The sun streamed into Doc's living room where Mac and Mannis sat in kitchen chairs. The two men seemed oblivious to the Euthanatos' movements about the room as she watered plants and straightened the mess the two men had made during their lengthy training session. The time was nearing four in the afternoon on Sunday.

          Mac took in a deep breath. His conscious, or what Mannis referred to as his Navigator, sat in the Virtual interface of his new desktop environment. The Iteration X trainer had thus taught the Adept about this environment, how to set it up, how to set his own preferences, pass codes, encryptions and fail safes within his own Navigator. The two, now wired and connected to shared space, had hacked into several local computer systems, mostly security networks where Mannis allowed Mac to experiment maneuvering within his hard drive.

          Mannis believed Mac needed more practice just within his own systems. Mac had set up his interface to resemble a VR world, where he could access files and folders, systems and networks as if he were speed traveling to and from. It had taken Mac over an hour to set up his Home because during the setup he kept allowing his thoughts to stray to questions, so in the middle of a lesson, the two would find themselves pulled forward into a network where the answer to his question would be found.

          His latest guffaw had been when he'd opened his eyes and seen Mannis sitting in front of him. He's sync'd his optics and caught the floating of dust motes within the sunlight streaming in through the curtain. His own thought wondered where the term dust motes had come from...

          ...and thus the question was answered. He'd tapped the local library network, a native environment for him, and discovered the complete history of the term 'dust mote'.

          Mannis had been less than patient since then.

          "Okay, Mac, I want you to do a search for me on," he paused and his VR icon, a nice visual of Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, pursed his lips. "Oh, surprise me."

          Mac's own icon no longer resembled Richard Anderson. He'd seen no reason to hide any longer, since his father had evidently known where he was all along. What did it matter? He was feeling more than a bit disillusioned and almost wanted a head-on fight with his father. He'd taken on his own visage but with an edge, complete with dark suit, dark glasses and short haircut. He'd even given himself a goatee and mustache. It was more of the way he felt.

          Rebellious.

          Surprise you, huh? Well. He thought about Doc again and the inhibitor and tracker. He thought about his father, and his mother.

          Mother.

          The world around them blurred as they moved forward, the impression was that of traveling down the autobahn - only without a car.

          The images that flashed past darkened and Mac caught the peculiar look on the face of Mannis' icon. "Where...?"

          Even Mac wasn't sure where he was going, only that his Navigator directed with a purpose. And somehow...

          ...It all seemed familiar.

          They stopped suddenly, the jarring sensation felt as a backlash against the base of Mac's brain where his IR port was. Mannis yelled out as well, clutching his head.

          A twenty-foot sigil Mac didn't recognize faced them down. Directly in front of the Adept, built into the sigil was a door. What is this? He took several steps to that door and reached out for the handle.

          Mannis' hand caught his. His eyes widened and he looked at Mac as if to strike him down. "What the hell were you going after?"

          Mac shook his head. "I was thinking about my mother." He looked up at the symbol. Everything else around them was as black as a starless night. "I don't know where..."

          "The thought of your mother brought us here?" Mannis reached out and touched Mac's shoulder. "I'm getting us out." The symbol blurred again and they were back in the starting room, the living room that looked like a library.

          Mac's Home State.

          Mannis was gone, and Mac knew the man had removed himself from VR. He took a long look at his new home and opened his eyes. The shift between realities was disorienting, more so now that the VR environment was within his own mind, complete with sensations. Though inside there I don't feel as bad as I do out here. He pinched the bridge of his nose, aware that his eyes were still rimmed in bruises. Soft red lines decorated his hairline before the left ear and at the base of his skull. Tell tale signs where Doc and Mannis had done their work - though several of Mannis' comments on the scars seemed misplaced.

          The last one had been after lunch while Mac had touched the long one along the back of his neck where the IR port rested just below his skin. "I usually make those cuts up along the scalp."

          If that was so, then why do it different now? It was almost as if he were criticizing someone else's work. But who else had been there besides Mannis and Doc?

          Physically he was still shaky, though Doc assured him he'd be in top shape tomorrow by the time those that were going would meet together back at the Bellagio. Mac had awoken in the Euthanatos' bedroom, naked beneath her sheets. Panic and hydrolic pressure had forced him from the bed and into the bathroom where he'd seen his face for the first time since arriving on Friday evening. He wished he hadn't looked. Oz had been right - it ws frightening.

          Mannis had already arrived and was waiting to start the training. That had been at ten that morning.

          He tipped his head to his right shoulder, then his left and looked at Mannis, who was now pacing the floor of Doc's small livingroom.

          Mannis was visibly shaken and sat back down in one of the kitchen chairs. He rubbed his temple.

          "What was that? Where were we?" Mac asked.

          "Iteration X. We were at the threshold of their database."

          Mac's eyes widened. He stood shakily from the kitchen chair. Doc moved to help him and he cursed softly as he accepted her aid in getting to the couch. "Iteration..." he shook his head. "I was thinking about my mother. Why would it bring me there?"

          "No, the biggest question here is how did it bring you there. I'm a part of that Convention, and even I can't get to that section of the database. You unlocked codes, Mac. Codes you shouldn't have."

          "But..."

          "I only hope we weren't detected. I didn't have any rotes up and running. I never expected we'd go right into a forbidden..." he rubbed his face. "Okay. Listen to me - forget your family for right now, okay? Ignore them. You're not trained or ready to go poking into Technocracy files that might get your Navigator fragged.

          "Can that happen?"

          "Oh, yeah." Mannis still looked shaken. "You have to be careful out there. Your port opens and closes with unconscious signals, much like the way you breath and blink. It's going to widen and close as you need it, and with the sentinel programs I installed, nothing unwanted can get in. Unless you tap a system that sends an EMP back through the line."

          It was Mac's turn to feel shock. He knew enough about electronics to realize an Electro Magnetic Pulse would render anything electronic useless..."What would that do to me?"

          "If it doesn't frag your Navigator, it'll definitely put you out for a good couple of hours - that is if you're connected. If you're not and near enough to one, won't lose consciousness, but you will lose your eyesight. Or most of it. You'd be more like legally blind."

          "I what?"

          "And partial hearing. Your optics and left ear are engaged with the Navigator. You can pick up signals now, any kind of audio signal, with that ear of yours. As well as hear at great distances, much like old Steve Austin once could. Only better." He pointed to Doc's television in the corner beneath an interesting array of plants and flowers. "You can switch a television channel with a thought. You can switch a radio with a thought. You can also mess up the guidance systems of an airplane in flight, so my recommendation on that one is to keep the port closed. Sleep or something."

          "So, sleeping is like being shut down."

          "Much so. Always watch your back. Someone knocks you out, your system is shut off."

          Mac thought back to the EMP. "It seems like I'm more vulnerable now than I was before."

          "Yes, in a way." Mannis sat forward. "There's so much more available for access now, and a lot of it is just good basic knowledge. When it comes to your magic," he shrugged. "You have a storage of a little over a 1,000 rotes already. I suggest downloading your own into that reserve. Set them up with alarms and triggers. You don't need any external devices to operate them, unless there's a chance your electronics are in danger, like I said before. Times like those, and when there's no wireless network to tap through, no land lines to travel, then the old hard keys come in handy and you hack that way."

          Mac looked at his hands. "About my mother..."

          Mannis looked at the connector still clamped onto his thumb and detached, then detached the one from Mac's finger. He gestured with the odd devices. "You'll get a set of these in your new kit. You won't need any other hardware. You'll have universal interfaces in order to tap systems on none-wire networks. Keep the kit with you at all times. It also contains what Doc here calls Go-Juice."

          Mac arched his eyebrows. "Should I ask?"

          "If you are ever in trouble; say someone discovers you where you shouldn't be and either clubs you or injects you with nighty-night - and I'm being nice here. You could get be shot and killed. Or you're exposed to an EMP accidentally and there's no time to wait for your systems to come back on normally - one CC of this stuff'll hard reboot you within five minutes. Now, I don't recommend it because it'll give you the mother of all headaches for a good week - unless you know a really skilled Verbena - but you will be able to function for about three hours on it before your system shuts down again."

          "It's not permanent?"

          "No. Temporary. Especially if you're unconcious to begin with. It's not rebooting you, per se, but your system. Your...uhm, cyber ghost, or CG, will be in charge. That's why you'll get the headache. Though from what I hear, you're no stranger to migraines."

          "No."

          Mannis then reached into his pocket and handed Mac his laser pointer. "I'm assuming you use this for something." He gave a hard sigh. "I'm not sure what for - but I figured you'd want it back."

          Mac looked at the thin, sleek silver tool. It seemed ages since he'd used Matter. "Where is my old ibook?"

          "There," Doc pointed to the television stand. The white laptop sat beside a stack of magazines.

          "Is everything transferred to the G5?" He looked at Mannis.

          The Iteration doctor nodded.

          Then there isn't any more need for the old one. Calling up the familiar heat from his solar plexis, Mac aimed the laser pointer at the ibook and pressed the button, simultaneously releasing the intended force needed. No red dot marked the ibook - this laser pointer didn't have one. Instead there was a brief flash, the smell of burnt ozone, and the laptop computer was now a stack of magazines similar to the one it sat next too.

          "Geejus..." Mannis said. He stood and looked at the stack, then at Mac, then back at the stack. The tall, dark haired doctor knelt beside the stack. He hesitantly reached out to touch the top magazine - apparently fearing the print would be hot. He picked it up and sat back as he flipped through it, his mouth open. "H-how...?"

          Mac took in a deep breath and tucked the pointer back into his pocket. "Magic." He became dizzy again for a moment and leaned back into the couch cushions.

          Doc had gone into the kitchen and now returned with a glass of water in one hand, pills in the other. She handed both to Mac. "Ah-huh. Not ready for that yet. Your strength's down, Mac. And I'm not sure doing what you just did was good to do in front of him," she nodded to the still open-mouthed Mannis. "Here, take these."

          "What are these?" He eyed the pills. They were different than those she'd given him after his beating. Where those had been brown and appeared home made, these were red and clear.

          "More fixing," she winked at him. "Part of the healing process. There was a bit more damage done in here," she pointed to his nose. "Not from Calen, but from the inhibitor. You might have a bit of bleeding every now and then until it heals."

          Mac swallowed them and downed the entire glass of water. He handed it back to Doc. "You mentioned...Friday in my suite, that you knew more about me than you wanted to say. You thought it'd make me sick. Doc, what do you know about my mother?"

          The furtive glance Doc gave to Mannis wasn't lost on Mac. He looked from Doc to Mannis.

          "Actually, Mac - not much. We know your Father's activities - and just those alone give me the creeps. Your brother's positions are classified. As for you mother..." she shook her head. "She was a mystery."

          He didn't believe her. Not with the expression on Mannis' face, but he decided it would do little good to push the question. They're not going to answer me.

          "Mac," Mannis had set the book down and now pulled his chair closer to the Adept. "Don't - and I mean it. Right now, don't go hacking, untrained, into things you know nothing about. The Avalon Group went to great lengths and expense - both financial and with lives - to aquire those parts in your head. They don't contain the basic backdoors most I-X machines do. There is a lot riding on this mission - and that means with all of you. The last thing we need is for you to go footling about on Technocracy systems and jeopardize the entire mission - and in the process getting everyone killed. Sometimes you have to realize it's not all about you."

          "Richard," Doc said.

          Mannis put up his hand. "Don't Holly - I'm serious here. Mr. Mcgyver has to learn this mission isn't about him." He fixed Mac with a hard stare. "It's about this world's future."

          The Adept returned the Technocrat's stare though his thoughts centered on every word spoken. Mannis was right. In the past few days he'd been so wrapped up in Calen and his father and what the VE might or might not know that he'd nearly forgotten why he was there.

          To stop a madman.

          Someone Calen's files classified as a possible Marauder.

          "You're right." Mac's words hung in the air.

          Mannis visibly relaxed. "Look, I'm not trying to deny there's not enough mystery surrounding your own investigation into your past - but you can't jeopardize this mission."

          The Adept looked directly at Mannis. "You mean I can't jeopardize your position."

          Mannis blinked and opened his mouth to speak.

          But Mac silenced him with a wave of his hand. "No, I understand. Your helping me could be at a great cost to you - and I appreciate that. The last thing I want to do is inadvertently reveal yours or Miss Huang's help. And I do apologize." He looked to Doc. "Maybe it's time I get back to my hotel room."

          "I'd rather you stay here a bit longer - let me look at you. But I know by the look on that face you're set to leave. Go straight to your room and go to bed." She looked at mannis. "Have you finished training him?" she scowled.

          The doctor gave Mac a lingering look, then nodded. "I don't think he really needs much else. It'll come with time, and he's a natural at it. Almost as if he'd been born to it."

          The doctor's words sent a small shiver through the Adept's spine, but he held his expression in check.

          "Well then," Doc sighed. "Let's get that limo here."

          Mannis went over a few more basics in networking and visualization. "You just have to remember that in this realm," he pointed to Mac's head. "A thought is a living thing. Literally. If your port is open and you're 'in' so to speak, you think it, the Navigator navigates to the best possible match."

          Mac suppressed a laugh. Great...I'm a walking Google.

          He pursed his lips as Doc told them both the limo was there. "Programs, that teach...like say...if I needed to learn to type professionally for something, or to know instant knowledge of something I've near heard before - is it possible to download something like that and..?"

          "Yes. For you." He sighed. "Your nervous system is directly tied into the Navigator, which is why I warned you about EMPs. Normally it wouldn't affect say, a usual cyborg hybrid."

          Hybrid.

          Great. "So, you're saying, I could do that? Just download something and know it?"

          "Sure. You could download French and speak it. "

          Mac nodded. Sweet.

          He thanked Mannis and uploaded his contact information, making sure the encryptions on that particular file were well laid out Then he gave Doc a hug and a kiss, and a promise to take her out to dinner once Sterling was taken care of.

          The same construct that had driven him there now opened the limo's door. He nodded and stepped inside, not at all surprised to see Oz seated in the back. "Hiya Computer Man. Look'n much better."

          He nodded to Oz and sat with his back to the window facing Doc's home. He couldn't remember getting to her home, yet somehow they had moved him. He raised eyebrow, turned his left ear in the direction of Doc's living room. White noise painted a cacophonic background to the myriad of voices he heard, until he pinpointed two in particular.

          "...reason to be such an ass."

          "Holly, I'm not being an ass. You weren't there. You didn't see what that kid did. He took us to the front door of the IX database. I can't do that. I never detected any Sentinels - it was as if they'd simply bowed back from him. And what if somehow they find out we were there? My signature would be detected as well. Such an intrusion would flag me for a psych evaluation. Or worse."

          Doc's voice was little more than a whisper, yet Mac could hear her as if she were standing beside him. "And you're surprised? With everything you know, everything he told us yesterday while he worked on his bro...shhh. He's listening. Shame on you, Mr. Mcgyver."

          Mac barely had time to register that the Euthanatos had known he was snooping before a loud, sharp whistle pieced his ear. He gave a yell as grabbed at his left ear.

          Oz laughed. "Serves you right, Computer Man. Holly don't take kindly to no snoops. She's got the place wired for Technocratic snoopers." He leaned forward. "And right now, you're a walking Union package store."

          Mac pulled his hand away, almost expecting to see blood. Great.

          Oz saw him to the elevator. His work was done. Huang had asked him to make sure Mr. Mcgyver got back safely. Still dressed in his tee shirt and jeans, Mac entered his room and flipped on the lights. His thoughts immediately went to security a they always did, only this time he felt his port open and his Magic-Eye, as he'd grown to call his computer optic, sync'd with the hotel's security system. He checked his own room as he paused in the middle of the living room and scanned. He was the only one there...

          ...except in the hallway.

          Someone knocked at the door. Mac moved himself to the camera in the hallway. He saw someone there. A small, roundish woman dressed in a brightly colored skirt and shawl stood just outside the door.

          He didn't know her.

          Grabbing the gun he'd gotten from Oz out of the nightstand, Mac shoved it into the back of his jeans and put his hand on the knob. "Who is it?"

          There was no answer. He sync'd both lenses, seeing the door in front of him and what the camera on the outside saw. There was someone there.

          He jerked the door open, his left hand behind him, ready to retrieve the gun.

          She was old, with a wizened face. Southwestern tribe, not uncommon to see in Vegas.. her hair was white with only a dark streak here and there and small black eyes smiled at him. What stopped him in his tracks were the readouts from his analysis of her that scrolled across his vision. A single word in red type flashed angrily to the upper left of his Magick-Eye.

          >SPECTER; ABBERATION; INTERDIMENSIONAL COMMUNICATION.

          Ghost.

          She smiled sweetly at him and offered him a letter. He glanced down at it. If I take it, will it be real? Will I be able to touch it? Who is this woman?

          With another glance to her aged face, Mac reached a shaky hand out. To his surprise and relief the envelope was solid. He turned it over. His name was written in gold ink across the front.

          >VAPERIZATION.

          He looked back at the door, but the woman was gone.

          >SPECTER NOT IN EVIDENCE; SPECTORAL INTERDIMENSIONAL COMMUNICATION BROKEN.

          Oh, I'm not ready for this yet. Mannis didn't say anything about seeing ghosts.

          He closed the door slowly and refocused his eyes to shut off his port. After checking the safety, then setting the gun on the opposite chair, Mac settled into the chair he'd sat in when Doc worked on him and turned on the floor lamp beside it. With his left index finger Mac tore open the envelope and found several neatly handwritten pages of information.

                    The Avalon Group:
                    Story of a great King who wished to bring peace and prosperity to the people of his island. When he died, he was taken to the place called Avalon and those who tended his body vowed to keep sacred his name and uphold the ideals for which he had fought and died. This group was made up of both Mystics and Crafters and has been in existance for thousands of years, weathering hardships of every kind, both external and internal.
                    Originally, their primary focus was to protect their own island (England), however, recent events have forced them to expand their interests to all humanity. Also, they suffered great losses in their numbers to the Horizon war. As a result, they have tried to establish new ties to Tradition mages, with limited success.
                    The Group makes use of "seers" or "forecasters" as they are sometimes called. Those individuals have indicated that very dark and dire times are ahead for humanity -Enlightened and Sleeper alike.

                    Dorian Sterling
                    As far as the spirits can tell, Dorian Sterling is what the old ones call a Wheelbreaker. When a wheel is broken, it must be repaired or remade entirely - which is normally a good thing in the end. However, sometimes a broken wheel can mean horrific disaster - especially if the one who breaks it has malice in his heart. It is for this reason that the Avalon Group (and others) watch him closely. All signs suggest that Dorian Sterling may indeed have evil plans, and so his interests in Oak Island may need to be deterred.

                    Oak Island
                    In order to defend his people against his enemies, the Great Spirit created certain weapons. However, these weapons are so powerful and so dangerous that they must be hidden away. The stories say that there is a place on. Earth that is very old and very secret. This is the hiding place that the Great Spirit has chosen for his weapon. In our reckoning, it sits beneath the soil of Oak Island. The spirits believe that the Wheelbreaker is trying to steal the weapon of the Great Spirit from its hiding place.

                    Jonny Meyer & the Sphinx
                    The Great Spirit and the Wheelbreaker have always been in opposition since the world began. However, there is a new entity involved with this particular fight that may change the outcomes. The very old spirits think that perhaps this "new" entity is truly something that is older than they are, something that has not had need to raise its head and involve itself in the turnings of the wheel until now. This entity is what you call the Sphinx. It is seemingly unharmed by the violence of the Maelstrom and suffers no ill effects when attacked by varying factions engaged in the Spirit War. Likewise, it seems to be having a polarizing affect on the spirits, both in the Dream and in the Waking World. Spirits are choosing sides, and they are choosing their champions. Those with Awakened souls are either aligning themselves with the Great Spirit or they are choosing to throw in their lot with the Wheelbreaker. Still others are choosing to follow the Sphinx.
                    The Sphinx itself seems to have chosen a champion, or at the least a host. Jonny Meyer has a strange pattern that surrounds him. His luck is unnatural and his abilities are far beyond what they should be. As far as the spirits understand, Jonny is unknowing in his role. However, they don't discount the idea that he may know more than they think he knows.
                    In fact, he is the reason why the Avalon group has contacted your group of Tradition mages. They believe he is the catalyst, the trump card that will allow you to succeed with this Dorian Sterling problem where others have failed.
                    The spirits believe that all of the members of the group are vital to the success of this endeavor.

                    The Library
                    It was constructed by the Builders and Crafters, and is a place where even spirits are barred - the magic that protects it is very strong. The location itself was created before it was ever deemed necessary to hide it. Apparently it is a receptacle for great truths and secrets about the world, man's place in it and the place of the "supernatural" as it relates to the world and man. The keepers of the library, sensing corruption within their ranks as well as the threat of internal war, decided to keep their secrets and truths safe until such time as mankind was ready to hear and accept them. They feared that the corrupters would gain access to this knowledge, which apparently includes information about the Wheelbreaker - what it and its representative truly are, and possibly about Oak Island and what lies beneath it. So they chose two of their mundane members to pass the secret of the location on to. One would have the exact location, the other would have the passwords and such that would reveal the Library itself and open its doors. Neither man/woman knows the other - he/she only knows that there IS another person out there with this knowledge.
                    The knowledge is passed down through the family in an unbroken line until such time as the correct words are spoken and they are allowed to reveal their information.

                    Sincerely,
                    Paul Ortega

          Mac realized that all he'd just read was now neatly filed away inside a folder of his Navigator. He placed it in the folder with the other accumulated bits of information for the mission. He knew Ortega didn't trust email, so the Dream Speaker had used his own form of secure transmission.

          Spirits.

          All bets are that woman was his grandmother several greats back.

          He ripped up the letter and tossed the pieces into the opposite chair. It was a lot of information to digest and he needed to get busy.

          But not right now. I'm too tired. I need sleep and food - in that order.

          He was shaky and definately wanted to climb back into the bed for another 12 hour marathon sleep before tomorrow.

          With all the exercise during the day on how to use his new gadgets, not once had Mac thought to check his email. He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes as his port opened and connected with his hard rive. His new computer sat mute in the bag he'd brought in. He'd need to download the hard drive from one to the other, but later.

          Again he found himself in his library, dressed in his black suit and shades. The inbox on his roll top desk was filled with seven letters and one package. The package was addressed from Huang. This must be the information she promised on Lovenstein in France.

          He raised his left hand. A glowing bluish folder appeared there. In his right hand, the package dissolved into several flat acetate sheets of typed data. He stuck all of it in the blue folder. The folder then vanished, returned to his hard drive and stored within easy reach.

          Several emails from friends, and a request for a magick tome on...spider venoms? Were do these Verbena come from?

          He tossed a few spams in the trash. It didn't matter how many filters one put on email - spam - like death and taxes - was constant.

          The last letter was oversized and encased in a red envelope. It glowed in this virtual world and he easily hacked the encryption.

          It was a message from Trent.

          Alan,

          We have moved the safe house to a new location until we can be sure your presence among us hasn't compromised us with the Union. This may take some time and we ask that you do not try to find us or make contact. I have made my fellow Adepts aware that the tracking device has been removed, yet they as well as I feel, we would operate better without you at this time.
          On a personal note: It has been the greatest honor of my life to have worked with you, Alan Cooper. I believed, and still do, that you can achieve great things in your life. Only now, I think it is better that you do them without me.
          I do not require the Union modes of spy devices such as the one found inside your head to know that you have accepted the Avalon Group's offer of upgrades or enhancements, whichever name you prefer. In my opinion since you arrived in Las Vegas you have been lead to this very decision, pushed into making it, so that you can be changed into something useful to them. And this sort of manipulation, I cannot abide by. Nor can I tolerate communication with you knowing you are looking at me with their eyes. Using their processors. Using their ports.
          I am glad that Maouri is not alive to see this, Alan. If she had known of the Technocratic Union or your father's work with Pentax, she would never have accepted this decision.
          You are now, by all physical definitions, a Technocrat.
          If and when we chose to return to Atlanta, and if and when the group votes to reestablish contact with you, I ask this of you: Never see me again. I would prefer to remember you as you were.
          Simply a librarian with a gift for finding the unfindable.

          Sincerely,

          Trent Cole


          Mac sat in stunned silence and allowed the note to fall from his hand.

          He was truly on his own.

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