Wambli-Part 2/18 Summary and disclaimers in Part 1 ***** "Scully, you don't know me as well as you think you do. You know my work demands that I live in a big city, but if I had to settle down, build a home, it'd be a place like this." "It'd be like living in Mayberry." Episode 4x03-Home ***** Sunday turned out to be a bit cooler that the rest of the week had been, with the thermometer only reaching 86 degrees. Though storm clouds were already building in the northwest, the Zweifel family was enjoying the afternoon outside in their backyard. It was a perfect backyard, with thick grass that was watered regularly, despite the dry summer, and therefore was still green. Old oak trees grew here, having been planted by the original settlers back in 1883, and a Weeping Willow, though much younger than the oaks, brought a great deal of shade. It was under this willow that Sara Zweifel lay, regarding the day through lazy eyes. She had been reading, lying reclined in the grass, the persistent Dakota breeze fanning her long red hair and the draping branches of the tree above her, but had put her book down a short while ago in favor of watching her husband and son. Ian was attempting to teach Fox how to bat. She smiled as she remembered a similar training session from several years ago, with herself as the 'trainee'. This session was going a bit different than that one had gone, but it was just as fun. The bat being used was big, blue, and made of plastic, as was the ball. Ian was on his knees next to his son, bringing him close to the little boy's level. The wind ruffled their sable colored hair and laughter flashed in their hazel eyes. They looked so much alike, it was frightening. And wonderful. She glanced over at her baby daughter, who lay napping on a blanket next to her. Little Marisa had the same dark brown hair, but she had gotten her mother's blue eyes and fair complexion, with a small smattering of freckles that she may or may not grow out of. Samson lay next to the baby, panting. Immediately after her birth, the little dog had staked his claim. Territorial to the extreme, he was incredibly defensive of Marisa, even to the point of running to her side and growling at Ian when her father dared raise his voice for some obscure reason. But, then again, Samson had never really liked Ian, if only because he knew Ian didn't like 'little yappy dogs'. Delilah, on the other hand, loved Ian to death, despite his apparent distaste (Sara had caught him taking baby talk to the little Pekinese more than once, though). The only things Delilah didn't like were Grizz and Ricky, Ian's dogs; she felt she had to defend her Samson from them and all other big dogs. The grumble of thunder brought her attention to the west again. The cloud was big and dark, holding the promise of rain. Ian also looked at the cloud, then glanced out toward the fields behind the yard where their three horses grazed. Unlike the grass in the yard, the pasture was brown and bone dry. They had started adding hay to the horses' diets because they weren't getting enough nutrition from the dying grass. Hay cost money, especially in the dry years. "Think it'll rain?" Sara asked him. "Let's just say that if that thing goes by without dumping something other than a buttload of lightning, I'll be ready to hire WhiteEagle to do that rain dance after all." Sara grimaced at the thought of hiring the town drunk, a former Lakota medicine man who had been kicked out of the tribe several years ago after raping the twelve-year-old daughter of a local white rancher. He was always trying to convince everyone he still had the power to communicate with the spirits. No one believed him, and he had simply become a nuisance for both Ian and Charlie Yellow Hawk, the Tribal Chief of Police. The two were constantly 'tossing' him back and forth. Because he lived on the Rez, Ian claimed he was Charlie's responsibility, but because he was no longer a part of the tribe, and conducted most of his dealings OFF the Rez, Charlie believed he was the Sheriff's problem. The two bickering law-enforcement officers had long ago become the best of friends, despite the ongoing 'argument'. With a suddenness that still startled her, even after three years on the prairie, the wind changed direction and temperature. Without any warning, it was cold. The big cloud, which looked almost black now, had finally caught up to the sun. Without a second thought, Sara reached over and picked up Marisa, then got up from her grassy seat. Ian also stood. "Let's go, you guys," he said, directing his words at Fox, but talking to them all, even the dogs. Fox immediately stuck his lower lip out in a pout. "That may work on your mother, kiddo, but not me. Come on." He picked the boy up and swung him onto his hip. With the little dogs following, they headed into the house. After depositing Marisa in the playpen in the middle of the living room, Sara started closing all the west windows. The wind was picking up, gusts rattling the eaves of the house. The roar it produced as it traveled through the leaves of the old trees surrounding the house resembled that of a freight train. Both Sara and Ian knew what the chill in the wind meant: Hail. While tornadoes where thought to be the most deadly aspect of any storm, they weren't that common here in Western South Dakota. But lightning and hail could be just as deadly, and every resident of the Northern Plains knew this and did not take that danger for granted. Sara, arms folded, walked to the window above the kitchen sink, watching the storm move in. She had learned to love these storms, but she still feared them, as well. The winds could easily reach well over 70 MPH, and the lightning flashed constantly. The hail that often fell sometimes reached the size of a softball, though most often the chunks of ice were the size of marbles or smaller. They could easily kill small animals if those animals didn't find shelter. Grizz and Ricky, she knew, would find safety under the roof of the front porch. Solomon and Sassy, however... "Ian, have you seen the cats?" She turned to look at her husband, who had turned on the scanner and was listening to the broadcast from the National Weather Service. The storm almost upon them was indeed severe. Golf ball size hail had been reported in Wall, 60 miles to the northwest. "Sassy was sleeping in Fox's room, last I saw. I haven't seen Solomon all day." Ian didn't share the same dislike for cats that he did for small dogs; he had never really had anything to do with them before they had adopted to two older cats from the shelter in Rapid. Sassy was a tortoiseshell Persian who loved to cuddle more than anything. Solomon was a big tuxedo tom, whose attitude matched Mulder's perfectly: He, too, loved to be cuddled...but only when HE wanted to. His claws were used frequently, but when Sara had once suggested getting him declawed, Ian had been adamantly against it. Sara and Solomon got along worse than Ian and Samson did. A loud 'meow' sounded from the direction of the front of the house. Sara entered the living room just in time to see a big black and white shape jump up and attach itself to the metal screen on the front door. "Solomon!" she shouted, walking quickly for the door. The cat, knowing his front feet were at risk of being swatted, jumped down. Sara opened the door and he strolled in, tail high, as if he ruled the house. Samson growled at him; he knew who the REAL king was. The storm hit at about 4:45 in the afternoon. It lasted for about 25 minutes before moving on farther southeast. It left behind several wet leaves coating the ground, which was dotted with white drifts of pea-sized hail. The storm drains still poured out gallons of water, though the rain had stopped, and puddles of water lined the gardens. Two large branches from a couple of the cottonwoods lay in the middle of the yard. Just the typical aftermath from a typical storm. It could have been much worse. With thunder continuing to rumble in the distance, Scully began to make dinner. Though Ian did his share of the cooking, they both knew she was the better cook. Whenever she cooked, he cleaned up afterwards, and vice versa. Equality was something that was rarely argued in this family. Ian had gone out to check the horses and to pull the fallen branches up closer to the house. He would later cut them down and add the pieces to the woodpile. Sara was just getting biscuits in the oven when the phone rang. She dreaded picking it up, knowing the only calls they would get this late on a Sunday after a storm would be either from the Sheriffs office or her clinic. Surprisingly, it was from neither. "Sara?" a familiar voice said when she answered. "It's Charlie. Is Ian there?" "Yeah. Hold on." She placed the receiver on the counter and went to the sliding door that lead to the back porch. "Ian!" she called out to her husband. "Charlie's on the phone." With a furrowed brow, Ian entered the house and took up the phone. "Hey! What's up?" "Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but I wanted to get to you as soon as possible before the morning." The Lakota police chief paused. "Charlie?" "Something weird is going on, Ian, and I need your help to figure it out." Ian sat down at the dinning room table, glancing through the door to the living room, where both of his children played. "Okay. I'm listening." Charlie sighed. "It's a long story, but I better start at the beginning. It's about an eagle." "An eagle?" Ian felt his frown deepen. "Yeah. This is how it started......" ************************************************************ "If people knew the true price of spirituality, there'd be more atheists." Episode 2x20-Humbug ***** Ian repeated the whole story to his wife that night after the kids had gone to sleep. The night was cool after the afternoon's storm, and the couple sat on the back porch listening to the crickets chirp away. More lightning was visible in the south, but the storm was too far away to hear any thunder. Solomon lay on the railing in front of them and Sassy lay in Sara's lap. All four dogs were scattered around the area as well, enjoying the coolness of the night. "Boy, when God decides to end the drought, he really ends it, doesn't he?" Sara's question was rhetorical, and Ian knew she didn't expect an answer, but her voice breaking the stillness of the night was all he needed to start talking. "Charlie has been suspecting that someone in the area has been catching eagles and selling them to people on the Rez. He finally found out the other day that WhiteEagle has been paying a couple of down-on-their-luck ranchers to catch them for him. They are all going to Federal court next month." Sara nodded her head. Eagles, like all bird of prey, were protected by law. It was illegal to catch, kill or own any raptors without a Federal permit; even owning a feather from many of these birds was outlawed. Only certain Native American tribes were allowed to own the feathers, which were used in many ceremonies and were considered sacred. But even Indians were not allowed to own the birds, or kill them specifically for the feathers. "Who's buying them?" she asked, knowing that whoever was acquiring the birds from WhiteEagle was just as guilty as the old Indian. "Kids, mostly. I guess it's the new fad on the Rez, owning an eagle. Like owning a Pit Bull is to a kid in the projects, I suppose." He stopped for a second when Solomon jumped down from his perch and headed his way with a gleam in his yellow eyes. He waited as the cat jumped into his lap and demanded attention. He started to pet the cat as he continued on. "Most of the birds have been accounted for, twelve in all, and they've been taken to Reptile Gardens for a health check." Reptile Gardens ran the closest rehab center for wild birds. "Once they're cleared of any injury or sickness, they'll be re-released." Sara waited a while for him to continue, and when he didn't she asked, "And?" "And something weird happened yesterday," Ian continued. "Alicia Chase called Charlie and asked him to make sure all the birds were kept in custody until further notice." Alicia Chase was one three F.B.I. agents assigned to Rapid City. The Zweifel's tried to have as little contact with her or her fellow agents as possible. "It appears a couple of 'officials' from Washington are flying down tomorrow to look at the birds." Sara's brow furrowed. "Why? Officials from what office?" "Alicia didn't say. But Charlie, who was helping unload the birds at the Gardens, noticed something very odd." Again, Sara waited through one of his dramatic pauses, finally nudging him instead of saying anything when he didn't continue. "He said that one of the eagles acts different. It's an older female. She seems set off from the others, distant. And when she saw Charlie, she flew over to him as if she wanted to talk to him. She didn't act wild at all. It's like she was asking him for help." Solomon took a swipe at Ian when the cat felt like he wasn't getting the man's full attention. Without hesitation, Ian shoved the cat off his lap. With a sniff, the tom walked off, his tail in the air. "Charlie is almost positive these 'officials' are coming for this particular eagle." "What makes him think that?" Sara asked. "Well, the government issue leg band was one clue. When they caught her up to examine her, they got a close look at it. It read 'FMRC-1992'." Sara's breath caught in her throat. "FMRC? Fort Marlene Research Center?" Ian nodded. "That's my guess." "Does Charlie know what that stands for?" Ian shook his head. "No. He just recognized the style of the band. Federal." Sara sighed. "What are you going to do?" "I'm driving out to Rapid with Charlie tomorrow to take a look at this bird. If she did indeed come from there, we can't let these 'officials' get a hold of her." Sara felt a wave of sadness rise up inside of her. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but can't you just stay out of it? One of these days, Chase is going to recognize you. And what if one of these officials is someone we used to know?" She looked over at her husband, her plea echoing in the night air. He turned his eyes on her. Even in the dark, she recognized the look he gave her. It was one she hadn't seen in years. And while she realized she had missed it, she had also hoped to never see it again. "You can't, can you?" she whispered. "You could never turn down a good X File." ************************************************************ "Open yourself up to extreme possibilities only when they're the truth." Episode1x12-Beyond the Sea ***** Wambli was becoming extremely worried. For two weeks now, she had been a captive. While that was worrisome enough, she had managed to keep her cool and wait patiently for a chance to escape. Then the cops had shown up, along with several tribal members who had taken her to the city at the base of Paha Sapa along with several others of her kind. She had been forcefully examined by the workers of the facility, but she had been treated well. She had been released into a large flight cage with the others and fed fresh rabbit. Slightly underweight from her experience, she was still in better shape than many of the others. Apparently, the young man who had acquired her from the old man, WhiteEagle, had at least known what to feed her. She had been content to wait out what she believed to be temporary captivity, although she had made a small attempt to communicate with the Indian cop. He looked trustworthy. Maybe she could make him understand her. She thought she had gotten her message across when one of the women who worked at the Rehab Center asked him about the 'officials' coming to see the eagles. Wambli had become worried then. She spent a tiresome night pacing the ground of the enclosure, which, though large enough for a couple of full-grown eagles, was tiny when filled with twelve of them. She looked for a weak spot in the wall all night; someplace she could squeeze her large body through. There was no way out. Morning came. Breakfast, too. But she wasn't hungry and sat perched in a corner, watching the outside world through the chicken wire and wooden slats that formed the cage. Around 9 in the morning, the cop showed up with another man. She eyed them both warily. The cop was, at first glance, a typical Lakota. Tall, rangy, his long black hair pulled into a tight braid that fell down the center of his back. His eyes were onyx, and very intelligent. His face was pockmarked, but still handsome. He exhibited the wear and tear of growing up poor on an Indian reservation while still maintaining the dignity and power of his ancestors. He would have been a great warrior had he lived two-hundred years ago. The man next to him was just as tall, and almost as rangy, but that was where the similarities ended. The other man wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and like his companion, he wore a badge. Another cop then. She didn't know whether this was good or bad. The man was a wasichu, a white man, and they were far less open to extreme possibilities than the Lakota. "Which one is it?" the wasichu asked. The Indian looked around the enclosure. "I'm not sure. One of the bigger ones. Maybe she'll come over again." Wambli began to preen, ignoring them. She wasn't about to give herself away with the wasichu present. "Wambli. Yau' kta he?" Her head shot up upon hearing the name she had given herself years ago, but she immediately stilled as she remembered what the word 'Wambli' meant in Lakota: Eagle. He was simply addressing her in the respectful way of his people, asking her to come over. She continued preening, keeping her eye on the two men. They were standing with their heads close together, speaking softly. She could hear their voices, but she didn't understand the words clearly, despite her advanced hearing ability. She heard the words 'catch up' and 'legband' and she knew they were debating whether or not to have the facility personal catch up the birds one by one to check their leg bands. She knew they would have a hard time convincing the Center staff to do this, as it was their policy to have as little contact with the birds as possible after the initial check up. The wasichu moved closer and began peering intently into the cage, eyeing the birds carefully. When his green-gold gaze landed on her, she stilled. Why did she get the sudden feeling he would recognize her for what she really was? He watched her carefully, then stepped back away from the wire. Though his eyes never left her, he spoke to the man next to him. "We can't let these people get hold of her." His voice was low, but clear. "Why? What do you know about this place?" "Enough." The wasichu sighed. "Enough to know that if this eagle truly did come from that facility, then she is special. Different. Possibly genetically altered in some way." "How the hell do you know that?" The Indian shook his head. "Never mind. Forget I asked. I always knew you were a strange fellow with some kind of weird past, but maybe it's best I don't know anything about it, huh?" The wasichu smiled, and Wambli felt a human-like flutter in her heart. "You got that right," he told his companion. Without anymore thought, Wambli boosted herself off her perch and hopped/flew over to a branch closer to the two men. They looked startled for a second, then the Indian whispered, "That's her." The wasicu nodded. "I think I already knew that." He stepped closer, his eyes wary. "What are you?" he asked. Wambli fluffed her feathers out in frustration. How could she communicate with this man? How could she tell them what she was? Maybe she should have kept to herself until they let her go again. But the 'officials' were on their way, and she could not...would not...go back to Maryland. She would die first. But how did she tell these people that? "Can you communicate with us?" the man asked. The Indian mumbled, "I don't believe this." "Hey. Your people are the ones who think eagles are sacred," the wasichu said with a grin. "All animals have their own way of communicating." "Yeah, but you're talking to her like she was human," the Indian argued. Wasichu smiled and looked back at her. "Say something to her in Lakota, like you did earlier." "Huh! I may be Lakota, but I don't speak it fluently!" "Something. Anything." The Indian sighed. "Uh...Kola, ito' anagopta yeto'!" Now listen for a minute, friend. "Uh...Lel uku'pi ki he washte'." It is good for us to be here. Wambli felt like smiling; his Lakota was mangled, but it was understandable. How could she tell them she understood English just as well. She shook her head, fluffing the gold feathers there, then arched her neck downward, opened her mouth and let out a low squeal. The wasichu moved up to stand close to her. "I think she can understand, she just can't respond in a way we understand." He looked her directly in the eye. "Right?" Wambli opened her mouth again and cackled, nodding her head. "Holy Mother of God," the Indian whispered. The wasichu smiled. "I think I know who we can get to help us." "Who? Someone who speaks eagle?" The Indian was definitely being sarcastic. The wasichu turned toward him. "Yeah." The Indian shook his head. "Man, you are spooky." The wasichu's only response was to laugh. ***** End 2/18