Title: The Ganzfeld League
Author: Rhondda Lake
Archive: anywhere
Rating: R
Category: X,R,T,A
Key words: MSR, Skinner/Other
Summary: When the group of psychics Cassandra Troy was tested 
with thirteen years ago start to vanish, she turns to the only people 
she can trust for help. However, since Mulder and Scully are out of 
town on a case, who can she turn to?

Disclaimer: Yep, all X-files shtuff belongs to Chris Carter and co. 
I borrowed them without permission. Everyone who never showed 
up on the show is mine.

Special Authors Note: The Parapsychology Developmental 
Laboratories in Princeton, New Jersey are indeed drawn from the 
Psychophysical Research Laboratories of the same place. The 
name was changed because this is a fiction. None of the participants 
or the doctors in this story exist, nor should  the good work of the 
PRL be impinged by anything I write.

Ganzfeld League
by Rhondda Lake
(part 1/?)

THE PARAPSYCHOLOGY DEVELOPMENTAL LABORATORY
PRINCETON, NJ
***1985***

A mahogany pencil box shattered the window. It sailed through 
the splintered glass with effortless ease, not really slowing until it 
hit the side of the building  across the way. The group watching 
from the relative safety of the hall jumped at the sound.

Chunks of glass joined the detritus of the clinic room; flying about 
madly. There was no order to the tumbling, spinning, vicious banging 
of objects spinning through the room. It was a scene from the 
weightless depths of space, only more violent. Things tumbled, 
viciously smashed together and broke into smaller bits. The pieces 
of glass, now added to the mix, slashed through the air.

The group at the doorway stood in numb horror,  as they watched 
the violent flotsam collide into the pale man laying senselessly on 
the bed, as it spun around, a good foot off the floor. Any moment 
the deadly glass would cut him to ribbons.

An accident this morning had sent Roger over the boardwalk 
walkway unto the concrete twenty feet below. The blow to his 
head had caused a concussion and unconsciousness, but nothing 
worse, medically. However, when dealing with a psychically 
gifted young man, physicality had little to do with anything.

Roger, who lay unconscious on the clinic bed, could move objects 
with the force of his mind. He was gifted solely in the area of 
psychokinesis. For now that gift was out of control. He was 
endangering himself and anyone foolish enough to go into that 
room.

A chair flew past the door and one of the onlookers involuntarily 
stumbled back. Nora bit her lip hard, drawing blood. She knew 
Roger had a self-destructive streak that evidently manifested itself 
as this madness. She knew he would eventually pummel or slash 
himself to death with whatever was in that room. She winced as a 
plastic chair slammed into his side.

"I'm open to suggestions," the eldest of the group offered up, lamely. 
He was a stooped, grey haired figure whose lined face bore the weight 
of this strain. The group were his students, Volunteers for his psi 
research project. The boy in the room was his responsibility. Even now 
the young man's parents were flying here to confront this man over 
this injury to their son.

Only Nora noticed the tall, frail-looking fifteen year old girl step 
past the doorway and into the maelstrom. "NO!" She reached out 
to stop her friend, only to be restrained by Mike and the others. 
Now everyone was calling the woman-child's name, urging her to 
come back to the relative safety of the hall.

"Get back here this instant!" Mike's authoritative attempt was 
marred by the tremor of fear in his voice.

The girl cried out once, as the tray table hit her in the hip. The 
bruises offered up by other hurtling objects were met with silence. 
She made no sound even when a shard of glass cut across her upper 
arm, adding droplets of her blood to the mad whirl of flying debris.

She approached the floating bed as if in a semi-trance, focusing 
entirely on the boy. Her long black hair whipped around her head 
in a thousand medusa coils, the energies in the room making them 
dance to some elemental tune.

"Roger." The child reached out and took hold of the boy's limp 
hand. "Roger, come back."

A loud crash reverberated throughout the room as the mad whirl 
of  debris fell to the floor. The bed dropped heavily. The girl 
stood stiffly,  staring off into space, her green eyes wide with fear.

"NO!" Nora pulled free of confining hands and rushed to the girl's 
side. Taking her friend's thin shoulder she shook her gently. "What 
happened?"

The affected green eyes pondered the windows. "We are together. 
Nora... help us. We are one..."

Nora bit back a cry as her own psychometric gift flared. She 
touched her friend and knew she was not alone. Somehow she 
and Roger existed in one being. And they had no idea how to 
separate.

     XXXXXXXXXXXXX

13 YEARS LATER
CLEVELAND, OHIO
10:13 AM

Her desk was her one indulgence. Mahogany. She kept it completely 
ordered, mostly to show off the fine wood grain. Right now that 
desk bore the weight of her own private albatross, the potential of 
her worst fears wrapped into one. An innocuous-looking Federal 
Express envelope bulging at the seams was perched at the very center 
of the green felt ink blotter.

It lay before the lone framed photograph adorning the desk. The 
photo, matted in a fading mauve cardboard, was of a group shot taken 
in Princeton, New Jersey. They were ten rather ordinary-looking 
people arranged in three rows. The two youngest of the group were 
front and center. They were two girls.

She saw herself at seventeen with muddy brown hair and pale brown 
eyes hidden behind glasses, her arm draped protectively over the 
shoulder of the youngest. The youngest was Cassandra Troy, just 
getting her woman's curves. In the picture, her ebony hair was 
stirring  in the gentle breeze and her green eyes were laughing into 
the camera.

The others ranged in age from twenty to thirty, their expressions 
happy and carefree. The picture had been taken three months 
before all Hell broke loose with the project. When all of them 
still viewed the tests and experiments centering on their unique 
psychic abilities as games, or a grand new adventure to further 
mankind. When they all, including the scientists running the 
program, were naive and hopeful...all except her.

Nora looked into her own eyes thirteen years ago and saw the 
wariness then. She felt as if she were never young and innocent. 
Even then she had some hint of what her own father was involved 
in, of the troubles lurking ahead. She did not need Becky's 
Precognitive gift to see the future.

Nora reached out to touch the picture, a moment frozen in time. 
Her finger traced the face of her friend. That particular young 
woman had sent her more recent photos, including one of her 
dressed up in Elizabethan garb, looking like she just walked out 
of a Shakespearean play. But this was the picture that adorned 
her desk. To remember them all, fondly. To keep the good times
captive behind glass.

She touched the face of one of the men. In this static reflection 
of thirteen years ago, he was eternally twenty, fresh, and young. 
His long blond hair was touched by the sunlight and his face was 
innocent, with only, the faintest hint of pain in his eyes. She had 
seen him last summer. That hairline had receded,  and those blond 
locks had been shorn into a banker's buzzcut, his athletic build 
had softened into a beer gut. From rock and roll rebel to yuppy 
bank executive.

With a shudder she pulled her hand back and tore open the 
Fed-Ex package. A Green and White EAGLES football jersey 
spilled out. She looked at the back of the brass nameplate that sat 
next to the framed picture, the lettering turned so her clients could 
read it proclaiming 'Nora Lucke - Licensed Private Investigator'. 
Mike had sent her that when she had informed him she had passed 
the exams and planned on going into business.

Mike. She looked again at the jersey, her hand hovering above it. 
She braced herself, then, with a superhuman effort lay her hand 
on the garment, and concentrated on its owner.

It was dark, and his arms were held, confined. Cold metal biting 
into his wrists. There was a vague feeling of panic. His thoughts 
were unclear, scattered, and there was a recollection of a needle, 
of men in white forcing him down and of injections given.

No matter how hard she tried that was all she could get. The shirt 
had not been worn recently.

With a sob of frustration and fear she pulled away from the shirt. 
It was time to track down the others. Mike Dodd was alive and 
drugged somewhere. Only one thing came to Nora's mind; their 
worst fear come true at last.

          *

ALEXANDRIA, VA
10:45PM THE FOLLOWING DAY

Cassandra Troy finally managed to get out of the confining bands 
of her corset. She lay the offending garment on the couch with a 
sigh of relief. The things she did for historical accuracy.

It was worse attending feasts like the one tonight. The food was 
just too good, and she had to admit she tended to over indulge, 
only to work it off in the court dancing afterwards. She had spent 
the hours dedicated to eating an excellently re-created medieval 
feast, conversing with an eleventh century knight and a fifteenth 
century Spanish priest, discussing the changes in European religion 
over the six centuries between them.

Tonight she had the apartment to herself. Tammy, her best friend 
and roommate had gone home with Chuck, her longtime boyfriend. 
They had left the feast two hours before Cassy had, cheerfully 
informing her that she had the place to herself tonight.

She padded across the living room dressed only in her full length 
chemise. Ignoring the blinking light on the answering machine and
sat down at her computer with a small smile. The irony of returning 
home from a medieval feast to plop down in front of the romantic 
glow of the computer monitor was not lost on her.

She checked her e-mail. As usual there was one letter waiting from 
her friend Nora. She clicked on it at once.

     FROM: LTTLDICK@mis.com
     TO: ORACLE@time.bus.com
     SUBJECT: THE LEAGUE

     Cassy,

     Where have you been? I've been calling for hours. Check your
     answering machine once in a while.

     No jokes today. There is a problem. Katie called me and 
     hired me to find Mike yesterday. He disappeared without 
     a trace four days ago. We both know how unlike him that 
     is. She Fed-Exed me his favorite football jersey. All I got 
     from it was the feeling that he was drugged. Muddied 
     thoughts and a sense of confinement.

     It scared me and the call to Katie was not fun. I did some more
     digging. God, Cassy, Mike isn't the only person we know who 
     has a missing person report on them. Linda, Penny and Roger 
     are all MISSING. I'm writing Jen, Carl, Fred and Becky as well 
     as you. I'm also looking into who else in any way connected with 
     our time in NJ may be missing.

     Watch your back, kiddo. We were all afraid of the gov. getting 
     too interested in us. None of us had our real names on any 
     paperwork. But the chances of four members of a group of ten 
     turning up missing in such a short time span does not bode well. 
     You have written me all these letters about that G-Man you had 
     been dating. What have you told him? Could he have been a set 
     up? Maybe even shadowing you until he can make a safe grab? 
     Shit, Cassy, I'm scared, and I had all these classes in defense and 
     staying hidden.

     Nora

Cassandra stared at the screen for a long time. This had to be a joke, 
didn't it? She chewed on her bottom lip, her hands hovering over her 
keyboard.

Six months ago Cassandra had been in a somewhat one-sided 
relationship with an FBI agent named Fox Mulder. They got 
along well, they helped each other out, and the sex was great. 
But Mulder had always been somewhat emotionally withdrawn. 
And when dating an empath that can be a point of contention. He 
valued her friendship and even genuinely liked her as a person, 
but in the end, he had not loved her. His heart belonged to someone 
else. His partner.

Cassandra, who had foolishly fallen in love with the big jerk, pushed 
him in the direction he was meant to go. She knew his partner, even 
liked her. She knew the sentiment was returned between them as it 
never would be with her. She cared enough about Fox Mulder to let 
him go.

The [truly] amazing part of all this was, she had somehow remained 
friends with both Mulder and his partner, Dana Scully. She knew  
things about the two of them that would turn anyone's hair white. 
Cassandra was not only an empath, but a dreamweaver. She had 
been inside Mulder's nightmares, and the horrors were not very far 
from his reality.

First off she knew Nora's worries about Mulder were unfounded. 
She had never really told him about the Ganzfeld League, only a  
passing mention that she had been Psi tested, not when or where 
or with whom. So he had no idea of that part of her life.

He had written up a paper on her, on her family history, though. 
Digging into what she could do had seemed to be his second favorite 
pastime when they were together. Could there have been other 
reasons? No, damnit. He looked into crap like this, he did not take 
part in it. There had been no taint of dishonesty or evasiveness to 
THAT part of their relationship. He was not the enemy.

Four were people missing. She tried to recall them. Of the League 
she had only kept in constant contact with Nora, Jen, Penny and 
Fred. The odd letter and Christmas Cards were her only contact 
with the others.

     FROM: ORACLE@time.bus.com
     TO: LTTLDICK@mis.com

     M is clean, Nora. I'm positive of that much. Tell me what you 
     dig up.I will watch my back, never fear.

     Thanks for the warning. You know I think I had better tell M 
     about this. He might be able to figure it out. He has resources 
     you don't. Just because we are no longer a 'item' doesn't mean 
     we aren't friends.

     Cass

Cassandra sent the note out and turned off the computer. She was 
suddenly very cold. She now wished Tammy were here and not with 
Chuck.

Mulder was in sunny California right now. With Scully. Cassy 
closed her eyes and refused the pain.

SHE was the one to urge him to talk with Scully. How was she to 
know she would feel them make love? That she would lay awake, 
feeling the echoes of their union and remember craving his touch. 
She was considering moving out despite her insistence that he would 
not chase her out of her own home.

Maybe she should call and talk to Dana. They had become good 
friends since that damn case involving Carl Thies a.k.a. the Boogie 
Man. It was difficult to be friends with the love of Mulder's life.

But it was not Dana's fault. It was not anyone's fault. It might have 
been easier if there was someone to blame, but Dana is a good 
person and it would be easier to call Dana for advice.

What time was it in California anyway? She looked at her watch; 
eleven pm, that would make it eight in California. Cassy sat looking 
at her phone, chewing her bottom lip nervously.

end part 1

Disclaimers attached to part 1.

THE GANZFELD LEAGUE
by Rhondda Lake and
(Part 2/?)

ALEXANDRIA, VA
11:05pm

Cassandra double checked her doors and pulled out her bed, 
carefully placing her handgun, with the safety on, under the 
pillow. Then she went about trying to pass the evening as  
normally as possible. She put away her medieval garb and 
feasting gear, and changed into her oversized tee shirt.

Her eyes kept straying to the night time mirror image of the 
apartment window. Someone could be watching her right now. 
She turned off all the lights with a shaking hand and crawled into 
her bed. So much for normality.

Grabbing the phone she dialed Dana's number, hanging up at the 
busy signal. Okay, it was a stupid idea anyway. Why should Dana 
field her calls, and just what made her want to go running to Mulder 
right now, anyway? A little voice inside answered her, you're 
scared  kid. She told it to shut the hell up and leave her alone.

She lay back and tried to get to sleep. She lay there rationalizing 
every  sound. The infrequent traffic outside, the hiss of the heater 
kicking in. Little noises she never really noticed before. It took 
two hours before exhaustion outdid her nerves and sleep took her.

CRYSTAL CITY, MD
11:30 PM

Assistant Director Walter Skinner poured himself a single shot of 
whisky and downed it quickly. The burn flowing down his throat 
felt good. It got rid of the remnants of the cloying air he had been 
breathing all night.

He did not particularly enjoy the 'informal' gatherings he attended, 
such as the one tonight. It was a chance to rub elbows with those 
who held more political power. Contacts were made, favors traded, 
and ones position held assured. It was a dance of politics and 
kissing ass, where everyone wore masks of perfect politeness even 
when throwing jabs meant to slice an opponent to the bone.

The food at these things ranged from abysmally bad to incredibly 
good. The only good part about tonight had been the meal. He had 
ended up discussing crime and punishment with the Director and 
Janet Reno, and their viewpoints rarely matched up. He had learned 
to keep his mouth shut ages ago, so he had salvaged the evening by 
watching and listening. He commented only when asked something 
directly. He was too cautious now, too much was riding on keeping 
his contacts to be outspoken enough to risk offending.

Reigning in his opinion was political, but it did not sit well with him. 
He set his shot glass in the sink and put away the whisky. One shot 
was all he would allow himself. Drink would not drown troubles. 
Troubles tended to know how to swim.

If he didn't know that before, he would after tonight. One of the 
Director's aides had sampled one drink too many and had cornered 
Skinner. What had been interesting was what the man had been 
asking about.

Had he ever heard of the Nostradamus Project? It had something 
to do with research secretly backed by the government fifteen 
years ago. Research that centered on psychics.

Now, everyone knew the good old US Government experimented 
with psychics during the second world war, but was it still going on?

Skinner didn't know if that man thought he had some inside 
information by virtue of being the infamous Fox 'Spooky' Mulder's 
superior, or not. But the man was quickly hushed by the Director 
and escorted from the room with a sheepish smile and a couple 
of jokes.

Walter toed off his shoes and unfastened his tie, collecting both 
as he made his way upstairs where a hot shower would erase the 
stink of cigarettes. The odor of the burnt tobacco made him want 
to gag and, political correctness  aside, one did not tell the people 
he had dined with tonight that they should  not smoke in a public 
building.

As he forced himself to relax under the hot spray of water he could 
not shake the feeling that that aide had let something slip or had been 
deliberately sent to let something slip. The more he thought about it 
the more the young man's eyes seemed too clear for the level of 
drunkenness presumed.

Something was going on. Skinner decided to look into the matter 
privately come morning.

          XXXXXXX

THE PARAPSYCHOLOGY DEVELOPMENTAL LABORATORY
PRINCETON, NJ
**May 1st, 1985**
----

The door burst open and a whirlwind of excited energy spilled 
into the comfortable-looking, sun-filled dorm room. The source 
of disruption was loud enough that the teenager on the bed heard 
the constant flow of indistinguishable babble over the strains of 
DURAN DURAN's 'Union of the Snake' playing through the 
earphones of her walkman.

\\Elegant force and gritty, I knew this was a big mistake.\\

"Can you believe it? I just held it in my hand and I could see the 
whole thing. I mean it was only a hunting knife but it was so OLD, 
Cassy." The slightly older girl spun into the sunlight streaming 
through the windows, making the tiny dust motes dance madly 
around her.

\\There's a fine line drawing our senses together and I think it's 
about to break.\\

"It was just woods, and the guy was using this knife to gut a deer. 
He was young, but desperate. Food was scarce." She gestured with 
her hands, causing the motes to weave about her fingers and arms, 
caught in her spell.

\\If our mission goes I can hear them singers ohhh, ohh, ohh\\

"I mean this guy was nothing special, and the impressions I got off 
him were faint. But I picked them up. This is the first time ever I 
held an archeological artifact, and I was STILL able to pick up a 
trace that old." She hugged herself, enraptured by the experience 
she was relating.

\\Voices in your body comin through on the radio-oooo-oooh\\

"I mean yah, I was able to describe the museum curator to a tee. 
and I could tell them what the kid who found the knife was wearing, 
but that psychometric trace must have been seven hundred years old 
Cassy. Cassy! Are you listening to a word I said?" She frowned a 
bit at her friend.

\\The Union of the snake is on the climb, movin up, gonna race, 
gonna break to the border line.\\

The teenager tossed her thick mane of ebony hair over one shoulder 
as she nodded her head to the music. "Yah, yah, you held an old 
knife and you picked up some stuff from it. Nora, that's what you 
DO. That's what your here for right?"

\\Nightshades are a warning, give me strength at least give me a 
light.\\

"I've never handled something this old. They said I had one of the 
most powerful psychometric gifts they ever recorded."

\\Where anything keeping sympathy there's a chance you could be 
right.\\

"So basically you are now on the top of the good girl list and those 
people who keep track of psychics you keep ranting at me about 
will be all the more interested in you." Cassy raised an eyebrow at 
the girl who was two years her senior.

Nora was plain, there was no other word for it. She had chosen the 
alias of Nadine to be used on all the project paperwork because she 
thought it was prettier than her real name.

The one thing that made Nora stand out was the psychometry that 
seemed to appear with her first period.

Nora was CONVINCED that there were people who wanted 
psychics of any kind to do shadowy, underhanded things for the 
government. She claimed they had tried to recruit her when she 
was thirteen, but she hit the panic button after shaking the 'recruiter's 
hand. She also claimed they watched her because of her father.

She rarely spoke about her father, but when she did it was with a 
trapped animal wildness in her eyes. Nora's paranoia made Cassy 
wonder why Nora had joined the group of inhouse testees at the 
Parapsychological Developmental Laboratories in the first place.

The older girl's face froze, her bliss dissolving in an instant. "Oh 
SHIT!" Nora moved to her own bed in their shared the dorm room 
and dug out her hidden cache of cigarettes. Lighting one up she 
took a drag. Nora's leg was doing that jumpy twitchy thing it did 
when she was nervous. "I was so excited I forgot about that. I'm 
gonna have to fake some bad tests to have any chance of moving 
down the list after today. God, I can be so stupid sometimes."

Cassy smiled in amusement. "You're the only person I ever met 
who cheats to look bad. Tell me again why you're here?"

"Cause I found out about dad cheating on mom by picking up his 
briefcase. This is my punishment, as if the divorce weren't enough."

Cassy pulled the tape out of her walkman and slapped it into the 
little stereo the girls shared. "Come on, dance with me, take your 
mind off it. I have to go to 'the room' in a half hour. I wanna relax 
a bit before I get there."

The strains of saxophone music played over the speakers, drowning 
out the faint birdsong outside, before Simon LeBon's voice crooned 
out as the girls jerked around in a wild dance without form, if not 
without grace. Sometimes moving together as easily as if they had 
practiced. Their ability to fall so into step with one another is why 
they clung together here at the labs.

To the girls it only meant that they trusted one another, even over 
the doctors and their fellow testees.

               *

A half hour found Cassandra Troy reclining in a chair with a set of 
earphones back on her head. This time the sounds of ocean waves 
teased her ears, not music. A ping pong ball, cut in half and sanded 
smooth was taped over the cotton placed on her closed eyes.

Not that there was anything to see in the small grey walled room 
anyway. Nothing but the chair, the florescent lights overhead, and 
the subject trying to relax.

The electrodes from the EEG were gummed on her forehead and 
into her hair. When the technician left her alone in the room she 
tried to blank her mind. After all, achieving a perfect trance state 
was the purpose behind the whole Ganzfeld chamber. She thought 
about the subject watching a movie in the other room. What did the 
movie make him or her feel?

He was afraid. It had to be a horror movie, but no, it was not the 
pleasant thrill of safely watching a movie.

He was afraid and confined, and they were coming after her next. 
She felt clamps trap her wrists to the chair, cold metal. The 
electrodes seemed not some passive way of reading brainwaves, 
but suddenly they held her head down, denying her the freedom 
to sit up, or even shake her head in denial.

Just as suddenly her ankles were clasped, and she was a prisoner in 
the chair, in the room, and no one knew where she was or even that 
she was in trouble. Her struggles were futile as she tried to free 
herself.  Blind, deaf, confined and terrified, she was their pawn now.

She tried to struggle against the confines, feeling the clamps cut 
into her. She screamed her fear and pain at the top of her lungs.

NOooooo! It's a nightmare, wake up, wake up, WAKEUP!

               XXXXXXX

ALEXANDRIA, VA
5:58 am
PRESENT DAY

Cassy sat up in her bed, confused for a moment. She had dreamt 
memories. Not too uncommon for her, but just before she woke 
up her dream twisted those memories into something nasty.

She reached for the phone. Mulder and Scully were still too far 
away to do anything. Tammy was an artist, what could she do 
besides worry? Who did that leave that Cassy could trust?

She reached into the nightstand drawer for the little white card 
she'd been given after the Boogie Man incident six months ago. 
She was told to call it and let him know if she was well, or if the 
hospital gave her any trouble over insurance issues.

Her hand shook as she looked at the simple black lettering and the 
gold foil FBI seal.

She didn't know why she'd kept this. Perhaps because the man had 
been kind. No, she had to be honest with herself, she kept it because 
he had called to check up on her. Because there was just something 
about the man that had left an impression on her after a twenty minute 
meeting with him six months ago.

It had been during one of her ex-boyfriend's cases. She had been 
psychically contacted to a serial killer of children and was thus a 
valuable asset to the case when another child turned up missing. 
The man who had given her this card at first doubted her, then 
accepted her, after a small demonstration of what an empathic 
link could do.

That brief link between them had shocked her more then she had 
let on at the time. There was something there, something she could 
not identify, but did not wish to lose either. So she had kept the card. 
Kept it, but never used it.

Cassy dialed the number quickly. It was early, it was Saturday, he 
probably wouldn't be there anyway.

One ring. Two. Then a click.

"Skinner."

Cassy hung up without saying a word. What was she thinking? One 
does not go running to the Assistant Director of the FBI because of 
an e-mail warning and a nightmare.

She got out of bed and started dressing for a workout. Perhaps if she 
did a few laps at the pool and then stopped in at the office she would 
feel better.

A couple hours of afternoon overtime would help her pocketbook 
and surround her with familiar people for a while.

Throughout the morning ritual she could NOT shake the feeling that 
the dream was some sort of warning.

               *

J. EDGER HOOVER BUILDING
WASHINGTON, D.C.
6:00 am

Walter Skinner stared at his phone. What stupid game was being 
played here? Who knew he was going to be in and working this 
early on a Saturday?

He drummed his fingers on the report in front of him. There was 
little on paper, but what he could dig up over the computer were 
about ten references to this mysterious Nostradamus Project. It 
seemed completely into Agent Mulder's territory. More, it had no 
bearings on anything he could think of going on today.

The phone call, however, nagged at him. He picked up the receiver 
again and punched in the number for the switchboard.

"It's Skinner. Can you trace the last number to call into this phone? 
I'll wait."

A few moments later a phone number was repeated to him. He 
wrote it down.

"Thanks." He hung up and stared at the numbers. It was familiar 
in a vague way. He had the distinct impression he knew it.

He picked the phone up again and dialed the number.

At the fourth ring he was about to hang up when he heard the line 
connect and the grainy whir of a tape.

"Hi, you've reached Tamara Phillips and Cassandra Troy. We're 
unable to come to the phone right now. You know the drill. Unless 
you're trying to sell us siding or windows, do the beep thing."

Skinner hung up before he heard a beep.

Cassandra Troy. He remembered her almost too well. A lovely 
young woman possessed of a unique paranormal ability and an 
infuriating stubborn streak. Last he'd seen her was laying 
semi-conscious in an emergency room.

He doubted she had been aware of his presence, between the drugs 
and the shock. But he'd been assured she would make a full recovery. 
He had left her his card anyway.

He was not sure what impulse had spurred that action. He had given 
the reasonable excuse that she was to call if she had any problems 
over insurance or her employment due to her involvement in a federal 
case.

He had called her once. Only once. To see that she was, indeed, 
recovering. He'd inadvertently learned she had broken off her 
relationship with Fox Mulder during that call.

So why would she call him this early on a Saturday and then not 
say anything? Why would she call him at all?

He did not care for mysteries. He liked to solve them. Which was 
why he had joined the FBI in the first place. A few years behind a 
desk had not blunted that need or his investigative edge.

He stood, crossed his office and entered his secretary's reception 
room. He perused the books on top of one filing cabinet and pulled 
the one he was looking for. The Alexandria, Virginia telephone 
directory. He needed an address.

end part 2.

Disclaimers attached to part 1.

THE GANZFELD LEAGUE
by Rhondda Lake
(Part 3/?)

OFFICE OF SENATOR CARSON
WASHINGTON, D.C.
8:30 am

Senator Dan Carson looked over the budget proposal before him. 
It was too early for number crunching. He never thought well on 
an empty stomach, anyway. That was all right, Rich was joining 
him for an in-office breakfast. They would pretend it was to discuss 
the budget proposal but mostly they would end up discussing 
tomorrow's golf game.

Dan straightened his tie and looked up when Susan, his assistant, 
knocked and peeked her head inside the office door.

"Senator Matheson called to say he'd be a little late. Will you be 
needing me past noon, sir? Billy has a little league game..."

"No problem, Susan. It's Saturday, after all. Why don't you go 
home right after Rich comes in? Just leave the notes from the 
Jamesfield meeting on your desk."

The petite brunette smiled thankfully. "Yes, sir. I'll leave the final 
edit of your proposed speech with it."

Carson nodded watched her close the door, leaving him alone.

*It's so tiring. Don't you feel tired?* He shook his head at the 
thought.

Sure he was tired. He had spent a late night kissing the right asses 
in the hope that his full disclosure proposal would make it through 
Monday's voting session. However, he had had later nights.

*You know the proposal won't pass. Too many people with too 
many secrets. Even Matheson warned you about pushing too hard. 
All the work for nothing. Look back on your life? How much good 
have you really done? Haven't you become just one more of those 
bureaucratic blood suckers you always hated?* Carson frowned; 
where did that come from? He never had thoughts like that before.

He stood and went into the adjoining bathroom. The tasteful decor 
only hammering home the disturbing ideas he'd had only seconds 
before.

He ran some water and splashed it on his face with shaking hands. 
He looked into the mirror and saw a dark-haired man with the grey 
starting to over run his temples. There were lines deeply etched into 
his face from too many cares.

Distinguished looking, his wife insisted.

*Old, old and tired of playing mind games and politics with people 
who have either no understanding of what's really going on, or know 
full well and allow themselves to be manipulated.*

He blinked, and saw that he was back in his office, the gun he kept 
in the locked desk drawer was on the desk in front of him. How did 
he get here? What the hell?

He saw his hand reach for the gun. It didn't seem to be a part of 
him any more. It was another man's hand, another gun.

*Rest. You need rest.* He barely felt the cold barrel press to his 
temple.

               *

Susan smiled a greeting at Senator Matheson. "He's waiting for 
you, sir. Your breakfasts have been ordered. I'll be out of your 
hair in a few moments." She fingered through the elegant wooden 
filing cabinet for the materials Senator Carson had requested.

"I'll see myself in, Susan, thanks." Both Matheson and Susan 
jumped when they heard the crack of a gun from the next room.

They looked at each other with shock widened eyes for a second, 
then both rushed for the door to the inner office.

Susan yanked open the door and began to scream.

               *

THE PARAPSYCHOLOGICAL DEVELOPMENTAL CENTER
PRINCETON, NJ
** MAY, 1985 **
----

The girl looked bored.

She pushed the far right of the four buttons arranged before the 
four colored light bulbs adorning the black box in front of her. A 
lightbulb lit in front of the far left button instead.

The random number generator would make the lights flash on in 
a completely unpredictable pattern. It was a test for precognition.

So far Cassandra Troy scored considerably below the odds for 
random luck. She didn't like the tests she was no good at. They 
were a waste of time. She also did not like the theory that she 
was subconsciously sabotaging herself. That she COULD predict 
the next light and deliberately chose another without realizing it.

The featureless rooms where they were tested were no treat, either. 
Bare walls, card tables and folding chairs along with the EEG and 
any testing equipment.

"Cassy, you are not concentrating." Dr. Carrone sat across from her. 
The burly grey-haired psychiatrist really tried not to be patronizing 
to his youngest subjects. However, he was grandfatherly enough so 
that he always came across as a mix of understanding and slightly 
daunting.

"Doctor, you know I'm no good at this. Why can't I go back to the 
Ganzfeld chamber, or let me sit in the room with some people and 
tell you what they feel? I'm no precog. Only Becky has any talent 
for this." The teenager pushed the box away and crossed her arms 
over her breasts.

Dr. Carrone suppressed the urge to smile at the gesture. It was not 
only a sign of stubbornness, but Cassy was a late bloomer, and her 
newly acquired figure made her uncomfortable at times, prompting 
such defensive gestures as much as wearing baggy jeans.

He suspected the girl's clingy tank top was more the idea of her 
roommate than her own.

"We have to repeatedly test all of you in each form of Psi. Most 
of you have a secondary latent ability you are unaware of. A few 
of you even have a third or forth talent, hidden beneath your major 
power. With you, your secondary talent is telepathic in nature."

Cassy chewed her lip. No matter how hard she tried she barely 
averaged 55 hits when tested with the Zener deck of 250 cards. 
True, she rarely dropped below, but it was entirely possible that 
it was chance or luck.

Unlike Mike, Linda or Penny, the three golden subjects, she 
couldn't read thoughts, or transmit her own thoughts to others. 
Silent communication was beyond her, at least in the way of 
imagery or words to the conscious mind. Emotions was where 
she was comfortable.

"I'm encouraged by the dream research we've been doing. Cassy, 
the ability to project into a subject's subconscious dreams is not an 
empathic ability. It is the projection of your will, and the ability to 
transmit images. THAT is telepathy. But on such a level that you 
only seem to be able to work with a sleeping, unguarded mind."

Cassy squirmed in her seat. She was uncomfortable with that part 
of her talent, but Dr. Carrone and others were gently prompting 
her into exploring it further.

"But they have to already be dreaming, and I have to be able to 
follow emotional emanations in. It isn't telepathy alone."

The doctor smiled, a small triumph had been made. She was willing to
acknowledge her latent telepathic abilities. "No, not alone, but it is 
present. You have been able to project words into the dreams the past 
three tests. You are deliberately limiting yourself. These tests are to 
help you expand on all the facets of your abilities." 

Cassy eyed the offending box. "You tryin' to tell me I might be a 
precog?" She squirmed some more. She was obviously distressed 
by the thought. Such a mood would be detrimental to the tests.

"No, just that we HAVE to check for the possibility. If you are that
uncomfortable we'll quit for today. Would you like to watch Nora's 
test from the observation area?"

Cassandra smiled up at the doctor when he stood. "Sure. I love to 
see what she can do. Don't tell her, though. I don't need her getting 
an ego or anything."

The doctor led Cassy through the institutional halls to a door like 
most in the building. Only the little plate set to the side to proclaim
 it 'observation room 4'.

Six worn wooden chairs waited inside facing the viewing side of a 
one way mirror. All the testees knew the mirrors led to observation 
areas, and sometimes a test was even to determine how many 
observers they had.

There was currently only one occupant when they entered. Fred 
nodded to them. He stood in the corner, watching the testing in the 
other room with little real interest.

"Hey, Gypsy, how's it goin today?" He winked at Cassy.

Fred was the common jock type, his dark good looks turning all the 
female test subjects to butter. Hard to believe he was actually an 
accountant of some kind.He was thirty five and every aspect of the 
project and testing fascinated him, making him seem like a kid again.

He was a projective Telepath. The funny thing was, no matter how 
hard he tried the poor guy couldn't receive worth shit.

Cassy moved closer to him. He liked to play older brother to her 
and Nora while they were here. If they had any problems, or felt 
they were being pushed too hard, they went to Fred.

He was hard for Cassy to read sometimes, but he seemed to 
genuinely like the whole testing process.

"Ick. RNG precog test. Dr. Frankenstein here wants us tested 
on the full range, even when we obviously have no talent in 
some areas." Cassy grinned mischievously at Dr. Carrone.

"And I know how you just LOVE failing tests. Hey, some of 
the guys are having a picnic lunch in the park. You got invited, 
or rather I was told to pass the word along if I saw you." Fred 
clapped her thin shoulder lightly before looking back through 
the one-way mirror.

In the well lit lab room Nora sat at a table with a series of sealed 
envelopes before her. She looked as bored as Cassy had been 
when set to her previous test, but for different reasons.

Cassy watched Nora place her hand on each envelope, concentrate, 
then relay what photos were inside. Cassandra could FEEL the 
boredom mixed with anxiety and a hint of insincerity. Nora was 
deliberately giving wrong answers fully half the time. Cassy winced. 
Trying to make up for the knife debacle she figured.

"Ugh, as bad as mine. Can I go to the park for that picnic, 
Dr.Carrone?"

Dr. Carrone, having no insight into Nora's suddenly reduced 
test scores looked perturbed, and waved Cassy out distractedly.

The young woman hurried through the dull halls, happy for any 
chance to escape the uncomfortable lens of scrutiny. Any chance 
to escape the dull institution was to be taken immediately. The 
group were not often allowed to wander the 'world-at-large'.

The park, a half-mile from the lab, held an informal picnic 
gathering of five other test subjects. She had run the short 
way and collapsed, in a tangle of long limbs, next to the spread 
blanket.

"Ahhh, another escapee." Penny giggled and passed Cassy a 
plate of fried chicken and pasta salad. She looked at Linda, 
who nodded as waves of silent communication passed between 
the two women. Linda laughed at some unspoken joke and 
passed Cassy a 7UP.

"I wish you two would quit that, or at least let the rest of us poor 
untelepathic folks in on the joke." Cassy griped as she bit into 
the cold chicken.

"I just told Linda we need to work on your wardrobe, kiddo. For 
a pretty young girl you dress like such a frump [sometimes]." Penny 
shook her head disapprovingly. "What do you say the three of us do 
some shopping after lunch, make this a full-scale jailbreak?"

"Out of the lab sounds good, but letting you two pick my clothes? 
I don't know..." Cassy looked sceptical.

"We ain't your momma, Cassy. I think a nice pair of leather pants, 
maybe a cool jacket. It's the eighties, kid, not the sixties. I'll even 
put it on my card." Penny coaxed.

"Great, I get to play dress-up doll or child substitute?" Cassy groaned 
by way of acceptance.

"You're too big for a baby, kiddo. I'll stick with the Barbie doll 
analogy." Linda laughed.

Handsome, rangy, blond Mike smiled at her. "Tested you into 
insanity this morning, huh? You could use the break as much as 
they could."

His grin was infectious one minute, and faded the next. His face 
seeming to age thirteen years, becoming sad and frightened. His 
long hair disappeared and the hairline receded. "Better watch out 
for Nora." He warned, "she's digging into things she can't handle."


               XXXXX

YMCA
ALEXANDRIA, VA CHAPTER
8:37 am
PRESENT DAY

Cassandra tried to sit upright in a startle response and went under 
the water. She kicked her legs and broke the surface, sputtering.

What the hell? The pool had acted as sensory deprivation, and 
she's allowed her mind to float back to memories.

Yet again, however, the end of the memory did not belong.

Mike, Mike Dodd. Not only was he the one Nora was looking for, 
he was one of the top three Telepaths in the League.

Cassandra ripped through the water with the will to wring every 
last bit of excess energy from her body. Each stroke of her arms 
and kick of her legs were as much a strike against the unknown 
as a means of propulsion.

Having done over a mile already her limbs were beginning to feel 
the delicious heaviness of exertion. She let her mind go numb as 
she rolled over to simply float in the heated pool of the Y.

Her silver one-piece swimsuit seeming to blend with the water so 
that only the heavy cloud of black spreading under her gave her 
definition. The ebon mass rippled and writhed as a living thing 
with the little eddies and swirls of the liquid around her.


2630 HEGAL PLACE
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
12:18 pm

The address had been a surprise, however; it did make it easy to 
find.

Walter Skinner parked across the street and paused. Three spots 
ahead of him there was a sight that set off his own internal alarms. 
The car was parked, the man in the driver's seat laid back and 
relaxed. A coffee cup sat on the dash, a small box beside it. It 
screamed surveillance.

What the hell had Mulder gotten into this time?

He got out of the car and didn't look at the car again. No need to 
let them know they'd been spotted. Mulder wasn't even home, so 
let the idiot sit out there bored senseless.

He stepped off the elevator at the fifth floor and approached 
apartment 57. There had been no answer to his repeated phone 
calls all morning. An hour ago the answering machine had ceased 
picking up. 

Gut instinct was telling him something was wrong. Very wrong. 
If time had taught him nothing else it was to follow his gut. Using 
that survival tool is what often separated the dead from the living 
in the jungles of Hell. It separated the good investigators from the 
excellent ones. 

The phone call he received this morning was not an accident. As 
the day wore on he was becoming more and more discomforted.

Now that he was here he was not quite sure what he would say 
to the woman if she happened to be home and everything was fine.

He froze. The apartment door was slightly ajar.

He drew his weapon and approached close to the wall. There was 
no sound emanating from inside.

He pushed the door open and kept his body clear. Crouching, 
so his head would not be in the expected place, he peered inside.

The apartment was a mess. Furniture overturned, planters 
smashed, a computer laying in bits on the floor. Now, where 
had he seen this kind of work before?

Cautiously he moved through the apartment, all senses alert 
for any sign that he had interrupted the sweep crew at work. 
Nothing. They had been through and left a while ago.

His heart pounded in his ears. Was anyone home when this 
happened? There was no sign of blood, but in the mess any 
signs of struggle would have to be detected by a forensics team.

He stood in the single bedroom, pulled out his own phone and 
calmly informed the police of the break in. He'd touched nothing, 
but he doubted there would be evidence to disturb.

As he waited for the local PD to arrive, his eyes took in the 
apartment. It had once been neat and well kept. Light colors 
everywhere. Lots of plants. Was that a SWORD on the floor?

He crouched. Yes it was. Some sort of rapier with a swept hilt. 
It looked valuable. Valuable enough to rule out simple robbery.

A torn tapestry half hung from the wall depicting a woman with 
a unicorn and a lion. Interesting decorating choice.

A photo in a smashed frame lay next to his foot. He bent to examine 
it. Two women, a small blonde with spiky-short hair and Miss Troy. 
Both were... were they dressed in armor? He frowned. Yes, 
chainmail and metal breastplates. Each held a sword. In the 
photograph, Miss Troy held the sword currently on the floor. Both 
women wore huge, careless smiles.

The sound of knocking out in the living room announced the arrival 
of the police. He drew out his badge as he stood. There was some 
explaining to do.

               *

BRESTOR-SIMMS ADVERTISING AGENCY
WASHINGTON, D.C.
3:46 p.m.

Cassy rotated her neck to relieve the crick that had formed there. 
She hated being hunched over a computer. While the effects one 
could achieve digitally were impressive, it wasn't as visceral an 
experience as painting or drawing.

She finally had the real horse convincingly merged with the 
carousel horse, so it appeared to be leaping away from the ride. 
The model on horseback was reaching for a brass ring, from 
which a car key dangled.

This Mustang ad was her first major client. She'd put in long 
hours to make sure everything was perfect. Monday she would 
present it to Mr. Simms, and he would set up a meeting with the 
execs from the Ford company.

She clicked save and looked around. Her little cubicle was neat, 
yet the walls were covered with clipped photos and ads. Two 
awards hung, framed, over her desk.

Turning off her computer she stood and eased the ache from her 
lower back. She looked around. She could see five other heads, 
other poor shleps putting in overtime for the good of their careers 
or wallets.

The elevator doors dinged and opened. She glanced that way as 
she grabbed her coat. Maybe she could ask them to hold it.

Two men in dark suits got out. One flashed a familiar looking 
badge at Tony, one of the copy editors. Tony nodded and 
pointed at her.

Cassy felt her stomach flip-flop. Get out, get out, getoutgetoutgetout! 
Her mind was screaming. Fear laced adrenaline shot through her. 
The grim faced men started to walk towards her.

She took off like a shot. She rounded partitioned cubicles and 
slammed full force into the stairwell doors. She could hear the 
pounding of the men's feet behind her as she began taking the 
stairs down two and three at a time, risking a broken ankle or a 
neck-breaking fall.

"Freeze, FBI!" The man's voice filled the narrow stairwell.

That meant they had their guns out and ready. Cassandra knew 
she had committed no crime. Nora's e-mail warning flashed in her 
minds eye and she felt like vomiting.

She could hear them above her, pounding down the stairs. There 
was a hiss, and a dart stuck into the wall behind her.

She refused to scream.

Dart guns were NOT FBI standard issue. She knew. She'd dated 
an FBI agent for six months. Shooting at the backs of unarmed 
civilians wasn't S.O.P. either.

She flung herself at the parking garage door and stumbled out 
onto the pavement. She ducked behind two cars and scampered 
in a crouch, hiding between vehicles as she made her way to her 
little green Lumina.

She had her keys in her hand. As she heard the door pound open 
somewhere behind her she had managed to lace her keys so one 
stood out between each finger in her fist. She made as little noise 
as possible as she opened her car door. Sliding in she kept down. 
She refused to look back.

Keep low, Cassy, she told herself, keep out of sight.

The minute the engine turned over she knew they would be 
closing in. She sat up, cranked the car into reverse and backed up, 
wildly.

In the rear-view mirror she could see one man raising his gun. 
The other pushed his arm down as she sped out of the garage, 
burning rubber.

Out in the streets she felt vulnerable and exposed. Her breath 
was coming in short, hiccuping gasps. Those had NOT been FBI 
agents. But what if they were? If they were had she just resisted 
arrest for something? How much trouble would THAT put her in?

Face it, kiddo, either way you are so screwed. The voice in her head 
had Nora's tone. Whenever she scolded herself it tended to sound 
like Nora.

She realized, suddenly, she couldn't go home. Whoever those 
goons were, they would know where she lived. Oh God, Tammy! 
Please let Tammy have spent the whole day with that idiot boyfriend 
of hers...

Shit, shit, shit! Why didn't she have a cell phone like every other 
yuppie idiot in DC?

She turned down side streets, doubling back on herself, her eyes 
nervously flashing into her rear-view mirror every ten seconds. 
She had nowhere to go. No one to turn to. She was going to end 
up a statistic. Another face on the mall bulletin bored with a "Have 
you seen..." underneath.

She furiously wiped the cold wetness from beneath her eyes. Tears 
were not constructive right now. She had to think. She had to get 
help. Where? No one she knew could handle this. Going to her 
friends would just end up getting them hurt. Those guys with the 
dart gun had looked damn serious.

Then it hit her. She'd only been in the car with Mulder twice when 
he'd stopped by the place, but she remembered the way.

<<"He's up, light's are on." Mulder had pulled a thick stack of files 
from the seat between them.

"Where?" Cassy frowned, peering through the windshield.

"Seventeenth floor, corner balcony. Sit tight, this'll only take a 
minute.">>

Those nebulous directions were going to have to do. She turned 
her car for Crystal City.

end part 3.

Disclaimer attached to part 1.

THE GANZFELD LEAGUE
by Rhondda Lake
(Part 4/?)

SOMEWHERE OVER THE MIDWEST
4:30 PM.

The case in Darwin, California had NOT been an X-File. The 
most amazing thing about that was that Mulder was the one to 
point it out. The three cases of Spontaneous Human Combustion 
turned out to be not so spontaneous. Instead a clever bank robber 
was killing those who suspected him, by using the crematorium 
while the mortician was out of town.

The case was over in three days, with everything cleaned up, 
filed and processed and the suspect shot dead while trying to 
escape arrest. It was so neat and tidy it was... down right boring 
and depressing. Scully sighed. She actually longed for something 
with a challenge to it.

"You gonna eat those?" The chin resting on her shoulder was 
digging in uncomfortably. Her nerves were already jangled due to 
the fact that they were in the air. She didn't need this.

"Yes, eat your own." Scully ripped open her bag of peanuts and 
popped one in her mouth with a vindictive fervor.

"I already ate mine." He was pouting.

"Grow up." She pulled a magazine from her carry on. Cosmo. 
Hmmm... How to rate your lover, page 53.

"Got any gum?"

She wiggled her shoulder in an attempt to dislodge the second 
head that had apparently sprung there.

"No. You took my last piece on the way TO California." She 
popped another peanut in her mouth to make the point.

She folded her magazine and produced a red marker from her 
bag.

"I don't believe you read Cosmo. That is so... not you."

"Mulder, if you don't stop digging your chin into my shoulder I'm 
going to have to break your jaw."

That worked. Much better.

"You're going to take that test?"

"What's wrong? 'Fraid you won't pass?" She tapped her teeth with 
the end of the pen.

Does your man: a) play well with others, b) listen well, c) run 
with scissors? Scully checked c.

"Oooh, you think I live dangerously."

"More dangerously than you know if your fingers get one inch 
closer to my peanuts."

Is your relationship: a) wild and unpredictable, b) stable and 
dependable, c) in need of CPR

A bright red check next to a. Of course Wildman was, at this 
moment, munching on her peanuts.

"I licked those."

"I've sucked on your tongue."

Does your man possess: a) boyish charm, b) mature contemplation, 
c) passionate exuberance.

Another a answer. Right now he was all of seven years old.

"Oh, come on, I'm a c."

"You're a hemorrhoid. Get me a drink."

He signaled a flight attendant.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" Her smile was flirtatious.

"Can I get a diet Coke for my partner?" His smile was suggestive.

The woman nodded and disappeared, her hips swaying just a bit 
more.

Mulder felt a sharp pain in the shin. "We'll get better service." 
He offered by way of an excuse.

"You better get really good service now, because you aren't getting 
ANY service tonight." She glared.

"It's like window shopping when there's no intention to buy, and 
you're perfectly happy with the model you have already."

The glare didn't waver. In fact, he was pretty sure there was some 
sort of heat ray coming from her eyes and any minute now he was 
going to resemble one of the victims from this last case. "I'll shut up 
now." He muttered quickly.

"Good idea."

The flight attendant returned with a can of diet Coke and the 
plane's phone.

"Excuse me, Agent Mulder?" The woman was wearing a worried 
frown. "You have an urgent call."

The frown jumped from her face to his instantly. "Thanks." He 
took the phone, all sorts of unpleasant scenarios running through 
his head.

"Mulder." He straightened up. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

Scully cocked her head to the side, trying to pick up on the 
conversation.

"Are you certain? I mean... it's terrible, but these things do hap... 
Yeah. I'll come in tomorrow morning." He hung up, then sat back, 
no longer watching her fill out answers. He handed the phone over 
to a passing flight attendant.

"Skinner?"

"No. Senator Matheson. Some favors are getting called in." He 
didn't look happy with the prospect.

CRYSTAL CITY, VIRGINIA
4:35 pm

Cassandra pulled into an empty parking spot a bit too fast. Her car 
hit the parking block and she was thrown forward by the sudden 
stop. She hurriedly unbuckled herself, snatched her purse, and 
headed into the glass and concrete high rise she'd only seen twice 
before, over six months ago.

She entered right behind a man dressed in an elegant suit. With 
only a quick glance in the direction of the front desk she followed 
the man ahead of her by a two feet. If he didn't stop and address her 
perhaps the guard would think she was with him, and not ask 
questions or bar her way.

It worked. She was in the elevator and the man she'd followed 
nodded to her, oblivious, as he pushed the third button.

"Seventeen please." She asked with a nervous smile.

He nodded and pushed the button for her.

As the conveyance moved smoothly upward Cassy tried to imagine 
the floor plan. She didn't have an apartment number, just the vague, 
outside directions of Seventeenth floor, upper right corner balcony.

When the man left she was alone in the elevator and she felt her legs 
begin to shake. Damn. Until now she'd been concentrating on the 
road, on plans for getting here, anything to keep her mind off of what 
had nearly happened. In the enforced idleness of the elevator her 
nerves were catching up with her.

The doors slipped open silently and she stepped out. Ok, The 
apartment would be last on the left if it was on the right outside. 
She almost ran to the door in question.

Behind her the elevator chimed and she turned to see it head back 
down. A knot of fear twisted in her stomach, it's edges razor sharp 
and lacerating.

It was them. She didn't know how, or even why she knew, she just 
did. The elevator was descending and they'd be on it when it next 
arrived.

She pounded on the door, ignoring the doorbell. The pounding was 
frantic, in time with her terrified heartbeat.

The door flung open and she looked up into the startled face of 
Walter Skinner, Assistant Director of the FBI.

"Miss Troy?"

He remembered her, thank God, he remembered her.

"Inside, quick. They're right behind me." She urged him to back 
into his apartment.

"Who? What's going on? Are you aware that your apartment 
was..."

The elevator chimed. Cassy turned to see the doors slide open, 
almost in slow motion. The two men who had chased her at work 
spotted her immediately and began to draw their weapons.

"Down!" She rushed him. Despite the fact that he outweighed her 
by a good sixty pounds, the sudden unexpectedness of the move 
allowed her to knock him down, both of them landing on the floor 
as two darts lodged into the door.

Cassy swung her leg, hooking her heel on the edge of the door and 
slamming it with enough force to shake the frame.

"What the hell..." His face was flushed with anger.

They both got to their feet quickly.

"There are two of 'em. They have FBI badges but they aren't FBI. I
 think they want me alive. Please, help me. I didn't know where else 
to go."

There was little sound, just an explosion of wood chips from around 
the door lock.

Skinner grabbed his gun from the desk before he gripped Cassy's arm 
and roughly propelled her up a staircase to the left. She was oddly 
comforted by the feel of his solid weight behind her.

"Hide." The word was ground softly into her ear and she felt his breath
against her cheek. He released her arm, almost shoving her down the 
hall.

He remained at the top of the stairs, placing himself between the goon 
squad and her. He pressed his back against the wall at the top of the 
stairs, out of sight of anyone ascending behind them.

She paused for a moment. His whole body was tensed, and focused. 
He looked... lethal. She wasn't sure if that frightened her more, or 
comforted her.

She slipped into the first door she came across.

It was a small room set up with all kinds of gym equipment. 
Unfortunately none of the weight machines or benches offered 
much cover and the mirror on one wall would make her doubly 
visible.

It did offer one thing, however. Cassy reached out and grabbed 
the smallest of the free hand weights. She tested its weight and it 
felt a good ten pounds. Good enough to bash a head in. She 
wistfully wished this guy had a hobby more along the lines of 
collecting assault rifles or something that would make a better 
weapon, but this would have to do.

She slipped back out of that room and saw Skinner spare her 
only a quick glance and a pointed finger to the last door of the 
hallway. She nodded and went where she was told.

The bedroom, a large box bed dominated the room. Light colors 
everywhere but the hunter green bed. The place was elegant, but... 
impersonal. It, also, left few places to hide.

First place anyone would look was under the bed or in the closet.

She stepped behind the door. It opened inward. If anyone but Mr. 
Skinner entered she'd be able remain unseen until she could slam 
the wood into their face before coming round with the weight in 
her hand.

               *

The door smashed open, below.

A dozen options were considered and discarded one by one.

To identify himself as a federal officer and demand surrender 
pretty much ranked up there with waving a red cape on the 
bright ideas list.

Soft sounds, shoes over carpet, fabric on fabric, these were the 
whisper soft sounds of deadly stealth.

A stair creaked. He waited, in perfect stillness. A gun's silhouette 
appeared. He struck.

He grabbed the man's gun wrist and pushed upward. No resistance. 
Most likely these two were trained to expect a downstroke. The hiss 
announced another silenced shot fired. With his opponent's arms 
pushed up Skinner used his other hand to smash in the man's nose, 
using the edge of his own gun. The man's fall back down the stairs 
was the loudest noise to that point.

He moved back around the corner, the wall providing cover. The 
only way to get him was to come up after him.

They knew he was here now.

"Federal Officer. Drop your weapons and stand with your hands 
on your heads." He made the identification because he was duty 
bound to do it. Not because it would do any good.

He looked down the stairway at the mirror on the one wall. The 
one man he could see in it was slowly approaching the stairway.

"Somehow I had the feeling that wasn't going to work." He muttered 
under his breath.

Skinner kept low and swung around the top of the stairway. He 
fired on instinct at the first thing that moved. The man went down.

The first attacker lay at the bottom of the stairs. Skinner cautiously 
made his way down and checked for a pulse. It was there, but thready. 
The man had a smashed nose and was unconscious, it looked like 
he might have a broken leg as well.

The second assailant wasn't as lucky. The shot took him square in 
the chest.

Skinner made a quick call.

"I need a team at my apartment now. There's been a... break in. One man
dead, another wounded." His voice was clipped as he gave the orders.

Then he heard the static crackle of a hand held com unit.

"Unit one do you copy? Come in unit one. We're sending in additional
support. Do not lose the woman. Repeat, do not lose the woman."

Lifting the right side of the dead man's trench coat revealed the 
Com unit. Skinner swore. Those things did NOT have a very long 
range.

"Ms. Troy, get down here, we need to get out NOW."

The woman in question appeared at the top of the stares, pale and 
frightened. Her hand flew to her mouth upon seeing the men on 
the floor.

"Oh God, what's happening? Why is this happening?"

"I was hoping you could shed some light on that." Skinner grabbed 
some tissues and found the fake FBI wallet on the dead man. He 
frowned. He'd be willing to wager the badge and ID were REAL, 
but the name didn't ring a bell.

Things just went from bad to worse. He grabbed a zip lock from 
his kitchen and placed the wallet inside.

"Come on, we're taking the service elevator." He stood and grasped 
the shocked woman's wrist, half dragging her after him.

Once in the spartan elevator used only by the cleaning staff, Ms. 
Troy wrenched free of his grip. She was breathing heavily, and 
her eyes were dangerously glazed looking.

"I'm okay. I can handle it. More are coming aren't they? If you 
didn't think more were coming we'd have just waited for the 
police or FBI or whoever gets jurisdiction in cases like this, right?"

Skinner nodded, curtly. "One had a com unit. More are coming. 
I'm getting you to a safe house until I can figure out what's going 
on. It would certainly help if you would start at the beginning."

               *

UNKNOWN LOCATION
5:00 pm

A penlight shown brilliantly into a pale, blue eye. The pupil neither 
expanded nor retracted. The man wielding the penlight frowned.

"He's still unresponsive to external stimuli. How much of the 
mixture did you give him?"

A second man checked the leather straps binding the immobile 
man to the bare, metal cot. "The exact same dose we gave the 
others. He did the job, so quit yer bitchin'."

The man with the penlight stood up and glared down at the second 
man. "These are NOT disposable commodities. If they go into 
catatonic shock after an assignment they are useless. It will shut 
down this project.

"I want Mr. Dodd watched. He is not to be given further injections 
unless I order it. Keep him on the glucose-saline and make sure he 
is as comfortable as possible."

The man checked the ankle straps and nodded. "Fine by me, doc. 
But if this part of the freak show comes down and remembers 
where he is; I'm not gonna let him get into MY mind. If he could 
do that Senator guy from this far away... what'll he do to us? I'll 
shoot him first. So you be real sure about skipping doses."

The doctor's face reddened. "You forget who is in charge here. 
You, sir, are disposable, HE is not. If you are this jumpy working 
around the subjects then I will have you transferred to another area."

"I'm fine as long as they stay in la-la land. They're SUPPOSED to 
stay in la-la land. So as long as you do your job, I can do mine." 
The argumentative man stepped through the door, leaving the doctor 
with his patient.

The doctor sighed and leaned over his 'patient'. "Just two more, 
Mr. Dodd, and you will be surrounded by all of your old friends. 
You'd like that wouldn't you? Pretty soon we'll have the most 
important piece of the puzzle, and she will boost your abilities 
exponentially. Think of all that you can do then."

Mike Dodd didn't even blink.

end part 4

Disclaimer attached to part 1.

THE GANZFELD LEAGUE
by Rhondda Lake
(Part 5/?)

Cassandra kept looking over her shoulder and out the back window 
as she spoke. Her speech was a bit rapid, but she had managed to 
get control of herself and force herself to think rationally.

She told Skinner about Nora's e-mail and the men at her work. He 
told her about her apartment.

Apparently Tammy had come home while the police were there and 
had, so far, no luck in reaching Cassy. Big news. Cassy had been 
too busy running for her life.

"Will Tammy be okay?" Cassy glanced anxiously at the Assistant 
Director.

"I think so. She had no idea why you'd call me. She was going to 
stay with a friend and try to find YOU." He seemed to take her 
whole story with equanimity, as if this sort of thing happened all 
the time. Cassandra wondered if this was an FBI trait or just 
something that came with the territory of knowing Fox Mulder for 
any length of time.

"Could you have someone contact her if I give you her boyfriend's 
number? I want her to know I'm all right. I don't want her to worry 
too much. She's such a mother hen she'll work herself into an anxiety 
attack." Cassy gripped her purse tightly, trying to focus on something 
other then her own problems.

Evidently Skinner was not interested in that technique. "You should 
be more worried about yourself right now. Why did your friend think 
someone would be after you and these others?" He wove his car in 
and out of traffic lanes with an ease Cassy envied. He seemed so calm 
and self assured. She felt a ray of hope that she had gone to the right 
place.

"Where are you taking us?" She countered.

"I asked you first."

"Oh, that's mature. I think I have a right to know. I mean I've just 
placed my life in your hands, the least you can do is let me know 
where we're going. For all I know you could be taking me to hand 
me over to these people yourself..." Cassy glared and let her anger 
leak into her voice.

"If I were going to do that I wouldn't have just killed a man in my 
own apartment, now would I?" He made a sound half way between 
a hiss and a sigh, "I'm taking you to a safe house run by the Bureau. 
I'll put two agents on you until I know what's going on, who wants 
you and why."

Cassandra considered this and nodded wearily. "Can you trust these 
agents? I mean those guys back there had FBI badges, are you sure 
that some of your own people aren't in on this?"

The only indication that she had touched a nerve was a tightening of 
his grip on the steering wheel and the movement of his head, as if 
loosening a non-existent collar. "I'll look into that. And I'll make sure 
the agents can be trusted."

Cassy nodded again, then, after one more check out the rear window 
for any signs of a tail, she settled down and drew up her shoulders.

"In the summer of nineteen eighty four I'd had this... ability of mine 
for two years. My dad is a college history professor and he heard of 
this program at Princeton where psychics were going to be tested and 
studied to learn if such abilities really existed and to try to measure 
them, that kind of thing. After some discussion I signed up. See dad 
has this thing for the advancement of knowledge." She waved her 
hand in the air and caught herself before she went off on a tangent.

Skinner nodded, indicating she should continue. "There were ten 
of us in the final group. We all showed very visible psychic talent 
in different forms. Not everyone had the same abilities. Mine was 
empathy and limited telepathy through dreams. Nora's was 
psychometry, the ability to touch an object and know its past. Roger 
was a telekinetic, he could move things with his mind alone, Mike, 
Penny and Linda were these really strong Telepaths. Fred was a 
receiving telepath. Becky could foresee the future to some extent, 
and had these premonitions. Jennifer could sense the past, sort of 
like Nora, but she didn't have to touch anything, she kind of knew a 
PLACE'S past by being there. Carl could see things going on in other 
places."

Cassy fell silent for a while as she remembered each face, each 
friend. "Together we called ourselves the Ganzfeld League, after 
the Ganzfeld chamber where a lot of the tests took place. We never 
had our real names on any documents. We tried to remain 
anonymous to the outside world.

"We became friends and team mates and it all seemed like one great
adventure. Only Nora was afraid. She had this idea that the 
government was watching us, testing us. She thought we were all 
going to be made to disappear and be forced to work in some secret 
project. I was never completely sure why she thought this, but it had 
something to do with her father. He worked for the State Department."

Cassy paused when she saw Skinner stiffen.

"The Nostradamus Project." He muttered through clenched teeth.

"The what?" Cassy frowned as she dug in her purse, finally bringing 
forth a colorful scrunchie.

"Never mind, go on." Skinner made a turn off the main highway.

"You don't throw out a name like Nostradamus and just say never mind."
Cassy began plaiting the thick mass of her dark hair into a braid. "
You  have some idea of what's going on, and since *I'M* the one 
getting chased  all over two states I think I have the right to know 
why."

The man beside her stiffened slightly. "As of right now your only 
right is the right to stay alive. There are some things you are better 
off not knowing."

"Ignorance is bliss, huh? Guess again. Stop the car. I'm getting out. 
Thanks for saving my life, have a nice life of your own." Cassy 
grabbed for the door handle.

A muscular arm shot across her body and a hand clamped over her 
wrist. "Don't be an idiot. You aren't the suicidal type. You're in over 
your head and you know it, or you wouldn't have shown up at my 
place. Just how DID you know where I lived anyway?"

Cassy wrenched her wrist free with a growl of anger. "Some things 
you're better off not knowing." She shot back. "Am I under arrest?"

"You're in protective custody." Skinner's eyes were unreadable as a 
passing car's lights reflected off his glasses.

"And you're my bodyguard?" Cassy arched a fine black eyebrow.

"No, I'm your bodyguard's boss." Skinner made another turn into a 
residential area and Cassy realized she was hopelessly lost. "Do you 
have any idea who financed the research done on your... Ganzfeld 
League?"

"Some private businesses and eccentric rich guys, I think. A few 
academic grants." Cassy tried to look for street signs to get her 
bearings.

"Any idea who funds academic grants?" The question was facetious 
if the tone was any indication.

"Uncle Sam," Cassy answered anyway. "So you think Nora was 
right, don't you? And if the government is after us. If they already 
kidnapped some of us... Jesus... there's nowhere we're safe."

"Yes there is." Skinner pulled the car to a stop before a small two 
story house in a quiet looking neighborhood. "You should be safe 
here for a while."

A man emerged from the house and approached the car. Cassy 
sighed with relief. She knew this man.

"Sir, can I have a word with you in private?" Special Agent Donald 
Jenkins stepped to Cassy's side as soon as she stepped out of the car.

Cassandra had helped rescue Agent Jenkins' little girl six months ago. 
She forced a smile for the man. "Don, how's Kimmy?"

Agent Jenkins answered her smile with one of his own as he gently 
escorted her into the house. "The nightmares are few and far 
between thanks to you. The therapist thinks she's going to make a full 
recovery. Are you our body?"

Cassy looked around her. "Looks like."

Jenkins looked around Cassy at Skinner. "Sir?"

"In the kitchen, Agent Jenkins. Have Agent Calloway show Miss Troy 
to her room." Skinner gestured to the woman who was descending the 
stairway to the left of the foyer.

"Miss Troy?" The woman offered her hand. "I'm Meghan Calloway. 
If you'll come with me... I even think we have a few things here to 
fit you, if you don't mind sweat suits..."

Cassy shook the older woman's hand and, after casting a nervous 
glance to Skinner and receiving an encouraging nod, followed the 
agent up the stairway.

In the kitchen Jenkins spoke rapidly. "Sir, a forensic team went 
over your apartment. There were no bodies when they arrived, 
although there was bloodstains on the carpet. So far no prints have 
been recovered, including yours. There were holes in the walls 
where the team is examining a chemical compound, but no bullets."

Skinner pinched the ridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, just 
under his glasses. "They cleaned up fast. All right I still have some 
evidence for the labs to look at." He pulled the ID wallet from where 
it had been tucked in waistband of his jeans. "I'm going to run this in 
and have it checked over. If this is an inside job I want agents I can 
trust on this."

Jenkins nodded. "If you don't mind sir, I'd like to stay here with 
Ms. Troy. I sort of owe her one."

Skinner nodded. That was precisely why he had phoned in and 
asked for Jenkins. There would be a sense of loyalty there lacking 
in any other agent.

"I'll be back in the morning. Your replacements will be here by 
eight in the morning. Any questions?" Skinner tucked the wallet 
back in his jeans.

"Yeah, who would want to hurt Cassy?" Jenkins frowned.

"I intend to find out." Skinner answered.

               XXXXX

WASHINGTON NATIONAL AIRPORT
8:35 PM

They weren't hard to spot. The two particular passengers he sought,
disembarking from flight 407 from Fresno, looked worn and tired. 
Not like most of the others who were excited to share news of 
vacations or business trips with family and friends. He hung back as 
he followed them to the luggage carousel.

The man kept stretching, easing the kinks and cramps that would 
inevitably occur from folding such a long frame into coach seating. 
The two did not waste time with useless chatter. The man took the 
heaviest of their luggage, including one suitcase, distinguishing itself 
with a floral tapestry pattern, making it doubtful that it was his.

The watcher went to a line of pay phones and quickly dialed the 
number he had memorized.

"They just arrived. I'll keep track of them from here. Don't call me. 
I'll call you if there's any trouble." He hung up quickly before he 
lost sight of the quarry.

               *

The drive to Scully's apartment was spent mostly in comfortable 
silence.

"Have we done something to piss someone off recently?" Mulder 
asked out of nowhere, his eyes darting from the road to the rear 
view mirror.

"You mean within the last hour?" She turned to look behind them 
as well. "What's up?"

"There's a Mercury three cars back, it stays three or four cars back 
and it's been behind us since the airport."

Mulder turned down a side street that would take them to Scully's 
apartment by a more indirect route. The car did not follow.

Scully shook her head. "I'm glad to see the paranoia is running full 
tilt. I wouldn't want to think you were losing your edge."

"Don't you mean losing my mind?"

"Nope. You lost that long before I met you."

He pulled up in front of her apartment and helped her with her 
luggage, walking her to her door. They spotted the car pulling up 
to the corner half a block away. It was a Mercury.

"So much for losing him." Scully pulled her gun once they were 
inside her apartment.

"I'll see who he's after." He deposited her bags inside her door.

"You aren't staying?" she frowned.

"If he follows me, I'll see if I can shake him. If he doesn't I'll just 
drive around two blocks and sneak in the back. I don't want to 
take out a full page ad in the Washingtonian about what we do 
together in our off hours. I'll call you as soon as I know what he's 
doing." He turned and left.

She sighed and sat by the phone with something new to worry about. 
She hated waiting. She hoped the tail did not follow Mulder, if only 
because then she could DO something.

Back in the car, Mulder noticed the Mercury decided that he was 
more interesting *than* Scully. It COULD be coincidence; after all, 
gray Mercurys were fairly common. Of course, Mulder mused, I 
could also run for Congress next year. The likelihood was the same.

When he turned onto 295 from route 50 he noticed it stuck with him.

He hit the speed dial of his cell phone.

"Scully." She sounded tired.

"Maybe the guy in the grey Mercury found my mind and he's trying 
to return it. He's still back there."

"Mulder are you certain it isn't another car?"

"Tell you in a minute." He flashed his emergency lights and pulled 
onto the shoulder of the highway. The car sped by with the rest of 
traffic.

"It's a rental. License JTT978. I think I threw him with that maneuver 
though. At least he knows I'm onto him."

"So hang up and I'll put a trace on it. With any luck Danny will be 
pushing his overtime and be in. Could this have something to do 
with the call you got on the plane?"

"All theories are open right now. Call back the minute you know 
anything."

"Don't I always. I'm not YOU." The dialtone punctuated the slight 
reprimand.

Mulder pulled back onto the highway at the first break in traffic. 
He debated driving around aimlessly for a while, but if that tail 
had been waiting at Scully's place then they already knew where 
he lived.

               *

He cursed soundly then shook his head admiring his quarry even 
as he was irritated with him. He had not taken his instructions as 
literally as he should have.

This guy was smart and alert, not the usual type he tailed. He had 
been spotted, twice. He figured that after agent Mulder pulled to 
the side that he would run a trace on the license plate. It was time 
to get another car.

He reached over and opened the heavy file folder and looked at 
the five by three black and white glossy of Fox Mulder. It was a 
copy of one of those security badge shots that made the DMV look 
like professional fashion photographers.

It was the best that could be done on short notice. In the past 
twenty four hours he had managed to build a paper history on 
the guy. It made for interesting, and not very reassuring, reading. 
This one just might be the trouble his current employer expected.

He closed the file and opened the one underneath, pulling the 
glossy out of that file and holding it at the steering wheel so he 
could look and drive. Olive skin, delicate heart shaped face, large, 
uptilted, green eyes giving an air of innocence to her. There was a 
thick braid of dark hair over her shoulder.

She was definitely a looker if a bit on the tall side. She was the 
primary target. The only reason he needed the story on Mulder 
was to help him judge if the guy needed to be taken out of the 
picture or if he could prove to be an asset.

Cassandra Alexandra Troy, a twenty eight year old commercial 
artist currently employed at the Simms advertising agency. Native 
of Baltimore. Her father is currently a professor of History at Johns 
Hopkins University and her mother is a botanist at the Cylburn 
Arboretum. Her younger sister was listed as a graduate of the 
Baltimore School for the Deaf currently attending Johns Hopkins 
working for her masters in biochemistry.

Great! Cassandra Troy owned a handgun and was licensed to carry 
concealed in Virginia. Damn amateurs were dangerous. Ms. Troy 
was on a list of ten people who spent a year being tested and 
pushing the boundaries of modern Psi research in New Jersey 
thirteen years ago. He glanced briefly at the list. Seven names were 
checked off in bright red ink. Seven kidnappings pulled off without 
a hitch, leaving no trace or hint as to where the victims were or even 
if they still lived.

The watcher pulled over to a car rental place and fished through a 
small stack of credit cards, each baring a different name. As soon 
as he switched vehicles he would go to the address listed on both 
folders. This job just kept getting better and better, he thought 
sarcastically.

end part 5...

Disclaimers attached to part 1.

THE GANZFELD LEAGUE
by Rhondda Lake
(Part 6/?)

FBI SAFE HOUSE
SILVER HILL, MD
11:30 PM

Cassandra wasn't about to admit how nervous she was when 
Skinner left. She still had no idea exactly WHERE she was. Sure 
he had left her with at least one known friend, but still...

It was with a certain ironic perversity that she found herself seated 
at a formica table with two federal agents staring down at a fist full 
of playing cards.

"Gin," she spread her cards on the table with a smug smile as 
Jenkins and Calloway tossed theirs down in frustration. "Now 
aren't you glad I didn't want to play penny Poker?" Cassy finished 
the last slice of microwaved frozen pizza.

"Never play cards with a psychic," Jenkins raised his glass of coke 
to her.

"Empath. How many times do I have to tell you I can't read minds, 
Don? I think I'm going to try to get some sleep. I haven't been this 
wiped out since I was cramming for finals at college." Cassy swept 
up the cards and tapped them neat.

"Want me to lay across your bedroom door?" Jenkins wiggled his 
pale blond eyebrows.

"Now, now... don't make me call your wife." Cassy waggled a finger 
at him, secretly thanking the dear man for doing everything he knew 
how to keep her mind off the situation in which she found herself.

"G'night, Cassy." He waved her off.

"Hold on." Agent Meghan Calloway touched Cassy's arm and 
moved past her up the stairs.

Cassy had the feeling the older woman was going to sweep the 
upstairs once more. Calloway's nervousness broke through Cassy's 
shielding at the touch.

"All clear?" Cassy called up the stairs.

"Yeah, just keep the shades closed." Calloway reappeared and 
descended the stairs.

Cassy showered quickly, and re-plaited her hair into her night-time 
braid. Donning a pair of sweats that were a size too large she 
crawled into the unfamiliar bed certain she would find no sleep.

The strain of the day caught up with her the moment she hit the 
pillow and she was out.

PARAPSYCHOLOGICAL DEVELOPMENTAL LABORATORIES
PRINCETON, NJ
MAY 1985

Cassy, Penny and Linda entered the communal dining room 
together.

Fred and Roger both stood up and approached the girls as a 
cassette tape floated across the room to settle into the larger 
main stereo unit. Invisible hands loaded the tape and turned up 
the volume and Madonna's "Like a Virgin" cranked out. Cassy 
blushed and shot Roger a dirty look. He just grinned and winked.

Roger gave a courtly bow and offered Cassy his hand. "May I have 
the honor of dancing with this charming vision?"

Cassy giggled, as only nerveous fifteen year olds could. "Soooo 
Rabbit, what  did they have you doing today?" Cassy spun away 
only to slide up to Roger's  side and sway gently with him.

"Roll the pretty red ball around in a glass case to test my fine 
control, lift weights from another room to test my limits, the usual 
horse shit. That, and a few predictions, focus on the future type 
stuff. That makes me uncomfortable. I refuse to believe the future is 
written in stone. I prefer to think of it as always in motion."

"But you can sometimes tell what's going to happen." Cassy stopped 
dancing and looked sadly at Rabbit. "I can't imagine how awful that 
must be."

"Not so bad as that. I know exactly what the woman I'm going to 
marry looks like, if my constantly in motion future stays on it's 
current course."

"Really? who is she?"

"I don't know, I haven't met her yet. I also know what the man 
you will end up with looks like, if all things remain on their current 
course," Roger winked. "Not at all what I would have thought as 
your 'type', by the way, "he paused, "I had a strange dream I 
thought  might be precognitive though. It involved you."

"Oh?" Cassy followed him over to the group clustered around the 
food. She swiped a piece of pepperoni pizza.

"I saw you. You were surrounded by this darkness, pressing in on 
you. You were looking for someone. I got the impression that you 
were not sure if they were part of the darkness or simply lost in it. 
It may have even been the man I saw as part of your future...How's 
that for a vision open to wide interpretation?" He shrugged, "One 
more thing; part of the vision and I think it was important. A message 
that kept whispering in the back of my mind. It was - 'The sum of 
the whole is greater then all of it's parts.'"

Cassy looked at Roger strangely, letting the pizza in her mouth sit 
there, almost afraid to swallow. She did manage to swallow after a 
few seconds. "That makes no sense. You sure they didn't slip you 
any funny tasting brownies before you went to sleep?"

Roger laughed. "Positive. Just keep in mind what I said. I get the 
feeling you won't need it for some time now anyway."

Cassy's attention was pulled away from Roger when she heard 
Nora arguing with Fred to her left. Freddy was outright accusing 
her of deliberately failing some of her tests. Cassy bit her lip. 
Nora was denying it and the music had died down. Soon everyone 
was looking at the older man accusing the teenager of cheating 
and ruining important tests. Nora looked close to tears.

Fred was being an ass, and Cassy didn't like the bit of enjoyment 
she picked up from him. He was right and he knew it and now he 
was enjoying pointing out Nora's mistakes. However, his accusation 
didn't make Nora look bad. Everyone was looking at him like he 
was being a total jerk.

"That's enough Fred." Cassy jumped in when the others stood in 
mute shock. "How would YOU know if Nora was cheating anyway? 
You can't receive worth jack shit, and everyone here knows it. So 
unless you are cheating as well you have no proof. Just back off."

Nora took Cassy's hand and pulled her away. The two practically 
fled to their dorm room where Nora cried into her pillow. Her 
tears got on her glasses, and Cassy took them from her friend's 
face and wiped them off with a tissue.

"It'll be ok, Nora. He can't prove it you know."

"But... but they'll watch me more closely now. Why did he even 
start in on that?"

"He's like our big brother, right? He just wants us to do our best. 
Maybe he thought he could embarrass you into trying harder. 
Maybe he was hurt that you might be having a problem and didn't 
go to him with it. We've gone to him with everything else. Don't 
sweat it."

"Thanks Cassy." Nora sniffled. "I think I'm going to just take a 
shower and go to bed early."

Cassy watched her friend gather her stuff and leave for the 
showers.

When she turned back Penny was on Cassy's bed. No. Not the 
right Penny, Penelope O'Hare the marine biologist Penny had 
become.

"Not much time kiddo. Be careful. You let the snake get too close. 
Don't be fooled by kind words and love, he can fake almost 
anything. Keep your guard up." She looked scared. "No... no... no 
more. I'll be good. I promise." Penelope tried to shrink away from 
something only she could see.

               *

Cassandra sat up in bed. She took great gasps of air to calm herself.

Once more the memory-dreams. Once more a warning. Cassy lay 
back with the sheets twisted in her white knuckled grip. It was only 
four am according to the clock by the bed. She stared hopelessly into 
the darkness and knew she would not sleep again this night.

For the first time in years she missed them all with an aching 
loneliness. They  were the only ones who ever TRULY understood 
her. They all knew the  blessings and burdens of having odd gifts. 

The closest she had come to that kind of deep, shared understanding 
had been  Mulder. But even that had been vicarious. What ability he 
had was so deeply  buried under fear and loathing that he had actually 
made a conscious effort  to ignore it, to refuse to acknowledge it. 
For someone so acutely interested in  the paranormal he was 
resolutely  in deep denial over his own talent.

It was close to empathy, which is why she had found it so very 
easy to slip  into his dreams, and so very hard to shut him out. 
He used it when profiling  killers, without acknowledging he did 
so. She had heard of his own psychic  dreams involving a child 
killer. It really was no wonder he wanted to deny his  own weak 
talent.

Now... now she no longer had even Mulder as solice. And being 
in this strange  safehouse also ripped Tammy's motherly smothering, 
in all it's familiarity, from her. 

Cassandra felt her own seclusion peirce through her. With it came 
the fear.  Someone wanted her either dead or captive. She now 
had no where to turn.  In the heavy darkness she silently wept.

               XXXX

ALEXANDRIA, VA
12:00am

Mulder had driven around aimlessly for two hours and couldn't 
detect another tail.  When he pulled up to his apartment complex 
he scanned the area for any sign of  surveillance. One car was 
suspicious, with it's tinted windows and one too many cigarette 
buts in the street by the drivers side door.

He pretended not to notice as he gathered his bags from the car 
and  entered the building.

In the semi-privacy of his apartment he left the lights out and 
checked from the window. 

Great. Just what I need," he muttered under his breath. 

His cell phone rang and he snatched it from his pocket before 
it could offer another chirrup. "Mulder."

"It's me. The plates you called in are registered to a rental agency 
in  Cleveland. It was rented under the name Morty Rodenta," 
Scully's voice was all business.

"In other words Mortimer Mouse. I love a tail with a sense of 
humor."

"That's not all. The car was charged to the account of one Daisy 
Mallard,"  Scully didn't sound amused.

"AND a Disney fixation. Why didn't the rental company pick up 
on the transparent phoney names?"

A sigh, "apparently the Visa was valid, and Morty had a genuine 
drivers  license and credit card of his own. People have been 
known to have unusual names... Fox."

"Ouch! That one hurt. Okay, so now we trace the address that 
credit card was billed to." Mulder moved away from the window.

"We? Seems to me I'm the one doing all the tracing. By the way, 
you're lending Danny 'Dorothy Does Oz'."

"You are a cruel, cruel woman, Scully. Guess what I'm looking at." 
Mulder peeked back out his window.

"If it's a part of your anatomy I'll pass. It's been a long flight and a 
late night..."

"Oh, Scully's going three for three. You wound me." He fetched his 
binoculars and focused them on the suspect car.

"Not yet, but give me half a chance... Okay. Mulder what are you 
looking at?" She purred into his ear, making parts of his body want 
to stand up and pay attention.

"You should have your own 900 number, Scully."

"What's to say I don't? Are we still playing 'do you see what I see'?"

Mulder cursed the poor light. "Dark sadan, tinted windows, one's 
cracked enough to let out the smoke. Lots of butts laying next to the 
driver's side door. I wonder if he's read the Surgeon General's warning 
on those things. Did you check to see what present might be on YOUR 
street?"

"Yes, and nothing looks suspicious or out of place. Congratulations, 
Mulder, they seem to want you."

"Must be my sunny outlook and glowing personality. The dark sadan 
is a Suberu. I can't make out plates from here."

"You want me to come over?"

Mulder shook his head as if she could see him. "No. Don't want to 
start any nasty rumors that we might be fraternizing."

"Not at all." He could almost hear her eyes roll.

"This guy doesn't seem to be in a hurry. Maybe he just likes to 
watch. I'll sleep with my hand on my gun."

A rather indelicate snort assaulted him through the phone. 
"Hopefully the one that holds bullets. Night, Mulder. You run 
the next search. Call me if you have trouble. I'll call you at five 
in the morning regardless. If you don't answer I'll be over there 
faster then Clinton can say 'we were only friends'."

"You and Clinton? Scully, I'm shocked."

"Night, Mulder. Don't let the Men In Black bite." The phone 
clicked in his ear.

                                     XXXXXX

FBI CRIME LABS
WASHINGTON, D.C.
5:00 AM

Skinner sprung from deep sleep to fully alert at the touch on his 
shoulder.

"Sorry to startle you, sir. Coffee?" The over-earnest young man 
held out a styrofoam cup. Skinner took it.

He hadn't left as the two lab technicians had worked on the wallet. 
He didn't want this piece of evidence disappearing as well. He'd 
been assaulted in his own apartment, been forced to kill a man in 
his own home. For some reason a woman's life lay in the balance 
and he wasn't going to delegate this to anyone who could be bought. 
No one was tampering with this, his only lead.

Before settling into this chair he had spent fifteen minutes on the 
phone with Ms. Troy's distraught room mate, assuring her that 
Cassandra was physically fine and it was in her best interests if no 
one knew where she was right now. The petite blond, whom he had 
only met that afternoon, then threatened to kick his ass, no matter 
who he was, if Cassandra Troy didn't return home in perfect health.

Somehow he imagined he had more to worry about then a five 
foot one, ninety five pound attitude introducing her shoe to his 
backside.

"What have you got for me?" Skinner sipped at the bitter brew 
and followed the white coated technician into the lab. He felt his 
vertebrae snap and pop as he stood and a dangerous kink had 
formed in his neck. Sleeping in a chair was not recommended 
procedure at his age.

"As you suspected the badge was real. But we have no record of 
this number in any database. We're requesting a list of all serial 
numbers from the manufacturer, but we won't get it until Monday, 
sorry. We did lift four latent prints from the wallet." The dark 
haired kid gestured to the well lit glass box where a high intensity 
bluelamp highlighted the finger prints on the badge wallet.

"Partial thumb, good forefinger, and a good thumb and partial 
middle finger. Thing is; they belong to two different people, both 
right hands. Prints have NOT shown up in the system yet."

Skinner shook his head. "I'm not surprised."

"A little Ninhydrin helped us lift two more latents off the paper 
ID card. Another good thumb and a partial index. It appears to 
belong to a third person. Again, so far nothing nothing in AFIS." 
This was said by an equally young woman. Both lab technicians 
made Skinner think they were recruiting these kids right out of 
high school.

She continued, "wallet and ID tag are also government issue, but 
no record of any agent by the name of Michael Urbich is in the 
system either."

"Blood sample from the corner of the wallet is AB negative. We're 
going to be running the DNA through the system but that'll take 
weeks even at top speed. Even then with nothing to compare it to, 
it most likely could lead us anywhere."

From there Skinner stopped off at his office. He kept a spare suit in 
the closet,  ever since he had had to attend a meeting with the director 
with a coffee stain  down his front.

He set an Agent to getting a list of all employees of the firm 
manufacturing the  Bureau's ID wallets and badges, including delivery 
firms that processed them. 

He poured himself some coffee and took a moment to sit down. 
He planned on  checking up on Miss Troy, then personally visiting 
the aide who'd tickled his ear  with the forewarning of the 
Nosterdamus Project.

He sipped some of the awful black liquid and considered his 
priorities there. What  was it about the mysterious Miss Troy that 
made him want to personally assure  himself of her well being? 

Certainly, she was beautiful. Definitely, she was intelligent. 
Undoubtably she was  resourceful. So a kind of admiration had to 
be admitted. Not many civilians would bear up as well as she had 
to yesterday's events.

Her talent... now there was a subject that made him nervous as 
hell. Officially,  he'd have a hard time putting the experience she'd 
put him through six months ago on any report. Unofficially, it had 
jarred him far more then he'd ever let anyone know. For a brief 
moment, he had felt all that she felt, and he had no doubt she had 
taken a tour of his own emotional psyche. It had been both terrifying 
and... startlingly... arousing. 

He shifted his thoughts away from that path. He was too old and 
too scarred for such foolishness now. Right now his interest was 
no doubt because she  had trusted HIM to keep her safe. She had 
placed herself in his hands, and  he'd be damned if he'd betray that 
trust.

He finished his coffee and left a note for his secretary to have Agent 
Mulder call him as soon as he got in.

End part 6...

Disclaimer attached to part 1.

THE GANZFELD LEAGUE
by Rhondda Lake
(part 7/?)


AN ABANDONED ASYLUM
LOCATION UNKNOWN

"This one was trying something last night sir." The voices seemed 
far away now. Penelope couldn't really focus on them too well. 
She was to busy enjoying the floating sensation. Everything was 
warm and fuzzy. 

"What was she trying to do?" Penny remembered she was 
supposed to listen to the voices, try to grasp the meaning of the 
words. There was a familiar pleading in the back of her mind. 
Someone was sending her love and comfort. Reassurance. 
The thoughts and feelings were strange, alien in nature. Not at 
all human, but no human could remain so pure to their purpose 
as to pierce the drug haze.

"Our guard claims she tried to use her mind to escape. Maybe 
even try to reach another telepath."

"Was she successful?"

"It's doubtful. We pumped her full of joy juice as soon as it was 
noticed."

"I noticed Number three was back with us this morning. I told 
you he wouldn't stay catatonic for long. Keep an eye on all three 
of the telepaths. They are the most useful and the most dangerous 
right now."

"I thought number five would be. He nearly beat Jake to death 
without laying a hand on him. You said he could only lift things, 
you never mentioned he could use his power like a fist."

"Let us deal with number five. So long as he remains drugged 
he will not be a problem." The voices floated further and further 
away.

*Mike... Mike can you hear me?* Penny pressed her head against 
the softly padded wall. Her head hurt when she tried to transmit.

*Yes. Penny, I hurt. The last shot is running out. It makes my 
bones ache when I come down. My skin's crawling.*

*I think I might have gotten through. I may have warned Cassandra. 
Link with me Mike. Touch my mind. We can go someplace where 
the joy juice can't touch us. Where they can't touch us.*

She felt Mike's mind clutch and claw at hers. It was painful in it's 
intensity as Mike fought against the pain of withdrawal. The bastards 
let him start withdrawal so he would have reason to cooperate. 
They had them all hooked on their damn drug.

She let Mike cling to her thoughts as she retreated, floating to 
that alien presence in the back of her mind.

*Did you do what they wanted you to Mike?* She asked as she 
allowed the 'other' to pull her.

*Yes. Oh God. God forgive me. Penny I think I... killed a man.*

*Shhhh... it isn't your fault. They are monsters. You can't think 
any more clearly then I can. Hold on to me. This place is beautiful.*

Then they were surrounded by warm water. The light from above 
danced in playful patterns across the pale constructed floor. They 
were floating, swimming with sleek shapes that sang to them. Gentle 
grayness that touched and stroked offering comfort. Touch. See. Play. 
Make the badness go away. Come back. Come back.

Penny allowed the alien mind to embrace her. Her friend offered 
this escape to both her and Mike. The others were too far away to 
link with. Her inability to help them gain this temporary escape 
pained her. call him the moment he came  in this morning. That 
done he headed out again. 

               XXXX


end part 7a...