DISCLAIMER: All DARK ANGEL characters belong to James Cameron and Charles Eglee (Cameron Eglee Productions) and DARK ANGEL itself belongs to FOX.

ARCHIVE: No

Photo courtesy of Still Frame

"Sir, still no sign of the rogue Unit."

Donald Lydecker paced the small room, hands behind his back and brow wrinkled. Speaking more to himself than to the sergeant -- thinking out loud -- he muttered, "Where could he have gone? It's been four days since 494 received an injection. He has to be in agony by now." He looked up at the young officer and barked, "You're certain he couldn't have gotten into Terminal City without our seeing him? There are sewer tunnels and probably other secret accesses as well."

"Sir, our hidden cameras and satellite surveillance have all possibilities covered. 494 did not go to Terminal City." The younger man looked up at his commanding officer and added. "Besides, even if he did, there's nothing they could do help him, right? He'll be dead anyway in a couple of more days."

"I don't want him dead!" Lydecker roared, banging a fist on the desk and rattling the laptop computer the sergeant was using. "494 is of no use to me dead! I don't need his body parts! What I need is for him to be whole and healthy and under my complete control!" He turned and looked out the tiny office window to the vast warehouse interior looming beyond. One of Old Manticore's bases of operation, the location had been maintained for use by the new regime fin case of emergencies such as this one. Taking a deep calming breath, the Colonel asked, "What about the hospitals and clinics?"

"All covered. Sir, we've got almost two hundred regular soldiers in the field blanketing the city. No sign of the Unit at any of the emergency rooms or doctors' complexes."

"Unless 494's already dead," Lydecker breathed, "he's got to be under intensive medical care by now. And I'm betting that 452 is with him. No one's seen Max for almost two days either in or out of Terminal City." Running a hand back through greying blond hair, the Colonel picked up his mug of cold coffee from the desk, took a sip, and made a wry grimace at the bitter taste. Still, it was caffeine ... something to help keep him awake and alert. He had to find that Unit. If he didn't, then his whole experimental operation to find ways to bring X5s back into the fold without extensive -- not to mention expensive -- reindoctrination would be scrapped by The Committee. 494 was the lab rat ... the prototype ... deemed a success up until now. At this point he couldn't lose it all.

"What about Berrisford?" Lydecker asked. "Did his body ever turn up?"

"No, sir," the sergeant said. "We've been watching Sector Police records closely and no corpses matching that description have been found."

"But his jet landed at the private airfield?"

"Yes, sir. However, no one that we've been able to find at the hangar saw passenger's disembark. If 494 was capable of flying the jet--"

"He was."

"Then he wouldn't have needed anyone else on the plane. It's possible Berrisford's body is still back in New York somewhere."

Lydecker took another sip of the awful coffee, puckered his lips, and let his gaze wander to the vast space of the warehouse beyond the window once more. "Where would 494 go?" he asked out loud, truly puzzled. "If he reached 452, she's going to be trying to help him, and he has to have massive medical intervention at this point." Then suddenly, a thought occurred, and the Colonel turned to his sergeant. "What about Logan Cale?" he asked. "Have we been in contact with him? So far as we know he's still 452's boyfriend so he might have information about 494."

"Video surveillance of Cale's apartment hasn't shown anything," the young officer said. "He's stayed inside for the past three days. Phone records confirm it. He's been using a land line."

"Do we have a wire tap in place?" Lydecker asked.

"We've tried twice, sir, but Cale has some kind of electronic jamming device in his equipment that circumvents our tap."

"Damn!" Lydecker spat, not relishing the idea of attempting to extract a certainly well fortified Cale from right beneath the noses of an army of transgenics. But then suddenly his head shot up, an idea forming in his mind. "Check Cale's records," he said sharply. "I want to know who his primary care physician is."

The officer began typing. "You think 452 might be using Cale's doctor for 494?" he said.

"Exactly," Lydecker replied with a wicked smile. "Afterall, she's gone that route before."

*****

"Whoa," O.C. said softly, pausing in the doorway as her eyes took in the unconscious X5 lying on the bed. "I've never seen our talkative boy so still," she added, her eyes going to Max in sympathy.

"I know," Max said in a little voice as she glanced at the readouts on the machines. "It's spooky ... Alec like this. He was always so self sufficient ... unafraid ... He always had a plan, even if it sucked, and he's always been there for me when it counts. Now ..." Her voice trailed off as she gestured helplessly at her fallen brother.

"He's gonna pull through, Boo," O.C. said, taking firm hold of Max's arm and giving her a little shake. "You just hafta keep tellin' yourself that."

"I know," Max said, wiping a tear from her cheek. "But his blood pressure and heart rate are so high. His body must be under a huge amount of stress. What if he breaks, O.C.? What if something inside him ruptures? He could have a stroke or a heart attack or there could be kidney failure ... brain damage ..." Again, her voice trailed off.

"None of which has happened yet," O.C. chided her friend. "Alec's strong, Max. Real strong. Remember how bad they did to Zack? He survived, didn't he? Is Alec any less of a soldier than Zack was?"

Max had to concede her friend's point. In his own way, Alec was as much of a fighter as Zack and just as stubborn -- probably something in the DNA, she thought sarcastically -- like the snarky attitude which both male X5s also possessed in abundance.

O.C.'s hand tightening made Max look at her. "Fight with him, Boo. Fight with him, and for him. 'Cause that's the only way your tom cat's gonna come back to the living ... if you and he and God want it to be."

"God," Max said quietly, a small smile touching her lips as she remembered another time she'd prayed for Divine intervention and seemingly been granted her wish.

"Couldn't hurt," O.C. said softly. "Not that your sista here's suddenly taken to religion, but it makes sense to cover all the bases if you know what I mean."

Pray for Alec? Max thought. Pray for a creature that -- according to many -- didn't even possess a soul? What the hell, she silently shrugged and bowed her head.