Mac fought against the unseen restraints once again, his world a dark horror of images that flashed and then were gone with every attempted struggle for freedom. He tried to scream but his voice was invisible, a space of time where something should be and nothing was. He beat at his prison, protesting what they were doing...

          They? They who?

          He stopped his protests and listened, and once again heard the female voice.

          "Easy, easy, Alan. Please, it's all for the best..."

          No. Who's best? That wasn't the voice of his mother as he'd believed. Its familiarity distrubed him as another voice, male, a tone filled with hatred and resentment, scolded the first voice.

          I know that voice. I know that voice...

          "He should never have stopped his work on the Deviant. He allowed his grief to cloud his judgement, taking sides and abandoning a life's work. I would never have allowed personal feelings in..."

          Mac tried again to pierce the darkness that veiled his sight. To see who spoke. But the voice faded, only an echo called back to him in the darkness.

          He is so much like his father...

          No!

          Mac fought against invisible hands, until a voice called to him. Patient, soothing, female...French?

          "Monsieur Mac..."

          He opened his eyes, then blinked quickly, clearing away the last of sleep. I slept? For how long? Mac looked into the face of the night concierge. Her brown eyes smiled at him and she put a hand on his forehead.

          "Monsieur McGyver...vous rêviez."

          French...she's speaking French. Do I know French? His mind wasn't clearing as it should. His systems weren't booting up. He was only marginally online. Not enough sleep. Even a cybernetic librarian needs sleep. He rechecked his internal database to translate. -You were dreaming-.

          He smiled and nodded. "Oui, je suis désolé," he answered, only slightly impressed with the application's versitality. Where am I? He looked around. He lay on a black couch in what appeared to be the manager's office. Green walls were decorated with hand painted scenes of villas that looked more like the coast of Italy rather than France. He sat up with a little help and caught the incredible aroma of coffee.

          Mac smiled at the woman who sat on the couch beside him. Had she been here with him since he fell asleep? "Café?"

          She pointed through the door and he nodded. Right. There was a small cafe on the other side of the lobby. A quick check of his internal clock produced an audible groan. It was eight thirty. He'd slept a grand total of two hours for the entire night. No wonder I'm waxed.

          The concierge offered to get him a coffee, but Mac declined and kissed her on the forehead. He then remembered the letter he'd written to Paul describing Syd and Johnny's experiences. After a quick look about the office he turned to the waiting young lady. "La lettre?"

          She smiled. "Une petite, vieille femme est venue pour l'obtenir." -A small old woman came to obtain it-

          Mac wasn't completely surprised, but he was unnerved. The ghostly gramps had come to get the letter and he'd missed it. Can't say I'm tore up about that - ghost messed with my optics last time.

          Still dressed in his plaid pajama bottoms and tee-shirt, Mac stumbled from the office, only just aware he wore only socks. He opened his audio channel to count the hearbeats in the cafe to gauge how busy it was. He wasn't sure they'd even serve him coffee without shoes. But he was determined to try.

          He rubbed his eyes as he walked through the door, the final snatches of his nightmare returning unbidden as a voice in his ear muttered, "Well, well, well...like Father like son."

          That voice. It wasn't from his dream, but it was familiar and it stopped him in his tracks. He stood just inside the cafe's door, his gaze locked onto the Void Engineer seated a few feet before him. The soldier wore a set of Primium laced shades. Mac could see the glow of the anti-magic protection with his optics.

          He's scanning me...

          Resentment burned inside.

          The mother fucker's looking inside my head - he's invading my privacy. He knows what they did to me. Later Mac would wonder why the action had angered him so at that moment. He had never offically planned on not telling his team what had been fully done to him. He still wasn't sure himself. He didn't know all his strengths or weaknesses.

          But he believed at that moment that Nicholas Calen now did. And the knowledge both frightened and enraged him. He acted without rational thought, opening up systems with no concsious effort as his port targeted the optics of Calen's shades. He felt the blast build, churn, then pulse inside of his mind as anger narrowed its beam and released its short, sharpened wraith.

          Mac had no idea what he'd just done, until the VE abruptly whipped the shades from his face and stared at them. A small wisp of smoke was the only outward, physical sign of what had occured internally. Calen then looked up slowly at Mac and locked his own rage-filled gaze with the Adept's.

          Holy... I shorted his shades! How could I have done that? How did I do it? Oh fuck...

          Calen pulled his gaze away, folded the shades and slipped them into the pocket of his black teeshirt. He folded his paper, stood and marched straight toward Mac. The Adept stood in his spot, accepting whatever it was that the soldier did. But Calen simply moved past, his shoulder only slightly grazing Mac's, and purposefully left the cafe.

          "Aw...shit," came a familiar voice to Mac's right.

          The Adept blinked, still in shock at what he'd done, and turned to see Oz sitting at a table, a paper folded in his hand, a steaming cup before him. The Hermetic was looking at Mac as one would look at an errant child who had just flushed the goldfish for the fifth time.

          What have I done? Oh God...I didn't mean to do that. I didn't know I could do that. Mac swallowed as he and Oz locked gazes. And that man over there is going to kill me if I don't smooth this out. We're about to start this mission - and the last thing we need is this kind of fighting. I have to convince Calen it was an accident.

          Yeah, just let the others know you can fry electronics with a thought. They might start thinking you can fry them as well.

          This was not the start to things he'd invisioned.

          With a deep breath, Mac turned and left the cafe.

          Mac arrived back at Arden's room and quickly gathered the gun, jeans, tee-shirt and hooded pullover, socks and sneakers. There was no sign of Arden, but the bathroom door was closed. He pulled on his jeans and tee-shirt, then hurried out and finished dressing in the elevator and told his Navigator to locate Calen's room from the hotel's computer.

          He tied his sneakers down the hall from the Void Engineer's room, then went forward as he tucked the gun into the back of his jeans. His pullover hid it from view. Only after several knocks and no answer, Mac began fearing the worse just got worse.

          He tried the knob and found it open. Uh-oh. Mac reached behind him and pulled the gun out. He had no idea how to use it or what it would do - but it felt good in his palm. He did a scan of the room and found no one inside. The VE's clothes were scattered about the floor and the bed unmade. A laptop case lay on the floor, apparently knocked off the room's table. The uplink he'd seen in Calen's ear before lay on the floor beside it. Several lethal looking guns lay on the bed and near the closet, save for the one he'd seen the VE carrying the night before.

          In the closet hung a jumpsuit that wrecked havoc with Mac's optics. He narrowed his eyes as his lenses adjusted and the readout on his monitor identified it as an ionic uniform. That's what he was wearing to become that MIB while with Huang. Why leave that here?

          Why leave any of this here and in the open?

          Mac froze. Had NWO found him? Was his cover blown? Did they know he and the others of us aren't dead?

          The Adept turned, intent on checking the hotel phone when he spotted Calen's Nokia Communicator. He looked at the screen, the words MESSAGE SENT: SECURITY LOCKDOWN CONFIRMED flashing at him.

          Security lockdown? Mac searched the VA databases quickly, looking for anything he had on VE protocols. Security Lockdown: No access. The Machine is shut down. Not only can it not send, it cannot receive. The towers can't find it.

          He shut his phone off...

          Alarms like tiny sirens went off in his own head and he nearly dropped the gun as he brought his hands to his temples. A thought silenced the noise and he investigated what had set them off. A security sentinel set on one of the accounts set up by Huang had detected a semi-large withdrawal from a nearby bank.

          A withdrawal? No one had access to that particular account except...

          Mac lowered the gun as the inevitable conclusion hammered into him.

          Except Nicholas Calen.

          Christ! He's running away! Mac checked the time index on the withdrawal. The transaction was posted as of ten minutes ago, and the address, according to the grid that pulled up before Mac's eyes, showed the bank a block away.

          That kid.... he can't leave. What the hell is he doing running out like that on his own? It was just a set of shades. Mac tucked the gun back into his pants as he ran out of the room and down to the elevators. He can't leave. I have to stop him, even if he kills me trying.

          Mac set up net searches as he jogged to the bank, sentinels that would alert him to any odd activities that might coincide with any member of their cabal. The summer heat was already on the rise when Mac arrived at the bank. The ladies up front denied having seen anyone matching Calen's description.

          Where did he go?

          Mac stepped outside and did a quick grid scan of electronic stores - Calen might try and fix the shades. No..I saw them on the floor of his room. Shit...where is he? If he's withdrawn cash, he's going to be nearly impossible to find.

          Running his fingers through his hair, Mac began walking back to the hotel. I'm going to have to find Oz and hope Huang really is Huang when she returns and not a clone. He blew air out from between his lips, lifting his bangs from his forehead. I am in so much trouble this time.

          A sentinel screamed in his head and he cursed under his breath. He silenced it with a promise to his nerves to find the preferences on the volume to those things. One search had intercepted an email sent to Huang. Using the encryption code the VE had given him, Mac moved to the shade of a building and read the message. To any passerby, he would look like any other bum with his eyes closed.

          Dr. Huang,

          I apologize for leaving the hotel before your return but
circumstances have forced me to re-evaluate my decision. I thank
you for the information, but the time for me to part company with
this group has come. The clash of personalities is simply too great,
and I fear I would be no asset in the forthcoming mission. I have
left the majority of the equipment you had provided behind in my room,
though I hope you do not mind my keeping one of the pistols. I have also
withdrawn a small sum of money from one of the accounts, to assist me
in my future endeavors.

          I have no intention of betraying you or your associates. I only
wish to remain out of the firing line of either of your enemies or my
purported allies for a time before attempting something I've only read about.

          A normal life.

          Be Seeing You.

          Nicholas Calen.

--- Ce message envoyé par le logiciel v1.5 de café de cyber---

          Mac pressed the palm of his left hand to his forehead. Shit. This is my fault. I pushed him one too many times - and I hadn't even tried.

          His Magick-Eye lingered on the bottom line of the email. The message was sent using Cybercafe (TM) software v1.5. He traced the signature back through the software to a cyber cafe about a mile from the bank, but the 'sent' time was recorded at ten minutes ago. The mail server probably batched the jobs and sent several mailserver emails all at once.

          Mac guessed that might occur every fifteen minutes.

          He stepped back out into the sunshine. A mile away huh? You are in no shape to go running a mile, Mac Mcgyver. You've had little sleep, little exercise, and surgery less than forty-eight hours ago. You can not jog that far.

          With a shake of his head, the Adept started out at a dead run.

          Winded, the Adept nearly collapsed outside the Cybercafe, an art deco nightmare created for those who enjoyed a coffee, a smoke and a bit of cyber entertainment. He bent forward and pulled air into his lungs. Stars spotted his vision and he closed his eyes as he put a hand to his chest and felt the thunder of his heart.

          After assuring himself he wasn't going to have a heart attack, Mac stepped inside the refrigerated cafe. Smells and sounds of people assalted him and he felt a new nausea washing over him as the cigarette smoke filled his lungs. The chill of the interior mingled with the heat from outside wasn't healthy. That's all I need - to catch a cold. He gave the petite brunette behind the counter a description of Calen.

          She smiled and shrugged and pointed to the patrons. To his amazement, they were mostly all blond men at terminals. He thanked her and left the cafe. He moved from the entrance to the street corner and coughed to relieve his lungs of the smoke.

          This is not happening to me.

          Something roared nearby besides the usual sounds of cars and busses. It came and went at regular entervals and Mac looked up to see the Eurostar train station several blocks away. A nearby sign said in French that the Eurostar could travel from Paris to London in an hour and a half.

          Mac, his mouth open, looked back at the cafe, then to the sign. If Calen came out this way and saw the sign...

          Aw damnit.

          After several deep breaths and a few more lung clearing coughs, he took off at a slightly less exerburant jog to the train station, all prayers offered up that he was not too late to stop Calen. He'd really hate to have to call Huang from London.

          People of all ages and origins moved past him in all directions. He stopped just inside, his Magick-Eye checking the arrivals and departures as he again caught his breath.

          Brussels, Londa, Avignon, Calais, Eurodisney - they all flash on his internal monitor. But the quickest way out of Paris was London. The next train left at 9:10.

          It was 8:58.

          Several seconds passed before he found the long ticket line to London. Someone resembling Calen stood at the head of the line. Mac ran to the line's end. He checked his pockets. He carried just enough for a ticket to London - but little else. As the line moved, the man's profile became clear.

          It isn't Calen.

          Mac stayed put but continued looking everywhere else. He spotted the VE just heading down the escalator to the terminal. A gate separated him from his target, and if there weren't so many people, he's simply teleport to the other side. Someone would see me, or rather, not see me.

          The line moved faster than Mac anticipated, and to his relief, he was only delayed six minutes. He scrambled down the escalator, muttering "exuse je" as he went by. With a last half stumble he got to the terminal floor and spied Calen near the train's front. The ass bought First Class. Shit...I can't go up there. I'm going to have to stop him now.

          With a final burst of energy, Mac jogged up behind the solider still dressed in his black tee-shirt and fatigues.

          As he neared Calen, Mac heard the VE speak within the cocaphony of the echoing station. "Don't bother. I've decided."

          I can hear him with my ear...how'd he know I was there? Mac said, "How...?" He still had to keep pace with Calen; the VE wasn't slowing down.

          "I've heard you pant like that before."

          Mac arched an eyebrow, but he kept pace, coming up beside Calen. "Look, I'm sorry about the shades, Nicholas. I didn't mean to do that. It was just a reflexive move."

          "Sure it was."

          The two were almost to the front of the train. Mac swallowed and reached out to touch Calen's shoulder. He knew it was probably the worst thing he could have done, but he needed the VE to stop and talk to him. "Nicholas...?"

          Calen stopped. He looked to his left shoulder at Mac's hand, then looked at Mac with an arched eyebrow. "You want to start this again? I'm willing to just walk away at this point."

          "I'm not trying to start anything. I'm trying to fix it." Mac removed his hand. "You can't go. We need you."

          Calen snorted and pivoted to his right, intent on boarding the train.

          Oh for the love of... Mac jogged ahead of him and put himself into the man's path. "Would you grow up and listen to me?"

          The VE moved around Mac.

          Mac sidestepped the soldier and vaulted up and into the train's doorway, his arms out to either side.

          Calen looked up at Mac, his eyes narrowed. "Grow up?"

          "Yes, grow up." Mac narrowed his own eyes, thankful for the door to keep him standing up straight. "I did not intend on shorting out the shades. I don't have control and I let your little comment get to me. And running away because I busted one of your toys is just childish."

          "Grow up?" Calen shook his head, completely ignoring Mac's words. "I've been an adult since I was 12. I've faced shit that would send you begging for your dead mother. And I'm sick of being condescended to by people who know nothing about me. Now step aside." The VE's voice rose just a small bit as he finished.

          "I am not condescending to you." Mac's own voice grew in volume. He wanted to be heard over the terminal noise. "And I realize now that no - I have no idea what you've faced. I've never even seen a Nephandi or hunted a Marauder. I can't even come to you on common ground - but what I do know is this," he pointed a shaky finger at Calen. "We're going to need your expertise - your cunning - your knowledge to face Sterling. And don't ever bring up my mother again."

          Calen gave only a snort.

          "Excuse me, Messers," came a voice to Mac's left. He turned to see a uniformed man approach. "Is there a problem?"

          Mac narrowed his eyes at the Conductor. "No. We're having a discussion."

          "One we'll have to continue later." Calen's tone was flat. "I don't believe this is your car."

          "Look, this is private, okay?" Mac motioned for the Conductor to leave. "We'll be done in a bit and then I'll move."

          The Conductor narrowed his own beady eyes and motioned to two uniformed guards near the escalator. The two men, tall and thin, dressed in the standard security guard blues, moved as a single unit toward Mac and Calen.

          Mac looked at Calen and whispered. "Won't you talk to me away from here?"

          "Not much time. Train leaves in five. Not like you're saying anything new."

          "Please Nicholas...what can I do to convince you that you're needed? That what happened this morning won't happen again.." as he spoke, Mac looked up at the approaching guards. He intended on gauging how long it would take them to get to where he and Calen stood and how fast he could outrun them.

          But something else about them caught his eye.

          "I'm afraid I'm going to have both of you removed," the Conductor was saying.

          Calen turned to the uniformed man. "I have a ticket sir, and I have every intention of getting on that train.."

          "Calen..." Mac stepped down from the doorway and kept his eyes focused on the approaching guards. His optics spun and rotated, filtering through several spectrums. These men glowed like nothing he'd ever seen before - and it wasn't the men themselves, as much as what was beneath their coats. "Uh...Calen..."

          "What?" the VE snapped and looked back at the Adept.

          With his gaze still locked on the guards, Mac leaned forward. "Those guards...they're not guards."

          Calen's stern expression shifted and he glanced at the approaching men. "What do you mean?"

          "There is some pretty heavy duty electronic equipment under their coats - not your standard security guard set." He frowned. "There's a technocratic signature."

          "Bah." Calen's voice betrayed a bit of worry. "Let's not draw anymore attention and go."

          Mac nodded to the Conductor. "Okay...we're leaving." He took several long strides to catch up with Calen.

          "I don't have my equipment," Calen whispered. "Make a deeper scan."

          Mac glanced back at the men and narrowed his eyes as his lenses rotated to adjust his optics. He took in a bit of air through his teeth as he peered through their clothes - or rather - their illusion of clothing. "Nicholas...these men are wearing ionic suits like the one you have..."

          "Crap," Calen glanced back at the men. "Agents. If they haven't made us, then we're okay, but if they have.."

          Mac looked back at them then. They had paused. One looked at the other, then the two broke into a run toward the retreating pair.

          "Damn," Calen said.

          Mac agreed. "Run!"

(written with Blake Sorenson)

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