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Max's head jerked up, and she stared at the office door and the strangely familiar silhouette framed there against the sunlight. Then she rubbed her eyes, and looked again, thinking she'd been too long with her head buried in paperwork. I'm hallucinating.

The TC Mall account books were in a mess, the vendors lackadaisical since Alec wasn't around any more to keep an eagle eye on inventory, proceeds, and expenses. She'd let business slide now for weeks, too depressed to bother with things like profit and loss margins. Now, however, the food shortage in TC was becoming critical, and she realized they were going to have to start making money with their art and antiques or else people were going to begin leaving -- striking out on their own to forage. The last thing they needed was for their "family" to break up, or for TC to get an even worse reputation than it already had as a den of thieves.

It had been incredibly hard for her to sit down at Alec's desk. She'd seen him here so many times before, tilted back in the chair with his booted feet propped up as he counted the day's profits. She remembered him grabbing the old fashioned desk light from one of the X5s who'd scrounged it in the junk yard, saying he didn't like fluorescents. And there was a crumpled up candy bar wrapper stuck under the letter tray ... Snickers ... his favorite ...

However, this was no hallucination brought on by a lack of sleep and too much angst. The realization of who her visitor was made Max's head spin a little bit. "Zack?" she said. "What are you doing here?"

The big X5 with scraggly blonde hair shrugged leather clad shoulders and walked into the office. Glancing around, one eyebrow raised slightly in disdain, he dropped into the only other chair, and planted feet firmly on the floor. "I just thought you might need some help," he replied quietly. "According to the newspapers, things here seemed to be getting pretty bad."

"You remember?" Max asked warily. "You remember who you are? Who I am?"

Zack smiled. "I remember most of it," he said. "Although, I'll admit there are some blank spots. A bullet in the brain will do that to you." His eyes went to Max's chest.

Involuntarily, Max looked down at herself -- at Zack's heart that beat for her now -- and a wave of guilt passed through her mind.

"I'm glad I could save you," he said softly. "And I'm all right now. Really." He flexed his right arm. "Most of the nerve damage has regenerated, just like Dr. Carr said it would." He glanced up at her, his blue eyes candid. "And I also know you love Logan, not me. I'm fine with it, Max. I promise. No more psychotic episodes. I had a long time on the farm to remember, and sort things through. They were good to me there, Max, and I appreciate you finding those people to look after me. They even tried to keep me from seeing the news about what was happening in Seattle. They were afraid it would confuse me. But I saw anyway, and things started to come back -- bits and pieces at first, then finally everything. Now ... I think I've got it straight."

"Why didn't you stay on the farm?" Max had to ask. "You were safe there. No one knew about you. Here ..." She glanced around the office. "We're all in danger every day."

"Like I said," Zack explained. "I read about your troubles in the newspaper. I figured you could use a brother's help. That is--" He pinned her with his eyes this time. "--if you want me."

Max looked down at the mess of paperwork on the desk, and thought about all of the hungry, restless, angry people inside TC's well guarded walls. Then she thought about how alone she'd felt since Alec's death, the void that bright, irreplaceable soul's absence had left in her life. Suddenly, her hands were shaking. She raised her head. "I want your help, Zack," she said firmly. "God, I want you here." Then, for the first time in weeks, Max smiled. "Welcome home, brother."

*****

Unfortunately for Alec, he eventually regained consciousness.

His first sensation was rough concrete beneath his cheek; his second the piercing pain in his head -- a migraine as bad as any he'd ever suffered in his life. And he was cold ... very, very cold. The stench of wet and mildew filled his nostrils. Somewhere there was dripping. A leaking water pipe perhaps?

He opened his eyes, blinked, closed them again, and tried again. Blackness. Everywhere.

I'm blind!

Panicking, he reached out with his hands, fumbling, his fingers scraping against the wet stone floor and finding a wall at his back. At least he wasn't shackled, although from the feel of things he was as naked as the day he'd been born.

But then he began to remember. Manticore. Their punishments. Maybe not blind ... Rising to his knees, Alec felt along the wall, found the corner, followed it to what seemed to be an iron door, then back to another wall -- a space no more than six feet by six.

And suddenly he knew.

He was in "The Box" -- the pitch black, underground place of ultimate punishment, to all intents and purposes buried alive in a cement coffin -- where rumors had it soldiers were taken to cruelly die of thirst, starvation, and madness.

He had no memory beyond Lydecker and the doctor in the neuro-psych lab. The last thing he recalled was the agony of the laser beam piercing his eye, and a primal scream ripping his throat. How long had it been? What had they done to him? Why was he here?

Shaking, fighting panic still, Alec felt over his body with his hands, and was relieved to discover he seemed to be all in one piece -- nothing missing, nothing broken, only the half-healed scar bisecting his chest and a dull ache in his ribs. Running fingers through his beard stubble, he decided he couldn't have been in here all that long. A day or two maybe? He was thirsty as hell -- hungry too if he admitted it. The only hopeful thought he could muster was that Lydecker hadn't killed him outright -- yet.

Teeth chattering with cold, Alec crawled to a corner, wrapped arms around his legs, and rested his cheek against his knees, relaxing into the pain of the headache. All he could do was wait, and take small comfort in the fact that regular, uninhanced X5s like himself could theoretically survive six days without food and water.

I'm not dead yet, Max. I'm not dead yet.

*****

"You know which Unit we need for this mission," Ms. Brown said. Hiking her short-skirted hip onto the corner of Lydecker's desk, she picked up a computer display terminal, flipped through the inventory files, and paused when the records and photograph of a particularly handsome male X5 appeared.

"Out of the question," the colonel said when he saw which soldier she'd chosen. "Especially since our attempts at rapid reindoctrination had to be cut short."

The suavely dressed matriarch of Manticore smiled her ultra brilliant smile. "I read your report. It seems X5-494 has a guardian Angel, or at least some kind of cosmic help. You couldn't complete the neurological reconditioning due to his seizure disorder. He threw a grand mal episode and you had to abandon the laser treatment; either that or watch him die on you."

"His heart stopped -- again," Lydecker said dryly. "That kid's fuckin' pump stalls more often than a junker car's engine."

"Your doctor got him back," Ms. Brown said lightly. "No harm done. One nice thing about X5 physiology -- they are resilient creatures."

"We've had this problem before," Lydecker admitted. "With some of the older, mature X5 Units. Although their seizures can be controlled with medication, they're more prone to episodes under stress than they were as children and teens. 494's no exception. He's fully grown now, and flawed like the others."

"Meaning your laser torture is essentially useless?" Manticore's CEO clarified.

Lydecker shrugged.

"But you do have other ways of forcing this soldier's cooperation?"

"Short of capturing 452 and using her as leverage I don't know what would influence 494," the colonel said. "He's as stubborn as I've ever encountered, up there on par with 599. In a way, he's suicidal. When they've got a death wish -- no reason to live -- it's nearly impossible to make them obey."

"I want him prepped and deployed on this mission," Ms. Brown said. "He's perfect. And the doctors say he's almost healed, in spite of his recent stint in neuro-psych."

"Impossible," Lydecker said, leaning back in his desk chair and steepling his fingers. "As soon as 494 sees the outside of the fence, he'll bolt. I've no way of controlling him."

"He speaks fluent Thai, and he's a pianist at concert level quality," Ms. Brown said tartly. "Do what you have to. Lobotomize him if you want. But I need this mission to be successful, and 494 appears to be the only Unit in stock that qualifies for job."

"Lobotomize 494, and he'll lose his ability to function independently," Lydecker said tiredly, dropping his head into his hands, "not to mention those Thai-speaking, piano-playing brain cells of his would very likely be flushed down neurosurgery's drain right along with his ego, attitude, and smart mouth." He raised his eyes to her. "He's got an I.Q. of 192 for God's sake! You don't risk that! Not unless you really do only want him for breeding."

"I do want him for breeding, And I'm seeing to that right now. However, I also want him mission-ready."

"I gather castration is out of the question then," Lydecker said sarcastically.

His CEO raised her eyebrows.

"Just another way we might subdue him," the colonel explained. "Without damaging his brain."

"Absolutely not! As I said before, he's a valuable breeder -- irreplaceable really so far as our genetic database goes."

"So, I gather you want him returned to training then," the colonel said, giving up.

"Immediately."

A very heavy sigh. "I'll have him released from 'sensory dep' and run through medical. If they give him a clean bill of health, I'll then assign him to a platoon. Maybe his fellow soldiers can do something to bring 494 around."

"I need him deployed in three weeks," Ms. Brown reminded him.

"Maybe," Lydecker conceded. "I do have an idea ... Peer pressure can be very persuasive."

"See to it!" his boss ordered. "And in the meantime, I also want 494 paired off. Consult the geneticists for the best match. Perhaps one of the X6 females. The X5s are too ferocious and independent. The X6s too docile. We're experimenting with a cross hoping to achieve a balance between rogue behavior and obedience."

"Yes, mam," Lydecker said, as he reached for the phone.

*****

The light spilling through the open door blinded him. Suppressing a cry, Alec threw up an arm in front of his eyes.

What now?

"Get dressed, 494!" X5-600 barked, tossing him a bundle of clothing. "Then come with me."

"What's goin' on?" Alec asked, his voice hoarse with thirst. "And, by the way, my name's 'Alec' now."

"Your designation's X5-494, soldier," Lane replied scathingly. "You have no other identity. And you've been assigned to my squad." Then, the large transgenic smiled. "And, 494, you have no idea how much I'm looking forward to teaching you your lessons."