing on her paper strips anyway.  

Tomoko pouts, then nods.  "Okay, then, I'll write stuff that's *impossible* to come true and see if they do.  You, too.”  She shifts in her black shirt and skirt, writing quickly.  

After a couple of minutes and some shredded paper later, they go outside and fasten the colorful origami and various wishes to the bare tree in Tomoko's backyard.  They borrow Mr. Fronde's ladder to reach the higher branches, and in the end, the tree looks like it always does after a tanabata attack--like it someone took pity on a naked tree and tried to give it color and clothes.  Tomoko and Nicole grinned at each other, then stared up at their handiwork.  

"What did you wish for?" Nicole asked, her large dark eyes on a frog threatening to fly off.  

"To hack into Bill Gates' bank account, get a lead part in a play, get that dork Jay Yuen off our backs, and increase my allowance to get more manga and anime.  You?" Tomoko smiled, the mild breeze easing the stifling heat.  

"To get good grades," she started, until her friend's snorting interrupted her litany.  "Shut up.”  She sighed, then continued, "And to fall in love with a cute guy and vice versa, and to be a magical princess," she rushed out, mumbling near the end.  

"Omigod, a *magical* *princess*!" Tomoko guffawed, her light brown eyes crinkling.  "You're serious?!" 

"Why not," Nicole blushed, "you said 'impossible'.”  Then the breeze picked up, and a shower of cherry blossom petals engulfed them, the sky darkening to gray.  "Wow," she breathed, not daring to say more as the petals flew past.  

"Weird," Tomoko frowned, "there's no sakura trees around here.”  

TTTT 

Moon river, wider than a mile, 
I'm crossing you in style someday.  
Oh dream maker, you heartbreaker, 
Wherever you're going, 
I'm going your way.  
--"Moon River," Henry Mancini 

*** 

10:13 p.m.  
July 7.  
One year later.  

Nicole opened her window, staring at the stars, the light breeze blowing her bangs away from her face.  She enjoyed the view from her second-story window, especially on this clear and cool night.  A casual observer would have thought she was looking for something, or someone, but her thoughts replayed the night's, even the past year's, events.  Since the craziness of this past year, she was almost afraid to wish anymore.  

She remembered Tomoko's joking remark, "You know what they say the worst part is about wishes, is when they actually come true.  So you're a magical princess.  So deal.”  Easy for her to say, she didn't open a can of ancestral worms and unleash untapped centuries of hidden power with her wishes.  She glanced down nervously at the innocuous-looking pendant on her necklace.  If only she could have wished the past year all away...no, she didn't mean that.  She helped a lot of people battle and conquer their demons, she did fall in love with a mysterious (and infuriating) guy who cared about her and protected her, and she did get good grades.  

Well, mostly.  She still couldn't believe she totally flunked the sewing and cooking part of Home Ec--at least she passed the woodshop and repair part.  So now she was taking a summer course at Nathan Hale to make up the credits so she could attend there in the fall.  Nicole sighed.  Her new wishes, to control and understand her powers better, and to pass all her classes, should cover the upcoming year.  She hoped.  

Her large dark eyes went from one constellation to another, wondering which one was actually Kengyu's home.  She smiled, thinking of her unearthly samurai, and how samurai evolved on that planet in the first place.  She still thought the new boy, Kevin, was Kengyu in disguise, but not even Tomoko would buy that.  "Just because he's Mr.  Tall, Dark and Tortured doesn't mean they're one and the same.  Believe me, quiet and mysterious types aren't that rare," she smirked in her goth outfit, and Nicole had to agree.  

She yawned, then toddled over to her bed.  Stretching and tossing a few times before she got comfy, she turned to the window and its awesome view.  Nicole thought about changing, but decided she was too lazy and tired to get out of her t-shirt and sweatpants.  

And found herself dreaming the same dream the night she discovered her new powers.  Her mother reading to her four-year-old self, "Mukashi mukashi," her soft low voice beginning the story, "long long time ago....”  As Nicole settled in her sleep, she smiled, seeing her mother so alive, so loving, so comforting.  

A shadow fell across Nicole's sleeping form, blocking the starry view.  A tall figure, clad in simple samurai gear, moved silently across the room.  He stood over her, watching her breathe, seeing her smile, and a rarely-seen smile crossed his own features.  Then he pulled the blanket over her supine form, leaving the room as silently as he entered.  Glancing back at Nicole, he closed the window, then jumped from the ledge.  

A few moments later, a block down the street, Kevin was whistling merrily through the quiet neighborhood.  

TTTT

2:17 a.m.  
July 10.  
Behind Club Minky's.  
Waterford, Maryland.  

A tall, sandy-haired man ran out into the backlit alley of Club Minky, his head swiveling as he pondered which way to go.  His clear blue eyes glanced down the block, where a hooker was leaning against the streetlight.  This night wouldn't be snake-eyes after all, he thought to himself, a smile crossing his face.  That FBI bastard won't get me, and jogged briskly towards the petite woman, an easy-to-bury prey.  

"Hiya, cutie," she said through full, pouty lips, her eyes widening appreciatively at his handsome features.  He grabbed her elbow, and she looked up at him, smiling what she thought was seductively.  "In a hurry, honey?" she asked, even as his pace made her hustle in her high pointy heels.  "Hey, not so fast," she protested, then shut up when they ducked into a warehouse and he shoved a lighter in her face.  
"Now that you're quiet," he growled, "be a good girl and take it off.  Slowly," he emphasized, the flame just a breath away from her nose.  
She nodded, removing her jacket, then her hat.  "Up or down," she said, with a quaver in her voice.  

"Down," he said approvingly, thinking, She'll die quickly.  She nodded, her long black wig distracting him.  He snapped, "No, take off the wig, then down," and was pleased to see how fast she complied.  Usually it took a couple of burns to get them to move the way he wanted them to.  Her hair, to his pleased surprise, was the color of flames.  Fire, like him.  She was special, he knew it.  

And as she unzipped her skirt so tantalizingly slow, her pale blue eyes lowered demurely, she pulled a gun from behind and shot his shoulder.  Stunned, he dropped his lighter, and watched her face shift from scared to stone-cold.  

Her gun never wavering, she said in a monotone, "Darien Nokardd, you're under arrest for the murder of seventeen people.”  

"No bitch is gonna take me down," he snarled, and lunged at her, a gun in his hand.  

As if she wanted it that way, she fired a couple more shots into his other shoulder, her face still expressionless.  Nokardd choked back gasps of pain as she kicked his weapon out of his hand.  "Hands up and against the wall," she said, a sarcastic tone creeping into her voice.  
Nokardd starts to comply, grimacing as he raises his hands.  As he shrugs his shoulders, a knife flies out from his sleeve and into his hand.  

But he's not fast enough to dodge her stiletto-heeled spinning kick to his knees, and as he drops to the floor, she wrenches the blade from his hand, practically breaking fingers as she does so.  Pulling his jacket off his back, she searches him for any other hidden toys, then kicks him down from behind.  All the while, Nokardd's muttering invectives at her.  

While she sits on his back handcuffing him, Mulder and the police spill into the room, now flooded with light.  "Next time, you'll be handcuffed, cunt," he said when she got up.  

"Oh, shut up," she sighed, then kicked him in the kidneys, walking briskly towards the gathering cops.  One of them handed her a coat, and she shrugged it on, listening to another recite the Miranda to the cuffed man, watching others photo the scene and weapons.  

As she trudged past Mulder, she said dully, "No dragon here, just a pyro for pornos.”  

Mulder looked at the retreating form, her fiery hair haloed by the fluorescent light, her coat billowing behind her, holding her gun pointed down as if a sword.  "No, no dragon, but definitely a dragon slayer.”  He narrowed his eyes, noting her hostility and roughness towards suspects mounting with each case since her sister's death.  He'd debated asking her to take a leave of absence, but knew her work was her release as well as a delay to dealing with her emotions.  He wondered if it was safe to have a loose cannon for a partner.  

He smirked, watching one of the officers attempt to bandage Nokardd's shoulders.  The tables were turned, but at least this guy was alive to stand trial.  Mulder glanced at his own shoulder, which had mended nicely.  God help the man who actually killed Melissa, Scully might unload her clip into his head if she continued like this unchecked.  

TTTT

10:50 a.m.  
Down in the bowels of the FBI.  

With a three-hour nap, Scully was feeling more refreshed, but not by much.  After taking down Nokardd, literally, she went home to take a nice long bath, but even that didn't cleanse the darkness she felt invading her mind.  She'd tossed and turned for a couple of hours in bed, sometimes wanting to call her partner, but always stopping short of speed-dialing him.  She resorted to reading medical journals, which kept her mind occupied with other important things.  

Now that she was in her armor, or rather, grey power suit, and sitting erect in the chair, Scully threw herself into her work.  Had anyone walked in at that moment, they would have said she was the very model of a modern working woman.  Her bright blue eyes hidden behind her reading glasses, her fingers busily typing her report on the latest (and to her relief, non-supernatural) case, autopsy reports and psych evals arranged neatly on the desk, the recent mug shot of Nokardd behind her coffee cup, yes, she was a paragon of what the FBI sought to project.  

As she typed, "As Agent Mulder's profile suggested, Nokardd was a pyromaniac with a desire to control and kill that which he felt was out of his control, the women in strip clubs and other pornographic material he believed taunted him," her eyes fell on a file that was lying in the "in" pile.  Her sister's X-File.  She pulled it out, not bothering to open the file whose contents she knew by heart.  How odd, she thinks, that we're able to solve a case deemed "unsolved" by the FBI for five years, but we're no closer to solving my sister's murder less than five months ago.  A bitter scowl marred her face, and she returned to typing.  

Just then, her morning-sunshine partner waltzed into the room, full of energy.  Seeing her engrossed in paperwork, Mulder thought he'd lighten the mood with his news.  "Scully, guess what.”  

"I have no idea," she said, her eyes still on the computer monitor.  Her lips thinned and her typing got louder, which, to most people, would be a hint to stop now.  

Mulder went on, "According to a very reliable source, there was a UFO crash coverup during World War II in one of the Japanese internment camps.  He wants to contact us tonight.”  His hazel eyes danced, a slight smile betraying the puppy-like eagerness he had for the newest possible X-File.  

"Mulder, we've just barely finished one case.  What makes you think I want to rush out on another one?" Scully said frostily, pausing in her work.  

"Because that wasn't a real X-File," he suggested, which earned him a withering glare.  He held up his hands.  "Look, if you don't want to go," he started, glancing at Melissa's file on the desk.  

Scully noticed his look and put the file back into the "in" pile, already in its second stack.  "Apparently it's not secure to give encrypted information over the net," she sighed.  

"Not this kind of information," Mulder agreed.  He pretends to ignore his partner's attitude and behavior, sitting on the desk.  "Who knows, this could turn out to be another non-conspiracy, non-supernatural case where we nail the bad guys," he said in a friendly tone.  

Scully's icy demeanor melted somewhat, which relieved Mulder to no end, not that his face gave it away.  "Fine, we'll meet your source," she said, hitting the control and "s" keys.  

His face still expressionless, Mulder said, "You're okay with it?" 

"I'm fine, I'll go," she said firmly.  

Mulder smiled, and she smiled a little in return.  

TTTT 

When I wake up in the morning, love 
And the sunlight hurts my eyes 
And something without warning, love 
Bears heavy on my mind 
Then I look at you, 
And the world's all right with me 
Just one look at you 
And I know it's gonna be 
A lovely day 
--"Lovely Day," Bill Withers 

*** 

7:50 a.m.  
Nathan Hale High School.  
Seattle, WA.  

Nicole was racing down the hallways, her dark eyes large, her arms pumping, her breathing already shallow and gasping.  She was so sure this route would keep her away from trouble, but already it was closing in on her heels.  She slipped through a crowd of upperclassmen, noting with some satisfaction that it bought her some time and space.  Two more turns, she thought, and I'm home free! She sped around a corner, hope already shining on her face.  

And slammed into somebody, crashing the poor person into a row of lockers.  Nicole fell over, tripping on that person's legs, fortunately landing on her backpack.  "I'm *so* *sorry*," she began, and stopped when she saw who the unfortunate crashee was.  And would've kicked herself if she wasn't already down.  "Omigosh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it, I was just trying to get away from Jay," she said quickly, seeing his unemotional face, and blushed, realizing how lame that sounded.  

Kevin just shook his head, his long dark bangs covering his eyes again, shrugging his backpack back on as he got up.  Then he extended a hand to Nicole, who, somewhat surprised, took it and was hauled up pretty quick.  "You okay?" he asked, as if his voice was rusty from disuse.  

"Um, yeah, thanks," Nicole said, a little surprised now, thinking he was stronger than he looked, a tall, skinny guy in a dark shirt and jeans, who felt like he was all muscle under all that covering.  
They were still holding hands when Jay caught up to them, and he was unbelievably smiling, even while gasping for breath.  Now that they were out of parochial school, he'd gone fully playa in his wardrobe, and today was no exception.  "Nicole, girl, you don't have to play like--," and stopped, doing the world's best double-take.  "Hey, if you were seein' somebody already, s'a'ight," he said, shrugging as if he hadn't spent the last couple of minutes literally chasing her down.  

"It's not--," Nicole started, pulling her hand from Kevin's, blushing again.  

"She's helping me with my math," Kevin said simply, as if it were the truth.  "I wanted to meet her before class, but," he shrugged.  
Nicole, closing her mouth quickly before Jay could see, only nodded when Jay's own open-mouthed expression turned towards her.  

"Hey, if you're still free after school, we could, you know," Jay suggested, raising an eyebrow.  Nicole couldn't help but thinking she could pants him so easy, his baggy jeans were practically hanging on for dear life, and smothered a grin.  

"Uhhh, no, don't think so, you know, math tutorial," Nicole shrugged helplessly.  

"A'ight, you know my number," Jay said, an incredulous look betraying his cool swagger as he walked away.  

When he was out of sight and sound, Nicole leaned against the lockers.  "What was that? I thought you hated me," she asked, her dark eyes boring into his.  

"You looked like you were in trouble," Kevin shrugged.  The bell rang, saving him from expending any more vocabulary.  "See ya," he said, then sauntered off.  

"What the hell--?" Nicole said, then remembered which bell it was and booked it down the hallway.  No use being late for Food & Nutrition class on top of not understanding half of it, she sighed, making a wide turn so she wouldn't run down anyone else.  

TTTT

12:21 p.m.  
On the bus to Broadway.  

Nicole was pretty sure she was in some kind of surreal dream.  That, or maybe her powers had hallucinogenic side effects.  Here she was, sitting on the bus and having a decent conversation with Kevin, who was standing in front of her like a shield.  "I can't believe you actually burned jello," he was saying, a small smile on his lips.  

She made a face.  "It's gotta be talent.  Or a curse.  Sewing machines hate me, needles and pins find ways to draw blood, stoves, knives, and well, just being in a kitchen is cause for my aunt to grab the fire extinguisher or first aid kit.  I've never minded before, but then, I've never been graded before on my cooking skills, or lack thereof.  At least this class we have more paperwork.”  Nicole rolled her eyes, "I can't believe I just said that.”  She sighed, then looked to the front of the bus.  Jay was still surrounded by a small herd of old ladies.  "What about you, Mr.  Quietly Overachieving? I never thought you had math 'blems.”  

"Blems?" Kevin repeated, a little confused.  

She turned back to face him.  "Yeah, problems? You and Tomoko are like the smartest people I know.  Okay," she added, when he made a face, "you guys did okay when the sisters call on you.  Which is more than I can say for the rest of us, we were barely above water when it came to those pop questions," her eyes widened with remembered horror.  

Kevin leaned over, and for a second, she thought--well, it didn't happen.  Instead, he rang the bell for the next stop and leaned back.  "Those nuns didn't scare me.  Scared the hell outta you, didn't they?" 

Nicole shrugged, then tilted her head a little.  "You should smile more often, people will be less scared of you.”  

That got her a full smile.  "I like scaring people," he said, then got off the bus.  

Nicole stared out the window, almost missing her own stop a couple minutes later.  

"Nicole," Tomoko said, waving a hand in front of her.  "You okay?" She was dressed in her usual black jeans and tee, her boots giving her an extra (and unneeded, Nicole thought) two inches.  

Then Nicole grinned.  "You're the third person to ask me that.”  

"Lemme guess, Jay and Mrs.  Asakusa.”  They strolled down Broadway Ave., doing their usual window-shopping before hitting Dave's Drive In.  

"One out of two," Nicole replied, "actually, Kevin was the first.  After I ran over him.”  She laughed at Tomoko's shocked face.  "He's a pretty nice guy, once you actually talk with him.”  

"Somebody," Tomoko fanned herself dramatically, "help me.  This is an alternate universe.  Or you've been possessed!" She whirled to her friend.  "You're not possessed, right?" she asked, worried.  

"No, I'm not.  It's pretty much impossible," Nicole smiled.  "It's me, it's our universe, and yes, Kevin has a really cute smile.”  Her own smile turned goofy.  

Now Tomoko rolled her eyes.  "Somebody shoot me now.  Kevin Herdsman.  Ew.”  Then sighed heavily.  "You're serious.”  When Nicole nodded, she shook her head.  "There is no justice in this world.  My academic rival and you, the miko from outer space, have a crush on him.  Gross, gross, gross.”  She stopped in front of a store.  "Retro Viva should lift my spirits temporarily until you regain sanity," she said glumly.  

TTTT

3:21 p.m.  
At the office of the FBI's Most Unwanted.  

Spitting out the last of his sunflower seeds into the wastebasket, Mulder kicks back behind the desk, debating whether or not to reach out to his increasingly trigger-happy partner.  She was doing her job, all right, would be commended if she weren't at the X-Files even, but her emotional stability left him worried.  

Mulder picks up the folder with Melissa's murder.  It's not really an X-File, except for the suspicion that the black-lunged bastard was behind her death.  The file is brief, almost pathetically so.  Like Scully, Mulder has memorized this, albeit by way of his photographic memory.  That's not much of a feat, since there really wasn't much in the file.  Should our deaths be summed up in a brief, cold autopsy report, crime photos, evidence (or lack thereof) and a body, Mulder wondered.  If we're lucky, or loved, there will be an obituary, eulogy and funeral, and people who remember us.  

He remembers the fiery-haired woman in the deep red dress who scolded him while he wallowed in guilt and misery as Scully lay dying.  He remembers her being more willing to believe in hope than he was, and more willing to embrace the pain.  He also remembers wondering how the hell Scully was related to her, then smiled.  Maybe Scully turned out the way she did because of Melissa.  

*** 

FBI Firing Range.  

Scully is firing round after round from her Smith and Wesson, standing in the FBI stance, wearing goggles and earmuffs.  Her targets have moved from twenty feet to fifty feet in the last fifteen minutes, and she's shown no signs of slowing down or missing her mark.  Center of mass, the tricky head shots, Scully is in the zone and would be making a killing if she were at a video arcade.  

She pulls the trigger, and finds there's nothing there.  Click, click, click.  And no ammo, at least for this gun.  Sighing, she picks up the Sig Sauer, then aims at the fresh target.  Within seconds, it, too, is full of holes.  She can almost hear her partner's wry monotone saying, "I think it's safe to say the paper target's really dead, Scully.”  She knows he's worried about her, hell, *she's* worried about her, but it's not like she can do anything about it.  

A few more targets at varying distances get shot into confetti before she's ready to call it quits.  Calmly, Scully empties and cleans her guns, filling out forms before going to the bathroom.  

In the bathroom, behind a locked stall door, she tries to breathe evenly, despite her chaotic thoughts.  It never goes away, does it, she thinks.  The guilt.  The pain.  The simple fact that the bullet meant for me killed Melissa instead.  Her normally clear blue eyes widen, staring into nothing in an effort to keep the tears back.  

Putting the lid down, she sits on the toilet, holding her head in her hands.  Sometimes I think the wrong person died.  And with that last thought, she sobs, heart-wrenching, back-breaking sobs, her auburn hair and pale hands hiding her face as tears run down.  Oh God, Melissa, I miss you so much, her heart cries so loud it's almost audible.  

TTTT 

2:43 a.m.  
ANCy's.  
On the corner of 22nd.  

Scully looked around the casually-lit lounge.  It was classy, in a modest way, unlike the many dives Mulder seemed to have a fondness for.  She felt as if Humphrey Bogart ought to be sitting at a table, or Lauren Bacall, the surrealness added, no doubt, by the late hour.  She also wished she'd picked something fancier to wear than her g-woman outfit, but since this *was* FBI business...she sighed inwardly, her hidden feminity taking in the evening wear of the patrons.  All she said was simply, "Your source has good taste.”  

As they were shown their seats, Mulder leaned over.  "Don't you like meeting interesting people in clandestine spots?" He smiled at the maitre d', noting that their table had a view of all the exits, then pulled out Scully's chair.  

Scully merely nodded her thanks, not wishing to comment on that last remark.  She opened her menu, taking in the surrounding patrons and the bar on the side, "I'd like some coffee and pie ala mode, please," she said to the waiter.  

"I'd like a Coke," Mulder said, "would you let our friend know we're here?" The waiter nodded, then left.  Then Mulder leaned over, "Hey, Scully, you mind paying? I'm a little strapped for cash.”  

Scully wished she'd ordered a gin and tonic instead.  "Such a gentleman," she sighed, then turned her head to watch the band, who were surprisingly good.  

The brunette chanteuse leaned against the piano.  "Ain't misbehavin', I'm savin' my love for you," she sang in a sweet, husky soprano, backed by a balding man in glasses on the piano, a dreadlocked bassist, a smiling bald black drummer, a slightly grungy guitarist, a beautifully androgynous long-haired saxophonist, a short-haired Japanese woman on trumbone and slightly pudgy Japanese man on trumpet.  A nicely eclectic, even politically correct band, Scully thought cynically.  "Thank you," she said as the last note finished.  "We're Asteroid Blues, and we're gonna get into some blues.  Our next song is by the late, great Sam Cooke.”  She swept up her long dark dress, sitting on the stool, humming.  Her voice started as a whisper.  "Now you say you're lonely, You cry the whole night through, Well, you can cry me a river," she sang, strong yet hurt, as if standing over a false love, "Cry me a river, I cried a river over you.”  

Mulder leaned back, watching his partner.  She sipped her coffee absently, a finger tapping the the cup when she put it down.  He thought if she'd dressed differently, hell, if she dressed up, she'd look like one of those old movie stars in a bar that seemed like it borrowed shamelessly from "Casablanca.”  Not that he minded, it was one of the few times he'd seen her so relaxed.  And as the band segued to "Mood Indigo," she stopped eating altogether, practically inhaling the music.  

"Always get the mood indigo, 
Since my baby said goodbye...  
In the evenin' when the lights are low, 
I'm so lonesome, I could die!" 

As the song wound to a close, Scully was still for a moment, then blinked.  She looked around, noticing there was noticeably less people at the tables and more at the bar.  Her pie was completely mushy, and Mulder, it seemed, had gone to the restroom.  Half-heartedly, she dug into her pie, wondering where the source was, and why hadn't he made a move yet.  Unless it was one of the band, she thought, then sat back as they played "So What.”  So what indeed, she sighed.  

"Did I miss anything?" Mulder asked, seeing her less bluesy and more alert.  

She shook her head.  "If the purpose was to treat us to some good entertainment, they did that.  I don't think your source is showing up.”  She smiled wanly, then turned as the bartender yelled last call.  "If you want to get anything, be my guest.  I'll call us a taxi," she said, pulling out her cell.  

Mulder smiled at her briefly, then called the waiter.  "Check, please," he said, then headed to the bar.  He noticed the band playing something like a showtune for their closing number as he watched the bartender mix the screwdriver.  

"Oh how I love you so, lost in those memories 
And now you've gone 
I feel the pain, feeling like a fool, adieu" 

The brunette hit the high notes quaveringly, breathily, almost a parody of Marilyn Monroe if she weren't so good in the delivery.  Scully half-smiled, knowing she'd probably murder that song, or any of the others they'd played.  She nodded and passed her card to the waiter as the check came in, then watched an extra slip of paper fall out of the notepad as he left.  It was a clipping of a newsphoto, the caption reading "The U.S.  government made another unsuccessful bid to purchase the rest of Heart Mountain, a former Japanese relocation camp.”  The photo showed dilapidated buildings in a dusty town against a bleak mountain backdrop, looking like a gold-mining ghost town except for the caption.  "Heart Mountain," she murmured.  

"And now here I stand, lost in a memory, I see your face and smile," the chanteuse sang, drawing out the last syllable.  "We're Asteroid Blues, thank you very much," she said to the polite applause, "goodnight.”  They bowed and left the stage, and Mulder returned to the table with a mostly full glass.  

"Want a sip?" he offered, and Scully shook her head.  

"Want a peek?" she offered, and he raised his eyebrows.  She handed over the photo, "This," she smiled wryly at his disappointed face.  "Our waiter was kind enough to deliver it.”  

When the waiter came back with her credit card, Mulder asked, "You know anything about this?" holding up the clipping.  

The waiter frowned, shaking his head.  "You can throw it away in the ashtray," he offered, pointing to the one at their table, and was mildly surprised at their looks.  

TTTT 

When fate begins to tremble, the world will change 
A new star is born and the world is changed 
--"Eiyuu Densetsu (Heroica)," Shimazu Saeko (transl.  by Emily K.) 

*** 

11:43 p.m.  
The Andrews' home.  
Seattle, WA.  

"Hyper Kid's finally out, thought I was gonna have to drug him," Tomoko grinned at her friend.  Her newly blue-dyed hair, courtesy of Fancy Lala's on Broadway, was the main reason she was over at her friend's house rather than her own.  The three kids were flopped on the big couch, Tomoko, Nicole, and Nicole's cousin Chris, a.k.a.  the Hyper Kid, spending most of the night watching "The New Ghostbusters" on video.  "I can't believe I sat through that singing chick episode *twice*," she snorted.  

"Hey, it was *your* fault we were watching this in the first place," Nicole retorted.  "We coulda watched a decent Jackie Chan or Bruce Lee movie, but nooo, you just *had* to give in to cartoons.”  She rolled her eyes, then dug in the snack bowl and came up empty.  "Want more arare popcorn, or brownies?" 

"Brownies," Tomoko said promptly, then grabbed the remote and ejected the tape, switching back to regular cable.  "Wanna watch something stupid?" 

"Isn't that what we watched?" Nicole said from the kitchen, right behind the couch.  She poured a cup of milk for herself and OJ for her friend, then grabbed the bowl of brownies.  "I'm all TV'ed out.  Unless you wanna watch "Anne of Green Gables"," she grinned evilly.  

"No, no, we can turn it off," Tomoko hastily agreed, clicking off the TV.  "Do you think you can get a vacation from your job? I mean, it's been a month since any exorcist action happened," she wondered.  

"It's not my job, it's my *des-ti-neee*," Nicole intoned, imitating Kengyu's solemn voice 'til it parodied Darth Vader's.  "I dunno.  I mean, I hope so.  I totally defeated the evil Mrs.  Kageura, I mean, Shadow Queen and everything, I *should* get a vacation," she made a face.  

"Yeah, well, you flunked out of her Home Ec class because of it," Tomoko rolled her eyes, grabbing a brownie.  "So while Sacred Hearts is looking for a new Home Ec teacher, you're spending your vacation making up for lost grades," she mumbled.  

"Hey, remember the first battle?" Nicole asked, to steer the conversation to a happier tone.  She dunked her brownie, then ate the soggy part.  

"Ew," Tomoko said.  "Yeah.  God, you were so ditzy that first time.  If you weren't Japanese, I *swear* you'd be a blonde," she said smugly.  "Even Kengyu wouldn't've recognized you as a beach bunny, would he?" 

"Shut up," Nicole mumbled around her brownie.  "I did okay.  I mean, it's not everyday some demon materializes from your classmate's head and attacks you.  Or you get transformed into some kind of Japanese exorcist.”  

"Or some inter-dimensional alien samurai with long red hair, cool-looking scar and major attitude tells *you* to kill it," Tomoko added.  "C'mon, tell me you thought he was a lady at first, it's nice to share the humiliation," she urged.  

Nicole shook her head, then guffawed, disturbing Chris' sleep a little.  She lowered her voice, "Okay, maybe for a second.  It's not like pretty boys show up all the time around here, especially not at school.”  

"What about Kanou Nozomu? Or Nagoya Chiaki? Or Ully Masters? Or," the evil smile came back, "Kevin Herdsman?" She enjoyed watching her friend squirm, then she frowned.  "You know, all those transfer student pretty boys makes me wonder if," her voice trailed off, looking a little worried.  

"What? What?" Nicole's eyes got bigger and bigger.  She trusted her friend's judgment on the weird stuff, since the only weird thing she'd ever known previously was being an orphan at six, which she barely remembered.  

"If it's a conspiracy," Tomoko said reasonably, "you know, to get you and some pretty boy together like in anime.  It could happen.”  

"Oh God!" Nicole snorted.  "My life is *not* anime! Not that I wouldn't mind having a pretty boy, but...okay, so I'm an alien magical princess exorcist, with a tall, mysterious samurai guide from outer space, no big deal.”  She frowned.  "You know, that'll *never* sound right.”  She started giggling.  "Magical ghostbuster from outer space? Demon-hunting alien princess? I know, Aunt Jane's First Aid Disaster," she said triumphantly.  

Tomoko spit her OJ.  "Thanks, you had to say that right then," she muttered, wiping her mouth.  "You know we'll never let you live that one down, even if it *was* a ghostbusting.”  

"I know," Nicole stuck her tongue out, "I could swear even Kengyu was laughing at me, in his stoic way.  Man, if he wasn't so spooky and, well, intangible," she sighed, looking more than a little goofy.  

"Ugh," Tomoko said.  "Don't you have enough drama in your life? Never mind," she laughed, jumping from the couch when Nicole tried to punch her.  

TTTT 

It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that swing 
It don't mean a thing, all you've got to do is sing, 
It makes no difference if it's sweet or hot, 
Just keep that rhythm, give it everything you've got! 
--"It Don't Mean a Thing (If It Ain't Got That Swing)," Duke Ellington & Irving Mills 

*** 

July 11, 1995.  
3:37 a.m.  
An undisclosed location somewhere near Washington, D.C.  

"I'm tired, pal, and I think so are you," a nattily-dressed gentleman said, before driving his fist into the elderly man's companion.  "I suggest you let me know what you know before lover-boy here winds up lookin' like hamburger meat.”  

The Caucasian man glanced at the younger man, both of whom had been captured less than a block away after an enjoyable evening at ANCy's.  "I don't know a damn thing, I was just a soldier," he sputtered.  

"Soldiers have orders," the gentleman replied, nodding to his acquaintances who pummeled the younger man, sagging in his handcuffs.  The old man was also handcuffed, but facing a glaring light, unable to see the face of the gentleman nor his associates.  "Now your friend seems to be quite unconscious.  If you don't want a media circus about the nature of your relationship, you'd tell me what you saw at Heart Mountain.”  

The old man sighed.  "Thousands of good Americans locked up like animals, sir, that's all.  I don't know what the hell this is all about, everybody knows what went on during the war, atrocities on both sides.”  

"I don't want your pretty speeches," the gentleman sneered.  The elderly man couldn't think of him as anything else, despite his actions and words to the contrary.  The gentleman was like Cary Grant in speech and dress, which was why he'd stepped into the limo in the first place.  In his ear, the gentleman said, "What did you see at Heart Mountain in 1943?" 

Gasping like a fish, the old man sputtered.  "I, I, I don't remember.  Please, that was ages ago.  I don't remember," he sobbed.  

"Some soldier," the gentleman sneered.  He snapped at his associates.  "Uncuff them, they know nothing.”  He ignored the relieved look on the old man's face.  "And they never will," he added, injecting the old man's neck with an odd substance.  "You and your friend were mugged, but you both got away safe and sound," he grunted, seeing the old man slump over.  

When the men had left the neighborhood, the bruised and beaten young man's eyes opened.  His appearance suddenly changed from a bloody Caucasian mess to a clean-cut Japanese one.  "Dammit, nobody's gonna be safe," he muttered.  He walked over to the old man.  "Thank you, Pvt.  Franklin.  That's the third time you've saved my ass.”  

He hauled the elderly man's frame over his shoulders, changing his own appearance to that of the gentleman's, and it appeared as if they were old buddies who'd had a bit too much to drink.  Together, they staggered out, caught a cab, and the strange young man tucked the elderly man into bed.  "Oyasumi, old friend," he whispered.  

Later, in his crappy little apartment, the young man called a national top 40 radio station.  "Yeah, I'd like to dedicate a song," he said, "from Twangi Boy to Black Out Girl.  Sorry, babe, you're gonna get Pearl-harbored.  The dogs are barking again.”  He called several other radio stations within the next few hours, with different names like "Heartbreak Hunk," "Active Duty," and "B.T.O.", all with the same message.  He didn't trust phones and the internet even less, but the odd message should get through by radio.  He hoped.  Hundreds of innocent civilians' lives were dependent on it, and worse comes to worst, he'd personally warn and evac them.  The Shepherd and the Weaver's lives were at stake, along with the FBI agents, whom he'd sworn he'd never contact.  

"You owe me another, Shepherd," he muttered, as he hijacked the agents' computers on his tricked-out laptop.  

TTTT 

Same time, FBI files facility.  

Mulder was digging up as much as he could on the Heart Mountain internment camp.  He hadn't changed from his outfit earlier, but had shed the trenchcoat and tie, his glasses perched in front of his hazel eyes, which didn't make the mess any smaller.  So far, he found a depressing amount of information on how not to behave during wartime, but knew how easily hysteria and prejudice could blind even reasonable people to do the most heinous things.  And the list of internees who'd come through the camp, some of whom died there, others died in battle in the much-decorated 100th Battalion, still others who'd died as a result of bronchitis or emphysema developed by the harsh weather conditions...he sighed.  It narrowed their search only a little.  Finding people with the relevant information would still be like finding a needle in a haystack, especially if you included the military police stationed at the camp, along with other Caucasians who lived and worked there.  

"Needles in haystacks are my specialty," he muttered, pulling out another hefty box of old files.  To stave off boredom, he'd brought along a portable radio/tape player, which only caught the pop music station.  He chuckled every so often as he heard similar insomniacs ask for the strangest songs, like "Ironic" by Alanis Morrisette.  There was nothing ironic about the words, just a lot of bad luck.  Which he was currently enjoying right now, he thought darkly, poring through another file.  He debated whether or not to call Scully and ask her to join the fun fact-finding fest, then wisely decided to give her as much rest as possible--to help him go through the rest of the files he wasn't able to get to tonight.  

"I'd like to make a dedication," a young man's voice said.  

"Sure thing, what is it," purred the overnight deejay.  

"Um, "Don't Get Around Much Anymore," from Groovy Guy to my Slick Chick.  Sorry, babe, the dogs are barking again and it's Splitsville for us.  You're gonna get Pearl-harbored.”  

"Ooooh, Pearl-harbored, sounds pretty drastic," the deejay said.  "Well, Slick Chik, sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”  She started playing Harry Connick Jr.'s version, adding, "You're probably better off without him.”  

Mulder wondered about that dedication, and the phrases.  Nobody talked like that in real life, did they, like they came out of a musical or something? He knew every generation had their own vocabulary, but that sounded, well, *old*, even to him.  He made a face, then opened another file.  This one read, "War Relocation Authority, Community Analysis Section: Community Analysis Notes No.  15-July 18, 1945."* Scully, you're missing out, he thought cynically, his photographic memory and lightning-fast reading zipping through unfamiliar words.  Then he ran across some sports vocabulary and realized what this was, and his eyes slowed down somewhat.  

Then the words "groovy," "slick chik," "Pearl-harbored," and "The dogs are barking again," popped out.  The first meant, well, what it always did, as well as the second.  "Pearl-harbored," on the other hand, was "for anything sudden, unexpected and unpleasant, a favorite term for evacuation or for exams...”  What the hell? Mulder thought, my needle in a haystack.  "The dogs are barking again" meant "expression used when supposedly secret information intended only for the colony is acted on by the Administration.”  

Mulder pulled out his cell, calling the radio station.  "Hi, this is Special Agent Mulder," he started, "I was wondering about the caller for this song.”  The last words, "Awfully different without you, don't get around much anymore," were blasting in his ear.  

"Yeah, hi," the deejay said.  "Lemme just turn this down a bit," and the song was replaced by a commercial at a much softer volume.  She added in a low, teasing voice, "Special Agent, hm?" 

"Uh, yeah," Mulder said, feeling oddly like he'd called one of his 1-900 numbers by mistake.  "He might be a key to an investigation I'm working on.”  

"Sorry, Special Agent," she replied, "I just record the voice, there's no "Star 69" on our calls.”  

"That's okay," Mulder said, "we have equipment to trace a call.”  

"I'm sure you have the equipment," she purred, "but you'll also need my manager's permission, don't you?" 

"Yeah," Mulder said.  "Mind getting it?" 

"No prob, Special Agent," her voice grinned from the other end.  While he was put on hold, he listened to some angsty music, then some mushy stuff that sounded worse than the classical stuff Scully liked, then, "Hey, Special Agent, you there?" 

"Still here," he said.  "Is it okay?" 

"Sure.  Do we have to put our other callers on hold?" she asked.  

"No, it's okay.  Thanks," he said, ready to hang up.  

"Thank *you*," she cooed, and he had the strangest feeling she *did* moonlight as one of those 1-900 operators.  

"Hey Danny, it's me," he said, after dialing the next number.  "I know you're busy surveilling, but you mind doing me a quick favor?" he grinned.  "I know, it'll cost me.  Tell me who called this number in the last half hour," and rattled off the radio station's number.  "It's a radio station, so don't be too surprised at the amount of lines listed, okay? Thanks," he said, and clicked his cell off.  
_________________________________________________________________ 

*"War Relocation Authority, Community Analysis Section: Community Analysis Notes No.  15-July 18, 1945.”  WRA files, UCLA Special Collections and Asian American Reading Room.  Excerpted from "Only What We Could Carry: The Japanese American Internment Experience," edited by Lawson Fusao Inada.  

TTTT 

Nando mo meguriau 
Seiza no matataki kazoe uranau koi no yukue 
Onaji kuni ni umareta no 
Mirakuru romansu 
[We meet by chance again and again 
The countless shining stars above us foretell love's whereabouts 
Born on the same earth 
A miracle romance] 
--"Moonlight Densetsu (Moonlight Legend)," Oda Kanako, Komoro Tetsuya, & Ikeda Daisuke/Hayashi Yuuzou (transl.  by Alex Glover) 

*** 

Same time, which would be around 12:40 a.m.  
The Andrews' home.  
Seattle, WA.  

On her bedroom floor, well, on a foldup mattress, Nicole dreamed.  Oddly enough, it was the same dream, and this time, she tossed uneasily.  Tomoko was snoring peacefully on her bed, completely unaware of the sudden cloud cover or her friend's dream coinciding with the atmospheric disturbance.  

"This is the story of Kaguya-hime, the Shining Moon Princess.  Mukashi mukashi," Nicole's mother was telling her four-year-old self.  She propped up the picture book so Nicole could see it better, then continued in her low, soothing voice, "Long long time ago, there was a poor elderly woodcutter and his wife.  They had no children, which made them very sad.  One day, the woodcutter heard a voice in a glowing bamboo stalk, so he cut it open.  Inside was the prettiest little baby girl, like you," she smiled at her daughter.  Nicole smiled back.  

"The woodcutter was so happy, he ran home with the girl, forgetting the wood or tools on his back.  His wife saw him coming down from the mountain, wondering why he was home so early.  He shouted, 'We have a blessing from the gods! We have a child!' His wife said, 'Mah, that's good, but how shall we take care of her? We are so poor, we can barely provide for ourselves?' The old man smiled.  'The gods will provide.'" 

She turned the page.  "And they did.  Every day, when the woodcutter cut wood, one of the trees would burst forth with gold coins, so he was able to provide his family with a good home, clothes and food.  Kaguya, for that was her name, grew up to be the most beautiful maiden in the land, and the nearby village leaders, while on their hunting trips, caught sight of her beauty.  Soon, word of her beauty spread far and wide, so that she had hundreds of suitors, all wanting her hand in marriage.”  Nicole's mother shook her head.  "It got so bad the old woodcutter had to build a fortress around their home, all day and all night suitors swarmed around her home, straining to catch a glimpse of her radiant beauty.  

"Kaguya didn't want to marry any of them, she was perfectly happy with her adopted parents.  Still, the old woman asked that she make up her mind, if for the safety of their neighbors and the welfare of the young men.  Finally, she narrowed down her potential suitors to five, two magistrates, two princes, and a noble samurai.  She gave each of them impossible tasks, sending one to fetch Buddha's actual begging bowl, the skin of the fierce snow tiger, the flowers from a metallic tree, the egg of a particular crane, and the head of a dangerous dragon.  None of her suitors came back with the items, some of them even bringing in false treasures, but she discovered them and threw them out.  Happily, she stayed inside with the old woodcutter and his wife, serving them tea and spending the time pleasantly.  At night, however, the old woman found her gazing up at the moon, and scolded her, for moon-gazing never brought anyone good fortune.  Kaguya merely shook her head, and continued to gaze up at the night sky.  

"One day, even the Emperor heard of Kaguya's legendary beauty and determined to find her.  He dressed up as a regular nobleman on a hunt with his courtiers, then headed for the foothills where Kaguya and her parents lived.  To further the ruse, he stayed behind at one point, then pretended to be lost as he came near her house.  Hiding behind a small thicket, he caught a glimpse of the unearthly beauty and gasped.  She saw who it was, knowing despite his somewhat rough appearance it was the Emperor, and her face grew sad.  'You must leave,' she said, 'and never come back.' She bowed, and her radiance dimmed.  The Emperor bowed back, which is even rarer than finding Buddha's true begging bowl, and rode off.  

"Then Kaguya ran to her parents and told them, 'I must leave.  The Emperor has seen me, and I must return to the moon, which is my home.  Thank you for taking care of me, and loving me.' The old couple cried, begging her not to go, but she, hugging them back, told them she must.”  

TTTT 

"Kaguya told them, 'On August 15th, on the night of the full moon, my family will come down from the moon and take me back.  Please, do not try to stop them.  I will miss you very much, but I will always watch you from the moon.' The old couple were so afraid of losing their daughter that they sent a message to the Emperor, telling them what would happen and begging him for a guard to protect their daughter.  The Emperor graciously sent them a good-sized army, surrounding the fortress and even guarding the rooftop of their home.  

"Smiling sadly, Kaguya knew their hearts were in the right place, but that their earthly powers were no match for what was to come.  As midnight drew near, an unearthly brilliance filled the sky.  Clouds formed and massed, revealing heavenly creatures.  The soldiers in their armor shook, sounding like a clattering of teacups, they were so afraid.  A floating white platform from the moonlight descended, bearing the august moon god, who was beaming at his daughter.  Everyone was frozen in place, and the old woman, though her hands clutched tight to her kimono, was unable to hold on to her adopted daughter.  

"Gently, Kaguya put a scroll and small pitcher into the old woman's hands, telling her, 'Please send this to the Emperor.  The poem tells him of my gratitude, and the pitcher contains an elixir of long life.'" Then, her eyes filling with tears, she joined her father on the floating platform and they drifted up to the sky on a path of moonlight.  When the human eye could see them no longer, everyone was able to move.  Soldiers collapsed, the old couple fell into each other's arms and sobbed, and neighbors' tongues couldn't stop wagging for a year.  

"The next day, the old man went to the Emperor's palace with the army, delivering the poem and elixir.  The Emperor's face was impassive as he heard the message, but after he read the poem, tears rolled from his eyes, and he ordered both poem and pitcher to be burned at the nearest mountain.  For years and years to come, the smoke from the sorrow of those rejected gifts have been burning on Fujiyama, Always Burning Mountain.  Owari," Nicole's mother sighed, then closed the book.  

"That's so sad," Nicole said.  She snuggled closer to her mother.  

"You want to know the real ending," her mother said, with a twinkle in her eye.  

"Yeah," the girl says, relishing a secret.  Her large brown eyes are wide open now, and her mother laughs with delight.  

"Before the Moon Princess left, she healed her adopted mother, so she could have a baby.  And you know what, the old couple had a child of their own, to raise and keep on this earth! And their little girl grew up and got married and had a family of her own.  Those are our ancestors, the Sasakis," she smiled, touching her nose to her daughter's.  Then her face grew serious.  "You must never tell anyone.  It's our secret, okay?" a smile brightening her face again.  

"Mm, okay," Nicole said.  When she saw her mother leaving the bed and tucking her in, she pouted.  "I'm not tired," she said, then yawned.  

Her mother shook her head.  "Of course not.  Just in case," she kissed her daughter's forehead, "oyasumi, Hime-chan.”  

"Oyasumi," the little girl responded, her eyes already fluttering shut.  She never saw the look of sadness crossing her mother's face, as the dreaming Nicole did, nor her glance at the pale fat moon sitting in the window.  

Why didn't I remember this? Nicole's dreamself wondered, frowning.  Oh yeah, because her mother was found dead the next morning, having sleepwalked into a sixteen-wheeler.  Her little mind was barely comprehending that her mother was dead, much less trying to remember the secret of the Kaguya-hime story.  

Then she woke up with tears running down her face.  Kaachan, I miss you so much, she sobbed silently, then curled on the mattress, fighting both tears and her unwanted alertness.  

Outside, stormclouds churned, heavy rain already sinking into the semi-parched yards and gardens.  Pets and homeless were scurrying for shelter as the rain pelted down, suddenly less benevolent than it was a few minutes ago.  Both thunder and lightning vied for dominion of the skies, even as the rain continued to pour.  

And a sleepless samurai watched the roiling skies, unrelenting in their fury and sorrow.  "She is remembering," he whispered, his stern eyes still not blinking.  "And the past will collide with the present, as surely as the thunder with the lightning.”  

TTTT 

It must have been moonglow, way up in the blue 
It must have been moonglow, that led me straight to you 
I still hear you sayin', "Dear one, hold me fast" 
And I keep on prayin', "Oh Lord, please let this last" 
We seemed to float right through the air 
Heavenly songs seemed to come from everywhere 
And now when there's moonglow, way up in the blue 
I'll always remember that moonglow gave me you 
--"Moonglow," by Eddie De Lange, Will Hudson & Irving Mills 

*** 

6:10 a.m.  

The mellow-voiced middle-aged man read off the copy, "And here's a request from An Educated Fox to his Frame Dame, "Moonglow.”  He says, and I quote, 'Sorry, the dogs are barking again.  You're gonna get Pearl-harbored,' end quote.  Ouch.  Well, here's to you, Frame Dame, good luck next time around.”  

Across the nation, a few Issei and Nisei and their families packed up, even more quietly and discreetly than the first time they were ordered to, as per Executive Order No.  9066.  Nobody protested, because this time they knew the stakes were higher.  They could only hope and pray that their safety would be guaranteed by quick action, that is, hasty evacuation and hiding.  The last thing each of them did was call their radio stations and pass on the message, trusting that the warning would reach the others before, well, god knew what came.  

The enemy they feared was even more relentless than the Gestapo, more mysterious than their government, and more heartless than, well, hysterical Caucasians during the second World War.  In fact, some elderly Caucasians, especially former military stationed at Heart Mountain, were also packing up and hiding out.  

*** 

Mulder reached the third abandoned phone on his wild goose chase, and this time, he was willing to concede victory to the mysterious caller.  Whoever he was trying to warn needed the warnings, and any efforts of his to catch the caller probably delayed the much-needed warnings by minutes, if not hours.  "I just want to ask some questions," he sighed, leaning against the graffitied phone booth.  As his tired eyes took in the "If you want a good time" numbers, a corner of his mouth tugged upwards.  

Frustrated at his wasted efforts, yet sympathetic to what he believed were warnings, he called Danny.  "Hey, just fax me any more calls with those same phrases, okay? I've got a feeling I'd be running across the country trying to catch up with the phantom caller.  No, I don't think it's a ghost, but he sure is making himself scarce.  Thanks a bunch.  Yeah, I owe you big time," he smiled wearily, then hung up.  

He practically fell into the car, then turned on the radio.  Another oldie was playing, and he ran a hand through his tousled brown hair.  He squinted at the morning light, then groaned as he checked his watch.  "Moonglow, my ass.  Wonder if I could call in sick and have her cover for me 'til later," he mused, already gunning the engine and heading back to the basement.  

Then his eyes widened with an unwelcome thought.  What if, as people took the warnings, they were inadvertently flushed out into the arms of their enemies? A chill shimmying up his spine, he called the pop station.  

"Hello?" the sultry deejay answered.  

"Yeah, hi, this is Special Agent Mulder," he said quickly, "I was wondering if I could make a dedication.”  

He could almost hear her blink.  "Sure thing, Special Agent.  What is it?" 

"'Spiderwebs' by No Doubt, from Spooky Boy to Slick Chik, Hey, babe, don't jump from the frying pan into the fire.”  

"Slick Chick's a lucky gal for you to watch out for her," the deejay purred.  

"Somebody's got to," he smiled, "thanks a lot.”  

"No problem," she smiled back.  

Happily, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the radio played some honest-to-God wake-up music.  
"Sorry I'm not home right now 
I'm walking into spiderwebs 
So leave a message 
And I'll call you back 
A likely story, but leave a message 
And I'll call you back"* 
________________________________________________________________ 

*"Spiderwebs," by Gwen Stefani:) 

TTTT 

You've got to accentuate the positive, 
Eliminate the negative, 
Latch on to the affirmative, 
Don't mess with Mr.  Inbetween.  
You've got to spread joy up to the maximum, 
Bring gloom down to the minimum, 
Have faith, or pandemonium 
Liable to walk upon the scene.  
--"Ack-cent-chu-ate the Positive," Johnny Mercer, Harold Arlen 

*** 

6:40 a.m.  
The Andrews' home.  

"That was "Hi-De-Ho" by K7, off "The Mask" soundtrack, kickin' off your Tuesday morning, goin' out to Ready Hedy from BTO, who says the dogs are barkin', sorry babe, but you're gonna get Pearl-harbored.  Yee-ouch! Hey, girl, if you're ready for a real man, you got me, Double-D, baby.  Up next, goin' out to Foxy Lady from Spooky Boy is TLC's "Creep"--mm-mm, sounds like a lotta bad love out there.  He doen't want her jumpin' out of the fryin' pan into the fire--yeah, you know what it's like gettin' burned, don't you?" 

A figure looking like a zombie from a B-movie stalked in rhythm with the radio's blaring music.  Nicole staggered to the kitchen, where her Aunt Jane was performing the superhuman task of dressing up and feeding Chris at the same time.  "Good morning," Aunt Jane chirped, pulling an arm through a shirt sleeve, managing to look composed with her seemingly-always-smiling Japanese face.  

"Mmmm," Nicole mumbled.  Nothing would ever make mornings good.  If she could wake up at noon for school, she'd be in heaven.  Mechanically, she plowed through her eggs and toast, watching dispassionately as her aunt's efforts to clothe her son in undecorated clothes was for naught.  
Her struggle ended, her aunt turned to her again.  "Today's Tuesday, Nicole, don't forget sewing class after summer school.”  

Then Nicole's eyes widened.  "Aw, crap," she sighed, then ran upstairs to grab her "sewing gear"--a bag full of needles and pins (safely held in a taped-up pencilcase), tape measure, thread, sewing shears, bandaids, masking tape, thimbles, and winter gloves.  She threw it into her backpack, looked at the clock, and rushed out the door, practically tripping over herself in her new platform shoes.  

She saw the bus only too late, running half a block before she realized it wouldn't stop, and got a stitch in her side for her troubles.  "Where's the superpowers when I need 'em," she grumbled.  "This morning can't get any better.”  

Then rainclouds unloaded buckets of rain on her head.  

*** 

9:40 a.m.  
The FBI basement.  

"You have *got* to be kidding," Scully stared dispassionately at her partner.  He looked even more like a crackpot, not having changed clothes from last night nor shaved, and surrounded by boxes of files.  "There is no such thing as a 'good morning' with you, is there," she sighed, bending down to one of the closer boxes.  

"Working overtime to earn the taxpayer's dollars, that's me," Mulder said, his light tone betrayed by the lack of sleep in his hazel eyes.  Those same eyes took in his partner's crisp, professional outfit, a dark blazer and skirt, pale gray blouse, and those ass-kicking pumps.  He grinned.  "You always complain about how we rarely spend time at the office, here's your chance.”  

Scully debated throwing a box at her partner, then decided the damage to her partner's head would be less than to the documents within.  "Nice to know you have my best interests at heart," she said, sitting on her temper.  

"Always," Mulder said grandly, not knowing how close to death he was.  He stood up alarmingly fast, then grabbed a pile of faxes.  "Got a break in the case," he said, passing them down to Scully, who'd cleared off a chair and was already perusing a file.  

"And this is?" she asked, an eyebrow raised as she scanned the list of phone numbers, locations, and times.  

"Calls from all over the country, all of them containing the phrase, 'The dogs are barking again, you're gonna get Pearl-harbored.' It's a World War Two warning from Nisei in the internment camps.  As far as I can tell, there's no threat to Japanese-Americans from any hate groups or militant types, but the calls started about an hour after we got the newsphoto from ANCy's.  Somebody's spooked enough to call national radio stations with this message.”  

Scully stared at him.  "What makes you think those calls are related to the photo? And are you sure those calls are warnings? I heard it this morning, and it just sounded like somebody was getting dumped.”  Then she smiled.  "So, Spooky Boy, who's Slick Chik?" 

Mulder shook his head.  "I have no idea.”  At her still-questioning look, he added, "Really.  I just got it off a list of Nisei slang to add to the original warning.  I didn't want anyone bailing just to run into their enemies' waiting arms.”  

"Not everything is full of conspiracies and dire threats," Scully shook her head in turn, handing back the phone faxes.  "It's probably some elaborate prank," she said, shrugging off the reason for his lack of sleep.  

"Not everything is an elaborate prank," Mulder countered, "cross-checking with this list of internees at Heart Mountain, a few have already disappeared.”  

"Old age," Scully suggested, "vacation, relocating to Florida, Alzheimer's--and you said, 'a few.' Not the entire population," she finished off smugly.  

"By now, everyone should have gotten the warning, and disappearances are usually reported after twenty-four hours," he shot back, "and I don't think the warnings were meant for all internees there, only the ones affected by the alien coverup.”  

With a "here we go again" look on her face, Scully said nothing but dove into the files, none of which were yet in the FBI's slowly-computerized system.  

TTTT 

2:40 p.m.  
Sunshine Sewing Class at Ikebukuro's.  

At the rear of the fabric store, five girls were working industriously on their projects in a large room filled with sewing machines, mannequins, and bolts of cloth.  Only one of them was sewing by hand, because she'd wrecked three machines.  The Sunshine Sewing Class was presided over by Mrs.  Ikebukuro, a petite woman with gray hair neatly done up in a bun, dressed in a modest blouse and skirt, smiling as sweetly as a grandmother, all of which belied a personality as strong as the storm raging outside.  

"Rebecca, don't think you can fool me with that hemline.  I want you to raise it so your mother doesn't think I skimped on material for your navel," she clucked over one girl's jeans pattern.  The curly-haired brunette said nothing, sticking out her tongue once the elder woman walked away.  

"I like it," she murmured over another girl's stitches.  "But you'll have to be careful to keep it gathered, Joanie.  Consistency is key.”  

In the back of the back, Nicole mouthed along, her fingertips wrapped in masking tape, covered by thimbles, and hands encased in gloves.  After the second disaster with a sewing machine, she figured safety first, sewing second.  The end of her project was near, thank goodness, since she'd chosen to continue her assignment that never got finished in junior high--a thin matsuri coat.  She kept her eyes downcast, for Mrs.  Ikebukuro liked to see modest young ladies, not troublemakers.  And she was already on the shitlist for destroying much-beloved property, she sighed inwardly.  

"I will take a brief tea break and return shortly," Mrs.  Ikebukuro announced, then grabbed an umbrella before leaving the room.  It was tacitly acknowledged that she would be smoking outside, but Mrs.  Ikebukuro considered herself a lady, and ladies never smoked.  Hence, "tea break," Nicole smiled wryly.  

"Thank God," Rebecca sighed, slouching to her usual posture once their teacher was completely out of sight and sound.  "My back was starting to kill me.  Anybody got gum?" 

"I do," Nicole answered, throwing her a small square of bubblegum.  "I still can't believe your moms made you take this class.”  

"Anything to save money and keep me from buying new clothes," Jaci shook her long black hair.  Her freckles stood out against her Latin features.  "And God help us all if my shopping habit puts us out on the street.”  

Everyone crossed their hearts and rolled their eyes.  Only Laura, a quiet girl with an impish smile, truly enjoyed sewing.  She was good at it, but she was also great at practical jokes, which was why she was suspected the first time a sewing machine broke down.  "Who knows," she drawled, "you could learn to love it.”  

"Yeah, and Mrs.  Ikebukuro might smoke crack," Joanie said in a deadpan voice.  "Hey Jaci, need a ride home? My mom's got the van.”  

"Sure, anything to keep out of the rain," Jaci replied, her eyes on the high windows, with a clear view of a rainstorm that just wouldn't quit.  Then she started running her machine again, and so did everyone else, as Mrs.  Ikebukuro glided into the room, surrounded an aura of lingering smoke.

"Good, good, steady work is crucial.  Consistency is key.”  

God, save me from this torture of sewing, Nicole prayed silently.  

*** 

5:40 p.m.  
The not-so-sunny office in the FBI basement.  

"Mulder, *please* tell me the end is near," Scully sighed, picking up yet another file from the last box in front of her.  

"The end is near," he droned.  A paper wad bounced off his head.  "And the sky is falling.”  

"God, save me from this mountain of files," Scully sighed.  Her darkened blue eyes were thankfully hidden behind her thick reading glasses, as she saw more pictures of children tagged like luggage, parents bringing only what they could carry, and more if they were lucky, their lives catalogued like so much merchandise.  She wished belatedly that she was still tackling mind-numbing statistics and agricultural figures.  

"I'm glad you didn't add 'and my paranoid partner, too,'" Mulder said, nearly done with his last box.  A small pile of "yes" files were stacked on the desk, while the rest were reboxed.  Surrounded by a half-fortress of boxes, he almost looked like a little boy at play, albeit with a loosed tie and crooked glasses.  

"It's a given," she shot back haughtily.  She closed her eyes, rolling her neck until she got that lovely cracking sound.  Mulder pretended not to shudder, and she pretended not to gloat at his queasiness.  

The phone rang, and Mulder leapt to his feet.  "Mulder," he answered, "yes, sir, not a problem.”  He pressed down the tab, then went about the business of unscrewing the puppy and checking for bugs.  

Scully raised her eyebrows.  "What does Skinner want?" 

"For me to return these illegally borrowed files ASAP," Mulder smirked, "and then he'd like to see us in his office.”  He rescrewed the phone receiver, replacing on its partly naked, mechanical body.  

Now Scully was outraged.  "'Illegally?' Mulder, we could have gone through these files in the file room.  With chairs, and desks, and rolling carts, not to mention having to haul all of this back," she almost wailed.  

"With prying eyes and listening ears, not to mention deep freeze a/c," Mulder added.  "By the way, you didn't see this," he said, shoving the "yes" files into the back of a file drawer marked "M-O.”  

"Like I didn't see you come back from the dead," Scully answered, resigned.  

"Exactly," Mulder beamed, then grabbed a stack of files from Scully's box before she could close it.  "Hey, never know what you'll find in the bottom of a Cracker Jacks box.”  

"I already see a nut in front of me, what more could I want?" Scully replied, crossing her arms and pouting just a little.  

"Oh ye of little faith," he intoned, then proceeded to visually inhale the contents of the last few files in his hands.  

TTTT 

There are many, many crazy things 
That will keep me loving you 
And with your permission 
May I list a few 
The way you wear your hat 
The way you sip your tea 
The memory of all that 
No, they can't take that away from me 
The way your smile just beams 
The way you sing off key 
The way you haunt my dreams 
No, they can't take that away from me 
--"They Can't Take That Away," George & Ira Gershwin 

*** 

3:05 p.m.  
The Herdsmans' home.  

Mrs.  Herdsman got the phone call she never wanted to get.  "It's only Tuesday," she murmured, hanging up the phone.  She suddenly felt every one of her seventy-six years, and sat down.  That old panicky feeling welled up in her ample bosom, and if she could, she'd race to the bedroom, throw their belongings into a suitcase, and zip on out of there.  But any energy was drained out of her, and she could only stare lifelessly at the floor.  

"Margie, who was that?" Anthony Herdsman called from the hallway, having screwed in a new lightbulb.  His eighty-year-old body moved slower than he liked, but he wasn't being spoonfed yet, no sirree.  

Margie's frownlines deepened as she stood up.  "Oh, just," she started to sob, "just notice that we'll have to move.”  

"What! Why?" Anthony wondered, his own forehead wrinkling deeper with worry.  "We pay the mortgage on time, we take good care of Kevin," his voice drifted off.  

"It's not that.”  Margie looked down, her hand to her mouth.  "It's just, I know something, from the war, that could put us in danger.  And I never thought, I never thought that it would come back to haunt me.”  

"After all these years?" Anthony asked, lifting his wife's teary face.  "Margie, we can't move.  We just got settled here.  Kevin needs stability, after all he's been through.”  

"I know, I know," she shook her head, "maybe he could stay with some friends until this blows over," she suggested.  

"If it's dangerous enough to make you want to move, even after fifty years, Kevin's going to be in danger no matter what," he said softly.  "We're staying.  No reason for this thing to hunt down two old people, and if so, I've still got my handgun.”  His still-piercing gray eyes looked into her green ones.  "All right?" 

"You don't know," she started, but he put a finger on her lips.  

"No, I don't.  And you wouldn't want me to.  And we will stay here, for Kevin's sake.  And if we should perish," he held her gently, "it's for a good reason.  We've lived good lives, haven't we?" 

"Anthony," she sighed, "you're a good man.  I don't know what I did to deserve you.”  

"I don't either," he smiled, and she smiled back.  Still holding her, he began to rock her, wiping the tears off her face.  Then they started to dance, awkwardly at first, then comfortably.  

They were still dancing when the front door opened with a bang, a dripping wet figure striding into the living room.  "You guys are so embarrassing," he said, mock-grimacing.  "There's not even music playing.”  

Just for fun, Anthony spun Margie around, then caught her with a flourish.  Surprised, Margie laughs, then leaned against him.  "Always were a snazzy dancer," she beamed, her fears momentarily forgotten.  

Kevin just shook his head, looking like his adoptive grandparents, and headed to the kitchen to refuel his empty stomach.  Old people, he thought, don't have a care in the world.  

TTTT 

4:10 p.m.  
Pony Express Lodge.  
Powell, WY.  

The fresh-faced woman smiled at the new boarder.  He was kinda cute, and friendly, too.  She handed him his room key when he signed in.  "Mr.  Hoshigawa, you'll be in Room 42, down the hallway and over to your left.  And if you need anything, just give me a ring," she said, winking.  

"Sure will," he grinned back, then sauntered down the hallway.  He remembered the first time he came here, the reception wasn't so friendly to a face like his.  Then again, that was about fifty years ago, and thankfully, times had changed.  

This was a self-indulgent trip, even as he knew the clock was ticking.  But if the pursuers were their usual methodical selves, he had time.  Time enough to visit Heart Mountain, about eighty-five miles away.  Time enough to remember, he sighed, pulling a faded photograph of his wife, long dead.  "Ayako," he murmured to a woman whose smiling red lips, blushing cheeks, twinkling dark eyes, upswept black hair and love for life wasn't done justice by the graying black-and-white photo.  Her hands showed off her Doris Day-like ruby red outfit, the expression on her face showed her love for whoever took the picture.  

Hoshigawa remembered their first dance when she wore that dress.  She had just gotten a secretarial job, despite having degrees and experience more than her manager, but grateful for the income.  He was still getting the hang of being human, being a farmer, and being Japanese in a post-World War II Chicago.  But, giddy on her good fortune, she'd bought a dress and demanded that he escort her to "a real swingin' joint.”  So he did, not looking too shabby in a dark red shirt and black slacks, feeling, well, like a really lucky guy.  

"Danny," Ayako had whispered at all the stares and people edging away from them, "are we gonna have a good time here or what?" Her question was both hopeful and brave, even as the veil of disappointment fell across her face.  The smoky, sweaty bar seemed only to add to her fears, and her earlier joy started to fade.  

"Aya, my girl, we are gonna be the swinginest couple on the floor," he smiled back, then wondered if that would be true.  Already a good number of the dancers were leaving the floor, if not the bar.  Then his eyes caught sight of a familiar face, the trumpeter in the band.  He nodded at the man, who raised an eyebrow, then launched into a rowdy rendition of "One O'Clock Jump," haranguing the people to "dance, or you'll hurt my feelings and the music will have to stop.”  

Slowly, couples trickled back to the dance floor, mostly watching the lone Nisei couple doing their thing with more abandon than talent, then deciding to show them how to really dance.  Pretty soon, people were elbow-to-elbow having a good time, and he'd gained enough confidence and skill to flip his partner over his head, then swing her side to side.  She was smiling so wide, he thought that he'd scared her until he realized she was happy.  

Then the music slowed down, and he remembered her soft cheek resting on his as the band played what would become "their song.”  "Thank you," she'd whispered, and he'd practically floated on a cloud of happiness.  They'd smiled blissfully at other couples, not caring they were the only Japanese Americans in a crowd of mostly Blacks.  "I love you," he'd whispered back, and he realized he meant it.  The trumpeter had winked at him, and he winked back.  No matter how many lives and lies he'd live, he'd never forget or regret that night.  

"We may never meet again, on that bumpy road to love 
But I'll always, always keep the memory of 
The way you hold your knife 
The way we danced til three 
The way you changed my life 
No, they can't take that away from me," 
he sighed, "no, they can't take that away from me.”  He tucked the photo away, then looked outside to the bleak view of the Big Horn Mountains.  Soon, he'd make his pilgrimage, as so many descendants of Heart Mountain internees were doing during the summer, and remember what happened when he'd first arrived there, which only a handful of people could recall.  Then he'd come back to the hotel, shower, then leave for Chicago, among other places.  

He opened his laptop, then checked on the enemy first.  Good, they hadn't caught anyone else yet.  And they hadn't caught on to the radio warnings, either.  No imagination, he smirked, but nobody can say they don't do their job half-done.  Erasing any trail, he then checked on the agents.  

Mulder, on the other hand, had no lack of imagination, and had even added to his original warning.  He chuckled, "Spooky Boy," as he kept tabs on the agents' current doings, which was returning the rest of the unneeded files back to the fileroom.  He did enjoy Scully's gripings, even as she assisted in his little coverup.  Hopefully she'd mellow out by the time they got to Seattle.  He listened in to Mulder's retorts and rolled his eyes.  Maybe.  

TTTT 

If we were put there for our own protection, why were the guns at the guard towers pointed inward, instead of outward? 
--Mary Sakaguchi Oda 

Rain shower from mountain 
quietly soaking 
barbed wire fence 
--Suiko Matsushita 1 

*** 

10:11 p.m.  
The Lone Gunmen's Headquarters.  

"I should have you hide the files more often," Mulder said lightly as they stopped in front of the warehouse.  

His partner glowered in the passenger seat.  She felt as if she were wearing a Kevlar vest, minus the protection it afforded.  Her long coat, worn buttoned up on this cool summer night, was the only thing really hiding the files that made her look even bulkier than usual, she thought.  Scully turned her baleful eyes towards her tall, lean partner who could've easily hid them under his coat, but noooo, he was more liable to be searched, he said.  Drat the man, she thought, and drat me for even going along with his idea.  

Stepping out of the car, she practically raced to the door and rang the buzzer, wanting to be rid of the unwanted bulk.  She stared up at the security camera as her partner caught up.  "Let us in, guys," she said in a no-nonsense tone and pinched face.  

Almost at once, a beaming and cologne-wearing Frohike opened the door and was nearly run over by his favorite agent in her haste to get the files off.  He watched in bemusement as she shucked her coat, then the files hanging off her in plastic bags, then her vest.  His suggestion, "Don't stop, pretty lady," was rebuffed with an icy glare.  He shrugged, glanced at Mulder who gave him a "don't look at me" shrug back, and sat down.  "So what do you know about Japanese internment camps?" 

Scully leaned against a table, picking up a file.  "Enough to know that the hysteria and hostility of whites during wartime motivated the relocation of a minority group to inhospitable lands because of their ethnicity and so-called disloyalty.”  

"Very politically correct," Langly smirked.  He was lounging at a console in his Ramones shirt with something like the FBI logo.  "Of course, they were luckier than the Native Americans moved to desolate reservations or so-called "communists" during the Palmer Raids, but who's counting?" 

"Did you know that ten out of ten counts of espionage and sabotage for Japan during wartime were committed by Caucasians?" Byers added.  "The Issei and Nisei were a hell of a lot more trustworthy than their white neighbors, ironically.”  Even at this late hour, he still looked more FBI than either Mulder or Scully in his suit and tie.  

"I believe it," Mulder interrupted.  "I also believe there's going to be more atrocities committed if we don't figure out what's going on with these warnings and my source pointing to Heart Mountain.”  

"What've you got?" Langly asked, grabbing a couple files.  He flipped a file open, then grimaced at the contents.  

"Enough to wish I was just a conspiracy theorist," Mulder sighed, ignoring the dirty looks from all three gunmen.  Reciting as if for history class, he said, "The camp opened August 12, 1942, closed November 10, 1945.  Most of the prisoners came from California and Washington state, not really equipped to deal with the harsh winters there.  In November of '42, Japanese American hospital workers walked out because of pay discrimination between Japanese American and Caucasian workers.  In July of '44, 63 prisoners who had resisted the draft were convicted and sentenced to three years in prison.  The camp was built like a military barracks, but serviced like a prison.  Military police were stationed in nine guard towers, equipped with high beam search lights, surrounded by barbed wire fencing around the camp.2 

"You may ask yourself, what does this have to do with alien coverups and a possible link to warnings via pop radio stations? Well," he pulled out the phone trace faxes from Danny as well as confirmed missing persons reports, handing them to Frohike, "we've got these.  And we've got this," he pulled out his wallet and took out the newsclipping.  

"Sometimes, even when you've got hard copy, you still don't make sense," Frohike grumbled.  "So somehow, there was some kind of Roswell going on at this camp and this radio dedication is some kind of warning to the witnesses who are still alive and kicking?" His expression almost matched the complete skeptical look Scully now wore.  

"Exactly," Scully deadpanned.  "We're talking about a camp that was under the microscope, especially with at least two organized strikes, but no mention of even UFO sightings.  With nine guard towers, each possessing powerful searchlights, how could they not report any suspicious activity, especially during wartime?" 

"Hence these files," Mulder waved to the tabletop, "and hence my paranoid source, who has yet to contact me with more vague clues.  I'm guessing he's the one who began the calls not long after leaving us the photo, so yeah, if you can cross-check the rest of these names with the areas the other calls came from, I'd appreciate it.”  

"That it?" Langly snorted.  "Please, you've got guys at your HQ who could do this in their sleep.”  He grabbed the list from Frohike, already typing away.  

"Nope, just getting started.  Anything weird or unusual show up about Heart Mountain in recent years, so I'll know someone's not just crying wolf," Mulder said, noting the raised eyebrow from Scully.  

While Langly was looking up the weird, Byers went to make some coffee, and Frohike contented himself with ogling the auburn-haired agent.  Scully sat down and went through the files, wondering what Mulder saw in them.  Mulder busied himself behind another computer, grinning at a headline, "The Secret Agenda of Jerry Springer.”  What secret agenda, he mused, the plot to overthrow America by subjecting it to the underbelly of talk show guests? 
________________________________________________________________ 

1.  "Only What We Could Carry: The Japanese American Internment Experience," edited by Lawson Fusao Inada.  
2.  "Relocation Centers," list of various internment camps: 

TTTT 

Why won't they let us be 
Bricks and stones may break my bones 
But talk don't bother me...  
I've been abused 
(I've been abused) 
In my heart 
(my heart's been torn) 
I've been accused 
(I've been accused) 
I've been 'buked 
(I've been 'buked and I've been stung) 
--"Sticks and Stones," Henry Glover, Titus Turner 

*** 

After about a couple hours, Frohike was busy going through Mulder and Scully's cell phone for bugs while arguing with Mulder about the lack of surveillance in key areas, Byers was doing massive cross-checking, and Scully had drunk a large mug of coffee, enjoying the espresso while she could.  She was tempted to highlight questionable parts of the reports, but knew she could count on her partner's photographic memory if hers didn't fill in all the blanks.  Then again, Mulder did a more than serviceable job of filling in blanks with bizarre ideas, so she concentrated harder on remembering the particulars.  

"I've got weird," Langly suddenly announced.  

Mulder quipped, "That statement was true on so many levels.”  

"Like you should talk," Langly shot back, pushing away from the screen.  Everyone crowded around the monitor as he said with a flourish, "Last year, near the internment camp cemetery, a bulldozer uncovered a 55-gallon barrel of small stones, each inscribed with a Japanese character.  Les and Nora Bovee, the landowners, donated the barrel to the Japanese American National Museum in Los Angeles.  Nobody knows who put the stones there, or why they're all written on, or when the barrel of stones got buried there, though by the location, they're guessing during World War II.”  

He turned around to the audience, opening another window onscreen.  "Of course, that's the official story.  Thing is, not all stones have Japanese characters on 'em.  In fact, some of them have symbols related to no known language, real or otherwise.”  

"There goes the Klingon theory," Mulder muttered.  

"People have speculated it's a hoax, a sign, or a really, really bored old Japanese dude with time and rocks on his hands.  I'd go with the last one myself," Langly shrugged.  "You asked for weird, not relevant.”  

"No, no, that's good," Mulder said.  Already his mind was going past A to Z, on beyond Zebra, Scully thought flippantly, remembering an old Dr. Seuss book.  "What if the alien coverup has something to do with the stones? They could be a marker for an alien presence, perhaps by the alien himself," he went on, getting more excited.  "Think about it.  Some of those stones have unearthly markings--" 

"I wouldn't go that far," Langly protested.  

"--and perhaps an alien, assimilating himself into the culture of an interned Japanese American, wanted to leave some trace of his presence.  Nothing too alarming, just something that would make people think.  And inscribed stones are kinda zen," he wrapped up.  

"I think you're conflating Japanese rock gardens with scroll paintings," Byers said, "and I don't think they write anything on those rocks, just arrange sand around them as a form of meditation.  The scrolls, however, would have meaning to the painter as well as students of the form, there'd be no question about the identity of the painter.”  

"It's possible the person, or *being*," he said, shooting a look at Scully, "conflated those two as well.  I mean, you're in the middle of a dusty prison, and short of waving your arms saying, I'm an E.B.E., you want to make sure you're not forgotten.  There's been a stone monument erected to remind people of what that place was by former internees and their descendants, it's very possible that our alien friend wished to do the same.”  

"Like I said, your ideas are weirder than ours," Byers smiled.  

"What did you come up with?" Scully asked him, hoping for something that would make sense.  

"The people in those files," Byers nodded, "they've all been reported missing, none dead.  Yet.  A couple of the calls originated from the homes of some of these Nisei, one being Mr. Mitsuye Korematsu, another being Mr. Gordon Hirabayashi.  No clue when they'll turn up, but when they do, I'm hoping they will be alive to answer some questions.  I'm assuming you'll want us to keep an eye for the missing?" he asked, looking at them both.  

"Yes," Scully said, relieved he didn't exactly support Mulder's conspiracy theory as to why they disappeared.  That was the problem with conspiracies, you never knew just what was really going on, with a dozen theories to fill in as fact, while the innocent and not-so-innocent were steamrolled in its wake, she mused, thinking of Albert Hosteen and his family, as well as her own.  Her blue eyes sharpened, "And let us know when you've uncovered Mulder's source.  Much as he enjoys the hide-and-seek, I'd like to know who I'm dealing with.”  

"A trusted source, of course," they all chorused.  

She wanted to hurt them all really badly, but merely thinned her lips in disapproval.  Frohike, she noted with some chagrin, was quick to apologize.  "Hey, it's no problem, you can count on us," he said, giving her as reassuring a look as he could.  

Langly rolled his eyes, and Mulder nearly did the same.  "Looks like we'll be leaving for sunny California, checking out those mystery stones," he grinned at his partner, who looked less than thrilled at the thought of another cross-country chase.  

"You look tired, why don't you stay over," Frohike suggested to Scully.  He immediately regretted the suggestion when she delivered her withering glare.  "Never mind.  Have fun in L.A., guys," he sighed, escorting them out.  

"Dude, you'll *never* score with her," Langly guffawed as the door closed, "Nev-Ver.”  Byers shook his head, his expression clearly siding with Langly.  

"She hasn't snuffed me yet, so there's hope," Frohike said doggedly as he relocked every other lock on their door.  

TTTT 

When the shark bites with his teeth, dear 
Scarlet billows start to spread 
Fancy gloves, though, wears Macheath, dear 
So there's not a trace of red 
On the sidewalk Sunday morning 
Lies a body oozing life 
Someone's sneaking 'round the corner 
Is the someone Mack the Knife? 
--"Mack the Knife," Berthold Brecht, Kurt Weil, Marc Blitzstein 

*** 

4:42 a.m.  
Wednesday, July 12, 1995.  
Col.  Delbert Franklin's residence.  

"You really would die for your country, wouldn't you," the dapper gentleman sneered.  His Cary Grant-like features smiled, "Or even for a little secret.”  Two distinctly inhuman henchmen held up the old man, whose fear had seized his throat now that the surprise wore off.  The body of the large maid lay limply in the bedroom doorway, almost as if she were a discarded rag doll.  To the gentleman, that's all she was, since he had absorbed her heart before Franklin's horrified eyes.  
"I don't ask for much, really.  All I need to know is simply one thing, old chap--where are they?" He sounded so pleasant and reasonable, especially with the dead movie star's voice, but Franklin only shuddered.  "Ah, that's too bad," he said, sounding positively cheerful about it.  

Then his hand shot through the old man's chest as if it were a magic trick.  The old man's eyes widened with pain and surprise, for this was no illusion, his mouth gaping wide.  And, just as suddenly, the gentleman pulled out a glowing, throbbing scarlet life force, commonly known as a heart, from his chest, absorbing the glowing force through his palm.  

Franklin's eyes rolled up, and he hung limply from the henchmen's arms.  At a nod, they deposited the old man on his bed, while the gentleman flexed his hand, inhaling deeply.  "At least it wasn't a complete waste," he noted, "for an elderly man, his heart is strong.”  He smiled almost fondly, "Ta ta," and left the room with the green-skinned thugs.  

*** 

7:02 a.m.  
Bethesda Hospital, MD.  

"We were so close," Mulder said, frustrated.  "How could we have missed him?" 

"At least the Gunmen didn't, which is why he's in ICU rather than in the morgue," Scully replied.  "What mystifies me is why his body is behaving as if his heart was missing.  He's had no previous cardiac condition, no tests have come up with the cause for his symptoms, and he's perfectly healthy, especially for his age.  In fact, there's no reason he shouldn't be able to sit up and answer questions, if not for," she waved her hands helplessly, "whatever this condition is.”  She stared through the glass window.  "I don't understand this.”  

Mulder's eyes also traveled to the man now attached to dozens of machines, all mimicking the functions his present, beating heart should already be doing.  "Call me crazy, but I think his condition has a supernatural cause.”  

She skipped the easy opening.  "Why?" 

"There are faith healers and mediums who are able to pull damaged organs and diseased tissue from living people, then replace it with a healthy one.  What if somebody did the opposite trick to the colonel here?" 

"For what purpose, Mulder," Scully asked, "if he's linked to this coverup, as you suggested, why not kill him outright, or hide him, rather than leave him in this state? Loose lips sink ships and all that," she said sensibly.  

He smiled at the old phrase.  "I think he was left this way as a warning.”  

"For the rest of the missing people?" Scully said, raising an eyebrow.  

"The agent gets a gold star," he said, which earned him a frown.  "Leaving a dead body is one thing, but if you can do that to a person," he motioned to the prone form behind all the equipment, "that could really strike fear into your heart.”  

"If it was still beating," Scully deadpanned.  

TTTT 

Still early a.m.  
The Andrews' home.  

Nicole dreams....  

Nicole found herself running through a windy, dusty little camp holding her brothers' hands, the older being fifteen years old and the younger only five.  Wait, her conscious mind protested, I'm an only child.  But they kept on running, and considering how cold it was, despite the layers of clothing they all wore, she didn't mind.  They all had to go to the bathroom, which was located two barracks down, and, as if by habit, their eyes kept flickering to the two searchlights sweeping their side of the camp.  They slowed down when two military police passed by, who nodded briefly at the children.  

They're only a few feet away from the bathroom when they see a light illuminating the sky, almost like a falling star.  Then they feel, rather than hear, it land just outside camp grounds.  There's no smoke or fire they can see, but know it's only a matter of time.  "Jeepers, what was that?" she asks her older brother.  

"I dunno," he answers, "but I'm gonna find out.  You take Tommy to the bathroom, Aya, I'll be back.”  

"Tatsuya, be careful," she hisses, "remember they arrested us for sledding?" 

"You worry too much," he grins, "don't blow a gasket.”  And he ran off into a suddenly uncertain night.  

"I've got a bad feeling about this," she says, her eyes unable to make out his form from the swirling night dust.  

Meanwhile, Tommy's practically hopping up and down from the cold and full bladder.  Feeling the tugs, she looks down at the little boy who's biting his lip.  "Gotta go," he whines.  

"Sorry," she says, then opens the ladies' bathroom door for him, shooing him to a stall.  "Wonder if it's those flyboys again," then shook her head.  

"Aya," Tommy says, "I'm done.”  

"Okay," she replies, hauling a bucket and washing the mess down the toilet hole.  She hears a voice calling her, "Ayako," and thinks it's Tommy.  "Waitamin, I gotta use the john, too," she hollers back.  

"What?" Tommy asks, nearer than the voice she heard.  

She frowns, but says only, "Turn around, I need some privacy.”  

Once their business is done, they shut the door, then wait for their older brother.  "Is he gonna get arrested?" Tommy asks.  

Aya shrugs.  "Hope not.  Dad and Artie are already locked up in Tule Lake, I think they have a limit per family," she says wryly, but crosses her fingers anyway.  

They wait for a good half hour, turning up the collars of their macks, pulling their shirts over their noses to block out the dust, and are busy stomping their feet for warmth when Tatsuya reaches them.  His eyes are shining, but makes them wait outside while he goes to the bathroom.  

"There's MP's swarming all over the joint," he says, on their way back to their crowded home, "like it's a Zero or something.  They've arrested a couple of guys unlucky enough to be hanging around, but holy cow, it's like Hitler or Hirohito crashlanded!" 

The only other repercussions of the mysterious night light is the brief detention of a handful of men along with their English teacher, none of which are troublemakers and are silent about the whole affair.  And with the protests and arrests of the draft resisters following less than a few weeks later, nobody really remembers or cares.  

Except for Ayako, who feels the presence behind the voice came with the lights, and has never left her.  "Nicole," it whispers now.  

Then Nicole woke up, her dark eyes wide and unseeing for a brief moment as she sat up.  "Waug," she groaned, "what was that.”  She stares into the night, wishing Kengyu were there to explain the strange dream, as he's explained so many unexplained things.  

When no mysterious samurai materializes, she sighs wistfully and draws her knees to her chest.  Her body is crying for rest, so she reluctantly lies back down, pulling the covers to her neck.  And try as she might, it takes a while to want to go back to sleep.  

TTTT 

I sought to seed the barren earth 
And make wild beauty take 
Firm root, but how could I have known 
The waiting long would shake 
Me inwardly, until I dared 
Not say what would be gain 
From such untimely planting, or 
What flower worth the pain? 
--Toyo Suyemoto 

*** 

9:58 a.m.  
The Pony Express Lodge.  
Powell, WY.  

He hated waking up late.  He hated waking up to bad news.  And today, on this gorgeous Wednesday morning, he did both.  "Chukusho," he sighed when he saw the digital numbers.  He should've known better than to rely on his internal clock, jet-lagged as it was.  Hoshigawa jumped out of bed, grabbed his laptop and flipped it open.  Within a minute, he read what happened to Col. Franklin and swore again.  

"Dammit, shoulda known better than to leave him unguarded.  Hang in there, Private, help is on the way.”  He'd never get used to thinking of him as a colonel, much less an old man, he thought as he showered.  Within ten minutes, he was signing out at the counter.  Now that Franklin was in the hospital, he needed more than ever to keep to the timetable.  Absentmindedly, he tapped the leaves of the chrysanthemum on the desk while she put away the room key.  

"Sure you don't want to stay awhile longer?" the clerk said ruefully.  Her auburn hair was tied up in a ponytail, which made her look younger than she wanted to.  

He smiled at her.  "News doesn't take a vacation, and I guess neither can I.”  He gave her a card.  "In case anything interesting happens, give me a call.”  

She smiled back, "Will do.”  As he left, she looked at the card.  "Gabe Hoshigawa.  Milky Way Communications, Ltd.  New York, New York.  Well," she glanced at the rental car speeding off, "nothing ever happens around here.”  

As the clerk turned around, she missed seeing a flash of light shooting upwards against the morning sun.  She did, however, see her potted flower look much healthier, and figured it was the new mulch.  

TTTT 

2:01 p.m.  
Japanese American National Museum.  
Los Angeles, CA.  

Hoshigawa leaned over the stone-filled barrel, his finger tapping the protective plexiglass case.  "Hisashiburi desu ne," he grinned, "long time no see.”  

"Have you been here before?" an elderly docent asked.  

Worse than salesclerks, Hoshigawa grinned inside.  "Nope, first time," he looked at the nametag, "Mr.  Hohri.  I noticed that not all the stones have kanji on them.”  

"Really?" Mr.  Hohri leaned over.  "Ah, soka.  Yes, another part of what makes these mysterious.  Nobody really knows what language they are.  Maybe if they were translated, they could tell us the purpose or meaning of the stones.”  Then he straightened up and smiled.  "But what would be the fun in that?" 

Hoshigawa smiled back.  "True.  Um, where's the gift shop? I kinda got lost around here.”  

"Just take a left over there, then a right, straight down to the lobby is the gift shop.”  Mr.  Hohri nodded, and Hoshigawa nodded his thanks, walking briskly down the hallway and turning left.  

As Mr.  Hohri walked off, a girl with long, dark wavy hair and mocha complexion walked through the hallway, reaching up and tapping the security camera.  Satisfied, she headed to the mystery stone display and plunged her arm straight through the plexiglass.  Her dark eyes glittered with reddish flecks as she pulled up a handful of stones with strange script.  She dropped one into a package marked "Agent Mulder," slipping the rest into her pocket.  

Casually, she tapped the security camera again as she strode down the hallway, turning left.  Continuing his walk, Hoshigawa turned right, then straight to the lobby and out the door.  

TTTT 

3:04 p.m.  
Zodiac Coffee.  
Seattle, WA.  

"Sorry I'm late," Nicole grimaced an apology.  She scooted into the seat across her friend, closing her umbrella.  "When Aunt Jane talks about family, she *talks* about family.  God, when's the rain gonna stop," she moaned, using the napkins to dry her legs.  

"Like the man said, It can't rain all the time," Tomoko quoted her hero.  "So, what exactly was the weird dream that got you digging up ancestral roots?" she asked, pushing forward her friend's drink.  She sipped her own mocha as she waited for the answer.  

"I dreamt I was in some kind of prison someplace cold, sometime in the past.  I had a feeling we were innocent, though, and my name was Aya.  My grandmother's name.”  She didn't touch her hot chocolate, which was getting colder by the minute.  

"It's not unusual," Tomoko shrugged.  "Well, if you're Japanese.”  

"I know, but I didn't think anyone in my family went to prison.  'Specially not kids," she frowned, then gulped her chocolate.  "Do you think they reheat?" 

"Sure," her friend replied, "I'm pretty sure that's what the microwave is for.”  

"Oh yeah," Nicole rolled her eyes, and nuked her drink.  She noticed some people had come into the shop just to get out of the rain, and felt kinda bad for the owners.  "So I asked Aunt Jane, who said she wasn't sure, but she heard my mom talking about her mom's family being in a relocation camp during World War II.  Their family was all split up after that, plus my grandma died young so my mom couldn't really ask her anything.”  

"Really?" Another mocha sip.  

"I guess my family has a history of mothers dying young," Nicole said, her eyes watching the passersby outside deal with the inclement weather in different ways.  "My mom's mom, Ayako Sasaki, died a couple of years after my mom was born.  Maybe from a broken heart, 'cause her husband, Danny Tendou, was reported killed in the Korean War, along with her older brother Tatsuya.”  She stared down into her large coffee mug.  "Tommy was in my dream, too, and I never heard of him before 'til my dream.  And Aunt Jane's talk.”  

"You sure?" Tomoka leaned forward.  "I mean, not even for those family tree things?" 

Nicole shrugged.  "Nope, just grandparents, not their siblings.”  She smiled.  "I think I would've liked my mom if she was still alive.  Aunt Jane said she'd get into all sorts of trouble, protesting things and burning bras and stuff.”  Then she blushed, "Well, if she kept burning bras, I'd be embarrassed.”  

They laughed, then Tomoko said in a low voice, "You think your powers are evolving? You never used to have these kinds of dreams, right?" 

"No," Nicole sighed, "it's kinda freaky.  I wonder what it means.”  

"Well, I'm pretty sure Kengyuu can explain it, and even if he does his mystic silent teacher thing, you can handle it," Tomoko said cheerfully.  

"You think?" Nicole snorted.  "I mean, I think being able to exorcise demons and expelling evil spirits with a really neat shinto stick and pretty kimono would be enough.”  She giggled, "Did that sound dorky or what?" 

"You forgot neat special effects," Tomoko replied, grinning.  

*** 

6:04 p.m.  
Counselor Karen Kosseff's office.  

"Sorry I'm late," Scully apologized, "I forgot how awful traffic could be.”  

"It's all right," Kosseff smiled, sipping from her cup of tea.  "Coffee? Tea? Water?" 

"Um, coffee, two sugars," Scully said.  She sat in silence until the other woman handed her a warm cup of coffee.  "Thanks," she said, and it was actually pretty good.  

"What exactly brings you here," she asked, sitting back down on the chair.  

"Well," Scully said hesitantly, looking more at the warmly lit office, "I don't think I've been handling things right.  My job, I mean.”  

"Could you elaborate on that?" Kosseff asked.  

Scully smiled briefly, chuckled nervously.  "Sorry.  Well, about three months ago, my sister was murdered, a case of mistaken identity.  And, I, I don't think I've been dealing with her death very well.  I don't think I've been dealing with it at all," she said quietly.  

"Three months is a long time," Kosseff noted.  

"Yes, it is," Scully said.  "I've been working.  Working hard, long hours, so I won't have to think about her.”  

"It hasn't helped, has it," the counselor said, taking another sip.  

"No, it hasn't," she agreed, her blue eyes downcast.  "I've become," her eyes clouded, "I don't like what I've become.”  

"Which is?" Kosseff prompted.  

Scully struggles to say the words.  "A shadow of myself.”  She exhales.  "A dark shadow.  Who does what I do, with rage, with pain.  And I sometimes, I don't even care she's taking over.”  She shook her head.  "I can't believe I said that.”  

"I can," Kosseff said.  When Scully's eyes lock on hers, she continues, "It's very understandable.  You know you're angry, you're hurting, and for good reason.  You strike me as being a very strong person, which can be a blessing and a curse.”  

"I've been feeling cursed for a while," Scully muttered.  

"I'm sure you have," Kosseff said, smiling a little.  "Dana, I'm sure you deal with a lot of pain in your line of work, which is a blessing.  But," she said gently, "what do you think would happen if you dealt with your sister's death head on?" 

Scully smiled, but there was no joy in it.  Had she frowned, it would have been less painful to look at.  "I'm afraid to cry.  I'm afraid if I start crying, I'd never stop.  I'm afraid if I let that door open," she looked out the window, "that means Missy is really dead, that she's never going to bug me with her New Age ideas, that she's never doing something silly to make me laugh, that she's never giving me older sister advice," tears roll down her face, but she goes on as if she hasn't noticed, "that she's never going to forgive me for dying when the bullet was meant for me.”  Then she wiped the tears away quickly, blinking away oncoming emotion.  "I'm sorry," she said brusquely, rubbing at her nose.  

Kosseff handed her a tissue, dabbing at her own eyes.  "Don't be.  Dana, strong women cry, too," she said.  

Scully laughed, wiping her face with the tissue.  "Missy would say 'It's okay, big girls cry.'" She sniffed, and aside from her pink nose quickly returning to its pale color, there was no indication she'd shed tears.  "I never believed her.”  

"I do," Kosseff said.  "I'm pretty sure your sister has forgiven you, even if you haven't quite forgiven yourself.”  

"I wish I could be sure," Scully said, the ice queen look returning to her face.  Kosseff sighed inwardly.  "Thanks for your time, Counselor.”  

"It's my job," she said, shaking her hand.  "Feel free to stop in anytime, even if it's to indulge in some crying.”  

Scully shook her head, a little skeptical smile on her face as she left.  But she felt a portion of the ice in her heart melt, a little of the vise gripping it loosen.  

TTTT 

Cover me 
When I walk alone 
Cover me 
When my stance it stumbles home 
Cover me 
We'll trip on through the sands of time 
And cover me...  
Give me shelter from the storm 
Over me 
You fade into the night 
Over me 
You melt into the light 
Over me 
--"Cover Me," Candlebox 

*** 

9:11 p.m.  
Tomomi and Mikage Matsunaga's residence.  
Chicago, IL.  

"K'so," Hoshigawa swore as he came across the seemingly lifeless bodies.  He knew the twins weren't in good health recently, but now...he choked back a sob as he dialled 911, closing Tomomi's eyes and shutting Mikage's anguished mouth.  "I'm at my grandmother's house, yeah," he didn't have to fake his concern or pain, "she looks almost dead and so is her sister.”  Quickly, he rattled off the address and after giving them a little more information, he hung up.  

Wiping his fingerprints off the phone, he sat on the bed, then closed his eyes as he held their hands.  If anyone had passed by, it would have looked like he was praying with them, his lips moving soundlessly as they lay quietly.  A soft glow surrounded the old women, who began to show some signs of life.  It was a temporary measure, this false heartbeat.  Even though he knew that life force removal wasn't exactly life-threatening, he cared about these two ladies like they were his aunts.  For a brief time in the 70's they kinda were, and he kissed each mottled hand before he left.  

Two more states to go, he thought to himself, getting into the car.  And miles to go before I sleep.  He'd underestimated Jack's determination and thoroughness, and continued to curse himself as he sped down the street.  

*** 

10:41 p.m.  
Laviefleur General Hospital.  
Poughkeepsie, NY.  

Scully inspected the patient's chest, looking for bruises or other abrasive wounds.  And like the others, came up empty.  Kanou Nozomu, aged sixty-five, was reported missing by his daughter-in-law the other night, and was now hooked up to a number of machines to give life to a body which should have been in relatively good health.  Now here he was, another victim of the strange malady that befell three other patients.  

She pursed her lips as her eyes went down the chart again.  "What on earth is going on here," she sighed.  Himeko and Daichi Kobayashi were also reported missing, after a concerned neighbor who delivered their groceries found their dog knocking over antiques.  They lay in the beds next to Nozomu's, all having been found inside a condemned building only desperately homeless and the crackheads used.  

When talking to the few witnesses she could gather, they all said that there was a man who resembled an old movie star, his henchmen looking scary with greenish skin.  They told her the movie star man reached in and pulled out the old people's hearts, then left.  Since only two of the five witnesses were sober and the rest not exactly forthcoming with details, she doubted the veracity of the account, but thanked them anyway.  

"Agent Scully?" a voice from behind her said, shaking her from her thoughts.  

"Yes," she said, turning around.  It was Dr. Ririka Moriya, a young Japanese American woman with streaked-blonde hair and glossy pink lipstick.  Scully had a brief double-take the first time they met in emergency, but the doctor was very professional, nonetheless.  

"Any idea what's causing this?" Dr.  Moriya glanced at the three elderly patients, then back at Scully.  "I'm about ready to hand them over to the CDC, I've never seen anything like this.”  She still couldn't believe the bizarre symptoms they were exhibiting 

Scully shook her head.  "I don't think it's an epidemic, since the diagnostics came up empty and victims in two different states appear to have been targeted.”  She put down the clipboard.  "According to the witnesses, some thugs roughed them up and their leader grabbed their chests, which was followed by the state they're in now.  From what I've seen, there are bruises consistent with being held captive, but oddly, no bruises or cuts on their on their chest.”  She narrowed her eyes.  "I'd like you to run tox screens on them, it's possible they were injected with or exposed to some sort of poison.”  

Tucking the sheet up to Nozomu's neck as if he was a small child, the doctor nodded curtly and left.  

Scully sighed, thinking of the mystery e-mail who'd practically led her to the victims' exact location before the police got there.  Then she wondered why, if he knew these people were in danger, didn't he find a better way to protect them than leaving them to their own devices.  She would *never* understand Mulder's anonymous sources and hoped he was having better luck in L.A.  

TTTT 

9:41 p.m.  
Oiwake.  
Los Angeles, CA.  

Mulder tapped the table impatiently.  He didn't mind being on a scavenger hunt, it was just that he didn't see the purpose behind this one.  At the Japanese American National Museum, he saw the mystery stones but got nothing more helpful from the docent other than what the card next to the exhibit said.  At the lobby, however, he got a note telling him to go to the Mikawaya Sweet Shop in the Japanese Village Plaza in Little Tokyo.  After enjoying some sweet coffee mochi ice cream, which went down real well for a sweltering summer evening, he was told by the smiling clerk to go to Oiwake to meet someone.  

So here he was in the restaurant, waiting for some killer yakisoba, tempura and shabu-shabu, not to mention his still-unseen source to show up.  The fried noodles and fried-batter vegetables came sooner than expected, while the chef fried the thinly-sliced beef right there at the table.  The sizzling display brought other people's attention to his table, and Mulder had the feeling that his source would pull another scavenger clue.  "Arigato," Mulder grinned at the chef, who bowed and left.  Then he dove into the meal wholeheartedly, having his first real meal of the day.  

Once he demolished the meal, he sat back, contented.  Nothing says a good day like a full stomach, he sighed inwardly.  When he went to pay the bill, the clerk told him to go to the bar side of the restaurant.  
So, surprisingly good-natured for yet another runaround, Mulder went to the karaoke bar and listened to a very inebriated frat boy slaughter a song for his giggling (and also very drunk) girlfriend.  

"You'll say the world has come between us 
But I know you just don't care.  
An' I said, What about Breakfast at Tiffany's 
She said, I think I remember the film 
And as I recall, I think, we both kinda liked it.  
And I said, Well, that's one thing we got," he wailed.  

Mulder wondered if he realized what the lyrics meant, then smiled mirthlessly.  He turned around, feeling that he must be in a subsection of hell.  The bartender asked, "What'll it be?" 

Mulder shook his head a little.  "I'm supposed to meet someone here.”  

The bartender nodded.  "When she gets here, let me know," he said, then attended to another customer before Mulder could correct him.  

Maybe it's a woman, who knows, he thought to himself, but doubted it.  He was surprised when the bartender came back a few seconds later and asked, "You Mulder?" Mulder nodded, hoping for a break.  

The bartender handed him a small note.  "Some hot lookin' chick dropped that off for you.  If I was you, I'd keep her," he winked.  

Mulder tried not to grimace and nodded back, then read the note.  It was a computer printout, which said, "See you in Seattle.  Don't keep me waiting, Sleepless.”  He snorted, then turned back to the bartender.  "Hey, gimme a kamikaze.”  

"Sure thing," the bartender grinned.  

Mulder slouched over the counter, his eyes casually taking in the other customers and wondering if his source was still here or pulled a disappearing act.  He noticed there was a new person onstage and crossed his fingers she wouldn't massacre anything.  To his relief and mild amusement, she belted out a perfect Lena Horne imitation.  

"Don't know why 
There's no sun up in the sky 
Stormy weather 
Since my guy and I ain't together 
Keeps raining all the time...”  
Got that right, he sighed as he gulped down the strong drink.  If he ever saw Mr. Hide and Seek, he'd cripple him.  He stayed to hear the end of the song and was rather disappointed when she relinquished the mic to an Alanis Morrisette wannabe.  

Half an hour later, he was greeted by the motel clerk.  "Agent Mulder, something here for you," she said, handing him a small package with "Agent Mulder" written in block print.  

"Who gave it to you," he asked, not really expecting a name.  

She shrugged.  "Some guy in a business suit," she replied, "aren't you gonna open it?" 

"Oh yeah," he said casually, "thanks," then walked quickly to his room.  
Inside, he tore open the package to find a small stone.  It looked like one of the mystery rocks from the museum, with a character inscribed on the largest surface.  He had no clue what it meant, but guessed whoever was waiting in Seattle had something to do with it.  Sitting on the bed, he opened his laptop, then e-mailed the Lone Gunmen.  "Hey guys, got something for you to decipher.  Get your Japanese dictionaries out.  Mulder.”  

He leaned back against the wall, playing with the stone.  From his mildly fuzzy mind, he remembered which name surfaced in the Seattle phone trace.  Mulder pulled out his cell, and said, "Scully, it's me.  I'll meet you at--oh, okay.  See you tomorrow morning.”  

"Sure does get around, doesn't he," Mulder murmured to the rock before dialing for travel arrangements.  "Thank God, a final destination," he said dryly.  
_________________________________________________________________ 

Okay, credits: 
"Breakfast at Tiffany's" by Deep Blue Something 
"Stormy Weather" by Ted Koehler & Harold Arlen 
And yes, all of the above are real locations, if you're in L.A., check 'em out;) <sighs deeply, just thinking of the mochi ice cream> 

TTTT

12:25 a.m.  
Thursday, July 13, 1995.  
Laviefleur General Hospital.  
Poughkeepsie, NY.  

Scully took off her glasses and closed her eyes briefly, inhaling deeply.  Letting her breath out in a whoosh of air, she blinked a couple of times before putting her glasses back on, then looked at the tox screen results again.  No poisons or drugs of any kind were found in the patients' bloodstream or vitals.  While that would ordinarily have brought relief, it was becoming a big headache for her.  She was sure Mulder would have some off-the-wall theory, since she'd exhausted all of hers, but doubted even he would have anything to run with.  

And Kanou Nozomu's family coming in and out, alternately praying and crying over him, was another part of her headache.  Guilt and determination to catch whoever did this to him was compounded by watching his children and grandchildren suffer even as he was beyond pain, or so it seemed.  Some of them also visited with the Kobayashis out of sympathy, having been stricken with the same mysterious malady as their patriarch.  She'd asked them if they knew of Nozomu's connection with the Kobayashis, and none of them knew.  One of them speculated it might have been during World War, and didn't have the heart to tell them she knew that already.  With some reluctance, she had shooed them out, telling them they could visit during regular hours.  

"Still here?" Dr.  Moriya popped her head in the doorway.  She noticed the agent's defeated slump in the chair and strolled over.  "Hey, good news is they're still alive, their vitals are good and so far, no change for the worse," she nodded at the three sleeping patients.  

"Right," Scully nodded, her even voice and placid features concealing her frustration and deep-seated desire to not only hunt down and catch the culprits, but make them suffer greatly.  Great way to deal, Dana, she thought to herself.  "It's possible the symptoms were caused by a new chemical muscle relaxant or c0cktail.  It's too early to rule out any causes.”  

The doctor was checking Himeko Kobayashi's readings.  "Guess it won't hurt to triple-check their bloodwork, then.”  She brushed back her streaked blonde hair, then leaned over the old woman, clasping a gnarled hand in hers.  "Obaasan, daijoubu, ne? Ogenki ni natte, onegai.  Kaetekure.”  At Scully's questioning look, she smiled briefly, "It won't hurt to reassure them, either.”  

Scully's cell rang, and she nodded at the doctor's bedside manner.  "Scully," she answered, walking out the door.  

"You should check your e-mail more often," an unfamiliar voice said, then hung up.  

"Who," she said futilely, then hung up also.  She stepped back in the room.  "Dr.  Moriya, could you let me know if there's any improvement or change in test results.”  

"Will do," Dr.  Moriya said, holding Mr.  Kobayashi's hand this time.  Then she bent over and murmured encouraging words to him as well.  

Five minutes later, Scully was sitting in the rented Honda, laptop literally on her lap.  Deleting spam, she came across a message by Magpie Bridges titled, "Unbreak My Heart.”  Who, she wondered as she opened the e-mail.  

"Mystery Heart Disease Strikes Heart Mountain Internees.  
Chicago, IL.  Reuters, AP.  

Two more cases of the unconfirmed mystery disease struck twins Tomomi and Mikage Matsunaga, eighty-three years old.  Three cases were reported in Poughkeepsie, New York, and one in Washington, D.C.  Currently, the only common thread between these people is their previous residence in the Heart Mountain relocation camp fifty years ago.  A few other former camp internees are reported missing, but so far, none of the others have exhibited the strange heart-stopping symptoms.  The cause of the disease has not yet been determined.”  

"Shit," Scully murmured to herself.  She saw it was a forward, then backtraced it to find it was a small story buried in a local Chicago paper.  Still, it meant somebody else made the connections and now there were two new cases.  "God, I hope they're the last ones we discover, and that we catch those SOBs soon," she sighed, then realized it was a heartfelt prayer.  Her cell rang, startling her a little, and she answered, "Scully," wondering if it was the same mystery caller.  

"We just ran across this article in a Chicago paper," one of the gunmen started.  

"Yeah, I know," she interrupted, "tell me something I don't know.”  

"There's somebody in Seattle who didn't run out yet," another, she guessed Langly, said.  She hated that voice distorter.  "Our bet's with her.”  

"Her?" she repeated.  "Who is she?" 

After they rattled out a name and address, she thanked them and hung up.  Scully leaned back, and her cell rang again.  

"Scully," she said as a formality.  Rather flippantly, she wondered if it was the president.  Or Ed McMahon.  With her luck, it was probably Mulder.  

"Scully, it's me," a familiar monotone said.  I'll meet you at--" 

"Yeah, I know.  Seattle," she broke in.  Of course it would be Mulder, she sighed inwardly.  

"Oh, okay," he said, sounding a little rattled.  Good, she thought, he's not the only one who's on top of things.  Somewhat.  "See you tomorrow morning," he added, then hung up.  

Scully closed her eyes.  All this jetlag was going to make her bitchy, she sighed, then grinned.  Not like she wasn't already.  She took another deep breath, then dialed for yet another plane ticket.  A memory struck her while she was put on hold.  I swore I'd never do constant traveling, remembering it was Melissa she'd told that to.  Well, Missy, you were right.  Things don't always turn out the way we expect, but the people we meet along the way do make a difference, she sighed, thinking of her medical instructor, her FBI instructor, and now her partner.  

TTTT 

The road that runs in the city looks like a river of light 
The ground which separates us is just like the Milky Way 
It's strange.  My heart is swaying gently 
I want to accept everything with you like the sea does 
Destiny, why do people fall in? 
Once I ask about love I encounter it myself 
Destiny, stars would lead me if it's my inevitability 
No matter what happens, I'm all right.  You're always in my universe.  
--"Destiny," Aoki Kumiko, Abe Makoto, Yanno Tatsumi, transl.  by Yui-chan & Tasuki no Miko 

*** 

12:25 p.m.  
The Andrews' home.  

Nicole stretched and yawned.  She was finally finished with the three new paper lanterns, in addition to the two she'd made a week ago.  Each bore the name of a loved one: Wallace Endo, her father.  Aileen Endo, her mother.  Ayako Sasaki Tendou, her grandmother.  Danny Tendou, her grandfather.  And Tatsuya Sasaki, her great-uncle.  

"You know a lot of dead people, don't you," Chris had remarked earlier, touching a thin rice paper panel.  She had just started on her second lantern.  

"You might be next if you don't be careful," she'd warned.  

"Ooooh, shpoookyyyy," he sing-songed, but stepped away.  "How come you don't help me with my lanterns," he whined.  

"'Cause you're too impatient and grab everything away from me," she retorted, then softened when she saw the hurt look on her little cousin's face.  "Besides, you're already done, and yours looks more colorful than mine.”  

"Yeah," he brightened up, "wanna watch videos?" 

"Sorry," she shook her head, "gotta finish this one and make one more.”  Already, the glue was drying on the chopstick and she dunked the tip into the jar.  

"Bummer," he'd shrugged and ran downstairs, leaving her to carefully glue the rice paper to the lantern frame.  

I *do* know a lot of dead people, she sighed, staring at the lanterns.  These don't even cover the ones I exorcized over the last nine months.  Nicole frowned, then on an impulse, cut through another sheet of rice paper.  It was past midnight already, but she had the feeling she'd need another lantern, then shuddered.  She hoped it wasn't for anyone she knew.  

And, as if she were watching a movie, she saw a woman with dark red hair and a long dress step into a dark apartment.  She could see, even though the woman couldn't, that there were two men waiting with guns.  She opened her mouth in a wordless scream as the shorter man shot the woman, her arms reaching out reflexively.  As the two men stood over her, one of them said, "It's the wrong one, let's get out of here.”  The woman's unseeing green eyes stared upwards, and Nicole had the unsettling feeling that the dead woman was looking at her.  

She blinked, and the morbid scene was gone.  To her surprise, she was sitting in her bedroom surrounded by lanterns, holding a pair of scissors in one hand and rice paper in the other.  I must be getting tired, she reasoned to herself, but the lingering horror told her otherwise.  Her hands started to shake, and her eyes welled up.  "What's happening to me," she whispered, dropping the paper and scissors, hugging herself.  She wanted to run downstairs and sob into her aunt's arms, but she was sleeping.  Her uncle, very huggable also, was working the graveyard shift so that ruled him out.  She didn't want to bawl at Chris, that's for sure, and it was too late to call Tomoko.  

So she sat on the floor, hugging herself and rocking slowly, letting the tears fall as she shook with sobs.  "What's wrong with me, what's wrong with me," she repeated over and over, like a hopeless mantra.  

"I'm sorry," a voice said softly, startling her.  She turned around, and Kengyu was sitting in the window, the light breeze blowing his long red hair back.  She could never get over the gray and black bushido outfit, as if he stepped out from some chambara TV show.  

"What," she sputtered indignantly, "you *knew* this was going to happen? The dreams?" 

"Your friend is right, your powers are evolving," he said, his dark eyes both sad and strong.  

It didn't make her feel any better, but she wiped her tears, sniffling.  She didn't want to appear a complete wuss in front of this intergalactic samurai.  "Why? I thought," she frowned, "I thought the transforming and ghostbusting was enough.”  

"It's your destiny," he replied, and she bit back a groan.  "Stronger enemies are coming, and you must be prepared.”  

"What???" she yelled, forgetting what time it was and that nobody was supposed to know some strange guy was in her room.  Nobody woke up, thankfully.  "Thanks a lot! What's next, I turn into a psychic friend or something?" 

He didn't blink at her outburst, and she felt more immature than if he'd said anything.  His eyes took in the lanterns, and the names.  "Danny Tendou, I've heard his name before," he said, lips pursed in thought.  

"He was my grandfather," Nicole said, "he was declared dead in the Korean War.”  

He still looked pensive, then abruptly grinned.  Nicole thought he looked like Kevin at that moment, though she didn't dare say so.  "There are many things I have forgotten, what I know now would take a lifetime to learn, and the things I have yet to learn," he waved his hands, "are wonderful surprises.”  

She sniffled again, then grinned a little in return.  "You know, you should smile more often," she said, echoing an earlier sentiment.  Not that he didn't already look human, he just looked more approachable.  

The rare smile lingered, then disappeared when his eyes lowered.  "And would you heed my advice any more than usual?" he said, completely expressionless.  

She stifled the urge to stick her tongue out at him, simply sighing heavily.  "I *do* listen, I just can't help being a klutz.  But you, you've got a really, really sharp sword and know how to use it, you're sneakier than a cat, you help me with this," now she waved her hands, "magical destiny thing, and you're from outer space.  You're kinda scary already.  It's nice to know you can actually smile without breaking your face," she blurted out, then blushed.  

Kengyu shook his head.  "Smiles can't be trusted.  And sorrow is truer than happiness," and jumped from the window.  

She rushed over to the window and leaned out.  "Hate when he does that," she said sullenly, "one of these days he should learn how to finish a conversation decently.”  She squinted as his form disappeared quickly into the night, then sat heavily on her bed.  "I should get healthier crushes, like that Ito guy from Smashing Pumpkins," she sighed.  

TTTT 

6:25 a.m.  
The Andrews' home.  

Despite the strange events of last night, Nicole is surprisingly cheerful as she stumbles downstairs.  Wearing a white knit top and sky blue capri pants, her thick green sneakers clonking on the floor, she's dressed more like her mood than her state of awakeness.  It's her last day of working on the matsuri coat, the weekend's getting close, and, well, she's still kind of giddy from Kengyu's recent visit.  Mechanically, she wolfs down the plateful of waffles and swallows the glass of milk.  

"Nicole, got your sewing things?" Aunt Jane prods her, seeing the familiar spacy and gooshy look on her niece's face.  

"Huh," she says, then looks in her backpack.  "Oh no," she moans, then runs upstairs, tripping over the lanterns in her rush.  Impatiently, she grabs her sewing bag, then runs downstairs, throws it in her backpack, and is about to run out the door when she hears her aunt.  
"You're taking Chris with you, remember?" the amused voice at her back hollers.  

"Oh, oh yeah," Nicole sighs, then turns around to find her cousin with a way-too-innocent look on his face.  Great.  Her mood begins to take a dive as she escorts her cartoon-covered cousin to the bus stop.  

*** 

Same time.  
The Herdsmans' home.  

Having slept in his jeans, Kevin pulls on a black t-shirt and shoes and voila, he's dressed.  Stumbling into the kitchen, his dark eyes barely open, he notices there are no breakfast smells.  Obvious reason: probably because there's no grandparents making breakfast.  He shrugs, knowing they're probably doing their morning jog thing, and digs through the fridge.  He grabs a pitcher of milk and chugs it, since there's no Granma Margie to yell at him, then wolfs down leftover pizza.  Breakfast of champions, he grins to himself, then heads outside to wait for the bus.  

He doesn't notice a rented brown car parked across the street, nor that its driver resembles a young Cary Grant, not like he'd know who Cary Grant was.  Nor does he notice the car follow the bus to his summer school.  

TTTT 

11:21 a.m.  
SEA-TAC Airport.  

Mulder felt, rather than heard or saw, his partner first.  He enjoyed people-watching, and was gazing at a young couple passionately making out, oblivious to their surroundings or any audience.  Then, he would swear on a bible, he felt waves of frustration, impatience, sleeplessness, and irritation.  And that was before he turned around to see Scully simmering in a well-traveled trenchcoat and more bags under her eyes than in her hands.  

"Goo-oood morning, Scully," he said cheerfully, "I rented us a couple of rooms on Broadway.  I think you'll like it.”  He held out a hand for her luggage.  

She had a look on her face that said clearly, Oh God, not another seedy motel, giving him her lone suitcase.  She followed him to the taxi, where they sat in somewhat strained silence.  She was afraid if she opened her mouth, she'd talk nonstop about things she'd regret later, like why the hell was he watching a couple making out than for her, or where the hell was the damn alien and/or its ship they were supposed to be uncovering, or when will he ever end a conversation normally like most people, or...she sighed, her bleary blue eyes not really taking in the scenery as she stared out the window.  

After slowing down and making a few turns in a semi-residential, semi-strip mall area, they stopped in front of a quaint house in the Pacific Northwest style, the stained glass windows reminding her of a funeral parlor she'd been in once.  Wordlessly, Mulder grabbed her suitcase and ushered her inside, where she saw a parlor filled with antiques, a grand piano, a fireplace and Oriental rugs.  

Scully stared at her partner.  Was this for real? 

He grinned quickly.  "Welcome to the Bed and Breakfast on Broadway.  So, do you like it?" He wasn't disappointed when she simply nodded, turning around slowly to appreciate the parlor.  

A bustling proprietor (and when are they not?) shook their hands, then smiled sympathetically at the jet-lagged agent.  "Miss Scully, your room is down the hall, last door on the right," he motioned, then handed her a key.  

She finally spoke up.  "Thank you," she said a little hoarsely, then watched him bustle upstairs.  Ordinarily, she would have taken offense at his tone and look, but she was too bushed to give a crap, really.  
She turned to her partner, and he followed her down the hallway.  She opened the door slowly, not because she was afraid, but because she was so tired.  The bedroom was even more cozy and comforting than anything she'd hoped for, and she could feel tears catching in her throat, even as she was cursing herself for her weakness.  When her tired eyes fell upon the bed, her body followed soon after, stopping long enough to take off her shoes before she collapsed on the soft mattress.  

"I was thinking we should check out that address the Gunmen gave you," Mulder started, and a small wad of paper hit him.  He opened it, then looked at his partner with an unreadable expression.  "Or I could check this out by myself while you rest up," locking the door behind him as he left.  

*** 

12:32 p.m.  
The Herdsmans' home.  

Mulder knocked at the door.  Loudly.  Several times.  Sometimes calling loudly, "Hello?" Then walked around the house to find no car, no noise coming from inside, and yeah, nobody home.  Like that ever stopped him.  He pulled out a couple of straight wires and picked the back door's lock, letting himself in after nodding at a neighbor and showing his badge.  

Nosy people, he thought to himself as he wandered through the little house, kitchen first.  Nothing interesting there, except they'd been there for breakfast at least.  Then he walked into the living room, noticing a teenage boy in the most recent pictures.  Anthony and Margaret Herdsman have a grandson, okay.  He smirked at the dusty baby grand sitting in the corner, glanced at the large screen TV, shook his head at their excess of LPs in the cabinet spaces under a record player, then strolled over to the bedrooms.  

The first one he hit was the boy's.  Kevin Herdsman, who, apparently, was going to be in high school soon, from the new school supplies and folder sitting patiently on the desk.  The rest of the room, unwashed clothes on the floor and bed, posters on the wall, more media entertainment than his grandparents and, checking under the bed, the usual suspects, showed he was a pretty average kid.  Nothing special.  

In the grandparents' bedroom, Mulder was hit with the unmistakable smell of old people.  His partner would scoff and tell him exactly what chemicals and materials gave off that smell, which he also knew, but simply categorized it as "old people smell.”  His hazel eyes raked the room, then his hands raked through their possessions, starting with the drawers.  

And found more baggy underwear than he ever wanted to see in his lifetime.  "Lord, take me now," he murmured as he finished rummaging through the dresser drawers and went on to the closet.  Nothing except a lot of clothes, shoes and mothballs, he noted, sneezing to get the smell out of his nose.  

Then he went to the writing desk, praying to find something useful.  And that they wouldn't catch him going through their things.  "Scully, why'd you have to go to sleep first," he whined, opening the main desk drawer.  

TTTT 

She's got diamonds on her fingers 
And she smells like fine perfume 
Everyone drops what they're doin' 
When Lady Luck walks into the room 
Bartender pour me a double 
The band just played her favorite tune 
And the party's just a'giving 
When Lady Luck walks into the room 
--"Lady Luck," Brian Setzer 

*** 

Finding nothing in the writing desk, on a whim, Mulder decides to check the last number called.  Star 69 doesn't work, so he dials out.  "Hi, operator, could you give me the numbers made to and on this line over the last couple of days? Thanks," he says before hanging up.  
He sits down at the desk, then looks around the room again.  He's gonna have to tidy up, it looks like the place has been burglarized.  Reluctantly, he straightens out the dresser drawers, wondering if his will look like this when he turns into an old man.  Then he grins, thinking of the small miracle every morning that he manages to get his clothes from behind all those boxes of porn mags.  

The phone rings, interrupting his thoughts running into the gutter.  "Hello," he replies.  

"You've received a call from California, as well as several local calls, calling local numbers only.  Would you like me to read them out?" 

"Sure," Mulder says, writing them all down.  Then he tidied up the rest of the room, thinking Scully would have a heart attack if she saw what he was doing.  He checked his watch and saw more than forty minutes had passed, then locked the door behind him.  

Outside, he pulls out his cell and dials the California number.  "Mikawaya Sweet Shop," a friendly voice answered.  

"Hi, my name's Mulder," he said, "I'm trying to locate a friend of mine, I think he used your phone.”  

"Um, we don't let people use the office phone," the voice said, somewhat disapprovingly.  

"Oh, this is the office phone? Sorry about that," he apologized, "so no customers could've dialed out.”  

"Nope," she said, then shifting gears, added, "would you like to order take-out? We do deliveries, even with our mochi ice cream.”  

"No thanks," he smiled, "I don't think you deliver to Seattle.”  

"Noooo," she agreed, "bye.”  

He frowned after clicking it off.  "A shapeshifter? Great, that means my source could look like anyone, *be* anyone.”  He turned back to the house, thinking of the people who lived there.  What the hell was the link between a couple of octagenarians and their grandson, and an alien landing coverup, details of which he had yet to find? 

Mulder squinted up at the blue summer sky.  What the hell was he doing in Seattle? 

*** 

2:06 p.m.  
Bed and Breakfast on Broadway.  

Yawning and stretching, Scully woke up from her brief, yet refreshing, nap.  She felt guilty for not going with Mulder, but at the same time, realized she would've been a zombie, or worse, a bitch, had she gone along.  She shrugged out of her trenchcoat, took off her blazer and continued shedding clothes 'til she was done, then trudged to the bathroom with soap, shampoo and towel.  

Inside was a bathtub, and after running the taps, found both hot and cold to be working quite well.  A towel set was folded on the closed toilet seat, and she draped her own towel over them after adding some scented bath oil in the tub.  Stepping into the tub, she sighed contentedly.  She knew she should be showering and hitting the road soon, but right now, she left Mulder in charge of alien- and clue-chasing.  

Down the hall, someone was playing Mahler's "Music of the Spheres" on the grand piano, singing wordlessly which seemed to suit the piece, even though it was written for a full orchestra, organ, mixed choir, children's choir, soloists, and mandolin.  Scully closed her eyes, letting the music wash through her, even as the melody floated through the water.  Part of her wanted to grab a bathrobe and see who the mystery performer was, but the rest of her kept her in the tub, enjoying the free performance and the relaxing bath.  

Then she remembered Melissa expounding on some theory dealing with the idea that everything has some kind of musical resonance.  She had just declared her physics major, and felt the Christmas break would be better spent showing off her newfound knowledge than listening to another of Missy's crazy ideas.  She leaned back, thinking the many times she's heard Mulder's crazy ideas and admitted to herself that she could have been more understanding with her sister.  Instead, she and Missy were practically at each other's throats with New Age thoughts and scientific facts.  Melissa had even invoked the sacred name of Pythagoras in her quest to enlighten her stubborn younger sister, to which Scully had taken quick offense.  

"Dana," Melissa said, almost as condescendingly as Scully had sounded earlier, "who's to say that planets can't have their own songs? Or stars? Or entire galaxies? Things that move make sound, right? If light moves, it must make some kind of music, a kind of harmony with our eyes that we have yet to understand.  If we could tap into that hidden music, imagine how much faster our communication to other species on this earth, as well as outer space, would go.”  Her green eyes had sparkled with the possibilities.  

"Missy, you're right, it's only imagination.  Really, you should've paid more attention in science class," Scully had sighed heavily.  "Even a seventh grader could shoot holes in that.”  

Missy smiled her zen smile, which Scully hated.  "Just because it sounds far-fetched, doesn't mean it's not possible.  Otherwise, Einstein would've been stuck doing postal work, Edison would've ended up a half-deaf train conductor, and Marie Curie would've stayed the ignorant little wife she should have been.”  

And in a strange stroke of coincidence, the music the NPR played next was "Music of the Spheres," which Scully knew but didn't want to share with her sister.  It was just too much of a pain, and she'd stalked out of the bedroom, leaving Melissa to enjoy the music without understanding.  

Or maybe she had more understanding than her younger sister cared to admit at the time, Scully sighed.  "I'm sorry, Missy," she said, looking upwards, "I didn't believe you most of the time, but I should have at least listened with an open heart, if not an open mind.”  Then she closed her eyes, splashing water on her face to disguise the tears that were falling, even though no one was watching.  

TTTT 

When I hear that Serenade in blue 
I'm somewhere in another world, alone with you 
Sharing all the joys we used to know 
Many moons ago 
Once again your face comes back to me 
Just like the theme of some forgotten melody 
In the album of my memory 
Serenade in blue 
It seems like only yesterday 
The small cafe, a crowded floor 
And as we danced the night away 
I hear you say forever more 
And then the song became a sigh 
Forever more became goodbye 
Cause you remianed in my heart, but 
Tell me darling in there still a spark? 
Or only lonely ashes of the flame we knew 
Should I go on whistling in the dark, 
Serenade in blue 
--"Serenade In Blue," Glenn Miller 

*** 

At an undisclosed location.  
Somewhere in Canada.  

Hoshigawa looked at the refugees sharing the makeshift hideout.  In a way, it was worse than the first time some of these people had been evacuated, since at least they were largely ignorant of what awaited them.  Now they were in hiding from an intergalactic psycho who resembled Cary Grant and, if his plan didn't work, would soon catch up to them.  

God, he hated Jack.  Jack made living on the home planet hell, and ever since he'd chased him down to this one in 1943, life hadn't been much better.  He amended himself mentally, seeing the Herdsmans and other couples.  He fell in love with and married Ayako, who made this life so much more bearable.  He smiled at the elderly folk dancing to a Glenn Miller tune, missing the vivacious woman he'd hoped to grow old with, or at least a close approximation of it.  

Then his thoughts turned dark.  He'd sworn to Tatsuya that he'd protect his family, and so far, wasn't doing a very good job of it.  But Nicole had his blood, as well as the blood of the Sasakis, and that should put her in better-than-average odds, he felt, even as he checked up on her vicariously via his laptop.  

So far, so good, he thought.  None of the so-called Syndicate were aware of their presence, nor their enemies, and he intended to keep it that way.  Life was complicated enough, he grinned, then worked on erasing his calls from the phones he'd used.  And kept grinning.  "Damn, I was afraid I'd have to wave a flag in front of Mulder's face," he muttered, deleting more traces.  

Shuffling next to him, Momo Esaki asked with an impish grin, "Wanna dance?" 

Hoshigawa looked up at the cute little septugenarian and smiled back.  "Lemme get rid of this, and I'll be right with you," he said, his fingers racing over the keyboard.  

"Maa, maa," she sighed, "you young people are so good with computers.”  

"I can teach you after," he nodded.  

She held out her hand, nodding back.  "After we dance.”  

TTTT 

I could not look back, you'd gone away from me 
I felt my heart aches 
I was afraid of following you 
When I had looked at the shadows on the wall 
I started running into the night to find the truth in me 
All of you in my memory 
Is still shining in my heart 
Surechigau kokoro wa 
[Now you're wearing the mysterious lights] 
Afureru namida ni nure 
[It keeps sticking into my heart] 
--"Kurenai," by Yoshiki (X the Movie), transl.  by Yutaka Sasanoi 

*** 

3:12 p.m.  
The KissaTen.  
Seattle, WA.  

Two friends were sitting comfortably behind the window painted with a large lipstick print and number ten.  The one with the cloudy blue eyes and long carrot-red hair asked, "So, how's things with the Small Chicks, Big Drums group?" 

Her friend with the long black braid and glasses made a face.  "Geez, Jen, it's called a taiko group.”  She sipped her Thai coffee to avoid saying anything regrettable.  

"I know, but you started it," Jen said unapologetically.  "It's such a fun phrase.  Besides, I'm guessing drumming's not the real reason for the glow.”  

"How," she sputtered, knowing her friend's legally blind, "never mind.  Yeah, got another letter from Thomas.”  

Jen stared hard, giving her friend the eerie feeling she knew more than most sighted people.  "Rachel, you're not going back to New York, are you?" 

"We-ell," Rachel started, then watched two girls walk into the semi-crowded cafe.  "Nice color, little sister," she nodded.  

"Thanks," Tomoko said, then stood in front of the counter.  She was dressed in her customary black, with peasant blouse, jeans, and boots.  

"Little sister?" Nicole asked, raising an eyebrow.  The girl with the glasses looked around their age, younger even, since she was shorter.  

Tomoko half-shrugged.  "Believe it or not, she goes to U-Dub.  And hey, we mixed-Japanese gotta stick together, y'know?" she grinned.  

Nicole shook her head, also grinning.  "Okay.”  

Tomoko drummed her fingers on the counter until the barista came.  "What's with the Stingathon?" she nodded her head at the radio/CD player.  "Not getting good reception for The Edge?" 

"Rainy days are good Sting days," the barista replied.  "What'll you have?" 

"Mocha grande," Tomoko said.  

"Hot cocoa," Nicole said, "with lots of those little marshmallows?" 

"Sure thing," the barista smiled, then turned around to take care of their orders.  

From the CD player, Sting sighed, 
"On and on the rain will fall 
Like tears from a star, like tears from a star 
On and on the rain will say 
How fragile we are, how fragile we are 
How fragile we are, how fragile we are" 

"God, that's depressing," Tomoko also sighed, crossing her arms and leaning on the counter.  

Her back still facing them, the barista said, "Just wait for the next song.”  

Sting went on with a somewhat more upbeat song, 
"You could say I lost my faith in science and progress 
You could say I lost my belief in the holy church 
You could say I lost my sense of direction 
You could say all of this and worse, but 
If I ever lose my faith in you 
There'd be nothing left for me to do" 

"Thanks," Tomoko grinned when the woman brought their drinks.  She handed her a twenty, got her change back, and tipped her generously.  
After they sat down, Nicole started peeling off the masking tape from her fingertips, then sipped from her cocoa.  "I love this place, she gave me *lots* of marshmallows," she grinned, wiping her wet bangs from her face.  

"I think it's funny," Tomoko remarked, "that somebody with 'Weaver Princess' as their middle name is such a clod with sewing machines.  Or anything to do with 'good housekeeping'," she said, making quotation marks with her fingers.  

"My mom musta had a sick sense of humor," Nicole said wryly, peeling the last of the masking tape off.  Her fingertips now bare, they were paler and wrinkled, and she nearly dropped the hot mug with her freshly sensitive fingertips.  "Still, I finished my happi coat," she beamed.  "Wanna see?" 

"Sure," Tomoko said, tilting her head in anticipation.  

Her friend pulled out a simple matsuri coat from her backpack, then modeled it.  A couple of nearby customers clapped at the impromptu show, and Nicole grinned and blushed.  She pulled it off quickly, since she was still a little damp from the downpour and she wanted to preserve the thing she'd slaved on for so long.  

"I could've had smaller stitches if I never broke the second machine," she sighed, handing it over to her friend for closer inspection.  

"Looks good to me," Tomoko said, "even if you did do most of this by hand.  Okay, gloved, bandaged, and thimbled hands," she said, sticking her tongue out when Nicole grabbed it back.  "See, it didn't even fall apart when you grabbed it!" 

Nicole frowned, "You're so mean," then giggled.  "Wonder if Kevin's gonna be at the bon odori this Saturday," she mused, folding the coat and putting it back in her backpack.  

"Oh God," Tomoko groaned, "not again.  See, Sting's got the right idea, 'If you love somebody, set them free'," she sang along with the song.  

"How rude," Nicole pouted.  "Can't you support me, like most friends?" 

Tomoko grinned wickedly.  "If my friend wasn't a magical princess exorcist with the ability to cause household disasters in her normal life, yeah," and ducked.  "It's more for his safety than yours," she explained, and dodged again.  

"It's not like I'd put a boyfriend in the hospital or anything," Nicole started, then wailed at her friend's debating look.  "Okay, but that was an accident! I only had a small crush on him," she sighed.  

"Imagine if you had a regular crush," Tomoko chortled, "he might be incapacitated for life.”  

Nicole wailed again, slumping to the table, covering her face with her arms.  

Tomoko rolled her eyes, then patted her friend's hand.  "Hey, I'm sure if it's meant to be, he'll be okay.  Okay? No trips to the hospital, no accidents or anything.  Maybe," she shrugged.  

"Maybe?" Nicole looked up, and Tomoko was a little surprised to see some tears in her eyes.  "I still feel guilty for sending Ully to the ER," she said softly.  

"It was an accident," Tomoko said, rubbing her arm.  "He was just unlucky to be nearby when you were chasing down that ghost.”  

"I clocked him and he went down," she cried, her head hiding behind her arms again, her shoulders shaking.  

Tomoko sighed.  It was gonna be a long afternoon, and the rain showed no signs of letting up, inside and outside.  

TTTT 

Same time.  
Sacred Hearts Academy.  

Having just finished his Kumon class, Kevin jumped out of his seat like his other classmates, ready to go home.  The instructor, Mr. Morikawa said, "Kevin, wait up.”  

Blinking, Kevin turned around.  "Yeah, what?" he asked, not rudely.  

"The monitor gave me this," he handed the boy a folded note.  His benign expression didn't change as Kevin's face wrinkled.  "What's wrong?" 

"Uh, nothing," the boy responded, as if by rote.  He stared at the note a beat longer, then ran out the door.  He tore up the note, then tossed it in the trash, his eyes casing his surroundings like in the old days.  
Mr. Morikawa shook his head.  Kevin was doing so much better now, if things were shaking up at home again, he wasn't sure how well the boy would do in high school.  He sighed, then combed his graying hair over his bald spot in an unconscious gesture.  Hopefully nothing was wrong with his grandparents, he prayed silently, then erased the blackboard.  

Outside the old concrete building, Kevin never stopped moving.  "Sorry we can't make it to the Mariners' game," the note said, "just keep moving, son.  Love, Grandpa Tony and Grandma Margie.”  

Keep moving, they said.  They'd never tell him they were in trouble, but if the social workers or anyone made trouble, keep moving was their code to stay away from the house and hide out for a bit.  Inwardly, he grinned.  How on earth a couple of missionaries ended up doing the hide-and-seek thing was beyond him, but he counted his blessings and caught a bus as it was pulling away.  

He hoped this would soon blow over, and leaned against the window.  His dark eyes caught sight of a car that seemed vaguely familiar, and he moved to another part of the bus.  If he didn't watch out, he'd wind up with missing time and in a completely foreign place, like when he was a kid.  Kevin frowned, seeing the car still follow the bus onto a bus-only lane, and felt staying on the bus would be a good plan.  

TTTT 

5:36 p.m.  
The Bed and Breakfast on Broadway.  

"Okay, thanks," Scully said, ending her cell conversation just as there was a knock on the door.  She slid off the bed, then unlocked the door, opening it slowly.  She took in her partner's drenched and disheveled appearance, letting him in without a word.  

Mulder peeled off his trenchcoat wearily, then sat on the chair.  He watched his partner go to the bathroom, grab a large towel, and drape it around his shoulders.  He smiled a little, then rubbed his hair.  

"Were you able to ID him?" Scully asked, when he removed his suit jacket.  She took both the jacket and trenchcoat and hung them in her bathroom after he shook his head.  She felt his forehead and after checking his reflexes, sat back down on the bed.  "So what exactly happened?" 

Mulder, with the towel draped around his shoulders again and his hair sticking up, looked like a rained-out kid.  "Some guy broadsided me when I had the green at the intersection.  I mean, it was bad enough the bus in front of him barely squeezed through its yellow light, but he had plenty of room to stop, it wasn't raining hard enough to mistake the traffic lights.”  He put both hands against his face, then exhaled noisily.  "Of course he didn't stop, and I didn't get a clear look at his license plate.  Brown Ford or Chevrolet, no definite make.”  Then he gave his partner an appealing look.  "Mind renting us another car?" 
Scully sighed, "Sure.  Find anything interesting at the Herdsmans'?" 

His photographic memory proved to be frighteningly handy and he shuddered.  "Nothing special, unless you like going through old people's things.  Their grandson, Kevin, should be home around now," and pulled out his cell.  After waiting through a few rings, the answering machine picked up and played its standard message.  Mulder made a face, then said, "Hi, my name's Agent Mulder, I'm looking into a case that may involve Mrs. Herdsman.  Please call me at this number," and he rattled off his cell number.  

Then he hung up and faced Scully.  "Oh yeah, they got a long distance call from California.  Funny thing was, it was an office line, and nobody at that number knew the Herdsmans.”  He paused, "So I'm guessing a shapeshifter contacted them in California, and is probably our source.”  

Now Scully frowned, then got up off the bed, peering at his face.  She lifted stray brown locks of hair from his forehead.  "I don't see any concussions," she said in a straight manner, inspecting his head as if she were seriously looking for bumps or bruises.  

"Very funny," he said, ducking away from her hand.  "No, I don't think it's our alien bounty hunter, he doesn't play games like this.  I think it's someone else, someone who may be a new player in the conspiracy.”  

"But we haven't heard from or seen Krycek, or X, or any of the usual suspects," Scully countered, "maybe he's just like the Lone Gunmen with access to a makeup and disguise kit.”  

"Maybe," Mulder shrugged verbally, which he knew would irritate her.  "Besides, have you seen any evidence of an alien coverup yet? I'm beginning to think that's just a red herring.”  

"To what purpose," Scully asked, folding her arms so she'd resist the temptation to comb out his hair.  It wasn't as if messy hair would kill him, unlike the hit-and-run driver who nearly did.  

Now he raised his hands and leaned back into the chair, his long legs sprawled out.  "Got me.  But somebody wants us here.  Anything new from the Gunmen?" 

She shook her head.  "There's no change in the patients, either, which could be good news.  The bad news is that we still haven't found the cause for the symptoms, and I don't know how long they can hold up," she said, pursing her lips.  

"It started out nice and sunny," he remarked, looking out the window at the pouring rain.  Then he looked down at the desk and grabbed the remote.  "Well, it's not like the day's been a complete waste of time," he said, clicking on the TV and changing channels until he saw the Mariners vs. the Blue Jays game.  

TTTT 

"Mulder," Scully whined, "you can watch that in your own room, you know.”  

"But I'm comfortable here," he said, trying on his most winning face.  "Besides--oh, check this out, Scully, sweet!" he cried out, as a man with a number three on his back ran the bases.  "Did you see that?" 

"I'm sure they'll show us the instant replay," was her terse reply as she grabbed her coat.  

"Look at that," Mulder pointed to the instant replay, the name "Alex Rodriguez" emblazoned on the bottom of the screen.  "Powerful swing, he hits it out, out, out, and it's a beautiful day!" he crowed, as the scene flipped back to Rodriguez' teammates slapping him on the back in front of the dugout.  

Scully shook her head, a small smile on her lips.  "He is kinda cute," she admitted.  

He looked at her, eyebrows raised.  "You should see me swingin' my ash," he said.  

"You should shower and get into some dry clothes, or you'll catch a cold," she said in her doctor voice, slinging her trenchcoat on.  

"Where are you going?" he asked, not making any moves to the shower or dry clothes.  

"To get us another car," she said, "and by the time I get back, you better be dry.”  She tilted her head at her partner, who was once again caught up in the game.  "And in your own room," she sighed, opening the door.  

"Hey, Scully," Mulder said to her back.  

"Yeah," she said, turning around.  

"Do you have normal shampoo and soap in your bathroom, or is it that girly stuff?" he asked, a grin on his face.  

Scully said nothing, instead shutting the door quietly but firmly.  

If either of them had glanced at the TV set, they would've seen a brief crowd shot with Kevin Herdsman trying to find a seat in the crowded stadium, his hands full of food and drink.  

TTTT 

An hour later, Scully came back to the sounds of Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 3 wafting from an upstairs renter, which fit her mood in a strange coincidence.  Scully thought of asking the clerk who the mystery classical music lover, then thought some things should remain mysteries.  

She strode back to her room, to find a still-damp Mulder slumped in the chair, snoring softly, the remote dropped to the floor, the TV still on.  Sighing, she picked up the remote and turned the TV off, then tilted her head at her partner speculatively.  What to do with him....  

"Mulder," she said, leaning close to him, "wake up.”  No reaction.  "Mulder," she said more insistently, "Wake.  Up," shaking a shoulder for good measure.  

A long blink followed, until both hazel eyes stayed open.  "Hm," he asked groggily.  

"Up," she said, throwing a long arm over her shoulder, "c'mon, let's get you into some dry clothes.”  She staggered under his weight as she hauled him up, then rummaged through a pants pocket for his room key.  

"If you wanted to undress me that bad," he said, more alert than he was a few seconds ago, his head still lolling close to hers.  

She sprang away from him, glaring at his lazy grin.  She pointed to the door.  "If you need help, call the desk clerk.  Better yet, I will," she said, reaching for the phone.  

He sauntered to the door.  "You're no fun," he shrugged, then closed the door quickly, since he really wasn't sure she wouldn't call the desk clerk in her mood.  

TTTT 

11:15 p.m.  
The Andrews' home.  

Nicole heard something tapping, tapping at her window in counterpoint to the soft drizzling rain, and rolled over, trying to ignore it.  The tapping grew more insistent, and she groaned, throwing off her thin blanket and rolling slowly out of bed.  She staggered over to the window, her dark eyes widening when she saw who it was, then opened it as quickly as she could.  

"Hey, I thought you could walk through walls," she said in a raspy voice, mentally thankful that she normally slept in a t-shirt and shorts.  

Kengyu shook his head.  "I'm not a ninja," he shrugged, landing lightly in her room.  "I apologize for the late hour and for your interrupted sleep, but it's not safe for me out there tonight.”  He stared out into the hazy night, and seeing nothing suspicious, shut the window, drawing the curtains closed.  

Then she frowned, her eyes narrowing sleepily.  "What makes you think here is safe?" She sat down on her bed when he pulled himself into his classic warrior/teacher stance, ready for a long lecture.  

"I don't know," he said seriously, then grinned quickly to reassure her.  She was glad she was sitting down, her knees felt very mushy all of a sudden.  "But nobody knows about you, nor of our relationship.”  

"Our relationship," she repeated, half-awake.  She ran a hand through her short hair, making it stand up even more.  

Kengyu resisted the temptation to flatten her hair, since he had the feeling she might not appreciate his effort to improve her appearance.  Girls were strange in that sense, he had learned the hard way, and kept his arms folded.  "Yes, that I am your mentor and you are the resident exorcist of this planet.”  

"Oh, yeah," she nodded sleepily, a small part of her disappointed in a way she wasn't fully awake enough to comprehend yet.  "Hey, if you wanna crash here," she started, then noticed his uncomprehending frown.  "Get some rest," she amended, seeing him nod, "I got a spare blanket and mattress.”  

"Thank you," he said simply, "I apologize again for putting you through so much trouble.”  

"S'no trouble," she mumbled, pulling out the mattress and blanket from her closet.  After arranging it on the floor, she motioned to it.  "Um, here you go," she said awkwardly.  Then she realized she was letting a boy, other than her cousin Chris, sleep in her room, and she blushed.  

Kengyu only nodded, shedding only his damp top, which left him still fully clothed, and made himself comfortable on the floor.  With his eyes closed and his long, dark red hair sprawled out, he kinda looked like a girl, or at least not as scary as he usually did, Nicole thought, stifling a giggle.  

"Good night," Nicole said, a half-smile on her lips as she snuggled in her own bed.  She pulled the covers up to her chin and rolled over, her back facing him.  She fell asleep shortly after, and Kengyu heard the full extent of her buzzsaw snores.  

"Good night," he said softly, then breathed deeply a few times before he, too, fell asleep.  

TTTT 

3:17 a.m.  
Friday, July 14, 1995.  
The Bed and Breakfast on Broadway.  

Mulder sat in his room, the only illumination provided by the desk lamp and the glow of his laptop.  After his evening shower, he tried napping, which didn't last too long.  Then he tried to get back into Scully's good graces by buying her take-out Chinese on their night-time neighborhood cruise.  Usually, the Syndicate would take the opportunity to ransack their rooms, or at least plant a few bugs, but nothing and nobody showed up.  Which meant his theory that the usual players weren't involved with this, but it also meant things would be that much more frustrating.  

And even though his jetlag wasn't as bad as Scully's, it didn't mean his insomnia was going to let up.  Once again, he grinned mirthlessly, another sleepless night.  Most of the decent channels were off the air by now, so he was bugging the Lone Gunmen in an effort to get answers out of *somebody*.  Already, there was a small pile of sunflower shells next to him, which he'd remove.  Eventually.  

Bored, he surfed the net, checking on his usual sites while the Gunmen did their thing.  So here he was, sitting in his boxers, using the blanket as a padding for the laptop, and pushing his glasses up with a pointer before getting down and dirty.  Virtually speaking, that is, he sighed as yet another silicone-enhanced creature of the night pouted at him.  

TTTT 

6:17 a.m.  

Scully was awake about three hours earlier, but when her bleary eyes saw the digital readout on the clock, she rolled over and continued to sleep.  Now the sun was making its unwelcome bright presence felt as its rays pierced the curtains and her eyelids as if both were made of glass.  She moaned, rolling over and futilely covering her eyes with a hand.  

No such luck.  Now her phone was ringing insistently, and she was tempted to slam it down as she would an alarm clock.  Instead, she used her other hand to grab it and press "talk.”  "Scully," she said in a voice that was deadpan, if not dead.  

"Agent Scully," the voice on the other end said, "thank God.  This is Dr.  Neoxphilius from Chicago," she started.  

"Yes, doctor," Scully said, sitting up in an effort to be more awake.  

"Both patients have gotten worse," she said, making no attempt to soften the blow.  "In fact, the CDC are here right now to take them to a sterile environment and hopefully give us a clue as to what exactly we're dealing with.”  

Scully's eyes widened but kept her voice even.  "Thanks for the heads up.  Have you heard anything from Poughkeepsie or D.C.?" 

"No, things have been pretty hectic around here.  I'll be checking my answering machine soon.  Have a good day," Dr.  Neoxphilius said, as if by rote.  

"You, too," Scully replied, equally distanced from her words, then hung up.  She yawned and stretched, then got out of bed and opened the curtains.  

The sight wasn't exactly one to lift her mood.  "Red sky at night, sailor's delight," she recited, "Red sky at dawn, sailor's be warned.”  Contrary to the earlier perceived bright sunny sky she'd expected, the sky was awash in a reddish-orange glow, as if the after-effects of some nuclear meltdown or smoggy surreality.  

She cracked her neck, then looked back at her cell phone lying on the bed.  Mulder was probably out jogging or doing something ungodly at this hour, like enjoying it.  Scratching her back, she shuffled to the bathroom, intent on being ready for a day that, if nautical superstitions were to be believed, would bode ill.  

Brushing her teeth, she told her mirror self she didn't believe in superstitions.  

TTTT 

I was walking along, minding my business 
When out of an orange-colored sky...  
Flash! Bam! Alakazam! 
Wonderful you came by.  
I was humming a tune, drinking in sunshine 
When out of that orange-colored view...  
Flash! Bam! Alakazam! 
I got a look at you.  
One look and I yelled "Timber!" 
Watch out for flying glass, 
'Cause the ceiling fell in and the bottom fell out 
I went into a spin and I started to shout, 
"I've been hit, this is it, this is it, I-T it!" 
I was walking along, minding my business 
When love came and hit me in the eye...  
Flash! Bam! Alakazam! 
Out of an orange-colored sky.  
One look and I yelled "Timber!" 
Watch out for flying glass, 
'Cause the ceiling fell in and the bottom fell out 
I went into a spin and I started to shout, 
"I've been hit, this is it, this is it, I-T, it!" 
I was walking along, minding my business 
When love came and hit me in the eye...  
Flash! Bam! Alakazam! 
Out of an orange-colored, purple striped, 
Pretty green polka-dot sky...  
Flash! Bam! Alakazam and goodbye! 
--"Orange Colored Sky," Milton Delugg & Willie Stein 

*** 

Same time.  
The Andrews' home.  

The first thing that went through Nicole's mind was, No, more sleep, as she hit the alarm for the third, or was it fourth, time.  The second thing that went through her head was, Omigod, how'm I gonna change clothes with Kengyu in the room? That was the thought that woke her up with a blush on the cheeks.  

She sat bolt upright, her eyes wide, and saw--nobody.  No sleeping red-haired samurai, no mattress on the floor, nothing.  As if she'd been dreaming the whole thing.  Nicole sighed, running a hand through her short black hair.  Maybe she did, she thought, as she peeked in the closet.  Yep, blanket neatly folded on top the likewise folded mattress.  Was she so desperate she'd dreamt of a strange man, or whatever, wanting to sleep in her room? 

She leaned against the chair, then her eyes fell on a note which read simply, "Thank you.”  She let out a whoosh of air, relieved she wasn't hallucinating again.  Then her dark eyes widened again--So why did Kengyu hide out in her room last night? 

That question was soon forgotten in the morning rush of trying to shoulder her cousin out of the bathroom, find clean clothes (she ended up wearing her private school uniform and skirt, bleagh), and the indignity of sharing another bus ride with her little cousin on their way to summer school.  

TTTT 

12:17 p.m.  
Nathan Hale High School.  

Nicole hated when teachers called on her in class and she was completely spaced out.  Okay, she was *always* spaced out when they called on her, and today, with her thoughts still on last night's strange visitation, was no exception.  The problem was, Mrs. Asakusa never let you off the hook once she caught you, and today's grilling was especially merciless.  She sighed, now that class was over and she was in the hallway, as she checked her notes against a classmate's to see if she'd missed anything.  

Leaning against the wall, Jay Yuen smirked as he watched the mini-trauma play out in front of him.  He saw the two girls, one in a private school uniform, the other in a tight-fitting halter top and mini-skirt, compare notes and assessments on their teacher.  He still thought that Nicole looked hot, despite her dorky outfit, although he wouldn't mind hangin' with her cute friend.  Jay decided to make his move.  

Neither of the two girls saw the wannabe ghetto boy until it was too late.  "Heyyyy, ladies," he said, wrapping an arm around each, "wassup?" 

As if planned, both ducked out of his embrace in a smooth, synchronized fashion.  "Nothing much," Maura said, making a face at the "ew" factor.  

"Um, I gotta catch a bus," Nicole said hurriedly, her face an apology to her classmate.  "Thanks, Maura.”  

"No big," she said, squirming away from Jay's attentions.  She watched Nicole race down the hallway.  Whoever that girl's new crush might be, he's too far away, Maura thought as she held a restraining arm out.  "Hey, boyfriend," she said, pointing with her other hand to someone behind Jay.  

Jay turned around, and gave a classic double-take.  A senior.  Who calmly walked in front of him and wrapped *his* arms around his girlfriend.  "Hey, my bad," he shrugged, waving off the disaster.  

The senior gave him a look.  "Yeah, it is," he said, giving him a cool stare.  

Jay's saunter was less swaggering than shaky that day.  

Meanwhile, Kevin was racing out the school himself, not wanting to stand still in any one place for too long.  This morning, he'd awoken in an oddly-empty alley with no recollection of how he'd gotten there, but feeling well rested.  He hated going back on medication, but if these blackouts kept happening, he'd have to.  His eyes roaming, he didn't notice the white Ford until he was practically in front of it.  

"Kevin," a familiar voice said, stopping him in his tracks.  

"Grampa?" he asked, unable to see much past the tinted windows or the half-inch opening one window afforded him.  "You okay?" 

"Yeah, get in," the voice said, the door swinging out.  Kevin ducked down, then when he saw no familiar faces, started to get back out.  "Get 'im," the voice growled, and hands reached out to grab him back in.  

"Help!" Kevin shouted, then despaired when he could see no helpful faces or motion before the door shut him in, powerful arms held him down, and the car sped off.  

TTTT 

Nicole watched with mouth agape as Kevin was pulled into a white car by hands that were--dare she think it?--kinda greenish.  And the weird thing was, nobody seemed to have noticed his flailing, or his cry for help, or that the car looked like a pimpmobile, as Tomoko would say.  She scanned the faces and they looked, well, normal.  

Dammit, she thought, if this is an exorcism, why isn't my amulet doing anything? She glanced down at her necklace and saw no supernatural glow, no transformation.  But the odd non-reaction of people, Kevin's obvious cries for help, and those definitely greenish hands made her think something supernatural was going on.  She tapped her amulet impatiently, but still, nothing happened.  

"If you've conked out on me, or if this is just a weird kidnapping, you better let me know," she muttered, earning a couple of stares and odd glances.  Sighing, she ran back into the school and headed for the office.  

"Ms. Paros," she gasped, "can I use the phone?" 

The secretary looked at her with an unsympathetic eye.  "There's a phone down the street at--," she started.  

"It's an *emergency*," Nicole pleaded, leaning over the counter.  

"*Everything's* an emergency with you kids," Ms.  Paros said, not budging, going back to her paperwork.  Honestly, she was still catching up from the previous school year and this ex-private school girl wasn't helping.  

"A student's been kidnapped right in front of this school, and if the police find out you've been negligent," Nicole said, "you'll get a lawsuit on top of the arrest warrant.”  She couldn't believe she just said that to an adult, much less one who held power over her school records, but she was desperate.  

The secretary looked at the girl's unwavering gaze, then sighed.  "All right," she waved at the phone.  "Just do it fast, don't want to set an example," she shrugged, walking up and heading to the office supply room.  

Nicole smiled and said, "Thank you," as she grabbed the phone, then dialed 911.  "Hi, I wanna report a kidnapping.  Kevin Herdsman was kidnapped in front of Nathan Hale High School in a white car with tinted windows.”  She paused, then answered the next question, "Um, my name's Nicole Andrews, I'm at the school right now, I just saw it happen.  No," she said, "I don't know the make or model of the car, and I don't know what the license plate was, I was too far away to see it.  Yeah, I *did* see the kidnapping, it's just harder to see a tiny license plate than a tall boy being pulled into a big white car.  I think it's American.”  She ran a hand through her hair, making it stand up in places.  "Sorry, I didn't really see who took him, all I saw was just these arms in business suit-type sleeves.”  She started to sit on the desk, then saw Ms. Paros' glare.  "Um, I don't know, maybe you should call his parents or something.  Thanks, bye.”  

"Okay?" Ms. Paros said as Nicole hung up.  The girl nodded, then slumped against the counter, her eyes wide with surprise.  "Here, sit down," she said, grabbing a wheeled chair and propping Nicole on it.  
Then she sat in her own chair.  "Kevin Herdsman, right?" she asked as the girl nodded.  "Let's see," she hummed, typing on the keyboard, then her eyes scanned down a list of addresses, some of which had phone numbers.  "I hope this is updated," she sighed, picking up the phone.  

Nicole felt as if she was sucked into a waking nightmare.  It didn't seem real until she'd actually made the call, and now her stomach was hurting with worry.  She watched Ms. Paros leave a message on his parents' answering machine, then hang up with a concerned look.  

"There's nothing more you can do here," the secretary said.  "Go home, Nicole.  Let the cops handle it, and you get some rest.”  The girl nodded robotically, then walked out the door.  Ms. Paros shook her head.  "Thank God it's Friday," she muttered cynically.  Her eyes took in the amount of foster homes the boy had been in.  "God, let them find him okay and bring him home safely," she prayed softly, then forced herself to get back to her still-unprocessed paperwork.  

TTTT 

Nicole couldn't remember getting on the bus.  She didn't remember paying the fare, and she wasn't even sure which bus this was.  She really didn't care at this point.  The fact that there was moving scenery outside the window was enough to reassure her that life was still happening, just not to her.  

"Nicole?" a worried voice asked.  Then a face filled her view, along with two blue braids.  Tomoko.  Ahh, okay.  

"Hey," Nicole said, smiling wanly.  If it was possible, it seemed she looked more pale than usual.  

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Tomoko asked, not unkindly.  There wasn't any room to sit next to her friend, so she continued to lean over, frowning at Nicole's zombie-like behavior.  

"Kevin got kidnapped after school and I was the only one who noticed," Nicole answered dully.  Then her lips curled.  "Why? It seemed like a ghostly act, 'cause nobody else noticed or was affected, but my amulet," she looked down, "didn't do anything.  I wonder if something's wrong with me.”  

"Oh crap," Tomoko sighed, then flipped a blue braid behind her.  "Look, we're near his house.  At least we can check to see if his grandparents are doing okay.”  

Now Nicole frowned.  "You've been to his house?" 

"Once," Tomoko shrugged, "after a Math Bowl meeting, my dad dropped everyone off.  So I know where most of the nerds live," she made a deprecating face, and Nicole shook her head, smiling a little.  

They got off the bus in a cute little neighborhood, and Tomoko led the way to a decent-looking house.  Tomoko tried the doorknocker, but nobody answered, and she looked at her friend.  Nicole was still looking a little out of it, and Tomoko was determined to do something for her friend, even if it was to splash water on her face.  

Then she tried the doorknob and it was unlocked.  Worried now, she held a finger to her lips, and led her friend into the house.  It was so quiet, it made both girls nervous, and they practically tiptoed inside.  

The living room was lit by the afternoon light through the gauze curtains, which would make it seem warm and comfortable, except for the fact that, well, the girls were feeling pretty damn uncomfortable.  As they neared the kitchen, Nicole gathered up what little courage she had and asked, "Mr.  Herdsma--?" Her words died on her lips.  Both girls' eyes got really big, their bodies still, and, if possible, even more scared than they were a minute ago.  

Guns were drawn point-blank at their faces, held by expressionless people.  

TTTT 

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" barked Scully, her gun unwavering.  Her face betrayed no surprise, or emotion whatsoever.  She is in classic FBI stance, her tailored black slacks and jacket contrasting sharply to her icy blue eyes and fiery red hair.  

Behind her, Mulder had already reholstered his weapon, looking apologetic for the terror on the girls' faces.  He manages to look somewhat casual in similar business attire, perhaps the effect of the horribly clashing tie he's wearing.  "I'm Agent Mulder from the FBI, this is my partner, Agent Scully.  Sorry to, um, startle you, but, who are you?" 

Nicole had to clear her throat before she trusted herself to talk.  "I'm Nicole and she's Tomoko, we're classmates of Kevin," she said with a nervous, high inflection at the end, which made it sound like a question.  "Um, we just wanted to check on his grandparents, see if they're doing okay?" The red-headed agent may be shorter than herself, but her attitude, not to mention her reluctance to lower her weapon, doesn't make her feel better.  

"Why?" Scully asked, finally lowering her gun after Mulder puts a hand on her shoulder.  She doesn't know why she's still uneasy, they're just a couple of teenagers.  Then she remembers the last time they met "just a couple of teenagers", and her memory doesn't make her feel better.  

Now Tomoko is curious.  "Because Kevin was just kidnapped after summer school.  Isn't that why you're here?" Then her light brown eyes notice no old people have shown up yet.  "Um, where is Mr. and Mrs. Herdsman, anyways?" 

"That's why we're here," Mulder said.  "I don't think they've been home since yesterday morning.”  He ushered everyone into the living room, where hopefully they could clear some things up.  

Both girls sank into the couch, while Mulder sat in the lazyboy and Scully remained standing.  "So where was Kevin Herdsman kidnapped?" Mulder asked, resting his hands on his knees.  

"Right in front of Nathan Hale High School," Nicole said softly.  She folded her hands to keep them from fidgeting.  "It was scary, 'cause it was like nobody else noticed, or maybe they thought he was joking.  But he looked scared," her voice wavered, "and it was like a movie, the white car with tinted windows and strong arms in business suit-type sleeves dragging him in.”  She looked down at her amulet, disappointment and fear welling up inside again.  "You think his kidnapping has something to do with his grandparents being gone?" 

"It's possible," Mulder said, his mind whirring with unpleasant possibilities.  "We haven't checked the answering machine yet," he nodded at the blinking black box.  He reaches over to hit the "play" button, when the phone rings, startling everyone.  He withdraws his hand, letting the machine take the call.  

TTTT 

I say my hell is the closet I'm stuck inside 
Can't see the light 
And my Heaven is a nice house in the sky 
Got central heating and I'm alright 
Yeah, yeah, yeah 
Can't see the light 
Keep it locked up inside 
Don't talk about it 
Talk about the weather 
Yeah, yeah, yeah...  
Can't see the light 
Open up my head and let me out, little baby 
'Cause here we have been standing for a long, long time 
Treading trodden trails for a long, long time 
--"So Much to Say," Dave Matthews Band 

*** 

"I'm hoping you'll be home by seven tonight," a cultured voice drawled lazily.  "You see, Kevin doesn't look too good right now--easy boys," he interrupted himself.  "Ta-ta.”  

Still driving around town, Jack tossed the cell phone to the greenish flunky in the passenger seat, who promptly crushed it and threw it out the window.  He cast a glance at the rearview mirror, where Kevin was mercifully out for the count, but still held down by three huge green-skinned henchmen.  "That was too boring," he sighed.  "I wanted to hear those old prunes plead and whine.”  A cruel smile streaked across his handsome features.  "Or choke back sobs, those are the best.”  

*** 

"Hey guys, it's me," Mulder said on his cell.  "Could you get a trace on whoever made that last call.”  His face fell.  "Somewhere in Seattle isn't helpful," he sighed, then hung up.  He made a face at his partner.  "They say whoever made the call destroyed their cell phone once they finished talking, it seemed to be a moving source.”  

"So they're still driving," Scully said, matter-of-factly.  She noticed the two girls looking at each other worried, and how the blue-haired one reached out to hug her short-haired friend.  At the same time, the short-haired girl, who had a passing resemblance to a young Audrey Hepburn, showed a steely resolve in her eyes that seemed old, familiar.  

"Apparently.  Also means the kidnappers aren't planning on seriously hurting the boy yet, since they're willing to make a deal.”  Mulder stared out the window, frustrated, his hands in his pants pockets.  "Where *are* the Herdsmans?" 

*** 

Hoshigawa closed his laptop with a sigh.  He looked at the Herdsmans, who were reassuring others in soft voices and patting backs.  He knew it would come to this, but still hated to do it.  

"Mr. and Mrs. Herdsman?" he said in a gentle voice.  They looked at him and read the look on his face.  

"What's wrong?" Margie Herdsman asked, her gut already telling her.  

"Kevin's been kidnapped.  You need to be back in your home by seven," Hoshigawa told her, even as Mr.  Herdsman was holding his wife in his arms, his own eyes filling with pain.  

"We thought he'd be safe," Margie wailed softly into her husband's chest.  Tony simply held her, patting her back, knowing nothing he'd say would make her feel better.  

"You know it's a trap," Hoshigawa said, his eyes still somber.  "They could end both your lives and Kevin's.”  

Then the old couple looked at him with resolve and a strange sort of peace in their eyes.  "We've lived good lives," Tony said, "we're not afraid to die.  If there's a chance it gets Kevin free," he said, his voice choking, and he held his wife tighter.  

"I'll get transportation," Hoshigawa nodded.  He opened his laptop, then said, "You people pray, don't you?" They nodded.  "We need a miracle, one way or another.”  

To his surprise, they laid hands on him, murmuring words of comfort, protection, and blessing.  He looked up at them, the old couple with their eyes closed, and felt something he hadn't known in a long time--like he was home.  And he knew he made the right decision placing Kevin in their hands in the first place.  Mentally, he prayed also, God, if you're there, take care of this couple as they take care of my brother.  

TTTT 

The Herdsmans' house.  

Scully couldn't answer the question, and doubted the two frightened girls could.  In fact, she frowned thoughtfully, the blue-haired girl looks kind of green...  

And Tomoko, her eyes unfocused, fulfilled a childhood wish--she fainted.  She slumped against her friend, her blue-dyed head lolling to the side.  

Nicole screamed as she held on to her friend, bringing both agents to their side.  Stammering, she gasped, "Tomoko? Tomo?" 

Scully checked the girl's pulse on her neck.  "I think today's events caught up with your friend," she reassured Nicole.  "Just give her some time to recover, and we'll take you girls home.”  

Mulder laid the unconscious girl on the couch more comfortably, grinning at her hair color and wondering why it suited her.  He brushed back a few loose strands from her head, and Nicole felt a momentary twinge of envy.  Then his cell rang, which startled everyone except Tomoko.  As he answered, he stood up and walked away from them.  
The semi-familiar voice of his source said, "Agent Mulder, please pick up Anthony and Margie Herdsman in Vancouver, B.C.  Just come by car.”  

"Where in," Mulder started, but the source interrupted, "Details later.”  

"Guess I'll be taking the car," Mulder turned to his partner when he hung up.  

Scully pursed her lips.  "Where are you going?" she asked, also standing up.  

"Hopefully, not longer than a two-, maybe three-hour drive," he shrugged, then left.  

Scully made a face, and Nicole stifled a giggle.  "I really, really hope he finds the Herdsmans," she sighed, wandering to the kitchen.  

Nicole followed after her, still feeling like a stranger in a strange house.  She watched the red-haired agent fill a glass of water, then another.  She was surprised to see one glass offered to her.  

"I don't want you fainting like your friend," Scully said with a small smile, filling another glass.  

Nicole accepted it, grinning behind the mouth of the cup.  "It's okay, she's always wanted to do that.  Faint naturally, I mean.”  

"Really?" Scully blinked.  She walked back into the living room, putting the two filled glasses on the lamp table next to the couch.  "Well, she can cross that off her list now.”  

And a few minutes later, Tomoko did just that, after taking a couple sips of water.  Then she said with a self-deprecating face, "So a tall, handsome man picks me up, lays me out, even strokes my head, and I didn't feel a thing? Damn, that sucks.”  

Nicole spit her water out, laughing, "Yeah, you woulda fainted again anyway.”  

Tomoko wiped off the spit, "Good thing we're friends, I would've been offended otherwise.”  

Scully had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.  When was the last time they ran across some normal teenaged girls, anyways? 

TTTT 

Scully pulled out her cell, hating to end the party, or at least the closest semblance of normal she'd had all week.  "What's the number of a good taxi," she asked.  

Nicole shrugged, "Yellow Cabs, I guess," and rattled off the number.  "Don't worry, we'll catch the metro," she smiled, grabbing her coat.  Tomoko threw on her overshirt, rolling up the sleeves.  

"No, it's okay, it's on Uncle Sam's tab," Scully said, frowning, even as she dialed.  

"We're okay," Tomoko smiled, shaking her head, "see, all better now.  Sorry to worry you.”  She grabbed her friend's hand and they headed out the door.  

"Hope you guys find Kevin and his grandparents," Nicole said, waving.  
And like that, they were gone.  

Scully stared thoughtfully at the closed door.  She wasn't sure if it was cultural politeness that made them leave abruptly, or something else altogether.  

Outside, the girls raced for the bus, making it by the skin of their teeth.  "Why," Tomoko gasped, "didn't you want a free ride? Without all the running?" The bus was crowded, so they stood near the back, hanging on to the dull metal bars.  

"Because," Nicole said, "I wanted to talk without getting her all suspicious.”  She briefly checked out the other passengers, and in the mix of students, Broadway-types, and Chinatown families, an Asian girl in private school clothes and a blue-haired girl in black clothes wouldn't stand out.  "I don't want to go home yet.”  

"We could go to my place," Tomoko suggested.  

Nicole smiled, which unsettled her friend.  "I don't think it's over yet.”  

"Duh," Tomoko said, trying to shake off the strange look.  "Just that the good guys in black trenchcoats will ride off and save the day this time, not you.”  

"The other night," Nicole said, ducking down to avoid showing her fear, "I had a vision of a red-haired woman getting killed.”  

Tomoko's eyes got real big real fast.  "You think it was Agent Scully?" 

"No," Nicole said, "no, but I think it was supposed to be.  I think it was her sister or something.”  

"You're serious?" Tomoko asked, then shivered when she saw her friend nod quickly.  "Isn't this when Kengyu shows up and gives us more mysterious hints before some serious spirit-stomping goes on?" 

Both girls scan the jam-packed bus, but there's no sign of a tall, red-haired samurai to be found.  "No glowing amulet, no cute and mysterious samurai," Nicole said, disappointed.  Then her crestfallen face was replaced by a serene one, much too quickly for Tomoko's comfort.  "I think we need some perspective.”  

"Ooooh-kayyyy," Tomoko said, waving a free hand in her friend's face.  No response.  "You sure you're not possessed?" 

Suddenly, Nicole grinned in her normal way.  "No.  Can we get something to eat, I'm starving," she moaned.  

Tomoko grinned back, relieved.  Something weird was happening to Nicole, she thought and rationalized, maybe it's just the stress of the recent craziness was affecting her differently.  "If it isn't boys, it's food," she sighed dramatically.  

"If it isn't food, it's boys," Nicole finished off, sticking out her tongue.  "Same difference.”  She tilted her head from side to side, trying to get a view around three people.  "Are we near Broadway yet? Dave's Drive-Inn's calling my name.”  

TTTT 

4:30 p.m.  
Uforia Restaurant and Lounge.  
Vancouver, B.C.  

Mulder walked into the warmly-lit restaurant, thinking about his source's sense of humor.   His hazel eyes scanned the area for the elderly couple, and, lo and behold, there they were, peaceably enjoying an early dinner at one of the booths.   A young man said, "Hi, welcome to Uforia.   Would you like smoking or nonsmoking?" 

He smiled briefly.   "I'm here to meet them," he said, pointing to the old couple.  

He nodded.   "All right, let me know when you're ready to order, sir," she dimpled, then turned to help a small family behind him.  

Mulder strolled over to Mr. and Mrs. Herdsman, who didn't look like they were on the run.   Or whose grandson had recently been kidnapped.   Or, he glanced speculatively at Mrs.  Herdsman as he sat down at their table, like anyone who'd witnessed an alien coverup.  

"I'm Agent Mulder," he said, opening his badge, "and I'd like to bring you back to Seattle as soon as possible.”   He noticed they made no move to quicken the pace of their dining, and sighed inwardly.  

Margie Herdsman noticed his squirming, and shook her head.   "You have a long trip ahead of you, get something to eat.”   She grabbed the arm closest to her.   "Look at you, all skin and bones," she scolded, "eat now or we'll take even longer than this.”  

Mulder shook his own head and tried to wave down a waiter.   "So what exactly did you see at Heart Mountain in 1943?" he asked.  

Tony glanced at his wife, who shared his look, then nodded.   He never took his eyes off her, squeezing her hand for reassurance as she began.  

"I was an English teacher for the makeshift high school at the internment camp," Margie said.   "I came from Cody, a town about a hundred miles away.   I was used to the Wyoming winters, but the internees, most of them from California, weren't.   I was bringing one family a bundle of coats and jackets when I saw it.”   Her eyes glazed a little in remembrance.   "It was so beautiful, a shooting star that landed right near the camp.   For a few moments, I forgot where I was, what I was doing, it was just that beautiful.   Have you ever had one of those moments, Mr. Mulder?" 

Mulder nodded, his face a witness to things people would categorically deny.   Mrs. Herdsman understood and went on.  

"It wasn't until I was practically choking on the dusty wind that I came to, so I ran to the family's barracks, wishing them the best as quick as I could, and ran back out.   It wasn't long before the MPs were swarming the area, the floodlights ordinarily used to sweeep the campgrounds instead being trained over to where I saw the star land, so I knew I wasn't the only one who saw it.  

"There was a small crowd of Japanese Americans that were being rounded up by the time I even came close to the perimeter of the area.   It was where the farmers had just planted, and I felt so bad for them.   It was horrible enough that they were forced to try to farm inhospitable land, but now the MPs and their jeeps and trucks were all over it, churning up dirt and seed without a care," she said, her voice shaking with indignation.   She broke off when she saw the waiter, who brought a glass of water and a menu, then gave Mulder a look.  

He relented.   "I'll have the breakfast special, and some coffee," he said, handing over the menu.  

"All right, any dessert?" the waiter asked.   When Mulder shook his head, the waiter handed him a packet of sunflower seeds and left.  

Mulder picked up the package.   "Did they give this to you," he asked, looking at the waiter's retreating back.  

Tony shook his head no.   "Probably 'cause we ordered dessert," he said, then chuckled, seeing Mulder's mild look of despair.   "Don't worry, I can still wolf 'em down.”  

Margie squeezed his hand, making a mock-disgusted face.   "I know I didn't marry you for your eating habits," she said, "remind me why I did.”   She smiled as Tony lifted her hand and kissed it.   Then, winking at Mulder, Tony lifted her other hand and kissed that as well, while Margie pretended to be embarrassed.  

Mulder, having seen a great many things in his lifetime, never witnessed this sort of thing in real life, and squelched down his "ew" factor.   Plus, like the little boy these two were making him feel he was, he wanted to know the rest of the story *now*.  

Margie smiled a little, having mercy on the impatient young man.   "If you think I'm going to tell you I saw a flying saucer or little green men, Mr. Mulder, you've got another think coming.   I saw nothing of the sort.   In fact, I was soon rounded up, along with the Japanese Americans, just for being *near* the 'enemy crash site'," she said, the extra quotations apparent in her tone.   "And that's how I got to meet a real, honest-to-goodness, non-4-C alien.”  

Mulder lost whatever cool he possessed.   "What?  What did it look like?" he asked eagerly, leaning forward.  

"It looked like," she paused dramatically, "like a nice young man, like you.”   She smiled at his disappointed face.   "Well, not exactly like you.   He looked like Jimmy Stewart, and had the same sweet disposition.”  

Mulder frowned.   "If he looked like Jimmy Stewart, how did you know he was an alien?" 

"Because once Private Franklin left the room, he looked exactly like the other Japanese Americans in the room," she said.   "And unless he was a really good magician, I've never seen anyone change their appearance, much less race, that quickly without smoke and mirrors.”  

I was right, Mulder thought, we *are* dealing with a shape-changer.   Something along the lines of the Alien Bounty Hunter, but with better taste in appearance.   "So he pretended he was an MP for the rest of World War II?" 

She shrugged a little, "Something like that.   After that, I never really knew where he was, since he could look like anybody and never tried looking like Jimmy Stewart again.   I told him not to, that was too conspicuous.”   She smiled, "The Good Book says we should always be hospitable to strangers, for they may be angels in disguise.   That sweet soul was both a stranger and an angel, and very handy with disguises.”   Her attention was diverted to the lounge end of the restaurant, where a band was doing their sound checks.  

A husky Filipina woman with short black hair was setting up mics, then saying, "Check, one, two, sibilance, sibilance.”   Then she laughed.   "All right, let's do a real sound check," and took a sip of water.   In a sweet, yet powerful and sultry voice, she sang out, 

"The dawn is filled with dreams, 
So many dreams.  
Which one is mine? 
One must be right for me.  
Which dream of all the dreams, 
When there's a dream for every star? 
And there are oh, so many stars! 
So many stars!" 

Mulder never noticed when his meal came, or that he hoovered it automatically while watching the woman's performance.  

"Alone the countless days, 
The endless nights 
That I have searched, 
So many eyes, so many hearts, so many smiles! 
Which one to choose? 
Which way to go? 
How can I tell? 
How will I know? 
Out of oh, so many stars, 
So many stars!" 

When she finished, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that she was tonight's performer, not just a sound technician.   She smiled at the small crowd's applause, then said, "Thank you.   Stick around, we'll be back at seven tonight.”  

Seven, Mulder thought, gotta get going.   He looked at the elderly couple who were still holding hands, waiting a beat before saying, "We'd better leave.”   They nodded, and tipped the waiter generously before they left.  
_________________________________________________________________ 

Much thanks to Sergio Mendes, Alan & Marilyn Bergman's "So Many Stars," & Filipina-Canadian Armi Grano's performance at Uforia;) 

TTTT 

What's with these homies, dissin' my girl 
Why do they gotta front 
What did we ever do to these guys 
That made them so violent 
Woo-hoo, but you know I'm yours 
Woo-hoo, and I know you're mine 
Woo-hoo, and that's for all time 
Woo-ee-oo I look just like Buddy Holly 
Oh-oh, and you're Mary Tyler Moore 
I don't care what they say about us anyway 
I don't care 'bout that 
--"Buddy Holly," Weezer 

*** 

The Seattle Space Needle.  

"When you said you wanted perspective, you weren't kidding," Tomoko said, leaning against the glass.  She ignored the glare from the tour guide leading a small group of Japanese tourists around.  "Wish you had cheaper taste, though.”  

"I haven't been here since fourth grade," Nicole said, avoiding the crush of people.  "Besides, it's not that expensive.  If we went to the comic bookstore, you'd blow a wad of cash.”  

Tomoko stuck her tongue out, and they chased each other all over the observation deck, much to the dismay of various families and tourists.  Finally, the fed-up tour guide grabbed Tomoko, then Nicole, and reamed them out.  In Japanese.  

Tomoko and Nicole looked at each other, then sighed, "Ha-iii," like good little Japanese girls, and were summarily released.  Once the tour guide's back was turned, they pulled faces at him, to the delight of the small kids who were also part of the tour.  They were relieved to see the tour group leave, but didn't notice a new group coming up as they pressed their faces against the glass.  

As they pointed and made noises at the scenery, they heard a teenage boy saying, "Awwwww, look who got left behind.  Poor little lost Japs.”  

They glanced at him out of the side of their eyes, then exchanged a look.  "Tottemo baka, ne," Tomoko remarked.  

"So, ne," Nicole replied, agreeing with her friend's assessment of the boy's complete idiocy.  "Chotto putsu-putsu, ne?" she added, pointing out his zits.  

Tomoko giggled, and so did Nicole.  "Kare wa kuso tabete, honto ni," she remarked, glad that the tour group left.  They'd waste her for saying somebody was a shit-eater, even if it was true.  

The boy, along with his friends whom he wanted to impress, weren't amused.  "God, can't you talk English," he sneered.  Then he apparently thought of something.  "Hey, we could say whatever shit we want, those bitches won't care.”  He swaggered as his friends laughed and nodded, egging him on.  

He walked over to the girls.  "Hey, cunt, wanna suck my dick," he sneered.  

Tomoko stopped herself from rolling her eyes.  "Kare ga inu wo shakuhachi sh'te," she told Nicole.  

Nicole giggled, unable to help herself.  Saying somebody blows dogs was Tomoko's favorite insult.  "Dosh'te?" she asked, even as the boy asked, "What the fuck are you saying?" 

"Chiisai chimpo," Tomoko explained, as they sauntered past the pimply boy and his small-brained friends.  As they started going down, she said, "Just so you won't be left out, I said your friend here has a small dick," she said, curling her pinkie finger.  "That goes for the rest of you, too.”  

Tomoko and Nicole laughed all the way down the needle, the looks on the boys' faces still classic.  "That was fun," Tomoko declared, "suuugoi wane!" Then she chortled loudly, infectiously.  

"You are so evil," Nicole said, trying to deny her own evilness in going along.  "I've lost all sense of perspective!" 

Tomoko snorted.  "No, you didn't.  We just proved, once again, that being Japanese American girls rock," she said.  "And when it all comes down to it, that's what counts.  Okay, and being able to kick ghostly butt," she grinned.  "Ne, Niko-niko-chan?" 

Nicole stuck her tongue out, and they swatted each other and laughed until they left the space needle.  
_________________________________________________________________ 

Lovely bit inspired by a kickass read, "Yell-Oh Girls!" edited by Vickie Nam, deals with Asian American girls from recent immigration up to fourth-generation American.  A real eye-opener, even for a 2nd/3rd generation Asian American like myself.  It's got a piece in there by one of my fave authors, Lois-Ann Yamanaka! 

And "chiisai chimpo" is one of my sister's fave insults;p 

TTTT 

6:50 p.m.  
The Herdsmans' house.  

Thoroughly bored, Scully clicked on the television set.  She'd already called the CDC's in Illinois, New York and Virginia, finished off the takeout pizza, washed the dishes, called the Gunmen, and still no sign of Mulder.  She checked to see that her cell was on, then changed channels with a deliberateness that bordered on insanity.  

Finally, unable to wait any longer, she picked up the cell phone.  Her finger about to hit the first three numbers, she heard the doorknob being picked below the noise of the TV.  And pulled out her gun, aiming it approximately center mass as the door swung open.  

Mulder called out, "Honey, I'm home!" And faced his partner aiming dead center at his chest, his silly look fading quickly.  Not again, he thought, then nodded to the people behind him.  "Agent Scully, meet Tony and Margie Herdsman.”  

Nonplussed, Scully reholstered her gun away as Mr. and Mrs. Herdsman followed Mulder, then warmly shook their hands as if she hadn't been ready to waste unwelcome intruders a few seconds earlier.  "Nice to meet you.  I was just about to call," she said, pocketing her cell.  

"You doubt my driving ability?" Mulder asked, feigning a hurt look.  

Scully bit back a sigh.  "Among other things," she said, lifting an eyebrow slightly.  "The boys have set up their tracing system so that they'd be able to get a clear signal, even if the call's just a few seconds long.”  

Mulder grinned.  "Danny would be jealous," he noted.  "Margie, why don't you tell Scully what you saw at Heart Mountain?" 

"Well," Margie started, "I'm sorry, dear, what's your first name?" 

"Dana," Scully answered.  

"Dana," Margie repeated, nodding.  "You wouldn't happen to have a sister named Melissa, now, would you?" 

Scully's eyebrows drew together as she frowned.  "Yes," she replied, wondering where this was leading.  

"I never forget a face," the old woman crowed, "see, Tony, I *told* you she looked familiar.”  She turned back to Scully.  "We were on a cross-country trip a couple of years ago, and met your sister.  A real treat, meeting such a bright young woman going through the Black Hills National Forest, not just the tourist sites, a real explorer," she nodded at her husband.  "Tell me, how is she these days?" 

Scully said in an even tone, "She was killed a few months ago.”  She ignored her partner's concerned look.  

"I'm sorry to hear that," Margie said quietly, reaching out and holding Scully's hand.  "You're blessed to have a sister like her.”  Then, seeing how uncomfortable the younger woman was, let go of her hand and leaned back.  "Well, let's see.  I was an English teacher at Heart Mountain.  I came from nearby Cody, so I was prepared for the winters, but the internees, most of them from California, weren't.  I was on my way to--" she said, when the phone rang.  Both she and her husband looked at the two agents, who nodded.  

Tony was the one to pick up the phone, since his hands weren't shaking as badly.  "Hello?" he answered.  

"I knew you'd get the message sooner or later," the smooth, well-oiled voice said.  "Now, would you like to meet me face-to-face, or meet your grandson in separate body bags around the city?" The shocked silence gave his answer.  "Good.”  

"Where--I want to talk to Kevin," Tony said, his voice faltering.  

"Ahh, yes, where did I leave that boy?" A sharp crack sounds so that even the agents can hear it, then, "Wake up, the old boy wants to know you're alive," the voice snarls.  

"Grampa," Kevin's voice says, weakly, dazed.  "Don't--" 

"Ah-ah-ah, that's it," the voice says.  Were it spoken by the original Cary Grant, it would be teasing, mock stern, but this voice is chilling in its callousness.  "Talk to you later.  Nine p.m.," it said, then hung up.  

TTTT 

Tony put the receiver down after that abrupt call, a confused look on his face.  "You might think I'm crazy," he said, "but that sounded like Cary Grant.”  

"The movie star?" Scully asked.  "He's been dead a few years, hasn't he?" 

Mulder looked at her.  "It's possible the kidnapper is using technology to mask his voice, or a very good mimic.”  

"He must be extremely talented," Tony said, "I've met him and the voice sounds exactly like he did when he was younger.”  He turned his troubled face to his wife, who held his hand and nodded.  

"Let me call my friends and see if they got a trace on that call," Mulder said, already dialing the number on his cell.  

Through a voice distorter, Langly answered, "Hello?" 

"It's me," Mulder said helpfully, "did you get a lock on that call?" 

"Yeah, roaming in the Bellevue area.  Once the call ended, the signal was destroyed," the long-haired hacker said, making an audible face.  "We even know who used to own it.”  

"Used to?" Mulder asked, raising his eyebrows.  He hoped that person wasn't missing a heart.  

"A young woman named Jennifer Lund reported her phone stolen about ten minutes ago," Byers said, equally distorted.  "She was walking down the street when someone grabbed her cell phone.  Being legally blind, she was unable to identify who took it, except that they drove away in a large white car.”  

"Great," Mulder responded.  "Hey, would it be possible to change your voice to sound like someone else's?" 

"You mean like a vocal translator for the blind?" Frohike asked.  

"Something like that," Mulder shrugged.  "With natural-sounding intonation and pauses.”  

"Huh," Frohike said, "if you work off multiple recordings, you can get some great results.  But you'd have some time-delay for the computer to process it and give a decent response.  Or somebody with really fast fingers.”  

"Can you determine from the call whether or not that last call was made by a computer or a really good mimic of Cary Grant's?" Mulder said, as Margie got up to make some tea for everyone.  

"Piece of cake," Langly boasted.  

"Anything for the lovely Agent Scully," Frohike said, then added quickly, "and you, of course," before Mulder ended the conversation.  

TTTT 

9:10 p.m.  

"He's late," Scully said, stating the obvious in an effort to avoid voicing what that might mean.  She stood up, pacing.  

"Uh huh," Mulder answered, his eyes intent on his laptop.  The conspiracy crew had ruled out a computer-generated voice, citing a mimic and were going through a list of criminal background checks to dig up those with mimicry talent.  So far, he was discouraged to find out how many people could imitate Clinton better than he could.  

The phone rang, and Tony grabbed it.  "Hello?" he said.  Mulder nodded, turning the laptop to the rest of the class so they could see as the conversation played out.  

The voice began without greetings or other preliminaries.  "Start out going West on 9th Ave. towards 1st St. by turning left.  Turn left onto 1st St.  Turn right onto 7th Ave.  Then turn left onto Market St.  Make a slight left onto Central Way.  Turn right onto Lake St.  Take the WA-520 W ramp towards Seattle.  Take the I-5 S exit on the left towards city center.  Take the exit 165A towards James St.  Stay straight to go onto 6th Ave.  Then turn left onto Yesler Way.  Make a right onto 14th Ave S.  Turn left onto S Main St.  

"Got it? It should take you half an hour, unless you count the usual Friday night traffic," the voice said pleasantly, "and please, no heroics.  Just a simple exchange and we'll call it pax," then hung up.  

"You know where to go," Mulder asked, grabbing his trenchcoat as Tony nodded.  

"And you know the plan," Margie said, squeezing her husband's hand, looking at the agents.  

Everyone each other's gaze for a beat.  Scully never ceased to be amazed by the fortitude of the old couple, or the fact that she and her partner were allowing them to risk their lives, and possibly Kevin's, on this.  

She nodded briefly, shrugging on her trenchcoat as she glanced out the window.  The sky was raining buckets as if thousands of widows were crying.  Fitting, she thought, then said, "Let's roll.”  

*** 

The Fronde residence.  

"I think I better go home," Nicole said.  They were sitting in front of the tv, watching "Akira" and inhaling large amounts of hot chocolate, ignoring the pouring rain outside.  

"Why," Tomoko asked, hitting the pause button on the VCR.  They were just getting to the good part when Tetsuo was manifesting his powers with a huge "dan, dan, dan" choral background.  

"Sorry," she grimaced in apology, "I'm not up for apocalyptic kids or government and scientific conspiracies.”  She unwrapped her arms from around her folded legs, then stretched.  "Especially when real life takes a turn for the weird.”  

"Still worried about Kevin, huh," Tomoko said, tilting her head.  

Nicole stared at the floor, then shrugged helplessly.  "I feel like I should be doing something more, even if those two FBI people are gonna take care of everything.”  

"Nicole," Tomoko started, then stopped.  "Might as well stay dry if you're gonna do something stupid," she said, handing her friend her large black umbrella and coat, "and if you don't call me back in three hours, I'm calling the cops.”  She stared at her with tears threatening to spill over.  "Gambatte, ne.”  

Nicole nodded, also sniffling.  "Ii yo," she responded, putting on a brave face.  

They hugged each other, and Nicole slipped on her shoes before heading out into the rain.  

TTTT 

Scully continued her argument with Mulder as they followed the Herdsmans' car from a safe distance, her eyes scanning for any cars following them.  So far, no visible pursuants, but that didn't mean there weren't any, especially since there were no wipers for her window.  "Mulder, I don't feel right about using them as bait," she simmered.  

Mulder's eyes were on the lumbering car making yet another turn.  "They're already in danger, they were the minute Col. Franklin seized up.  Kevin's kidnapping is just a clumsy ploy to flush them out, you know that and I know that.  Doing it this way, nobody else is getting hurt.”  

"Can you guarantee that," Scully said softly, then turned on the radio when her partner didn't answer.  The swell of the chorus against the orchestral background sounded a familiar note, even as she ignored her partner's lemon-sucking face.  "Dies Irae," she explained, as if that would help him appreciate it better.  

"No, mon, dat's classical music," Mulder responded, allowing another car to cut in front of them.  He guessed it was a California driver who didn't know how to drive in the rain, but that could just be his bias.  "It's not irie, mon.”  

"Puh-lease," Scully said, "it's from Mozart's "Requiem.”  His unfinished masterpiece?" as if that would clarify things for her partner.  

"When it rains with the classical music, you know there's gonna be trouble," Mulder quipped, then parked in a line of cars as the Herdsmans stopped in front of a brick building.  

"A church?" she queried, taking in the building structure.  

"Buddhist," Mulder pointed to the circular logo above the windows and three doors, then slouched as the Herdsmans walked inside.  Scully did likewise, hoping their rented gray Subaru Legacy would be inconspicuous against the rain and the quiet neighborhood.  

After waiting a few minutes, the two agents got out of the car, pulling their collars up to ward off the rain, Scully wishing she could bring her umbrella, Mulder hunching over as if that would make him more waterproof.  The sign above the doors read "Seattle Buddhist Church, and after seeing nobody peering through the windows, they walked around the building.  

TTTT 

Haruka na hoshizora ni yume wa mada miemasuka? 
Osanai ano hi yori azayaka desu ka? 

[Can you still see your dreams in the distant, starry sky? 
Are they more vivid than they were when you were little?] 

Tatoe tookute mo kitto tadoritsukeru tsuyoku shinjete'ta 
ano hi no watashi ga ima mo kokoro de nemutte-iru 

[I used to believe without a doubt that I could reach my dreams, no matter how far 
But that part of me from long ago now sleeps inside my heart] 
--"Scarlet," transl.  by Takayama Miyuki 

*** 

Tony and Margie Herdsman held hands as if they were small children.  Just because they'd been through a number of horrific experiences in their long lives didn't make them any less fearful now.  Their eyes struggled to pierce the darkness, their free hands feeling the walls for a light switch.  

Their feet, however, were the first to discover the body.  "Oh!" Margie exclaimed as they stopped against an obstacle.  With their hands and the dim light, they discovered it was a man's body, possibly a priest by his outfit.  They could feel no blood, but knew he was out for the count, at least for the time being.  "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death," she murmured.  

"I shall fear no evil," Tony finished.  They blinked furiously as the lights came on, but saw no one in the remaining gloom.  

"Brave little church mice," the voice said, almost appreciatively.  A figure walked out of the darkness, and both husband and wife gasped.  A thirty-something Cary Grant smiled sardonically at them, then snapped his fingers.  

Kevin stumbled forward, held by two tall, thin greenish henchmen.  He was bruised and his lip was bleeding, but otherwise looked okay.  "You came?" he said in a husky voice.  His eyes, full of despair, were slowly filling with hope.  

"Kevin," Tony said, his voice shaking.  Then he looked at Cary Grant, or the monster who had assumed his likeness.  "Let him go, you've got what you want," he said, as he and Margie walked forward.  

"No," Kevin mumbled, struggling out of the iron grasp, then said no more as one of the henchmen hit him solidly at the back of his neck.  He slumped forward, causing Margie to suck in her breath audibly.  
Two more henchmen materialized to grab Tony and Margie as they rushed forward to catch the boy.  Cary Grant shook his head, "Now I have the bait, but I don't have what I want.  Not yet," he said, his eyes narrowing as they scanned the room.  He nodded, and the henchmen knocked the elderly couple out, then dragged all three limp bodies to one of the Sunday school rooms.  

"I do hate waiting," he sighed, locking the door.  "What is taking that stupid Shepherd so long?" 

TTTT 

There was a lot more to the Buddhist church than the front building, the agents found.  In fact, it was a decent-sized compound, with a structure housing a huge bell that Mulder was tempted to strike, an administrative building and the temple proper with a courtyard.  Scully shielded her eyes against the rain, peering into the admin building's windows.  They were standing in the corner alley between buildings, deciding where to start.  

"I think we should look in there," Mulder pointed to the temple.  

"I think we should start there," Scully motioned to the admin building.  

"I don't think we should split up," Mulder said, his eyes and ears peeled for any movement or sounds other than the distracting rain.  He put his fingers to his lips as she opened her mouth, his eyes darting around.  

Scully peered around, but could see or hear nothing.  She shook her head, pulling out her flashlight and switching it on.  

Mulder pulled out his flashlight and did the same, and they scanned the area.  Still nothing, but he could've sworn he heard footsteps out of rhythm with the rain patter.  He made a face, then headed for the temple, turning his back on her.  

"Mulder," he heard Scully say behind him, and he was about to warn her again when he saw an arm thrust itself from her chest, holding a glowing, throbbing pink object.  Neat trick, he thought, until she slumped over and his flashlight revealed a tall man resembling Cary Grant smiling with a heartless joy, the kind of look he'd seen on many serial killers and child molesters.  

"Scully!" he yelled, then found himself being held rather firmly by two tall, thin men.  As he tried to train his flashlight on them, he had the notion that they looked rather greenish, but that could be the bad lighting, and his red-green colorblindness.  

"Such pain, but a real fighter," the Cary Grant lookalike said, as if commenting on fine wine rather than Scully's heart, "and quite an interesting genetic structure.”  The heart disappeared into his hand, as if it drank it in.  He looked at Mulder, who was still struggling in his captors' iron grip.  "Get his gun," he told them, and they promptly retrieve not only his regular service weapon in its holster, but also his spare revolver in his ankle holster.  

Mulder hated losing his weapons.  He especially hated losing his guns to two goons who were looking less and less human by the second, as if--his eyes widened when their facial features disappeared, as if the rain had washed them away.  The dread in the pit of his stomach increased when even the semblance of a face melted away, leaving a small abyss where a face belonged.  "What *are* you?" he murmured.  

The Cary Grant-type person reveled in the growing horror Mulder couldn't help showing on his face.  "Feels a little like the Twilight Zone, doesn't it? If you're lucky, you won't remember a thing," he said in an almost friendly voice, then reached out and grabbed Mulder's heart.  

In disbelief, Mulder watched the anti-magician absorb his heart the same way he did Scully's, then slumped forward, unable to think or move, unaware of anything.  

TTTT 

The night is without consolation 
I want you to rip it apart with your kiss 
You are the last romanticist left 
Slice it up 
To the bottom of my heart, darling, 
I want my heart broken each time I fall in love 
To discover the afterimage of angels 
--"Knife of Romance," Satoshi Hiroe & Issay 

*** 

Nicole wasn't sure why or how she ended up at the temple, but here she was.  The temple, ordinarily very benign, a friendly presence in the neighborhood, suddenly had this overwhelming vibe that she couldn't deny: fear, pain, sorrow, and gloating.  She clutched the big black umbrella, as if that would give her some courage.  No such luck.  
Her eyes picked out the FBI agents' car parked along the street, as well as the Herdsmans, so she guessed they were still there.  She pulled out her amulet, and there was a faint glow.  At least it was working, but that meant that the FBI people were in trouble, too, and now it was up to her.  She tilted the umbrella, trying to take in the temple, and guess whether or not she should try to sneak in or walk through the front door.  

Any casual observer would have thought that Nicole, standing like a picture postcard in the rain, with her borrowed black coat and private school clothes, somewhat shaking umbrella, her dark eyes large and mouth slightly open, was about to ask someone for help, not give it.  They might have thought she slightly resembled a young Audrey Hepburn, or at least a cuter Japanese version, maybe asked for her phone number.  
But there was no such observer, not even a random cop to hand this responsibility over to.  So Nicole squared her shoulders, set her jaw, and decided to try to sneak in.  She rubbed her amulet before tucking it back under her top, then crossed the street.  She raised her collar as if it would help, then closed the umbrella to reduce the noise and any signs of her coming.  

Inside one of the Sunday school rooms, Kengyu stirred, rubbing the back of his head with one hand, his other already unsheathing his katana.  She's here, he thought, and now it begins.  

TTTT 

Mere minutes after opening the door with a powerful kick, Kengyu dispatched of the guards in front of his room with a few strokes, leaving behind shredded playing cards.  Narrowing his dark eyes, he felt, rather than saw, the stone in Mulder's pocket and followed it.  

The room, like his, was guarded by two tall, thin greenish henchmen who had long since abandoned their pretense of having a humanoid face.  Unconsciously taking a deep breath, Kengyu swung his katana twice through the first guard in an X-sweep, then did the same for the second before he could do anything.  He snorted at the bits of playing cards that remained, then broke into the room where the FBI agents lay.  

He felt their necks for a pulse, and, finding a weak one, knew the Jack of Hearts had removed their lifeforces only recently.  Then he put a hand through Mulder's jacket pocket for the stone, and saw it had reshaped its alien symbol into "kokoro," the kanji for "heart.”  He smiled briefly, then leapt to a wall, flattening himself against its surface as he heard a clattering of footsteps.  

He looked out the window and saw it had finally stopped raining.  Good, he hated fighting in the rain, not that it would affect his skills or anything.  He slowed his breathing until it was almost as imperceptible as the unconscious agents', then heard a scream and scuffle and rushed outside to the courtyard.  

There, three henchmen were holding Nicole, and Jack turned around, an unpleasant smile on his otherwise handsome features.  Jack spun the closed umbrella around like a cane, "I was wondering when you'd show up and play the hero, Shepherd.”  

TTTT 

Have you ever felt a longing 
A searching within your soul for something more 
But you don't know what for 
There's one who will reach across the distance 
From the heavens to the earth 
Because he loves you 
If you see a change in me, don't wonder 
There's someone in my life 
And peace I can't describe 
For I've been reborn 
If you see a change in me, don't wonder 
I've found a whole new life 
--"Reborn," Rebecca St.  James 

*** 

"The name," the red-haired samurai said, "is Kengyu, ignorant cur.”  

The Cary Grant-ish person shrugged.  "Doesn't matter," he said lightly, "you'll die anyway.  Ahhh," he sighed, then smiled his heartless smile, "do you know how long I've waited for this night?" 

"Not long enough, Jack of Hearts," Kengyu said, narrowing his eyes as he continued standing in his eerily still warrior stance, both hands on his sword handle.  

Jack put on an affected yawn, waving at his tall minions.  "Kill him," he said, grabbing Nicole, freeing his henchmen to go after Kengyu.  
Kengyu swung his katana so quickly it looked like lightning flashes, making short work of the three henchmen, then nodded at Jack.  "That all you got?" 

"No," Jack said condescendingly, "I've got an ace up my sleeve," holding Mulder's gun to Nicole's temple.  "Tell me, is the sword really faster than the gun?" 

While Jack was talking, Kengyu shouted, "Hime!" and tossed the stone to Nicole.  To both hers and Jack's surprise, she caught it, no fumbling.  And as if she knew what she was doing, held it to her amulet.  

"The miko?" Jack said, shocked.  And was promptly knocked over by a flurry of cherry blossoms, shielding Nicole from the rest of the world as she transformed.  

Stepping out of the whirlwind of petals was a girl with long, dark hair pulled up into a ponytail, wearing a pink kimono top, a Meiji-era long pleated red skirt, soft-soled shoes, holding a wicked-sharp sword.  "They don't teach us how to use this in gym class," she said, nearly dropping the sword from her own surprise.  

Kengyu gave her his patented "you silly child" look, which she hated, merely saying, "Follow my lead," as Jack surrounded himself with dozens of faceless minions.  

As if it were a class instead of a life-or-death situation, Kengyu demonstrated his technique, slowing it down so her eyes could follow, and Hime copied it, albeit hesitantly at first, repeating, "I hate sharp objects.”  She squealed when one of them got close enough to tear at her kimono sleeve, then sliced his arm off before dissecting him.  

When the fifth henchman disintegrated under her sword, she exclaimed, "They have feet! What happened to the obake?" Spinning around, then slicing another henchman into confetti, "They're nothing but a pack of cards!" Another fell to pieces beside her, and she spun around to see Kengyu shaking his head, fending off another minion.  

"Never let your guard down," he said, spinning around to see only Jack standing there, both guns drawn.  

"You should follow your own advice, old man," Jack said.  

TTTT 

Before he could fire off a round, Kengyu stepped in front of Hime, pulling out a wakazashi and began spinning both swords.  The bullets ricocheted off his blades, and Hime had the weird feeling that Kengyu had practiced in front of a machine gun to pull this off.  

"Nice technique," Jack smirked, "what do you call that, 'Spinning Helicopter'?" 

Kengyu said nothing, but continued spinning his swords like a demented baton-twirler.  Then a henchman jumped from the side, attacking Hime, who desperately fended him off.  His concentration broken, a bullet caught him in the shoulder and another in the leg.  He continued his defense until another bullet hit his chest.  

Finally dispatching of the freaky henchman, Hime spun around to find Kengyu on the ground, bleeding profusely.  Panicked, she saw Jack advancing slowly, reloading the guns as he did so.  She knelt beside her teacher, grabbing his kimono sleeve and trying to stanch the blood from his chest.  "No," she whispered, "you can't die.”  

"Oh yes, he can," Jack corrected her, "and you can, too.”  He aimed squarely at her forehead.  "Too bad the Queen of Spades herself can't see this, I'd love to see the look on her face.  Then again," he smiled, and it sent chills down Hime's spine, "your look will do quite nicely.”  

He leaned in, caressing her hair, and she couldn't suppress her shudders.  "You will do quite nicely indeed, 'Princess'," he said, then stepped away, re-centering the guns on her.  

TTTT 

"No!" Hime shouted, and her katana glowed with an unearthly light as she stood up, wielding it with both hands.  Her ponytail and skirt lifted, as if there were a breeze, even though there was none.  In the back of her mind, she knew her powers were manifesting themselves in the same way as they used to, back when she started out with a peach kimono and a shinto wand.  

She didn't notice the look of fear on Jack's face, nor did she care, as she deflected the bullets off her spinning blades.  She did notice that more than a few of them ricocheted back at Jack, ripping through his expensive suit.  A part of her was glad at his pain, but another was saddened that her change had come at such great cost.  Still, she didn't waver in her defense of her fallen teacher, who had yet to open his eyes.  

"I guess in a sword versus gun fight, sword wins out," Jack said, finally out of ammo, and tossed the guns to the side.  Snarling, he lunges at Hime, his face transforming into sharper features, his hands becoming claws.  

Screaming, Hime swings the sword in a wide arc, unsure whether this Jack, who appears to be a completely different creature altogether from his henchmen, will turn into confetti as well.  Instead, the glowing sword slices into his shoulder, cutting downward diagonally, releasing not blood, not confetti, but a noxious darkness that makes her eyes water.  

His claws clash with her katana, and she finds herself fighting desperately against a creature who is unlike anything she's ever come across.  Then again, she's only had to exorcise ghosts, not deal with playing-card henchmen and a twisted psycho who looks vaguely familiar.  The fact that she's handling an unfamiliar weapon with the same kind of skill masters do never crosses her mind, as she slices off one hand, then the other.  

Undaunted, the monstrous figure calling himself Jack swings at her with powerful arms and teeth that seem to have grown sharper and longer since the first time she saw him.  "More fight, more sweet," he leers, knocking her backward with his stumps.  

Beyond screaming now, Hime can only boost herself up, holding the sword straight out as he comes for her.  And impales himself on her blade, his forward momentum carrying him all the way to the hilt.  Her large dark eyes meet his, and he gasps, "Just the tip of the iceberg, darling," then expires in a writhing mass of darkness.  

"He's right," a voice said beside her.  

Whirling, eyes wide and sword still glowing, Hime saw Kengyu, impossibly upright and unhurt.  "I thought," she stammered, "but you...”  

"It takes a lot more than bullets to kill me," Kengyu said quietly, "but not something I enjoy.”  

Hime nodded, speechless with shock and relief, then threw herself at the red-headed samurai.  Crying, she hugged him, and found him tensed up at first, then slowly hugging her back.  

He drew her away from him, wiping her tears with an unstained sleeve.  "Let's check on the FBI agents," he said gently, nodding to a broken door, "they may be in bad shape since Jack stole their lifeforces.”  

TTTT 

La la la la la la la la la 
Fontina blu cent 
De cravi esca letisimo 
La la la la la la la la la 
De quantian 
La finde reve 
[La la la la la la la la la 
Because you flew away 
The sky is unseen to me 
Let's just sell this spinning-wheel 
So everything will be illusion] 
--"Sora," Yoko Kanno**, Hajime Mizoguchi & Gabriela Robin, transl.  by Karen Odain 

*** 

Hime and Kengyu walked into the unlit room.  Hime was prepared to see Mulder, lying close to the door, and Scully out cold.  What she didn't expect was more company.  

Kneeling beside Scully was the red-haired woman Hime had seen in her vision.  Longish red hair tied up, a black choker with a crystal, long red dress, and glowing in the dark, yep, definitely a ghost, Hime thought.  The woman smiled at her, as if it would make the young exorcist feel better, and for some reason it did.  Even though the agent couldn't feel it, the woman stroked her sister's forehead, then held her hand.  

Sitting beside Mulder was a similarly glowing person, a girl closer to Hime's age.  She had large bright, blue eyes, long dark hair, and wore a simple white dress.  She looked afraid at first, holding her brother's head and shoulders, but relaxed when Hime did nothing.  

"Why," Hime said, turning to Kengyu, "what are they doing here?" 

"Not all ghosts are meant to be exorcized by you," the red-haired samurai said.  "Agent Scully recently lost her sister Melissa, as you have seen.  Her vengeance will be satisfied by the answers she finds, and the murderer she catches.  In that way, she will exorcize the pain, not the ghost.  

"Agent Mulder's quest for his sister is what sparked his journey, opening an investigation into the unknown with the division called 'X-Files'.  It has changed his life, and the lives of others, in ways he has yet to discover.”  He turned his dark eyes to the curious miko, who was already smiling and waving at the vision of Samantha.  "Hime!" he said sharply, and she turned back to him guiltily.  

"Sorry, she seems like a nice girl," she said, making a helpless gesture.  

Kengyu almost fell over but recovered quickly.  "Just because you are not casting them out doesn't mean you make friends with them," he scolded.  "We don't have much time.”  

"Time for what?" Hime asked, looking at the agents and their sisters, then noticed the ghosts were fading away.  

She turned around and Kengyu was gone.  She shook her head, not surprised, then knelt down beside Agent Mulder, checking for a pulse and grinning, because Tomoko would *die* to be able to touch him like this.  

Nicole was relieved to find his pulse, at first just faint, getting stronger.  
_________________________________________________________________ 

**Yoko Kanno, kickass musician & composer of various anime soundtracks, occasionally uses random vocab in her vocal compositions.  So if the first set of words don't make sense, that's okay, it's not s'posed to;) There was a Japanese translation, which was re-transl'ed by someone else--make sense? 

TTTT 

Mulder blinked, then opened his eyes.  He thought he saw a glow, then a long ponytailed girl leaning over him, with a pink kimono top, red skirt and a katana tucked in her obi, but blinked again.  Nope, it was just a short-haired Japanese-looking girl, wearing a black coat over her private school uniform, with a relieved smile.  "You okay?" she said, waving her hand in front of his face.  

"Yeah," he said, catching it.  "What about Scully?" 

She jumped up and walked over to the unconscious woman, while Mulder groaned and scooted over to his fallen partner.  "Scully," he said, checking her pulse the same way Nicole did his earlier, "Scully!" 

"Hm," she moaned, then opened her blue eyes groggily.  "Ohhhh," she sighed, then gasped.  "What happened? What am I doing here? Where are we? Who are you?" She sat up so quickly that she gave herself a head rush and had to slouch forward to keep herself conscious.  

"Looks like she's fine," Mulder remarked.  "I was about to ask the same thing.”  He looked at Nicole.  

And Nicole was somehow not surprised by their amnesia, in fact, she'd be worried if they remembered everything perfectly.  "I'm Nicole, you were looking for my classmate, Kevin, who was kidnapped, and I followed you to the Seattle Buddhist Church, where we're at.”  Then she looked panicked.  "Where is he? Where's the Herdsmans?" 

"Herdsman, that sounds familiar," Mulder mumbled, then got up slowly.  He held out a hand to Scully, who pulled herself up.  He reached for his gun, then for his spare in the ankle holster, and was surprised to find both missing.  "Dammit, are you armed?" he asked his red-haired partner.  

"Yeah," she said, pulling out her best friend.  They both tried to pull out their flashlights, and, finding those missing, settled for just stepping outside the room.  Mulder noticed the door was broken from the outside, but doubted the girl could have done it.  Probably happened when whoever knocked him and Scully out needed a place to stash them.  

Cautiously, they entered the other room with a broken door, this one busted from the inside out.  Inside, they found no kidnappers, only two elderly people still unconscious from their knockout, a priest who was shaken and groggy, and a teenage boy who was bruised and bleeding from a surface wound, but otherwise okay.  "Who are you?" he cried, attempting to shield both grandparents.  

"It's okay, Kevin," Scully said, putting away her gun, "we're with the FBI.  Do you know who did this?" she said, kneeling beside Margie.  

Kevin frowned, unseen in the dark.  "I dunno, some guy who talked funny and his friends who were really tall and skinny, kinda like you," he said, pointing at Mulder.  

Scully bit back a grin, despite there being very little light to see by.  "What kind of accent did the first man have?" she asked, as the priest turned on the light switch.  Then she checked Margie's vitals as best as she could.  

"Um, kinda like he was from England and kinda like he was from the South," the boy shrugged.  He watched Mulder and Nicole introduce themselves to the priest, who was equally confused, but helpful, then watched Scully take care of his grandfather.  "Are they gonna be okay?" he asked.  

Scully nodded, pulling out her cell phone.  "I'm going to have them stay at the hospital for observation, but otherwise, they'll be fine," she reassured him.  

Mulder walked over to his partner.  "I'm going to have a look around with Rev. Iwohara here," he said, and she nodded.  "You, stay here," he ordered Nicole, and she nodded meekly.  

They found signs of a gunfight, with bullets cutting into the buildings, and his guns, which were apparently used without his permission.  Not the first time my guns will be used as evidence, Mulder grimaced, hope it's the last, as he gingerly picked them up with a pen and put them into a manila envelope.  After taking a closer look at the bullet spray, he gathered that it was more the result of ricocheting off a moving shield than a stationary one, but could find no evidence of anything lying around serving that purpose.  

The young priest looked at the agent, who shrugged.  "You know, there's gonna be a bon odori festival here tomorrow," Iwohara said.  "I'm not sure how welcome crime scene tape would be.”  

"Sorry," Mulder said, "do you mind if we take the doors for analysis? We'll patch over the bullet holes once we're done investigating, but otherwise," he squinted at the pillars, already pockmarked with bolts screwed in, "the walls'll kind of match the scenery, won't they?" 

"Don't pay attention and they won't look," Iwohara said, shaking his head.  "Good thing my cousin's a carpenter.”  He sighed.  "This *will* be on Uncle Sam's tab, won't it?" 

Mulder nodded, and they walked back inside, hearing the ambulance sirens wailing nearby.  

TTTT 

We couldn't say them 
now we just pray them 
Words that we couldn't say...  
Someday, maybe 
we'll make it right 
until that day 
long endless nights 
--"Words That We Couldn't Say," Tim Jensen 

*** 

8:48 p.m.  
Saturday, July 15, 1995.  
Seattle Bon Odori Festival.  

Scully knelt down, lighting a candle in the lantern Nicole gave her.  Despite her hesitation in participating in a cultural and religious event that was foreign to her, and possibly damaging to the environment, she thought in the back of her mind, she thanked the teenager, as they watched tens of lanterns already floating down the canal.  There was something about lanterns floating down the river that tugged at her heart, she wasn't sure what.  She straightened out her pale blouse over her faded blue jeans, the only clean clothes she had left on this half-remembered trip, then turned to the other players in the case.  

Nicole was lighting her own small batch of lanterns, helped by her blue-haired friend Tomoko and her aunt's family, all dressed in either kimono or festival coats over regular clothes.  "This is for Wallace Endo, my father," she said to her friend, pointing to one.  "The absent-minded professor.  This is for Aileen Endo, my radical, revolutionary mother.  This one's for Ayako Sasaki Tendou, my grandma who lived in Heart Mountain camp during World War II.  That one's for Danny Tendou, my mysterious grandfather who died in the Korean War.  And that one over there's Tatsuya Sasaki, my great-uncle who also died in the Korean War.”  She was dressed in her light matsuri coat, a red t-shirt and white capri pants, smiling as she, along with her friend and family, enjoyed the teriyaki on sticks.  

Scully's eyes softened.  For such a young girl to be remembering dead loved ones, even as far away as her grandparents, must be intense, she thought, but these people regard this Floating Lanterns ceremony as a mixture of memorial and party.  She wondered if that was a cultural thing or if the meaning had changed somewhat since being transplanted to another place.  She felt recognition, relief and resignation when Mulder put his hand on her shoulder.  So many things change when transplanted, like herself when she joined the X-Files.  

"No sign of those files the Gunmen keep telling me about, or the Cary Grant-type person they say might be responsible for Kevin's kidnapping and Mr. and Mrs. Herdsman's condition.  They're still resting up at the hospital, will probably be released sometime tonight," he said, his hazel eyes changing with the afternoon sun.  "So tell me again why the CDCs from three different states were calling you?" 

"Apparently certain patients of theirs was tied to this case, which had something to do with a mysterious malady affecting a few elderly persons who lived in the Heart Mountain internment camp during World War II.”  She sighed.  "I hate it when the Gunmen know more than we do, or at least make it sound that way.”  She held up the lantern, the wooden borders painted a deep red like Missy would've liked.  

"She give it to you," Mulder asked, nodding to the short-haired girl.  Scully nodded.  "You're not the only one, I'm in the dark as much as you.  Hey, wanna write up the report?" he grinned lazily.  

"Shut up, Mulder," she said, and Mulder was relieved to find she wasn't as homicidal as she had been these past few months.  Something happened here, but since their laptops were tampered with as well, he wasn't quite sure what.  

She knelt down by the canal edge.  "Goodbye, Missy," she said, pushing the paper-covered candle on its way.  Scully stood up, then saw Nicole's lanterns joining Missy's.  She stared at the retreating points of light, until she could no longer distinguish hers from anyone else's.  She had the odd thought that maybe that's what heaven would be like, people being indistinguishable and inextinguishable candles headed for something even more beautiful and mysterious beyond anything they knew.  

Mulder's voice broke into her thoughts.  "Hey, did you know the place we were staying at was haunted? It's supposed to have a ghost with a penchant for playing classical music on the grand piano, as well as one of the rooms.  Tenants don't mind, in fact, it's a rather popular room.  They say she appears as a beautiful young woman with long silver hair and flowing white dress.”  He frowned thoughtfully.  "Mind staying a couple more days while I check out the ghost of Gabriela Robin?" 

He wasn't surprised to see her with a "not again" look on her face.  "Maybe it's just one of those things better left unexplained," Scully said, feeling a sense of dιjΰ vu as she grabbed her partner's arm and led him toward the small family that was waving at them.  "Let's get something to eat.”  

***Owari (The End)*** 

***"Blue," by Tim Jensen, sung by Mai Yamane, Soichiro Otsuka & Gabriela Robin*** 

TTTT 

OMAKE ("extras") TIME!!!!  Okay, this isn't more story, it's the "extra" in your DVD, if this was in that format;)  & it's pronounced "oh-mah-kay";p  Some is repeats from the story itself, but what the hell, enjoy! 

<holding the mic & crankin' up the speakers w/ a kickass turntablist for the backdrop> This goes out to all ya readers out there, givin' me support, wi'doutchu I neva woulda had such a mad ride, y'all! LOL! 
ANYhoo, domo arigato goin' out to MulderMA3, Nonphile, MauraXPhile, Scully3776, NeoXPhile, ColdAngel, Sita6B0409, and all you shadow lurkers--don't fear the light! And definite props going out to not only the creators of magical girl anime & manga, but also for the Heart Mountain internment camp survivors, along w/ other Japanese American internees! 
_________________________________________________________________ 

***Magical girl references: 
--Club Minky's' in Maryland where Scully shot down the serial perv, is named after "Minky Momo," a pink-haired girl from another planet who transforms into a grown-up version of herself to solve problems.  

--ANCy's on the corner of 22nd is my lame abbreviation for "Ayashi no Ceres," which is Yu Watase's version of the Tanabata story.   It's a freaky manga read, but I think there should be a translated anime somewhere;) 

--Fancy Lala's on Broadway is the name of a magical girl series, "Fancy Lala," who transforms w/ a magical pen.  

--Kanou Nozomu, Nagoya Chiaki, Ully Masters (Yui Matsuoka) are male leads for various magical girl series.  

--Tomomi and Mikage Matsunaga in Chicago, IL.   They're the heroines of "Miracle Girls," who are like the Wonder Twins, 'cept they got cooler powers when they're together, like telekinesis, telepathy, & teleportation! 

--Kanou Nozomu, Laviefleur & Dr. Ririka Moriya are from "Nurse Angel Ririka" (the hospital name's from the "flower of life" in the series).   Guess what Ririka transforms into? 

--Himeko and Daichi Kobayashi are from "Hime-chan no Ribbon.”   Himeko Nonohara transforms w/ a, ta-daa, ribbon! into anyone she chooses;) 

--The Japanese songs are from various anime, "Neon Genesis Evangelion," "Angel Sanctuary," "X-The Movie," "Sailor Moon," "Ayashi no Ceres," "Kare Kano," "Sakura Wars," "Fushigi Yuugi," & "Escaflowne.”  

Magical girl sites: 
www.geocities.co.jp/AnimeComic-Cell/3112/myfavorit/00myfavorit2.html
http://akane18.tripod.com/magical.htm
http://www.tapanime.com/fandomfun/humor/become/magicalgirl.php

***Japanese references: 
--Tanabata:  Usually celebrated July 7 (or for the purists, Aug.  7).   If you want to know more about it or what on earth the original story's all about, here's some fun websites you can check out: 
http://www.youngleaves.org/activities/celebrations.htm 
http://en.gigazine.net/index.php?/news/comments/20090702_tanabata/
http://davidseah.com/blog/printable-tanabata-star-festival-streamers/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tanabata

--Sakura, or cherry, blossoms floating often used in anime/manga for bittersweetness, intransience, impermanence, romance.   Now seeming to be replaced by angel wings' feathersXD  

--Miko: In ancient times, they were the mediums the kami (or gods) spoke through, usually virgins at the time they began their training.  Later combined w/ the role of Shinto shaman, who exorcised the evil spirits associated w/ sick person's illness.   Not to be confused w/ "maiko," a term for geisha-in-training.  

--Mrs. Asakusa is named after the location of a ghost story.   The narrator meets a weeping woman wearing a kimono who *has no face*.   Panicked, he runs to a vendor who also *has no face*! ;) 

--Sunshine Sewing Class at Ikebukuro's.   The Sunshine Building in Ikebukuro is not only famous for UFO sightings, but also a former prison site.   Two other buildings in the area are haunted.  

The ANCy’s music was brought to you by: 
Andy Razef, Thomas "Fats" Waller & Harry Brook--"Ain't Misbehavin'" 
Sam Cooke--"Cry Me a River" 
Duke Ellington, Barney Bigard & Mitchell Parish--"Mood Indigo" 
Miles Davis--"So What" 
Brian Richy & Yoko Kanno--"Adieu" 
Asteroid Belt is: 
Vocals: Emily Bindiger 
Drums: Tony Reedus 
Piano: Mark Soskin 
Bass: Booker King 
Guitar: Stew Cutler 
Trumpet: Toshio Araki 
Trombone: Junko Yamashiro 
Sax: GRENCIA MARS ELIJAH GUO ECKENER 
They're not really a band, but they've all been on the "Cowboy Bebop" soundtracks & they're all *real* *people*.  I couldn't get pix of the Jpns crew, so I fudged it.  Except for the last guy, he's an anime character on the show.  http://rfblues.aaanime.net/Characters/bounties1.htm 

***Japanese internment info: 

--"War Relocation Authority, Community Analysis Section: Community Analysis Notes No.  15-July 18, 1945.”  WRA files, UCLA Special Collections and Asian American Reading Room.  Excerpted from "Only What We Could Carry: The Japanese American Internment Experience," edited by Lawson Fusao Inada.  

--"Voices from the Camps: Internment of Japanese Americans During World War II.”   Larry Dane Brimmer.  

--"Behind Barbed Wire: The Imprisonment of Japanese Americans During World War II.”   Daniel S.  Davis.  

More info on Heart Mountain:
http://www.heartmountain.us/
www.resisters.com
http://www.javadc.org/heart_mountain_relocation_center.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heart_Mountain_Relocation_Center
www.janm.org
 
--Info on the Heart Mountain mystery stones: 
http://shop.store.yahoo.com/janm/220291.html 

--In real life: Fred Korematsu, Gordon Hirabayashi & Mitsuye Endo sued the U.S.  government for illegal actions concerning the curfew & forced internment ("relocation") of Issei and Nisei citizens.  The first two had to wait more than fifty years for the Supreme Court to change its stupid, unfair, racist rulings, the third (dealing w/ curfew) the court agreed w/ earlier, since by that time most Japanese Americans were interned already.  Minoru Yasui, another plaintiff, died before the action, restarted in the 80's, on his case began.  

***My story, random stuff: 

As noted earlier, all locations in Little Tokyo in L.A. are real, as well as the Japanese American National Museum.   All locations in Seattle are real, except where noted and Sacred Hearts, which is named after a similar private school here, and the KissaTen, which means "coffeeshop" in Japanese.   Oh yeah, there's a real Uforia in Vancouver, B.C., which I thought was cool;) 

As for the Seattle bon odori, I don't think they have a toro-nagashi, but check out all the stuff they *do* have! 
www.seattlebetsuin.com/bonodori_2002.htm
 
About Gabe Hoshigawa, well, his last name means "star river.”   However, if you wanna be anal about it, Milky Way is "amanogawa.”   His first alias was Danny Tendou.   Re-reading the story, his last name was s'posed to be Tentei.   But since he's playing both the emperor & bridge roles, no big whoop;p 

I don't really hate Cary Grant, contrary to what people may think.   But I needed a handsome famous dead guy from WWII time, so there he went;p  Jack of Hearts is part of a larger gang (based on a deck of cards) that would involve taking over the world, if we were to follow anime convention;) 

Kevin Herdsman is from Kengyu="shepherd".   Nicole is named after Nicole Howard (http://www.seattlepi.com/local/253436_mednicoleforweb26.html) who needs a bone marrow transplant.   Tomoko is named after one of the Japanese assistants at my college, & one of my friends;)

And if you want a better idea of what Kengyu & Hime look like, check these out: 
http://www.yowallpapers.com/d/24441-1/Rurouni-Kenshin-SamuraiX+_18_.jpg
http://img3.ak.crunchyroll.com/i/spire2/03122008/b/9/c/0/b9c0c336939140_full.png
 
Real people:  I actually tried to squeeze in readers where I could, but if you didn't recognize yourselves in the random people, sorry;p  Jennifer Lund is my college bud, she was kind enough to help me w/ the Seattle refs;)  & yeah, I showed up briefly at the KissaTen;p  Mr. Morikawa from the Kumon tutorial class is my 8th grade math teacher who told us ghost stories on rainy days:)  Joanie from the sewing class is named after my cousin who succumbed to liver failure three years ago.   Tatsuya Sasaki is loosely based on my Uncle Kenneth who died of stomach cancer, and named after my host brother Tatsuya in Kyoto.  

Minor mystery: Gabriela Robin is credited as singer & lyricist on some of Yoko Kanno's projects, but there's no info on her or pix, some say she & Kanno are the same person.  Her [ghostly] appearance is based on Sora from "Escaflowne the Movie."