FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

This is a revamped version of The Outlander series I started late last month. I have revised some parts, added the rest of the middle and the ending, and put them together as a one-off story. At this time I do not intend a sequel, unless popular demand should require otherwise.

This story has scenes of explicit sex is only intended for readers 18 years of age or older.

I hope if you read this story you will provide comments and critiques so I may hone my writing skill and style.

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THE OUTLANDER

Jillian stepped off the parking garage elevator and easily dodged the power cables that snaked across the floor. Things had improved somewhat from last week. Now, instead of wall-to-wall newshound, the hospital lobby held only half-a-dozen technicians and one reporter from each of the local stations. Outside, through the glass door, she could see a motley collection of paparazzi, all waiting on their next fifty thousand dollar photo op. Ignoring them, she walked over to the main elevators and pressed the call button.

At the sound of the elevator, one reporter had looked up. Seeing the young veterinarian, he nudged his cameraman and made a beeline over to her. "Doctor... Dr. Strathern... Could I have a minute of your time please?" He gripped the microphone and brought it up to her just as the elevator doors opened. "Can you give our viewers an update on his condition. Is he still comatose?"

Jillian glanced briefly over her shoulder as she stepped through the doors. The reporter tried to follow, pushing his mike forward, but was intercepted by an armed policeman standing in the elevator. "Sorry sir! No admittance." He politely, but firmly blocked the reporter. The doors closed.

The newsman took the rejection with typical aplomb. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he shouted. "Goddamn sonofabitch!" He turned toward his fellow journalists only to find their cameramen all focused on him, red lights visible from across the lobby. "Aw shit! Come on guys, professional courtesy and all...right?"

As the elevator rose swiftly to the seventh floor, Jillian glanced into a mirror mounted on the wall. The figure framed there stared back. Her face, she decided, could be described as handsome rather than beautiful. It showed all of her 38 years. She had red hair tied back into loose ponytail, green eyes and a light sprinkling of freckles. She had never been interested in make-up, except as a teen, and had no real use for it. Her normal clients were not the kind to complain. Jeans, hiking boots and a light blue denim shirt peeked out from beneath a white lab coat. None of this concealed the aura of professionalism and confidence she projected

A chime brought her swiftly out of her introspection and the elevator doors opened. A police officer could be seen stationed next to the nurse's desk. Strathern knew that at least ten more were scattered around the floor. One was stationed at each stairwell; two were at the entrance to ICU and one acted as a roving supervisor.

A short, dark-haired Korean nurse greeted Jillian from her desk. "Good morning, doctor. How was Washington?"

"Insane as always Nancy. How are things here?"

"Crazy enough to make Washington sound like a resort," she grinned. "Dr. Franklin wants you to meet with him as soon as possible."

"Where is he?"

"Conference room A," she replied gesturing down the hall. "You'd better hurry. The whole team's been assembled and they're waiting for you."

"Why?" asked Jillian, her curiosity peaked. "What's happened?"

"He's started dreaming."

* * * *

Jillian sat with the others in the briefing room watching the news video again. She'd lost count of how many times she'd seen it. Flames and smoke poured from windows on the twelfth and fourteenth floors. Until last week, the Harrison Commerce Tower had been just another non-descript office building. Twenty-one stories tall, it had been built back in the mid-sixties and was one of several dozen quiet, functional boxes that served only to add bulk to the city's skyline. Now, it was world-famous.

The bomb that had been loaded into the freight elevator was smaller than the one used in Oklahoma City. The key difference was that incendiary elements had been added to enhance the terror effects. The magnesium fed fire weakened the building's support structure and trapped over two hundred workers on the upper floors. Firefighters had worked their way up to the eleventh floor but were unable to penetrate or knock down the flames blocking their path. Helicopters circled the building, unable to land because of the huge volumes of smoke.

Recognizing the danger, the on-scene commander had withdrawn all but a handful of volunteers and set up a cordon around the building. Everyone watched, waiting for the inevitable. Then, HE arrived!

No one knew much about him. He had simply appeared four years earlier at the scene of another disaster, wielding an incredible amount of power. He used it to save lives and mitigate the level of damage that might have otherwise occurred. Since then his appearances had been as unpredictable as they were dramatic.

He never stayed to take credit or bask in the hero worship that surrounded him. He talked to no one, much to the frustration of the press. He did not even give himself a name, leaving it to the public to sculpt an image of who he was for themselves. No one knew anything about him, though two facts were unquestioned. He had access to either incredible power or incredible technology, and he was definitely not human. As a result, he had come to be known in the media as the Outlander.

Jillian continued to watch the video. The Outlander stood on a floating disc that hovered several hundred feet in the air. Gesturing, a huge sphere of blue energy plasma formed between him and the building. A dozen or so tendrils spread out from the sphere and reached into the inferno. As each tendril was withdrawn, it carried with it a human figure. These were lowered gently to the ground and released before the tendril was plunged back into the building. For five minutes the Outlander methodically plucked victims from the fire, maneuvering around the building as necessary to reach them. Then... disaster!

There was a huge surge of dust and smoke. The building shuddered violently and started to fold in on itself. Reacting almost as if on instinct, the Outlander drew the sphere of blue energy around himself and dove into the collapsing structure. Dust and debris filled the city streets and the video abruptly ended.

Jillian remembered the rest. In addition to her training in veterinary medicine, she was also a certified EMT and thus had been summoned to the scene to assist in what authorities thought would be a massive tag and bag operation. It was over two hours before rescue workers could begin to carefully sift through the wreckage. When they did, they came upon an incredible sight.

Buried throughout the debris field were small oval shaped bubbles of plasma that pulsed softly.

Firemen, police and others worked their way through the rubble, uncovering these ovals one by one. As they did, each plasma bubble opened, revealing one of the missing victims, asleep and completely unharmed. For more than thirty-six hours they worked at digging out the survivors, one hundred and eighty-six in all, including the ten firefighters who had stayed behind. One of the last bubbles they found was spherical and seemed to pulse with more energy than the others.

Jillian was sitting in the back of an ambulance treating one of the emergency workers for a deep laceration on his hand when she heard the commotion. Reporters and cameramen were trying, unsuccessfully, to scramble past the security line set up by police. She ignored them, focusing instead on her patient. She had just finished wrapping his hand in a bandage when there was a sharp knocking on the vehicle's door. Jillian looked up to see a fireman standing at the entrance.

"Are you Dr. Strathern?"

She recognized the insignia of a battalion chief and nodded in response. "Yes. Can I help you?"

"Come with me please." Jillian grabbed a first aid kit and followed him as they carefully picked their way through the rubble. "I'm told you have a degree in veterinary medicine."

"Yes," she replied somewhat puzzled. She wondered why that would be important under current circumstances. Perhaps one of the search dogs had been hurt.

"We're at something of a loss as to how to proceed," the chief said "One of my men thought you'd be able to give us some advice."

They reached the edge of a depression in the wreckage. A handful of rescue workers lined the upper edge of this 'hole.' At the bottom, about eight firemen and paramedics were huddled around a large figure. Jillian stopped and gaped in astonishment.

The figure was about seven and a half feet in length. It was male and had a broad shouldered, human style torso that tapered down to a set of didigrade legs. These ended in a pair of shiny, black, cloven hooves. Thick arms, again quiet human, extended from his shoulders. His hands were similar to a human's except he had only four digits on each. The upper tip of each finger and thumb ended in a hard, black material, like his hooves. Jillian wondered if his people had evolved from quadrupeds. His body was covered in a fine, white fur. His mane stretched from a ridge above his eyes and down the back of his neck. Thick tufts of fur, similar to his mane, grew from his ankles and wrists.

His head was the least human thing about him. It resembled a modified horse's head, proportioned to match the rest of the body. It sat upon a thick, muscular neck that appeared to be extremely flexible. Unlike a horse, his eyes were set forward in his head. That clearly hinted at his being a predator species. The analytical side of Strathern's personality thrilled at the chance to see his teeth. They would confirm her supposition. The human side of her however reached out to him as a creature in pain. Somehow, he had become impaled on a thick section of rebar from the building structure. A three-inch diameter metal shaft had punched through his back and exited just above his right hip. The segment of rebar was five feet long and anchored in a thick chunk of concrete. Whatever shield or protection he had from the disaster had partially failed him.

Jillian climbed down into the pit and knelt beside the Outlander. Dried blood caked his mouth and nostrils. His eyes shone bright with pain. Despite this they were clearly focused on something beyond himself. His body was soaked in sweat. Whatever he was concentrating on was clearly exhausting him. Except for the slow, shallow rise and fall of his chest he did not move or speak.

Jillian turned to one of the paramedics. "How long has he been like this?"

"We don't know," he replied. "Possibly since the collapse, though it would be safe to assume his condition is deteriorating."

She reached out and pressed down gently on what she guessed was his abdomen. Most of his clothing above the waist had been torn away. The fur where she touched it was almost silky smooth. His abdomen felt rigid.

"He's bleeding internally. We need to relieve some of the pressure building on his organs. We also need to cut him free without jarring him any further."

Working carefully, both she and the paramedics managed to stabilize their patient. Most of their effort was guesswork. Other firemen brought in canvas drop cloths and a welder's rig. The rebar was quickly cut down to only a foot and a half in length and he was free to be moved. Jillian in the meantime had started draining the excess blood from his abdomen. After about ten minutes his breathing seemed to ease and he was taking deeper breaths. A portable EKG monitored his breathing and heart rate. It pegged out at sixty-eight beats per minute, normal for a human, but not for a horse. She set up two I.V. drips, one of saline solution and the other of blood plasma. Anything more complicated would have to wait for a full blood work up.

The battalion chief moved up next to her as she knelt by her patient. "How much longer?"

"We should be able to move him in about ten minutes," Jillian reported to the chief. "When we do, it will have to be slow and steady. I don't want to cause any more internal damage... " She was interrupted by a yell from across the wreckage, followed by cheering from some of the rescue workers.

"Chief! We found two more; both alive and well just like the others."

There was a sound from behind Jillian. She turned toward her patient. His eyes were no longer fixed and staring, though he was obviously still in a great deal of pain. He seemed to sigh in relief.

"Finally..."

His eyes closed and the EKG began beeping frantically as his heartbeat dropped; sixty... fifty... forty... thirty... twenty. It stabilized at twelve beats per minute. His breathing also slowed. For a few seconds, Jillian thought he was going into shock. She quickly realized it was something else. Though slow, his heartbeat was stronger, his breathing deeper. It was almost as if he were a machine, shifting from one type of operation to another.

Jillian looked at the paramedics surrounding her. "Let's get him out of here."

* * * *

Dr. Franklin pulled a file folder from his briefcase and flipped it open on the podium in front of him. Twenty-two years as a surgeon and twelve as a hospital administrator had not prepared him for the kind of patient he was now dealing with. At age 61 he was the 'old man' of the special case team that had set up, what was it, a week ago? Considering the nature of their new client, he was more than glad to leave his primary care to Dr. Strathern.

"As of four p.m. today, his vital signs are still slow but stable. His blood pressure is 52 over 28, heart rate is twelve beats per minute and respiration is three and a half." He stopped long enough to look over towards Dr. Nagle. "Have you made any progress on the blood work-up?"

The short, balding physician shook his head. "All I can tell you is that it doesn't match either human or equine blood sets, at least not completely. The closest match seems to be human, type O. That's why Dr. Strathern's use of plasma was effective in helping to stabilize him."

"It was a lucky guess," Jillian said modestly. "I just used what was available and hoped it wouldn't cause any severe reactions."

"Considering the circumstances, I'd say it was more an educated guess than a lucky one," Franklin responded.

Dr. Nagle continued. "His white blood cell count is extremely high. Additionally, the cells seem to be producing a sort of alkaline residue that is reinforcing his immune system."

"That's probably why we were able to remove the rebar from him without his developing a secondary infection," Jillian observed. "It also lends credence to the theory that his coma is a self-induced state of healing."

"It would certainly explain both his high white cell count and the accelerated healing we've seen," one of the case interns offered. "Nearly all of his surgical scars have vanished. If this is a form of self healing, then all we have to do is keep him reasonably safe and comfortable and let nature take its course."

"Hopefully, we'll be allowed that luxury," Jillian said.

"Is there a problem?"

"Maybe... maybe not. I'm not certain. It turns out my summons to Washington involved more than giving the President an update on our patient's condition."

Dr. Franklin frowned. "What else happened?"

"After talking with the White House, I was asked to sit in on a meeting at Homeland Security. I didn't recognize anyone at that meeting except for Robertson."

"Your old friend from NASA?" asked Dr. Evans, the chief surgeon. Jillian didn't miss the sarcasm in his voice. From the beginning he'd resented her appointment as lead doctor on such a high profile case. He'd argued that appointing an outsider, let alone a veterinarian, hurt the medical center's prestige.

"Ex-old friend," She said, correcting him. "He spent most of the meeting schmoozing up to the Secretary and singing my praises as a xeno-biologist. Sometimes I wish I'd never published that paper on theoretical biology."

"You published what?" asked Dr. Evans.

Jillian chuckled. "About ten, no... twelve years ago, I wrote what I thought was a joke thesis on extra-terrestrial biology. I wanted to blow off some steam by laughing at the system. I created a series of theoretical 'alien' life forms based upon evolved species of earth animals. I submitted it to a science journal then forgot about it. Three months later, I found myself hired as part of a NASA think tank on xeno-biology."

"Our tax dollars at work," quipped Nagle.

Jillian laughed along with everyone else then became more serious. "What worried me most at the DHS meeting was the suggestion someone made that our patient be transferred to a facility, and I quote, 'better suited to ensuring his recovery'."

"Did they happen to drop any names?" asked Dr. Franklin.

"Yeah... Fort Detrick."

"Holy Shit!"

"The germ warfare people?"

"You mean bio-warfare. They're into DNA scrambling now a days."

"They aren't serious, are they?"

"I don't know. The problem," Jillian said, "is that these guys are so wrapped up in their own agendas they wouldn't recognize reality if bit them on the nose."

"Rest assured," Dr. Franklin said, "if they come calling, the answer will be no!"

"I'd be careful if I were you Bill," Dr. Evans interjected. "They may not be beyond making things uncomfortable for you personally and the hospital in general.

"In what way?"

"Threats to our federal grants; pressure from the mayor or governor, they are dedicated party men after all. There are probably a dozen or more ways they can push. "

"Well," replied Nagle, "maybe we should be ready to push back. We still have a lot of media hanging around, and they're simply dying to get to know our patient a little better. We might want to think of ways we can use that, if necessary."

Jillian shook her head. "That might not be such a good idea. Part of his appeal to the media is the mystery that surrounds him. It we were to actually show them how much of an alien he truly is, it might scare them."

"It sounds like something straight out of the 1950's," Franklin replied.

"Unfortunately, you're right. Thanks to the present administration, a lot of people are running scared. Showing them what our friend really looks like could backfire."

"Well, until we are approached officially on the subject, I'd like to move that discussion to a back burner and address a more direct problem."

"Are you referring to our patient's dreams?" asked Jillian.

Franklin's eyebrows shot up. "How did you...?"

"Nancy at the front desk mentioned something about it when I came in."

"Of course," Franklin sighed. "She was on duty yesterday when it started."

"What started?" Jillian asked.

"All kinds of weird things," volunteered Dr. Nagle. "Electrical equipment switching on and off, small objects levitating around the room, furniture moving of it's own accord. What few readings we could get from the brainwave monitor indicated he was in some kind of low level REM stage of sleep."

"REM sleep?" asked Evans. "I thought he was comatose?"

Jillian shook her head. "We really don't know what kind of state he's in. It could be anything from a self-induced coma to who knows what. How long did this episode last?"

"A few minutes at most," replied Franklin, "but the effect range is spreading."

"Spreading? You mean it's still going on?"

The hospital administrator nodded. "It's irregular, but yes, they're still occurring. I've ordered the floors above and below us at that end of the building evacuated and I'm moving all but the most critical ICU patients to other hospitals. The ones remaining here have been moved to the other end of the floor."

"Do you consider this development a threat?"

"No," Dr. Franklin said. "It's precautionary. I just don't want any critical equipment failures with our other patients."

"Maybe Dr. Strathern's friends at DHS have a point," Evans offered "Are we any better equipped to deal with this kind of phenomena than they are?"

"There's been no harm done," Nagle pointed out.

"You mean 'yet'. If the effect is growing, it could be only a matter of time."

"We are NOT going to hand our patient over for military research," Jillian almost shouted, surprising both herself and the others at the table. There was an uncomfortable silence, broken only when Dr. Franklin softly cleared his throat.

"No one here is seriously considering that option, Jill. Dr. Evans is only pointing out that this could become a problem if we don't figure out how to deal with it."

"What about using sedatives to inhibit REM sleep?" one of the interns asked.

Nagle shook his head. "We don't know what effect it would have. Chemical treatments might produce a completely opposite reaction. Imagine, for instance, if we accidentally gave him nightmares."

"What have we given him so far?" asked Franklin.

"Aside from Dr. Strathern's initial blood plasma treatment, nothing more than keeping him in an oxygen tent and using a saline drip to keep him hydrated. He's doing the rest of the work for us."

"How are we feeding him?"

"He seems to be taking care of that for us as well," Jillian replied. There's been nothing to indicate a loss of muscle tissue or body fat, as there would have been in a human, or animal."

"If his dreaming becomes a problem perhaps the best solution would be to wake him up," one of the interns suggested.

"How?" asked Evans.

"Adjusting his environment," he suggested. "Perhaps raising and/or lowering the temperature of his room might cause a response."

"Maybe some audio stimulation would work," offered the other intern. "I have an old clock radio we can use..."

Evans scowled at the grinning youth. "We need some serious suggestions here, not flippancy."

Jillian looked across at Dr. Evans. "Actually, that idea doesn't sound half bad. Music and simulated nature sounds are often used at veterinary clinics to calm the animals. Who's to say some gentle stimulation wouldn't work here."

"He's hardly an animal," Evans responded

"But he's not human, either," she said.

Franklin closed the file folder and took off his glasses. "Do you think it's safe to wake him... I mean if it becomes necessary?"

"As far as we can tell, his major injury is almost fully healed. It probably wouldn't be a danger to him. Besides, if his coma is part of a self-induced healing process, then he'll wake up when he's good and ready, whether we stimulate him or not."

Dr. Franklin opened his mouth to ask another question when his stomach suddenly growled, loudly. The others chuckled at his slightly embarrassed frown. "Perhaps it's time we took a dinner break," he said glancing at his watch. "The cafeteria's still open. We can meet back here in say, thirty minutes, to finalize a course of treatment." No one objected. Franklin looked across at one of the interns. "Chuck, Think you can hold down the fort for a while?"

Jillian interrupted him. "I'll stay," she offered. "I want to look in on our patient. "

"Okay," Franklin replied. "Can I get you anything?"

"Tuna on whole wheat and a grape juice; And thanks!"

"My pleasure," he smiled. "Oh! By the way, have you given any thought to how you're going to classify our friend for the medical journals?"

"I was leaning towards calling him Bob," she said with a grin.

"Bob? That's hardly scientific."

Well," she replied, "it's a lot more personable than Equine Sapient."

Dr. Franklin shook his head in a bemused way and rejoined the others. Jillian watched as they filed out and headed for the elevator. Gathering her notes, she quickly walked down the corridor to a small prep room next to the special ICU that had been set up. She quickly scrubbed and changed into a set of surgeon greens, leaving her clothes in one of the lockers. She then stepped through a set of double sealed doors and carefully moved around to the far side of the bed. Nancy was there, recording information from the monitors and checking both the oxygen and I.V. levels. She looked up as Jillian entered and nodded toward the Outlander.

"No change, doctor."

"Thank-you." She glanced at the I.V. "Why don't you go get a fresh bag now. Save the next shift from having to replace it."

"Right away, doctor." Nancy hung the clipboard at the foot of the bed and left. Jillian carefully pulled aside the oxygen tent and leaned over the silent form. Taking out her penlight, she gently raised his eyelids and clicked it on. His eyes were both fully dilated and non-responsive. She turned the light off and slid it back into her pocket. Pulling her stethoscope up to her ears she checked his heartbeat. It matched the monitor perfectly, twelve beats per minute. She put the instrument to one side.

"If only you'd talk," she muttered quietly to herself. Jillian quickly examined his fingers, looking for possible signs of cyanosis. Finding none, she gently rolled them between her fingers. Even through her gloves she could sense that the fur on his hands was as soft and silky as the rest of his body.

One finger twitched slightly in response to her holding his hand. Startled, she looked at his eyes. She could see them moving slowly back and forth beneath the lids. Simultaneously, the lights in the room dimmed. As they did Jillian noticed a soft, bluish-white glow that seemed to emanate from the center of his forehead. She reached for it, holding her hand a few inches above the glow. It felt warm. Tentatively she lowered her fingers to touch it.

Contact!

The world turned white...!

An icy wind cut through her like a knife. Jillian looked around, but found nothing. She felt as if she was standing on a firm surface, but she couldn't be sure. Why was she so cold? Moments before she had been in the ICU. Now she was... where? The glare surrounding her was so blinding she couldn't see her hand before her face. She strained to see, and it felt like needles had pierced her eyes. Her head ached from the brilliance of the white world. She closed her eyes and began trying to feel her way forward.

Suddenly the cold faded. The blinding whiteness dimmed to a soft gray fog. She opened her eyes and watched as it swirled about her, the very air twisting into soft, intangible shapes.

"Hello? Is anybody there?" She paused for a moment. "Can anyone hear me?"

"I can," came a voice.

Jillian paused. It sounded like a child's voice. Like a boy maybe seven or eight years old. "Where are you?" she called.

"Here... I'm always here. What you really mean is where are YOU?"

"Alright," she replied slowly. "I'll play along... Where am I?"

"Here," came the child's voice, "with me."

"Where's here?"

"Inside. But you knew that already."

"How did I get here?" she asked.

"You came in. You knocked and he opened the door."

"He?" she looked around trying to focus on a direction, but the voice danced around her like a moth. "Who's he?"

"Me," fluttered the voice again. "He's me and I'm him."

"Can I see you? Will you show me who you are?" There was a long silence. It was finally broken by a reluctant, childlike assent.

"O'ky"

The fog thinned, swirling away on her left. Before her stood a marble statue. It looked as if it could have been carved by Michelangelo, but the master never had a subject such as this. It was tall, half human and half equine. It was the Outlander. The sculpture was perfectly proportioned and anatomically correct. He was posed in a stance of watchfulness and strength. Small hairline cracks dotted the statue. Looking closely, Jillian noticed that one crack matched the scar he had after they had removed the section of rebar from him. It reminded her of The Portrait of Dorian Gray. She wondered if this was some kind of parallel.

"He doesn't remember every hurt, every pain," the child's voice said, "But I do. I remember for him, even the deep ones."

"Deep ones?" Jillian asked.

"The ones that cut to the soul."

Jillian reached up and touched one of the cracks. It was warm to the touch, though the marble surrounding it remained cool. She tried another with the same result. Walking around the statue she saw a distinctive scar in the center his chest. Unlike the others, it appeared inflamed, like an infection. She reached for it.

"Be careful," whispered the voice. "That's a very bad wound."

"Who hurt him?"

"I did," came the voice. It sounded as if it were filled with regret. "I tried to wake him up. He didn't want to, so I made him remember. It didn't work. He went deeper... so deep he's forgetting how to get back.

Jillian held her hand an inch or two above the chest. It felt much warmer than the other scars. Her fingertips lightly stroked the edge of the wound.

There was a flash.

Her mind was suddenly clouded with emotion. Fear, pain, anguish, loss, despair... they overwhelmed her, flooding her to the core. The assault was so surprising that for a moment she couldn't breathe. Through it all, one emotion stood out, colder and sharper than the others; Loneliness. It burned through her, consumed her and left her feeling hollow.

Images raced through her mind. She could see others just like the Outlander, thousands of them. She saw him, surrounded by a close circle of family and friends. They were all together. They were all part of the world ship. They were each unique yet they shared a dream, home... a new home.

Other thoughts danced through her head. Defend, fight, strike and protect, loss, escape. They spun uncontrollably like a kaleidoscope. It took only an instant, just one moment of weakness. Everything turned to ash and twisted, blackened metal. They died, all of them, all... save one, save...him.

His life was empty now. It was given meaning only by a sense of duty. It was as empty as... her own!

She went down on her knees and buried her face in her hands. She wept uncontrollably, for herself as much as for him. She wept for the child voice and the hero. They were one in the same, lost and alone together. She wept for his loss. She wept for her own years of self-discipline, of denial, of unfulfilled need. She wept for feelings that until now she'd pushed aside, feelings she had thought were counter-productive. She had always known how to feel for others, but not for herself. She wept for what could have been. Only moments before she had known who she was. She had a place in the world. Now, she felt lost.

Jillian felt the touch of a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and found herself back in the ICU. She was kneeling on the cold linoleum of the floor, tears streaming down her face. Beside her stood Nancy, the young Korean nurse, concern reflected in her eyes.

"Doctor, are you all right? Do you need help?"

"He's lost, "she wept. "He feels so isolated, so alone. He can't find his way back. He's hiding from his pain."

"Lost? Doctor... who's lost? What do you mean?"

Jillian took a several deep breaths. With each, her sobbing lessened. The sharpness of her pain faded. She shakily tried pushing herself off the floor. Nancy bent and supported her under the arm, then led her over to a chair.

"Wait here, I'll be right back." The nurse went to a nearby sink and filled a paper cup with water. This she carried back to the doctor along with a damp washcloth and terrycloth towel. The doctor quickly emptied the cup then mopped her face with the washcloth. She used the towel to wipe away both the moisture and tears.

"Thank-you," she said, her voice gaining strength. Like waking from a nightmare, her rational mind took over. Her fears and doubts continued fading. Jillian wondered whether the outburst was truly her own or a reflection of what the Outlander felt. She wanted to believe the latter, but some small part of her resisted the idea. She still felt the ache within herself.

Nancy sat next to Jillian and rested her hand on her forearm. "Are you okay?"

Jillian nodded in response, patting the back of the nurse's hand. "Yes. I hope I didn't scare you."

"You certainly did," she replied. "I thought for a moment I'd have to call for help." She looked tentatively at the door. "I'm glad this place is soundproofed. Imagine having to explain this to the cops on guard duty."

"You knew the job was dangerous when you took it," Jillian smiled

"Dangerous, I can handle... Just so long as I'm not bored," she quipped. She picked the washcloth up off the floor where it had fallen and looked at the physician. "What did you mean when you said he was lost, that he's hiding?"

"I'm not sure," Jillian replied.

* * * *

"Physically, I think he's fine, but something's happened. He put himself in this suspended state so he could heal. Now, I think he's afraid to wake up."

Dr. Franklin sat behind his desk, a thoughtful, though somewhat skeptical look on his face. Both Dr. Nagle and Dr. Evans sat on a couch nearby as Jillian paced the room.

"You know this because you were inside his mind?"

"It's the only explanation that makes sense."

"And the child's voice?" asked Franklin. "What do you think?"

Jillian shook her head. "I'm not a psychologist, so I don't know. It might have been some aspect of his sub-conscious mind."

"Well, you are right," interjected Dr. Evans. "You're not a psychologist."

"I know what I saw..."

"You mean what you think you saw," Evans said. "How do you know it wasn't all a dream?"

"It couldn't have been," she replied. "It was too clear, too full of sensory details to be a dream. I felt the cold. My eyes he hurt because the light was so bright. It felt every bit as real as being here in this room with you, right now."

"The nurse reported you were on the floor, crying, said Nagle. "What brought that about?"

Jillian pursed her lips for a moment, thinking of what to say. "I believe it happened because I made a kind of emotional connection with him. Some of his feelings hit a little... well, too close to home. Imagine how you'd react if you could suddenly, and without warning, feel the fear and pain of your own patients."

"That couldn't happen," replied Evans.

"No," Jillian said sarcastically, "I don't suppose it ever could."

The doctor scowled. "I don't care if you are the team lead on this case... I won't stand by and let myself be insulted by some... animal doctor."

"That's uncalled for Richard," chided Dr. Franklin. "We'd be completely at a loss here without her knowledge of theoretical biology." He turned to Jillian. "And you, young lady need to be a little more respectful of Dr. Evans. He's your colleague."

"Sorry," Jillian replied. "I'm feeling tired. Diving into our patient's mind took a lot out of me."

"Not to mention your cross country hop to Washington," Nagle added. "Maybe it would be best if we met again in the morning. Give everyone a chance to get some rest."

Dr. Evans stared silently at Jillian for a moment or two longer then shrugged his shoulders. "You're right. Perhaps we should break for the evening."

"Okay then," replied Franklin. "We'll convene again at 9 a.m. tomorrow in my office. I'll have the night shift put us on call if anything happens." The meeting broke up. Before she could leave, however, Dr. Franklin took her to one side.

"This is for your ears only, but Dr. Evans was right earlier."

"About what?"

"Official pressure. I had to field a couple of inquiries from both the mayor and governor on how long we should keep our friend here. They suggested, rather obliquely, that he might be better off in a more secure facility."

"Well, if they want it more secure, they should add a few more cops."

"That's not going to happen," said Franklin. "As a matter of fact, the mayor's ordered the number of cops be reduced to only three, effective at ten p.m. tonight."

"He can't be serious..."

"He is. He feels they can be of more use on the streets."

"Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy." Jillian looked at Dr. Franklin. "Any chance we can hire a few more guards ourselves."

"I'll try, but I won't be able to do anything until tomorrow at the earliest. Meanwhile, you should take Dr. Nagle's advice and get some rest."

Jillian thanked Dr. Franklin and bid him good night. Walking out of his office, she went over to the nurse's desk and wrote out a set of night orders. She then briefed the duty intern and two nurses.

By the time she had finished, she really was beginning to feel tired. She blanched at the thought of facing the media downstairs then driving half an hour home. Instead, she decided to take a short nap in one of the empty rooms not far from her patient. She instructed one of the nurses to wake her if anything happened.

Jillian closed the door behind her and pulled off her shoes. She lay down on the bed and started going over the day's events in her mind. Within moments, she was locked in a deep, dreamless sleep.

Hours passed.

Jillian suddenly awoke with a start, unsure of her surroundings. It took a few moments for her to remember where she was. The room was dark and silent... too silent... too dark.

Something was wrong!.

Jillian listened for almost a full minute, straining to hear some sound. Nothing could be heard, not even the soft whirring of the air conditioning. The room was bathed in the eerie, yellowish glow of the hospital emergency lights. She sat up and quickly slipped into her shoes. Jillian carefully made her way to the door and pushed it open. No one was in the hallways. The main lights were off here as well. The shadows were much deeper and she had to walk slowly. She reached the nurse's station then nearly tripped on something lying on the floor.

Looking down, Jillian saw the figure of one of the nurses. She bent down and placed two fingers to her neck, feeling for a pulse. Yes... there it was, slow and steady. Her thumb brushed something feathery on the back of the nurse's neck. She grasped it and gently pulled. It came out easily. Jillian immediately recognized the miniature tranquillizer dart.

She stood and turned toward the ICU. She saw the figure of a cop lying sprawled on the floor, his gun holstered. She moved instinctively towards the ICU, her senses heightened by adrenalin. She knew the other patients on the floor would be all right. Every piece of critical equipment had a battery back up that would last at least twelve hours. If there were a threat, it had to center on the Outlander. Reaching the room, Jillian looked in through the double pane glass. He was gone!

She spun around frantically, looking. The elevator...? No! With the power out they would have automatically settled to the first floor and been locked out. The stairs? The stairwell door was only a few feet away. She rushed over to it. The door opened easily. Emergency lighting flooded the whole area. Several floors below she could hear voices calling out, checking on each other. Power was out throughout the entire building. It was seven floors to the ground...three to the roof. Throwing caution to the wind Jillian climbed the stairs, two at a time.

The door to the roof had been forced open. Hugging the frame, she peered out into the night. On the helipad sat a large, black, military helicopter with no markings. The rotors were spinning very slowly. A figure stood next to it looking up. He was dressed in black and wore a combat vest and ski mask pulled over his head. A pair of night vision goggles hung loosely in one hand, a tranquillizer pistol in the other. He was yelling at the pilot.

"What do you mean it won't start? You weren't supposed to shut down in the first place."

"I didn't, sir! The engine quit, right after you loaded that... thing onboard."

Realizing the figure's attention was on the pilot and not the door, Jillian yanked off her white hospital coat, threw it down and crawled out below the edge of the helipad. She kept low, trying to get closer to the helicopter, trying to see or hear... something."

"Colonel!" came a voice from inside the chopper. "The EKG monitor's out. So is the radio and the night vision goggles."

Another voice cut in. "Sir, our patient's showing signs of being in REM sleep."

"I thought the bastard was comatose."

"He's supposed to be, sir."

"Fuck!" Someone, somewhere had withheld information. When he found out who, he'd have their ass! He looked at one of the men in the helicopter. "All right! We can't have him waking up... Give him the injection."

Jillian's mind raced. These people obviously weren't doctors, and their leader had called it 'the injection.' She knew with absolute clarity that nothing in the syringe would be beneficial. If it were a sedative, the least it might do would be to deepen his coma. It might even kill him. "NO! DON'T!" she cried, standing so she could be seen.

The 'colonel' whirled, pistol aimed straight at her. "HOLD!" he called to the man in the chopper. He focused on Jillian again. "Doctor Strathern, isn't it?" She nodded.

"He's dreaming," she said. "When he dreams, it seems to disrupt electrical fields around him. I can make him stop."

"Walk forward, slowly." She did as ordered.

He nodded toward the chopper door. "You've got sixty seconds."

Jillian quickly climbed into the helicopter and knelt next to the Outlander. Sure enough, his eyes were slowly moving back and forth beneath the lids. She looked higher and spotted the faint blue glow on his forehead. His mane hid it from the soldiers' view. Murmuring a short prayer, she reached up with both hands and touched it.

Contact!

Once more the world went white. The cold surrounding her felt more intense than before. Jillian shivered violently, clutching at herself, aware for the first time she was naked. She thought back to her previous mind link, but couldn't remember whether she'd been naked then as well. It made some sense. Clothing would serve no purpose here. Squeezing her eyes shut against the blinding whiteness she called out. "Are you there? Can you hear me?"

"Yes," a voice answered softly. It was no longer the child's voice. Now it sounded like that of a woman. It was soft and lilting, yet stronger... more sure of itself.

"I need your help," Jillian called desperately. "We have to wake him up... They're going to kill him!"

"Why?"

"I don't know! Maybe out of fear, or greed... maybe out of ignorance. You have to do something. You have to save him!"

"Why?"

Jillian felt anger. "Don't you care if you live or die? If he dies, you die with him!"

"Death... Life... They are the same. It doesn't matter. Not now."

"Yes it does!"

"Why?"

Jillian found that it was hard to think. She was numb from the cold. Unlike the last time, it wasn't dissipating. She tried to remember her last journey here, tried to recall the images. He had been surrounded by others... by friends and... family! The image sharpened into focus. A female by his side, her arm entwined with his, and a small child, looking up at him in admiration.

"Because he loved you. He loved you enough to bring you with him. You are part of his mind, his soul. You are both here, with him."

"Both?"

"Yes! Both you and your... son!"

The voice wavered slightly. "Both?" My child is... here?"

"Yes. With him... with you," Jillian took a deep breath. "If he dies, then your son dies too."

"NO!" In an instant the icy cold whiteness was swept away. Jillian found herself standing on an endless plane. The only thing she could see was the statue, standing as before. Time was running out. She knew instinctively that here, within the Outlander's mind, it didn't have much meaning, but that didn't mean they were safe. She called out to the voice once more.

"Can you awaken him?"

"Yes," came the reply, "but he has withdrawn deeply into himself. It will take both effort and time."

"We do not have much time," said Jillian. "You must bring him to consciousness. He must act to save himself."

"I cannot. I have no power over his physical being. But fear not, he can still be saved."

"How?"

"You must act for him."

Jillian stared at the marble figure before her. "How? I don't have his knowledge, his power. How can I act for him?"

"You will become him. He will provide the knowledge and instinct, you the awareness, motive and action."

A sudden chill of certainty washed across her. "This is dangerous, isn't it?"

"Yes. You must be strong or you risk dissolution."

For a long moment Jillian went silent. She felt scared. She didn't want to die, but she knew she couldn't just stand by and watch her patient murdered.

"What do I do?"

"Stand behind him."

"You mean the statue?"

"There is no statue. There is only him."

Jillian did as instructed. "Now what?"

"Reach around under his arms, place your palms against his shoulders and pull yourself in."

"What?"

"Forget the physicality of your world," the voice reassured her, "It has no meaning. Reach around and pull yourself in."

Jillian did. She felt her body began to dissolve, to melt, to merge with the Outlander. Wherever it had been cold, the marble warmed to her touch. She felt him surrounding her even as she expanded to fill his body.

"Whatever you do," came the now ghostly voice, "Do not let go!"

"Let go? Let go of what?"

"...You... will... understand...!"

Jillian opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was a pair of arms poised above her face. They were her own, only seen now from the body of the Outlander. "Don't let go." Of course, that's what the voice had meant! She had to maintain physical contact with her own body or the link would be broken.

"SHIT! He's awake!" A figure hovered above her, holding an intra-muscular syringe. The wickedly long, thick needle positioned to strike. Jillian backhanded the man holding it. He literally flew out of the chopper and landed next to the skid. The other arm she wrapped tightly around her own, motionless body, holding it to her as a child clutches a rag doll.

She looked down at her body, no the Outlander's body. "I'm naked," she thought. "I need some kind of protection, some covering!" Instantly her skin began to tingle. A silver liquid oozed out from every pore in her body, incasing her in a thin, flexible, metal shell. The only portion of the Outlander's body not covered was the inside of her arm where she clutched her own human form. Two of the soldiers fired their tranquilizer pistols. The darts easily bounced off the sheathing.

Jillian sat up. The pilot turned in his seat, aiming a pistol at her. He fired, but the bullet only ricocheted off her body. She reached out, snatching the gun easily from him. Her hand glowed with a soft blue pulse and the entire weapon simply disassembled itself. She watched, fascinated as even the grains of gunpowder hissed as they hit the floor, like sand pouring through a sieve. She stepped down from the helicopter and found herself surrounded by soldiers. They had ditched their tranquilizer guns and were now armed with M-16's.

Jillian smiled wanly and shook her head.

As the 'colonel' watched, the Outlander's eye's glowed blue. The rifle barrels twisted themselves like pretzels. One soldier was too quick on the trigger and he squeezed off a round before he realized what had happened. With no place to go, the bullet shattered the rifle barrel, sending shrapnel into his face. He clutched at his face and dropped to the ground, screaming. Blood welled through his fingers. "MY EYES! MY EYES!"

Jillian turned toward the wounded man. Dropping gently to one knee, she placed her free hand on the soldier's face. Again, there was a blue glow. The soldier's hands fell limply away and his screaming stopped. When Jillian removed her massive hand he was asleep, and his face was restored.

She stood, looking around for an exit. There was only one. Instinctively she reached out again with her free hand. There was the now familiar blue glow and the cargo door of the helicopter wrenched itself free and floated over to her. She stepped up on it, her hooves scratching the paint. "Home," she thought. The door lifted into the sky and accelerated away.

The 'colonel' watched, impotently, as his men carried the form of the sleeping soldier into the chopper. There was a sudden shriek of metal. He spun on his heels in time to see the tail of the helicopter twist itself into a useless ball of aluminum.

"Goddamn Sonofabitch!" he screamed. Then and there the 'colonel' decided that when he got back to homeplate, he was going to really fuck up their handler.

* * * *

Jillian soared over the city, instinctively heading northwest, away from the hospital. She didn't quite know where she was going, except that it was home, his home. He knew the way, so she relaxed and let instinct guide her. She accelerated through the night sky. Jillian watched as a thin, aerodynamic field of energy surrounded her, protecting both the Outlander and her own body from air friction. She shifted her grip on her body, cradling it gently in the alien's two, powerful arms.

They quickly reached the coast and turned north. They dropped down, skimming only ten feet above the black surface of the ocean. Stars beyond number rose from the western horizon, reaching across as if trying to envelop her like some massive wave. Jillian had forgotten how many stars there were. Living in the city lends itself to isolation from nature. The energy shield protecting them allowed for gas exchange, and she could smell the salty tang of the ocean. She inhaled, filling her now massive lungs with the heady scent.

For the first time, she sensed a slight pressure in the back of her head. It wasn't painful, but it was there, nonetheless. She wondered what it was. Perhaps it was what the voice had called instinct. She certainly didn't have any trouble drawing upon the Outlander's power. Could that be the connection? Then, there was the nature of the power itself. It didn't feel as if it were internalized, at least not all of it. Her armored shell seemed to have sprung from within her own body, but the manipulation of energy felt as if it had been drawn in, from some outside source. She wondered about that. Was the energy ambient? If so, where did it come from? How was it being manipulated? Was it an advanced form of mental power, or magic? Jillian chuckled, remembering something her college roommate had once said. "Any effectively systemized form of magic was indistinguishable from science." She wondered if Arthur C. Clarke would have laughed at the play on his own words.

Jillian had altered course slightly and the coast slowly vanished into the night, taking with it the few lights that had dotted it. The night sky surrounded her completely, looking as if a bowl full of stars had been upended above her.

She began to slow. Ahead of her she could see a flashing light. It cycled once every fifteen seconds and rested atop a large domed rock that rose out of the sea. The island was less than half a mile wide and appeared deserted, save for the automated lighthouse. As she approached, a section of the rock slid away to reveal a passage. Jillian flew into the opening.

The door behind her slid closed and a row of lights came on, lighting her way. The corridor itself was about ten feet high and formed into a three quarter circle. The walls appeared to have been carved from the very rock itself and then smoothed out.

The cargo door settled to the floor. Jillian stepped off and walked down the corridor toward a large, circular door. Sensing her presence, the door opened and she paused to look around. She found herself standing on a large platform about twenty feet above the floor of a massive room. The chamber was shaped like a dome and had to be at almost two hundred feet across. To her left along the platform was what appeared to be a command center of some kind. Large display screens and electronic devices were neatly organized in a pattern not dissimilar to a NASA control room, though here the devices were all linked to one workstation, in front of which sat a larger than normal chair.

To her right was a separate platform about five feet lower and thirty or more across. It was connected to the first by a short series of steps. On it Jillian could see what looked like an alien machine shop. Racks of neatly stacked components lined one side. In the center were several worktables containing machines, most of which only vaguely resembled their earthly counter-parts. A number of these hummed, carrying out previously ordered tasks. What they did, however, was beyond Jillian's reckoning. Impressive as all this was, it was nothing compared to the single object resting at the center of the domed chamber.

The spacecraft was about 120 feet long with a wingspan of close to 150 feet. The forward section was oval shaped. It tapered into a long, graceful pylon that connected it to the aft fuselage and wing structure. Jillian was struck with how much it resembled a swan in flight. The edges were all gracefully rounded. The entire ship seemed to flow together, with each individual part merging seamlessly with the whole. The exterior of the craft was like chrome and reflected nearly everything surrounding it. There were no landing struts or cradle for it to rest on. Instead the space ship simply floated about two feet above the floor.

Jillian slowly descended the stairs leading from the workshop platform to the main floor. She let the Outlander guide her movements since she didn't know what to do next. As she approached the ship, she began feeling a sort of light-headedness. At the same time, the pressure in the back of her head increased. She stopped for a moment, trying to focus. Up until this moment, she had felt firmly in control. Now, that seemed to be slipping away. She remembered the voice saying something about, dissolution. Warning her that she had to be strong. Yet, somehow, Jillian sensed that wasn't what was happening.

A wave of dizziness washed over her and she staggered. She felt a powerful urge to sleep. Maybe it was time to re-enter her own body again. Jillian looked down on the silent form, seeing it clearly for the first time since the rooftop. Something was wrong.

Her thoughts became uncoordinated. She knew what she was looking at but she was having difficulty putting it together. Her clothing was blood soaked. She saw the small bullet hole in her thigh, just below the pelvic bone. When had that happened? The pilot...? No, his shot had bounced off the armor. It had... ricocheted. It must have gone into her body and clipped the femoral artery. The Outlander's armor had kept her from feeling the dampness of the blood against his skin; otherwise she might have acted sooner. Acted... Yes that's what she had to do now. She had to stop the bleeding. How? She couldn't remember, couldn't focus. She wanted to do nothing more than sleep. Yes, sleep...

The Outlander crashed to his knees, then slowly toppled over on his side. The silver armor enveloping him vanished as it was absorbed once more into his skin. Jillian's body rolled a foot or two away. She came to rest on her back. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, then closed. A small pool of blood began spreading silently across the chamber floor.

* * * *

The Secretary slammed his fist down on the desk, stood and walked over to a nearby window, trying to desperately regain his composure. He'd been in public service for over twenty-two years, working his way up step by painful step. He had carefully picked the jobs he did, and he was always careful to know what side of an issue was the winning side. Then, it changed.

The ink had hardly dried on his cabinet appointment when the Outlander had first appeared. It had become his job to keep an eye on the alien. It was the Secretary's responsibility to determine his threat level and ensure he did not become a wild card in some of the administration's less public and more secretive activities. In many ways it had been an easy task, thanks in no small part to the Outlander's seeming lack of interest in mankind's affairs, save where life and limb were threatened. He was quite easy to figure out, really. He was nothing more than an interplanetary Boy Scout.

Still, he did make a lot of the Washington power brokers nervous. The general undercurrent of opinion was that no one with that kind of power could be as benevolent as the Outlander seemed. So, when an opportunity was presented to bring him under control, the Secretary was naturally enough put in charge. Now, thanks to poor intelligence and Dr. Strathern's intervention, the whole problem was about to blow up in his face.

The Secretary turned away from the window and faced Colonel Faulkner. "How well is the cover story holding?"

"As well as can be expected," he replied. "The C-4 we used obliterated what was left of the chopper and any evidence of our activities on the roof. My men were able to egress the area disguised as paramedics. As of this morning, ninety-eight percent of the media believes the story that a military helicopter crashed into the roof of the building while on a training flight. The other two percent represent tabloids and conspiracy journals. They have no credibility in the mainstream."

"What about the blackout?"

"Since we took down most of the grid, it was easy to convince people that the chopper clipped a blacked out radio tower and tried for an emergency landing on the hospital's helipad. We have someone in the NTSB monitoring and tweaking any evidence they find to the contrary."

"Casualties?"

"No one at the hospital," Faulkner replied. "There were however three fatalities at a nursing home in the blackout area, and one fatal mugging discovered by the police early this morning."

"Who?"

"A reporter. She wouldn't buy into the story that our friend, the Outlander, had apparently awakened and left of his own accord. She started asking all the wrong questions of the right people."

The Secretary grunted. "Keep an eye on that. We don't want some local cop putting too many pieces together. What about the hospital staff?"

"The people we drugged at the hospital all believe they were put to sleep by the alien. Our clean-up man on the inside managed to snag anything we left behind."

"It's too bad he couldn't stop Dr. Strathern from interfering," said the Secretary.

"You can chalk that up to the same poor intelligence that got us in trouble. No one knew she was sleeping in one of the empty hospital rooms."

The Secretary walked over to a small table and poured a glass of water. "Any clue as to where she is now?"

"None," replied Faulkner. "Though I think it's safe to say she's with the alien."

The Secretary downed the water and placed the glass back on the table. He paused for a moment before looking back over at the Colonel. "Has anyone given any thought to how the Outsider may respond to your failed kidnapping?"

"Based on what we know about him we believe there are three possible scenarios. First, he may ignore us completely. Second, he may attempt to find out who's after him and head off future attempts by taking out the source responsible. Third, he may bypass us and go to the media, exposing the attempt made against him."

"Which scenario do you think he'll take," asked the Secretary.

"Left to his own devices and considering his past behavior, the consensus is he will simply ignore us."

"Why?"

"Our experts feel his lack of interaction with humans is because he has some other agenda. While we don't know what that is, extensive contact with mankind is probably a hindrance to whatever goal he has. Why else avoid it?"

"That's pretty thin, Colonel. Can't you give me anything more than speculation?"

Faulkner shook his head. "Without hard intelligence, the best we can do is to create a profile based on his known behavior and draw conclusions from that."

"You mean guesses, don't you?" the Secretary asked. "What about Dr. Strathern? If she's with the alien, how might she influence his response?"

"We don't know for certain. Her politics are slightly left of center. She doesn't have any real friends, just colleagues and acquaintances. As a matter of fact, she's rather jaded when it comes to her fellow man. That's why she prefers working with animals."

"A regular Doctor Doolittle," the Secretary muttered.

"I'd be careful not to dismiss her so lightly," warned the Colonel. "She's smart enough to be one of the top veterinarians in the country. Combined with the apparent link she has to the Outlander, she may be a credible threat."

"What does she know about us?"

"She can't identify anyone on the recovery team, but she saw enough to easily blow our cover story to hell. Plus, thanks to that fool Robertson, she was brought in on the meeting last week over at Homeland Security. It wouldn't take much from her to get a congressional investigation started."

"I hope to God Robertson isn't on the inside track of our operations."

"No sir," said Faulkner. "He's strictly a medium level bureaucrat trying to score points with his boss. He doesn't know about any of us."

"So what you're telling me is we have to be ready to quietly grab Dr. Strathern the moment she climbs out of whatever hole she's in."

"Yes, sir."

The Secretary tiredly rubbed at the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. Sitting behind his desk he keyed the intercom. "Monica?"

"Yes sir?" came the thin voice from the speaker.

"Bring me a couple aspirin, would you?" He quickly corrected himself. "No! On second thought make that the whole bottle."

"Right away Mr., Secretary!"

He looked tiredly over at Faulkner. "Whatever happens, don't screw this up or we'll all go down in flames."

* * * *

Jillian felt as if she were swimming through tar. A heaviness pulled at her, threatening to envelope her completely. Her arms dragged slowly, exhausting her. Every single kick, every stroke, was like twenty. She couldn't breathe. The harder she struggled the worse it became.

"This isn't real," she thought desperately. "It can't be." She couldn't sense anything around her. The only thing she could 'see' was an all-pervasive blackness. She tried to cry for help, but though her lips formed the words, she didn't have enough breath to speak them. Fear swept across her. The blackness pushed inward, threatening to consume her, threatening to bury her for all time. "NO!" she yelled wordlessly. She wanted to live! She had to live!

A pale blue spark lit the darkness like a distant star. Despite her exhaustion she pulled one hand free of the blackness and reached for it, stretching with all her might, willing herself to touch it. The spark drew closer, then closer still. The pale blue light brightened, sharpening into a brilliant blue. It hurt her eyes to look at it, but Jillian continued to follow it, reaching for it until at last she closed her hand around it.

It burned! Yet still she clutched it, drawing it to herself. Its heat spread down her arm and through the rest of her body. As it spread, the blackness retreated. Jillian could breathe again, but now the air was hot. She drew a sharp breath and felt her lungs tingle and burn. She drew the spark to herself, clutching it against her chest, above her heart. The world changed!

All became silence and white and cold. She knew this place. Unlike before, there was no icy wind, just a chill that permeated the air. The burning sensation stopped. Slowly Jillian opened her hand and looked. The blue spark had vanished, leaving a pale blue four-pointed star etched into her palm, like a tattoo. She looked up, becoming aware once more of her nakedness and that she was kneeling. She stood, craning her neck to see what she could. The fear she felt before had been driven off, replaced by a feeling of... acceptance.

"She is much stronger than I expected," whispered a feminine voice.

"Yes, she is," responded a child's voice, fluttering around her like before. "I like her. Her heart is warm."

Jillian looked around. "You're both here?" There was a childish giggling.

"Why wouldn't we be?" answered the female voice. "You helped us find each other. We weren't even looking until you came along."

"But you're part of him. How could you not know of each other's presence?" asked Jillian.

"We are not separate entities. We became lost because he was lost and alone. His loneliness consumed him in a moment of spiritual and mental weakness. He forgot who he was and retreated from the world. Without him, we were nothing but lost memories."

"Were you able to help him... to bring him back?" Jillian asked.

"Yes! Thanks to you!" A new voice resonated in Jillian's head, one of strength and confidence, of wisdom and patience and knowledge. The brilliant whiteness faded, as did the cold. She turned and saw the statue once more, but this time it was not a statue. Before her stood the Outlander as much of flesh, bone and fur as was possible in a place such as this. The scars were still visible, though the one over his heart was no longer ragged and inflamed. Like the others it was simply another old wound.

The figure strode powerfully up to Jillian, placing his hands firmly, but gently on her shoulders. She didn't flinch as he stared down at her. "You are a unique human being, Jillian Strathern. You are the first of your race whom I can call friend."

Jillian looked around. "Where are the others? The voices that guided me? Shouldn't I be able to see them, now that you're awake?"

The Outlander shook his head. "Sadly, they have no form here. They are but my memories. Their minds suffered dissolution long ago."

"My mate was not present when we lost our corporal form," whispered the female voice, "otherwise he would have taken us within himself, as he has you. Such was the way of our people. We are merely a reflection of what he remembers us to be. We speak only what he believes we might say under the circumstances."

"So you really are aspects of him, aren't you?"

"Yes," she whispered. Her voice faced and seemed to blend with the Outlander's become one vibrant tone

"When one of us dies, their mind passes into that of their closest kin. They have an illusionary form within the mind of their kin but they cannot control or possess a physical body unless the host mind surrenders its consciousness, as I did. Normally they become a passive observer and counselor."

"And you live your whole lives carrying this, 'spirit' of your loved ones with you."

"No, such is not possible. The link eventually becomes dissolute over the course of time, but so much is shared and learned that the final parting is without a sense of loss or abandonment."

Jillian thought back to the images she had seen during her first mind link with the Outlander. His world ship had been crushed and his people murdered. Their minds were gone forever. He was alone, physically, spiritually and mentally. She had only had the briefest glimpse of his suffering and it had driven her to tears. She saw the Outlander with a new appreciation and understanding. Somehow, despite this terrible loss he had found a new purpose in life. One built on helping others, not taking revenge. The strength of will this represented was astounding.

A cold chill suddenly ran through Jillian. She turned abruptly and locked eyes with the alien. "What did you mean when your mate said 'as he has you?'"

"She, or rather I, mean that your mind is here with me now."

"And my body...?"

"It no longer functions."

Jillian went numb with shock. She couldn't think, couldn't focus on what to say or do. If what the Outlander said was true, then she was... dead! She shook her head and slowly went to her knees, wrapping both arms tightly around her body. "No! No! No! No! No!" she whispered. She couldn't be dead. This couldn't be her fate... trapped for who knew how long in the mind of an alien. He had talked about dissolution. Was that her destiny? If her conscious mind dissipated, would it take her soul with her? Was there nothing beyond this place except entropy?

Her numbness faded, replaced by an aching feeling of emptiness and a deep depression. Her life was gone, and she'd never done anything to make it meaningful. She had no family or friends to mourn her. She had no lovers who would remember her with tenderness. She only had colleagues, strangers who knew of her accomplishments but nothing of who she was. They would politely bid her goodbye, and then go about their own, more meaningful lives, feeling nothing from her loss. A low moan escaped her throat.

She felt someone pull her back to her feet and wrap a thick pair of arms about her, supporting her weight and holding her, comforting her. A deep, resonate voice echoed through her head, calming and soothing in its strength "I am sorry, Doctor Strathern. Your people are so bright and clever that I forget you have yet to tap the resources of your own minds. What you did to help me was nothing short of incredible. I promise, I will do everything I can to help you in turn." He held her like this for several minutes, allowing her the time she needed to calm herself.

Locked as she was in his warm, strong embrace Jillian's sense of emptiness slowly ebbed. She looked up at the Outlander. Even though he had a nearly equine head, his eyes were almost human in their expressiveness. Seeing them, she knew at once he was telling her the truth.

"You can bring me back to life?"

"No, I cannot, because you are not dead."

"But my body? You said... "

"I said it no longer functions. I did not say I could not repair it." He gently let go of Jillian and set her in front of him. "For now I have placed it in stasis so its deterioration will cease."

"How long will I be like this, in here, in your mind with you?"

"I am not certain. Not too long I would estimate. I must proceed carefully with the regeneration process, especially in those areas where cellular decay had started."

"I don't remember much after walking down the stairs into your... hanger? All I felt was a dizziness and strange pressure at the back of my head. What happened?"

"The dizziness was your own loss of blood, and the pressure would have been my conscious mind attempting to reassert itself," he explained. " According to my monitoring system, you lost control of my body and collapsed. It was at least twenty minutes before I regained full consciousness and could act to save your mind." He paused as if considering what to say next. Jillian sensed some hesitancy in him. " It was a near thing. Another five minutes and your thought processes would have become too dissolute to pull you back. As it was I had some difficulty holding your mind together. Your 'wish' to live was of considerable help."

"So... where exactly do we go from here?"

"I will teach you what it is to be a Vethra... a companion mind. As you are human and not of my race I will show you how to function within my mind and my memories. I will instruct you how to access my conscious thoughts and communicate with me and how you might aid me from time to time."

"Aid you? How?"

"I am an alien. Many elements of your culture are strange to me. You can help me understand human reactions and the more subtle meanings of their language. What you think, I will know."

"In other words, you'll read my mind."

"Only your conscious mind," he reassured her. "If I wanted I could, most certainly, read your sub-conscious thoughts, but that would violate the trust which must exist between host and Vethra."

"Will I be able to read your mind as well?" Jillian asked.

"Yes," he replied. "Under the present circumstances it will be difficult for you not to read my thoughts or 'see' my memories. What I must teach you is how to shield yourself from unfocused thoughts and dreams. They could be disorientating and hard to distinguish from reality."

"Like the cold I felt each time I linked with your mind."

The Outlander nodded. "You understand. The physicality you are experiencing is only a convenient construct I have locked down for you. It allows you to orient yourself here much as you would in the physical plane. Without it, you would perceive yourself as a disembodied spirit without benefit of any of your senses to guide you."

"That would be disconcerting," Jillian observed

"Yes it would. My people could easily adapt to such a state. Yours cannot. Unfortunately the side effects of this pseudo-reality are that emotions, thoughts and dreams will express themselves with the same illusionary strength. They will appear real and will have to be individually dealt with and overcome"

"So I have to learn to control my thoughts while in here."

"No. You have to adapt to my thoughts. You are a part of my mind, not I yours."

"This is getting confusing."

"Do not fear... I will not allow it to overwhelm you."

Jillian looked around. Like before the 'world' in which she found herself was an empty, flat plane. A soft fog-like haze enshrouded everything more than fifty yards away. "Why don't I see any of your stray thoughts now?"

"Because I am in what you call a 'meditative' state. My thoughts are clear and focused so I may speak to you without distractions."

"How do I communicate with you?"

"Have you ever done meditation?"

"I took a few classes on stress relief techniques," she replied.

"That should suffice," The Outlander said. "Simply use those techniques to relax and clear your mind. When your mind is cleared of physical input, you should be able to focus enough to speak with and hear me. This state will also allow you to 'connect' with the outside world through my senses. It will take a little getting use to, like being in a waking dream, but you will be fully cognizant."

"Okay... but what do I do about sleep. I know the body I have here isn't real, but the human mind needs a certain amount of rest. How do I go about that?"

"Simply lie down and close your eyes. Your mind knows what to do, though you should be aware that your dreams may not be entirely your own."

"Great!" Jillian responded. "Now I'll be sharing my dream guy with an alien."

There was a soft, resonate chuckle. "It works both ways. You will undoubtedly learn much more about my people and culture than I would normally wish to reveal," the Outlander replied, "but I trust you."

Hearing this, Jillian felt an unexpected 'thrill' dance through her mind. She deliberately ignored the feeling and forced herself to focus on the next question. "How will I be able to tell the difference between being asleep and awake around here?" she asked.

"Your conscious mind is benchmarked to your current state of pseudo physicality. When you are not asleep you will automatically perceive things as you presently do. The sharpness and clarity of these perceptions will aid you in knowing when you sleep and when your mind is fully cognizant."

Jillian thought about what he had told her. The one thing that came through loud and clear was his willingness to trust her. She knew he was an alien, but here within his mind she was the outsider, the alien presence. His simple statement had more meaning, more honest truth to it, than anything ever said to her before.

She looked up at the inhuman face and smiled. "Do you have a name?"

"Yes," he replied, a note of sadness in his voice, "but it no longer has any meaning."

"In that case, do you mind if I call you Bob?"

"Bob...?"

* * * *

Colonel Faulkner watched as the sergeant scanned through the video. The camera work was shoddy at best, but then, an amateur had taken it. The foreground was occupied by the crushed and twisted bow of a freighter. The storm lifted it high above the crest of a wave then threw it down savagely. Heavy sheets of water crashed against the bridge window even as the ship fell off to port.

Just beyond the freighter's bow a cruise ship could be seen riding the next approaching wave. Its starboard side ripped open in a rough V-shape that rose from somewhere below the waterline to just above the main deck. The liner had taken on a fifteen-degree list to starboard as it wallowed helplessly. A solitary lifeboat danced wildly from the davits, caught halfway between the hellish seas and the dubious safety of the slowly dying leviathan.

A wave lifted the liner to starboard. The boat swung out further, caught in the wave's spindrift. The crest passed and the cruise ship rolled to port, leaving the lifeboat suspended nearly seventy feet above the trough of the wave. Physics took over then and mercilessly slammed it against the side of the ship. The lifeboat shattered, spilling its occupants into the ocean. The two ends dangled uselessly from the davits, a poignant symbol of the utter futility of the situation. Then everything changed.

The ocean where the lifeboat's occupants fell suddenly pulsed with a blue luminescence. A sphere of energy slowly rose from beneath the water and lifted the victims back onto the deck of the cruise liner. The camera view panned furiously to the left, then up. Faulkner unconsciously brought his hand up and rubbed the bottom of his chin. The video locked onto a small object seemingly standing in the sky about one hundred yards off the liner. It zoomed in and the colonel immediately recognized the Outlander.

"Pause," he commanded. The image froze in place. "Can you enhance that shot any?"

"We can try," the sergeant answered.

Faulkner scowled. "Trying isn't good enough, soldier. Either do it, or get someone else who can."

"Yes, sir!" He quickly jotted down the run time on a pad of paper then flipped a switch to continue the video. As the scene progressed the Outlander floated gracefully to a point just off the freighter's port bow. The colonel noted the alien stood upon a hovering disc of some kind, but whether he caused it to fly, or it was self-powered was still unanswered. The one they had recovered from the rubble of the Commerce Tower had vanished two days after the Outlander had escaped from the hospital. What few tests they had been able to perform on it were inconclusive. Having witnessed the alien's escape from the hospital roof two weeks ago, he leaned toward the belief that the disc was supported by the will of its occupant.

Watching, Faulkner saw the Outlander wave a hand above several cargo containers on the freighter's deck. There was a blue glow and the securing straps released themselves. Five of the containers floated into the air next to the alien. The containers ripped themselves open along the welds and were reshaped into a series of large steel patches. The contents were unceremoniously dumped into the sea.

The sergeant running the video player groaned as he watched three classic automobiles fall from their containers and sink beneath the gray waves. "That's just not right."

The colonel smiled slightly. He had to admire the directness with which the alien handled the emergency. No muss, no fuss, just do what had to be done. Someone was out hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of dollars in rare cars. He secretly hoped it was an overly rich oil sheik.

Guided by the Outlander, the makeshift steel patches floated into place along the opening in the cruise ship's hull. There was another, stronger, blue glow and they each fused themselves to the hull, sealing it and restoring the liner's water tight integrity. While this was happening the captain of the damaged freighter maneuvered into position ahead of the crippled cruise ship. His men quickly rigged a towing line. Once ready, the alien brought it across to the liner and waited until it was properly secured and both ships were underway for the nearest harbor. Then, as always, he flew off.

The video stopped. The colonel tore a sheet of lined paper off the note pad he'd been scribbling on and handed it to the technician. "Give me a full series of image blow-ups and enhancements at these time marks on the video. Have them in my office no later than 1600 hours. Send an extra set down to photo analysis for their review and comment."

"Yes sir!" replied the sergeant. He shut down the machine then quickly collected the video, his own notes and a small briefcase and left the room. Faulkner picked up his notebook, tucked it under his arm, and then strode from the room. It was a fifteen-minute walk back to his offices from the video room. He could have shortened the trip by cutting across the quad, but he opted not to. Too many Pentagon workers took their breaks there and he didn't want to chance running into someone who knew him. His time was too valuable to waste in idle conversation. Besides, he could use the time to think.

So far, their analysis of the Outlander had been correct. He'd reacted to the kidnapping attempt by simply ignoring it. What did not make any sense was that Dr. Strathern was still missing. No one knew if she was alive or dead or being held hostage by the alien. Perhaps she was even now working with him in a clandestine effort to undermine the Secretary. At least that's what his boss was afraid of, enough that it kept him awake at night.

Intelligence reports on her indicated she was not what one would call a political activist. She was not a member of any political party or organization. As a matter of fact, she seemed to fit the profile of a CIA agent better than most agents themselves. She had no living family. Her parents had died three years ago and her younger brother had been killed during the Gulf War. There were no uncles, aunts or close cousins asking about her. She had surrounded herself in a sphere of influence, which included no real friends, only aquaintences, professionals and colleagues. The only people interested in her whereabouts were the tabloids.

Faulkner had no doubt that she was still with the alien. The only thing he worried about was her motivation for hiding. She was too much of a wildcard to be left alone. She would either have to join them or be silenced permanently. Perhaps she realized this. Dr. Strathern was quite intelligent and undoubtedly far more aware of human behavior than the Outlander. She might even be teaching him about mankind.

The colonel winced at this thought. So far, the alien's naiveté was the only potential key they had to his control. Without it, trying to control him could easily turn into to a test of raw power. Faulkner disliked the idea. They had no idea of what his upper limits might be. Underestimating him could potentially be very costly.

Faulkner was greeted by his aide as he stepped through the door of his office. "You had a call from the Secretary. He moved your daily briefing forward to 1700."

"He give any reason for the change?"

The captain shook his head. "No sir, but if I were to hazard a guess, he probably wants to have something to tell the President at this evening's embassy ball."

The colonel nodded. "What else?"

"This came in a few minutes ago from Air Force Intelligence." He handed Faulkner an 8x10 glossy. "It was taken at about noon yesterday just off the west coast by a U-2."

"What was a U-2 doing there?"

"Training mission, sir."

Faulkner studied the photo briefly. It showed a portion of what looked like the northern California coastline. Parallel to it, perhaps no more than a few miles off the shore was a blurred streak, moving even too fast for the camera's shutter speed. No doubt, it was the Outlander. The colonel handed the picture back to his aide. "Did you plot this?"

"Yes, sir," the captain replied. He quickly hit a few keys on his computer, and then transferred the image to a wall mounted display. "The thickness of the blurring at one end suggests he was moving south, just off of Fort Bragg." A map of the California coastline faded in behind the blur line. Slowly superimposing itself over the photo.

The colonel studied the image. "When he left the hospital, he was flying in a Northwesterly direction. He crossed the coastline somewhere between Santa Barbara and Lompoc. The alien was careless enough to allow Vandenberg radar to catch him with one sweep before he went under it." Faulkner silently stared at the coastal display. He picked up an electronic stylus and marked the display, highlighting a six hundred mile length of coastline. "With what we know, there's a reasonable chance he's hold up somewhere along here."

"That's a pretty large area to cover, sir, considering our available resources."

"Well then, the sooner we start, the sooner we'll find something. Right Captain!"

"Yes, sir!"

* * * *

Jillian watched quietly as the Outlander stepped down from his floating disc and walked over to the large display station. He seated himself and punched several buttons. The view screen in front of him lit up. He had tuned into a cable news network feed and was watching a report on the collision at sea. She could feel his mind as he tried to focus on the announcer's words.

"What does he mean when he says I make something look 'as easy as pie?' There was no cooking involved in what I did."

"It's an expression, a figure of speech that indicates ease with completing a particular task."

He nodded. "Yes... a... metaphor? A mental image representing a concept of speech."

"No, not a metaphor, a simile. A comparison using the key words like or as."

"Your language is fascinating. It has a dozen different ways to express a single concept. How does one ever truly master it?"

Jillian chuckled. The sound echoed gently like a tiny bell. "Personally, I don't think anyone ever did, except maybe Shakespeare or Mark Twain. Everyone else just seems to muddle through."

"Muddle?"

"To make the best effort one can under present circumstances."

The Outlander didn't respond to this. Instead he changed the frequency settings on his board and hacked into another uplink. This one turned out to be an old Soviet spy satellite. As she watched from her 'backseat' within his mind Jillian had the distinct impression he was trying to distract himself from something.

She could feel how tired he was. He'd gone for almost three days without sleep, spending his time either working on repairing her body, maintaining and upgrading his equipment or responding to disasters such as this morning's collision off the Florida coast. The longer he went without sleep, the less responsive he seemed to become to her. There was something more though. She had the distinct impression he was very tightly wound, so much so it was affecting his ability to sleep.

"Bob? Is everything okay?"

"Yes," he answered.

"You don't sound very convincing."

" What is it that you need convincing of?"

Jillian thought he sounded a bit angry, or frustrated. "Perhaps I need to know you're all right."

"Why? I have already made you such an assurance."

"I'm worried. My people may not be psychic, but we do have a certain amount of empathy, especially for those we're close to. I can feel that something's bothering you and I want to help if I can."

There was a very long, strained silence. Jillian didn't press further. She knew that the Outlander was wordlessly debating with himself. Concentrating, she thought she could almost hear soft, whispering thoughts drift across his mind. They danced like dried leaves on the breeze, their very randomness expressing an order of thought beyond her understanding.

"Your sympathy and concern are appreciated," he finally replied, "but there is little you can do. I must bear this as I have before, thought the timing is most inconvenient."

Jillian felt a large amount of resigned frustration and tension in his voice. "Are you certain there's nothing I can do to help?"

There was no answer.

"Would talking about it help?" she asked.

"I don't know. Perhaps it might." he replied.

"I'm listening," Jillian said. Again there was a pause before he began speaking.

"What I am experiencing is part of a... cycle my people undergo from time to time. It cannot be helped or cured, only dealt with. It's something I will have to 'muddle' through."

"What happens during this cycle of yours?" she asked. "Does it involve a physical or mental process?"

"It is primarily physical, but it does impact both our spiritual and mental health to a certain extent." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I do not know if you can truly understand what I am feeling. Your people do not undergo this process."

"We don't?"

"No. From what I understand of human biology, your cycles are smoother, more of a normal, spontaneous flow than the intense drives we experience."

A light suddenly went on in Jillian's mind and she mentally kicked herself. A regular M.D. might not have understood, but she was a veterinarian. "You're talking about reproduction, about mating cycles, aren't you?"

"Yes." He replied. "When one is mated, as I... was," the cycles are times of bliss and contentment. Without others of my kind, it is something to be... endured."

"Are there no medicines or herbs you can take to help ease the effects you are experiencing?"

"Yes, but their effectiveness is greatly reduced the longer we abstain. It has been a very long time since my mate and I..." His voice trailed off and Jillian could feel the pain and loneliness he was experiencing. "The medicine is no longer effective," he finished quietly.

"Are there any other ways you could lessen the impact your mating cycle has?"

"One other, but I hesitate to use it."

"Why? What does it entail?"

"I would have to put myself into a deep meditative state, similar to the healing cycle you observed before, but not as dangerous. I believe your people might look on it as a kind of hibernation."

"If it would help, why not use it?

"I have never done this before while carrying a Vethra. My mind would be at rest, but yours would not. I do not know how it would affect you."

"Would there be any danger of my dissolution?"

"No," he answered. "I would only need to meditate in this way for about two days. By then, my 'mating' cycle would be complete. When I am like this however, you would be unable to communicate with me. I would also have little or no control of my dreams."

"Can I be hurt by your dreams?" Jillian asked.

"I do not know. You might be able to feel pain, given the pseudo physical form you have, but it would be illusionary. My concern is your mind. I do not know if you are strong enough to distinguish between reality and dreams. I am... afraid... I might loose your trust... your friendship, if you could not understand what you see."

Jillian went quiet for a few moments. Having shared the Outlander's mind for the last two weeks she'd come to understand what he felt. She knew that behind the stoic façade he tried to project he still felt a deep loss, a sense of isolation. She had been the first to see within him and understand how deeply he had been affected by it. She had witnessed bits and pieces of his memories and had seen the destruction of his people.

She couldn't quite explain why, but she felt for him. It wasn't pity, of that she was certain. It was more of an empathy. She had no family to turn to herself, and in that mutual loss she had made a connection of sorts with him. She could see how his mating cycle was amplifying his sense of loneliness. She wanted to help him, to ease his pain. If allowing him to 'hibernate' would help, she was willing to put up with a few random dreams. Besides, she was certain that knowing what they were would help her deal more effectively with them.

"Bob... If you need to meditate, then please don't let me stop you. I don't want to be a burden. You've done so much to help me, to help save thousands of my people, I would feel unhappy knowing I kept you from finding peace of mind. I'm old enough to understand you mean no harm. Do what you need to do."

"Are... you... certain?" he replied

"Hey! I am your Vethra," she joked. "Would I lie?"

"Thank you... friend."

Jillian watched as the Outlander switched off his monitor. He punched a few buttons on the console in front of him and the room's lighting darkened. The chair flowed around him, reshaping itself into a sort of recliner. He slowly closed his eyes and turned his mind inward. Around her, Jillian's little pseudo world darkened into a sort of twilight mist. Her awareness of the outside world faded.

Everything became quiet. It was the kind of quiet that penetrated clear though a person. It was the kind that brought with it a sense of absolute peace.

"Stars," Jillian thought. "The only thing missing were stars and crickets." Above her, a thick blanket of stars formed in the pseudo night sky. They were joined moments later by the soft chirp of crickets. This didn't surprise her. During the last few weeks she'd discovered that when Bob was at rest she could manipulate her environment to a limited extent. She wasn't certain if she were doing the manipulation herself or merely tapping into some part of his mind. Either way, it gave her something to do when she herself was not sleeping.

Several hours passed while Jillian played with her environment, adding trees and thick, green grass. Concentrating, she created a balmy wind, laced with the scent of lilacs. Jillian lay back and relaxed, drinking in the sensory world she had created.

Abruptly it began to change. The air became warmer and heavier. A thickening mist filled the glade, The scent of lilacs faded, replaced by a much stronger, yet still sweet smelling musk that filled her lungs. A few breaths made her feel flushed and excited. Jillian knew at once from its thickness that it was some kind of mating scent, though she couldn't identify the species. It was obvious that Bob had begun dreaming and was even now influencing the world she had created.

To her left a figure coalesced from the mist. It raised to its feet, or rather its hooves, and looked around. Bipedal, its fur was the color of soft cream with the exception of a dark, chestnut mark on its rump. She, for it was definitely female, looked like the Outlander but was at least a head shorter and much more curvaceous. A short, stubby tail like a bear's draped itself across her posterior. She continued examining the world around her, then whispered in a soft voice, "Tu-vovla... Speri ka monat vie... Tu-vovla?"

Jillian watched as a mist danced around the female, gently caressing, then embracing her. It too coalesced into a figure. She recognized the Outlander, though his form seemed much younger. He moved lightly, as if he had not a care in the world. He held her from behind, wrapping both his powerful arms around his long lost mate. She craned her head and they nuzzled, her mane brushing lightly against his cheek as they kissed.

The scene blurred. Both figures were now lying in the grass. The Outlander's mouth danced across her well-formed breasts, suckling gently on her stiffening nipples. She gasped, entwining her fingers in his mane, clutching at it as she shuddered in ecstasy. He softly massaged her belly, stroking at the fur, ruffling it, then smoothing it with practiced ease. Gently, slowly, he worked his way down to her slit, kissing and massaging as he went. She shuddered several more times.

Watching, Jillian felt a heat rising within her. Her hands seemed to move of their own volition. Reaching down she began stroking her own mound. She felt a soft thrill as she found her clit and allowed her fingers to gently circle it. She heard the female moan with pleasure and the sound caused her to quiver. She dropped to her knees and continued her own soft caresses.

Jillian dimly wondered if she were being affected by the mating scent, but the warmth she felt subdued her more analytical thoughts. She didn't care as long as it felt this good. Her whole body tingled in a way she had never experienced before as she became more and more excited. Her breathing became short and rapid as she pushed her fingers into her slit. They brushed lightly against her inner walls and she stiffened, gasping as she was overwhelmed by an unexpected orgasm.

The female also began crying out, her words catching in her throat as she reached her own explosive climax. "Cha'fal... cha'fal... tuo cha'fal busaOOOOONNN!"

Listening, Jillian felt as if the female were giving voice to her own pleasure. Wave upon wave of ecstasy washed through her. Her fingers became drenched with her own juices. Reaching up, she touched them to her tongue, savoring the taste of her own rapture. She watched as the two alien lovers continued to caress each other with their hands and mouths. A sadness filled her, thinking of all she had denied herself. For the briefest of moments, Jillian wished that she could be that female, that she could feel the bliss they were both experiencing.

The couple abruptly vanished from sight in a swirl of mist. The air danced about her. She felt herself melt, bone and skin flowed from one form to another. She looked at her arm and discovered it was now thicker and covered with a fine, soft cream-colored fur. She touched it with her now three-fingered hand, the tips of which were a hard material resembling a horse's hooves. Where the air before had musky, it was now intoxicating. She lay back in the tall, cool grass only to find herself cradled in the arms of the Outlander.

He gently leaned across her and nuzzled her neck, caressing her body with a hundred kisses. Each kiss stoked the fire that grew in her loins. She felt something beyond passion, beyond desire. It built itself rapidly into a hunger, not for food, but for release. She needed him inside her. She needed to feel the throbbing of his penis against the inner walls of her sex.

Jillian pulled at him, locking her mouth to his, feeling their incredibly long tongues twining and dancing together. He moved across her, positioning himself at her entrance. She pulled at him again and he began to slowly slide in. The deeper he sank into her, the greater her fire burned. Slowly, inch-by-inch, he penetrated her, filling her, stretching her. She began to buck in ecstasy, and orgasmed, once, twice, three times. Each release triggered another climax and still he pushed slowly into her. She clutched at him wrapped her arms and legs about him even as her bucking increased.

Jillian moaned and thrashed as the Outlander hilted himself. His breathing became ragged and his body shook, but he did not thrust as a human male would have. Instead his whole penis began to slowly increase in width. It pressed against the walls of Jillian's sex, pulsing in time to his heartbeat. The pulses increased and she again climaxed, her own muscles tightening around him. Her heart thumped in rhythm to his and still he continued to expand and stretch her. Time ceased to have any meaning. There was only the fire, and the ecstasy and the heartbeat to fill her senses.

She reached out with her mind, touching gently against his. His thoughts were a confused, Wonderland-like jumble without coherency, but within the confusion she could feel him. She could feel his wants and needs and desires. Random thoughts and words danced across her mind. She could feel it as he built to his own, dreamlike climax. He reached his peak moments later and Jillian could feel the fire of his seed as he released it into her. She climaxed one last time, harder and longer than she had before. She pulled again at him, trying to physically merge with the Outlander, trying to become one with him. She felt his body melt in her grasp and flow through her into the soft grass. He vanished, but as he did one last stray thought flowed into her, crystal clear and unmistaken... "Jillian, tuo Cha'fala!"

The fire within her dampened down into a warm glow. She felt fulfilled, more than at any time before in her life. She closed her eyes in exhaustion and slept, even as the scent of lilacs returned to her world.

* * * *

Jillian slowly opened her eyes. A face appeared before her, his eyes bright and full of life. It was the Outlander. She gently reached up and rested one hand against the side of his head. "Tuo Cha'fal," she whispered.

Surprise danced across his eyes and he gently reached up to take her hand in his. "Where... Where did you hear that?" he asked. His tone was soft and curious, not angry or concerned.

"Last night," Jillian responded. "When we made love." She looked around, becoming slightly confused. She was no longer on the misty plane she had gotten so use to. Instead she was lying on her back in what looked like a large oxygen chamber. She was naked, or would have been save for a blanket that covered her from just below her shoulders on down. The Outlander, who knelt above her, was wearing his familiar black and silver trimmed uniform. Jillian raised her other hand and wiggled her fingers experimentally in front of her. "I'm back in my own body!"

"Yes," the Outlander replied. "Your mind has been asleep for several days. I was able to finish repairing your body and restored you to it..." He stopped abruptly as tears began to form in Jillian's eyes. "Is there something wrong? Are you in pain Dr. Strathern?"

"No," she replied, smiling. "I'm alright. It's just that... that I feel so disconnected, so alone. I had really gotten use to sharing minds with you, and now... "

"You feel disoriented?" Jillian nodded, silently. "I am not surprised. It is rare that a Vethra returns to its host body, though there have been such cases before. Often both the vethra and its old host feel some degree of isolation. If it helps any, I also feel as if I have lost a part of myself. Feeling you in the back of my mind was a great comfort." He paused awkwardly for a moment. "Greater than I have felt in a long time." He picked up a corner of her blanket and dabbed at her tears, wiping them away with careful, gentle strokes. "If it is any comfort, remember that neither of us have passed on, as is the normal way of a vethra. We are still here, and, I hope, we are still... friends?"

Jillian smiled again, looking into the alien's eyes; eyes that were so human, so expressive; and yet so deep and mysterious. She clasped both her hands around his and brought it down against her breast. "I love you," she whispered. "Av'laca tuo da genta, tuo Cha'fal." Bob became silent for a very long time, as if trying to grasp what was happening. Jillian watched as different emotions played across his face.

"Jillian... Jillian... You have spoken words to me I thought I would never again hear. Words that, I cannot deny touch me deeper than I would have thought possible. But how can this be? You are human; I am kerachaw. We are too different physically to ever consummate what we feel without my injuring you, and that I could never do, for it would be like tearing out my own heart."

"You know, " she chuckled, "as highly evolved as you are, the most obvious solution seems to have escaped you." Jillian closed her eyes and focused her mind inward. The palm of her hand pulsed with a soft, blue glow. Suddenly the Outlander found himself standing in a lush meadow, surrounded by trees.

"How? Where are we? In your mind or mine?"

"Does it matter?" Jillian replied. "Here, we are together. Here, we can do as we wish." A mist swirled around her and her form melted. What emerged was a female kerachaw with chestnut colored fur and a long, golden mane. "Here we can be what we want and never fear hurting each other. It is our reality, and here we are safe." She reached up and kissed him. He hesitated only a moment before returning the kiss with equal passion. When they finally parted Jillian looked up at Bob and smiled. "You are a better teacher than you know."

"Perhaps it is not so much the teacher as it is the student." He looked silently around the glade. "I know human-kind likes naming things. Have you thought of one for our private paradise?"

"I was thinking of calling it... the Outlands."

* * * *

EPILOGUE:

It was after nine p.m. and the Secretary was still in his office, reviewing files for his annual report to Congress. There was a gentle tapping at his window. He looked up, slightly startled, as the window opened of its own accord and two figures stepped into the room. He recognized both instantly. His hand reached for the call button on his intercom when the woman stopped him with a single word. "Don't."

The Secretary paused, then decided to play out the scene as coolly as possible. Now was not the best time for a test of power and he knew it. He looked at the female. "Dr. Strathern... you've been missing for quite some time. What brings you to my office at this late hour?"

"We wanted to offer you a deal and leave you with a little piece of advice," she responded.

"Just what sort of deal?"

"Pick a number."

"What?"

"Humor me," Strathern said. "Just pick a number; something big, say, between one and one million."

The Secretary smiled, trying to hide a sudden feeling of discomfort. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing at, but alright. I have one. Should I write it down?"

"No need." Jillian looked up at the alien. "Bob?"

"Seven hundred forty-seven thousand, three hundred and ten." The Outlander looked down at the Secretary, whose mouth had dropped open. "You arrived at this figure by combining the aircraft model numbers of a Boeing and a Cessna."

"As you can see, Mr. Secretary, you cannot hide secrets from us."

"Okay. What's the deal?"

"Call off your hound, Colonel Faulkner, and leave us alone. Leave my... friend, Bob, alone to do what he does best. Do this, and I won't tell people all about what happened three weeks ago."

"You can't prove..."

"I don't have to. You know where the evidence is, all we'd have to do is take it and turn it over to the press. There wouldn't be any way you could stop us."

"He's that powerful?" the Secretary asked, looking up at the Outlander.

"You don't want to test that answer," Jillian said.

He leaned back tiredly in his seat, feeling like a trapped animal. "No, I don't suppose I would. Anything else, Dr. Strathern?"

Jillian nodded. "Several people died that night, thanks to Colonel Faulkner. We want him stripped of his rank, position and authority and sent packing."

"What? No prison time?"

"For a man like Faulkner, this is a worse punishment than prison would be."

The Secretary nodded. "All right. You'll have your pound of flesh, for what it's worth."

"That will suffice," Jillian said turning to leave.

"Wait... You said you had some advice for me. What is it?"

The Outlander stopped, turned towards the secretary and leaned across his desk. "You think of me as a Boy Scout! If I am one, it is by my own choice. Do not force me to become anything else." With that, he turned back toward the window and rejoined Jillian. They both stepped up on a floating disc and disappeared into the night. Behind them, the Secretary pulled out a handkerchief and began mopping at his brow.

The cool night air flowed around the strange couple as their disc climbed into the darkened skies. "You know," Jillian said, chuckling, "you really had him going with your 'Boy Scout' line."

"That was the intent, was it not?"

She wound an arm tightly around his waist and hugged him. "It was," she replied, smiling.

The Outlander responded by wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "So... What is a... Boy Scout?"

The End.