He was alone. His own senses told him that. There was no one there. There was nothing holding him down. There was nothing preventing him from breathing or speaking.

          A dream...

          Mac put the palms of his hands to his eyes and pressed against the headache that still throbbed in the center of his head. Just a freak'n dream.

          No.

          A nightmare.

          With a groan, he stood and stumbled to the bathroom. The light screamed at him as he flipped it on and he shut his eyes in pain. Slowly he blinked as he turned on the water and bent down, splashing the cold against his face.

          Slowly he looked up at his reflection.

          I look like hell. The dark circles were gone, cleared away by sleep. His eyes looked brighter somehow. More alert. He touched his cheek, pulled his hair back from his face.

          Then slowly...steadily...a thin ribbon of red liquid slid from inside his left nostril. He watched it roll with morbid fascination as it traveled over his thick lips, down to his chin. It fell in a single drop to the sink and exploded in a garish splatter of pinkish white.

          "It's just a nosebleed," Mac turned and grabbed a towel. "It's a nosebleed. You used to get them all the time." He wiped away the watery blood and waited for more. But nothing else emerged and he chided himself for looking - searching - for anything that would give credence to his dream.

          It was nearing nine, Thursday morning. Mac called down to the concierge and found where the nearest gym was and their hours. He was asked if he needed a trainer and thanked the woman. But no.

          No trainer.

          Checking the drawers, he again found them full of clothing, all his size. He pulled on a gray tee shirt and gray sweat pants, and sneakers then grabbed the card key on the dresser and left the room.

          The gym rested two floors down. It took up most of the floor, very spacious, complete with running/walking track, treadmills, nautilus and even several Pilates machines. A gold sign outside the door pointed the way to the pool. Maybe a workout, then a swim, and I'll feel better.

          As he moved to the treadmills, Mac spotted two people kickboxing on a nearby mat in front of a mirrored wall. One of them was tall, well muscled, every bit the body-builder, with short cropped hair and a no-nonsense expression.

          The other was -

          Mac stopped in his tracks. The other was Nicholas Calen.

          With no other glances, the Adept turned and chose a treadmill, and began a brisk walk. He considered finding the hotel casino's second gym, but decided he wasn't going to get run out just because the VE was present.

          If Calen noticed him, he gave no sign. He and the man, whom Mac guessed was a trainer, were deep in sparing moves. Each gave and took. Their kicks were high and well placed. Especially Calen's. Mac watched as he moved his treadmill's speed up to a jog as his legs warmed up. It looked as if the VE hadn't broken a sweat.

          The door opened again and Ozmandius Cody walked in. He nodded to Calen, who nodded back then gave a spin kick to his trainer, who had allowed his guard to drop at the approach of the big man. The trainer went down with an audible grunt.

          Oz spotted Mac and approached. "Computer man."

          "Oz," Mac said and managed a smile. "Here for a workout?"

          "Yeah," the big man mounted the treadmill beside him and started it up on a jog, not a walk. "Been thinking over yesterday. Some of it's all sticking where I don't like it. Now that Zydeco's decided not to go..."

          Mac stopped jogging and allowed himself to be carried backward off the tread. "Wait...she's not? When did she decide that?"

          Oz frowned. "Yesterday. You didn't hear the two of us arguing? Right after the meeting."

          Mac shook his head. "No...I was..." he glanced over at Calen. "I was preoccupied."

          "Oh, that's right. You and the techno boy were in deep conversation." He smiled, white teeth gleaming in the fluorescent lights. He looked to where the VE and trainer spared. "You kickbox?"

          "Not since high school. Well, I did some in college at MIT...but I haven't in a long time."

          "Well," Oz's voice grew in volume and Mac winced. He was speaking where Calen could hear him. "Care to spar with me? I could give you a few pointers?"

          He couldn't help but glance over at Calen. The VE looked ready to spit, but turned his full attention to his training session.

          "You and me? Oz, I'm not very..." Mac shook his head and stepped back. His treadmill was still running.

          "Look," Oz jumped off of his and turned it off. Then he turned Mac's off. "I'll help, okay? I'll refresh your memory."

          Unsure how to get out of this without angering the large man, Mac agreed. He took several swallows of water from a bottle he'd bought on the way in and then nodded. The two moved to the mat next to Calen and the trainer.

          Just great...

          Within minutes Oz had Mac kicking again - as well as sweating profusely. He wasn't as well aimed as he had been six years ago, and his shots didn't have the power behind them they once did, but Mac was amazed at the ease he was able to recall the moves. He had never competed, only taken it for exercise. But Oz was persistent, if nothing else. He worked with Mac on timing and placement, and then glanced over at the trainer and Calen.

          The trainer shook Calen's hand, his bag packed and ready at his feet, waiting like an obedient pet. "See you again, same time tomorrow, Mr. Calen."

          Mac watched the trainer leave as he practiced a spinning kick. Not as well placed as he'd like, but better than he had half an hour ago, and he realized his headache had all but left him. He'd built up a healthy sweat.

          Until he noticed Oz motioning to Calen.

          Don't do it...don't do it...

          "Mac," he looked at the Adept. "Why don't you and Nicholas square off for a bit. I can offer you both a couple of tips."

          Mac winced inwardly. He did it. "Me and Nicholas?"

          Calen bowed stiffly to Oz. "Sure, I'm a bit winded, but I can go a few more sets."

          Mac breathed deeply. Don't panic..Just keep calm. "I'll try. Just," he looked at Calen. "Keep it simple."

          The VE gave a thin smile. "Of course." The man had been sparing for over half an hour - and he'd barely broken a sweat.

          Maybe that wasn't the right thing to say. Remember what Trent said. Don't piss him off. He moved to where Oz pointed on the mat, beside him. Oz glanced at Calen, who then moved to the opposite end and took up a fight ready stance - fists up at shoulder level, knees bent.

          Mac bowed stiffly, and then took up Calen's lead.

          Nicholas began with a few simple kicks. Mac easily deflected them, moving into and away from his opponent. The VE delivered a few more aimed at Mac's waist, though they were easily blocked. He's gauging my speed.

          Mac then attempted a few jabs at Calen's chest and then a kick to his waist. The VE seamlessly blocked them.

          "I..." Mac began. Make friends, not enemies. "I wanted to tell you..." He evaded a jab, moving to his left. "Thank you."

          Calen arched an eyebrow, and then threw a left punch to Mac's head with increased speed.

          Mac wasn't as fast in evading and the blow tipped his chin. He stepped back and shook his head. Pay attention...pay attention...

          The corner of Calen's mouth twitched. "Thanks for what?"

          Mac moved to the right, fight ready stance given. His jaw ached, but he has been hurt worse before. "For the information on Oak Island..." He moved to the left and connected a jab to Calen's left side, but the VE took the blow, and swept in, hammering a kick to Mac's right kidney.

          A groan escaped Mac's lips as he doubled over into his right side. He had not seen that move coming. Lightening fast was Calen's reflexes. The flaring pain made it difficult for him to catch his breath. Mac stumbled, but did not fall as he moved further back off the mat.

         Calen backed up and stood in a ready position, apparently allowing the Adept to regain his breath. "No problem. You'd have found it; no reason to waste time."

          A movement to his left causes Mac to look away from Calen. Oz inclined his head forward and Mac shook his. "No...I'm fine." He tried to straighten up, his hands on his hips to balance his upper body. The right side throbbed, and he feared the punch might have done a bit of internal damage.

          He hoped he was wrong.

          After several deep breaths, Mac returned to the mat, though he knew he favored his right side.

          Calen came again, but left an obvious opening to his right, Mac's left. "I assume you read the other file I gave you?"

          Mac feinted toward the opened side, but when Calen rounded for a strike he jabbed with his right hand to the VE's head, screaming inside as the muscles in his right side protested the sudden move.

          Calen ducked back almost fast enough but grunted when Mac's blow landed on his shoulder. He seemed surprised that the Adept had landed a blow.

          "You mean the dossiers?" Mac took a step back. Don't get cocky. He's good. You're going to get killed.

          The VE snapped a kick to Mac's left, attempting to get in under the Adept's guard. "That's the one."

          Mac caught the move in time and spun to the right, evading the direct hit. But Calen's kick connected with his left thigh. He pulled air in through his teeth but refused to give into the pain. That's going to make a nasty bruise. He bounced back and worked out his left leg. "Yeah...I read it. Interesting reading. About you, us...and what Huang said about the files and you and Maria being dead..."

          Calenfrowned and snapped an unexpected kicked toward Mac's left leg. The strike connected with Mac's knee. It felt as if the joint bent backward. Mac cried out as he stumbled back - though he didn't fall. He limped, but refused to back off. Sweat poured from his forehead and fell into his eyes. He wiped at his face, aware that his entire chest and underarms were soaked. Not now. He's trying to tell me something...I just don't know what.

          Don't piss him off, came Trent's words in his mind.

          The VE backed up but stayed in a guarded position. He invited Mac to throw the next offensive. "Hwang had a lot to say. I wouldn't believe all of it if I were you." He gave Mac a small smile. "After all...you can't trust a Technocrat."

          Mac continued to move about. The knee cracked and the pain in his right side had increased at an alarming rate. I think I might need a doctor. Not to mention his chin still smarted from the blow dealt it. He looked at Oz. "Nice pointers there..."

          Oz shrugged.

          With his hands on his hips, Mac took in several more breaths. He moved to his left, fight ready. He returned Nicholas' smile. "But you see, Huang said that the files were tampered with, and I know this to be true, because you see, your file, as well as Arden's and the Chorister's files read as Terminated. I know that's a lie. So I would believe that I'm not really a target for capture, or that your girlfriend isn't really dead." Mac spun abruptly on his right leg and aimed a left kick at Calen's right side. He wanted the VE to admit the information on the dossier was wrong. He thought maybe by mentioning the girlfriend Calen had helped escape would somehow soften the VE.

          But Calen's response seemed possessed somehow, fueled by an angry fire. "Obviously," he blocked Mac's kick and round housed his own kick. "You weren't," and delivered it squarely into Mac's solar plexus. "Listening."

          Mac landed on his back. The wind knocked out of him. His stomach heaved, though he'd not eaten since the meeting the day before. He rolled to his left, his right side and middle now a jumble of complaining, injured muscles. It hurt to breath, much less move.

          Oz moved from his position by the wall.

          Mac put up a hand. "No..." he coughed. "I'm fine..." oh yeah..you're fine. You're going to die from internal injuries. But you're just fine. He pulled himself up into a sitting position. Just back out. Don't fight him anymore. He's physically your superior. But Mac couldn't back out. He'd touched a nerve somewhere. The last attack had been driven by anger - but anger at what? Surely not at an Adept.

          You need to get to him - you need to find out what Huang meant about prep.

          Right. And I need to feed hungry alligators too.

          Calen moved back, all traces of a smile gone as if they'd never been. "I'm sure it'd be no surprise to Mr. Cody that he, along with the rest of you at the club, was a target."

          Oz shrugged. "It goes in waves. One week they try and kill me, the next it's a recruitment drive."

          Mac slowly stood, stopping at each movement to breath and force down the pain. His right side was now on fire and his middle hurt when he twisted at the waist. His left knee throbbed and it was harder to catch his breath. The headache was creeping back, the blow to his chin initiating its return. He glanced at Oz as he came to a full standing position.

          Well, almost standing.

          "They've tried to kill you, and recruit you?"

          "On occasion." He grinned, his full smile visible. "Usually goes pretty bad for them either way."

          "I'm beginning to see why." Calen gave a slow nod. "And what a stupid idea it would be."

          "Why, Mr. Calen," Oz chuckled. "Are you disagreeing with Control?"

          Mac relaxed his stance and looked at Calen. "What about those Dossiers isn't right, Nicholas?"

          But Nicholas ignored Mac, and frowned at Oz. "Control rarely takes such an individual interest, even in someone as talented as yourself. As for NWO, their actions can hardly be counted on to make perfect sense." He abruptly resumed his stance and threw a coupled of jabs at Mac. "As for the dossiers, it is obvious I am not dead."

          Mac evaded the jabs simply by moving off the mat.

          Calen continued, his gaze locked on Mac. "Neither is the witch, the whore or the holy roller."

          With a renewed curiosity, Mac stepped forward, though he winced as he bent down into a fight ready stance. He threw a couple of jabs but couldn't keep his weakened condition from affecting his performance. "What about Maria?"

          Calen abruptly threw several jabs in succession, his mouth a thin red line of hatred. Mac, acting on instinct, blocked two jabs, but the third strike connected squarely against his jaw. Dazed, he stepped back.

          But the VE wasn't giving in.

          Nicholas finished the rain of punches with a sweeping kick to the back of Mac's calves. The impact sent Mac sprawling forward. He was able to partially cushion his fall by bracing his hands against the mat. But his momentum threw him past the mat and he landed on both of his elbows. He was unable to stop his head from connecting with the metal leg of a bench.

          Spinning away from his fallen opponent, Calen turned and glared at his reflection in the mirrored wall of the training room.

          "What about her, Calen?" Oz asked quietly.

          Several other guests, after watching the encounter, hurriedly left the gym.

          "But George, that boy's been hurt. He's not moving. Shouldn't we call someone?"

          "No Marge. It's not our business."

          Mac lay still for a few seconds. He saw stars and blinked several times to clear his head. Sweat ran down his forehead and stung his eyes. Come on...you've taken a bullet and survived. Move. Don't pass out. His chest ached as he took a deep breath, and on shaking arms, pushed himself away from the floor. His gaze focused on several drops of blood on the tiled floor. Turning slowly to his right, his side protesting, Mac wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. It came away bloody and he tasted copper on his tongue. His tooth had cut the inside of his lip.

          Calen walked slowly from the room, without even a look at either of the two Tradition mages. He paused at the door. "They were too late. Her record wasn't faked." He slipped away into the darkened hallway.

          "Shit," Mac hissed as he tried to push himself onto his knees. The left one collapsed and Oz moved to lend a hand. "Shit..."

          "You sure can't pick your fights, can you boy?" The big man chuckled softly as he put a powerful arm beneath Mac's left arm and hauled him to his feet. Carefully, with a grace the Adept didn't believe the Hermetic possessed, Oz eased him onto the bench in front of the mirrored wall.

          Mac turned to look at his reflection. The left side of his face along his chin was swelling - a bruise forming on his cheek. Blood decorated his lips, smudged along his chin where he'd wiped it with his hand. His hair was plastered to his head and beads of sweat glistened on his skin. "As I recall..." he leaned in to check his lip. "You were the one that set us up."

          "Just thought it needed doing, that's all."

          The tender flesh of his lip hurt and he pulled his hand away. He looked at Oz's reflection. "I just assumed she was alive."

          "Zydeco and I suspected she was terminated. Whoever these Avalon folks are, they didn't get involved until after Nicholas' little explosive-aided escape plan. Maria probably got sent straight into the hands of the other faction. The corrupted one. And Nicholas thought he was helping her get away from danger."

          Mac spit blood onto the floor. "So he sent her to her death. Sonofa..." He shook his head and immediately thought better of it as the room tilted just enough to make his stomach tense.

          Oz looked up to the door the Technocrat had stepped through. "And he knows it."

          Maouri's death came to him, unbidden, as it always did. Mac blamed himself for months after her death - believing if he'd not sent her upstairs to pack, but instead had her in the basement with him, she could have survived. She could have come with him. "It's going to take him a long time to work through his guilt..."

          Oz looked at Mac. "You think so? Aren't they emotionless bastards who could care less for any other living thing?"

          "Christ Oz..." He coughed and pressed his arms to his middle. "Don't. Sometimes I think I'm just as fucked in the head as he is. And just as confused, I'd say. I don't understand the Technocracy. I do understand love, and I understand guilt. I got it in loads."

          "Nicholas isn't the only one that needs to work a few things out."

          Mac looked at the door. "No, he's not," he looked at Oz. "I recognize passion. My wife had loads of it. Even if it was something I didn't understand, I could sense when she believed in a cause, or believed she could save a dying plant in our garden. And I'm afraid to say that Calen possesses that same quality. He feels passionate about what he believes...no matter how fucked up it is."

          With a sigh, Oz stepped closer to Mac and sat down beside him. "A lot of them are just what I said. More than there used to be when I was ...first Awakening. But the others believe in what they're doing just as much as you or I do. Now that's not to say they're right." The grin returned to his face.

          "No. But those few you're speaking of discover that what they've been taught is a lie. And the system that they believed in has betrayed them. Or taken something away that they loved." He lowered his head and thought about his father, and the realization that the only one among them that knew his identity, and about his familial tie to the Technocratic Union, was Nicholas Calen. "I believe Nicholas is as much a victim of the Union as we are."

          "Don't let dogma blind you."

          Mac laughed, and then winced. His middle muscles seized and he bent over. "Enigma takes you were dogma cannot."

          Oz grinned with white teeth. "I've worked with the 'crats on any number of occasions. Especially the Engineers. Very few Tradition mages I'd rather have on my side if I'm hunting Nephandi."

          Syd's words about Nephandi and Void Engineers returned to Mac. "A friend made a similar comment to me. I've never run into any Nephandi."

          "Be grateful," Oz's expression hardened and he lapsed into silence.

          "So if I ever run into a Nephandi or Marauder, it's good to have a VE about." Mac attempted to stand, but found he couldn't move. His left knee and thigh refused to obey him. The exertion of effort caused his head to ache and as Oz looked at him, he swore he saw two of him. "Is...Is there an infirmary around here? I'm not doing so good." He frowned. "You don't have a twin brother, do you?"

          After helping Mac halfway down the hall to the lockers, Oz finally brought himself back from whatever reverie he'd been in. "Well, what I mean is it's as bad to generalize the Technocrats as any other group."

          Mac stumbled and he nearly went down, his knee giving way. Oz pulled him up and set him down against the wall. "I just hope he realizes we Deviants aren't lying to him."

          Oz squatted down in front of him. He reached out and widened each of Mac's eyes, peering inside. "He hit you harder than I thought he did. Or, your head hit that bench harder than I thought it did. I think you have a concussion." He gave a grunt. "My point is, there's good and bad 'crats, even if there are more with more firepower than sense. Trying to lump'em all together is like saying there's no difference between you and the DreamSpeaker, Ortega. Or Mark. Or Arden."

          Mac shook his head. Oh...shouldn't have done that. He closed his eyes. "Now I have to take exception to that. I am nothing like Ortega, and even if I was, I'd be a lot nicer." He closed his eyes. I just need some sleep.

          Oz gave a hearty laugh. When Mac gave a soft moan, he touched his arm. "Don't go to sleep, Mac. You might have a concussion. I know of a Tradition-friendly doctor that would make a house-call for me. Let's get you up to your room. Ah...where is a construct when you need one? Hey...you..."

          He heard Oz snap his fingers and presently the familiar face of one of the men in white kneeled beside him. Oz was speaking. "Could you have a wheelchair sent down? This kid's alot heavier than he looks."

          Mac narrowed his eyes as he looked at over to his left at Oz. There was no need to worry about the Union taking him back to his father. No...because Trent is going to kill me.

(written with Blake Sorenson)

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