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The colors behind his closed eyelids went gradually from black to a soft orange-red.  He groaned ruefully, knowing what that meant.  Technically he had been awake for some time now. But he figured that by keeping his eyes closed he could tell himself that it was still night and that he was still asleep.  Morning was an unwelcome event.  Morning meant waking up.  If he were not awake he would not have to face the day.  He would not have to face the thoughts and memories that were drifting, threateningly, at the periphery of his mind.  In this space, between sleep and the waking world, he could still pretend that nothing was different than it had been; that everything was right with the world.  He knew it could not stay that way.  But at this moment, he wished with all of his might that he could stay here forever, in the dark.

With what seemed like Herculean effort, he opened his eyes, one at a time.  He could see the uninvited sunlight coming in through the blinds of the big window at one end of his bedroom.  He watched this for a time, the light creeping its way across the floor like slow flowing lava, threatening to engulf him at any moment.  He watched as the light radiated off of the bright white walls of this room, adding even more unwanted brilliance to it.  He squinted painfully as the sun rose just enough to flood his eyes with searing brightness.  He spat out a curse and sat up angrily in bed.  There was nothing he could do about it.  Morning was here; the day had begun; damn it all.  He might as well get it over with.

With a grunt he heaved his legs out of bed and onto the cold hardwood floor.  He rubbed his eyes and looked about his bedroom.  It seemed very large now.  It seemed like it had been a lot "cozier" when this had been a couple's bedroom suite.  It wasn't quite a "swingin' bachelor's bedroom yet but it certainly had that look of being occupied by only one tenant. The furniture was sparse and plain; just the queen-sized bed, a three-drawer dresser and an ancient nightstand.  Once, this room had been homey and decorated.  There had been more furniture, and things like jewelry, music boxes, and stuffed animals cluttering up the flat surfaces of the room.  There had been pictures of a happy couple.  The smell of perfumes and lotions had mixed to create the unmistakable aroma of a feminine inhabitant.  

That was all gone now.  The coziness, the femininity, the ``couplehood'' of it all had been boxed up, distributed between the two of them and moved out. He imagined it as being the ghost of a room.  That's what it looked like.  There were spots on the floor that told the story of a piece of furniture that had once been there.  There were holes in some of the walls that indicated where pictures had once hung.  But they were gone.  The room was now lifeless and empty and far, far too bright.

He was stalling and he knew it.  It was time to get a move on.  He stood from the bed and headed to the bathroom just outside his room.  He flicked on the light and turned the knobs of the shower to get the process of heating water started.  That was one of the problems with these old houses.  Old pipes and an ancient water heater meant that it took a good five minutes to really get the shower hot enough for bathing.  He looked at himself in the mirror as he waited.  He couldn't really say for sure, but he looked older.  He was probably just imagining it.  His brown, unruly hair showed no signs of gray yet, and underneath the two day growth of beard, his face was unlined.  It was the eyes, he thought.  She had always liked his eyes, or so she had said when they were together.  She was always commenting on the deep chocolate brown color with the flecks of gold throughout.  These days, to him, they just looked dull and cloudy.  

The shower finally started steaming, telling him that it was time to get going.  He hopped in the shower and let his mind wander as he bathed.  He thought about the night that she had left.  He thought about the days since then.  He thought about how he watched her as she got in her car and drove off to her mother's house, tears streaming down her face.  The memory stung him, though not quite as badly as it had in the early days of the breakup.  But it hurt a bit still.  He didn't quite understand why it did.  She had been the one to end the relationship, not him. 

He couldn't really say what had brought on the breakup.  He had simply come home on day to find her crying on the couch, a suitcase waiting by the door. She had stood and wiped her eyes and said, ``I'm sorry Mike but it's over.''  He couldn't remember what he had said.  But he was pretty sure ``Why?'' had come into it.  All he could remember of her answers where variations on the theme ``You're not in love with me and never really were.''  Eventually she had had enough of the conversation.  She had grabbed the suitcase and walked out.  He remembered thinking that he should follow her.  But he didn't.  He had let her walk away.  He didn't know why he had done that.  Nor did he know why he was so accepting of her request that he be absent while she removed her belongings from the house in the days after.  He had completely accepted the fact that it was over and let it happen. Maybe she was right.  Maybe he hadn't really ever loved her. Not the way that she wanted anyway.  

He knew he was fooling himself.  There was no ``maybe'' about it.  She was right.  He didn't love her the way that she loved him.  Yes, he cared about her, very much so.  And yes he genuinely wanted to make her happy.  But the reality is that when she left, he didn't try to stop her.  He didn't beg or plead or promise to change.  He let her drive away and had uttered no word of protest.  

He continued this line of thinking as he dressed and readied himself for the workday.  He paused briefly at the door, eyeing the decorative key hook there.  It was a gaudy piece of junk that someone had given them at their housewarming party.  ``Mike and Kristen'' it said, ornamented with bright green vines and ugly pink flowers.  He hated the thing but had left it hanging.  It was the last remaining item in this house that would remind anyone that she had once lived here.  He ripped it from the wall and tossed it across the room.  

* * * *

He squinted behind his sunglasses as he hurried toward the shade of the large glass and concrete building in front of him. Winslow Laboratories was his home away from home these days.  He had found work to be a pleasant distraction from the troublesome questions that poked at him when he had a moment to think.  His work wasn't particularly challenging but it did require a bit of concentration to get done.  

The Winslow Institute was a research complex that developed new technologies for military and civil applications.  In other words, they found new ways to blow shit up and then even newer ways to put shit back together.  He wasn't a scientist or engineer.  He was just the computer monkey that supported the geniuses as they tried to find new ways to end civilization as we know it.  Recently, however, he had been transferred to the brand new anthropology and archaeology center.  He was now writing code to catalog information on how other civilizations had blown shit up and put it back together. Sexy, it wasn't.  But it paid the bills and didn't require too much of him.  

He was deep in his ``zone'' today.  He had on his headphones and was hacking away at his keyboard.  He wasn't particularly focused on anything but the screen in front of him.  Even the music held no interest for him.  It was just some mindless techno garbage that Kristen had put on his mp3 player; some vestige of her youth that she tried to get him to experience.  The music sucked but it had a decent beat and he found it great for working;  something to distract that pesky ``artistic'' part of the brain while he let the analytical side do its thing.  

Suddenly he felt something come down hard on his shoulder.  He jumped in his seat and then spun around quickly, ripping the earbuds out of his ears.

``Jesus Christ Jeff!'' he said scowling at the man in front of him.  Jeff was the director of the antiquities department.  He was a tall husky-looking fellow with sandy blonde, thinning hair. He was, as Mike had thought, built like a linebacker, not exactly what one would expect an anthropologist to look like.  

``Calm down Mopey,'' Jeff jibed, dropping himself into the spare chair in Mike's office '', just wanted to see what you were doing for lunch.''  

``I dunno,'' Mike replied '', probably need to get to the hospital and have my blood pressure checked!'' 

``Seriously dude, I'm switching you to decaf.'' Jeff replied picking up the mp3 player on Mike's desk and flipping through it. ``Oh man.  How can you listen to this crap?'' he said dropping the device back on the desk.

``That's kind of the point'' Mike replied, defensively.  ``I don't listen to it.  I just let the beat give me a rhythm for working.''

``I think you missed your calling on the chain-gang'' Jeff replied, sounding bored. ``So, seriously, lunch...where we going?'' 

``You act as though there's a ton of selection around here.'' Mike bit back.  That was the truth.  The Winslow Institute was at least 15 minutes from the center of town.  Too long to drive and expect to have a decent amount of time for lunch.  There were three restaurants within walking distance of the lab. A greasy spoon that served everything from tacos to hamburgers (and was guaranteed to have you reaching for the Maalox twenty minutes after eating there), a somewhat upscale restaurant that guys like Jeff took potential investors when they were in town, and Bartolo's, a diner that served your standard-variety Americana.  Jeff and Mike had sworn off of the greasy spoon after one particularly bad plate of Mega Nachos they had shared and the ritzy place was only open for cocktail hour and dinner.  So, Bartolo's it was...everyday.  Mike made a mental note to himself that he must start brown-bagging his lunch.

He cursed under his breath as they walked out into the noonday sun. He'd forgotten his sunglasses back at his desk. And there was no way he was going badge back in and walk all the way back up to his office to get them.  By the time they got to the restaurant his temples ached from squinting.  He massaged them a bit after sliding into a booth.  He didn't need a menu.  He'd pretty much memorized it by this point.  An overly chipper nineteen year old waitress took their orders and promised to be right back with their drinks.

Jeff let out a low whistle.  ``Man, they grow 'em nice out here'' he said.

Mike picked up his head.  ``Huh?''

``The waitress, check her out.'' Jeff explained, indicating with his head toward the kitchen area.  Mike followed his friend's eyes.  She was quite attractive; long blonde hair, pretty face, gorgeous eyes, tight young body.  She was a knockout, to be sure.  ``You gotta get her number dude.'' Jeff said, nudging his arm.

``Pass.'' Mike said, pulling out his phone, pretending to scroll through text messages.

``Seriously?  You going gay on me?'' Jeff said incredulously. 

``Yes,'' Mike said, his voice dripping with bored sarcasm '', your dashing good looks have finally gotten to me Jeff.  I only want you now.''

``You're a regular Dane Cook, Mike.'' Jeff replied, ``Seriously though, get her number.  Turn on that old Carmichael charm and flirt your way to getting her number.''

``Why don't YOU get her number if it's so important to you?'' Mike asked, somewhat annoyed at Jeff's persistence.

``Oh yah, I'm sure Carol will go for that.'' Jeff replied, jovially ``I'm a pretty damn smooth-operator with the wife, but I've tried the threesome angle before.  She ain't biting.'' Mike chuckled at the joke.  His friend made a big show of ogling any attractive woman he saw when they were about. But Mike had seen him at home.  There, he was every bit the devoted family man.  The closest he ever got to straying from his marriage was trying to live vicariously through Mike.   

``That reminds me though,'' Jeff said after a minute.  ``Carol is taking Haylie to her Mom's house this weekend.  She suggested I take you out to Fuzz on Saturday.''  Fuzz was the trendy new nightclub in town.  Mike resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  That was all he needed.  To be stuck in a sweltering night club, over paying for bad drinks with Jeff trying to set him up with every short skirt in the place.  Jeff continued to try to sell to Mike the benefits of a night amongst the young and beautiful.  The waitress brought their food at some point and again Jeff urged Mike to make a pass at her.

``Thanks, but no thanks'' he said, picking up his sandwich.

``Oh come on man!'' Jeff protested.  ``We need to get you back out there, where the action is!  You've been moping about your apartment for like two months now.  It's time to move on and get back in the game.''

Dating.  That sounded about as appealing right now as eating a double helping of Mega Nachos followed by a box of prunes.

``Once again,'' Mike shot back '', thank you and Carol for your concern but I'm just really not interested in dating.''

``Fine!'' Jeff forfeited.  ``Just let me know when you're ready and we'll paint the town red.''

``I wouldn't hold your breath'' Mike said absent-mindedly.

``What's that supposed to mean?'' Jeff asked quizzically.

``It means...I'm taking a break from the whole romance thing for a while.''

Jeff let out a loud ``psshaw''.  ``Who said anything about romance.  I'm talking cheap thrills here.''

``Not my style and you know it.'' Mike said pointedly.

``Granted, but...seriously?  This is your time man.  The post-breakup time period is crucial.  You only get about six to eight months of pity fucks.  You gotta strike while the iron is hot.  With me, your trusty wingman, at your side, you can have the pick of that club.''

``Ease off your main thruster Goose'' Mike laughed back. ``I'm out of the game...indefinitely.''

``Indefinitely?'' Jeff asked, his brow coming together in confusion.

``You betcha.'' Mike said matter-of-factly.  ``If there is one thing this whole Kristen thing has taught me is that I am absolutely not relationship material.  And since I have a hard time with the whole casual sex thing, well, it's the monastic life for me.''

Jeff slammed his hands down on the table.  ``What the hell did that crazy bitch do to you?'' he said, angrily.  ``She take your balls along with the Tivo?''

Mike frowned at this.  ``Ease of the 'crazy bitch' stuff.  It's not her fault.''

``What's not?'' Jeff asked, an edge of anger still in his voice.

``Any of it.'' Mike explained ``The breakup, the self-imposed celibacy.  All of it.  Not her fault.  It's mine.'' 

``Wait, I thought SHE broke up with YOU'' Jeff said, a look of confusion coming over his face.

``She did.'' Mike continued. ``But it was my fault.  She was right.  I didn't really love her.  I mean, I loved her, but I didn't...I dunno.  She wasn't the one.  And she knew it.''

``I think you're being too hard on yourself,'' Jeff said cautiously. ``You were really good to her.''

``Oh I know that,'' Mike explained. ``I played my part right.  I went through all the motions, did everything that a good boyfriend is supposed to do.  I bought the flowers and remembered the birthdays and anniversaries and planned the cute little getaways.   But...I dunno...I was never really there. Like, in it for real.  I was the relationship equivalent of a paycheck player. In it for the salary, no love for the game.''

Jeff sat back in his booth.  Mike could tell that he was mulling over what he had just said. The two ate in silence for a bit before Jeff broke it.

``Okay, so she wasn't the one for you.  How are you going to find the one for you if you hole up in your house every night playing Xbox and watching porn?,'' he asked, the concern in his voice growing.

``Don't know and don't care. I can't even say that 'the one' is even out there.  Maybe this is it for me.  Maybe I'm just not meant to find that kind of love.'' Jeff frowned at this statement.  Mike could tell that Jeff was about to object so he continued. ``I mean don't get me wrong, I would love to have something like what you have.  But...I dunno.  I'm just tired of it.  I'm tired of the whole thing.  The looking, the flirting, the awkward dates, the relationship stuff.  I'm tired of it.  I've been 'looking for love in all the wrong places' for too long now.  I'm out.  If this mythical 'one' for me is out there, she can look for me for a change''

Jeff just shook his head.  ``Allright man, it's your life.''

They ate in silence for a while as Jeff tried to process Mike's newfound determination to remain single.  Mike was anxious to be done with the whole subject.  He decided that ``shop talk'' would be a good distraction.

``So,'' Mike said '', the cataloging program is almost done.  Just a few more days and it should be ready for fulltime use.''

``Awesome dude,'' Jeff replied, falling for Mike's change of subject '', glad to hear it.  The lab assistants are tired of keeping their records on paper.''  Jeff focused on his food for a bit and then looked up.  ``Oh hey, that reminds me of something.''

``What's up?'' Mike asked.

``I'm going to need you to setup a new workstation for next week.''

``New intern?'' Mike asked.

``Yes.  No. Not really.'' Jeff answered.

Mike chuckled '', How can it be both?''

``Well.  We're trying to hook up a big new donor.  She's looking to donate millions to the Archaelogy department. But there are strings attached.'' Jeff explained.

``Strings?'' Mike asked.

``Yah. She's this nutty old lady.  You know old hippy or something.  She's super big into like Atlantis and all that nonsense. Know what I mean?'' Jeff continued.

``Yah, I know the type.'' Mike nodded.

``Well, about the time the lab opened up, we got our hands on these artifacts that someone dug up out in the California desert.  Weird shit.  They're pre-Columbian but they show signs of...'' Jeff trailed off.

``Of what?'' Mike prodded.

``Well, engineering, for lack of a better term.'' Jeff said.

``Huh?'' Mike asked, his brow knitting in confusion.

``They're...I dunno...mechanical.'' Jeff said.

``Mechanical?  Like gears and shit?'' Mike asked.

``Well, yah, kinda.  I dunno, they're hard to puzzle out.  They definitely seem to have a mechanical look to them.  Moving parts, working in conjuction and whatnot.'' Jeff said, a confused look on his face.

``You sure some jerkoff didn't just bury his '57 Chevy in the desret or something.'' Mike said, trying the obvious explanation.

``We're not that clueless in the lab, Mike.'' Jeff said '', they're clearly not modern.  Besides which, they're made of stone.  And they're clearly pre-Columbian.  Besides which, they carbon date to over 20,000 years old.''

Mike nearly spat out his drink.  ''20,000 years old?''

``Yah, I know. Freaky shit right?  Well, we figure it's probably just a hoax.  Carbon-dating isn't perfect and it's not hard for someone knowledgeable to fool the machines.  Either that or it's just some native artwork carved into some kind of rock that gums up the works or something.  We're not seriously considering the idea of an advanced civilization that old.''

Mike shook his head.  ``Freaky shit allright.  But, what does that have to do with the crazy old broad?''

``Oh,'' Jeff replied, getting back to the point '', well, like I said, she's way into that 'Lost Civillizations' baloney.  Normally we'd just tell her to take a hike but she's LOADED.  And she's offering us a shit ton of money.  But she's not impressed with our ignoring the possibility of a 'lost culture'.  So, she's demanding that we let her niece work here as an archivist.  She's concerned that we'll take her money and then ignore a bunch of evidence of this 'lost kingdom', or whatever.''

``Yeesh.  What a pain in the ass!'' Mike commiserated.

``Yah well, we could use the help in cataloging.  For the money she's offering, I'm not about to put up a fight.'' Jeff replied.

``Well then, I'll have her setup when she gets here.'' Mike said ``When is that anyway?''

``Next Monday.'' Jeff replied.

``No problem.  Standard applications and whatnot?'' Mike asked.

``Yah, but lock her down tight'' Jeff said seriously.  ``She gets access to nothing but email,internet, word processor, and the cataloging app.''

``Got it,'' Mike said, nodding his head.

``Whelp, I've reached my cholesterol quotient for the day.'' Jeff said, throwing down his napkin.  ``Let's get back to the salt mines.''

``Right behind you.'' Mike said, throwing down a twenty dollar bill.  ``Lunch on me today.''

``What for?'' Jeff asked.

``For being a good friend.  Thanks for trying so hard to get me out of the house.'' Mike replied.

Jeff paused for a moment.  ``Yup...going gay, I knew it.'' He said.

Mike rolled his eyes and got up from the booth.  

****

Five hours later, Mike shut down his computer and badged out of the office.  As he walked out of the building into the warm evening air he was glad he had decided to work late.  He happily tucked his sunglasses into his shirt as he watched the last bit of sun disappear below the horizon.  A slight breeze kicked up and Mike delighted at the feel of it taking away the last of the day's heat.  

Walking into his house he moved to hang his keys from the keyhook and found that it was not there.  He chuckled to himself as he remembered tearing it off the wall that morning.  He threw the keys on the kitchen counter as he moved to the refrigerator.  He microwaved a frozen burrito and grabbed a beer.  He normally eschewed drinking on work nights but it seemed the perfect thing for a warm evening.

His burrito cooked, he plopped down on the couch to enjoy his bachelor's feast.  He turned on the television, not really interested in watching anything.  He flipped through channels landing on Sports Center.  As the anchors rattled of scores and highlights from the day's games, he ate, enjoyed his beer and thought about his conversation with Jeff at lunch.

He'd meant what he said about checking out of the dating scene.  He'd had enough of relationships.  Kristen wasn't the first to leave him this way.  Before her had been Jane, and before Jane it was Vanessa.  All of them had had similar complaints.  With Jane and Vanessa it had been easy to blame them.  He had been a lot younger when they had left.  He could tell himself that they were just asking too much of a young man.  That he wasn't ready for all of that.  But he could see now that he had been rationalizing.  It had nothing to do with being ``ready'' or ``able'' for the kind of love they wanted from him.  He just wasn't in love with them. Not the same way that they were in love with him.  

He was tired of it; tired of seeing the hurt and disappointment in their eyes as he let them leave.  He was tired of trying to figure out how to give them what they needed.  He was tired of saying ``I love you'' knowing that it was a bald-faced lie.  He couldn't blame Kristen for leaving.  He couldn't imagine what she must have gone through; loving someone knowing that they didn't love you back.  What a nightmare he must have put her through.  He hated himself for that.

He suddenly became aware that the television was now broadcasting an infomercial.  He had been wallowing in self-pity for the better part of two hours now.  He shook his head, annoyed at himself.  It was time to be done with the navel-gazing.  He didn't really feel better about anything yet. But sitting here and obsessing over these things wouldn't help.  It was time to be done for the day.  He left the couch and cleaned up his dinner trash and headed for bed.

Flicking off the light, he climbed into bed.  He lay in bed for a time, just enjoying the darkness.  Darkness brought peace, quiet, and calm.  In these dark moments, nothing could touch him.  Everything was possible and nothing was out of reach.  No worries from the day could touch him here.  He tried not to let himself notice the sad reality that, peaceful and unbothered though he may be, he was completely alone.  And though he may try to tell himself otherwise, he felt it very deeply.  Would it be like this forever?  Would he ever be able to welcome the warmth and light of another into this dark prison of his?  He didn't know.  He fell asleep, his mind buzzing with dark thoughts.

****

The rest of the workweek flew by in a blur of activity.  He worked late every night that week and got not only caught up, but way ahead with his work.  When Friday evening rolled around, he fended off Jeff's last-minute attempt to get him to go clubbing. The moment he got home, he turned off his cell phone with no intent of turning it back on until Monday morning.  Loneliness and depression he could deal with.  Jeff calling him five times a day to peer-pressure him into going to the club, he could not.  

He spent the weekend sleeping late, watching sports, and looking at furniture online.  He had never been much of a decorator but he had to do something with the place.  It was starting to feel like a mausoleum. He picked out a few pieces and made a mental note to go out next weekend to pick them up.  He thought about asking his mother to help him with the whole decorating thing.  But he hated the idea of being a grown man who had to ask him mother to do something for him.  He went to bed late Sunday night trying to figure out what else he could do to liven up his drab house.  

He arrived at the office ahead of schedule and set about setting himself up for the workday.  Coffee in hand, he set about checking his email. There were the garden variety requests for computer help, requests from human resources to schedule vacation time, and the marketing department announcing new sales and favorable mentions of the Winslow Labs in industry publications.  But there at the bottom of his unread messages list was a reminder from Jeff to have the workstation ready for the new intern.  ``Dammit!'' Mike thought.  He had forgotten all about that.  He cursed again as he headed off to the storeroom where he kept spare equipment.  

Fortunately he was able to find a spare computer in storage.  He picked it up and lugged it back to his office to install all of the necessary software that the intern would need.  He was in the process of setting up her email when his phone rang.  Wheeling across the floor in his office chair he picked up the phone.  ``Mike Carmichael.'' he answered.

``Hello Michael,'' the voice on the other side greeted him '', this Otto.''  

Mike cringed.  Otto was the chief anthropologist of the department.  The man held PhDs in Anthropology, Archaeology, and Botany and had taught at Harvard.  Yet anything to do with computers vexed him to no end.  Mike knew that any call from Otto would end up with him trying to explain for the fiftieth time how to use the printer.

``Hey Otto.'' Mike replied ``Everything ok?''

``Not really, no.'' Otto said in his thick German accent.  ``The cataloging program isn't working.''

``Uh-oh.'' Mike said, stifling his annoyance.  Whatever the ``problem'' was, he was sure that it was something Otto was doing wrong that was causing it.  ``What seems to be the problem with it?'' 

``Well, none of us are able to enter any information.  When we try it says that there is a problem 'communicating with the database'''.  Otto said, obviously reading the error message on his screen.

Mike groaned.  In his haste to leave the office on Friday he had forgotten to configure the database for the new cataloging program.  This meant he would have to go down to the server closet to fix it.  

``Sorry about that Otto.'' Mike said ``That's my fault.  I'll get your all fixed up.  Give me about twenty minutes.''

``Thank you Mike'' Otto said, hanging up the phone.

Mike hung up the receiver and headed down to the server closet.  In a normal office, the server room would be a high-tech room, climate controlled and well lit.  But the Antiquities Department at Winslow Labs had been set up in a hurry.  There was no money in the budget to build the kind of room that Mike had asked for.  The only space available with the necessary electrical and climate control systems that were needed was the fragile artifacts storage center.  

Most artifacts that are pulled out of the ground are made of things like stone and clay.  They are durable enough that they can be placed in a normal warehouse.  But sometimes, archaeologists are lucky enough to find things like paper and crafts made of wood.  Many times, these types of artifacts are so fragile that they need to be kept in very precise climate conditions.  Even normal fluorescent lights will damage them.  As such, the lab set aside a ``dark room'' with special climate controls to hold these items.  This was where Mike was allowed to set up his data center.  It was a pain to work in this room.  The only lights that were allowed in this room where special protective lights that cast a purple-white glow.  These lights were almost worse than no light.  He had been allowed to put in a barrier between the storage tables and his array of computers so that the light from the monitors would not harm the artifacts.  The space was cramped, cold, and of course, very dark.  He hated having to do things down here.  But it would take him far longer to drag the server up to his office than to just get it working from here.

He was busily hacking away at the keyboard and flipping through messages on the screen when from the corner of his eye he caught a line of bright white light.  In horror he watched the line widen as a the door to the lab floor opened.  Thoughts of damaged artifacts raced through his mind as he shouted, ``SHUT THE DAMN DOOR!''.  He heard a gasp and the silhouette of a woman stepped into the light.  

``I'm sorry,'' a lightly accented voice called out '', they told me I could find Michael here.''

``Jesus Christ!  Get in and shut the damn door! What the hell is the matter with you?'' he shouted back at the intruder.  He saw the silhouette step into the room and watched the door close behind her.  He cursed again as the light left the room.  The intrusion of light had killed his night vision and now he was left with only the light of the monitor to see by.  Just then the computer he was working on rebooted leaving him with a black monitor screen and very little light in the room.

``I'm very sorry,'' he heard the voice call out again '', I was told to find a Michael Carmichael to get access to my computer.''

``Well you found him!'' he called back rudely.  Mike began to stumble about in the limited space of the data center, tripping over cables and boxes.

``Can I help?'' the voice asked.   

``No! Just hold on!'' he shouted.  ``Don't move.  I need to find the light switch.''  

He muttered under his breath as he felt along the wall for the switch.  His hand passed over bits of metal, glass and wood as he searched for the familiar plastic square of the switch.  He found the light switch and was about to activate it when he felt soft, cool flesh pressing on top of his hand.  A purple-white light came on above as the two hands pushed the switch.

He found himself looking into a pair of large violet-colored eyes.  An unseen power gripped at his chest and a gasp escaped his lips.  Every single inch of his skin erupted in goosebumps as a wave of energy flowed through him.  She was standing no more than six inches from him.  Her eyes as wide as his and her soft pink lips parted in a gasp that matched his own.  Her pale white skin glowed in the purple-white lights of the room, giving her the image of an aura surrounding her.  Her midnight dark hair tumbled down her neck in a river of dark waves.  

He was transfixed, staring at the image in front of him.  He was unable to move, unable to speak.  All he could do was stand there and let his eyes satisfy their need to drink in every inch of her.  His heart raced, his mouth went dry, his legs and hands shook and his breath came out in a quick gasps.  

As he stood, mesmerized by this image in front of him, a beep sounded from the computers behind them, breaking the reverie.  They looked away from each other and Mike shook his head to clear the cobwebs from his mind.  

``I'm...uh...I'm sorry I yelled at you.'' He said apologetically. ``The uh...stuff in this room is kind of sensitive.  The fluorescent lights can damage them.  We have to use these special lights to...protect them or something.''  He nervously checked the computers not really seeing the information on the computer monitors.

``It's quite allright,'' she said behind him '', I should have paid attention to the signs on the door.  Have I done any damage?''  Her voice was soft and almost melodic.  A faint accent colored her speech, rolling her words off of her tongue in a mesmerizing beautiful way.

``Um...well...I don't think so.  I guess I'll have to get one of the researchers to check it out.''

``Why don't I help you with that.'' She replied. ``I'm an anthropologist.  I should be able to assess any damage.''

He turned to face her again, drawing a deep breath to prepare himself for his reaction.  He started at her feet, covered in smart blue pumps, up her perfect calves, following the lines of her blue short-sleeved dress which accented the curves of her body.  He raised his eyes further until he met her pale violet eyes once more.  Again that feeling of having the wind knocked out of him returned.  To say that her eyes were beautiful would have been an injustice to them.  They were like nothing he had ever seen.  They were light and enticing.  They beamed with a fire of ambition and yet he noted a touch of sadness in them.  He had often heard people describe being lost in another's eyes.  But he had never quite understood that cliché until now.  

``Um...yah...ok.  I need a couple of minutes in here anyway.  Go ahead, the bins are right over there.'' He said, pointing toward the storage area.  She turned and walked to where he had pointed.

He hurriedly tried to finish up his work on the computers as he listened to her examining the fragile artifacts.  He really shouldn't be allowing her to do so and he knew it.  But he had to do something to pull his nerves together.  He worked furiously at the computer while trying to get his nerves under control.  He was having trouble understanding the reaction he was having to this woman he'd just met.  He'd never been the type to go all glassy-eyed and tongue-tied at the sight of a pretty face.  And yet one look from this strange new woman had left him nearly catatonic.  The weeks of self-imposed celibacy must be messing with his mind, he thought.  That was it, he thought.  Just a reaction brought on by a pent up sex drive.  Nothing to worry about.  He laughed at himself.  

Finished with his work, he wiped the sweat from his brow and headed back to check on the woman in the store room.  He found her seated at a lab table peering through a magnifying glass at an object underneath.

``Everything ok?'' he asked.  She looked up and again he found himself becoming ensorcelled by her.  He looked at the floor to avoid the reaction.  

``Yes,'' she answered.  ``Everything seems to be just fine.'' 

``Great.'' he said.

``I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself.'' She said moving away from the lab table and toward him.  She extended her hand toward him.  ``I'm Alana Mosvani, your new intern.'' 

He stared at her a moment.  This had to be some kind of joke.  This was the woman who was going to be seated in the office directly across from his own, separated from him only by a single glass window.  He suddenly wished for a bolt of lightning to strike him down.  

``I...uh...pleased to meet you,'' he said extending his own hand to meet hers.  ``I'm uh...Mike Carmichael, resident computer guy and uh... rude welcoming committee.''

She chuckled at his joke as their hands met again.  Again there was that feeling of electricity racing up his arm and into the center of his being.  They both pulled their hands away, swiftly, at the same moment.  Another awkward silence passed for a moment.

``Well uh...'' Mike said '', we should get you to your office so I can set up your computer I guess.''

``Yes,'' she said, turning her head away '', that sounds like a good idea.''

``Follow me'' he said. 

``Right behind you'' she replied.

Mike shut the lights off as they exited the store room.  He led her past the machinery and lab tables to the staircase that led up to the offices.  He could hear and feel her behind him as the ascended the stairs, but didn't dare look back.  He was afraid he was going to have another ``moment'' with her there on the stairs and either trip and break his neck, or babbling like an idiot in front of the entire lab staff. 

When they reached his office, he grabbed the small workstation that he had been preparing for her.  Computer in hand he pointed her to the office next to his, the one should be using.  He set the computer on the desk and began hooking up the cables and wires to it.  He decided that it would be polite to make some smalltalk while he worked. 

``So, how long have you been doing the archaeology thing?'' he asked.

She paused for a moment as if pondering her answer.  ``I'm just out of graduate school.'' She replied.  ``But I've been studying antiquities since childhood.''

``Is that so?'' he asked.

``Yes'' she answered '', I was raised by...professors.  They got me interested from a very young age.''

``Well then, this must be pretty exciting for you then.'' Mike said as he turned on the computer. 

``Yes, it's a great opportunity for me.''

``Well, congratulations then.'' He said smiling at her.

``Thank you'' she said, returning his smile.

He racked his brain, trying to find something else to say as he worked at her computer.  He suddenly remembered the circumstances of her employment at Winslow Labs.

``The lab directors are all very excited about your aunt's donation to the Archaeology Lab. It's very generous of her.''

She said nothing for a moment.  He mentally cringed, afraid that he had offended her. 

``I hope her...eccentricity has not colored people's perception of me.'' She said meekly ``I'm very serious about archaeology and I intend to do a good job here.''

Nice going jackass, he thought to himself.

``Oh, I wouldn't worry about that.'' He said, back peddling.  ``Everyone is pretty friendly around here.  And hey, it's all scientists and interns down here.  The whole lot of them are more than a little nuts.  I'm sure nothing your aunt is into could match what goes on with some of the freaks down there.''

She laughed.  ``Is that so?''

``Oh yah,'' he said '', Dr. Sanderson raises cockroaches.  And not just any cockroaches mind you, RACING cockroaches.''  His heart raced as he heard her laugh.  

``That must be quite something to see.'' She said.

``Yah, get him started some time and he'll show you the videos of some of the races.  He can go on about that stuff for hours.''

``I'll have to remember that if I get bored'' she said, still giggling. Just then, they heard a knock on the doorframe.  Jeff poked his head into the office. 

``Hey Mike,'' he said '',I see you've met Alana.''

``Yah,'' Mike replied '', I was just finishing up with her computer.''  He turned to face her.  ``You should be good to go now.''

``Great,'' Jeff said '', before we get you started why don't I give you a tour of the facility and introduce you to some of the folks you'll be working with.''

``Thank you,'' Alana said '', I would like that.''  She rose and stood next to Jeff.  

``We on for lunch later?'' Jeff asked Mike.

``Yah, sure,'' Mike replied.

``Cool.  I'll come get you when I'm ready.'' Jeff said, giving Mike a knowing grin. ``If you'll follow me?'' he said to Alana.

``Thank you for your help'' she said to Mike ``It was very nice to meet you.''  She was looking into his eyes again.  He felt like he was going to melt right there on the spot.

``Likewise.'' Was all he could muster ``I'm in the next office over so I'm sure we'll be seeing each other.''  He couldn't believe he had just said that.

She smiled.  ``I'm glad.''  

Jeff shot him an inquisitive look as he ushered her out of the office and down the stairs to the lab floor.   Mike returned to his own office and put his head down on the desk.  He wasn't sure of what just happened.  But he was certain that lunch was going to be hell.

* * * * *

He was wrong.  Hell would have been preferable to this.  Jeff, had come to get Mike for lunch at 12 noon sharp.  He didn't say anything as they walked from the offices out to the front entrance, all the way through the parking lot and as they sat down at the restaurant.  He didn't SAY anything because he spent the whole time holding in what Mike could tell was a ferocious onslaught of barbs and jabs.  Why, oh why, hadn't he brought his lunch today?

They sat at their usual booth and Jeff kept his eyes locked on Mike, that devilish smile never leaving his face, as they ordered.  Finally Mike had enough of the waiting.

``Get it out of your system'' he said.

``Get what out of my system?'' Jeff said, grasping at the edges of control over the laughter he was holding in.

``Oh fuck off,'' Mike said ``you know exactly what I'm talking about.''

That did it.  Jeff could hold out no longer.  He began to laugh uncontrollably, head thrown back and face turning red.  He pounded the table with one hand as tears streamed out of his eyes.  

``Oh Christ man, I'm dying here.  That was some seriously funny shit back there.''

Mike put his head down on the table.  Jeff meant absolutely every word of that.  

``Can't a guy have a chat with a pretty girl without it turning into...this?'' Mike pleaded.

``Oh come right on, man'' Jeff said, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to control the laughter '', you were tripping all over your dick.''

``Oh get off it man.  I was just being friendly.'' Mike said, annoyed.

``Friendly?'' Jeff said his eyebrows raising ``Friendly is 'Don't sit next to Dr. Noonyan during staff meetings, he has gas'.  YOU, my emo-fuckwit friend, were giving her the full court flesh press.''

``I WAS NOT!'' Mike protested.

``Oh, I'm sorry, 'I'm in the next office over, we'll be seeing each other often.  Oh and by the way, can I wear your ass for a hat?''' Jeff said, doing a mock impression of Mike.

``I didn't say that.'' Mike said shaking his head.

``Ok, maybe not, but it was ALL over your face.''

``Not every guy is as perverted as you.'' Mike said.

``Yes they are.'' Jeff said matter-of-factly. ``They're just not as honest about it.''

``I'll have to ask Carol about that at the next barbecue.'' Mike said threateningly.  He was satisfied when he saw Jeff tense up.

``An-nee-way'' Jeff continued ``my FAVORITE part was watching you blush like a little girl whenever she looked at you.  God I wish I had a camera''

``Whatever...'' Mike said, shaking his head and looking across the restaurant. ``I didn't blush.''

``You SO did!'' Jeff insisted, the laughter starting again. ``I have never, in all my years, see a man turn that shade of pink.  Comedy fucking GOLD!''

``I'm happy that I can amuse you so much'' Mike said rolling his eyes.  

``That you do my friend.  That you do.'' Jeff said laughing.  ``I think I'll put out a memo this afternoon, a little reminder about the company policy on intra-office dating.  I never thought it would come up in our little freakshow.  But now I see I may have something to worry about.''

``Relax.'' Mike said ``I just had a junior high moment with a pretty girl.  I'm not about to pull her into a broom closet or anything.''

``Why not? Something wrong with the broom closet?  Do we even have a broom closet?'' Jeff joked.

``Ha ha.  You know what I mean.'' Mike replied.  ``I'm just saying, you can hold off on that memo.''

Jeff suddenly got serious.  ``Wait, you're kidding right?'' he said ``You ARE going to ask her out, aren't you?''

Mike gave Jeff a puzzled look ``No.  I told you, I'm out of the dating game.''

``Mike...'' Jeff began, sounding irritated.

``Jeff...'' Mike mocked him in return.

``Now you're just being an idiot.'' Jeff finished.

``How do you figure?'' Mike asked.

``It's one thing to take a few weeks to be all moody and pensive...'' Jeff said.

``That's not what I'm doing.'' Mike interrupted.  Jeff held up his hand to indicate that he wanted Mike to let him finish.

``As I was saying...I totally understand what you're going through.'' Jeff continued.  Mike shook his head.  He didn't think Jeff understood at all.  ``And I understand that the idea of getting out there again is scary.  But this is different dude.''

Mike cocked an eyebrow.  ``Different?''

``Yah.  Different.  Not the same.'' Jeff replied.  Mike cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

``I don't see how.'' Mike said '', I had an awkward moment with a girl.  It happens.  How does that change anything?''

Jeff sighed and leaned back in the booth.  ``Mike, when was the last time you got like that around a girl?''

Mike thought back.  He tried to remember even a single experience he'd ever had that matched what had happened in the lab.  He couldn't.  

``I dunno'' he said, trying to sound uninterested in the conversation.  ``It's probably been a while.''

``I'll tell you buddy,'' Jeff said '', I haven't seen anything like that from you in the time that I've known you.''

``Ok'' Mike replied. ``So what?''

``So you don't think that means anything?  You don't think that the fact that this girl has such an effect on you is worth...examining?'' Jeff asked.

 ``What is it that I should be 'examining'?'' Mike asked.

Jeff thought for a second.  ``Maybe we should be looking at this scientifically.'' 

Mike chuckled.  ``Oh great.  Okay Dr. Phil.  I'll bite.  How do we look at this 'scientifically'?''

Jeff put on his reading glasses and adopted his best 'scientist' pose.  ``Ok. Well, let's start with an observation. I observe that the subject, that's you, responds a certain way to women that he finds attractive and compatible.  Take for instance, Kristen.  I was there when you met her.  Your actions were those normally associated with sexual interest.  You stood close to her, talked to her in a manner which suggested you wanted to know more about her, made her laugh and generally maintained a 'flirting' demeanor throughout the time you were together.''

That sounded about right to Mike, as far as he could remember. ``I'll accept your observation doctor.''

``Ok, now, that level of interest never really grew or shrank.  Throughout your relationship I would say that you maintained a pretty even level of interest and excitement about her.  You found her attractive and you were interested in her thoughts, feelings and opinions.  However, you were unable to raise that level of interest to the level of what one may call 'love'.  Does that sound right?'' Jeff asked.

Mike thought for a moment. ``So, that's how we're defining 'love' here;  a level of romantic interest above and beyond attraction and shared interests?''  

``Not a perfect definition, I know, but humor me.'' Jeff said.

``Ok then.  I'll accept your premise.'' Mike said.

``Great.  Ok, so that's my observation. Now, let's move on to my hypothesis.  I hypothesize that, if the subject were to start from a higher level of stimulus, his level of interest would be able to reach beyond his previous plateau and would thus overcome his inability to reach the level of interest that we have defined here as 'love'''

``And you think Alana is just the 'stimulus' I need?'' Mike asked.

``Oh, I think she's already stimulated you.'' Jeff replied.

``I think you're off your rocker.  But thanks for the science lesson doc.'' Mike said.

``I'm not kidding.  I gave and will continue to give you shit about your reaction back there. But seriously dude, I've never seen you like that before.'' Jeff said soberly.

``What do you mean?'' Mike asked.

``Look, I've known you for a while now.  I've seen pretty much every emotion that your feeble little brain is capable of. But never once in the time I've known you have I seen you utterly knocked on your ass like that.'' Jeff explained.

``You're over-reacting.'' Mike said dismissively.

``No, I swear to God I'm not.'' Jeff said.

Mike sat in silence for a moment, thinking about what Jeff had just explained.  Could he be right?  Hadn't he thought much the same thing?  This was crazy.  She was just a girl.  She wasn't any different than any other.  No, that wasn't right.  She was different.  Spectacular even.  But what did that mean?  

``Ok, Jeff.'' Mike said ``Let's just say, for the sake of argument, that Alana 'stimulated' me more than most women do.  That doesn't just magically cure me of my little 'problem'''.  

``Or does it?'' Jeff said, raising his eyebrows and cocking his head slightly.  ``My hypothesis is that it does.  But there's only one way to be sure.''

``Oh yah?'' Mike said. ``What's that?''

``Why, experimentation, of course.'' Jeff said, smugly. 

``Ah, I see.'' Mike said sarcastically.  ``So, the only way I can prove it would be to put myself into that situation and see what happens?'' Mike asked.

``Precisely!'' Jeff said, smacking the table.

``No can do.'' Mike said.

``Not even for science?'' Jeff asked.

Mike laughed. ``No, not even for science.  I just can't take the risk.''

Jeff sat back, defeated.  ``Mike, any decision you make is a risk.  Yes, by dating her you risk hurting her and being hurt by her.  But by not dating her, or any other woman for that matter, you risk missing something really great.''

Mike looked back at Jeff skeptically.

``The first time I met Carol,'' Jeff continued '', we were both at the same party.  The beer sucked and the band was worse.  All in all, a really lame event.'' 

``My buddy Tom gets a call from these girls that we'd banged back in Junior year.  Totally hot, totally easy.  A sure thing as it were.  So, we decided to bail and go get our rocks off with these girls. We were saying our goodbyes to the host when in walks Carol and her sister.  My roommate Greg introduced me to her.  Right away we hit it off and I was starting to have a really good time talking to her.  But then I see that the rest of my friends have their coats on and are totally waiting for me to go with them.  So, I had to make the decision right there.  I could stay and hang out with the cool new chick who I know nothing about, or I can go have an epic night with three hot chicks who I know.  

In the end, I took the risk.  I told my buddies to have a good night and I stayed and hung out with Carol.  Yah, it worked out in the end; but at the time, I had no idea what would happen.  I had to take a risk.  And Mike, let me tell you, to this day I lay awake at nights scared shitless at the thought of what would have happened had I taken the other path.''

They were silent then.  Mike continued to eat while he thought about everything Jeff had been saying.  He tried brushing off Jeff's assessment. But he had to admit, it made sense.  

``Look,'' Jeff said ``it's your life and I can't tell you how to live it.  And I promise I won't bug you about it anymore.  But just think about it.  Ok?''

``Yah,'' Mike nodded. ``Ok.  I'll think about it. I promise.''

``Awesome.'' Jeff said, looking satisfied.  ``Now, let's pay for this shit and get out of here.  You promised a certain young lady that you'd be seeing her around.''

Mike glared at Jeff.  ``Oops.'' Jeff said, feigning embarrassment.

****

When he returned to his office, Mike stole a glance through the window into Alana's office.  She was focused,intently, on her computer screen but looked up when she heard his door open. She gave him a bright smile which he returned weakly and then dropped his eyes back to his own monitor.  He couldn't handle this right now.  Later, he told himself.  But not right now when there was still work to be done.

About an hour after he had returned from lunch, Mike heard the clicking sound of heavy-soled shoes coming down the hallway.  He looked up to see four Winslow Labs security guards coming down the hall.  They wore matching jet-black suits with shiny black dress shoes.  Their sport coats bulged on both sides indicating the presence of a radio on the one side, and a holstered firearm on the other.  These guys always gave Mike the creeps.  No one could say that they weren't thorough with their jobs.  But the level to which they took it was intimidating to say the least.  They were utterly humorless in their efforts to maintain security and to prevent property theft and industrial espionage at the labs.  In Mike's first year with the company, a friend of his had been pulled in for questioning by security.  When he had returned his face was as white as a sheet and he was shaking and sweating profusely.  He wouldn't say what had happened when Mike had asked him.  He wasn't at the office the next day and never returned after that.  

He watched as the guards walked past his office and into Alana's.  With the only barrier between his office and hers being a thin sheet of Plexiglas, he would be able to hear every word of their conversation.  He looked intently at his monitor, trying to pretend that he wasn't about to eavesdrop.

One of the guards was clearly in charge here.  Mike had seen him before.  His name was Tomlinson.  If he had a first name, Mike had never heard it.  He was head of security for the whole company.  Mike couldn't imagine what kind of situation would require the head of security himself to come looking for Alana.

``Alana Mosvani?'' Tomlinson said as Alana turned around in her chair.  His voice was deep and flat, no intonation or betrayal of any kind of emotion.

``Yes.'' She answered, standing to face him.

``I'm Mr. Tomlinson, Director of Security for Winslow Labs.'' he said, his eyes bearing down on her.

``Pleased to meet you.''  She held out her hand.  Tomlinson's eyes never left hers.  He didn't move to take her hand.

``Is there anything wrong?'' she asked.

``No. I was just going over your resume and background check and I have a few questions I'd like to ask you. Is now a good time?'' he asked. His tone was calm and emotionless but Mike thought he could sense a touch of suspicion in it.  The guy was seriously creepy.

``Yes, now is just fine'' she replied. If she was shaken by Tomlinson, she didn't show it. 

``Please have a seat.'' He said, indicating to her chair. She sat, and Tomlinson pulled another chair over and sat facing her.  He signaled to one of his subordinates and the guard handed him a manila folder.  Tomlinson opened it and read.

``It says here that you are from Estonia. Is that correct?'' he began.

``Yes. I was born there.  But my family travelled a lot.  I grew up all over Europe'' she replied.

``Which brings me to my next question.'' He continued, barely registering her response. ``I'm having trouble finding any record of your parents.  You have them listed as Victor Mosvani and Nicole Trenet Mosvani. Do I have that correct?''

``Yes, that is correct.'' She replied, folding her hands in her lap.

``And what line of work were they in?''

``My father was a Calvinist minister, my mother a housewife.'' 

Tomlinson scribbled something on a piece of paper tucked into the manila folder. ``I see.  And your parents are deceased, is that correct?'' He could have been asking her if they had brown hair for all of the emotion in his voice.  Mike thought it a bit crass to so bluntly ask such a question.  Alana, however, didn't seem to notice.

``Yes, that's correct.  They died in an automobile accident when I was ten.''

Tomlinson, flipped through some of the other papers in his folder.  ``It's interesting,'' he said, not looking up '', I can find birth certificates, death certificates, and a marriage license for them...but other than that...nothing.''

``Is that unusual?'' she asked.

Tomlinson, looked up and locked his gaze upon her.  Mike was incredulous. How could he do that?  Mike couldn't catch her eyes for a second without going all jelly-legged.  This guy was staring her down like a disobedient dog.  ``Somewhat.  I would expect that a minister would have more of a public record.  Marriages performed, baptisms, published sermons.  And yet, nothing. It's almost as if...'' he paused, intensifying his glare ,``why, it's almost as if they did nothing with their lives but be born, get married, have a child, and die.''

Alana, never broke the stare. ``I see.  My father's flock was very small at the best of times.  And he had some very peculiar religious beliefs.  I can imagine that he would have thought it unnecessary to register his ministerial acts with the state.  But if you need it, I'm sure my Aunt has some of his papers. I could bring them to you.''

Tomlinson continued to stare at her.  He was reading her face, trying to find any indication that she was lying.  But Alana's face didn't budge.  ``No, that won't be necessary.  I'm sure you're right.''

``Is there anything else I can help you with?'' she asked, pleasantly.  

``Just one more thing,'' Tomlinson said ``Your college transcripts are quite impressive.  Someone with your resume would usually be on track for tenure at a prestigious university.  Can I ask you, why Winslow Labs?''

Alana smiled ``Two reasons'' she said.  ``Primarily, because my Aunt asked me to do this as a favor for her.''

Tomlinson's mouth twitched as if he were about to frown. But he pulled it back to his normal expressionless stare at the last moment.  ``Ah yes, your Aunt.  That would be a Mrs. Dora Stackhouse.  Is that correct?''

``Yes, my Aunt, your latest investor'' she replied 

``An interesting woman as I'm sure you know'' Tomlinson, a touch of mocking in his voice.  

``I know she's a bit eccentric but I assure you her heart really is in the right place.''

``I'm sure it is'' he said, scribbling in his folder.

``My second reason for accepting this internship,'' she continued '', was purely academic.  I want to see how the private sector handles archaeology.  To my knowledge, Winslow Labs is one of the few private companies ever to fund a private antiquities lab of this size.  I want to see if you can give the universities a run for their money.''

A long moment of silence passed between them.  Tomlinson stared at Alana and Alana stared right back.  Mike was sure that it would take a chainsaw to cut the tension flowing between them.  Finally, Tomlinson broke the silence.  ``Thank you for your cooperation.  I hope that you'll find our lab operations up to par.''

``You're welcome,'' Alana replied '', from what I've seen so far, you do things very well here.''

Tomlinson stood and straightened his sport coat.  He turned to walk out the door and then turned back. ``One more thing'' he said.

``Yes?'' 

Tomlinson hesitated for a moment.  ``Mr. Winslow asked me to ask you to convey his appreciation to your Aunt for her generous investment in our latest project.  And he would like to ask her to join him for dinner sometime so that he can thank her in person.''

Alana smiled. ``I will do that.'' 

``Thank you'' Tomlinson said curtly. He walked out, donning a pair of sunglasses as he left.  The retinue of guards filed out of view.  Mike was unnerved by the scene that had just played out.  He knew that the lab performed thorough background checks on new employees.  But the questions he was asking were beyond intrusive.  It was almost as if Tomlinson was interrogating her.  He had been pushing at her, trying to find her weak points so that he could exploit them and get her to crack.  It was insane.  And Alana had just sat there and taken it as if it were the most common thing in the world.  And that was another thing.  Her answers were straight and to the point.  No extraneous details or explanations.  They were the kind of answers that criminal defendants were told to give.  They left no room for a prosecutor to exploit and thus reveal a lie.  Was she lying? And if so, why?  And why was Tomlinson giving her the hard press to begin with?

Mike shook off his concern.  It was none of his business.  He tried not to think about it but found that it was nagging at him.  He looked up from his screen.  Alana was busily typing away at her computer.  But he thought he saw a bit more tension in her shoulders.  Before he knew it, he was staring at her again.  His eyes mesmerized by every inch of her angel's face.  His blood went cold and his heart stopped for a moment when he realized that she was no longer typing.  She was looking straight back at him.  All he could do was to offer a sheepish smile.  He felt his face go hot when she returned the smile.  Yup,he thought,I'm truly truly fucked.

****

By seven o'clock the archaeology lab was deserted and Mike was exhausted.  He had spent the rest of his day focusing on his work.  So focused was he, that he failed to notice how late it had gotten.  His shoulders and lower back ached from hunching over at his desk for five hours.  He stood and stretched, working out some of the tension in his muscles.  His head darted toward the window to Alana's office.  She was gone.  He breathed a sigh of relief.

He shook his head at the ridiculousness of his actions.  He was acting like the high school math geek who had been seated next to the prom queen in class.  It was absurd.  What must she think of him?  He gathered his belongings and shut down his computer.  He needed to get out of here and back the safe isolation of his empty house.  

He said goodnight to the security guard sitting at the desk in the entry hall.  The guard gave no indication that he even heard him.  Exiting the building Mike paused for a moment in the courtyard just outside.  The night was warm and slightly humid.  He smiled.  It was just the thing he needed.  It was his kind of night.  He stood there for a moment just breathing in the warm night air and letting it calm his frayed nerves.  

``It's a lovely night isn't it?'' he heard a soft lightly-accented voice say from behind him.  He jumped.  This was not good.  This was, in fact, the opposite of good.  This was BAD.  He stood frozen in place for a moment.  Not daring to turn around.  He heard the soft-click of her high heels as she walked around him and stood right in front of him.  He had thought that she was beautiful when she was in the office.  But here in the dark, it was if he'd never seen her before.  She was absolutely stunning.  The moonlight shone off of her pale white skin and turned her eyes into two glowing violet beacons of warmth. 

``I'm sorry,'' she said, ``did I frighten you?''

Mike gulped trying to clear the lump in his throat.  ``No...yes...just a little'' he stammered.  ``I didn't realize anyone was out here.  I'm sorry, what did you say?''

She laughed ``I was just saying that it's a beautiful night.  Don't you think?''

He could not take his eyes of her.  ``Beautiful'' he said.  She smiled and looked down at the floor.  He was horrified to realize that he hadn't been answering her question at all.  And worse, he was pretty sure that she realized it too.  He scrambled to find a way back from that.  ``I...um...I didn't know you were still here.  Everyone was gone when I left''.

She seemed startled by his question.  ``I...decided to...take a walk around the campus'' she said hesitantly. ``Mr. Winslow has a famed fondness for art and architecture.  I wanted to see some of it before I left.''

``Oh, you should have told me.  I could have given you the grand tour.''

She smiled again.  She seriously needed to stop that.  It was messing his head something fierce.  ``You were busy,'' she said '', I didn't want to disturb you.''

``Actually, I probably gave myself carpal tunnel syndrome going at it like that for so long.'' He grabbed his right wrist which he now noticed was aching a bit.  A look of concern grew on her face.

``Does it hurt?'' she asked.

``Only a little.  Just overused.  It'll probably be fine by tomorrow.''

``Here, let me help'' she said.  He was about to protest but before he could say anything she had his wrist between her soft hands.  Again, that electric warmth radiated through him.  He sighed as he felt his whole body relax.  He couldn't remember the last time he felt so calm and yet so nervous at the same time.  His wrist felt warm as she massaged it and he felt the pain and tension disappear from that area.  It was marvelous.  After a minute she stopped her ministrations to his wrist.  

``Thank you'' he said, amazed. He moved his wrist back and forth.  All traces of pain were gone from the area.  It was better than it had been this morning even.  ``That was...how did you do that?'' he asked.

``I learned it from...my godmother'' she said, letting go of his wrist.  ``Her mother was a seamstress.''

``Well, thank her for me next time you see her.'' He smiled.  

``If I ever see her again'' she said looking away.  She wrapped her arms around her middle.  It was there again.  That hint of sadness and loss about her.  He paused for a moment wondering if she would want to talk about it more or if he should just let it drop.  His desire to know more about this strange woman who had him so captivated won out, in the end.  

``Are they back in Estonia?'' he asked.

This question seemed to startle her back to her senses.  ``What? Oh, yes, in Estonia'' she nodded.  She had that sad look in her eyes again.  He thought it best not to continue with this line of conversation.  In fact, it was probably best for him to cut his losses and get out of there all together.

``Well, I'd better be off'' he said, pulling his car keys from his pocket.

``Yes, me too'' she said, smiling again.  ``Thank you so much for helping me today.''

``Oh, it was no problem'' he said, cringing internally as he felt his face go hot.  ``Would you like me to walk you to your car?''

``I...'' she paused ''...I have a driver coming.  But thank you.''

``Oh, of course'' he said.  He'd forgotten all about her wealthy aunt.  Of course she wouldn't need to drive herself.  He felt stupid for even asking.  ``Well, goodnight then.  I'll...uh...see you tomorrow''

``Goodnight Mike'' she said.  He turned and began walking toward the parking lot.  He'd barely gotten two steps away from her when that feeling of loss crept into him again.  As though his whole body felt his separation from her.  He turned to offer to stay with her while she waited for her driver.  But when he turned, she wasn't there.  He scanned the courtyard area but she was nowhere to be seen.  He couldn't have been looking away for more than two seconds.  He scratched his head in confusion.  She was just...gone.  He swept the area with his eyes again when he noticed him.  Standing just to the side of one of the large sculptures, was Tomlinson.  He was just standing there, his eyes intent on the area where Alana had recently been standing.  A cold chill crept down Mike's back.  He quickly turned back around and headed for the parking lot.

****

By the grace of God, Mike arrived at his house unharmed.  Desiring to be done with his long and emotionally taxing day, he had driven home at speeds that would make a racecar driver clutch his bible.  He entered his house in a quiet daze and dropped his keys on the floor underneath the now weeks old nail hole where the keyring had once hung.  He thought of nothing but the cold six-pack that was waiting for him in the refrigerator.  

He popped open a can and poured the frosty, frothy liquid down his throat in one long gulp.  He opened another and stood in the kitchen, drinking it quickly with no regard to its taste or temperature.  He was halfway through the third beer before he even considered taking a moment to think about the events of this day.  He brought the remaining three beers with him as he walked over to and collapsed on the couch.  

He was exhausted, both physically and mentally.  He felt like he'd just run a marathon while studying calculus.  He shook his head as he popped open another beer.  He should be feeling buzzed right about now, he thought, but, at best, he was just beginning to feel normal again.  

He finished the last three beers while trying to make sense of the day.  He wasn't having much luck.  There was no getting around the fact that meeting Alana had affected him...greatly.  But was he affected enough to overcome his fears of getting into yet another doomed relationship?  And what the fuck was he doing thinking so far ahead about a girl he'd just met?  

He decided that the whole thing was ridiculous.  He wasn't in any position at the moment to make any decisions about Alana.  He wasn't going to be a teenage girl about this.  She wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.  He had plenty of time to get to know her better.  

He put his dead soldiers to rest in the trash can and headed to bed, in a much better state of mind than when he'd left work.  Tomorrow would be better.  Tomorrow he would be ready for her.  He would be cool and charming but not overly-eager.  He would be James Dean tomorrow.  He laughed at the mental image of himself, slouching and leaning against a wall in a red windbreaker with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth.  Maybe not James Dean then, but definitely not the nervous wreck he'd been today.  Feeling calm and confident, he quickly fell asleep.

****

He stood in front of a large, ornately carved stone door that was set into a wall made of old gray bricks and covered in ages old vines.  He looked up, trying to get a sense of his surroundings.  The wall stretched on and on into the sky, far past the limits of his vision.  He looked all around him.  Behind him and to the sides was an endless sea of black swirling clouds.  He shuddered to think of diving into that maelstrom.  But he could do it if he decided to.  He knew that.  He didn't have to open the door.  It wasn't too late. But it would be too late before long.  He had to act now.  One way or the other.

``It's your choice," his companion whispered to him in her high sing-songy voice.  He looked over to her.  She was young, about thirteen or fourteen.  She was as skinny as a rail but tall for her age he thought.  The rounded features of her face were framed by long jet-black hair that swirled untidily about her, moved by the wind that was blowing out from the storm surrounding them.  He marveled at her calm.  He was as scared as he'd ever been but here she stood as cool as a cucumber.  

``It's just that easy is it?" he asked sarcastically, taking another careful step toward the door.  He was no more than three steps away now.  The ancient door was at least twenty feet tall.  It was carved on both sides in a winding line pattern that seemed to resemble the storm that surrounded them.  The whirling, churning storm clouds encroached on the center from both sides.  But in the center of the door, a sunburst design seemed to be holding off the choking storm.  The carved storm clouds seemed to be shrinking from the power of the light emanating from it.  He swallowed hard and wiped a hand over his dry lips.  

``Of course it is.  It's not too late.  You can still walk away if you want to," the girl said, matching the step he had taken.  Her voice was cool and impassive.  She really sounded like it didn't matter one way or the other.  

``Then why bring me here in the first place?  Why even make me choose if it doesn't matter what choice I make? " he asked, furrown his brow in confusion.  

``I didn't say that.  The choice you make is very important. Either choice you make will have consequences.  Some you will see, some you won't.  But you do have a choice." Her voice was still calm and unconcerned.  That grated on him a bit.  It was as if she thought she knew what he was going to do already.  

But he didn't know what to do.  The door scared him.  Behind it was the unknown.  There was no way of knowing what the outcome would be if he opened that door.  But not opening it...a feeling of terrible wrongness swirled around that thought.  Not opening that door meant the storm.  It was surge forward and devour the door and...something bad.  Something terrible would happen because of that.  Not to him though.  He would be safe by not opening the door.  That much he was sure of.  

``Some choice" he said, shaking his head.  ``I won't remember will I?" he asked.  ``I mean.  If I were to walk away.  I wouldn't remember any of it."

``More or less," She replied ``I think that you'll feel it somewhere.  But, no, you won't remember it."

He didn't want that.  He couldn't conjure up a reason as to why.  Something about ``all that has happened to get me here" was all he could manage.  But the thought of losing it all...no, he couldn't do that.  For better or worse, it had to be the door.

He closed the distance with the door and stood right next to it.  His mind was screaming at him to run.  To flee back into the nothingness of the night and forget he'd ever seen the door.  His breath was coming in quick, short bursts.  Now or never, he thought.  He reached for the sunburst, placed his palm flat against it, and pushed.  A searing white light burst forth from the door, filling his eyes and blinding him.

Thousands of images flooded through his brain in the space of a second.  He tried to follow them but they were coming so fast.  A white flower, a knife, blood on a stone floor, a castle on fire, a numeric keypad with five numbers illuminated, a glowing vine, a strange device made of black stone, a gold mask.  Faster and faster they came.  He was engulfed by the light now and it was searing him.  He screamed as the light burned him.

****

He bolted upright in his bed, still screaming.  He was drenched from head to toe in sweat.  He was breathing heavily.  ``What the hell was that?" he thought ``A nightmare?" 

He'd never been one to dream.  Most nights he passed through sleep uninterrupted.  On the rare occasion that he did dream it was just a random jumble of images that didn't make much sense.  He usually didn't remember much of them.  But this dream was clear.  It was as real as if he'd really been there and not fast asleep in his own bed.  He could still feel the hand of the strange girl that had been with him there.  Who was she?  He was quite sure that he'd never met anyone like her before.  Going over the image in his head, he realized that she bore a resemblance to Alana.  A sister perhaps?  He didn't recall her mentioning a sister in the short bits of conversation that they'd shared.  Did he see a picture on her desk or something?  He couldn't remember.  

When he'd caught his breath he glanced at the clock radio sitting on his nightstand.  It was just 5:30am.  He could go back to sleep for a little bit if he wanted to.  But he didn't really think he'd be able to.  He decided that there were worse things than getting to the office a little early for a change.  He shook his head vigorously, trying to displace some of the looming images of the dream.  He decided to have a drink of water before hitting the shower.

He swung his legs onto the floor and began to stand.  His vision blurred and everything started to spin.  White flower, broken crown, copse of trees, silver knife.  The images flashed through his head like a movie.  His legs began to buckle but he caught himself before he hit the ground.  He stood, the bout of dizziness having passed.  His temples throbbed with a stabbing pain now and a wave of nausea hit him.  

He stumbled to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator.  He took it with him to the bathroom and set it on the counter.  He opened the mirrored medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Tylenol.  He opened the bottle and shook out three pills.  Throwing his head back, he tossed in the pills and chased them down with a long drink of water.  The pills went down easily and he kept drinking.  Water had never tasted so good before.  Before he knew it, the bottle was empty.  He tossed it in the trashcan and closed the medicine cabinet door.  He jumped.  Reflected in the mirror, standing behind him, the girl from the nightmare was smiling at him. He whirled around to face her.  Nothing.  He looked back to the mirror.  Just him now.  He dashed out of the bathroom and back to the kitchen.  

He grabbed another bottle of water from the refrigerator and stood over the kitchen sink, guzzling it down.  He finished it in two long gulps and threw the bottle into the trash.  He turned on the sink and cupped cold water in his hands.  He splashed it onto his face and grabbed another, spilling that one onto the back of his neck.  The cold water was a shock to his system but did make him feel a little better.  He could feel little rivers of coldness running down his back, taking away much of the hot fear that was raging inside of him.  

He grabbed yet another bottle of water before making his way over to the living room couch.  He plopped down hard and opened the bottle.  Christ he was thirsty.  Two full bottles of water and he still felt like he'd just climbed his way out of Death Valley in the summertime.  He sipped at his water while he tried to make himself calm down.  What was happening to him?  It was just a dream.  It was probably just the result of having a dinner of beer.  But it had felt so real.  And the images of the dream seemed to be following him now.  Was he getting sick?  He felt his forehead.  It didn't seem hot.  And he didn't feel like he had any real symptoms.  There had been the dizzy spell and nausea back in the bedroom, but those had passed in a moment.  Other than being shaken up, he felt fine now.  

When he'd finished his bottle of water he decided that he would just see how things went.  If he started feeling sick again, he'd leave work early.  Tentatively, he rose from the couch.  No dizziness or nausea this time.  That was a good sign he thought.  He walked slowly and carefully back to the bathroom.  He pushed open the door warily, and peeked in before he entered.  It was empty.  He breathed out a sigh of relief and laughed at himself before turning on the shower.

****

Widmore Labs was a ghost town this early in the morning.  Find the freeways empty, he'd made it from his house to the parking lot of the campus in just ten minutes.  The parking lot was empty and he was able to get a space right at the front.  He wondered why he didn't do this every morning.  He was feeling good now.  All traces of his strange morning had faded and he felt great getting to work so early.  He would be able to take some time to slog through some emails and generally take his time with some things before most of the staff arrived and he would have to start fixing the damage they somehow always managed to inflict on their poor, helpless computers.

He hummed a tune to himself as he stepped through the doors to the archaeology lab.  He waved and shouted a greeting at the security guard and didn't even mind when the man ignored him.  He hit the lab floor and sighed contentedly.  He'd beaten everyone in.  He ran up the stairs to his office, excitedly.  He wanted to get started with his leisurely morning before it was time to do real work.  He dropped his laptop bag onto his desk and ran to the kitchen to get a pot of coffee started.  He ran back to the office and set up his laptop and started up his email application.

Along with the normal memos about office supply ordering and an obscene joke that Jeff had forwarded to him, was an automated warning message from one of his server computers.  Mike shook his head.  The computer in question served a database that was a vital part of one of the applications that the scientists used to gather information about the artifacts they were examining.  So, of course, he had been given a budget of zero dollars to work with when setting up the machine.  He'd been forced to scrounge for a hand-me-down computer from another department.  The computer he'd found was set aside by the accounting department because it had long outlived its warranty and was beginning to become unreliable.  Since Mike had set it up he'd been forced to reboot it at least twice a week.  Oh well, he thought, at least he could get to it now before any of the scientists started to bitch at him about the error messages that the application was giving them.

He stopped off at the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee.  ``Wake-up Juice" in hand, he headed down to his pitiful excuse for a server room.  He opened the door and stepped into the dark, buffer area and shut the door behind him.  Once he was safely in the dark, he pushed open the door to the dark storage room.  He groped along the wall for the light switch that would engage the annoying safety lights.  Suddenly, without him having touched anything, the lights came on.  

``Good morning Mike" Alana said, standing in front of him.  He let out a high-pitched yelp and jumped, spilling coffee down the front of his shirt.  Oh yah, he thought, James Dean allright. Alana covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

``I'm getting you a bell! " he said in a gruff but joking tone.  

``I'm so sorry," she said ``, I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

``That's ok; I've always wanted to smell like a Starbucks." He wiped at his shirt, only succeeding in getting his hands wet.  ``What are you doing in here so early anyway?" 

``I...was....I was getting a head start on inventory.  It's really a mess you know." she said, looking down and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.  When she did this, she exposed a bit of the ivory white skin at her neck.  He sensed that she was being somewhat evasive about her reasoning for being down here.  But at the sight of her long elegant neck, his concern with her truthfulness disappeared.  

``Oh...yah...so I hear." he said, trying desperately not to stumble over his words.  ``We haven't had anyone doing inventory or doing upfront examinations of the artifacts in months.  Not since, Derek, the old intern, got fired for smoking pot in the bathroom." He shook his head at the memory of Derek.  The kid had been an absolute nightmare from day one.  He'd been the stereotypical fratboy idiot.  Spiked hair, inappropriate t-shirts, a new cellphone every week that he was on almost every second of the day.  He'd been lazy, stupid, and completely unconcerned with such minor things as company rules and regulations.  Mike couldn't count the times that he'd had to clear viruses off of the moron's computer and warn him about surfing porn sites on company time.  Mike had complained to Jeff about Derek countless times.  Jeff had informed Mike that Derek was the son of one of the VPs, hence the internship that he was clearly unqualified for.  Thankfully, Derek's stupidity got the better of him and he'd chanced turning the men's restroom into a hotbox after hours.  Little did the poor bastard know it, but Dr.  Stroheim had stayed late that night to finish up some research.  Mike dearly wished he'd been there to see security throw him out on his pampered ass.  

``It shows." Alana said, walking back over to a long work table where she had several bins opened and laid out.  She picked up a clipboard from the table and started making notes as she poked around in the bins.  

``I put on a pot of coffee if you want some." he said, struggling to sound natural.  She picked up the mug sitting next to her, a teabag hanging from the lip.

``Oxford girls drink tea" she said, smirking.  He laughed.

``Right.  Of course.  A crumpet then? "

``No, thank you." she said, returning the laugh.  He stood there, awkward again for a second, not being able to think of anything else to say.  

``Well...I guess I better get to work then." he said.  She looked up again and smiled brightly at him.  

``Ok.  Talk to you later then."

He turned on his heels and walked over to his server closet.  He shook his head.  This was harder than he thought it would be.  It was hard to make conversation with someone when you knew nothing about other than what one would find on a resume.  And there was no social context to bond over here.  He sighed.  If he was going to press forward with his plan to get to know her better, he was going to have to find some way to hang out with her outside of the office.  He shook his head.  Work first, then he could figure out his love life.

His work took him longer than he expected it to.  The troublesome computer was being exceptionally difficult this morning.  It ended up taking him over half an hour to get everything squared away and functioning properly.  Despite the chilly temperatures in the climate controlled storage room, his brow was wet with sweat.  He wiped a hand across and stretched out his back.  Finally, it was time to go back to the relative comfort of his office and his lumbar-supporting office chair.  

He stepped out from behind the partition and found Alana still standing at the work table.  Her shoulders were hunched, her head down.  She was looking intently at a piece of cloth that she'd laid out on the table.  He took a deep breath and conjured up the image of James Dean in his mind.  He dropped into his best imitation of a cool slouching walk and sidled over to her work table and leaned against it.  ``How's it going? "

She didn't look up.  He frowned.  Was she ignoring him?  He turned around to face her and noticed that her hands were shaking.  Her mouth hung open and her eyes were wide.  ``Hey, you ok?" he asked.  Still she did not answer.  ``Alana?  Hey...Alana...you ok? " She continued to stare at the cloth.  He rushed over to her side.  ``Alana.  What's wrong? " he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.  She sucked in a deep breath and bolted upright.  She looked at him, her eyes still wide and gasping for breath.

``What?  Oh...Mike...I'm sorry.  I just...I'm fine.  Thank you.  I'm...I'm just fine." she said, still breathless.  She found a chair and sat down catching her breath.  

``You sure you're ok?" he asked.  ``You were pretty out of it there for a second." He crouched down next to her.  He was deeply concerned for her now.  Despite her protestations, she was clearly shaken up.  She was more alert now but still had a faraway look in her eyes.  

``Yes, I'm fine.  Thank you though." She placed her hand on his.  Despite his fear for her condition, he had a moment of delight at the feel of her warm skin against his hand.  

``That must be some scrap of cloth over there to shake you up like this.  What is it?  Is it a map to Jimmy Hoffa's body or something? "

She laughed.  He was glad to hear her laugh.  It seemed to take a bit of the tension out of her.  He could see her shoulders relaxing.

``No, it's nothing really.  Just...something I didn't expect to find here." she said.

``Oh yah?" he said, standing up.  His curiosity was starting to get the better of him.  He turned around and looked down at the work table.  The cloth was old and weathered with age and dirt.  But the image woven into the fabric was as clear as day.  It was a door.  A door with carvings of black clounds lining either side and a sunburst design in the center.  His heart stopped for a moment as he remembered clearly the door in his dream from last night.  It couldn't be.  Could it?  But maybe that explained it.  Yes, that did explain it.  It had just been a normal dream after all.

``Huh" he said, his heart returning to its normal rythm.  ``So that's where it came from." 

``What?" Alana said, perking up.

``I said, 'that's where it came from'.  I dreamed about this door last night.  It kind of freaked me out because I didn't remember ever seeing a door like that.  But here it is.  I must have seen this thing down here sometime when I was down here.  Good to know I'm not going crazy" he explained.

``You...you dreamed about this door?" she said, her voice choked and halting.

``Yah, I sure did.  Weird huh?" he said, taking a closer look at the weaving.

``Mike, could you tell me more about the dream?" she asked, her voice trembling.  He looked at her with confusion.  

``Um...okay.  Not much to tell really.  Um...the door was there...and all around us were these black clouds...like a storm.  And I had to make a decision about opening the door..." he began.

``Us?" she asked, her eyes widening.

``Oh...yah...there was this little girl there." He explained, backing into the table a bit. She had stepped toward him and was standing nearly on top of him.  Her question had been insistent.  She was honestly, scaring him a bit.  ``Well...not ‘little' little but...like a teenager. Maybe thirteen or so.  She kind of looked like you actually...do you have a sister?" 

She closed the distance with Mike and grabbed him by the shoulders.  ``What did she look like.  Tell me!" she shouted at him.

Mike was flabbergasted.  He stood in stunned silence for a second before starting to answer.  ``She...uh...well she had black hair like yours and eyes like yours.  That's all I really remember...I'm sorry if I..."

``The eyes.  Tell me Mike!  Did she have a scar near her left eye? " Alana's eyes were full of pain and fear.  Mike tried desperately to draw forth the mental image of the girl in his dream.  But in the waking light of day it was so muddled now.

``I...I'm sorry...I don't remember.  Alana...what is it? " 

She stepped back, dropping her hands from his shoulders.  He could see tears starting to well up in her eyes.  ``It's nothing." she said, looking away.  ``I'm sorry...I...I have to go get some air." She ran from the room, leaving Mike bewildered and alone in the empty storage room.  

****

Mike made his way back across the empty lab floor and up the staircase to his office.  He dropped himself into his chair and brought his computer out of hibernation by swatting at the keyboard. The serene mood of the early morning was dead and gone, replaced by anger, frustration, and confusion.  Scowling he flipped through the rest of his email and then set about setting himself for the day's work.  

He tried to throw himself into work so that he could forget about the scene in the storeroom.  But that turned out to be easier said than done.  His  mind kept drifting back to Alana and the frightened way that she had attacked him upon hearing about his dream.  It made no sense whatsoever.  Why would an old drawing put her into such a state of shock that he was honestly frightened for her.  And then why would his dream about the drawing and the mention of the little girl drive her to near hysteria?  It was just a dream.  There was something in there that obviously held some kind of distress for her.  But what?  And why did he care?  

Didn't he have enough to deal with without the antics of a weird foreign girl?  He literally shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts of her that were swarming about him and distracting him from the work at hand.  But it didn't help.  The truth was that his annoyance only went so far.  Underneath the surface thoughts of ``What the hell is her problem?'' and ``Who the hell does she think she is?'' were thoughts of real concern and care for her.  Something had set her off.  And whatever it was was something that was causing her a lot of pain and distress.  He found himself feeling very bad for her.  He wished he knew what it was and how he could help.  

He was actually quite glad when Dr. Levinston called him from a dig site in Arizona to ask for his help in troubleshooting a problem he was having with his laptop.  Mike carefully walked Dr. Levinston through several diagnostic procedures and listened carefully as he repeated back to Mike what he was seeing on the screen.  Between trying to understand what the thickly-accented Dr. Levinston was saying over a bad cell-phone connection and trying to explain clearly what he wanted the Dr. to do, Mike had little time to be distracted.  A soft rapping came at his door frame.  Mike spun around to find Alana standing in the doorway.  His heart stopped. 

``Dr. Levinston, I'm sorry, something's come up. I'll have to call you back.  Just keep running that virus scanner. I'll call you back shortly.'' he said into the receiver and hung up before Dr. Levinston could object.

``I'm sorry. I interrupted you.  I can come back if you like'' Alana said, her eyes downcast and her voice hushed.  

``No no...it's fine really.  It's just Dr. Levinston.  He's got a virus on his laptop...again.'' Mike replied, throwing up his hands, ``It's the third time this month.'' Mike could literally feel the last bits of his annoyance with her fade out of his body as she stepped into his office.  Her very presence seemed to extend forward from her body, blanketing him in warm, relaxing energy.  He couldn't stop himself from smiling.  

``I...I just...'' Alana stammered, ``I just wanted to apologize for this morning.''  Her eyes met his, the violet irises shininig and sincere, her voice abashed and hopeful.  His heart broke a little at the thought that she could ever think that he was mad at her or that he thought less of her.  

``Oh, that.  Ancient history as far as I'm concerned.'' he said, waving a hand through the air as if to dismiss even the memory from their presence.  

She smiled and ran a hand through her hair.  ``Thank you'' she said, her cheeks coloring.

``Really, it's totally cool.  We all have a bit of a freak out now and then.  And better you freak out on me than one of the docs right?''

``Yes...that's true.  But still, I feel bad.  Can I make it up to you?''

``Well what'd you have in mind?'' he asked, taking a sip of coffee.

``Can I buy you lunch?''. Mike choked on his coffee. Alana frowned and furrowed her brow.  ``I'm sorry. Is that wrong of me?''

``No, not at all'' he said, still coughing.  ``I just have a bad drinking problem.''  He cringed mentally at the cheesiness of the joke.  She was asking him to lunch.  Where it would him...and her...and...oh wow.  He'd once heard a man describe mixed emotions as being 'your mother-in-law driving off a cliff...in your brand new Cadillac'.  At this moment, Mike thought he had a better example.  On the one hand, he would be all alone with her, out of the office and really able to get to talk to her and get to know her.  On the other hand he would be alone with her...out of the office...and he would HAVE to talk to her and get to know her.  

``Lunch...'' he said, ``Lunch would be great.''  He gave her what he hoped was a convincing smile.  

``Great'' she said, smiling geniunely ``and I promise, no freaking out on you unless you order something expensive''

``I make no such promise'' he said, smiling sardonically ``Gold plated lobster for me''.  She laughed.  

``Well I'll let you get back to Dr. Levinston.  Let's say 12:30?'' Alana asked.

``Sounds great'' he said, giving her a nod.  She smiled at him again, over her shoulder as she walked out of his office. 

Mike a took a deep long breath and picked up the phone.  But before he could dial Dr. Levinston's cell phone number, the phone began ringing.  Confused, Mike hit the button to pick up the extension.  ``Hello?'' he said into the phone.

``So, I guess I'm on my own for lunch eh?'' Jeff said on the other line.

Mike groaned.  ``Good news travels fast I see.  How did you find out?''

Jeff laughed. ``I was coming to your office to tell you I was going to be running late for lunch when I heard you guys talking.  Smooth move choking by the way.  I think that really sealed the deal.''

``It's my best move'' Mike said ``Anyway, yah, I'll be doing lunch with Alana today.  Any words of advice?''

``Yah, don't take her to any of the shitholes around here.  Take her into town.'' Jeff advised.

``But that could put us out of the office for almost two hours'' Mike reminded him.

``Oh, how ever will we live without you two'' Jeff replied, the sarcasm readily apparent in his voice.  ``Seriously though, no one will notice, and I'm certainly not going to take issue with it. So, you're covered.''

``Hmmm...ok.  Anywhere in particular?'' Mike asked.  Trying to go over the list of downtown restaurants in his mind.  

``How about that Chinese place your buddy owns?'' Jeff offered.

``Xang's?  Yah I guess that could work.  It's been a while since I've talked to Craig anyway.  It'll be nice to see him.''

``Right, and you get to look like the kind of guy who has connections at restaurants and shit.  Chicks dig stuff like that.'' 

``Uh huh, and you would know from what? Cosmo or 'Sex and the City'?''

``Your mom told me.'' Jeff shot back without missing a beat.  ``Now pay attention.  Be polite to the wait staff, keep eye contact when speaking to her, and try to find ways to make contact with her.  Like touch her hand when you're talking to her or something.''

``Gee, thanks Dr. Ruth.'' Mike responded, annoyed at being given a dating lesson ``I have dated before you know.''

``Whatever.  Just don't fuck up dude.  I can't take much more of this mopey-dopey Mike shit.''

``I'll do my best'' Mike said, annoyed.  

``Good.  Ok, finish up whatever you were doing and get the fuck out of here.''

``Thanks Jeff.  Talk to you later.''

``You bet your ass you will.'' Jeff said and hung up.  Mike laughed and hung up the receiver.  

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

The sight of Alana, sitting in the passenger seat of his car both thrilled and terrified Mike.  He tried to split his mind between concentrating on not driving like a maniac and trying to strike up a conversation.  Alana sat statue-still, her eyes transfixed on the road in front of them. She looked scared.

``I guess you're more used to walking huh?'' Mike asked.  

``I'm sorry?'' Alana said, snapping to attention and turning to face Mike.

``Oh, I uh...I've heard that Europeans walk a lot more than Americans do.  You know, smaller cities and whatnot'' Mike explained.  He'd been hoping that this would be an in to talking about her life in Europe. 

``Oh,'' she replied, understanding dawning on her face.  ``Yes...yes we walk more back home.'' A smile crept across her face. ``In fact, I don't know anyone who owns a car where I grew up.''

``Wow!'' Mike said, booming with surprise ``So you guys just walk everywhere then?'' 

``Yes, mostly. Though sometimes we ride'' she said, a smirk twisting her mouth upward.

``Ride? Like busses or trains?'' he asked, puzzled by her expression.

``Something like that'' Alana said, her eyes dancing with secret knowledge.  Mike got the feeling that he was being made fun of, but didn't get the joke.  ``So, do you live here in town Mike?'' she asked, dancing around his impending questions.

``Yah...I've got a little place just off of third street.'' Mike answered, both excited and nervous that the conversation had shifted in his direction.  

``Have you always lived here?'' she asked ``, or did The Labs bring you here?'' 

``Been here all my life'' he answered, sighing.  He wished he had a more glamarous background to give her.  ``I went out of state for college but other than that...I'm a hometown boy.''

``That's really nice'' she said, smiling at him. ``So you like it here then?''

``Yah, I guess it's allright.  I don't have much to compare it to honestly.''

``So does your family still live here too?'' she asked.

``Yah.  My parents do anyway.  They retired a few years ago and bought a bit of land about thirty minutes from here, out in the country.'' he answered, making a mental note to call them this weekend.  He hadn't spoken to them in several weeks and didn't want them to get on his case about it.

``That's really great.'' she said, looking back to the road.  ``It must be nice to be so close to them.  To be able to see them whenever you want.''

They were silent for a few minutes. Mike wasn't sure what to say.  How do you respond to a comment like that from a person who's parents were dead?  He felt stupid just sitting there saying nothing though.  It felt rude and uncaring.  And that was definitely not the impression he wanted to leave.

``I'll bet you miss them.'' he said, carefully.  Alana kept her eyes on the road.

``Who?'' 

``Your parents.'' he said.  She took a breath.

``Sometimes.'' she answered, mournfully.  She took another deep breath and turned back to him smiling.  That was all he would get out of her on the subject of her parents, he realized.  ``So, where are we going?''

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

They pulled into the parking lot of Xang's Chinese Bistro ten minutes later.  The exterior of the restaurant was brightly decorated like a chinese temple complete with gilded dragons adorning the roof.  Alana's eyes were wide as she took in the building. 

``Pretty neat huh?''  he asked.

``It's beautiful'' she said,  still wide-eyed.  

``Wait 'till you see the inside'' he said, placing a hand against her back.  She smiled up at him and followed him through the ornately decorated red doors of the restaurant.

A tall asian man dressed in a black button down shirt and black slacks stood behind the podium in the lobby.  He looked up from the reservations book and smiled brightly.

``Mike! Long time no see bud.  How you been?'' he said, stepping from behind the podium pulling Mike into a hug.    

``Good to see you too Craig.'' Mike said, returning the 'Man Hug' complete with slaps on the back.  ``I've been ok.  How's business?''

``Not too shabby.  We've started doing Karaoke on Saturday Nights. That's really bringing in the college crowd. None of them can sing but they drink like fish so who am I to complain right?'' Craig said, chuckling.  ``Is Kristin with you?''

Mike cringed.  He'd not been to Xang's since the breakup.  ``Um...no. We've uh..'' Mike said, trailing off. The last thing he wanted to do was to give Craig a run-down on the breakup with Alana standing here.  

``Oh...oh...I see?''  Craig said, understanding dawning on his face.  

Mike turned to Alana.  ``Craig, this is Alana.  She just started at the Labs.  I decided to show her where all the GOOD food is in this town.'' 

Craig laughed. He stepped forward and shook Alana's hand.  ``It's nice to meet you Alana, I'm Craig.  I hope you're enjoying our fair city.''

Alana smiled and returned the handshake.  ``It's nice to meet you too Craig.  And thank you, it's a very nice town.'' 

``That's a lovely accent you have.'' Craig said, his face screwed up in conversation.  ``Somewhere in Europe, I'm guessing?'' 

``Yes...Estonia.'' she said, her cheeks coloring.  

``Awesome! I backpacked through Europe after high school.  I spent a couple of weeks there.  Where about in Estonia?''

Alana's eyes grew wide.  ``Um...Tartu...mostly.  I uh...actually only spent my early years there.  I spent most of my teen and adult years in Britain'' she said.  Mike got the impression that she didn't want too many more questions about her life in Estonia. 

``Wow, that's really great'' Craig replied.  ``Well, welcome to America then''

``Thank you.  I'm enjoying it.'' she replied, casting a glance at Mike.  Craig grabbed two menus and then led them to a wide black lacquered table.  

``Can I get you anything to drink?'' he asked as they were seated.  Mike looked at Alana to indicate that she should order first. 

``Tea, please'' she said picking up one of the menus.

``Just a coke for me'' Mike said. 

``Great.  Cindy will be out with them in just a moment.  Let me know if you need anything'' Craig replied, heading off to the kitchen.

Alana was staring intently at the menu.  Her brow was furrowed as if it were written in...well in Chinese.

``Need any help?'' Mike asked.

``Um...maybe.  I haven't eaten much...um...Chinese?'' she said.  Mike laughed.

``Yes, it's Chinese.  Don't worry, I'll order for us.  I know all the good stuff.'' 

Alana smiled and closed her menu.  She looked around.  ``It's a very nice restaurant.  Everything is so colorful'' she said, admiring the intricate chinese artwork that decorated the walls and ceiling.  

``Yah,'' Mike replied.  It'd been a long time since he'd really taken time to admire the crafstmanship of the decor.  Seeing it through a newcomers eyes was refreshing.  ``Craig's put a lot of work into this place.  It's funny though, I never thought of him as the resteranteur type back in high school.''

``No?'' Alana asked. 

``Yah, he was wizz with computers back in the day.  I always thought he'd go the computer science route like I did.  In fact, he's the one who got me interested in them in the first place.''

``So, what happened?  Why did he go this route?'' she asked.

``Oh...well...this place was actually his parents'.  They died right after we graduated high school and he took over the business.  I guess it's his way of honoring their memory.'' 

``That's so sad'' she said.  ``But it's nice that he's done such a great job of carrying on their dream.'' 

``Yah...yah he's really done great'' Mike said.  Het let the question of how Craig's parents had died remain unasked and unanswered.  They had died in a horrific automobile accident that had also claimed the life of Craig's sister Anne.  He didn't think Alana would want to know about that.

Cindy, the waitress, arrived with their drinks and asked if they were ready to order.  Mike rattled off the names of some of Xang's best dishes.  Cindy smiled and promised that they'd be ready shortly.  She was gone scarcely more than a minute before returning with a plate of dumplings.

``Compliments of the manager'' she said, smiling.  Mike thanked her.  When Mike turned back to face Alana he was surprised to find her handling a dumpling between expertly held chopsticks.  

``I thought you said you never had chinese food before'' he said, motioning to the chopsticks in her hand.  

Alana's eyes snapped to the chopsticks in her hand and went wide.  ``I...uh...we had...Japanese food.  Really great place in Oxford.  I ate there a lot'' she replied, looking away.  

``Oh...cool.'' he said, taking a long drink of his soda.  His mouth had gone completely dry.  He sucked down nearly half of the coke in one long drink.  

Alana's mouth widened into a smile as she took a bite of the dumpling.  ``This is amazing!'' she said, admiring the half-eaten dumpling.  

``I'm glad you like it'' Mike replied, pleased with himself at picking the perfect restaurant.  ``If you like that, wait until you try the shrimp.''

The entrees arrived shortly and Mike found himself more and more amused by the joy she found in every dish she tried. Everything was new and excitingly delicious to her.  It was like watching a child have ice cream for the first time. He was almost sad when she decided that she'd eaten her fill and could eat no more.  She sipped at her tea looking content and amused.

``Thank you Mike, this was really great.'' she said.

``Don't thank me.'' he said, ``You're the one paying.  Remember?'' he said, jokingly.   

``Oh right.'' she said, the memory of what had prompted this lunch date showing on her face.  She lifted her purse to her lap and pulled out a wallet.

``You can act like that anytime you want if it means that I get to take you to Xang's afterward.'' he said, smiling at her. She laughed. 

Mike was just about to object to Alana paying when goosebumps broke out on his arm.  From inside of his head, a familiar voice spoke. \textit{Ask her about this morning} it said.  A cold sweat broke out on his forehead.  The small girlish voice he recognized from his dream.  The little girl who bore a resemblence to Alana.  But this was no dream.  He tried to shake it off but the voice would not be ignored.  \textit{ASK HER!} the voice called again,  insistently.  Mike pinched the bridge of his nose.

``Do you have a headache?'' Alana asked, her face full of concern. 

``No...um...'' he started, ``I hate to be nosy...but can I just ask you something?''

``Yes, of course'' she said, her voice wary.

``What happened back there this morning?'' he asked.  He figured that if he had to do this, it was best to be direct.  In his head he shouted \textit{THERE! I've asked her. Now leave me alone shorty}.

Alana's face darkened. She looked away.  Mike back-peddled.  ``It's cool if you don't want to answer'' he said, hoping he hadn't offended her.  ``Just tell me to mind my own business and that'll be it''

``No, really, it's ok.  I just...it's really a long story.'' she said, folding her arms around her.

``I see.'' he said.  He knew he should let the subject drop.  But his curiosity was really getting to him.  He took another long sip of coke.  ``You don't like to talk about yourself much do you?'' he asked.

She looked up at him puzzled.  ``What gives you that impression?''

``Well it's probably the fact that I've had at least a half a dozen conversations with you in the past two days and the only thing I know about you is that you're from Estonia, went to Oxford, and apparantely are a fan of Japanese cuisine.'' he said, leaning in closer to her.

``Well...'' she said, looking away from him.  ``There's really not much to tell.''

``See, there you go again,'' he said, twisting his mouth into a smirk.  ``Don't get me wrong.  The whole 'mysterious foreign girl' thing is quite alluring.  But it makes it sound like you have some deep dark past that you don't want anyone to know about.''

She cocked her head at this and smirked back at him.  ``And what if I do? What if I am hiding a 'dark' past?'' she said, emphasizing the word 'dark'.  ``Can't a girl have a few secrets?''

``Maybe you'd feel better about it all if you just got it out in the open.  I can't be all that bad.  Can it?'' Mike said.  She sighed and shook her head slightly.

``Don't worry.  Your secret is safe with me.  I'm very discreet'' he assured her. 

She looked up and smiled at him. ``I'm sure you are.'' she said ``But it's...kind of complicated.  And I'm not really sure how much  of it I'm at liberty to talk about.''

Mike was beginning to enjoy this.  As much as he wanted to know more about Alana and this apparantely 'dark' past of hers, he was having fun with the back-and-forth flirtation. ``Oooo...'' he said, with mock intrigue ``, so it's something dangerous then''

``Something like that'' she replied looking off into space again.  

``Hmmmmm....I bet I could guess.'' he said, putting on his best smart ass voice.  

She smiled and cocked an eyebrow at him. ``Oh you think so do you?''

``Totally.  I was PRESIDENT of my college's Sherlock Holmes Society.  Given a little time, I bet I could figure you out.'' he said with cocky confidence.

She laughed.  ``Ok, first of all, I don't believe for a second that such a 'society' actually exists at any college.  And secondly, how do you propose to 'figure me out'?''

He was relieved that she was playing along.  He'd been afraid that he would come off as 'creepy'.  But she seemed to be rising to his challenge.  

``I have my ways'' he said, taking a sip of coke.  ``In fact, I'll bet that I could get within striking distance of your 'Big Secret' in under a week.''

``So confident'' she said, teasingly.  

``You don't seem scared.'' he said, swirling his glass.  

``I might be, if I thought for a second that you had any chance of doing it.'' she replied, cockily leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms under her breasts.  

``Well then, what do you say to a little wager?''

She laughed.  ``A wager?.  What do you propose?''

``If I win...excuse me...WHEN I win..'' he said, leaning forward and smiling sardonically at her.

``Ha!'' she barked out, picking up her teacup.

``...WHEN I win...you treat me to dinner at Bartolo's Saturday night.  And then whatever I want to do afterwards.''

``That's very nice but since I will be winning,'' she smiled back mischeivisouly ``, what do I get?''

``I'll pay for whatever you want to do of course'' he replied.

Alana squinted her eyes at him ``I've noticed that both scenarios involve us spending Saturday evening together.''

``Oh do they?  Why so they do'', he said, feigning surprise.

``Ok, Mr. Carmichael'' she said, extending her hand.  ``I belive the colloquialism is 'you're on'''

``Not so fast.'' Mike said, holding up a hand. ``We need to agree on rules first.''

``Rules?'' she asked, confused.

``Yes.  You see, you hold all the power in this game.  I need something to work with or it's really not fair to me''

Alana laughed. ``Ok...I guess I see your point.  So how do you propose to balance things out?''

``I get to ask you five questions, every day.  And you have to answer them without truthfully.  Or at least as truthfully as you can.'' he said.

Alana narrowed her eyes.  ``Three questions.  True or false.''

Mike slumped back in the booth.  ``Ok.  I can work with that.''

Alana extended her hand again.  ``So?''

Mike looked at her hand for a moment before taking it in his.  ``You're on!'' he said, excitedly shaking her hand.  They both eyed each other while drinking from their cups.  Mike was very happy himself and with how things had turned out.  He now had a reason to talk to her every day and a means of getting to know her better.  He thought about that for a second.  Had he gone too far? What if he uncovered a past of her being a drug runner or something?  Or maybe she was in the witness protection system or something?  Could he be putting her in danger by playing this game?  And if so, why had she been so willing to play this game of theirs?

``I hate to press my luck, Alana'' he said.  ``But how bad could it all really be if you're willing to bet on it like that?''

``Like I said, you have no chance of figuring it out.  I have nothing to lose.''

``But the situation...whatever it is...it's bad?'' he asked.  

She looked off into space again. ``It's...unique.  And, well, yes it's pretty bad.'' she said, sadly.  Mike was suddenly concerned that he'd pressured Alana into letting him pry into her life in a way that might be uncomfortable for her.

``Maybe we should just drop the whole 'wager' thing and just agree to go out on Saturday night.  I don't want to dredge up anything embarrassing or difficult for you.'' he said.

She simply smiled at him.  ``Trying to back out?  It's ok to admit that you're scared of losing.  I would be if I were you.''

He laughed. ``Not a chance.''

``Good'' she said.  Cindy brought the check as they stared at each other over their cups.  

``Will there be anything else?'' she asked.

``No thank you.'' Mike said, reaching for the check.  But when his hand reached the spot on the table where the leather folder had been, he felt the smooth black lacquered wood instead.  He looked up to find Alana already placing a black credit card in the folder and handing it to Cindy.  

``Nice try'' she said as Cindy walked away giggling.

Mike harumphed finished off the last of his soda.  Cindy returned with the receipt and thanked them.  Alana signed the receipt.  ``Shall we go back then?'' she asked.

``Yah.  I need to start thinking of my three questions'' he said, flirtatiously.

``One question you mean'' she replied, smirking at him.

``One question?  We agreed on three.'' he said, shocked.

``Yes, we did.  And you've asked me two.  You asked me if it was really all that bad if I was willing to bet on it and then you asked me again if it was 'bad'.  Do try to keep up.'' she said, laughing.

``Niiiiice.'' Mike said, impressed with her cunning.  ``Ok, I see how it is, one more question today then.'' 

Alana sat, looking very pleased with herself.  Mike stood and offered her his arm.  She took it walked side by side with him out of the restaurant.

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}
 
All eyes were on Alana and Mike as they walked across the lab floor, laughing. Mike had just been telling Alana a story from his youth where he and a friend had been dropping water balloons from an overpass and as luck would have it, they hit an unmarked police car.  Alana laughed uproariously as Mike explained how he had tried to tell the policeman that the balloon had just slipped from his hands.

When they reached the top of the staircase, they stood facing each other in front of their offices, laughter just barely fading as the realization that lunch was over began to dawn on them.  Alana's eyes danced with enjoyment.  Mike couldn't wipe the silly grin off of his face.  

``Thank you for that Mike.  It's been a long time since I've had a good time like that.'' Alana said, suddenly very interested in her shoes.  She bit her lip as she spoke, a sight that Mike found unbearably sweet and enticing.  His throat had gone dry, he had to swallow hard before being able to speak.

``Sure..ya...no problem.  I had a great time too.'' he said, running a hand through the hair at the back of his head.  They stood motionless for a time, neither willing to be the one to call the lunch hour to an end.  Their reverie was interrupted by Mike's phone ringing.  

``I'd better get that'' he said, pointing a thumb toward his office. He wanted to let it ring. He wanted to tell the other person on the end of the line to ``Fuck Off'' and run out of the office with Alana in hand.  

``Yes...I'd better be getting back to work too.'' she sighed.  ``Just let me know when you're ready to your last question.''  Alana smiled wickedly, her eyes dancing with mischief. 

Mike laughed.  ``Oh I will.'' he said, making the heart-wrenching turn toward his office and away from Alana.  He ran to get the phone and picked it up on what he was sure was the last possible ring before it went to voicemail.  

The call was from Julie Newton, from the accounting office.  According to her, a big financials report was due to go out to Aurthur Winslow, the CEO of Winslow Labs, and the entire board of directors tomorrow morning.  But someone had screwed up the data and as such the report was now a big mess.  She was nearly crying.  She asked him if he could please take a look and see if he couldn't somehow salvage the report.  

Mike buried his forehead in his hand, which was propped up on his desk.  There was a bad side to being known as the best computer guy in the company.  He knew that he was perfectly within his rights to tell her ``no''.  But he'd built his reputation as being the ``Can Do'' guy and he didn't want to ruin that.  He sighed and promised her that the corrected report would be in her inbox when she arrived tomorrow morning.  Julie literally squealed with delight causing Mike to pull the phone from his ear lest he suffer major hearing damage.  She thanked him profusely and told him that he needed anything to let her know. 

Hanging up the phone, Mike slumped in his chair.  This would easily take him the rest of the day to finish and would almost definitely keep him hear until at least 7:30.  He'd wanted to watch the baseball game tonight.  \textit{Oh well} he thought \textit{that's why they invented Tivo I guess}.  He sighed heavily, cracked his knuckles, put in his earbuds and got to work.

Several hours later, he threw up his hands in victory.  The report was finished and emailed off to Julie Newton.  He looked at the clock.  It was 6:30pm.  \textit{Not Bad}, he thought to himself.  He stood up and stretched out the tension in his back and shoulders.  A soft rapping came at his door.  Alana stood, smiling, a cup of tea in her hands, in the doorway of his office.  Mike blushed, he hadn't thought to check the window between their offices before doing his little ``victory dance''.  

``Were you...'' he began.

``I saw nothing.'' she said, smirking.  Mike laughed.  ``So, about that question...''

``Oh.  I have to admit, I didn't get a chance to think of a third one yet.'' Mentally, he damned himself.  Work had a way of doing that to him.  Whenever he was well and truly focused on a project, the rest of the world simply ceased to exist.  His mind and body were wholly devoted to achieving success.  It made him a great worker, but sometimes a lousy friend.

``That's okay'' Alana said, ``I saw you were busy.  You can think of one while I ask my questions.''

``Your questions?'' Mike asked, surprised.  ``I don't recall any discussion of you asking questions while we were negotiating.''

``It's only fair'' she said, matter-of-factly ``Why should you get to have all of the fun?'' 

Mike studied her face.  She was smiling, but a gleam of mischief glinted in her eyes.  ``Hmmm....okay.  I guess I see your point.'' he said, wary of her intentions.

``Don't worry'' she said, grinning broadly ``I'll be gentle.'' She sat herself in the extra chair.  Mike laughed and sat back down himself.

``Okay, ask away''

``First question.'' she began ``Did your parents really name you Michael Carmichael?'' Mike burst out laughing. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that question.

``Yes. I'm afraid so.  I think they thought that it was cute.'' he answered, blushing.  Alana covered her mouth and laughed.  ``Hey I call foul.  That wasn't true or false.''

``So it wasn't'' she said, firmly.  ``Next question''.  Mike was about to object but he could see by the set of her face that she was unwilling to budge.  He shrugged his shoulders and motioned for her to ask it.

``Are you afraid of the dark?''

Mike furrowed his brow.  ``That's an odd one.''

``Is it?  It seems to be a common affliction in this...country.'' Mike noticed her pause before the word 'country'.  It was almost as if she had been about to say something else.  For a moment Mike about using his last question to ask about that but couldn't figure out a way to word it in a ``true or false'' manner.

``Maybe in childhood'' he said, somewhat annoyed ``But most of us outgrow it.'' 

``But not all.  And even afterward, a generalized fear of dark things manifests itself in art, literature, even film and television.'' Alana said, leaning in closer to Mike.  This was getting bizarre.  

``Okay, I guess so.'' Mike said, ``Um...no.  No, I don't think I am.  I tend to prefer the dark actually.''

Alana cocked an eyebrow.  ``Really? Can I ask why?''

``Can I count that as your third question?''

``No''

Mike rolled his eyes, making Alana smile.  ``Okay.  Um...I dunno.  I find a lot of piece in the dark. There's not all that visual distraction muddying things up.  Every sound can be whatever you want to think it is.  I guess it lets me live inside my head more.'' he said, shrugging.  

Mike nervously looked back to Alana.  She was still smiling.  She seemed to like his response.  ``Okay'' she said ``Great.  Next question then'' 

``Wait, don't I get any feedback on my answer'' he interrupted.

``What do you mean?''

``I mean, does that make me weird or something?'' he asked, wanting to make sure he hadn't put her off.

``No, not at all.  Unusual maybe.  But not in a bad way.  I like the dark too'' she answered, looking away, furtively.  

``Cool'' Mike said, ``Maybe we can find some fun stuff to do in the dark on Saturday''.  The sudden realization of the unintended meaning of his words hit Mike like a baseball to the face.  ``I mean...'' he spluttered ``like...uh...stargazing...or a picnic...or...''

Alana giggled and blushed.  ``Well, we have to see who wins first right?'' she said, between giggles ``Remember, winner gets to decide what we do'' She winked at him.

Mike nearly choked.  \textit{Does that mean what I think it means?} he thought.  He shook off the thought.  

``Anyway, next question.  Who is Kristen?'' Alana asked, looking like a cat who'd just cornered a mouse.  Mike really did choke this time.

``Kristen?'' he coughed out.

``Yes.  When we were at the restaurant, your friend asked you where 'Kristen' was.'' 

``Oh....right.  Well...'' Mike began, carefully.  The last thing he wanted to do right now was to delve into the utter failure that had been his romantic life post-highschool.  ``...Kristen is my ex.''

The corner of Alana's mouth turned up into a wicked grin.  ``I seee...'' she drawled.  ``Ex-wife?''

Mike laughed. ``No..no...ex-girlfriend'' he explained.  ``We broke up...a few months ago.  I guess I haven't been to Xang's in a while.  Craig hadn't heard yet.''

``Did it make you sad?'' Alana asked, her face and voice showing real concern for Mike.  It made Mike's heart leap.  And yet, he felt bad for that.  

``That's seriously, more than three questions...'' he said, grinning.  He hoped she wouldn't press him on his dodge.  

But Alana mearly nodded.  ``Yes. You're right.  Okay.  Your turn then.'' She smiled half=heartedly.  

Mike reclined and studied her.  There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask her.  But the game was supposed to be about him uncovering whatever dark secret she was sheltering.  He had some means of his own toward reaching that goal.  But he needed somewhere to begin.  His remaining question would have to be a good one.  He pressed a finger to his lips and thought. 

Alana looked at her watch.  ``I hate to press you, but my driver will be here soon.'' she said. 

``Damn'' Mike said, snapping to attention.  ``I'm still not ready yet.'' 

``Would you like to walk me to the parking lot?'' she asked, standing and gathering her belongings.

Mike smiled.  ``Great idea.  I'm sure I can think of something in the two minute walk'' he said, with mock enthusiasm.

Alana laughed as Mike stood and put his laptop into his briefcase.  They walked together through the empty building in silence as Mike tried like hell to think of a good question.  It wasn't working.  There were simply too many possibilities for what a ``dark past'' could mean.  He had to narrow it down somehow. 

They reached the parking lot with Mike no further along than he had started.  Alana turned to face him.  ``Well?''

He was about to admit defeat when the voice from the dream called to him again.  ``Ask her if she really comes from Estonia'' the girl said.  Mike nearly fell the ground in shock.   

``What?'' he said, unintentionally aloud.

``Did you come up with a question?'' Alana said, thinking he had been speaking to her.  Realizing this Mike was glad that all he had said was ``What?''.  He didn't want to explain about the voice in his head.  He didn't even want to think about it really.  

``Um...yes...I think so.'' he said.

``Great'' she said, smiling.  ``Go ahead.''

``Okay.  True or false.  You are really from Estonia''

Alana's eyes went wide, her hands began to shake.  Seemingly from nowhere, a black towncar pulled up behind her.  

``Alana...I'm sorry...I...'' Mike began.  He found himself unable to finish.  How do you tell someone that the voice in your head made you do it?  Alana, still dazed, turned toward the car and opened the door.  Mike was cursing himself for being so stupid.  As Alana began to enter the vehicle, she stopped and turned back to Mike.  Her face was full of fear but she made herself meet his eyes.  

``False'' she said, entering the car and shutting the door behind her.  

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

Mike sat stock still in the antique armchair in front of his home computer.  The application open on the computer was a terminal program used for connecting to the command line interface on remote servers.  He moved his hands to the keyboard and typed in a command that would open up a connection to the Winslow Labs servers.  Once connected, and with the proper access levels, he would be able to access almost any server that the company owned.  And due to the work that Winslow Labs performed for the Department of Defense, CIA, FBI, and NSA, he suspected to many other servers outside of the company.  

He pulled his fingers away from the keyboard.  What was he thinking?  Why was he so intent on doing this.  ``Hacking'' as the media called it, had never been of much interest for Mike.  He had dabbled a bit in the ``dark arts'' in college, but had limited his exploits to mainly ``intellectual pursuits''.  His roommate, however, was a serious ``Black Hat'' hacker.  George Mason, was the son of Alfred Mason, founder and CEO of Mason Information Security, a fortune 500 company that provided state-of-the-art security systems for computer networks.  Some kids rebel by doing drugs or stealing the family mini-van.  George Mason so hated his father that he rebelled by becoming everything that his father worked so hard to stop, a hacker.  And he was good at it.  Damn good.  

George had taught Mike the basics of how to get into a system and avoid detection.  But Mike had lost interest quickly.  Especially when George started to hack into bank systems and, more seriously, government networks.  Learning how to circumvent security measure and bypass intrusion detection was fun to Mike.  Getting arrested and sent to federal prison for twenty-to-life was not.  But he'd kept George's secret and turned a blind eye to the ever-deep hole that George was digging for himself.  The end had finally come just days after the two of them had graduated from college.  George finally slipped up and got caught breaking into a NASA database.  The feds had swooped down and arrested him in front of his family's summer home.  The computer press had a field day reporting on the arrest and trial of the son of Alfred Mason for hacking.

Lucky for George, his father actually did care a great deal for his son.  Despite warnings from his marketing department and board of directors, he had hired a fleet of top-notch lawyers to defend George.  George ended up pleading guilty in exchange for a lighter sentence.  He was sentenced to five years in a minimum security prison and probation for five years after his release, where he would be forbidden from operating any computer.  George, was release early for good behavior and made a public apology for his actions, swearing never to use his skills for crime ever again.  Mike had recently read that his probation was finally complete and that he had gone to work for his father's firm as a security analyst.  

Mike had never forgotten the lessons he received under George's tutelage.  He used those lessons daily when setting up new systems for the company.  Knowing how hackers work was invaluable in securing a computer network and as such, his systems had yet to be hacked.  And yet here he was, about to do just that.  And for what?  To pry into the life of a girl.  This wasn't him.  He wasn't some creepy stalker guy who dug through trashcans or went through the mail of a girl just because she had the misfortune of catching his eye.  Why was he even considering doing this?  

He shook his head and turned off the monitor.  He would not be that guy.  Alana's secrets were hers and he had no reason, no business, digging into them.  He decided that he would talk to her tomorrow.  Apologize for the question he had already asked and promise to ask no more.  With any luck, that would be enough to salvage their budding friendship.  

But the questions nagged at Mike.  Why on earth was he hearing, and more importantly, listening to, the voice of that girl from the dream?  He could imagine that it had something to do with his subconscious.  Some small part of him that wanted to know about Alana's mysterious past that was directing him toward asking these questions.  But why ask her about being from Estonia?  He had no reason to believe that she wasn't telling the truth about that.  And why had she lied about that in the first place?  Where could she be from that would require her to lie about her origins?  

Mike lay down on the bed, still fully clothed.  He was too exhausted to even undress.  Right now, all he wanted was a good nights sleep.  He turned off his nightstand lamp and floated for a while in the calm, quiet of the darkness.  

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

A distant feminine voice was humming a song that he didn't recognize.  It was close enough for him to hear it but far enough away that he couldn't pinpoint the location of the hummer.  All around him were oaken shelves, that rose from the floor to the ceiling some twenty feet up.  The shelves were stocked with leather bound books of all shapes and sizes.  Strange looking symbols decorated the spines.  High above him, an oddly shaped crystal chandelier was giving off a muted amber light.  

Mike turned to the left and right, trying to get an idea of where the humming was coming from.  He moved forward and took a right at the first intersection.  He found himself in another row of bookshelves, looking much the same as the one he had come from.  He moved forward again and this time took a left.  Still the humming seemed no closer.  He ran now, turning left at times and right at others.  The sound of humming never seemed to get any closer or further away.  

He stopped in another aisle and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.  He was drenched in sweat now and badly craved a drink of water.  He looked all about him trying to get a sense of where he was.  But this aisle looked no different than any other he had seen.  ``Dammit'' he said aloud, ``Where are you?''.

``Boo!'' 

Mike jumped and spun around to find the young girl from his dream of the door, standing in front of him.  She held her sides and laughed at his reaction.

``Ha ha'' he said, mocking her.  ``What's so funny?''

She continued to laugh but managed to pull herself together.  ``You should have seen your face.  I thought you were going to hit me for a moment.''

``I still might'' Mike scowled.  Who was this little brat and why was she dead set on either driving him crazy or outright killing him.  

The girl splayed her hands and shook them.  ``Oooo....go ahead tough guy.  This is a dream stupid.  I won't feel it.''  Mike rolled his eyes. 

``Fine, you win.  I won't hit you. Now how about you tell me what the hell is going on here?'' he said, in an attempt to sound ``no-nonsense''.

``Sheesh...'' the girl said, flinching away from him ``, someone needs a nap''

``I AM NAPPING!'' Mike shouted.  The girl took one frightened step away from him and then began tittering with laughter again.  Mike growled in frustration.

``I'm sorry...I'm sorry...'' the girl said, between howls of laughter.  ``You're just really funny looking when you're mad.  Has anyone ever told you that?''

Mike threw up his hands and began to walk away. 

``Wait...come back...'' the girl said, running after him.  ``Where are you going?''

Mike continued walking ``I'm going to find some place to sit down in this...whatever it is...and wait out this stupid dream.''
  
``Why don't you just sit down over there?'' the girl said, tugging at his sleeve and pointing to his right.  Mike opened his mouth to tell the girl that he couldn't sit on a twenty-foot tall bookshelf when he saw that she was pointing at an opening in the rows of shelves.  A wide, square carpet lay on the ground and two leather armchairs surrounded a small table.  An ornate pitcher and two crystal glasses sat atop the table.  

``Where did...'' he stammered.  He could have sworn that nothing but bookshelves had been there just seconds before.

``Nevermind that'' she said, dragging him toward the carpet ``Let's just sit down so you can relax a bit.''  When they reached the armchairs, the girl plopped herself into one and Mike cautiously eased into the other.  The small girl was practically swallowed up by the huge chair; but with little effort she scooted the chair forward so that she could reach the pitcher on the table.  She tipped the pitcher and a dark red liquid was poured into the glasses.  

``Here'' she said, offering him a glass.

Mike eyed the glass, distrustfully.  ``No thanks.  I think I want a clear head right now.''

The girl began to laugh again.  ``It's tea dummy.  Blackberry tea. See?'' she said, sipping at the glass.  Mike cursed and grabbed the glass forcefully, causing some of it to slosh over the sides and onto his hand.  Cautiously, he brought the glass to his lips and sipped.  It was good.  REALLY good.  The cool liquid was sweet with just the right amount of tartness to it.  It coated his parched mouth and cooled his overheated body.  He felt waves of stress and fear sliding off of him like water.  

``There...that's better,'' she said, nodding at him.  Mike chuffed out a small laugh and leaned forward placing the glass on the table.  He remained stooped over with his elbows on his knees.  He bent forward and ran a hand through his hair before taking a deep breath and flopping back into the chair.  

``So what is all this?'' he said, sweeping a hand in front of him.

``The Royal Library'' she answered, taking a sip from her glass and setting it on the table.  She pulled her legs up underneath her and leaned forward, balancing herself on the end of the chair.  The position didn't look safe.  Mike thought she was in danger of falling flat on her face.  He thought of warning her but then decided that it would be hilarious if that actually happened.  

Mike cocked his head.  ``Royal Library?  What like in England or something?''

``Pssshhhht'' the girl hissed and waved her hand.  ``Way off.  But never mind that.  Just focus on the fact that it is A library.  That's why you're here afterall.''

``Huh?'' Mike said.  ``I don't get it.  Why am I in a library?''

The girl rolled her eyes.  ``Because'' she said, speaking slowly and patronizingly ``A 'library' is where you go to find answers.  And that is what you're looking for.  Answers.  About her.''

The girl's mention of Alana brought a memory to the forefront of Mike's consciousness.  He leaned far forward to get a better look at the girl's face.  She brought a finger up to her the side of her left eye.  She was pointing at a small, crescent moon scar an inch away from her eye.  ``Looking for this?'' 

Mike sat back.  ``Yes.  Alana knows you, doesn't she?''

The girl smiled widely and clapped.  ``Very good. And here I thought you would never get an answer on your own.''

``How does she know you?''

The girl dropped her hands back in her lap.  ``Sorry, that's not how it works.''

``How what works?''

The girl pointed at him.  ``I can't do YOUR work for you.  You're the one who has to find the answers.  All I can do is to point you in the right direction.''

``What the hell are you talking about?  What answers?  What the hell is going on here?'' he was shouting again and the girl was trying very hard not to laugh, making him even angrier.

``Okay...okay...calm down.  I'm here because you need her.  And she needs you.  Whether you know it or not, your destinies are intertwined.  And all of us need the both of you.'' she said, her eyes and voice serious.

``All of who? And how can our destinies be intertwined? I just met her yesterday?''

``I'm sorry, I can't answer that.  But trust me.  All of that will become very very apparent soon enough.'' she said, softening her voice and looking very sympathetically at Mike.

``Trust you? I don't even know who you are?'' Mike said, looking away from the girl. 

Silence passed between them for a moment.  ``My name is Coravashanya Malasta Danyssa'' she said, intoning the words carefully. 

Mike looked up.  He hadn't expected her to actually give him her name.  He expected another cryptic response about having to figure it out on his own.  Mike whistled through his teeth.  ``That's a hell of a name.''

The girl screwed up her face.  ``This coming from a guy named Michael Carmichael.''  

Mike ignored the insult.  ``How the hell am I supposed to remember, much less pronounce a name like that?'' he said, laughing.

``Then call me Cora, stupid'' she spat at him.  

``Fine...Cora Stupid it is.'' he said, really laughing now.  

Cora sat back and glowered at him.  ``Whenever your done, do you want my help or not?''

Mike let the laughter wane and wiped his eyes.  ``Okay, so you say she needs my help.  But I can't know what she needs my help with.  Is that right?''

``Yes.'' Cora said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  

``Okay, well how am I supposed to help her then? Oh, let me guess.  'That will all become apparent soon''' he asked, going into a mocking falsetto as he aped the response he expected from her.  

Cora sighed and rolled her eyes.  ``I don't like it any more than you do.  But those are the rules.  Now you can sit here and whine about it or you can let me help you.''

``Fine.  Help me then.'' he said, pouring another glass of the sweet blackberry tea.  

Cora grabbed her glass and put it forward for Mike to fill.  ``Okay.  Tell me what you learned about her today?''

Mike swallowed a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth.  ``Well. I learned that she goes apeshit if I talk about you.  Which I'm beginning to understand.'' 

Cora stuck out her tongue at him.  ``I would avoid doing that in the future if I were you.  What else did you learn?''

Mike thought.  ``I learned that she claims never to have eaten Chinese food but somehow is an expert at using chopsticks.  I learned that she has some big dark secret that she's hiding.  And I learned that she's not really from Estonia.''

Cora nodded.  ``Good.  So, what do you think that all means?''

``I don't know.'' Mike said, shrugging his shoulders.

Cora groaned and fell back in the chair.  ``Try.  Please.''

Mike wanted very badly to mock her but just rolled his eyes and thought some more.  ``Um...well, she's obviously operating under a fake identity?''  He looked to Cora for encouragement.

``Good.  Now you must ask yourself why?'' she said, nodding at him.

Mike hissed out a long breath.  ``Could be a million reasons.  Drugs? Crime? Faked college transcripts...I don't know.'' He shook his head. 

Cora leaned closer to him.  ``All of those things are fairly commonplace and vulgar, no?  Do you really think that anything in her past would be so mundane?''

``Mundane?'' Mike asked, incredulous.  ``You think, being a drug smuggler on the lamb is commonplace?''

``Okay, bad choice of words then.  What do you think of her?'' 

``Well...she's...she's fairly magnificent isn't she?'' he said, blushing.  

Cora smiled.  ``Yes...yes she is.  Do any of the things you mentioned really sound like her?''

Mike shook his head.  ``No, I guess not.  I guess...it's not...'' he laughed.  ``I can't believe I'm saying this, but they're not grand enough for her.''

Cora laughed with him. ``No, they're not.  Okay, let's try this.  So, she's operating under an assumed identity.  But what has she done with her made up past?''

Mike rubbed his temples.  ``I don't know.  She went to college?  Got a master's degree?''

``Did she?'' Cora asked.

Mike looked up.  ``Wait...she didn't?  Then how did she get the internship?''

``Good question.  How did she get the internship?'' Cora said, leading him.

``Her aunt!  She donated a bunch of money on the condition that Alana would come to work as an intern for the labs.''

``That's right.'' Cora said.  ``So, why would someone go through all of the trouble to construct a fairly foolproof false identity just to poke around a bunch of pottery fragments?''


``I don't know.  Could she be one of those antiquities smugglers?  Jeff told me about some guys a while back who managed to smuggle some really old artifacts out of Crete a few years ago.  They made millions off of them on the black market before they got caught.'' Mike said, enthusiastically.  He felt like he was really getting somewhere.

``Could be.'' Cora said, ``But why did she choose your lab.  Think about that.'' She sat back and sipped at her tea, eying Mike the whole time.

Mike thought.  It didn't really make much sense.  The archeology lab at Winslow Labs was really just getting off its feet.  They'd never really done any truly high profile digs.  Most of their work focused on the American Southwest and certain areas of the Northeast.  To his knowledge, they had never uncovered any artifacts that would be valuable outside of the archeology community.  They'd achieved notoriety mostly by hiring well-regarded archaeologists from famous universities by paying them ridiculously large salaries.  If Alana were really an antiques smuggler, Winslow Labs would have been a spectacularly bad choice steal from. ``Yah.  I guess that doesn't make much sense.  But you're saying that she chose Winslow Labs for a reason?''

``Now there's an interesting idea'' Cora said, smirking.  

``But what's the reason?'' Mike said, slumping in defeat.  

``Ask yourself what Winslow Labs has that no other archeology labs has.''

Mike ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes.  ``Nothing.  Access to fancy tools?  But with a rich aunt she could probably get this same thing from a university.''

``Keep going'' Cora said, taking another drink of tea.

``Um...the rest of the lab has a lot of top secret stuff.  Like advanced weaponry and stuff.  But why put yourself in the archeology lab if that's what your after.  You'd be better off to pose as a physicist or engineer.''

``So, it's the archeology lab itself that she's interested in...'' Cora said, trailing off.

``But why?  We don't have anything good there.  Just a lot of Native American pottery and jewelry.'' he said, frustrated. 

``What if it's not something you have.  What if it's something that you WILL have?'' Cora offered.  

Mike popped his head up.  ``You think she's planning to steal something that's coming in from one of the digs?'' 

Cora smiled at him.  ``I don't know.  But that sounds like a pretty good thing to ask her.  Don't you think?''

Mike laughed.  ``I see how it is.  Just enough to give me a good three questions then, is it?''

Cora smiled sadly. ``I have to go now.  But I think I've at least managed to get you started.'' She stood and straightened out the skirt of her dress.  

Mike stood up as well.  ``So, are you going to be talking in my head again tomorrow?  Because that was REALLY annoying.'' he said, chuckling.

``Not unless you keep asking the wrong questions.  You were about to ask her about her favorite color weren't you?'' she said, shaking her head in disapproval.

Mike frowned.  ``How did you know that?''

Cora stepped forward and shook her hands in front of Mike's face.  ``Dream girl knows all oooooo''.  

Mike laughed and shook his head.  ``Whatever you say Cora Stupid.''  The scenery of the library began to fade away as Cora growled at his using the nickname. 

As the walls and shelves began to turn into a white mist and to lose clarity, Cora pointed over Mike's shoulder and shouted. ``Oh no! What's that?!''  

Fear flared in Mike's chest as he spun to face where she was pointing.  He saw nothing but felt the sharp pain of the kick that she placed firmly in his backside.  The dream faded away with Cora laughing merrily in Mike's head.

\begin{center} * * * *\end{center}
Mike bolted up in bed still yelling.  He reflexively reached behind himself to rub at the sore spot on his tailbone from where Cora had kicked him.   God he wanted to throttle her, the little brat.  When the pain began to fade, he flopped back down and lay on the bed splayed out.  He began to laugh at himself.  It was funny to him how worked up he was getting over a dream.  This was all by way of trying to tell himself that it WAS ``just a dream''.  

It surely hadn't felt like one.  When he closed his eyes he could still smell the musty odor of aging leather, dust, and mildew.  He could still feel warm, humid air on his skin and the soft tickle of a breeze coming in through the gap in an unseen door or window.  He could remember every detail of the...what had she called it...Royal Library.  He had perfect recollection of the conversation he'd had with the feisty young girl and the ``advice'' that she'd given him.  No, it didn't feel like a dream at all.  More like a memory.  But that was ridiculous.  Wasn't it?

He had to believe that there was a perfectly rational, reasonable explanation for the dreams, the auditory hallucinations, everything.  He just hoped that the ``rational'' explanation didn't involve him descending quickly into madness.  He groaned at the thought.  He didn't feel crazy.  But maybe crazy people don't.  He took deep breaths and tried to calm himself down and think clearly.  Maybe it was just stress.  

Since meeting Alana his whole outlook on life had started to unravel.  After the breakup with Kristen he thought he'd come to a clear understanding about himself, his weaknesses and the likely course of his life.  But in a single moment, the moment that he'd first seen her, all of that had been smashed to pieces.  It turned out that it had never been the case that he was \textit{incapable} of falling in love.  It just had never happened before.  And that realization and the fear of reject that it brought with it was more stress than he'd encountered in a long time.  

Mike, as a rule, was a guy who avoided stress like the plague.  In high school, he'd been a solid B student.  His parents never had to harass him to get better grades and he never had to deal with the pressure of advanced placement classes.  He never went out for sports and thus had all the time in the world to concentrate on doing a mediocre job at homework and to relax with his friends.  

When he got to college, he chose to major in computer science instead of one of the harder engineering programs.  He was good with computers and had mostly sailed through his classes.  On occasion, he would end up in a class that was difficult for him.  But there was easily fixed.  He had simply dropped those classes and enrolled in easier ones. 

He'd been working at Winslow Labs for five years now.  And it wasn't because the pay was spectacular or the work interesting.  It was easy.  The deadlines were loose, the environment was casual, and no one knew what he did all day.  For the most part, he could take his time with things and impress his superiors by performing ``magic'' with the computer problems that baffled them. 

Even his personal life, for the most part, was stress free.  He had friends that never really challenged him on anything.  They liked him for who he was and he gave them very little to complain about.  He was a fairly good looking guy, so finding dates had never been a problem for him.  And he had never needed to pursue a girl without knowing whether or not she liked him back.  When his relationships had failed, he was sad. But not miserable.  He would spend a couple of weeks ruminating about the loss and then decide that the girl was much better off without him.  He would hit a strip club with his friends and that would be that.  

Mike tried to think of a single time in all his life that he had ever really found something that he had to strive for.  Something that he had to put all of his efforts toward.  Something that he had attempted without assuredness that he would succeed in the end.  He couldn't think of any.  So that was it then.  He was just stressed.  Stressed because for the first time in his life, he wanted something...someone.

He wanted her badly.  He wanted everything about her and he wanted to know everything there was to know about her.  And he had no guarantee that she thought the same way about him.  She seemed to like him.  That was good; but she was so distant and far away all the time.  He couldn't tell if she just thought he was amusing or if she felt like he did about her.  Did she spend nearly every waking moment trying to find a way into his life?  Did she obsess about every word that she said to him?  Did she feel like she would regret it forever if she wasn't able to be with him?  He didn't know.  And the not knowing was driving him crazy.

He wondered if he'd really screwed things up with her last night.  Cora seemed to think that it would be okay.  He hoped that she had a little more insight into Alana than he did.  Because Mike had no idea what to make of her reaction to his, admittedly, invasive question.  He, decided that he should beat her to the punch.  He should apologize to her the moment he saw her.  Maybe if he played it cool enough, they would laugh about it together and move on.  He hoped that she wouldn't call off the ``game'' and the rewards that went with it.  He was very much looking forward to a real date with her.

And then he found himself thinking of her answer to his question and the exploration of that answer that he and Cora had done in his dream.  Cora had led him to the conclusion that Alana was faking her identity for the sole purpose of getting a placement at Winslow Labs where she could operate covertly toward objectives unknown.  But whatever she was after, it had to be something that the Archeology lab had or was soon going to have.  Was this really the kind of person that he wanted to get mixed up with?  He didn't see himself as the criminal type and he had a hard time seeing Alana that way as well.  But what other explanation could there be?  None he could think of.  

The thought nagged at him.  That he was so willing to pursue a woman who was possibly involved in major crimes seemed ridiculous to him.  But what was really scary was the fact that he didn't care.  He didn't care if she was a hardcore drug smuggler who had a string of murders under her belt.  None of the possible criminal enterprises that he had dreamed up for her could shake the need he had to be with her.  And that was a truly unsettling thought.  That there was nothing in the world that she could do that would change the way he felt about her.  He had known her a grand total of two days and already he felt this way.  In truth, he had felt this way since the moment he'd seen her.  THAT was truly insane and the realization of what he was feeling was driving him to his wits end.  

He rubbed his eyes, giving up on the idea of trying to get back to sleep.  He rolled his head to the side and looked at the clock.  It was 6:07am.  \textit{Oh well} he thought.  He felt weak, exhausted, and lifeless.  But his brain was far too awake now for sleep.  And he was too nervous about what he was going to say to Alana when he got to the office.  He sat up again, resolved to shower, shave, and dress and then get to the office early.  Maybe she would already be there like she was yesterday.  It would be nice to have the lab to themselves so they could talk in private.  He laughed when he realized that he was still wearing yesterday's clothes.  He thought to himself that all he needed was an Alanis Morrisette CD playing and it would be just like he was in high school again.

He sat up too quickly and was punished for it with a dizzy spell and a throbbing pain in his head.  He sucked in a breath through his teeth and squinted in pain.  He hoped that this would not be an all day kind of headache as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet on the cold hardwood floor.  With a hand one hand on his head and another pushing off of the bed, he stood.  A crippling wave of nausea washed over him, causing him to clutch at his stomach and double over.  Putting a hand to his mouth he raced the vomit to the bathroom.  He won, but barely.  Kneeling at the toilet, he violently emptied his stomach.  

When the retching had mercifully ceased, he wiped the moisture from his eyes and flushed the toilet.  He decided to risk standing again.  This time, there was no nausea.  In fact, his headache was gone as well.  He took a moment to assess his condition, he didn't want to call in sick to work but wondered if he should, just in case.  But he didn't feel sick.  In fact, he felt pretty good.  No need to play hooky.  

He shuffled over to the sink and turned it on, splashing several handfuls of cold water on his face.  He brushed his teeth and studied his face in the mirror.  He looked a wreck.  His eyes were bloodshot, his hair matted and pushed up against his head, bedlines creasing across his face.  He was glad that Alana wasn't here to see this.  If last night's antics hadn't chased her off, the sight of him right now surely would.  

He toweled off his face and shuffled off to the kitchen for the bottle of water that he was craving.  The ice cold water felt like heaven sliding down his raw throat.  He drank the whole bottle in several large gulps and opened another.  He was so thirsty lately.  Heavy stress must make you dehydrated he thought.  He paused after downing half of the bottle, to wipe his mouth.  His head whipped around toward the front of the house.  Someone was knocking on his door.  He looked up at the kitchen clock.  It was 6:15am.  What asshole was knocking on his door at this time?  

He stomped to the door, planning to give whoever it was a fierce piece of his mind.  He unlatched and unlocked the door and threw it open.  Bathed in 50 watts of amber light, Alana's pale skin shone like gold.  Mike staggered backward, his jaw dropping open.  At that moment, if a cargo van driven by Batman had plowed through his living room he would not have been as surprised as he was to see Alana standing in his doorway.  

``Um...hi.'' he said, running a hand through his hair, both in confusion and in an attempt to flatten out his ``bed head''.  He gave her a surprised smile that she didn't return.  Her face was rigid and aloof.  She looked every bit, a queen confronting an disloyal subject.  

``Hello.'' she said, curt and sharp. ``I apologize for dropping by so early.  But I need to talk to you.''  She said this last part with a direct and powerful force in her voice.  It wasn't so much a request to talk, but a demand.  

Mike gulped.  ``Um...ok.  What's up?''

Alana cocked an eyebrow at him.  ``Are you going to invite me in?''

Mike straightened himself.  ``Oh....yah, of course.  Sorry.  Please, come in.'' he said, stepping away from the door.  He wasn't sure but he thought he might have seen her mouth twitch as if to smile as she glided gracefully through his door.  

He shut the door behind her and turn around to face her.  She stood in the middle of his living room clutching her briefcase in both hands and looking around.  Mike suddenly felt a pang of embarrassment for what she might think of his decorating job.  His living room used to be much nicer, Kristen had forced him to take down the movie posters and neon beer signs.  But when she had left, back up they went.  It was a bit of childish defiance on his part and now he was regretting it.  

``I...uh...haven't really gotten around to decorating.'' he said, nervously.  ``I've uh...I've been looking around at catalogs and stuff but uh...yah.''

Alana turned around and met his eyes.  ``It's very...you.'' she said, emotionlessly.  Mike couldn't tell if that was a compliment or not.  

``Um...thanks.'' he said.  He pointed to the small sofa, ``Would you like to sit?'' 

Alana glanced over her shoulder at the sofa.  She nodded and moved around to the front of it.  She sat down without ever slackening the stiffness of her posture.  She sat toward the edge of the cushion and sat her briefcase down next to her.  Mike considered sitting next to her on the couch.  He would be close to her and he liked that.  But her posture warned him that such a gesture would not necessarily be a welcome one at this stage.  Instead, he opted for the chair that sat at a right angle to the sofa.  

He plopped down and gave her a nervous smile that she did not return.  Alana cleared her throat.  ``I want to talk to you about...last night.'' she said, meeting his eyes as she finished the sentence.  She was speaking carefully but with a directness that made it clear that she meant business.  ``Mike, can you tell me why you asked me about...where I'm from?''

Mike cocked his head.  He'd been somewhat expecting the question.  But even still, hearing it come from her puzzled him.  He shrugged.  ``I don't know.  It seemed like a good place to start I guess'' he lied.  He didn't want to lie to her.  But he was somewhat annoyed at being asked to explain himself when there had never been any discussion about what questions would be off-limits.  Besides, how do you tell someone that a voice from a dream had talked to you in your head?  

She bristled at his answer.  ``Seemed like a good idea?  You just out of the blue decided that I might have been lying about my background?  All on your own?''

Mike met her stare.  ``Something like that'' he replied with a confident edge to his voice.  

``Can I ask you why?  What made you think that I was lying?''

Mike shrugged again.  ``Just a hunch.  Sherlock Holmes Society...remember?'' he said, smiling devilishly at her.  She didn't smile back as he had hoped.

``Don't do that please.'' she said, shaking her head.

``What?'' he said, confused.

``Don't be funny.  I really need to know what happened.'' she said, her face stone cold and serious.  

Mike let out a sigh of frustration.  ``Look, I really don't know what you want me to say.  I'm sorry that I freaked you out.  I swear to God I wasn't trying to be rude.  If you want I'll promise not to ask you about where you're from again.  Okay?''

Alana's face hardened even further.  ``No, Mike, it's not okay.  Because you still know.  And you knowing could end up being very very bad for me.'' she said, anger welling in her voice.

``Then why in the hell did you answer me?  Or why not lie to me?  How on earth would I have known either way?'' he said, resenting the implication that this was all somehow his fault.

``I don't know'' she snapped back.  She seemed to realize how angry she sounded.  Her face softened a bit.  ``All I know is that I'm now in a position where I have to trust you.  And I don't know if I can?'' she said, looking away.

``You can'' he said, leaning toward her and placing a hand on the arm of the sofa.

``How do I know that?  I hardly know you.'' she replied, a note of fear and frustration mixing with the cold anger of her voice.

Mike sighed.  She was right, of course.  How could he convey to her that she had nothing to fear from him?  ``Okay...okay.  So...what then?  You want to just call the whole thing off?''

She crossed her arms across her chest and looked deeply into his eyes.  Mike shrank back against the back cushion of the armchair.  He looked down at his lap.  He could feel the ``yes'' coming and he hated himself for proposing the question.  But she never answered.  Instead she got to her feet, arms still crossed and began to pace.  To his great surprise, she started to laugh.  

``What's funny?'' he asked cautiously.  

``This!'' she said, sweeping her arms out in front of her.  ``This is so unbelievably ridiculous.'' 

``I don't follow'' he said.

She shook her head.  ``You just gave me an out.  No more questions.  No more possibilities for you to know any more than you already do about me.  No more chances that you'll stumble upon 'uncomfortable' information.'' she said, half-shouting.

``Um...yah...that was kind of the point.'' he replied.

``I keep telling myself that I should just do it.  I should just say 'yes, let's quit the game' and walk right out of here.  But I can't.  Because some...some...thing inside of me won't let me.  Some messed up part of me WANTS you to keep asking...to keep digging.'' She was becoming more and more agitated.  Her face was flushed with frustration and it looked as if angry tears were beginning to threaten at the lids of her eyes.

``Why does that upset you?'' he asked.

``BECAUSE THAT WASN'T THE PLAN!'' she shouted, plopping back down on the couch and burying her head in her hands.  She stayed there for a moment and then picked up her head again, meeting his eyes.  She had softened up again.  A sight that please him.  But she still wore a look of frustration and fear.  ``So much work went into this.   So much time and planning and...I don't even want to think about how much money.  I had everything carefully planned out.  And none of it involved meeting you.''

``I'm...um...sorry?'' he said, unsure what she meant by that last part.

She shook her head.  ``No.  Don't be.  It's not your fault. I suppose it's a moot point now anyway.  I'm sure after that little outburst of mine, you'll never want to see me again.''

Mike smiled and looked into her eyes. ``Alana'' he said.

She looked up and met his gaze.  ``Mike?''

He widened his grin and narrowed his eyes, ``That has to be the worst attempt to get out of a bet that I've ever seen.''

She cocked her head in confusion and then began a slowly building laugh that left her covering her mouth.  She sighed as the laughter subsided.  ``I'm sorry I was rude.  This is all just so unexpected for me.  I don't really know how to take it all in.''

``It's...uh...a little weird for me too.  Not exactly according to my plans either.  But...I'm really glad I met you, Alana.'' he said, giving her a warm smile.

She reached over and grabbed his and.  Electric warmth flowed through Mike, stopping his heart for a moment.  When he began to breath again, he found himself feeling serene and joyful.  ``I'm glad I met you too Mike. I just wish things weren't so difficult.  I'm sorry I have to be so mysterious all the time.  I want to tell you everything.  I don't like having to keep you in the dark.'' she said, looking regretful.

He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. ``You don't have to.  You can tell me anything.'' he said.

She shook her head.  ``I really can't.''

``Still don't trust me?'' he said, hurt.

``No...I mean...Yes I trust you.  It's not that.  It's...'' she paused, looking at him intently and seemingly trying to find the right words.  ``It could be very bad for you to know.  And I couldn't stand it if something were to happen to you because of me.  I'm already afraid that...this...'' she said, looking at their joined hands ``,has put you in danger.''

Mike furrowed his brow.  What to say to that?  He should be afraid.  What kind of danger could she be putting him in?  But he wasn't afraid, and he didn't care about any ``dangers''.  Whatever the danger were, they would face them...together.  ``I'm a big boy,'' he said, softly, leaning even further over the arm of the armchair.  ``I can take care of myself.''

She shook her head slowly, ``I know you are.  And I think you could probably handle things better than anyone here.  But I'm not ready to face that.  Not yet.''

He sighed and patted her hand.  ``Okay.''

``Do you understand?'' she asked, hopefully. 

``I think so.  Should I stop asking questions?'' he asked.

She smiled.  ``Now who's trying to get out of the bet?''

Mike chuffed out a laugh.  ``I swear I'm not.  I just wanted to know if you still wanted me to ask.''

``I hope you will.  You're very cute when you're playing detective.'' she said, reaching over and placing a hand on his cheek.  It felt marvelous to him.  He grinned dumbly and blushed.  

Their reverie was broken by the sound of his alarm clock going off in the bedroom.  Mike sighed and looked toward the sound.  ``Time to get up.'' he said.  

She frowned.  ``I'm sorry.  I kept you from sleeping.  I should get out of your way.'' she said, picking her briefcase off the floor.  

Mike placed a hand on her arm.  ``Please.  Stay.  It'll only take me a few minutes to get ready.  I could take you to breakfast before work.'' 

She smiled.  ``But we'll be late.'' 

``So we'll be late.  If you haven't noticed, I'm very good friends with the boss.  He'll understand.'' 

Alana sighed, contentedly.  ``Okay.  If you think it will be okay, I would love to go to breakfast with you.'' 

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

Fifteen minutes later, Mike exited the bathroom clean and fresh.  He was still wiping the excess shaving cream from his face as he peeked out at Alana sitting on the couch, watching television.  He'd expected her to be watching CNN or MSNBC.  Instead, small blue creatures were running as a hook-nosed bald man chased them.  He walked out to the living room and stood by the couch.

``You're watching 'The Smurfs''' he said, more a statement than a question.

``Yes.'' she replied, not taking her eyes from the screen.

``Oh...you...like...'The Smurfs'?'' he asked, incredulously.

``It mystifies me.'' she said, still not looking away.

``'The Smurfs'... mystify you?''

Alana sighed.  ``This Gargamel...he's supposed to be this powerful wizard right?  So how come he never thinks to make a map to Smurf Village?  He's found it at least twenty times by my count.  Why not write down the directions?''

Mike stood speechless for a moment.  And then burst out in laughter. Alana sighed, turned off the television and stood.  ``Allright.  Since, I've entertained you so much this morning, YOU can buy breakfast.''

\begin{center}* * * * *\end{center}

Karen's Cup O' Sunshine  was true to its name.  Every single square inch of the dining room was covered by some object bearing a ``sun'' motif.  Happy little suns grinned at him from the wallpaper, the menu was bright sun yellow, the jukebox was playing \textit{Here Comes the Sun}, \textit{Sunshine of my Life}, and \textit{Soak up the Sun} on what seemed like an endless loop.  Mike shook his head, thinking to himself that it was possible to carry a theme too far.  He'd decided to bring Alana here because he'd heard that they had the best breakfast menu in town.  But he was seriously beginning to regret that decision.  He groaned as he picked up his coffee cup and saw another cherubic sun winking at him.  He set it down without taking a drink.

To her credit, Alana was unphased by the garishness of the decor.  To her discredit, she was thoroughly enjoying the fact that it bothered Mike so much.  ``Oh look,'' she said, pointing at the menu ``, the Sunrise Special.  Two eggs...wait for it...SUNNY SIDE UP!''.  She looked at mike with jubilant eyes and laughed as he glared at her.  ``You're such a grouch, Mike.  You really need to...'' 

``DON'T say it.'' he warned.

``...SUNNY side of life!'' she finished breaking into a fit of laughter.

Mike couldn't help but smile as he lowered his head and rhythmically banged it against the table.  

A waitress in her fifties with bad makeup and a hairdo that added at least another foot to her height arrived, carrying plates of food on her long and age beaten arms.  ``Okay, we have a Denver Omelet for you,'' she said, setting a plate in front of Mike.  ``And...a DOUBLE pancake plate for the lady.''  She laid the heaping plate in front of Alana.  

Alana rubbed her hands together excitedly.  ``Thank you,'' she said, smiling at the waitress.

``No problem, honey.  It's nice to see a young thing like you with such a healthy appetite.  Enjoy.'' the waitress, walked away laughing.

``Hungry much?'' Mike asked, indicating to the plate that Alana was buys smothering in maple syrup.  

``I LOVE pancakes'' Alana said, beaming.  Mike had to laugh.  She looked so adorable right now.  

``I sure hope so.'' he said.   Alana gave him a wry smile and dug a fork into the stack.  

She closed her eyes and smiled as she stuffed the forkful into her mouth.  She chewed slowly, a look of pure joy spreading across face.  ``Mmmmmmmm''

He laughed again.  ``What? They don't have pancakes in...Say, where are you from anyway?'' he asked. 

She swallowed and took a sip of tea.  ``Not exactly true of false is it?'' she said, cutting another forkful.

He sighed. ``That wasn't supposed to be one of the 'game' questions.  I was just curious.''

``Curiosity is good,'' she said, nodding her head. 

He shook his head and cut off a piece of his omelet.  ``Allright.  So I guess it's 'questions' time then.  Do you want to start or should I?''

She pointed to him.  ``You start.  Can't talk.  Eating.''

He laughed.  ``Okay pancake girl,'' he said.  She laughed through her stuffed mouth.  Mike popped a bite of omelet in his mouth and chewed as he thought.  ``True or False: Alana Mosvani is your real name?''

She smiled.  ``True AND false.  Alana, yes.  Mosvani, no.''

Mike raised his eyebrows.  ``Wow.  An explanation.  Mighty generous of you.''

``Don't get used to it'' she said, smiling and biting off another mouthful.

He laughed and ate more of the omelet.  ``True of false...'' he began.

``You know, you don't have to start everything that way.'' she said, cutting him off. ``I know it's going to be a true or false question.  You don't have to say 'true or false'''

Mike sniffed at her.  ``Fine.  Right or wrong...'' he said, petulantly.  Alana wrinkled her nose at him and smiled.  He was about to finishing asking the question he had started but then stopped to take a bite of his omelet.

``Something wrong?'' she asked.

Mike drummed his fingers on the table.  ``Um...I just don't want you to get the wrong idea about the question I was going to ask.  I don't want it to come off like I'm...judging you or something.''

She furrowed her brow.  ``Just ask.  How bad could it be?''

Mike hemmed. ``Weeeeeell.  It could be pretty bad if you took it the wrong way.'' 

She rolled her eyes at him.  ``Just ask.  I'm sure you're overthinking it.''

Mike continued to drum his fingers.  ``I...dunno...''

Alana pointed her butter knife at him.  ``Ask or I start in with the 'sun' puns again.''

Mike held up his hands and laughed.  ``Whoaaa.  Ok...but remember...you asked for it...'' he took one more long look at her and started in.  ``Okay...well...I've been thinking.  You've gone through all of this trouble to uh...'' he looked around him to make sure that no one was close enough to hear.  The few patrons in the restaurant were far enough away that he felt safe that they wouldn't hear him.  Nonetheless, he leaned closer to her and whispered ``...hide..who you are.''

``Yes?'' she said, lowering her eyes to his.  

``So...uh...there has to be a good reason why someone would do that.  And the only thing I can come up with is...Alana. Is there something...at the lab...that you're trying to...get?''

She looked down at her pancakes and stabbed a fork into them.  ``You mean steal right?''

Mike swallowed hard.  ``Yah...yah I guess I do.''

She looked up at him, her eyes hard.  ``True.'' she said, tersely.  Mike nodded and leaned back in his chair.  ``It's not what you think though.  I'm not a thief...well...not a professional one or anything.''

Mike shook his head. ``I never though you were.''  Alana jabbed at her plate more forcefully than necessary.  Mike frowned.  ``See, I knew it would anger you.''

Alana shook her head.  ``I'm not angry.  I'm just...surprised.  You seem awfully well informed.''

Mike's brow knit together.  ``Hey...I'm just guess here you know.  I'm not like...you know...spying on you or anything.''  This instantly brought a guilty memory for him of last night and the temptation he'd felt to hack into her personnel files.

Alana sighed and looked up at him, her expression softer now. ``No, I know you're not.  I'm sorry...I'm just...you know...jumping at shadows.  You're better at this whole thing than I thought you would be.  And at first I thought you might be working for...someone...against me.''

Mike was taken aback by this.  ``You thought I was...like a cop or something?''

She nodded.  ``Something like that.  But nevermind that.  I know you're not now.''

Mike was relieved at first but then a thought struck him.  ``Wait...how do you know I'm not.  Are you spying on me?''

She laughed.  ``No.  Nothing like that.  I just...'' she shook her head.  ``I don't know how to describe it.  I'm not used to trusting people, Mike.  But, for some reason, something about you tells me that I can trust you.  Maybe it's just wishful thinking...''

Mike stopped her.  ``No...it's not.  You can trust me.  I know what you mean.''

She smiled brightly, ``Good.  Now ON with the interrogation, detective.''

He shook his head at her and laughed.  ``Okay.  Final question.  This...uh...thing you're looking for.  I know you're not a thief or anything like that...so...I imagine it's got to be pretty important to you.  I'm going to guess that it's something important to you personally...I'm guessing it's something from home.  Am I right?''

Alana let out an exasperated sigh.  ``Technically that's two questions but...true.  Yes.''

Mike smiled and rubbed his hands together.  ``It's all coming together now.''

``Pfffft.  Please.  You're still a LOOOOONG way off from digging into anything useful.  Don't get your hopes up.'' Alana said, dismissively.

Mike laughed.  ``Methinks the lady doth protest too much,'' Mike quoted.  ``I'm totally getting close.''

Alana scrunched up her face at him.  ``Okay Mr. Confidence, well now it's my turn to ask the questions.''

``Fine,'' he said, cutting off another bite of the omelet.  ``Give me your worst.''

She took a sip of tea and cut another forkful of pancakes, dragging it through her lake of syrup.  ``I'll start off easy today.   I know how 'sensitive' you can be about personal questions.'' she said, ribbing him. ``What's your favorite movie?''

Mike chuffed out a short laugh.  ``Really?  That's what you want to know?''

Alana looked surprised.  ``Seems like a fair question.  Would you prefer I ask about a history of insanity in your family?''

Mike shook his head.  ``No, I'm just surprised you're going so soft on me.  I was prepared for invasive personal questions.''

``I'm just getting started'' Alana replied, smirking at him.

Mike laughed.  ``\textit{Star Wars}'' he answered.

Alana cocked her head.  ``I'm not familiar with that one.'' she said, matter-of-factly.

Mike stared back incredulous.  ``You've never heard of \textit{Star Wars}?''

She shook her head.  ``Doesn't ring a bell.''

``Jesus, Alana, did you grow up in a cave or something?''

She shot him a sour look.  ``It wasn't a cave.  So, I take it that this \textit{Star Wars} is pretty good then?''

``Changed my life'' he said, half laughing.  He was only mostly joking.

``Good to know.'' she said.  ``Now, what is your favorite song?''

As Mike ate she asked a series of superficial questions like this.  She covered books, music, television, colors, foods.  Her questions were asked so lightly and with so little emotion that Mike couldn't help but feel a trap looming over his head.  One that he was powerless to stop.  

When he had finished describing his childhood home to her, she leaned forward, grinning that mischievous smile that Mike knew to mean trouble.  ``Now, what about this ex of yours.  What was her name?  Crissy? Krusty?  Curtain?'' she said, feigning forgetfulness.

Mike felt the trap snap in his mind.  ``Kristen'' he answered.

Alana snapped her fingers. ``That's right.''

``What do you want to know about her?''

``Was she pretty?''

Mike grunted.  ``Yes.'' he answered warily. 

Alana smiled wider.  ``So...what happened there?  Why aren't you still with her?''

Mike groaned and slumped back in his chair, suddenly not hungry anymore.  Alana laughed.  ``Well,'' Mike began ``, why does anyone break up?'' he said, trying to dodge the subject.

``I don't know.  But I'm not asking about 'anyone', I'm asking about you and ol' whatshername''

Mike pinched the bridge of his nose.  ``I guess, we just didn't see eye to eye on certain things.''

Alana cocked her head.  ``What things?''

Mike reached for the water glass on the table and drained half of it.  ``Mostly, how we felt about each other.''

``Oh?  She didn't love you?''

Mike coughed.  ``Um...other way around.'' he said, clearing his throat.

Alana leaned back and eyed Mike carefully.  ``Interesting.  You two were together kind of a long time weren't you?''

``Two years, give or take a month'' he answered, suddenly finding one of the decorations on the wall very interesting.

``That's a long time to spend with someone you're not in love with.'' Alana prodded ``, why did you stay so long if you weren't in love with her?''

Mike shrugged.  ``I dunno.  I guess I hoped it would...you know...develop or something.''

Alana chuckled.  ``Not that I have a ton of experience, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't work that way.''

Mike sighed.  ``Yah...I know.  I just thought that it might.  It would've been nice for a change'' 

``For a change?'' she asked, picking up on his careless comment. 

Mike gulped.  ``Yah.  I've...uh...it's kind of a recurring theme in my relationships.  I...uh...I've never...you know...been...''

``In love?'' Alana finished for him.

``Yah.'' Mike said, nodding.  His gut felt like it had twisted into the shape of a pretzel.  He looked down at his plate suddenly hoping that the omelet had given him food poisoning.  He didn't want to look up to see her reaction.

But to his surprise she merely shrugged.  ``That's not so terrible you know.  I mean...I've never been in love either.''

He looked up surprised.  ``Really?''

She shook her head.  ``Nope.  Never even had a boyfriend'' She looked up then and noticed Mike's gobsmacked expression.  ``You look surprised.''

``I am!'' he exclaimed.

``Why?''

Mike struggled to find words.  ``Well...I mean...look at you?''

She looked down at herself.  ``What?''

``You're...you're...well...gorgeous.'' 

Alana smiled.  ``You flatter me.''

``I really don't.  I'm just stating what would be obvious to anyone with a pulse''.

A blush crept up her cheeks.  ``Well, thank you.'' she demurely lowered her eyes.  ``But my point is...it's not the worst thing in the world.''

``Never said it was.'' Mike replied flippantly.

``No?  It looked like you were pretty upset about it.''

Mike sighed.  ``I dunno.  It's just become kind of a thing with me over the past few years.  I meet a girl, I like her, she likes me, and then some months later she leaves crying because I haven't fallen for her yet.''

Alana raised her eyebrows.  ``Well, you sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet.''

Mike snapped to attention.  ``Oh...shit...sorry.''

Alana laughed.  ``Mike.  I was kidding. Relax.  You're really wound up about this aren't you?''

He shrugged.  ``Yah...I dunno.  I just....I'm starting to feel like I'm...you know...broken or something.  Or cursed.  Maybe that's more like it.''

Alana snorted a laugh.  Mike shot her a surprised insulted look.  She shook her head, still laughing.  ``I'm sorry...I'm...'' she continued to laugh.  ``Sorry.  Cursed? Really?''

Mike blushed.  ``Maybe that's a bit...''

``Melodramatic?  Just a little.'' She finished for him.  ``Speaking as someone who knows a thing or two about curses.'' she said, starting as she realized what she'd just said.  ``Um...I mean...well.  Just because you haven't found someone to love yet doesn't mean you're cursed.''

Mike stared at the table.  ``Seems easy enough for everyone else.  Mike has Carol, Craig has Donna, even Dr. Sanderson is engaged.''

``The cockroach guy?'' Alana asked, making a disgusted look.

``Yup.  Met her at a cockroach race.'' Mike answered, raising his eyebrows.

Alana shuddered.  ``Okay, but Mike,'' she pointed out the window to the street.  ``There are over six BILLION people out there.''

``That's a lot of people'' he said, smartly.

She rolled her eyes.  ``Anyway, there are over six billion people out there.  And endless combinations of physical, mental, and emotional traits.  It's a miracle that any two of them find mutually compatible combinations.  And you think you're cursed just because you haven't found your magic combination yet?  Notice that I used the word 'yet'''.

Mike just stared at his plate.  She was right, of course.  Dead right.  He looked up at her softly.  ``Well...when you put it THAT way...''

Alana laughed.  She reached over and grabbed his hand.  ``You're not cursed Mike.  And you're not broken.  From where I sit, you're pretty darn great.''

He nodded.  ``Yah, I know. But thanks for reminding me.''

``No problem.'' she said, smiling sweetly at him.  

He swallowed hard as the idea that maybe he had found his ``magic combination'' formed in his head.

\begin{center} * * * * \end{center}

They were late.  Twenty minutes late to be exact.  But no one seemed to notice as Mike and Alana strode across the lab floor.  All anyone would seemed to notice was that they were arriving together, looking slightly more than ``chummy'' with one another.  They were arm-in-arm, leaning into one another to whisper something.  Occaisionally one would laugh, and occaisionally one would blush.  

They walked casually into Mike's office like this.  Mike was about to wish her a good day on the job when the sound of a throat being cleared interrupted them.  Immediately they stepped away from each other and tried to look innocent.  Jeff sat, legs crossed, arms folded in Jeff's office chair.  

``I'd...uh...better get to work.'' Alana said, nervously.  

``Oh relax'' Jeff said rolling his eyes.  ``I'm not here to bust up your little...whatever it is.  I just needed to tell Mike something.''

Mike set down his bag.  ``What's up?'' he asked, trying to pretend like he wasn't phased by the interruption. 

``Mr. Winslow has asked to borrow you for the day.'' Jeff answered.

Mike shot Jeff an incredulous look.  ``Borrow me?  Like I'm a stapler or something?''

Jeff chuffed.  ``Get over it.  Aren't you at least a little surprised?''

Mike shook his head.  ``I'm a little curious.  Doesn't he have his own IT staff or something?''

Jeff followed Mike with his gaze.  ``He has his own person IT guy.  But for some reason he wants you today.''

Mike shrugged.  ``Okay.  So...?''

``So...I've never met anyone who works here that's ever met him...or even seen him.'' Jeff answered as though it should be obvious why he was so intrigued.

Mike rolled his eyes.  ``Oh God.  Not you too.''

Jeff stood up.  ``Me too what?''

``You guys around here act like he's sasquatch or something.  He's a busy man.  Travels a lot.  What do you want him to do, have lunch at the diner with you?''

Jeff shook his head.  ``Allright, if you're not weirded out about it, then be my guest.  You're all his today.  Have a good one''  Jeff sauntered out of the office, still shaking his head.

Mike laughed.  ``Paranoid freak.'' he muttered.  He looked up and found Alana standing perfectly still by the door.  A look of deep worry lined her face.  ``You okay?'' he asked.

She shook her head.  ``Don't go.'' she said, half whispering.

Mike's brow ridged in confusion.  ``Why not?''

She looked away and moved her mouth like she was trying to say something.  ``Just...don't.''

``Alana...he's the CEO.  I kinda have to.  What's wrong?''

She shook her head and walked over to him.  ``Just...promise me you'll be careful.  Okay?'' she asked, placing a hand on his chest and looking up into his eyes.  

Mike laughed softly.  ``It's computer work Alana, nothing dangerous.''

She stepped away from him.  ``When you're dealing with Derek Winslow, everything is dangerous.''  And with that, she turned and left his office.  Mike stood scratching his head.    

\begin{center} * * * *\end{center}

It had been a long time since Mike had seen this part of the Winslow Labs campus.  Stepping out from the western facing exit of the archeology lab, he along the heavily tree lined sidewalk that led from there to the central courtyard of the complex.  Stepping into the courtyard was like walking out of a tunnel.  The tree line ended abruptly and bright sunlight poured over the wide circular courtyard.  Like a great wheel, six sidewalks came together meeting in the middle.  Where they met, an inner sidewalk encircled a smaller grassy area.  A large marble statue stood there, depicting a man in a labcoat lifting a marble earth above his head. 

Behind the statue and rising high into the air, was an imposing structure of glass, steel, and concrete.  The building looked like was built to look like a collection of right triangles.  Several smaller triangles surrounded the center structure which rose twenty stories into the air like a thin, sharp, pyramid.  The story went that Augustus Winslow had designed the building himself, intending it to be a modern-age take on the cathedrals of old.  He had even dubbed the building The Cathedral of Scientific Wisdom.  Mike had rolled his eyes when he'd heard that.  To him it just looked like a gaudy monstrosity.  

He stepped through the main entrance doors of the ``cathedral'' building and stood looking around at the lobby area.  He hadn't been here for many years.  The last time being his orientation upon being hired.  In some ways it was the same, there was still the large metallic reception desk in the middle of the marble floor with the Winslow Labs logo display proudly on the front.  One of the walls wasn't really a wall at all but a viewing glass into a huge aquarium that featured several exotic sea creatures.  The opposite facing wall was different than he'd remembered, he couldn't remember what had been there before, but now it had been replaced by a gigantic LCD screen where a video was playing highlighting the advancements that Winslow Labs had brought the world.  The furniture behind the reception desk was still there but the oak and cloth armchairs had been replaced with by steel and leather with built-in computer screens for checking email or whatever one would do while waiting for an appointment.  

Mike stepped up to the podium.  A pretty young receptionist set down her phone and smiled at him.  ``Hello, can I help you?'' she asked, in a plasticly chipper voice.  

Mike showed her the security badge around his neck.  ``Hi.  I'm Mike Carmichael from Archeology.  I'm here...um...I think Mr. Winslow is expecting me?'' he said, not sure exactly how one announced himself for an appointment with the CEO.  

The receptionist looked down at the computer screen embedded in the desk in front of her and tapped at the screen with her long manicured nails.  She looked up to him, ``Are you sure it was for today?  I don't have any appoints scheduled for him today.''

Mike frowned.  ``As far as I know.  My boss just told me that he had requested that I work with him today.''

She tapped her nails against the desk in an irritating staccato.  ``Hmmmmm...I think there must have been a mixup.  Mr. Winslow has his own...''

``I'll take him, Rebecca.'' A booming voice called from the elevator area.  Mike looked up to see Tomlinson walking briskly toward them like a menacing bull in black polyester.  He reached the reception desk and gave Rebecca a smile.  Mike had never seen him smile before.  It looked like it pained him.  Like his face was made of actual stone and only a great effort could change it.  ``Thank you.'' he said, looking down at the receptionist, his hand resting on her shoulder.  Looking up at Mike with the same stony expression that had always seemed to Mike like another piece of the Winslow Labs Security uniform, ``Mr. Carmichael, if you'll follow me please.''

Mike obeyed this simple instruction and walked behind Tomlinson toward the great chrome elevators that lined the north wall of the lobby.  The elevator doors closed a half-second after Mike had entered.  Tomlinson stepped to one side of the elevator where a panel with lighted floor buttons glowed.  He used his large muscular body to block the panel from sight.  Mike could hear what sounded like a small metal door opening and a series of numbers being punched into a keypad, and then again, the small metal door closing.  When that was done, Tomlinson took a step back and hit the large number 20 at the top of the panel.  The elevator began to move, swiftly and silently.  

The doors of the elevator opened into a smaller reception area than the one down stairs.  Another chrome reception desk was situated in front of a wide metal door, into which had been carved in large block letters, ``Augustus Winslow III, CEO''.  No one was seated at the reception desk, which Mike thought strange but shrugged it off.  Other than the desk and doors, the room was empty.  No chairs, no table, nowhere for anyone to sit and wait.  It was like a room that had been setup perfunctorily, only giving the ``appearance'' of a waiting area.  

Tomlinson faced Mike.  ``Please set your bag upon the desk, Mr. Carmichael.'' he said, his voice flat and unemotive.  Confused, Mike followed the instruction.  Tomlinson nodded, ``Now please empty your pockets onto the desk.''  Again, Mike followed his instructions, pulling out his keys, cellphone, and wallet and multi-tool and placed them on the desk without comment.  Tomlinson gave the items a cursory glance and focused on Mike again.``Please face the desk and put your hands on top, palms down.''

Mike stared back, his brow furrowed.  ``What is this?'' he asked, the image of his own execution style murder popping into his head.

Tomlinson sighed, ``Standard procedure sir.  Please, don't make this difficult'' he said, his impatience clear.

Mike warily turned to face the desk and placed his hands upon it.  Tomlinson stepped behind Mike and with rough hands began to pat him down.  He was unshy about patting every single inch of Mike's body, searching for, Mike hoped, a concealed weapon.  

``Thank you'' Tomlinson said, bruskly.  He then stepped over to the desk and took hold of Mike's laptop bag.  He opened the central pocket and took out the laptop within and opened it.  He looked it over carefully and then set it to the side.  He repeated this procedure with every item that had been in the bag.  Every pocket was checked and when that was done, the bag itself was inspected.  When he was done, he replaced every item to the exact place that it had been when he'd started.  He handed the bag to Mike.  Tomlinson picked up Mike's keys and wallet and handed them to him.  ``You can take these in with you.  The cellphone and Leatherman will have to stay with me.''

Mike was about to object to this but seeing the look on Tomlinson's face told him that no amount of righteous indignation would sway him.  He simply nodded, ``Okay.  Thanks''

Tomlinson nodded and then moved around the desk to stand in front of the office door.  He pulled the large door open and motioned for Mike to enter.  Mike cleared his throat, grabbed his bag from the desk and walked through the doors.

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

When he was thirteen years old, Mike and eleven of his classmates were rewarded for their good grades with a school-sponsored trip to Washington D.C.  The thing he remembered most about that trip was standing in the rotunda of the U.S. Capitol Building.  He remembered just standing there, in the center of the room, looking all around him and marveling at the grandeur and beauty of everything.  Until the moment that he walked into Derek Winslow's office, he had never seen anything more amazing than that.

Mr. Winslow's office wasn't just big.  It was enormous.  Huge windows lined the south wall, and the light from outside poured into the room.  Looking closer, Mike could see that they weren't just windows, however.  Wherever you stood, if you looked slightly to your right, you would see a computer readout of current temperatures and weather forecasts, stock prices, and news headlines.  If you took a step in either direction, the computer display would follow you so that it was permanently at your disposal.  

The western wall was actually another giant LCD display like the one downstairs in the lobby.  But unlike that one, this wall was split into what must have been twenty-five smaller screens, each showing a different program.  Looking up, Mike could see that the ceiling too was actually a computer display, this one was set to display an image of the night's sky, complete with moon, stars, and even a comet.

Tomlinson led the way, passing them by a lounge setup facing the ``TV Wall''.  A comfortable looking couch and chairs surrounded a squat table with a glass top.  Looking closer, Mike could see that the table was also a ``stealth'' computer.  Mike just shook his head.  This guy sure liked his technology.  

Winslow was seated behind a long flat silver desk that wrapped around him in a half-circle.  Instead of having one computer monitor in the center of the desk, Winslow had five that were arrayed such that any direction he turned, he would have another screen. Tomlinson cleared his throat and Winslow looked up.  Mike was immediately struck by the vigorous image of the man seated behind the desk.  He wasn't sure what he had been expecting the CEO to look like, but it wasn't this.

Winslow was tall. Even seated as he was, Mike could guess that he was at least 6' 3'' if not taller.  His long curly brown hair, only slightly streaked with gray, fell loosely around his shoulders.  His skin was deeply tanned but mostly unlined, only a few small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. An meticulously clipped beard blanketed the bottom half of his face.  His build was athletic but not bulky.  He smiled as he looked up showing two rows of bright white teeth and a pair of cold, piercing blue eyes.  He stood to greet Mike, his expensive Italian suit perfectly tailored to the contours of his body.  

Stepping out from behind the desk, Winslow approached Mike swiftly, his face beaming a smile.  He stopped directly in front of Mike, a little close for Mike's comfort.  Locking eyes on Mike he stuck his hand out.  Mike reciprocated, taking his hand firmly.  Winslow's grip was strong, a little too strong.  With his other hand, Winslow reached across Mike's body to grab his upper arm.  He shook Mike's hand vigorously, still locking his eyes on Mike's.  ``Michael Carmichael, great to meet you.  How the hell are you?.'' Winslow said, cheerily, his voice loud and enthusiastic.  

Mike was surprised by the greeting.  He laughed nervously.  ``I'm...uh...great.  It's nice to meet you too, sir''

Winslow slapped his arm roughly.  ``Hey, none of this sir stuff.  And no Mr. Winslow either.  You call me Derek and I'll call you Mike.  How's about that?''

Mike grinned nervously.  ``Uh...sure...uh...Derek.  It's nice to meet you.''

Winslow broke the handshake, moving his hand to Mike's shoulder.  ``The pleasure is all mine.  It's nice to finally meet this computer whiz that I've been hearing so much about.''

Mike raised his eyebrows.  ``You've been hearing about me?''

``I sure have Mike!'' Winslow boomed ``All I hear about from Archeology is the fantastic software you've been writing for them.  Totally revolutionized the cataloging I hear.  And Julie Newton from accounting goes on and on about how often you've saved their butts down in accounting.  You, my boy, are what this company is all about!''

``I...I am?'' Mike asked, flattered but surprised by this sudden onslaught of praise.  

``Absolutely.  Technology for a better tomorrow!  That's our slogan isn't it?  And how can we be expected to achieve that if we can't improve ourselves eh?''  Winslow asked, raising his eyebrows.

Mike smiled.  ``Yah...yah...I see what you mean.''

Winslow snapped his fingers.  ``Absolutely.  And with that in mind...'' he looked past Mike to Tomlinson.  ``Uh...Greg,  do you mind?''

Tomlinson stared back blankly.  ``Sir, I really think...''

Winslow shook his head and put up his hand ``I understand Greg, but really, I'll be fine.  Thank you for your...uh...diligence''.  Tomlinson looked back and forth between Mike and Winslow.  He sniffed loudly and clicked his heels together, turning in a perfect about-face before walking out of the office.  He shut the doors behind them.

Winslow looked back to Mike.  ``You'll have to forgive Greg.  He's former Secret Service.  He's always expecting some assassin to jump out from behind the furniture.  Makes for a great security man, but can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.  You know what I mean? ''  Winslow moved, quickly over to a small table set next to his desk where a pewter coffee service rested.  ``Care for a cup of coffee?''

``Assassin?'' Mike asked, looking around himself.

Winslow waved his hand at Mike.  ``Nothing to worry about Mike.  We're perfectly safe here.  It just comes with the territory.  Anytime you set out to change the world, there will be some people who object to the ways in which you intend to do it.'' he said, as he poured the coffee into two mugs.  ``And some of them...well...some of them have a few screws loose and like to think that killing me would...I dunno...  Anyway, you need not fear coming to work or anything.  With Greg and his team on the job, this place is just as secure as a military base.  Probably safer actually.'' He walked back over to Mike and handed him a mug.  ``Here you go.''

Mike took the mug and sipped from it.  The taste was divine.  He smiled up appreciatively.  

``You like?  It's Bolivian.  I'll have a bag sent over to you.  Excellent stuff.'' Winslow said, raising his mug to Mike in a salutatory gesture.  He drank from the mug and let out a loud ``Ahhhhhh.  Nothing like a cup of good coffee before setting into a day of work eh Mike?''  He slapped Mike's shoulder roughly.

``Yah...sure.'' Mike answered, juggling his cup, trying to avoid spilling any of the steaming hot coffee onto his hand.  

Winslow snapped his fingers again.  ``Right!  Work.  That's why I asked for you today.  I have a little problem Mike and I need a real ace to help me out.  So, naturally, I called for you.''

Mike smiled.  ``What can I help you with, ssi...err..Derek?''

Winslow chuckled.  ``Atta boy.'' He set his mug down on the desk and moved swiftly over to one side of the room.  A table sat against the wall, with a large white sheet covering it.  Winslow tugged at the corner of the sheet, uncovering stacks upon stacks of metal briefcases.  He motioned for Mike to come over.

When Mike reached the table, Winslow thrust one of the briefcases into his hands.  ``Here, take a look.''

Mike unlatched the briefcase and opened the lid.  Inside was a shiny silver laptop bearing the logo for Grady Computers on the lid.  Mike goggled at it as he set the briefcase back down on the computer.  He lifted the computer out the case and ran his hands over the edges of it.  ``Oh my god.'' he whispered under his breath.

``Ahhhh.'' Winslow bellowed, ``So you recognize it.  Good.  I like a computer guy who keeps up with the latest and greatest.''

``It's uh...a Grady Roughbook 7.  I didn't think these were on the market yet.''

Winslow smiled.  ``They're not.  But Andre Grady and I are old friends.  You like it?''

Mike let out a low whistle.  ``What's not to like. Titanium alloy casing, shock-resistant drive mountings, elecro-magnetic shielding....not to mention the fact that these are basically supercomputers shrunk down to portable size.'' Mike mumbled, practically drooling.

The vulpine smile was evident in Winslow's voice.  ``That's right.''

Mike looked up grinning like an idiot.  ``I saw a video on Youtube where they ran over one of these with a tank!  It came out without a scratch and booted up just fine!''

Winslow laughed a hearty booming laugh. ``Absolutely.  I don't know if they've tested it or not, but supposedly one of these could take a shot from the gun on that tank and still be fine.''

Mike just stood shaking his head.  ``So...what do you need me for?'' he asked.

Winslow placed his hand on Mike's shoulder.  ``Well, have you ever been to Sub-Saharan African Mike?'' 

Mike laughed.  ``Uh...no.  Haven't made it there yet.''

``Well,'' Winslow continued.  ``For years now we've been donating money, food, computers, medical supplies... whatever ... through various charities there.  But then, last year, I was talking to a fellow from Kenya.  He mentioned where he was from and I started this long spiel about how much money we donate and all that.  And do you know what he said to me?''

``What?'' Mike asked.

``He said 'Sir...please stop'.  I couldn't believe it.  I was angry.  Here I was, trying to do a good deed for my fellow man, and this guy tells me to stop.  So I argue with him.  And he tells me that all of that money, all of those supplies, they basically do nothing for his people.  You see, all of that stuff just gets funneled to corrupt warlords who sell it on the black market, making a tidy profit while their people starve.  He tells me that what Africa really needs is not charity, but investment!   So, I looked into it.  Turns out he was right.  Africa is a great untapped resource, rife with opportunity for a company with the gonads to take the initiative.  So I spent the last year putting together a plan to open a technology center in Africa.  And we're all set to go.  The forward team will be heading out tomorrow to get the ball rolling on all of the infrastructure we need to build out.  These computers are for them.  But there's a problem.''

``Oh yah?'' Mike said, trying like hell to follow along with Winslow's energetic ramblings.

``Yes, Mike.  You see, I thought I was being smart by calling in a favor from Andre for these computers.  They're exactly what my forward team will need out there.  But the problem is, that they came straight from the production line.  They have no software, no operation system, nothing.  They're essentially really expensive hunks of metal right now.  I hate to ask this of you Mike, I know you're busy, but do you think you could have them set up with our field software package.  Is there anyway you could get that done today?  I promise, you'll be rewarded for it.''

Mike gulped.  There had to be over a hundred computers in this stack.  His gut instinct was to say that there was no way in hell that it could be done.  But he made himself calm down and think laterally.  He began to run some numbers in his head.  When the idea hit him he began to nod his head.  ``You know...I think I can.'' He reached into his bag and pulled out a small device.  ``I'll need to hook this up.  It's a network hub.  If I can split the network connection in here to go to five computers, I can have them install the software packages over the net.  I can do five at a time.  It'll still take a while but it can be done.''

Winslow slapped Mike's shoulder hard.  ``Now THAT'S what I'm talking about.  Way to think outside of the box Mike.''

Mike smiled. ``No problem.  It's what I do.''

``Okay Mike. I'll let you get started.  You just tell me if you need anything.  Otherwise I'll just stay out of your way.  I've canceled all of my calls for today so you won't even notice I'm here.''  

Mike nodded and smiled as Winslow walked back to his desk.  He let out a long sigh as he looked at the huge stack of briefcases in front of him.  He tried to tell himself that it looked worse than it actually was.  \textit{I can do this...I can do this} he repeated over and over again in his mind.  Nodding to himself he pulled some network cables out of his laptop case and crawled under the desk to plug everything in.

Winslow was true to his word.  Mike barely heard a peep out of him while he worked.  Occaisionally he would glance over his shoulder just to make sure that Winslow was still there.  The work itself wasn't difficult, just tedious.  And there was a lot of it.  Mike nearly groaned outloud when he'd finished the first batch of five computers and realized it had taken him almost half an hour to complete.  At the rate things were going it would take him all night.  He kicked things into high gear for the next batch and then kicked it up even higher for the next one.  

By 2 PM, Mike had made good progress.  However, there were still more briefcases in the ``unfinished'' pile than there were in the ``finished'' one.  He took a deep breath and used his shirt sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow.  Just then, there was a knock at the door.  Mike looked over to Winslow who was flipping through a stapled stack of paper.  Without taking his eyes off of what he was reading, he reached under his desk.  A buzzing sound emitted from the door, followed by a loud click.  The doors swung open to admit Tomlinson who was carrying two large white plastic bags.  

``Thank you, Greg'' Winslow called out, setting down the stack of paper that he had been leafing through.  ``Just set them on the table.''  Tomlinson complied with the order and exited the room, turning his head to give Mike a stern look  on the way.  Winslow stepped out from behind his desk and walked over to Mike.  ``Why don't we take a break, Mike.  I've had some lunch brought up.'' 

Mike turned to face him.  ``Thanks but...'' he started, intending to skip meals entirely for the day.  At the moment he felt like he needed every ounce of available time if he hoped to complete this project at a decent hour.

Winslow scoffed at his attempt.  ``Now now, Mike.  You've got to eat.  I won't have you killing yourself just to impress me.''  Mike was about to continue his objection when his stomach grumbled loudly.  Perhaps Winslow had a point. He nodded in acquiescence and stood up from his chair.  Winslow smiled as he lead the way to the leather couch in the center of the office.  ``Hope you like barbecue sandwiches, Mike.  Had Greg pick these up from Dixie Pig.  You ever been there?''

Mike should his head. ``Not yet.  I keep meaning to get out there.  I hear its great.''

``Like you wouldn't believe.  Here dig in'' Winslow responded, handing Mike one of the bags.  Mike pulled out the paper wrapped sandwich and removed the wrapping.  He took a hungry bite of the sandwich.  Winslow wasn't kidding.  The sandwich was excellent.  Mike let out an involuntary ``mmmmmm'' as he chewed the first bite.  Winslow laughed.  ``Told you.''  Winslow took another bite of his sandwich and followed it with a frenchfry.  ``I need to have you up here more often.  Gives me an excuse to eat this stuff.  My nutritionist will have a fit if he finds out about this though.''

Mike laughed. ``I won't say a word.  I promise.''

Winslow laughed heartily and took another bite. ``Tell me Mike.  How long have you been working here?''

Mike swallowed and answered ``About five years.''

Winslow nodded.  ``And you still like it?  Still happy to come to work and all that?'' he continued.  Mike mentally rolled his eyes.  Why is it, he wondered, that corporate types were always so concerned that you were ``happy'' to come to work?  The fact of the matter was that, for pretty much every `''under the line'' worker, there were going to be days that you don't want to come to work.  It could be any job at any company.  Some days, you'd just rather be doing something else.  But he didn't think an answer like that would really win him any points with the boss.

``Yah, sure.  It's great.'' he answered, trying to sound genuine. 

Winslow, sighed.  ``And the company.  Do you feel like we're doing good things here?''

Mike was taken slightly aback by the question.  Why the hell was Winslow asking him something like that.  Why should he care, as long as Mike got his work done.  Mike cleared his throat.  ``Oh...sure.  I mean...we make lots of neat stuff here.  And...uh...it's good to be a part of that.'' Mike stammered, unsure of what Winslow was looking for in an answer.

Winslow sighed, his face darkening.  ``Neat stuff.  Yah....we do make a lot of 'neat stuff' for all the good it does.''

Mike remained silent.  He felt a speech coming on.  He wistfully looked back to the stack of work that he still needed to do, wondering if he was going to get back there anytime soon.

Winslow pointed to a framed portrait of his great-grandfather, Augustus Winslow, that hung from the eastern wall of the office.  ``Now there was a guy who did good things for the world.  And HE was loved for it.  Children in schools around the world have to learn his name and list of inventions in school.  Because HE made a real impact on the world.  I wonder if they'll ever have to learn about me someday.''

Mike cringed.  He knew he was expected to say \textit{something} here.  But really, he just wanted to finish his sandwich in peace.  ``Oh, I'm sure they will.  Maybe you'll be the savior of Africa'' 

Winslow chuckled.  ``That would be nice I guess.  But, honestly, I dunno.  It's probably too late for them too.  My great-grandfather started this company with the idea that technology could save the world.  But lately...I dunno...I just feel like we're just filling the world up with 'stuff'.  Because 'stuff' turns a profit.  Is that what they're going to say about me?  Derek Winslow, he made a lot of money.''  He chuffed out a humorless laugh and threw down the french fry that he'd been holding the entire time.

Mike nodded.  ``I hear you.  Gotta be rough.'' he said.  He prayed silently for Winslow to be stricken mute if only for a few minutes.

Winslow continued, not acknowledging Mike's comment.  ``And the people...that's what really gets me.  When I do try to do something good, you never hear about it.  Or if you do, it's some damned op-ed columnist writing a piece about how I'm ushering in a new age of colonialism or some tripe like that.  Where's the admiration? The gratitude?  You'd think the world would be a little grateful for some of the things we've provided.  We brought cheap energy to India, remote hospitals to China, multimedia to rural American classrooms.  And do I get a thank you or a 'hey great job Derek'?  Of course not.  I get called a monopolist and a greedy monster.''  

Mike just nodded.  ``Well...not everyone...'' he said, trying to placate his clearly agitated boss.  

Winslow spoke over him. ``You know what I want, Mike?  I want to go back.  All the way back to the Dark Ages or something like that.  Bring some of this stuff we've invented here back to a time when they can really appreciate it.  Just imagine the public reaction I'd get by bringing antibiotics or electricity or modern sanitation to Medieval Europe.  THEY wouldn't call me a bully or a corporate fat cat.  I'd be a God to THEM.  They would ADORE me!'' He was practically shouting now.

Mike shrunk back against his side of the couch.  Winslow seemed to snap out of it at this point.  He smiled and laughed.  ``Wishful thinking eh?'' he said.  ``I'm sorry to go all 'poor me' on you, Mike.  But thanks for listening.'' 

Mike nervously smiled.  ``Yah sure.  No problem.''

Winslow snapped his fingers again.  That was REALLY starting to get on Mike's nerves.  ``Archeology!  Now there's something we can really be proud of.  You may not know it, Mike, but you're at the forefront of some exciting things in the world of archeology.''

Mike nodded. ``Well that's good.''

``We're revolutionizing the field.  We may not make any money off of your lab.  But it's worth it if you ask me.  Technology isn't just about the future.  It can also help us to understand our past.  And we're proving that.  We haven't had the chance to do any really BIG digs yet but we're ramping up to that.  What we have done is to improve the ways that archaeologists in the field use technology to help them study the societies of ancient times.  The advancements we've made in electro-microscopy, spectrum analysis, and carbon dating are completely revolutionizing the field.  And it's all thanks to guys like you.''  Winslow said, grinning widely.

Mike shook his head.  ``Don't look at me.  I'm just their computer guy.'' Mike said, laughing.

Winslow waved him off.  ``Don't be modest, Mike. Where would we be without you.  We'd be up shit's creek without a paddle that's where.''  He stopped suddenly.  Mike was hopeful for a second that his oration was at an end.  Sadly, he was wrong.  Winslow snapped his fingers...again.  ``Say, has anyone ever told you why I decided to get into archeology?''

Mike shrugged.  ``I don't think so.''

Winslow got up from the couch and started walking over to the east wall. ``Well, I was in Greece a few years ago, working on a buyout of a telecom firm.  I was having dinner with the executive staff of the company we were looking to purchase and he tells me this story about these sponge divers who happened upon the wreckage of an ancient Greek shipping vessel.''  He reached the portrait of Augustus Winslow and pulled on one side of the frame.  The frame swung to the side like a door to reveal a wall safe on the wall behind it.  ``He tells me that when the divers started to bring up the contents of the ship's hold, they found something really really strange.''  The safe had an electronic keypad on the front of it.  Winslow typed in a few numbers and opened the safe.  From inside the safe, he pulled a wide flat metal box.  ``Apparently, the bulk of the ship's cargo were what you would expect, old pots and Greek statues and that kind of thing.  But this...this has completely stymied the archeology world.''

He walked back to where Mike was sitting and held the box out to him.  ``Here, take a look''.

Mike warily grabbed the box from Winslow's hands.  It was heavier than he'd expected it to be.  Strangely, consider that the box was solid metal, it also felt very warm in his hands.  He delicately opened the lid and looked inside.  A strange spinning sensation began to work its way into Mike's head.  The box was lined with felt inside.  Laid into the felt was strange looking object made of what looked like brass.  One large circle dominated the piece with a smaller circle set inside the larger one.  Along the edges of both circles, strange, but somehow familiar, symbols were etched into the metal.   

Winslow's voice seemed to come from very far away.  ``Turn it over, Mike.  Have a look at the back.''

Mike took the disk, gently, in both hands and turned it over.  The back was hollowed out.  Inside of it was a maze of gears and dials.  A shiver ran down his spine.  ``How...how does it work?'' Mike heard himself asking.

``We don't know.'' Winslow replied.  ``It appears to need some kind of power source to activate.  Right there'' he said, pointing to a place on the side of the disk.  Mike could see that there was a notch in the side and large white stone set into it.  ``But we can't figure out for the life of us what kind of power source it could possibly use.''

Mike ran his finger along the side of the disk until it was touching the white stone.  He felt a slow thrumming sensation run down his arm from his shoulder.  His arm felt hot and tingled with a sensation like none he'd ever felt before.  Out of the corner of his eye, he almost thought he saw one of the gears twitch.  He jerked his hand away from the stone.  He nervously set the device back in the box and shut the lid.  

``Amazing, isn't it.'' Winslow said, smiling wolfishly.

Mike absentmindedly nodded.  ``Yah...it's...it's something.''

``So, anyway.  The contents of the ship's hold all date to around the year 80 B.C.E.  Which raises quite the conundrum.  Gear setups like that weren't known to have existed until the year 1575.  So, what in the hell was something like this doing among the wreckage of that ship?  I bought this thing from the Greek government and started taking it around to various archeology departments around the world.  None of them had any explanation for the phenomenon.  But what's worse is, they wouldn't even try.  They all just wanted to rack it up to being a hoax.  Well that didn't sit well with me.  What if we're missing a huge piece of our understanding of the ancient world? What if there are more things like this out there, just under our feet, waiting to be discovered?  I decided right then and there that the world needed Winslow Labs to lead the way in writing a new chapter in the field of archeology.''

Mike smiled weakly.  ``Wow, that's...that's really great.'' he said, still reeling from the after effects of his encounter with the device.  ``Um...what...what did it do?  Did you ever figure that out?'' 

Winslow smiled.  ``Nothing for certain.  But why don't you take a guess.  What do you think it was?'' he asked.

Mike gulped.  He had an idea but didn't want to sound stupid in front of Winslow.  ``Um...my first thought was...a cipher.  You know...to...encode and decode messages.''

Winslow snapped.  ``That's EXACTLY what I think, Mike!'' he bellowed.  ``You're really smart, you know that?''

Mike laughed.  ``Nah...just...I dunno...I think in code I guess.'' 

Winslow joined him in laughing.  ``There's that modesty again.''  Mike just shook his head. He nervously risked a glance back to the work table.  Winslow noticed this.  ``Oh.  Wow, look at me.  Boring you with my self-aggrandizing while you still have work to do.  My apologies, Mike.  I won't keep you any longer.''

Mike laughed.  ``Really, it's fine.  Thanks for the company history lesson.  It's good to know why we're doing what we do.''  He almost gagged at his own ass kissing.

Winslow smiled.  ``Anytime.''  

With a grateful sigh, Mike returned back to his work table and pulled another five laptops in front of him.  He would really have to move like lightning if he wanted to get done before midnight, he thought.  Thankfully, he was wrong.  He closed the lid on the last laptop at 8:07pm.  He pushed back from the work table with a great rush of relief.  He spun to face Winslow and delightfully called out.  ``All done!'' 

Winslow looked up from his computer and looked at his watch.  ``Already?  Wow, you really are a phenom, aren't you?'' he called back, grinning.  

Mike just laughed as he began packing up his laptop bag.  Winslow got up from his desk and started moving toward a cabinet near Mike's work area.  ``How about a drink, Mike.  Let's celebrate a day of great work.''

Mike groaned to himself.  He really just wanted to get the hell out of here.  He looked at his cellphone.  He sighed deciding that one drink wouldn't kill him.  ``Sure, sounds great.''

``Scotch or Bourbon'' Winslow called out from his place at the cabinet.  \textit{Beer}, Mike thought to himself but said, ``Scotch would be great.''

Winslow returned with two glasses of light brown liquid.  ``Here you go.'' he said, handing Mike one of them.  He raised his glass to Mike.  ``Here's to the best computer guy in the whole company'' he announced grandly, clinking his glass against Mike's.  

Mike smiled.  ``Thanks'' he said, and took a sip.  The scotch was good.  REALLY good.  Winslow may be a grade-A douchebag, but he knew his scotch.

``Good stuff huh?'' Winslow said, ``Balmoran 20 year.  I'll have a bottle sent to you.''

Mike smiled and worked hard at not chugging the contents of his glass.  

Winslow put his hand on Mike's shoulder.  ``Say, Mike.  I wonder if you would do a little favor for me?''

Mike smiled tightly.  ``Sure, what do you need?''  He was expecting to hear Winslow ask for help with his personal computer or something.  He expected to have to spend his weekend cleaning viruses off of a porn-infested laptop or something to that effect.

``I wonder if you might talk to Alana Mosvani for me, about that device I showed you.  I hear that you two have become rather close in the past few days.'' Winslow said, shattering Mike's expectations.

Mike felt his legs go to jelly and his face drain of color.  Winslow just laughed. ``Mike, relax.  I'm not going to report your to HR or something.  Personally, I've never had a problem with workplace romances.  I mean it's only natural afterall.  You spend all day together, right?  Who wouldn't expect a few fireworks to fly.''

Mike gulped.  ``Thanks...but uh...what do you want me to ask Alana about?'' he stammered out.

``Oh, just tell her about what you saw.  You never know where great new ideas are going to come from.  Maybe she has some unique ideas about it.  What kind of messages it would have been used for?  How it was powered?  That kind of thing.  Her family has some....unique ideas about the field of archeology. Most people write her Aunt of as some kind of crackpot.  But you never know.  Today's crackpot could be tomorrow's genius'' Winslow replied, smiling all-to-pleasantly.  

Mike cleared his throat.  ``Yah...sure.  I'll do that.  Should I just...send you an email or have her call you or something?'' 

Winslow chuckled.  ``No need.  I'll be in touch.'' he said, nodding his head slowly.  ``And now, I bid you goodnight Mike.  Thank you for all of your help.'' Winslow stuck out his hand toward Mike. 

Mike accepted the handshake, smiling politely.  ``Anytime...Derek.''

Winslow smiled and stepped away, headed back for his desk.  Seeing his cue, Mike darted for the door.

Mike breathed a sigh of relief as he shut the door behind him.  He was glad to be out of there.  He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about Derek Winslow unnerved him greatly.  It wasn't just his smarminess or his uncomfortable directness.  He just had a bad feeling about the guy.  Shaking his head, he began to walk toward the elevator. 

``WAIT!'' a loud voice shouted at his back.  Mike jumped and spun to face the sound.  Stepping out from the shadows, Tomlinson stood in front of him.  Mike felt his throat close.  ``Oh, no.  What now.'' Mike thought.

Tomlinson stepped quickly to him, a hard look on his face.  Mike's breathing came in short quick bursts as Tomlinson approached.  The bulky security director towered over him, his face menacing.  ``You forgot your phone and your Leatherman.'' Tomlinson said, holding out his hands with the aforementioned items.

Mike laughed.  ``Oh....right...thanks.'' he said, reaching to grab them.  Tomlinson's hand closed around Mike's in a painfully firm grip.  Mike looked up at him.  His eyes were cold and dark, his arm shaking.  Wordlessly, he released his grip on Mike's hand.  

Mike warily stepped away from him and backed toward the elevator, pushing the button in three furiously fast beats.  The doors opened and he all but jumped into the elevator.    
\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

Mike ran, as fast as he could with his heavy laptop bag hanging from his shoulder. He felt silly doing it but he just had to be as far away from the administration building as he could get.  He glanced at his cellphone which he still had gripped tightly in his hand.  It was almost 9:30 now.  Alana was sure to be long gone.  No matter, he thought, he'd see her tomorrow morning.

He slowed to a brisk walk when he reached the entrance plaza of the archeology building.  His breath came in great gasps and he was pouring sweat from every pour.  All he wanted was to get home to his air conditioned house and forget all about today.  He had one foot outstretched toward the parking lot when he caught a brief whiff of lavender and jasmine carried on the air.  He stopped and smiled.  He closed his eyes to focus his attention on the smell.  

She made no sound, but Mike could tell when she was close enough.  He turned to face her.  ``Gotcha'' he said, smirking at her.

Alana continued her forward movement while cocking an eyebrow at him.  ``I must be losing my touch.'' she said, grinning in return.  She stopped just in front of him, her briefcase clutched in both hands.  Her eyes drifted over him as though she were making sure that he was still in one piece.  ``You're okay?'' she asked, a mixture of relief and continued worry in her voice.

Mike nodded.  ``I'm fine.'' he said, smiling to assure her.  He could tell by the look on her face that she wasn't yet fully convinced.  ``Really.  I'm fine.  You can relax now'' 

She nodded her head.  ``Good...I'm glad.  How was it?  What happened?'' she asked, still looking very vexed by the whole situation.

Mike shrugged.  ``Well...the guy's obnoxious.  But I really don't get the whole 'dangerous' thing.''  He couldn't say why exactly he was making light of the situation.  The fact was that Mike DID feel very unnerved by Derek Winslow.  He wasn't quite sure that he would call it 'dangerous' perse.  But he did get the impression that whatever Winslow wanted, he would stop at nothing to get it.  \textit{Or to keep it} Cora's voice whispered in his ear. He very nearly smacked his own head before realizing what he would be doing.  

Alana looked at him seriously. ``Good.  I'm glad you didn't get to see that side of him.'' she said, her gaze moving off somewhere in the distance.  Any trace of humor or good mood was gone from her.  She was rigid and cold now.  And Mike had no idea what would thaw her out.  

``So, what's the story with you and him?  Why do you think he's so dangerous?''  Mike asked, deciding that if she was going to be chilly with him, he had nothing to lose by pressing the question.  

Alana looked down at her shoes.  ``It's a long story.'' she muttered, running a hand through her hair.  

Mike chuffed.  ``Ah, one of those.  Well how about you sum it up for me.  Chances are, this won't be the last time that I get called up there.  I'd like to know if I'm working for Darth Vader.'' he mused.

She knitted her brow.  ``Who?''

Mike shook his head.  ``Nevermind.  What I mean is, I'd like to know what I'm getting into by going up there?''

Alana shook her head.  ``You're not going up there again.'' she said, her jaw locked and her eyes fiercely set.

Mike took one backward step.  ``Whoa...Alana...I...I know you don't like the guy. And...well...I like you and all but...''

Alana took a step toward him.  Her mouth trembled with an unspoken demand.  But she stopped.  She took a deep breath and close her eyes.  Her hands remained clenched at her sides.  She looked up, her face softer now.  ``I'm sorry, Mike.  That was...look we can talk about this tomorrow if you like.  My driver will be here in a minute.''

Mike shot her an exhasperatedly shocked look.  ``Wha...but...'' he said, shaking his head.  ``Okay...fine...tomorrow then.''  he said.  

Alana looked back at him sympathetically.  She took another step toward him.  ``I'm sorry.  I really am.''

He shook his head.  ``I know.  I know.  And it's none of my business.  I shouldn't have asked.  I'm sorry.''

She placed a hand against his chest.  ``It's not like that.  It's just...you know.'' she said, looking up at him.

He sighed.  ``Yah...I know.'' he turned his face up in a smile.  ``Boy, you're really going to get it during question time tomorrow.''

She laughed.  ``I'm sure.''  Just then, the black town car pulled up to the front of the parking lot.  She pointed to it with her thumb.  ``My ride's here. I have to go.''  

He nodded.  ``7am?'' he asked.

She nodded.  ``I'll be there.''

She stepped away from him then and turned toward the car.  A sudden thought crept up into Mike's brain.  ``Alana'' he shouted as he jogged toward her.  She stopped and turned to face him.

``I forgot something.  While I was up there, Winslow showed me something and he asked me to tell you about it and get your opinion on it.'' he announced as he slowed to a stop in front of her.

Alana's smile disappeared.  ``He...showed you...'' she stammered.

Mike smiled, excited about the chance to pique her professional interests.  He related to her the story of the Greek sponge divers and the shipwreck.  Not meeting her eyes he began to describe the disk-within-a-disk. ``And around both disks are like these really weird symbols etched into it.  I dunno why...but I think it's some kind of a cipher.''  He paused, waiting for a reaction from her.  She was staring past him at the campus.  ``So...what do you think?''

She looked back to him then.  Her eyes were burning angry now.  Mike gulped, fearing that somehow he had misplayed his hand.  ``I think...that this game just got a whole lot more complicated.'' she said, turning again toward the car.

``What?  What do you mean? What did I say?'' he called after her. 

She held up a hand. ``Nothing....nevermind.  Go home, Mike.  I'll see you tomorrow.''

Mike was incredulous.  ``Are you kidding me?  'Go home Mike'?  What the hell is that?''

She didn't answer.  She stepped into the car and slammed the door shut.  The car sped off with no further ado.  Mike shook his head in annoyed frustration.   ``Be the fucking death of me.'' he muttered to himself as he walked to his car.

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

Mike sat on the edge of his bed, passing his cellphone back and forth between his hands.  He debated endlessly with himself the pros and cons of making the call that he'd been contemplating.  He set the phone down, he wouldn't call.  He picked it up again, he would call.  \textit{This is stupid}, he told himself.  \textit{What's the worst that could happen?  He'll think you're crazy.  You probably are crazy.}  He sighed, in frustration and picked up a bottle of water from the nightstand and took a long drink.

The phone number had been surprisingly easy to obtain.  He'd expected a long night of internet searches, calls to old friends, and some general chicanery.  But, in the end, he'd found it in only five minutes.  He had decided to try the obvious first.  He'd logged in to his universities alumni association website.  And there it was, right there in the contact information for his class.  ``Sonofabitch'' Mike said to himself and laughed.  He scribbled down the number and picked up the phone.

There he had frozen.  What was he going to say?  ``Hey George, longtime no talk.  How was jail?  What do you say to violating your parole and digging into my company's records?  Oh and while we're at it, what do you think of this ancient cipher device that my boss showed me?''  He couldn't even imagine saying the words.  

He flopped back on the bed, the cellphone laying next to his head.  His heart was pounding in his chest.  He was as anxious as he'd ever remembered being.  He couldn't remember ever having so much frustration and mystery in his life.  So many things seemed connected and yet the connections were nebulous and mysterious.  It was like seeing individual strands of a spider web, vibrating and twisting with the wind.  He could glimpse them individually and know that they came together at some central point.  But if he tried to follow one, it would disappear in the light.  And worse yet, was the feeling that at the center of it all was the spider.  Its ugly black body engorged and menacing just waiting for him to come closer, so that it could devour him.

He had to get some answers.  He had to find a way to put to rest at least a few of the hundreds of questions that were floating through his head.  And he couldn't do it alone.  He didn't know enough to get past the worst of the security measures that he knew awaited him in the Winslow labs network, he didn't know enough about cryptography to delve into the mystery of that strange cipher that Winslow had shown him, he wasn't mad enough at Alana to invade her privacy.  And he was too afraid to even begin thinking about his dreams of Cora.  He was going to have another tonight.  He knew this.  He could feel it from the balls of his feet to the tips of his hair.  He didn't even want to think about what that meant.  

He sat up quickly, and picked up the phone from the bed.  At the very least, calling George would give him a few moments of distraction.  Hopefully that would be enough to banish thoughts of the dream he knew would be coming for him soon.  He took a deep breath and began to punch in the numbers.  With a shaky hand he put the phone up to his hear.  RING.  This was nuts.  RING. What the hell was he thinking? RING.  He should totally hang up.  RING.  ``Hello?''.  The voice on the other end of the line was higher-pitched than Mike remembered.  But at the same time, it was without a doubt, the voice of George Mason.  

Mike froze.  His hand drifted toward the ``END CALL'' button.  ``Hello?'' the voice came again, more insistent.  Mike gulped.  

``Hi George.  It's...Mike.  Carmichael.  Mike Carmichael.  From college.''

``Oh...Hi Mike. Wow.  How's it going dude?'' George answered back.  The annoyed insistence in his voice had melted away into the friendly cheeriness that Mike had always associated with George.  It made him smile.

``I'm doing great.  How you been?'' Mike said, cringing a bit.  But what do you say to a guy who spent the better part of the last 10 years in jail or on probation.  

``Eh.  I guess I can't complain.  Working for my dad.'' 

``Yah, I'd heard that.'' Mike replied, George hadn't broached the topic of his jail time, so Mike sure as hell wasn't going to. ``How's that going?''

``Boring as fuck.'' George replied, laughing.  ``Spend all day writing up security plans for clueless people.  But the pay is okay.  And hey, it's a job.  Beats flipping burgers if you know what I mean.''

Mike laughed.  ``Yah, I'll bet it does.'' Mike paused for a moment, unsure of how to broach the subject.  ``Say, George.  What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?''

``Uh...nothing.  I usually eat at my desk.  What's up?'' 

``Do you want to get lunch tomorrow?  Catch up and stuff?'' 

Mike could hear the smile in George's voice.  ``Yah. Sure.  Where'd you have in mind?''

Mike had prepared for this question.  ``There's a new Jiffy Burger opened up on Euclid, over by the old steel works. You like Jiffy Burger right?''  Mike knew very well that George did.  In college, there had been a Jiffy Burger a block away from their dorm.  Anytime that George came into a little money to burn on non-cafeteria food, that is where he would be.

``Dude!  How the hell did I not know about that!  I haven't had Jiffy Burger in....well...a long ass time.'' George shouted excitedly into the phone.  Mike smiled. He'd been right on the money.

``Excellent.  12:30 okay with you?''

``Yah, that's perfect.'' George answered, his voice betraying his excitement.  

``Great.  I'll see you there then.''

``Sure thing.  Good talking to you Mike.''

``Good talking to you too George.  Goodnight.'' Mike said, hanging up the phone.  He flopped back on the bed again and let the phone fall next to him.  He let out a long breath and turned his head to look at the clock.   The call hadn't lasted nearly as long as he'd hoped.  He cursed himself for not drawing it out more.  \textit{Oh Well}, he thought, \textit{I guess it's time}.  Still laying on the bed, he shuffled out of his clothes and scooted under the sheets.  He reached over and turned off the night lamp.  Instantly, darkness enfolded him.  He shut his eyes tightly and worked at breathing in slow,even breaths.  As he felt the beginnings of sleep tug at his body, he whispered ``Allright kid, let's do this.''

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

A whooshing sound roared in Mike's ears as he felt his dream body coming into contact with the sights, sounds, and smells of an unfamiliar place.  The fog of sleep began to melt away and he began to gain some consciousness of his surroundings.  He was sitting in what looked like an outside courtyard.  All around her were white stone walls, covered in long black vines.  Rows of tables with cushioned chairs were arranged to face a low wooden stage at the forefront of the courtyard.  Mike was seated in one of these chairs toward the back of the courtyard.  Directly behind him, a wide arch led out of the courtyard.  A wrought-iron gate was set into the arch, closing it off.  Looking up, Mike could see the brilliant deep blue of the night's sky.  Mike nearly fell out of his chair.  The moon was HUGE here.  It almost looked as though it took up a good quarter of the night's sky.  

Soft, girlish singing suddenly began to drift into his ears coming from the stage.  Cora stood on the raised platform, dressed as always in a white dress that looked to be made of fine fabrics.  Not silk, but definitely not cheap cotton either.  Her hair long black hair was less unkempt now.  It looked as though someone had made an attempt to style it for her.  She had woven two braids from the front of her hair and had tied them together at the back of her head.  Little white flowers had been threaded into her tresses, making her look for all the world like the little princess that she acted like.  Mike chuckled to himself.

She stood singing out to an invisible crowd, her face serious and emotional as she sung a song that Mike had never heard before.  From what he could gather, it was about two lovers meeting in the night, and praying that day would never come.  Her high soprano voice was clearly untrained but sweet and pleasant in a youthful way.  He had to say, he enjoyed hearing her sing.  When the song came to a close he stood and clapped slowly for her.  

Cora spun to face him.  ``Oh.  There you are.  I thought I smelled ugly.'' j

Mike sniffed.  ``You're right.  You DO smell ugly. When was the last time you took a bath'' he teased holding his nose.  Cora rolled her eyes at him.  Mike laughed.  ``I have to say, Cora.  You've got a really nice voice.  That was great'' he said, pointing to the stage.

Cora looked around her and sighed.  ``When I was little, I used to come here with her.  We would sneak out after we were supposed to be asleep.  I don't think she really cared for it honestly.  She only did it because she knew how much I loved it here.  We would come down and drink tea and I would listen to the singers for hours and hours.  I used to dream that someday I would get to sing up here.''  Her face was full of sadness and regret.

Mike cleared his throat.  ``Well, look at you now.  You've made it shweethaht'' he said, adopting his best Humphrey Bogart.  

Cora chuffed.  ``Yah...look at me now.''  She took in a deep breath as if to pull herself together.  She stepped down from the stage and walked over, plopping herself into the chair next to him.  ``Sorry I kicked you'' she said, petulantly.  

Mike smiled.  ``Got me good.'' he said ``I didn't think I was going to be able to sit all day.''

She frowned.  ``You mean you WERE able to sit?  I'll have to use pointier shoes next time.''

Mike laughed.  ``You were apologizing.  Remember?''

Cora laughed.  ``Right...sorry.''

Mike reached over and mussed her hair.  ``No worries.  I had it coming.''

She ducked away from his hand and fixed her hair.  ``Gah! Now I've got ugly in my hair.''

Mike chuckled at her reaction.  ``Okay, so...should would get to business then?'' he asked.

She nodded.  ``So, how was your day?'' she asked, leadingly.

Mike let out a slow breath.  ``Intense.'' he said.

She placed her elbows on the table and leaned into him.  ``I'll bet.  So, should we recap what you found out today?''

Mike nodded.  ``Okay.  Well, I learned that Alana is her real name.  So that's good.'' he said.

Cora laughed, lightly.  ``Is it?  Was that really bothering you?'' 

``A little'' he said.  ``It's nice to know that I've at least been calling her by her real name.  I dunno...it adds a bit of realness to her.  And let's face it, for me there is a lot that is very much UNreal about her.''

Cora nodded.  ``Okay.  I can understand that I think.  So what else did you find out?''

``I learned that she's trying to steal something from the lab.  And I learned that the thing she's trying to steal...it's something...from wherever she's from'' he said, trying to word his answer correctly.  

Cora smiled, mysteriously.  ``What else?'' she asked.

Mike grimaced.  ``Well...I'm not really sure if it's connected.'' 

She rolled her eyes at him.  ``It is....just say it.''

Mike shot her a reproachful look.  ``Well, I got called up to the office of the head of my company today.  And when I told Alana where I was going, she...she kind of flipped out on me.  She told me not to go.  But I did anyway.  And...I got a really bad feeling about the guy.  Like maybe she was right about him.''

Cora nodded.  ``What happened while you were in his office?''

Mike thought for a second. ``He...he was trying to tell me about why he founded the lab that I work in.  And he showed me this...thing...this...artifact that some divers found in a shipwreck.  It...doesn't really belong with the time period of the things it was found with.  It's...it's kind of bizarre actually.  It has all these gears and stuff.  Stuff that wasn't invented until relatively recently.  And...when I touched it...it...I could have sworn I saw the gears move.'' 

Cora was still nodding.  ``Right.  So, what did Alana have to say about all of this?''

Mike shook his head, still upset by Alana's reaction.  ``She was mad.  And I have no idea why.  She said something about this game getting more complicated.  She was...kinda rude actually.''

Cora gave him a sympathetic look.  ``Try not to take it personally.  She's just really...scared right now.  And you being involved isn't helping matters.''

Mike grunted in frustration.  ``You know I didn't ASK to be involved with...whatever. I don't even know what whatever is.''

Cora sighed.  ``Your frustrated.  And that's totally understandable.  But you have to remember that she's just as frustrated as you are.  She's trying to figure out how much she can trust you with.  She thinks she can trust you, and she wants to.  But it's not really in her nature to do so.  She's already given away far more than she ever intended to.  And she's pretty confused about why she's doing it.''

``Why is she doing it?'' Mike asked, lowering his voice.  Cora smiled knowingly and shrugged.  ``Why do you keep trying to understand her?''  Mike looked away from Cora, settling his eyes on the intricate pattern of vines snaking their way across the wall to his left.  Cora giggled.  ``Anyways, like I was saying, don't take it personally.  She's new to all of this.  Just like you are.  You'll both get the hang of it eventually.''

Mike sighed.  ``Allright.  I'll try.''  Cora smiled and nodded curtly at him, seeming proud of herself that he'd acquiesced to her advice.  ``Okay.  So where do I go tomorrow?  What direction should I go in with my questions.''

``Seems pretty obvious to me'' she answered.

Mike imitated strangling her.  ``Okay, for someone who isn't quite as smart as the great and wise Cora, what should I ask about.''

Cora smiled primly.  ``Nice to see your finally recognizing your mental superiors.  Okay, well, it seems to me like everything yesterday seemed focused around this thing that Alana is trying to steal.  And you know from her answers that it is something personally valuable to her.  So, wouldn't it be a good idea to learn more about it?  Why do you think it's so valuable to her?''

Mike scrunched up his brow and thought hard.  ``I don't know.  Maybe it's an heirloom or something?  Or...I dunno...a piece of memorabilia?'' Mike laughed at the image of Alana skulking about trying to wrest a framed Elvis poster off of a wall.  

Cora nodded.  ``You're on the right track.  But things like that don't normally inspire people to go undercover like that, do they?''

Mike's shoulders slumped.  ``No, I guess not.''  Mike rubbed the bridge of his nose.  

``Let's try a different path for a second.'' Cora suggested. ``Alana's reaction to your visit with your boss.  You said she flipped out right?  Why do you think that is?''

Mike answered while massaging his temples.  ``She said he was dangerous.  But she didn't say why''

Cora nodded.  ``That's right.  But she must have some reason for thinking so.  Think about that for a second''

Mike ruminated for a moment before answering.  A thought suddenly struck him.  ``I asked her about stealing something at the lab.  But I never asked where in the lab complex it was.  Is it...does Winslow himself have it?''  Cora raised an eyebrow at him, an invitation to keep going with his thought.  Mike bolted upright.  ``Oh my god.  It's the cipher, isn't it!''

Cora smiled.  ``Very good.''

``So I should ask her about that then?'' 

Cora moved her head from side to side.  ``You could.  But...you don't really need the answer to that, do you?''

Mike grimaced.  `Well...no but...''

``I think you should focus on questions you don't know the answer to, instead of just trying to impress her with your oh so amazing reasoning skills'' she cut in, mockingly.  Mike scowled at her.  ``But, you're on the right track.  How about this, Winslow has the device, Alana wants it.  What is so special about it that would make someone go to great lengths to steal it?''

Mike thought hard.  ``It's just a cipher...and it doesn't even work.  And even if it did...you would need a key phrase to be able to use it.''

Cora leaned in closer.  ``You're missing on important piece.''

Mike furrowed his brow.  ``What?''

She gave an exagerated sight. ``What does a cipher \textit{do}?'' 

Mike glowered at her.  ``It deciphers enciphered text...or vice versa.  If you have an encrypted message...'' he trailed off.  He resisted the urge to snap his fingers.  ``A message...or...some kind encrypted text.  Without something to decrypt, a cipher would be pretty much useless.''

Cora sighed.  ``Finally.''

``You try it sometime, smartypants'' he shot back.  ``But...I'm just guessing that it's a cipher.  It looks like one, but...I guess it COULD be anything.''

Cora nodded.  ``Well then, it sounds like you have a question to ask her then.''

Mike smiled.  ``Cool. Okay...I think I've got a plan now.  I'll focus on the cipher...or whatever it is. And on her problems with Derek Winslow.  I think I can think up three questions along those lines.''

Cora smiled back at him.  ``Where WOULD you be without me?''

Mike smirked.  ``Sleeping soundly dreaming of Alana...''

She wrinkled up her nose.  ``Keep it to yourself.  I don't even want to know what you dream about her.''

Mike laughed.  ``Well, I guess I better get...'' he trailed off.  Cora was staring past him, through the gate out of the courtyard.  He looked behind him and saw nothing.  ``What's up?'' he asked.

She shook her head.  ``N-nothing....nothing.  I just...nevermind.  So, I'll talk to you tomorrow then.'' she said, trying to make her face look calm and not succeeding.

Mike eyed her warily.  ``Is something wrong?''

She shook her head.  ``No.  Everything's fine.  Tomorrow then?''

Mike nodded his head slowly.  ``Yah, I guess so.''

She gave him a half-hearted smile.  ``Good.''

Mike stood and thrust his hands into his pockets.  He looked up into the brilliantly clear night sky above.  The moon was so large that it really felt like he could reach out and touch it.  He took a deep breath inhaling the clean smell of the air.  There was no hint of smog or pollution.  Just a the heady smell of night blooming jasmine in the air.  It made him think of Alana and how she always smelled like jasmine.  It also reminded him of home. Or, his parents home anyway.  His mother was fanatical about the little white flowers.  Every house that they had lived in when he was young was surrounded by jasmine.  

Cora giggled watching him.  ``Smell something you like?'' she asked.

Mike just laughed.  ``Something like that.''  He stood looking at Cora, an amused smile on his face.

She noticed him watching her.  Self-concsciously she looked down at her dress and felt at her hair, expecting to find something funny about her appearance.  ``What's so funny?'' she asked.

He shook his head.  ``Nothing.  I was just thinking...this is...this all really happening.  Isn't it?''

She cocked her head and smiled.  ``Of course.  Did you think it wasn't?'' 

Mike shrugged.  ``Not really I guess.  I thought maybe you were a dream.  Like, some part of my subconscious or something.'' 

Cora laughed, ``Ha!  You wish you were this smart.''

Mike laughed and nodded.  ``Yah.''

Cora surprised him them by socking him in the shoulder.  ``OW!'' he cried out.  ``What was that for?'' 

She looked at him smug satisfaction in her eyes.  ``Just giving you something to remember me by.  You know, in case you still think this is 'just a dream' when you wake up.''

Mike rubbed his shoulder and glowered at her.  ``Thanks.'' he replied sarcastically.  

Cora smiled at him as the world around him began the graying and evaporating process that accompanied waking.  He shook his head at her and closed his eyes.  
\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

Mike bolted upright in bed.  The dizziness and nausea came immediately.  He was ready for it this time.  He leaned over to his left and emptied his stomach into the trashcan that he'd placed there the night before.  When he was done, he flopped onto his back and let out a loud groan.  He felt awful.  Every muscle in his body was protesting, screaming for Mike to go back to sleep.  His head was spinning, his mouth dry, and his stomach lurching in uncomfortable waves of nausea.  He looked over at the clock, already knowing by the light outside that his alarm clock would be going off in minutes.  He reached over and clicked off the alarm before it had the chance to annoy him. 

He pulled himself to a sitting position and sat on the edge of the bed with his arms wrapped around his stomach. He began a slow, building laugh that made his eyes water and his already overly-exerted stomach ache.  He laughed with his whole body, rocking back and forth.  He then thought about how he would look to anyone who saw him right now.  He would look exactly like the madman that he was afraid he was becoming.  And that image of himself, made him laugh even harder. 

He laughed because he'd come around a corner in the last twenty-four hours.  Just three days ago, Mike had lived in a world of hard facts and absolute laws.  The sun rose in the east and set in the west.  Two bodies could not occupy the same space at the same time.  What goes up, must come down.  But in just seventy-two hours, everything he knew and believed had been turned upside down.  And why?  Because he'd met a girl.  That's it.  That's all it took.  He'd met a girl and suddenly, his rational, reasoned world was gone.  It had been replaced by some bizarre gothic fantasy world with him as the hapless hero.  It was madness, absolute madness.  And he knew that.  He knew that the experiences he was having were completely unreasonable.  

And yet...they were real.  He accepted that now.  Cora was real.  She wasn't just a figment of his imagination or the product of eating burritos and beer for dinner.  She was as real as he or Alana.  And she wanted to help him.  Help to what end?  Hell if he knew.  But she wanted to help him.  And Alana, oh Alana.  When first he met her, he knew that she was magnificent.  But now he knew with absolutely certainty that she was far more exceptional than he'd ever imagined three days ago.  She wasn't just a beautiful woman.  She was....he couldn't say what she was.  But she was something that his feeble mind could not begin to explain yet.  

And she was in danger.  And this mad quest of his to be with her was putting him in danger.  But did he care?  Oh no.  That would be a rational way of thinking.  And he was far beyond the point of reasonable thinking when it came to Alana. He would saddle up his donkey, stare down that windmill, and charge it with his lance outstretched no matter the fact that it was merely a windmill.  And all for this Dulcinea named Alana.  He could only hope that it would be worth it in the end.  
\begin{center} * * * *\end{center}
Mike rubbed his face vigorously and stood up.  He loudly hummed \textit{Man of La Mancha} as he showered and dressed.  After slipping into his shoes he looked at the clock.  He still had a good fifteen minutes before Alana arrived.  A thought crept into his mind that caused him to grin wryly.  Excitedly he dashed off to the kitchen.  

When Alana knocked on his door, he opened it swiftly letting the aroma of the house waft out to her.  He took a moment to admire the sight of her, as the sun lit her from the back.  As usual, she was dressed more like a fashion model than a archeology intern.  She wore black suite jacket with peaked lapels, buttoned at her waist by a single button.  Underneath the jacket was a white shirt that looked to be silk, the collar opened to expose the perfect ivory skin of her neck.  A black skirt hugged her hips and thighs, accentuating the perfection of her legs but stopping demurely just below her knees.  Her shoes were expensive looking black pumps with heels that would stop any man's heart.  She looked like she just stepped out of the cover of the Bloomingdale's catalog.  That was, except for the strange, ancient looking charm that she work around her neck.  A silver chain encircled her neck and plunged to the bottom of the ``V'' formed by her shirt's edges.  Hanging from the end was a silver raven, pitted and scratched, and clasping a large white stone in its claws.  If Mike were being honest, he would say it was ugly.  It seemed out of place hanging from this image of beauty.  He thought it best to keep this opinion to himself.

``Hi.'' he breathed out, feeling the corners of his mouth turn up in an involuntary, but not unwelcome, smile.  ``Good morning.''

She pulled off her dark sunglasses and held them.  He was a bit surprised at the look on her face.  She looked slightly embarrassed.  ``Hi...good morning'' she said, stumbling over the greeting.  ``So, hey.  Funniest thing happened last night.  This cute guy I work with was telling me about his day and then all of the sudden I went all psycho bossy on him.  Weird huh?'' She had been looking down as she said this, but now perked her head up offering him a shy smile.

``You know...I seem to remember something like that happening to me last night too.'' he said, chuckling lightly.

``Wow! So weird right?  But yah...what a bitch huh?'' she said, both meek and sarcastic at the same time.

He grinned at her.  ``Nah...probably just had a bad day or something.  I'm sure the dude has totally forgotten about it by now.''

She looked up fully now, a relieved expression washing over her.  ``You thinks so?  Well then I'd better not do something really stupid like bringing it up this morning then.''

He laughed.  ``Well...he may have forgotten about it.  But I'm sure he'd be glad to hear an apology.''

She looked deeply into his eyes.  ``I'm sorry, Mike.''

Mike made a great show of sighing loudly.  ``Well...I suppose your forgiven,'' he lowered his face and stared intently at her while cocking an eyebrow ``, THIS time.''

She laughed and slapped his arm.  ``Okay...but seriously...we can talk about it later if you want.  But right now, I'm starving.  Are you ready to go?''

``Actually...why don't you come inside.  I have a surprise for you?'' he responded, his smile twisting to a conspiratorial smirk.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. ``A surprise?''

``Yah, c'mon.'' he said, motioning her to follow him.  When they were both inside, he shut the door.  ``Now, close your eyes.''

She shot him a questioning gaze.  ``uh...'' she intoned.

He shot her a sarcastic look.  ``What? Don't trust me?''

She looked back at him warily.  ``I...uh...in theory I do...but...what if I fall?''

He laughed and shook his head.  ``Relax.  I'm not going to let you fall.  Just close your eyes.''

``Okay'' she whispered and cautiously shut her eyes.  

He stepped in front of her and took her hands gently in his, delighting at the smoothness of her skin against his and that calm, buzzing power that flowed between them when they touched.  He took but a moment to let that feeling wash over him, removing every fear and anxious thought from his body.  ``Okay,'' he said, ``just follow me.''  He walked backward, occaisionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure that there was nothing in their path that would trip her.  Step by step he led her to the small dining room area that separated the living room from the kitchen.  He stepped to one side of her and let his hand rest against her back.  ``Now, open your eyes.''

She opened her eyes slowly at first and then quickly as she began to see what was in front of her.  Mike had to admire his handiwork.  He didn't have much in the way of table settings so he'd had to improvise.  He found a white sheet in the linen closet that, as luck would have it, fit perfectly over his dinning room table.  He'd managed to find two matching plates among the remains of the dishware collection that Kristen had left behind.  He'd been prepared to serve the tea directly from the kettle but was pleasantly surprised when he'd found a teapot and two teacups in a cupboard.  And the piece de resistance, two large stacks of pancakes steaming on each plate.

Alana whirled to face him, her face beaming joy.  ``Mike!  You made me breakfast?''

He laughed.  ``I thought this would be better than another crowded restaurant.  Besides, I was running out of ways to impress you.''

She laughed and grabbed his hand.  ``You don't ever have to try to impress me.  But thank you, Mike.  This is incredibly sweet.''  She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

Mike's head spun and a thousand colorful lights exploded in his vision.  He wheeled dizzily.  ``Well kiss my grits'' he murmured, collapsing ungracefully into the chair nearest him, still rubbing at the warm spot on his cheek.  

She laughed, sweetly and seated herself next to him.  ``I should do that more often.'' she said, mirthfully, ``it's fun to watch your reaction.''

``Yes please'' he said, absently.  Alana laughed again, loudly.

Alana grabbed her napkin and spread it across her lap.  She uncapped the bottle of maple syrup and drowned her plate in the sticky liquid.  Mike had to laugh as he watched the greedy look on her face.  

She shot him a joking scowl.  ``Got something to say mister?''

Mike shook his head and held up his hands.  ``Nope...I'm just glad that I still had a full bottle of that stuff.  Looks like you're going to need it.''

``You'd better stock up if you want this to be a regular thing'' she said, emphasizing her point by shoving a forkful of dripping pancake into her mouth.  She closed her eyes and let out a soft moan.

Mike shook his head and grabbed his fork.  He covered his own pancakes in syrup and cut off a forkful.  ``Holy crap,'' he said ``, this is pretty good.  I think I missed my calling.''

Alana nodded her head, her eyes still closed. ``You did. You should open up a pancake restaurant.  That way I could get free pancakes for every meal.'' she said, clearly excited by the idea.

Mike laughed.  ``Great idea.  Pancake Sandwiches for lunch, Pancake Casserole for dinner.  I'd make a FORTUNE!''

Alana laughed, placing her hand in front of her mouth so as not to let her mouthful of pancakes escape.  ``What about dessert?'' she asked. 

``Why pancakes a la mode of course.''

Alana stopped and stared at him.  ``Pancakes...with ice cream...'' she reached over and grabbed his hand ``you DO know me!'' 

Mike laughed hard now.  ``So, I guess I should pick up a carton of ice cream for tomorrow then.'' 

She pointed her fork at him.  ``You'd better.'' 

The conversation remained light and flirtatious as they enjoyed the rest of their breakfast.  Alana finally pushed her plate away from her, all but a lake of syrup and a few crumbs gone.  ``Yikes. I can't believe I finished all of that.''

Mike groaned.  ``You and me both.  I'm never eating again.''

She picked up her teacup and took a sip.  ``Maybe, not so many pancakes tomorrow.''

Mike shook his head.  ``No good.  The way you feel about pancakes is the way I feel about ice cream.  We're doomed.''

They shared a laugh and Alana rested her cup on the table, still holding it with both of her hands.  She sighed and looked at him, half-smiling.  ``So, what horribly invasive yet surprisingly insightful questions to do you have for me today?''

Mike snorted.  ``Down to business then eh?  You sure you don't want to go first?''

She shook her head.  ``No...I...you go first.  I want to wait.''

Mike cocked an eyebrow.  ``Nervous?''

``Mmmmm....maybe.  Just go ahead.'' she said, drinking from her cup.

Mike took a deep breath.  ``Okay, fine, I'll go.  So...about yesterday.  I was thinking about what happened in the parking lot.''

Alana cocked an eyebrow.  ``What about it?''

``Well, it seems like you only really got upset when I told you about that...thing...that Winslow has in his wall safe. So, my question is...is that what you're trying to get.  The cipher?''

She studied his face for a moment before answering.  ``Yes.  I guess I kind of tipped my hand last night.'' she said, looking down at her plate, making designs in the left over syrup with her fork.

Mike smirked slightly.  ``A little.  But if it makes you feel better, I had an inkling of that when I first saw it.''

Alana scrunched up her nose at him. ``Figures.  You're too smart for your own good.''

Mike laughed.  ``I think that's the first time anyone has ever accused me of that.''

Alana held out her hand.  ``Well, keep going.  I'm sure it won't be the last.''

Mike took another breath.  ``Okay. Well, I'm pretty sure that the thing he showed me is a cipher.  And a cipher really only has two uses.  To encode something or decode it.  And I don't think you would be going through all this effort if you just wanted to pass secret messages around.  So, there has to be some data somewhere that is encrypted that you need the cipher to decode.  True?''

Alana nodded gravely.  ``True.'' she looked deeply into his eyes again and shook her head.  

Mike nodded. ``Okay.  So then, my last question is about Derek Winslow, are you okay with that?''

Alana nodded.  ``Yes.  I think I can handle that.''

``Good.'' he said, running his hand through the hair on the back of his head.  ``So, Derek Winslow.  Is he trying to decode the same thing that you are?''

Alana said nothing for a long moment.  ``I think so.  I'm pretty sure anyway.''

``And that's bad, right?'' he continued. 

She looked up at him, smiling smugly.  ``Ehhhh!'' she mocked.  ``That's four questions.''

Mike shot her a rueful stare.  ``C'mon.  Throw me a bone here.''

She laughed and then adopted a more serious look.  ``Yah...yah that's bad.''  She shook her head a bit and then smiled again.  ``But he's not going to.  So, no worries.''

Mike laughed.  ``I don't suppose I'm going to get any further today, am I?''

``You got that right.  I spoil you to much as it is.'' She said, dipping her finger into the syrup on her plate and putting it in her mouth playfully.     

Mike shook his head and indicated to her. ``Allright, mystery girl, it's your turn.''

She stopped laughing.  And sucked in a breath through her teeth.  ``Right...my turn.  Hmmmmmm...'' she said, eying him carefully.  

``What's them matter?  Don't tell me you're suddenly shy about asking me about the sordid details of my personal life.'' He said with heavy sarcasm dripping from his words.

She gave a weak laugh.  ``No...nothing like that.  I just...okay...here's my question.'' She took a deep breath.  ``What is this?'' she asked, motioning with her hand at Mike and herself.  

Mike was taken aback.  He'd been expecting a lot of questions...but this was not one of them.  ``Um...I dunno.  Breakfast?''

She wrinkled her nose at him.  ``You know what I mean.''

Mike shook his head.  ``I'm not sure I do know what you mean.''

Alana sighed and crossed her arms, resting them on the table.  ``It's probably just a stupid question.  What I mean is...well...like I said before, I never expected...when I first came here...I never expected to...meet someone.  I had a very clear objective and a plan to achieve it.  And then I met you.  And...part of me doesn't even want to go through with my plan anymore.  And the part of me that does is so worried about what going through with things would mean for you.  And it would be the most logical and reasonable thing for me to just...walk away from you.  But...for some reason...I can't.  And I'm honestly very very surprised about that.  It makes absolutely no sense to me.  And I don't even know what to call that.''

Mike smiled, feeling his face go hot.  ``I think I get it.  I don't know what to think of it either.  I have to say Alana, you've kind of turned my world upside down a bit.''

She looked down.  ``Sorry about that.  I really am.  I really hate that I'm doing this to you.''

He smiled.  ``It's okay.  I don't mind.''

``Gah!'' Alana blurted out.  ``But why?  I don't get that.  I don't understand why you haven't run screaming me from me yet.''

Mike furrowed his brow.  ``Do you want me to run screaming from you?''

She laughed.  ``No.  But it seems like the natural reaction for...for anyone.  I mean, you're a smart guy Mike.  You must have realized by now that what's going on with me isn't exactly normal.''

Mike nodded.  ``Yah...I've had an...inkling of that.''

Alana gawked at him.  ``And...you're...okay...with that?''

He took a moment to lock his eyes on hers.  He stared intently into the violet rings of her eyes and spoke with confident assuredness.  ``I'm okay with \textit{you}.''  He thought about elaborating on the point but decided against it.  His statement was as clear as it was ever going to be.  

Alana stared back at him, wide-eyed and unblinking.  ``You might...change your mind.'' she said, not breaking the stare.  ``I mean...when...if you find out the rest.''

Mike didn't move.  ``I don't think so.''

Alana nodded slowly.  ``Okay.''

``Okay?'' he asked, asking more about her state of mind than clarification on her response.

She nodded again, smiling.  ``Okay.''

He smiled widely in return.  ``Well.  Anything else?  Or should we get going?''

Alana looked away, biting her lip in that way that made Mike nearly groan with desire.  ``No.  I think that's it for today.''  She began to pick up the plates from the table.

``Just leave them.  I'll pick everything up when I get home.'' he said.

She set the plates back down.  She was tense again. But it was a new kind of tension.  That fun kind of tension that only exists for two people who are on the verge of something wonderful, but haven't yet figured it out.  Mike smiled to himself as he watched her.  He picked up both his briefcase and hers and slung them both over his shoulder.  He reached out to her then and she blushed as she took his hand.  They walked out the door together, hand in hand.

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

Mike sat in his office chair, strumming a pencil against the desk, a deep frown on his face.  He had plenty to do this morning.  But he'd found it very hard to concentrate on his computer screen.  Instead, his eyes kept drifting toward the corner of his desk.  Sitting there, was a wicker basket.  Inside the basket, was a bag of coffee, a bottle of whiskey and various bags of expensive nuts, chocolates, and other delicacies.  Underneath the basket, was a small, steel briefcase.  These items had been sitting on Mike's desk when he'd arrived.  There was no note or card.  But Mike didn't need one to know who they were from.  

Though it hadn't been strictly necessary, he already knew what was inside, Mike had allowed himself a peek inside the briefcase.  Just as he'd expected, it contained a brand new Grady Roughbook 7.  The florescent lights had caught the edge of the polished metal case, make it gleam like the blade of a sword.  It very much felt to Mike like a sword was being thrust into his gut as he looked down at it.  

What was worse was the fact that no note had accompanied it.  Though Mike was no mind reader, he felt he'd gotten a decent read of Winslow's character yesterday.  He was certain that a man like him would not be content to just leave the gifts and be done with it.  The fact that there was no note could mean only one thing.  He was coming to deliver his thanks in person.  He wanted to warn Alana but she was out on the floor, surrounded by the scientists.  She was deeply engrossed in an argument that had stirred up this morning over how to classify certain artifacts.  From what he could tell, some of the scientists believed that she had a set of items from the Arizona classified incorrectly.  She had spent the better part of a few hours explaining her side of things.  He could barely follow the conversation but from what he could see on people's faces, she was winning.  That was almost enough to make him smile.  But the impending visit from Darth Vader himself made that impossible.  

As if bidden by his thoughts, Alana rapped on his door frame.  He spun in his chair to face her.  ``Hey'' he said, relieved that she was finally free to talk.  

``Sorry,'' she said, slumping against the door.  ``That took way longer than you would think.''

``Don't worry about it.  Did you win?''

She smiled, a touch of conceit in her eyes.  ``Of course.''

He laughed.  ``Well good.''

She spotted the basket on his desk.  ``What's that?'' she said pointing at it.

``Yeeeah.  That's kinda why I wanted to find you.''

She frowned and cocked her head.  ``What's up?''

Mike suddenly felt his throat close and his mouth go dry.  Alana was facing him, her back to the staircase.  The first thing Mike noticed was the sound.  Three, quick, ringing clanks against the metal stairs that led up to the office landing.  And suddenly, like he was growing out of the ground, the shape of Derek Winslow rose from the staircase, his shadow falling across Alana.  His suit today was a dark gray, a red handkerchief, expertley folded, poked out of his pocket, perfectly matching his necktie.  He walked closer, and placed a hand on Alana's shoulder.  Mike saw her eyes go wide.  

Slowly she turned to face him.  Mike half expected her to scream.  But instead, her posture straightened.  He couldn't see her face now but he could tell by the way she stood, that she was meeting his eyes.  Winslow smiled wider.  ``Pardon me, dear'' he said.

Alana stepped slightly to the side.  Winslow stepped into the office and stood between Mike and Alana.  Mike stood, and cleared his throat.  ``Mr. Winslow...''

This seemed to return Winslow to his senses.  He laughed.  ``Now now Mike...what did I say?''

Mike laughed humorlessly. ``Oh right.  Sorry...um...Derek.''

``Very good.'' He stepped forward and grabbed Mike's hand, shaking it roughly.

``I'm sorry to disturb you Mike.  I'm sure you're busy.  I just wanted to thank you in person for all of your hard word yesterday.  I see you received the gifts I sent.''

``I did.  And thank you. But it's really not necessary.  I was just doing my...''

Winslow put up hand to stop him.  He laughed.  ``There you go again.  I admire your modesty Mike.  But you deserve to be praised.  You did a bang up job yesterday.  Besides, our ace computer guy \textit{should} have the latest and greatest laptop.  Don't you think?  What would people say of us if they saw you with that two year old thing'' He gestured toward Mike's current laptop, sitting on Mike's desk.  

Mike ran a hand through his hair.  ``Well, thank you.  I appreciate that.''

``My pleasure, Mike.  Now, will you do me the pleasure of introducing me to our new intern?'' He said, turning toward Alana and smiling.  

Alana's face was ice.  Not angry or frightened or cowed in any way by this man.  Mike could almost see the waves of tension flowing between them.  They stood just a foot apart from one another, backs straight, eyes fixed, jaws clenched.  It was like watching generals meeting on the battlefield.  

Mike cleared his throat.  ``Um...Derek, this is Alana.  Alana, this is Derek Winslow, our CEO.''

Winslow smiled, a false edge to his grin.  He extended a hand toward her.  ``Ah yes, Ms. Alana Mosvani.  It's a pleasure to finally meet you.''

Not breaking her stare, she took his hand.  Though it was ``technically'' a handshake, neither of their hands moved.  ``Likewise'', Alana said, her words casual, but her voice commanding and almost regal.  

Winslow broke the handshake first and stood with both hands behind his back.  ``And how are you enjoying your internship?  I hope everyone has been welcoming to you?''

Alana nodded briefly.  ``Yes, everyone has been very kind to me.  I'm finding everything very, \textit{very} educational.  You have a very well run archeology lab Mr. Winslow''

``Thank you.  It's amazing what you can do with nearly unlimited resources, isn't it?''

``Oh, I don't know about that, Mr. Winslow.  With so much under one's control, something is bound to slip through the cracks eventually.'' Alana said, her mouth ticking up in a confident smile.  She crossed her arms across her chest.

Winslow chuffed a smarmy little laugh.  ``Yes, well, that's why we hire only the best and brightest to serve us.  With such a competent staff, the margin of error shrinks dramatically.  Speaking of which, have you met my security man, Greg Tomlinson?''

Alana never broke her grin.  ``Indeed.  He's quite something isn't he?  He came here to...err...what's the expression...put the screws to me?''

Winslow laughed again.  ``Well, I'm sorry if he intimidated you.''

``He didn't'' Alana cut in, curtly. 

Winslow raised an eyebrow.  ``Ah, well, I was going to say....he may be a bit overzealous in his job.  But such seriousness of task can be necessary when dealing with the kind of...threats that we face here.''

``Threats?'' Alana asked, a little too knowingly.

``Yes'' Winslow said, strolling over to Mike and putting an arm around Mike's shoulder.  ``As I was telling Mike here yesterday. Certain people sometimes take an issue with things that I do.  And some of them think that it's a good idea to...err...stop me from what I'm doing.  Now, naturally, I'm not about to stop just because some misguided fools think that they can use force to intimidate me.  But I would absolutely hate if one of my employees where caught in the crossfire.  So, I've spared no expense in making sure that those people have no chance of getting what they want.''

Alana was gripping her upper arms so tightly now that Mike was sure there would be bruises on them when she finally let go.  She had visibly stiffened when Winslow had put his arm around Mike.  But she never lost control.  ``Well then, I'm glad to know that my friends here are so well taken care of.  I too would be very upset if something were to happen to them.''

Winslow smiled, confident and assured.  He raised his hand and looked down at his watch.  ``Well, look at the time.  I'm sorry, but I have a meeting to get to.''  he stepped away from Mike and grabbed his hand, shaking it roughly again.  





``I'm heading out to lunch.  I'm meeting up with an old college friend. I just wanted to let you know.''

``A girl?'' she teased.

He laughed.  ``No.  My old roommate actually.''

``So, are we at the point where we have to tell each other where we're going to be?'' she continued, still teasing him.

Mike blushed slightly.  ``No...I dunno.  I just wanted you to know in case you would be worried about...you know.  Our mutual...adversary.''

Alana laughed.  ``So dramatic.''  She took his hands in hers.  ``Have fun on your date.'' 

He let go of one her hands to brush away a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek.  She leaned into his hand as he tucked the strand behind her ear.  ``Thanks.  I'll...miss you.''

She made a funny squeaking noise as she looked down, clearly blushing.  ``I'll miss you too.  Hurry back.'' she said, not looking up.

He smiled as he stood and backed out of the room slowly.

\begin{center} * * * * \end{center}

Mike killed the engine of his car after pulling into the crowded parking lot of Jiffy Burger.  It was hard for him not to be in a good mood right now.  Beyond all reason and explanation, it would appear that Alana liked him.  She REALLY liked him.  As much as he liked her.  That had been as surprising as anything else that he'd already discovered about her.  He actually had to keep himself from skipping across the parking lot.  

And yet, his reason for being here threatened to gnaw away the feeling of excited joy he felt.  As he approached the restaurant, he felt his palms begin to sweat and his heart rate accelerate.  He told himself not to worry.  He was just going to let this be a fun reunion with an old friend.  And if it so happened that there was a way to ask George what he needed to ask him, then so be it.  

A blast of overly airconditioned air blasted him in the face as he opened the door.  He ducked his head and let it hit the back of his neck as he hurried through into the lobby.  He looked up and amused to see how much this Jiffy Burger looked like the one that he and George had frequented back at school.  Everything was decorated in bright dayglo colors.  Posters from what seemed like every 80s movie ever were plastered over nearly every inch of wall.  The speaker system was blasting \textit{Never Going to Give You Up} by Rick Astley.  The waitresses were all dressed like Madonna, the waiters like Michael Jackson.  The place was a gaudy homage to the 80s.  Mike laughed as he craned his neck, searching the dining room for George.

He spotted him sitting at a booth near the back.  Mike smiled to see him.  He had changed quite a bit but was very much the same old George in many ways.  Mike remembered him as being tall but rather overweight. And to be sure, he still carried a layer of babyfat on him, but Mike could tell even from far away that he'd added quite a bit of muscle underneath his dark ebony skin.  His head was shaved now.  Quite the change from the outrageous ``fade'' he'd worn in college or the wild afro he'd adopted when he'd gotten \textit{really} into the hacking scene and had pretty much eschewed all forms of personal grooming.  He still work the thick horn-rimmed glasses that were his trademark.  They rested against the chubby cheeks of his kind round face.  He was dressed in a classy looking light blue shirt with a white t-shirt underneath and light brown khakis; the unspoken of ``uniform'' of an IT worker.  He was hunched over the table scribbling on a piece of paper.

Mike pointed to him as the hostess approached him to ask ``how many''.  He weaved his way through the crowded aisles between tables and stood before George's table.  ``He doesn't like you.'' Mike said allowed, altering his voice to sound gravelly. 

George looked up and grinned.  ``I'm sorry.'' 

Mike pointed to himself.  ``I don't like you \textit{either}.  You'd better watch yourself.  I've have the death sentence on twelve systems.''

George held up his hands.  ``I'll be careful.''

``You'll be DEAD!'' Mike answered leaning in.  They both laughed and George stood up.  The two embraced, slapping each others backs.  ``Good to see you buddy'' 

``You too'' George said as they both sat down.  

``You're looking good dude.  Big''

George laughed.  ``Yah.  Not much to do but work out and read when you're...where I was'' George said, looking around himself.  Mike noticed this.  It made sense to him.  He supposed that announcing that one had recently been in prison wasn't exactly an easy thing to do.  ``You haven't changed a bit, man.''

Mike grinned.  ``Yah, except for the full chest tattoo that I got of your mom's face.''

George gave him an ``oh please'' expression.  ``Really?  I had the first chapter of \textit{To Kill a Mockingbird} tattooed on YOUR momma's back, so I'd have something to read.''

They both erupted in laughter.  Mike took heart that despite the years and vastly different experiences, they were still the same doofy kids they'd been when they were paired up in the dorm room lottery.  Mike looked down at what George was writing on.  ``Sudoku, eh? I would've expected you to have an app for that on your phone or something?''

George moved the paper aside.  ``I've come to appreciate low-tech entertainment in the last few years'' he said with a chuckle.  

``Yah...yah I'd guess you'd have to.'' Mike said, carefully.  It was hard to know how freely he could talk about George's experiences over the last few years.  

George shrugged.  ``It's not so bad really.  Kinda puts things in perspective, you know?''

Mike nodded.  ``Yah, I guess it would.''  A moment of silence passed between them for a moment before, Mike broke it.  ``So, other than working for your dad, what've you been up to?''

George shrugged again.  ``Not much.  I read a lot.  Play a little XBox here and there.  A lot of games came out while I was away.  You ever play \textit{Vice City}?''

Mike laughed.  ``Yah about three years ago.''

George laughed.  ``Well, I'm lovin' that one right now''

Mike nodded.  ``It was good.  Real good.  Wait 'till you get around to playing \texit{Call of Duty}.''

George smiled from ear to ear.  ``Got it at home.  I'll put it at the top of the pile.''  

``Man you look good.'' Mike said, shaking his head.

``You surprised?'' George asked, pulling a straw out of the decorative container on the table and pulling off the wrapper.  

Mike chuckled.  ``Honestly?  A little.''

``What'd you expect?  Facial tattoos?  Me telling you all about my conversion to Islam?''

Mike laughed.  ``Nah, I guess not.  But you would look pretty awesome in a bow-tie, George''

``That's George X to you white devil!'' George shot back, adopting his best attempt at a menacing scowl.  The effect was comical.  George's round babyface made his scowl look more like that of a pouting twelve year old than a hardened Black Muslim.  They both laughed.  

The sound of rollerskate wheels scraping against linoleum interrupted their laughter.  A young red-haired girl dressed like Madonna skidded to a stop in front of their tables.  ``Like, Hi!  I'm Candy and I'll totally be serving you today.  So, do you guys need a minute or like are you totally ready to order?''

Mike and George looked at each other, barely surpressing the urge to roll their eyes.  ``Yah, we're ready'' Mike said, offering the waitress a polite smile.  Neither of them had needed to look at a menu.  Whatever else may have changed for either of them, their ``the usual'' orders at Jiffy Burger had not and probably never would.  For George, a bacon cheeseburger with onion rings, no lettuce or tomato, ranch dressing on the side.  For Mike, a double Jiffy burger, hold the pickles and the mayo, with curly fries.  The waitress jotted down their orders and skated away back to the kitchen.

George poked a thumb at the departing waitress.  ``Man, I swear, if the burgers weren't so good, I would never come here.''

``You got something against valley girls?''

George laughed.  ``Like, gag me with a spoon'' 

They joked for a time about all of the exaggerated 1980s sterotypes that the restaurant had chosen to portray.  The waitress returned soon after and set down their meals.  George wasted no time taking a huge bite of his burger and following it quickly with a bite into an onion ring.  ``OH man....I've missed that so much'' he said with his mouth half full.  ``Thanks for bringing me here man.''

Mike smiled, his own mouth full of hamburger.  ``No problem.  I figured you'd be jonesing for some jiffy.''

They were mostly silent while they ate.  Mike decided to break the ice.  He wanted George to enjoy himself, but he had questions that needed answering, and lunch was only going to last so long.  ``Can...can I ask you a question?  Kind of a personal one?'' Mike asked.  

George smiled.  ``How'd I get caught?''

Mike laughed.  ``Yah, how did you know?''

``That's pretty much the first question everyone asks me.  Reporters and shit. You know.''

Mike gave him an apologetic smile.  ``I'm sorry.  I didn't want it to be like that. I'm just...curious you know.''

George shook his head.  ``It's totally cool man.  I'm not...you know...bitter or anything.''  George thought about it for a second.  ``Hmmmmm....well...you ever have one of those programming problems where nothing you try works?  Like you're just banging your head on the desk trying to get something to work and no matter what you do, nothing works?''

Mike nodded. ``All the time.''

``Well, you know how when that happens you just start doing random shit.  Like adding a line to the code here that just prints out 'poop' or something.  And then when you finally do get it to work, you've got to go back and clean up all those lines that just output random messages and stuff?''

Mike nodded.  ``Yup, I totally do that.''

``Well, imagine you miss one.  And it goes out to a customer, so when they click somewhere accidentally it puts up a message that says 'I'm a flaming idiot!' or something.  But instead of saying that it says 'Hi, my name is George Mason and hacked your central servers'''.  

Mike cringed ``You didn't.''

George nodded.  ``Basically.  I mean, not exactly but I might as well have.  I was trying everything to get past this firewall and nothing I did worked.  I mean, I could get certain things past the firewall but nothing useful.  I was trying to get a virus past it that would cripple the security measures.  The virus program would upload just fine but then afterwards, I couldn't find it to execute it.  So after a few days of this I got really frustrated and started uploading random crap on my system.  And I uploaded my profile pic from FaceSpace.''

Mike laughed and slapped his head.  ``Oh man...that's...''

``Rooky mistake? Yah, I know.  But in my defense, I hadn't slept in almost a week or something.  I was all cracked out on caffeine and I don't even remember when I had eaten last.''

Mike just shook his head.  ``Man, that sucks bad.  Bad enough to get caught in the first place but even worse to get caught like that.''

George laughed.  ``Don't rub it in man.  But at least it'll make for a good chapter in my book.''

Mike smiled.  ``You're writing a book?''

``Kinda.  I mean, I haven't started the writing part yet but I've been making an outline.  It's not just about me but about the sorry state of computer security today and the draconian state of the politics surrounding 'hacking'.  Do you know, when I first got arrested, I wasn't allowed to make my 'one phone call' for almost three months?''

Mike gawked.  ``Three months?  Holy shit.  How'd they justify that?''

George rolled his eyes.  ``You'll like this.  Some computer 'expert' the feds were consulting with told them that I could use a landline phone to hack into missle command centers and order missle launches by...get this...whistling into the phone.''

Mike laughed out loud.  ``You're fucking lying''

``I swear to God, Mike, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.''

``Wow'' Mike exclaimed, shaking his head and smiling.  ``That is fucking pathetic.  And these are the people that are supposed to be protecting us from terrorists and shit.  I'm suddenly very frightened.''

George waved his hand.  ``Well, the good thing to come out of my case is that it made the feds get a lot more serious about 'cyberterrorism' and shit.  They actually talked to me a lot while I was in jail.  My sentence was actually supposed to be much longer but they got the judge to knock it down by a lot in exchange for me consulting with them on cybercrime issues.''

Mike raised his eyebrows.  ``Wow, that's really cool of them.  But...how did your dad feel about that?  I mean...isn't that kind of his domain?''

George laughed.  ``Well, I'm sure he would have been pissed.  But the first piece of advice I gave them was to contract their cyber-security services out to an outside company. And of course, I highly reccomended that it be Mason Security Systems.  Dear old dad ended up landing a couple of huge government contracts.''

Mike smiled.  ``So, you and your dad are on good terms then?''

George nodded.  ``Yah.  We've come to a...understanding.  I get where he's coming from now and he's gotten a better appreciation for me too.  We're...on the same page now.  You know?''

Mike nodded.  ``Yah, I do.  I guess we all get to that point eventually.  For me and my dad it always came pretty easy.  But I guess you two just had to take a longer road.''

George was looking out the window.  ``Yah....something like that.''

``So, what was so cool about the systems you were hacking into that it had you up for a week?''

``Huh?'' George asked distractedly.

``You said that you'd been awake for a week trying to hack into some system when you got caught.''

``Oh...yah...that.  Um...it was just some weird stuff that I got into for a while.  To be honest, I don't even really remember what the big deal was.''  George said, his eyes darting toward the parking lot outside the windows.  Someone had told Mike once that whenever someone started a sentence with ``To be honest...'', they were usually about to lie to you.  He'd never much believed that but it certainly seemed to fit this situation.  For one thing, George had suddenly started to look shifty and uncomfortable with this line of conversation.  But most damingly, in Mike's opinion, was the fact that he'd known George to have a near photographic memory.  He'd never ever needed to study for a class.  He could recall with perfectly clarity anything that he'd heard someone say or anything that he'd read.  

Something about George's evasivness started to make the hair on the back of Mike's neck stand on end.  It shouldn't though, Mike thought.  What could be more natural than for a parolee to be embarassed and evasive about the details of his crime?  But this had become a pattern in Mike's life lately.  And it seemed that all of these small lies, these attempts at masking truth, all led to the same place.  But as of yet, that place was unknown to only Mike. 

He took a sip of Coke and glanced at his watch.  \textit{Crap}, he thought.  It was getting late.  He needed to do what he came here for.  ``Um...speaking of puzzles.  I have kind of a weird...question.  Do you mind if I pick your brain about something really quick?'' Mike asked.

``Of course not, man.  Shoot'' George answered, cheerful again.

Mike dug into his pocket and pulled out a piece of folded printer paper that he'd stuck there last night.  Before folding the paper, he'd spent a considerable amount of time using his meager drawing skills to create a picture of the cipher device that he'd seen in Winslow's office.  The finished product was crude but, Mike thought, got the basics correct.  The two connected cirlces were there as well as a fair representation of the few symbols around the edges of the discs that he remembered.  He'd added arrows pointing to the various parts that described what they were made of.  

Mike held the piece of paper in his hand and looked at George.  ``Do you remember our Cryptographic Analysis class in Junior year?  You know...Coburn taught it.''

George rolled his eyes.  ``How can I forget?  That class was a fuckin' joke.  Coburn didn't know shit about encryption.  The only reason I passed that class was because I cracked the lame ass encryption he used to lock down his grading spreadsheet.  Lucky for me, Coburn was so impressed when I showed him, that he let me off the hook and gave me an A in return for me showing him how I did it.''

Mike laughed.  ``Yah, that one.  Well...remember how we were going over polyalphabetic ciphers?  And Coburn made a point of telling us about the cipher that the Confederate army used durning the Civil War?'' Mike placed the paper on the table and slid it over to George.  ``Look at that drawing and tell me if I'm crazy for thinking that what I drew isn't something similar to the confederate cipher.''

George frowned and looked down at the paper.  He picked it up and unfolded it.  He looked down at the paper before him and then looked up quickly at Mike.  He carefully folded the paper back up, tossed it to Mike and shook his head.  ``That's pretty low man.''

Mike furrowed his brow.  ``What do you mean?''

George scowled at Mike.  Mike realized that despite his earlier assessment that George was incapable of looking intimidating, that he was wrong.  George was looking at Mike like he wanted to reach across the table and punch his lights out.  ``Did your boss send you here?''

Mike racked his brain trying to explain this sudden change in mood.  ``I swear man, I don't know what...''

``Save it!'' George cut him off, ``You can tell Winslow that it was a nice try.  But I know who you work for.  And I know what he's after. And he ain't getting it from me.''

``George I...'' Mike stammered, trying to explain to George that he didn't have a clue what he was talking about.  

George held up a hand and stood.  He threw down two twenty dollar bills on the table.  ``Have a nice life, Mike'' he said, looking at Mike coldly.  He turned toward the lobby and stormed out of the restaurant.  

Mike picked up the drawing on the table.  He crumpled it in his hand and deposited it into a half empty glass of water.

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

``What's wrong?'' Alana asked from the doorway as Mike entered his office.  

He turned to face her and shrugged.  ``Just...a dissapointing lunch.'' he said.

She stepped toward him and set the stack of papers she'd been holding on his desk.  She placed a hand on his shoulder.  ``Tell me about it.''

He sighed and smiled at her.  ``It's no big deal really.  I guess things have changed more than I thought they had between college and now.''

Alana gave him a sympathetic smile.  ``You didn't have anything to talk about?''

Mike shrugged.  ``Something like that.''

She stuck out her lip slightly, a sign of her empathy.  ``C'mere'' she said, and drew him into a deep hug.  To Mike, this more than made up for George's enigmatic response to the drawing.  He was almost able to forget about it entirely as his whole body lit up with fiery pleasure at her embrace.  

``AHEM!'' someone coughed behind them.  Mike and Alana jumped appart immediately and turned to face Jeff who was standing in Mike's doorway.  He eyed them mockingly.  ``Don't most people use a broom closet or something?'' he laughed.

Mike and Alana joined in on the laughter, albeit nervously.  ``What's up man?'' Mike asked, trying to hide the blush on his face.  Alana started for the door.  Jeff eyed her amusedly as she lowered her eyes, ducking out of the door.

Jeff returned his eyes to Mike.  ``I'd ask you how you're doing but from the looks of things...'' he teased.

Mike shook his head, trying not to smile like an idiot and failing miserably.  ``I'm doing fine...just fine.'' 

``Riiiight.'' Jeff said, ``Anyway, I have to apologize to you.'' 

``Apologize?  For what?'' Mike asked, his eyebrows pulling together.

Jeff let out a soft hiss through his teeth as he looked at Mike.  ``Weeeeell, I kinda let it slip to Carol about your whole...thing'' Jeff said slowly, his eyes darting toward Alana's office.  

Mike's shoulders slumped.  ``You didn't.'' he shot back bitingly.  

Jeff's smile grew tighter.  ``Afraid so, man.  And now she's insisting that you come over for dinner tonight.  She wants to grill you about her.''

Mike groaned.  ``Jeff!  There isn't really even anything to tell at this point.  We're still...you know...working things out or whatever.''

Jeff shrugged.  ``Well, for your sake, you better start making some shit up.  She wants a love story and she's not going to quit until she gets one.''

``What if I had plans tonight?'' Mike asked.

Jeff raised an eyebrow.  ``Do you?''

Mike slouched even further.  ``No.''

Jeff smiled.  ``Well then.  See you at 7.  Bring wine.  You'll need it.''  He turned and walked out of the office.  

\begin{center} * * * *\end{center}

Mike sat with one arm propped up against the armrest of his chair, his thumb supporting his chin and his forfinger pressing against his cheek.  His other hand help a ballpoint pen which he tapped rythmically against his desk.   It was 6:15 pm, time to be leaving.  But he was stalling.  It wasn't that he minded talking to Carol about Alana.  But he was certain that whatever he told her would not be enough.  She would want to know every detail of every conversation they ever had. He turned his chair slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of Alana.  He knew that he couldn't very well tell the whole story.  Though they'd never specifically agreed to keep their ``questions'' sessions private, he was quite sure that Alana would not be pleased if Mike were to tell Jeff and Carol about them.  He would have to lie, to his two best friends.  

He pushed against the desk and slid his chair across the floor.  He leaned down and picked up his laptop bag and closed the lid to his laptop in one fluid motion.  With the bag in hand, he stood and removed the laptop from its base station.  He shoved his laptop in his bag and slung it over his shoulder.  He looked back to his desk and saw the shiny silver Grady Roughbook laptop sitting on his desk.  His throat clenched a bit as he thought about where it had come from.  Ruefully he thought about how nice it was a week ago, when he could receive a gift and not have to worry about the motive behind it.  He thought about it for a moment and then reached across the desk to pick it up.  There was just enough room in his bag for it.  He gave a slight ``oof'' as he felt the weight of a second laptop added to his burden.  

He walked over to Alana's office and knocked on the doorframe.  She looked up at him and smiled.  ``A bit early for you isn't it?'' she teased.  

Mike grimaced.  ``A little.  I've been commanded to join Jeff and his wife for dinner tonight.''

She laughed.  ``That doesn't sound so bad.''

Mike smiled.  ``Do you want to come with me?  Carol always makes too much.  I'm sure they wouldn't mind.''

Alana looked uncomfortable.  ``Um...that sounds...really nice.  But...I can't.  I have...things to do.''

Mike picked up on her unease.  ``Things to do...'' he repeated, letting her know with a nod of his head that he understood her.  It seemed obvious to him that whatever she had planned for the evening involved some manner of cloak and dagger operation regarding Winslow and the cipher he kept hidden in his office safe.

She laughed at him.  ``It's not like that.  I just have a lot of planning to do for Saturday.''

Mike made a face at her obvious confidence.  ``Don't count your chickens'' he warned, striking a defiant pose.

She crossed her arms and smirked wickedly at him.  ``Tomorrow's the big day.  You've got about twenty four hours to come up with an answer. And from where I sit, I've got nothing to worry about.''

Mike sucked in a breath of air.  ``We'll just see about that.'' he said, giving her a confident nod.  ``Anyway, I have to take off now.  You leaving soon?''

She looked at her screen and rolled her lips.  ``I don't think so.  We just got another shipment in from the Arizona dig site.  If I don't get this stuff all enetered tonight, it'll put me way behind.''

He nodded trying not to show his obvious dissapointment.  ``Allright.  Well, don't stay too late.'' he said, turning toward the door.  

``Wait'' she called to his back.  ``Don't I get a hug?'' she sad, standing.

Mike gulped.  ``Oh...right.'' He took a step toward her and awkwardly tried to anticipate how exactly to embrace her.  This was more difficult than it should be, he thought.  It was just a hug afterall.  He stepped right in front of her and saw her giggle as he nervously reached forward.  His arms were tense as they enfolded her shoulders while her arms wrapped around his waist.  A shudder shook through his body at the same time that a similar reaction shook Alana's body.  And then, they were still.  He tightened his hold on her, ever so gently, so that she was nestled perfectly against his chest.  Neither of them spoke.  All Mike could do was to think about how perfect this moment felt.  

She felt like home to him.  That safe, warm, and happy feeling that one could only associate with belonging.  He belonged here, with her in his arms and he in hers.  Everything in his life had prepared him for this.  No amount of secrets, or ciphers, or dangerous adversaries could tear him away from this.  He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of lavendar and jasmine and nearly wept at the perfection that was Alana.  

Too soon for either of them, the hug ended.  He held her hands in his.  ``Have a good night'' he said, softly, and leaned in to lay a gentle kiss on the top of her head.  She leaned into his lips and made a subtle moaning sound that nearly made Mike drop everything to hold her again.  But now wasn't the time and Winslow Labs was not the place.  He let go of her hands and backed out of the office, smiling happily as he watched her stand there with her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed, and a longing smile on her face.

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

Mike pulled into Jeff's driveway at just before 7.  He was surprised at how early he was.  The freeways had been mercifully light on traffic this evening and, for once, there wasn't a huge line at the grocery store where he'd stopped to pick up two bottles of wine.  He stepped out of the car and took a quick calming breath before approaching the house.  
Jeff and Carol were not rich in the traditional sense.  Their house was not a mansion as such.  But it was easily the biggest house owned by someone that he knew.  Common courtesy would not allow Mike to ask Jeff directly how much he made at Winslow Labs.  But he did know that all of the scientists in the archeology lab had been offered heft salaries and large signing bonuses to lure them away from their posts at top universities.  Jeff been somewhat of a wildcard in the process.  The private university that Jeff had come from was not particularly prestigious or well known to the world at large.  But in the five years that Jeff had been there as Dean of Anthropology, he had excelled at obtaining grant money and private donations.  By the time he left, the school had begun to attract the notice of the archeology world at large and had taken part in some very high-profile digs.  Jeff would be the first to tell you that he was not a great scientists.  What he was, was a great manager of scientists.   With all of the ``big name'' archeologists and anthropologists being signed by Winslow Labs, it was a surprise to some that a relative unknown like Jeff had been tapped to be their manager.  But, so far, he had surpassed their expectations.  Winslow Labs, in just a few years, had gone from being a joke in the archelogy world to an up and coming power player in the field.  

The house that Jeff and Carol had purchased when they moved out here reflected both their new found wealth and their love of all things ``old''.  It was a nineteenth century colonial style house made of red brick, with black shutters framing the six front windows.  To the east and west of the center of the house, two large wings had added and even more windows along with them.  All in all, twelve windows faced the front lawn.  A small flight of white stone steps led up to the front porch which was encircled by tall columns holding up a portico.  It was as grand as any house Mike had ever seen and, really, far too much house for one couple and their four year-old daughter.  

He ascended the porch steps, being mindful of the Razr Scooter that had been left carelessly behind, and knocked on the large white door.  He heard the sounds of movements from inside and a tiny voice saying ``Uncle Mike, Uncle Mike!''.  Mike had to smile.  He was an only child so he'd always figured that the title of ``uncle'' would be lost to him.  Little did he know that one day, his boss his boss' wife would love him like a little brother, and insist that their child call him Uncle.  Carol swung open the door balancing a much too big to be picked up anymore child on her hip.  

Carol was a rare sort of person.  Everything about her, from her wide earthy smile, to the glow, literally a glow, to her bronzed skin, invited you in and made you want to tell her your life story.  She was of a medium height with curly hair that she never seemed to wear any other way than hanging down just above her shoulders.  Her large brown eyes were soft and somehow understanding, like she could see whatever ailed you and would have just the right words to soothe your soul.  When she smiled, it was impossible not to smile back.  She was easily one of Mike's very favorite people in the world.  

Moving swiftly and without giving Mike a chance to react she lunged forward and somehow managed to embrace Mike despite still holding her daughter in one hand.  Mike grunted as she nearly knocked the wind out of him but smiled as she rubbed his back.  ``It's good to see you too Carol.''

Carol stepped back, rubbing his shoulder.  ``It's been weeks, Mike!  You haven't come by in weeks!  That's way too long.''

Mike smiled meekly.  ``Sorry.  I've just had a lot going on.''

She gave him a scolding look.  ``And what?  You can't come see your friends when you're having troubles?''

Mike shrugged.  ``You know me.  Suffer in silence type.''

Carol slapped his shoulder playfully.  ``Not anymore you're not mister.  You have a problem, you call.  Got it?''

Mike laughed. ``Yah, I got it.''

Carol smiled.  ``Good.  We missed you.  Babette especially. Didn't you sweetheart.'' Carol said, hugging her daughter closer.  Carol and Jeff had named the girl Barbara, but Mike couldn't recall anyone ever calling her that.  From the time she came home from the hospital they'd always called her Babette.  A name, Mike was sure, she would come to hate once she started school.  The sleepy toddler giggled and squirmed against her mother's shoulder.

``No!'' Babette shouted and erupted and giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world.  

Carol just laughed and shook her head.  ``That's our new fun thing.  Everything 'No!', no matter what.  Watch'' Carol explained to Mike.  ``Babette, are you sleepy?''

``No!'' she yelled gleefully.

``Babette, do you want Mommy to read you your dinosaur story?'' Carol asked, stifling her own laughter.

``No!'' the child yelled again.

Carol gave Mike a look that clearly said, 'Watch this'.  ``Babette, do you want ice cream for dinner?''

Babette paused for a moment.  ``Yes!'' she yelled out.  All three of them erupted into uproarious laughter.  

``Well, I suppose there are some things that will always be 'Yes'.'' Carol said, smiling adoringly at her daughter.  Babette yawned widly at them and snuggled into her mother's shoulder.  Carol patted her.  ``Well, I better get this one to bed.  Jeff's in the kitchen.  I'll join you two in just a bit.''

Mike knew his way around the house well enough to find the kitchen on his own.  He found Jeff wearing a tall chef's hat and slicing up a loaf of bread.  Mike moved silently across the kitchen, keeping Jeff's back to him and reached for the comically large hat on Jeff's head.  Jeff suddenly spun around and leveled the bread knife at Mike's face.  ``Touch it and die, asswipe.'' he growled.

Mike laughed and backed up, holding up his hands.  ``Sorry, man.  I didn't know you cared so much about your phallic headgear.''

Jeff gave him a sarcastic scowl.  ``Fuckwad.'' he muttered under his breath. He placed the knife down on the counter and turned back to face Mike.  Just then he noticed the two bottles that Mike was holding.  ``Sweet, wine.''

Mike nodded.  ``I didn't know what we were having tonight so I brought a red and a white.''

Jeff laughed.  ``Like it matters in this house.  There's a corkscrew in the top drawer below the microwave and glasses in the cupboard to the right of it.  Make yourself useful.''

Mike easily found the wine paraphernalia and busied himself with the opening and pouring of the wine. ``So how's things?'' he asked casually as he pulled the cork out of the bottle of white wine.

``Pretty good.  Haven't seen much of you this week.'' Jeff answered nonchalantly as he began checking the various pots on the stove.  

Mike smiled.  ``Yah, sorry about that.  I've...uh...been a little distracted.''

Jeff shrugged and laughed.  ``So I've seen.  Looks like my little pep talk did the job.''

Mike laughed as he pulled down three wine glasses from the cupboard and started pouring.  ``Something like that.''

``Well, I'd love to press you for details, but I just heard the sound of two devious feet in the hallway.  I'm sure their owner would rather I let her ask.  Isn't the right honey?''

Mike had just finished pouring the third glass when Carol swept into the kitchen.  ``You're damn she would.'' she announced as she practically danced across the kitchen floor, sliding to a stop next to her husband.  With one arm she reached across his back and tickled his side causing him to jump.  Laughing deviously she stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.  She leaned over the stove to sniff at the simmering pots.   ``Mmmmmm, smells good.  How much longer?  I'm starving.'' she said.

``Just waiting for the noodles, should be just a minute.'' Jeff answered, dropping his free arm to rub the hand she had on his hip.  

Carol turned back to Mike.  ``We're going to be eating out on the patio tonight, I hope you don't mind.  It's probably the last night of the year that we'll get to eat out there.''

Mike shrugged.  ``Fine by me.''  He rubbed the back of his neck in nervous anticipation.  So far, Carol hadn't broached the subject for which he'd been summoned here to talk about.  

Carol picked up on this.  ``Something wrong, Mike?''

Mike laughed.  ``Just wondering when the inquisition is going to start.''

Carol gave him a wry smile.  ``I'm not a monster, Mike.  You can eat before I pump you for gossip.  Besides, I want you to drink more before we talk.  You'll be more truthful when you're thoroughly sloshed.'' she said, giving him a sly wink.

Carol was true to her word.  She made a point of keeping Mike's glass full during dinner.  While not 'thoroughly sloshed' like Carol had predicted, he was feeling a nice tingly buzz when Jeff left the table to get dessert and put on a pot of coffee.  Carol lounged lazily in her patio chair, running a finger along the edge of her glass.  Mike cleared his throat, knowing what was coming next.  Carol gave him a vulpine smile, ``So...Mr. Carmichael.  What's this I hear about you making good with one of the interns?''

Mike laughed.  ``Gosh, you make it sound so sordid.'' 

``Well for your sake, I hope it is.'' Carol said, punctuating her words with a soft snorting laugh.  Mike rolled his eyes.  ``Tell me about her.'' She asked when her laughing fit had died down.  She leaned back in her chair and pulled her legs up, resting them underneath her as she reclined against the arm rest.

``What do you want to know?'' Mike shrugged.

``Well, her name would be a good start'' Carol answered, smirking knowingly at Mike.  

``Alana.'' He'd suddenly become very interested in the buttons on his shirt.  He bent one toward him and picked at a loose thread.

``Alana.'' Carol repeated ``Interesting name.  Jeff tells me that she's foreign.  Somewhere in Europe?''

Mike cleared his throat.  \textit{Here it comes} he thought \textit{first big lie}.  ``Yah..she's from Estonia.''  He cautiously looked up to see her face.  Her face gave no indication that she smelled a lie in his answer.  

``Estonia...wow.  That's got to be a first.  I don't think I've ever met anyone from there'' 

Mike gave her a sarcastic smile. ``Really?  You're a mathematician.  Aren't your programs usually filled with Gregovs and Romanovs and Ivannabuyavowel names?''  Mike jibed, referring to the overabundance of Eastern Europeans in mathematics.

Carol sniffed at him.  ``That's what I'm saying.  I've worked with Russians, Pols, Ukrainians, Czechs, you name it.  But never an Estonian.''

Mike laughed.  ``Well, I guess they're more attracted to the physical sciences.''

``So, she's an archaeologist then?'' Carol continued, not letting Mike sidetrack the conversation.

He nodded. ``Yah, she's an intern at the lab.  Just finished up her Masters degree at Oxford.''

Carol nodded approvingly.  ``Good.  She's smart then.  That's real good.  You need someone smart.''

Before Mike could answer, the scraping noise of the sliding screen sounded behind them.  Jeff walked carefully, carrying a tray laden with a large coffee urn, three ceramic coffee cups, and three small plates with three slices of cherry topped cheesecake.  Carol's eyes lit up and she stood to help her husband with the tray.  

When the coffee and dessert had been distributed Jeff collapsed into a chair.  ``So, what'd I miss?''

Carol chuckled ``Mike was just telling me about Alana.''

Jeff smiled and looked at both of them.  ``Oh, good.  Then I didn't miss the good part.  Carry on Mike, tell us all about her.''

Mike blushed and shook his head. ``I don't know what you want to hear?''

``Well, what's she like?'' Jeff asked.  ``She doesn't talk much at work.  I can probably count on one hand the number of words she's said to me.''

Mike shrugged and looked away from the two sets of eyes staring intently at him.  ``I dunno...she's...cool.'' He looked back at them feeling heat flood his cheeks.  He laughed.  ``I dunno what you want to hear?''

Carol gawked at him.  She looked over at Jeff.  ``Wow, you weren't kidding.''

``Told ya.''  Jeff responded, smiling like he'd just won a bet.

``What just happened?'' Mike asked, confused by their exchange.

``Jeff's been trying to tell me that you're totally head over heels for this girl.  Until now I thought it was just wishful thinking.  But...Wow Mike!'' Her voice was high and excited now.  ``You're...wow.''

Mike showed her his confusion.  ``What...I'm what?''

She shook her head.  ``I dunno...I can't explain it.  But...''

Mike looked away and shook his head.  ``It's nothing.  Really.''

Jeff laughed.  ``Bullshit'' he shouted accusingly at Mike.  He turned back to Carol ``You should have seen the two of them in the office today.  I practically had to set the firehoses on them.''  Carol and Jeff shared a big laugh, smiling at Mike.

Mike kept shaking his head.  ``You guys are totally overreacting.'' He said, unable to hide his blushing smile.  ``We haven't even had a real date yet.''

``Oh no?'' Jeff asked ``Then why have I had to eat lunch by myself every day this week?''

``I only had one lunch with her.  Wednesday I was working with Winslow and yesterday I had lunch with an old college buddy.''  Mike explained.

``Uh uh'' Jeff responded, eying him suspiciously.  ``And what have you all been doing at night?'' He turned back to Carol again. ``They've been coming into work together.''  He told his wife.  She looked up at Mike, her eyes full of accusatory delight. 

Mike shook his head.  ``No no no.  It's not what you think.  We've been having breakfast together.  Just breakfast.''

``Riiiiight'' Jeff said, causing Carol to erupt in laughter again.

Carol sensed Mike's distressed and brought her laughter under control.  ``Okay, let's give him the benefit of the doubt.  Okay, so you haven't had an 'official' date.  Just lots of breakfast.  But Mike, you should see your face when you're thinking about her.  It's more than just 'she's cool', I'll tell you that.''

Mike sighed, resigned to his defeat.  ``Allright.  So, I'm kinda into her.''

Carol barked out a laugh.  ``Kinda into her?  Mike...you're blushing and flustered just talking about her.  I'd say you're more than just kinda into her.''

``Okay I'm REALLY into her.  What's wrong with that?''

Carol shrugged.  ``There's nothing wrong with it Mike.  I've just never seen you like this before.  It's nice to see.''

Mike sighed.  ``Well...thanks I guess.''

Carol just smiled knowingly back at him.  ``So, have you scheduled an actual date yet?''

Mike nodded and stretched nervously.  ``Saturday'' he said, exhaling a deep breath.  

Jeff and Carol gave him a teasing ``Ooooooooooh.''  Mike couldn't help but laugh at that.  

``What're you guys doing?'' Jeff asked. 

Mike laughed.  How was he going to explain this.  ``Well...we're not sure actually.  We....'' he hesitated, ``We're going to...flip a coin...whoever wins has to decide what we do.''

Carol laughed.  ``I like that.  It's cute.''  She looked expectantly at him.  ``Are you nervous?''

``A little'' Mike admitted.  ``It's just a date but...''

``It's more than that, isn't it?'' Carol asked.  Mike nodded. ``It's THE date, isn't it?''

``What do you mean?'' Mike asked.  Jeff too looked at his wife with confusion on his face.

``Well,'' Carol said, reaching for her coffee cup and taking a drink ``From what I've seen, most relationships have that one date.  That date that ends up being a 'make it or break it' kind of thing.  It's like, based on that one date, you'll either end up with a girlfriend or a friend that you're really awkward around.''

Mike let out a tense sight.  ``Thanks...that really sets my mind at ease.''

Jeff laughed loudly.  ``Good job sweetheart, he's going to go home now and obsess about everything he's going to say to her.''

Carol gave them an innocent look and held out her hands.  ``What?  I'm just saying.  From the sound of things, this is the big one for you guys.  It's not something to get nervous about.  It's just what it is.''

``Right,'' Mike nodded ,''and how exactly am I supposed to be calm about that?''

Carol shrugged.  ``The girl has had breakfast with you almost every day this week.  I think she likes you Mike.  Otherwise, why not catch a couple hours more sleep.''

Mike stopped to process that.  ``Huh...I guess I didn't look at it like that.''

Jeff looked confused.  ``Yah....why DO you guys have breakfast?  Why not dinner like everyone else?''

Mike felt both Carol and Jeff staring at him, awaiting his answer.  ``She uh...she...has...family obligations...at night.''

Jeff looked suspicious.  ``Family obligations?  Dude...you're not...she's not...married...is she?''

Mike laughed.  ``No...no...I don't think so anyway.   No, it's...not like that or anything.''

``I dunno man.  Sounds fishy to me.''  

Carol kept her eyes on Mike while putting a hand on Jeff's shoulder.  ``It's okay.  He trusts her.  So we should too.''

Jeff looked unconvinced but said no more.  Mike dug into his cheesecake, pretending that he wasn't fully aware that Carol had noticed something about he and Jeff's exchange.  She was suspicious of something but was letting it pass for now, probably hoping that she could draw it out of him later.  

Carol, very graciously, changed the subject at that point, asking Mike how his parents were doing.  They spent the rest of the evening talking about lighter things.  Mike and Carol were interrupted at one point by a soft snore coming from the chair between them.  Jeff had dozed off.  They both laughed.

``I guess we should call it a night.  Time to tuck Mr. Excitement here in to bed.'' Carol said, looking admiringly at her sleeping husband.

``Just...one more thing.'' Mike said, stopping her from getting up.  He'd thought of something on the way over.  It was just a passing memory and he doubted she would have a good answer for it.  But he thought he should at least ask.  ``You did your internship at Mason Security right?''

Carol smiled.  ``That's right.  I worked on the team that developed the MAS-128 data signing mechanism.  But...that was a long time ago Mike.  I haven't done cryptography work for a while now.'' 

Mike shook his head.  ``Yah, I know.  I was just wondering...when you were there.  Did you ever hear...did anyone ever talk about Winslow Labs or the Winslow family in general?''

Carol looked confused.  She started to shake her head but stopped suddenly.  ``Yes...wow...I haven't thought about this in years but...Derek Winslow was actually in the office one day.  This would've been about...six years ago or so.  I remember because it was this big deal around the office.  Everyone was afraid that we were about to be bought out by Winslow Labs or something.  He and George Mason were in George's office all morning.  And then suddenly, there was a lot of shouting.  And all of the sudden, Derek Winslow throws open the door and shouted something and then stormed out.  George looked furious and slammed the door behind him.  Why do you ask, Mike?''

Mike shook his head slowly.  ``Nothing...I just...I had lunch with George Mason...the younger one, your old boss' son. I got the impression that he didn't like where I was working.''

Carol nodded, watching him suspiciously.  ``Yah...I definitely got the feeling that there was no love lost between Winslow and Mason.''

``Do you have any idea about what they WERE talking about?'' Mike asked.  ``I mean, Mason obviously didn't get bought out so that probably wasn't it.''

Carol shrugged.  ``Not really.  The buzz around the office was that Winslow wanted Mason Security to consult on a project.  But that George Mason turned him down cold.''

``Thought it was something like that.'' He stood then and stretched.  ``I'll let you guys get to bed.  Thanks for everything Carol.  Dinner was fantastic.''

She laughed.  ``Don't thank me.  Rip Van Winkle over here is the family chef.''  Jeff snored in response, eliciting laughter from Carol and Mike.  

``Well, thanks for the advice then.  You guys are too good to me.''

Carol rose and gave him a big hug.  ``You're not just a friend to us, Mike.  You're family.  Remember that.  We're always here for you. For anything.''

Mike hugged her back hard.  ``Thanks Carol.  That means a lot to me.  You guys are the big brother and sister that I never had.''

Carol smiled sweetly at him.  ``Allright.  Just remember what I said.  Relax.  Be yourself.  And just have a good time on Saturday.  Everything's going to work out just fine.''

He nodded.  ``I will.  Thanks.  I'll call and give you a rundown on Sunday.''

``You'll do better than that.'' She said, gripping his forearm.  ``Bring her over for dinner, Sunday night.  We'll barbecue.''

Mike laughed.  ``And what if she ends up just being a friend I'm all awkward around?''

Carol looked at him smirking.  ``Then I'll talk some sense into her.''

He laughed harder now.  ``Thanks.''

Carol shrugged. ``What are big sisters for?''

\begin{center} * * * * \end{center}

Back at home, Mike winced as he looked at the clock.  It was nearing 2Am.  He knew that he would be hurting tomorrow.  But he remained at his desk, furiously searching the internet.  He wasn't even sure what he was looking for.  But he had a feeling that somehow, the feud between Mason and Winslow was connected to Alana and the ancient cipher that Winslow was holding in his office.  But search after search turned up nothing.  There were no articles anywhere that he could find that indicated that the cipher existed.  Though of course, he wasn't a fluent speaker of Greek, so he was trusting online translation services to help him read articles in the Greek media.  He couldn't be certain that he was searching for the right things.  

There was also nothing to indicate a relationship of any kind between Winslow Labs and Mason Security.  No gossip in industry news websites, no join projects, nothing.  Carol seemed to think that their feud was simply a matter of a business deal that never materialized.  But that wasn't completely satisfying to Mike.  Though he didn't know Derek Winslow well, he never got the idea that he was a hothead.  It seemed out of character for him to storm out of an office just because a potential partner didn't want to play ball with him.  That kind of reaction spoke to Mike as a very personal reaction.  

He was about to give up and admit defeat when a search hit at the very bottom of the page caught his eye.  What first caught his eye was the short extract paragraph underneath the link: \textit{Pictured above: Oliver Wendell, Ruth Brandeis, Thomas Jay, George Mason Jr., and Christopher Winslow}.  There it was.  The connection he was looking for.  The title of the link also caught his attention: \textit{The Open Door Society at Harvard University: An Oxymoron}.  Mike clicked the link.  

The page was crudely made.  Blood red text on a black background with the skull and crossed bones tiling across the back.  It was typical ranting from an obsessed conspiracy freak.  

\textit{The Open Door Society at Harvard University.

For over one hundred years, a select few freshmen at the acclaimed university have been invited to join an ultra secret society.  The club does not publish any documents or make public the subject of any of its meetings.  Little is known about what goes on behind closed doors at The Owlery, the meeting house for the club.  But in recent years, several annual club photographs have surfaced like the one below.

This allows us to gain a partial membership roster for many years of the club's existence.  These rosters are especially illuminating.  Almost all former members of the secret society have gone on to careers as founders or CEOs of large technology companies.  Their members have brought us such technological innovations such as the electric typewriter, microwave oven, space shuttle, microprocessor, and artificial heart.  

Though former members will insist that its simply a society of technologically minded futurists, it is clear that so much more is going on.  It is impossible not to notice that modern society would be impossible without the creations of these people.  Nor can the amount of power over modern society these people have.  Anyone of them has the power to bring society to its knees.  While no evidence exists that they have any connection to The New World Order it is clear....
}

Mike stopped reading when the article started turning into a skreel about Black Helicopters and The Illuminati.  His head hurt now.  He'd found what he'd been looking for.  A connection between his friend George and Derek Winslow (or their fathers anyway).  But what did it all mean?  What was this \textit{Open Door Society} and why with a name like that were they so damn secretive?  And did it have anything to do with the meeting between Derek Winslow and George's father that Carol had remembered?  So many questions with so few answers.  It was beginning to seem to Mike that every time he opened one closed door, he was brought face to face with another one.  

He switched off the monitor and walked to his bedroom, his head swimming.  He undressed quickly and slid under the covers.  \textit{Your turn Cora} he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

\begin{center} * * * *\end{center}

Mike floated in a deep sea of misty grayness.  Thinking back, he could remember that it was always this way before the Cora Dreams.  But unlike the other times, he felt more aware, more cognizant of the void in which he floated.  He tried to move his hand through the cloud of mist in front of him and was surprised to realize that he had no hand.  Though he could see, smell, hear, touch and taste, he had no body with which to do so.  He was a part of the grayness, he floated as one with the mist that surrounded him.  He had fun with this for a moment.  He propelled his unformed body forward, enjoying the feeling of flying.  He swelled his consciousness outward, feeling him swell to what would have been an enormous size in his reality and then reversed it, making himself no bigger than a pin point.  

Quite suddenly, he felt himself involuntarily returning to what he considered to be his normal size.  He began to feel himself growing solid again.  The mist began to gather together and form the hard lines and shapes of physical reality.   Mike wanted to cry out, begging for just a few more minutes.  What he'd just experienced was magnificent.  He wanted more of it.  But he found that he did not yet have a mouth with which to scream.  So, he waited patiently, resigned to the fact that he would have to wait for another time.

As the world around him began to take shape, colors began to take the place of the grayness.  Again, Mike was amazed at how aware he was now.  He could see the distinctive palate of what Mike had come to consider ``Cora's World''.  He was surprised to realize that he really could see a clear difference in tones and hues between his world and hers.  His world, he thought, was more brown, white, yellow, and green.  Her world was made of deep shades of blue, black, purple and dazzling whites.  Almost everything here was more vibrant and powerful.  Even the blackness of the cracks between bricks seemed to glow and vibrate.  

The first image that formed fully in his eyes was the moon.  As usual, it was much much larger than he'd ever seen it in the waking world.  And it's light was nearly blinding as it poured through the great glass ceiling of the room that he was in.  The room too was enormous.  It was easily as big as the main terminal of Union Station in New York.  The walls of the circular room were deep blue, almost the color of night's sky that he could see through the multi-paned window that spanned the ceiling.  Eight great white columns stretched toward the roof of the building.  They were intricately carved with great whirling swirls. Also carved into each column were great statues that started at the base of the column and towered a good twenty feet over the ground.  There were four women, and four men.  Each figure was cloaked and hooded and each held an item in their hands.  A book, a sword, a staff, an orb, a shovel, a cup, an axe, a looking glass. 

But the most dominant figure of them all stood across the room from Mike, seemingly in a place of reverence. It stood atop a large white dais.  A great black statue stood atop it.  If the column statues were twenty feet tall, this one was easily thirty feet tall.  The statue depicted a woman, cloaked like the others, but with her head unhooded, her long wavy hair, swirling around her face and falling just past her shoulders.  Mike walked slowly across the room, letting the grandeur of the statue take him in slowly.  He stood looking up at it from ten feet away.  The stone it was carved from was like none he'd ever seen.  He'd been expecting black marble, but he was wrong.  It was wasn't marble, nor obsidian or even onyx.  This stone had know sheen or shimmer to it.  It was as though it were carved from the glowing blackness itself.  Mike reached out a hand as if to touch it but thought better of it.  He wasn't entirely sure that his hand would come back the same if he did.  The woman was clearly strong and powerful.  She stood looking upward toward the center of the room, as if through the great glass ceiling.  One arm was outstretched, the fist clenched in defiance toward the sky.  Her other arm was cradled close to her body, just under her breasts, a great black raven resting upon her palm.  Her strong beautiful face was hard and determined, her jaw clenched, as though she were daring the moon itself to defy her.  Mike realized then that the other statues were placed as to face her, their heads slightly bowed, in reverence of her.  

Mike suddenly felt the presence of someone else in the room.  He turned about and saw Cora standing behind him, a slight smile on her face.  ``I thought I might find you here.'' she said.

He smiled back at her and cocked his head a bit.  ``What do you mean?''

She giggled and pointed up at the statue.  ``You like?''

Mike looked up again at the stone woman's face.  There was something about the set of her jaw, the waves of her hair, and the shape of her nose that made him think of Alana.  But that was...what?  Impossible?  Was anything impossible anymore.  ``Sh-she...she looks like...''

Cora sidled up next to him and nodded.  ``Yes...yes she does.''  Mike looked warily down to Cora and then back up to the statue.  She let out an impatient sight.  ``Come on Mike.  Let's go sit down.  We don't have much time.'' she said, grabbing his shirt sleeve and pulling him backward.  She led him back to the center of the room, underneath the great glass window.  Several large loungey looking chairs were arranged in a circular pattern around the center.  They looked a bit like chaise lounges, with long bottoms for resting one's feet and reclined backs.  If one were to relax into one, he would have a perfect place for looking up at the sky in all of it's majestic beauty.  

But Mike did not think that this was the appropriate time for stargazing. Instead, he sat on one of the comfortable chairs, perpendicular to the reclined back.  Cora sat next tom him, drawing her feet up underneath her.  She looked uneasy.  Her eyes darted about the room and she was wringing her hands in her lap.  She was slouching but Mike could still tell that the muscles in her shoulders and back were tense.  Her hair was messier than usual and her simple white cotton dress looked almost rumpled.  

``Are you okay?'' he asked her, slouching down a bit, trying to meet her eyes.  

She stared off in the distance, nodding her head distractedly. ``Yah...I'm...fine.''  She looked up and smiled.  ``You did really good today.  I think you're really getting through to her.''

Mike caught her abrupt change of subject.  He debated calling her on it, but thought otherwise.  If there were something to be concerned about, she would tell him.  ``Yah, I guess so.'' he sighed `` But I'm getting nowhere with the whole detective thing.  I've only got one more day and all I've come up with is more questions.  No answers''

``Well, what are your questions?''

Mike shook his head vigorously.  ``I don't know.  Things started off pretty good I guess.  What I got out of her was that she and Winslow are both trying to decipher some message.  Which is why they both need that artifact.  I tried following that track for a bit.  I went and talked to an old friend of mine.  He's somewhat of an expert on cryptography and stuff like that.  But when I showed him a drawing of the thing, he freaked out on me.  So I looked into it and all I could figure out was that his father and Winslow went to the same college and were part of some wacky secret society.  So, instead of the artifact leading me to Alana's past.  Now I have all these other missing pieces to sort through.''

Cora smirked.  ``You only think you do.''

Mike scowled back at her.  ``And what's that supposed to mean, short stuff.''

She punched him hard in the arm.  ``Don't call me short stuff.''

Mike winced and rubbed his arm.  ``Ow.  You know, for being pint sized you sure hit hard.''

``And that was just your arm.  Just imagine what I could do to your face!'' she warned.

Mike laughed.  ``Okay okay.  Let me try again.  What's that supposed to mean CORA''.

She smiled, ``That's better.  What I mean is your not thinking things through.''

Mike grunted in frustration.  ``Okay, what am I missing?''

``So, Winslow wants this cipher thing.  What did he do right after he got his hands on it?''

Mike thought hard.  How the hell was he supposed to know that?  But it was obvious that he should know.  Mike thought back over the day.  Then it hit him.  Carol's story about Winslow's visit to Mason Security happened six years ago.  That would have to have been right after Winslow's trip to Greece.  He hadn't asked about the date but...it made sense.  Who else would Winslow have taken the artifact to but his old Open Door Society friend, George Mason Jr.  But what did it all mean.  ``He...he took it to George Mason.  The father of that friend of mine.''

``Right,'' Cora said ``And how did they know each other?''

``They were in that secret society together'' Mike said, trying to find that missing piece.

``And what was it called?'' Cora was leaning into him now. 

``The...Open Door society.''  He looked down at Cora, his face full of confusion. ``What am I missing here?''

Cora sighed.  ``Think about it Mike.  The Open Door Society, what do you think that name implies?''

Mike rubbed the back of his neck roughly.  ``I have no idea, Cora.  It's probably just some hippie bullshit like, 'Our door is always open' or something.''

Cora growled at him.  ``You're not thinking things through.''

Mike had to restrain himself from screaming at her.  His frustration was starting to make his blood boil.  ``Then tell me.  What did I miss?''

``The door Mike.  Think about doors.''

Mike barked a humorless laugh.  ``Doors?  Really?  You want me to think about doors.''

``Yes, Mike. I do.  You're taking the name for granted.''

``What's there to think about?  There's a door.  And apparantely it's open'' he said, his words quick and strained.

``Is it?'' 

Mike's words caught in his throat.  ``Wait...wait...what do you mean? Are they...are they talking about a \textit{literal} door here?  They're...trying to open a door?''

Cora smiled.  ``Could be.''

Mike's brain began running in circles.  ``So...the cipher...Winslow thinks this it...can...open some kind of door?''

``I think you're onto something there Mr. Mike'' Cora laughed.

Mike shook his head.  ``But what does that even mean?  What's the door?  Why does he want it open?  Why does he need a two thousand year-old artifact to open it? And most importantly, What the hell does all of this have to do with Alana''

Cora sighed.  ``It's right in front of your face, Mike.  THINK!''

Mike stood up and started pacing, back and forth.  Cora watched him, her head turning back and forth, following him like a tennis game spectator following the ball.  Mike stopped suddenly.  ``Alana wants the cipher too.''

Cora clapped loudly making mike jump.  ``Yes! Keep going.''

Mike drummed a finger against the air, ``Alana wants the cipher...Winslow wants the cipher...they're both trying to decrypt the same message.  They both want to open the door.  But...where does it go?''

Cora smiled widely and sighed.  ``Well, I think that's what you have to figure out Mike.  Alana's past is through that door.  Find the door, find Alana.''

Mike tried to be happy about making this connection.  But he couldn't.  He shook his head.  ``It's not enough.  I wouldn't even know where to begin looking for it.  And even if I did, there's no time.  I need my answer by tomorrow.''

Cora frowned at him.  ``Why?''

``Why what?  What do I need to know by tomorrow?'' he asked her sarcastically.  

``Yah, what's the big deal?''

``The bet.  Remember?''

Cora laughed.  ``Are you still concerned about that?''

``Well...'' Mike started.

``Forget the stupid bet Mike. Lose.  It doesn't matter.  You still get your date.  And who knows, maybe you'll be oh so charming and she'll just want to tell you everything.''

Mike shot her a sarcastic grimace.  ``Right.  I'm sure that's going to happen.''

``You never know.  This was never about winning Mike, was it?''

Mike grimaced.  ``I guess not.  Maybe at first.  But...no.  You're right.  The important things is her.  I want to know who she is and where she came from.  I just...''

``You really hate to lose.  I know.  Get over it.  You'll get your answers in the end.  For right now, just...trust her.  And concentrate on helping her.''

Mike put up his hands.  ``How?  How can I help her?''

``Show her that she can trust you.  If you do that, you can be there when it counts.  When she needs you.''

Mike flopped back down on the seat next to Cora.  ``But what can I possibly do?  I'm just a computer guy.  And not a very good one at that.''

Cora grabbed his hands.  ``You're not JUST anything.  There is so much more to you than your job.  And I'm not even talking about the fluffy stuff like 'you have a good heart', which you do.  You are a force to be reckoned with.  And you're going to start seeing it very soon.  I hope''

Mike laughed.  ``A force to be reckoned with?''

``You'll see.  And you'll owe me big time when you do.''  Cora said, smiling smugly.

Mike laughed even harder.  ``Okay, great.  Well, is that all the help I get tonight?''

Cora looked furtively around the room.  ``Yah...I think we'd better call it a night.''

Mike stood and stretched out his back.  ``So, I guess I'll see you tomorrow night then.  I'll probably need a good pep talk before the big date.''

Cora stood and looked around nervously.  ``Actually...I can't meet you tomorrow.  Something's come up.''

Mike grimaced.  ``Come up?  What's that mean?''

Cora shook her head.  ``Don't worry about it.  Just...have a good time on Saturday.  Be yourself and all that stuff.''

Mike sighed.  ``Fine...Whatever.  Thanks for your help tonight.''  He took a deep breath and let it out as the room began fading to mist.  

``No problem'' Cora called out.  ``And remember, don't come here tomorrow.  Don't come here again until I call for you.''

Mike started to laugh.  He wanted to say something to her.  But before he could he was swallowed up in the mist.  His voice cut of as his body returned to floating through an endless fog.

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

He sat on the edge of the bed smiling to himself and looking down at the bucket at his feet.  He had on his stomach, expecting to feel it lurch at any moment.  But no nausea ever came.  Neither did the diziness or the headache.  The dehydration was also mysteriously missing.  He felt...good.    He shook his head slowly.  It was a though the rules were changing on him the moment that he'd learned the old ones.  Not that he minded being free of the vomiting and disorientation, but he wished he understood why it had suddenly disappeared.  Or why it had appeared in the first place.  

He stood up slowly, still wary and expecting to toss his cookies at any moment.  Nope.  Standing was as easy an normal as ever.  He stretched wide and twisted around to stretch out his back.  He felt...different.  Good, but different.  He scratched at his head trying to figure out what was so different about himself but came up blank.  The only thing that he could think of that had changed was last night's dream, or at least the precursor to it.  

He stopped cold in his tracks when the memory of floating through the gray mist between his reality and that of the dream.  And the he thought of Cora's last words to him before he'd left the dream.  She had told him not to come back until she sent for him.  What was that supposed to mean.  How could someone control their dreams?  He'd always thought of Cora as the one who was bringing HIM to the dream world.  But what Cora had said...that implied that HE was coming to her world, not the other way around.  That couldn't be right.  Could it?  He'd felt very in control of everything there in the gray mist.  His every thought seemed to move him or give him shape.  And when he'd wanted to be in Cora's world, it had formed itself around him.   The same had been true on the return trip.  Had it always been that way?  He couldn't remember any in-between period between the dream and waking before last night.  But that didn't necessarily mean that it hadn't been there.  Maybe it had just gone faster before, with less control on his part.  Maybe that was the difference between the previous mornings and this one.  

He shook his head.  He had no idea what to make of anything, least of all these crazy Cora dreams.  And he realized that he could spend all morning and all day thinking about and never come up with an answer.  He was way out of his element here.  That was probably another reason why he felt better this morning.  His talk with Cora last night had convinced him of one thing.  This manic drive to unlock the secrets of Alana were misplaced.  It wasn't that he didn't want to know, he absolutely did.  He wanted to know EVERYTHING about her.  But it didn't have to be this way.  The way he felt about Alana was because of who she was.  And no information about her past, present, or future was going to change that.  She was entitled to her secrets.  She would tell him when she was ready to.  He only hoped that he could explain all of that to her without it sounding like he was just giving up on her.

Feeling like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, Mike set about the tasks of preparing for breakfast.  He showered, shaved, and dressed.  That finished he set about cooking up another batch of pancakes.  In the kitchen, he glanced at the clock.  It was later than he thought it was.  Thankfully, when buying supplies at the grocery store, he'd stumbled across the most marvelous of inventions.  Some wonderful genius had created ready-made pancake batter that was sold in a plastic jug.  Once his pan was heated, all he needed to do was pour out a dollop of the mix.  That guy should win some kind of award, Mike thought.  

He'd just finished with everything when the doorbell rang.  \textit{Perfect}, Mike thought, giving himself a pat on the back.  He wiped his hands off on a kitchen towel and through it across the room as he moved quickly toward the door.  Taking a breath, he opened the door.  Of the many things that were getting easier about this whole crazy mess, seeing Alana for the first time since the night before was not one of them.  The corners of his mouth drew up in a wide smile that he couldn't have stopped even if he'd wanted to.  But he didn't want to.  She looked amazing.  Fridays at Winslow Labs was a casual dress day.  But even in her ``casual'' wear, she looked like a fashion model.  Her hair was pinned back by two silver butterfly clips, letting the entirety of her heavenly face show.  She wore a bright blue, cropped sleeved, cardigan over a tank top that had rhinestones around the color.  Though the neckline was lower that he was used to seeing her in, it did not stray low enough to be inappropriate for work.  Still, her collar was open enough to reveal the creamy pale skin at her neck and chest.  Her designer jeans looked like they were cut specifically for her.  They hugged every curve of her hips, thighs and calves.  She was every fantasy he'd ever had.  

He suddenly realized that he'd been staring at her, saying nothing, for quite some time.  He laughed and felt his cheeks color.  ``Good morning.'' he said, averting his eyes in embarssment.  ``You look...wow'' he said.

She smiled at him.  ``You too'' she said, eying him from head to toe.

Mike looked down at his outfit.  He'd forgotten all about casual Friday and thus was WAY overdressed.  ``Crap.'' he said, shaking his head.  

Alana covered her mouth to laugh.  ``Awww.  Don't worry about it.  You look great.'' she said, stepping toward him.  

Mike swallowed hard.  No, it was not getting ANY easier.  He gave her a weak smile.  ``Um...come on in.  Breakfast is on the table.''

Her mouth ticked up into a wry smile.  ``First thing's first.'' she said.  Mike looked back at her confused.  She spread her arms wide.  ``Don't I get a good morning hug?''

Mike laughed with little humor and wrapped his arms around her.  She gripped him tightly about the waist and rested her head against his shoulder.  Mike's head swam as her heady scent filled his nose and the soft curves of her body melted into him.  The overwhelming urge to pull her face to his in a deep kiss pulled at him.  But he resisted.  Now was not the time or the place.  Tomorrow, he told himself.  Tomorrow was all about them.  No distractions to spoil their mood.  

Reluctantly they pulled away from each other, their eyes not meeting.  Alana sniffed the air appreciatively.  ``Mmmmm...let's eat.  It smells like heaven in there.''

Mike laughed.  ``Right this way.'' 

Alana laughed uproariously as Mike served her a stack of pancakes and dropped a scoop of ice cream on top.  ``Oh my gosh,  I can't believe you actually did it, Mike.''

He shrugged.  ``You never know.  We could have a million dollar idea on our hands.  How will ever know unless we try?'' he said, plopping another scoop on top of his own stack.  

He sat and picked up his fork.  ``You ready?'' he asked.

Alana picked up her fork and took a breath.  ``Here goes nothing''.  Simultaneously, they cut into the ice cream and pancake creation and scooped the forks into their mouths.   Mike chewed slowly, eyeing her the whole time.  Her expression was unreadable.  

``Well, whadda you think?'' he asked.

Alana turned her head to face him, and held up a hand in front of her.  ``Give me five, Carmichael.''  

Mike laughed.  Though a common expression, coming from Alana, it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.  Still, he leaned over and slapped her hand.  ``So it's good?''

``Divine is more like it'' she said, cutting off another bite.  

Mike smiled to himself as he dug into his own plate.

``So, is this your big plan?'' Alana asked.  ``Just keep filling me up with pancakes so I'll keep coming over?''

Mike laughed.  ``I hadn't really thought about it like that.  But now that you mention it...'' he said, giving her a mockingly sly grin.

Alana scrunched up her nose at him.  ``Well, I'll hand it to you.  I can't think of a better bribe.''

Though Mike was having a great time with her, he could feel the seconds ticking by as they ate.  He was surprised by how nervous he was.  It wasn't a big deal.  Was it?  Eventually, they both dropped their forks and sat sipping tea, neither of them talking.  Alan broke the silence first.  ``So...''.

Mike raised his eyebrows and drummed the table with his finger tips.  ``So...'' he countered.  They just stared at each other for a moment before they both broke out in laughter.

``Wow, this is weird, isn't it?'' Alana asked.

Mike nodded his agreement.  ``Yah, a little.  Why don't you go first?  Do you have any questions for me before...you know.''

Alana shook her head and took a drink from her cup.  ``No.''

Mike was surprised.  ``Really?''

``Nope.  What about you?  Do you have any questions before we settle this little bet?'' She answered, cocking an eyebrow at him, wearing a smirk.

Mike took a moment to think about it.  There were a million questions he wanted to ask her.  But Cora thought it was best for him to lose this bet.  To, give her a pass and let her tell him on her own time.  He laughed thinking about Cora.  He told himself that someday he would have to tell Alana all about the little brat who'd helped him.  But would she believe him?  How do you tell someone that a twelve year-old from some dream world was feeding him suggestions.  It was too bad, he thought, that he couldn't introduce the two of them.  Alana would like Cora.  They were so much...

A cold sweat broke out on Mike's forehead and he felt the blood drain from his face.  He could feel Alana shaking his arm and he had some recognition that she was calling his name.  But he couldn't answer.  He felt like his brain had just exploded.  He started to laugh softly.  He was so stupid.  Why hadn't he seen it before.  Alana with her black hair and pale skin and Cora with hers.  Why, they could be...sisters.  

Snapping to attention he realized that Alana was looking back at him deeply worried.  ``Are you okay?'' she asked.

Mike shook his head virgourously, trying to clear the cobwebs.  ``What?  Oh...Sorry.  Sorry I was just thinking.'' 

``You scared me.  It must've been some brainstorm.'' she replied, laughing mirthlessly.

``Maybe.  I uh...I do have a question...if that's ok.''

She regarded him warily but nodded in assent.  ``Fine.  Ask away'' 

``Do you...have any siblings.  A...sister, maybe?'' He didn't meet her eyes.  Normally, when he asked these questions, he was playful and curious.  But not this time.  This time, he didn't really need the answer.  He already knew it.  

``That's not a true-false question'' She replied, also with no hint of humor.

``No, it's not'' 

Alana sat, her arms folded across her chest, looking down.  ``Well...that's kind of outside the rules then.''

Mike was undeterred by her evasion.  ``She likes to sing.  She used to dream of being a singer some day.  Maybe at the cafe that you used to take her to.  You would sneak her out at nights and let her watch the singers there.''

Alana snapped her head up to meet his gaze.  She pulled her arms tighter around her.  Her eyes were full of fright.  ``Yes.''

``Did you ever take her to The Royal Library?  With that big seating area in the middle?  Maybe you two drank blackberry tea together while you read?''

Alana was positively shaking now but her eyes never left his.  ``Yes''

Mike was a man possessed.  A part of him could sense the fear and anxiety he was inflicting on her.  But that part was buried deep now as his desire to know, to understand flared forward and dominated his consciousness.  He continued.  ``And what about that great hall?  The one with the glass ceiling.  Did you two sit under that window and watch the stars?  There's a statue there that looks like you.  Maybe one of your ancestors?''

``Yes'' Alana replied through gritted teeth.  Her knuckles where white as she dug her fingers into her arms.  

``I know you're not from Estonia.  But...where you ARE from...I can't go there.  Can I?  I can't take a plane or a car there.  Can I?''

``No'' she replied shaking her head.  Mike said no more.  He just sat there, watching her.  ``What's the rest?  Get it over with please.  What's the rest?  Where AM I from Mike?  Say it.''  she breathed out.  Her voice was strained with fear.

Mike leaned forward and took her face in his hands.  He pulled his body forward and placed a kiss on her forehead.  ``I don't know the rest.  I don't know where you're from.  And I don't know what brought you here.''

She pulled back and regarded him.  ``But...how did you...''

He shook his head.  ``It's not important.  What is important is this.  You win.''

Alana laughed the color returning to her face.  ``What?''

``You win.  I couldn't figure out your past.''

Alana looked back at him with disbelief.  ``But your so close.  If...if you need more time...''

He shook his head.  ``No.  It's okay.  I don't need to know.''

``Why not?''

He sighed.  ``Because, I realized something last night.  I don't need to know.  All I need to know about you, I already know.  I know that you're the smartest, funniest, most caring, most interesting, and most beautiful woman I've ever met.  And that's all that matters to me.  Sure, I'd like to know the rest.  But I don't need to.  If you ever want to tell me, you can.  But if you don't, it won't change the way I feel about you.''

Tears were welling up in her eyes.  ``And how is that?  How do you feel about me?''

Mike took a deep breath.  Though he tried to tell himself that this would be easy, it was far from it.  It wasn't like he'd never said it before.  But he'd never said it and meant it before.  He stood and offered her his hand.  She took it and he pulled her to her feet.  He stepped forward and reached up with one hand to stroke her cheek. He looked deeply into her eyes.  So deeply that he felt like he was being pulled into them.  And with that, all of his fear and anxiety was gone.  He felt his hands stop shaking and his breath return to it's normal pace. This was the most natural thing in the world.  As easy as breathing.  He opened his mouth and let the words come from a place deep inside of him.  ``I love you'' he said, with no reservation or anxiety.  ``I love you'' he repeated, cracking into a smile.  He wanted to say it over and over again. 

Alana, however, did not let him say it again.  An an instant she was pressed up against him.  The tears that had been threatening at her eyelids had spilled over and where now running down her cheeks.  And yet she, she smiled as widely as he'd ever seen her.  With a sort of half-laugh, half sob she closed the distance.  She took his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his.  

For Mike, the world exploded in a dazzling show of lights.  A thousand sensations flooded through his senses all at once.  The softness of her lips, the force of her kiss, the heady smell of jasmine, the feel of her hair against his cheeks, the moistness of her mouth as it worked slowly against his.  The energy that had always jolted him whenever they touched exploded the moment their lips met.  It surged like lightning through him, starting from their lips and consuming him whole.  Every square inch of his body seemed to be vibrating at a new and glorious frequency.  Time, space, and matter ceased to have any meaning for either of them.  

Some time later, they found themselves standing, arms entwined around each other, just staring.  Mike smiled and reached up to move a lock of hair out of her face.  ``Well,'' he grinned sardonically, ``I was going to ask you how you felt. But...''

She laughed and then stilled her face, looking back at him more seriously.  Her eyes were desperately sincere and her face full of longing. ``I love you.  I have always loved you.  And I will always love you.''

Mike kissed her forehead and smiled as he heard her whimper.  ``How did this happen?'' he wondered aloud.

``How does it ever happen?'' she laughed into his chest.

``Fair enough.  But you'll forgive me if I still think of it as kind of a miracle''

She looked up into his eyes.  ``It is a miracle.  Even if it happens every day.  It's the most amazing thing in this world or any other.''

He smiled down at her. ``Where \textit{did} you come from?''  He felt her stiffen a bit.  ``Oh...no.  That's not what I meant.  I'm sorry.''

She smiled meekly.  ``Don't be.  You deserve an answer to that.  Whether you meant it that way or not.  And you're going to get one.''

``No.'' he shook his head. ``I told you, I don't need it.  You don't have anything to explain to me.''

``But I \textit{want} to tell you.  I don't want to have any secrets between us.  Not anymore.''

His smile widened.  ``You don't have to.''

``I do.  I really do. But...''

``I know'' he interrupted.  ``it'll put me in danger. Right?''

``It will.  Which is why I need you to be patient with me for just a little bit longer.''

``What do you mean?''

She hugged him tighter.  ``I'm not going to work today. I need to take care of some things.  Make sure that I can do as much as possible to minimize the danger you'll be in.''

He sighed and hugged her back.  ``It's really not necessary''

``Maybe.  Maybe not.  But I'll feel better if I can make things even a little safer for you.''

``Okay.  If it makes you feel better, take all the time that you need.'' he ran his fingers through her hair, eliciting a shiver from her.

With an audible expression of reluctance, Alana stepped away from Mike's embrace.   She held his hands before her.  ``Thank you'' she smiled ``I promise, it won't take long.''  She smiled but gave a great sigh.  She let go his hands and moved quickly toward the couch.  She picked up her laptop bag and slung it over her shoulder.  

Mike ran a hand through his hair.  ``What about you?  You're not going to do anything dangerous are you?''

Alana looked back at him and raised an eyebrow.  ``Not dangerous to me.''

Mike chuffed.  ``That doesn't exactly instill confidence in me.  Seriously, you're going to be careful right?''

Alana stalked toward him grinning.  She wrapped an arm around his waste and kissed him softly.  ``Trust me.  There is nothing in this world that is strong enough to stop me from coming back to you safe and unharmed.''

He smiled and placed his cheek against her head.  ``That's better.'' He held her for a time, just trying to make the moment last a little longer.  ``So, how long are we talking?  Lunch time?  Dinner time?''

She sighed and backed away from him just enough to look into his eyes.  She smiled regretfully. ``I'm not sure really.  But some of it has to happen at night.  How late is too late to come see you?''

``Anytime.'' he said immediately.  He noted from her expression that she thought he was joking.  ``I'm serious.  You can come over the moment you're free.  Even if it's in the middle of the night.''

She smiled.  ``Okay, it's a date then.  But I'd better get going or it really \textit{will} take me all night.''

He nodded ruefully and walked her to the door.  ``Do you need a ride somewhere?'' he asked.

She shook her head.  ``No, I have...transportation.''

He cocked an eyebrow at her obvious misdirection.  ``I suppose that's another thing I'll be hearing about soon.'' he laughed.

She smiled and looked away.  ``Just a few more hours and it will all make sense.''  She turned to walk out the door.

``Hey'' he said, grabbing her around the waist.  She looked back at him questioningly.  ``I love you'' he whispered and drew her into another long kiss.

She smiled and rested against his chest.  ``I love you too.''

They both sighed heavily with the understanding that the time for stalling was over.  Quickly, as though it took all of her willpower to do so, she turned and exited Mike's house.  He watched her walk down his driveway.  She turned right at the end of it and walked beneath a great oak tree.  The tree's ancient branches loomed over the sidewalk, blanketing it in shadow.  He saw her enter the shadow and, quite suddenly, she was gone.  He told himself that it was just a trick of the light.  But something inside of him told him that it wasn't.  He shook his head and tried to put it out of his mind.  \textit{Just a few more house} he told himself.  

\begin{center} * * * *\end{center}

The morning was crawled by at an absolutely glacial pace.  Mike watched the clock nervously hoping that by some miracle, it would jump hours ahead.  It didn't help that, for once, there was almost nothing for Mike to do.  All of his programming projects were either finished or in the planning stages.  His database servers were running uncharacteristically smoothly, and not \textit{one} of the scientists had come to him with a broken laptop.  It had gotten so bad that Mike had given in and opened up the Grady Roughbook that Winslow had delivered to him the day before.  He'd made himself a project of transferring all of his programs and email over to it.  When that was done he started playing around with some of its extra features. 

When he'd grown bored with the new laptop, he glanced at his clock.  He swore to himself when he saw that it was only 12:30.  He stood up and marched over to Jeff's office.  Seeing that he wasn't on the phone, he burst right into the office.  ``Lunch?'' he asked, more an announcement than a question.

Jeff slammed his hand down on the desk and reached into a drawer.  He pulled out a brown bag and dropped it on the table. ``It fucking \textit{figures}.  I finally give up on you and brown bag my lunch and here you are.''

Mike folded his arms across his chest.  ``What do you have in there that can compare to one of the many fine dishes served up by at our favorite diner?''

``Meatloaf sandwich.  But that's not the point.''

``Oh really?  What's the point then?'' 

``My point is,'' Jeff answered, enunciating every word carefully, ``that you've been too good for me all week. And now here you stroll in and I'm expected to just ignore this mouthwatering leftover delicacy.''

``Awwwwww.  I'm sorry honey'' Mike said, sticking out his bottom lip ``I'll buy you a nice new dress to make it up to you.''

``Fucker'' Jeff spat out, throwing a pen at Mike.  The pen sailed wide and hit the wall next to Mike's head.  ``What are you doing here anyway?  Don't you have another lunch date or something?''

``No.  She's uh...sick.'' Mike said, looking away from Jeff.  

``Oh, I see.  The skirt's got a cold so you come running back to me.  Is that how it is?''

``Yes.'' Mike said, Jeff's pouting getting on his nerves.  ``Now throw that shit back in the fridge and grab your wallet.  We both know you're coming.  Besides, I have news for you.''  Mike tried hard to hide the stupid grin on his face but wasn't meeting with any success.

Jeff's eyes perked up at that.  ``News huh?'' he looked over at the paper sack on his desk. He made a face and knocked it into the trash. ``I fucking hate meatloaf.  C'mon.  You're buying''

\begin{center} * * * * \end{center}

``Holy shit!'' Jeff exclaimed, slamming his hands against the table so hard that the pepper shaker knocked over, spilling black and gray flecks across the table.  ``You're fucking serious?''

Mike grinned widely but shook his head as he picked up the pepper shaker and swept the spilled pepper off the table.  ``Take it easy.''

``Take it easy?!''  Jeff was wide eyed and smiling.  He looked ready to hit the table again.  Mike picked up the salt and pepper shakers and put them on the bench next to him.  Jeff just shook his head.  ``Holly crap, dude.  This is huge!'' He looked over his shoulder and shouted out to the nearly empty restaurant.  ``Someone call the paper!  Mike Carmichael is in love!  With a girl!''

Various members of the wait staff stopped what they were doing and started to applaud.  From the kitchen, someone let out a loud WHOOP followed by ``NICE!''.  From somewhere behind them, Mike heard someone ask. ``Who the hell is Mike Carmichael?''

Mike slid down in the booth, feeling his face go hot.  He picked up a french fry from his plate and threw it at Jeff. ``Fuckin' A man.''

Jeff was laughing hysterically. ``Sorry, man.  But dude.  Wow!''

Mike smiled.  ``I know, right?''

``You don't waste any time, do you?  I mean it was...wow, a week ago when you were all, 'Oh poor me, I'm never gonna love anbody boo hoo hoo''

``Yah, well.  You were right, I guess.  Just had to meet the right girl.'' Mike said, ignoring Jeff's mocking.

``Damn right.  Never fucking doubt me again!'' Jeff said, taking a big bite out of his club sandwich.  He chewed for a moment then started laughing again. ``I should charge for this kind of thing.  Fuck this archeology shit.  Dr. Jeff Samson, The Love Doctor.  It's got a nice ring to it, don't you think?''

Mike rolled his eyes.  ``You're incredible''

``Yah...I am'' Jeff preened, very proud of himself.  

``Allright Love Doctor.  Well, there you have it.  So, I haven't talked to her about it yet but I'm pretty sure our double date is on for Saturday.  So, you can tell Carol to expect us.''

``Awesome.  And don't worry.  We'll only embarass you a little.''

Mike looked back, anxiety on his face.

Jeff laughed.  ``Only kidding man.  We're going to embarass the shit out of you!''

``Please...don't...''

``Relax.  She loves you.  You said so yourself.  She'll find all of our stories about you endearing and shit.  Trust me, I know this stuff.''

Mike sighed.  ``Well, I hope so.  Cuz if she bolts after that story about me and the inflatable Orca...''

Jeff roared in laughter, nearly choking on his sandwich.  ``Holy shit, I forgot about that one.  Gotta remember it on Sunday...''

``Fuuuuuuck'' Mike moaned.

``Okay okay okay'' Jeff said, trying to get control of his laughter.  ``Enough taking the piss out of you.  Carol would want me to say this so, here goes.  I'm really proud of you bud.  Like Carol said last night, you're family to us.  So, if there's anything you need...anything at all...you know you're always welcome to come to us.  Being in love is a wonderful thing man, but it comes with its own set of trials and shit.  So, if you need advice or help or...whatever, you know where I am.''

Mike suddenly felt a lump in his throat.  He hadn't been expecting this.  He cautioned a smile and cleared his throat.  ``Uh...thanks man. That...that means a lot to me.''

Jeff sighed and stood up.  ``Come here.''

Mike furrowed his brow in confusion but stood up. ``What?''

Jeff just waved him to come closer.  ``Get the fuck over here.''

Mike did as he was asked.  Jeff surprised him by pulling him into a hug.  Jeff slapped at his back and Mike returned the gesture.  

``I'm real proud of you brother.'' Jeff whispered.  ``And...I swear to god I'll fucking gut you if you breathe a word of this...but...I love you man.''

Mike snorted a laugh.  ``I love you too man.''

Hearing their waitress begin to approach them, the two dropped the hug.  Jeff patted Mike on the shoulder.  ``There you go dude.  Got that french fry up.  Eat slower.  You don't wanna go choking again.''

Mike just gave him a thumbs up.  The waitress rolled her eyes, unimpressed with Jeff's acting ability.  ``Will there be anything else?''  

The two of them both declined and the waitress left the check.  Mike reached for his wallet but Jeff stopped him.  ``On me today.  You're gonna want to save your money to spend on that girlfriend of yours.''

Mike blushed and smiled.  Girlfriend.  Alana was his \textit{girlfriend}.  Wow, he thought.  That was going to take some getting used to.  But what a wonderful thing to get used to.  

\begin{center}* * * *\end{center}

Tick.  The second hand of the clock in Mike's living room counted off yet another second.  Tick.  Another.  Tick.  Another.  Mike sighed and turned off the television.  He wasn't really watching it anyway.  He picked up the empty Coke can off of the table and walked to the kitchen to throw it away.  He grabbed another can from the refrigerator and looked over his shoulder at the clock.  Tick.  Tick.  Tick.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.  No missed calls.  No messages.  He squeezed the phone tightly and put it back in his pants pocket.  He put the cold can against his forehead.  He leaned against the counter and took in two deep breaths.  His heart was racing.  Not the full throbbing beat that followed a workout.  This was a dull, quick, light fluttering that made his legs and body feel weak.  

Something was wrong.  Something was very very wrong.  And for the life of him, he couldn't understand why he knew this.  The feeling had struck him suddenly as he drove home from the lab.  He'd stopped off at the grocery store to pick up a bottle of champagne and a couple of candles.  He had been feeling very light and joyous if not a little bit nervous.  Alana would be returning from her errand soon and they would be together.  What ``being together'' meant, he wasn't sure, but just the fact that they would be together had him grinning like an idiot.  

And then suddenly, as he was pulling out of his parking space at the grocery store, he felt an unseen force slam him back against the seat of his car.  Reacting out of pure instinct he slammed on the breaks.  \textit{What the hell was that?} he thought.  And then his heart began to race.  Cold sweat poured out from his forehead and palms.  His mouth went dry.  

``Mike'' Cora's voice called to him.  It was different this time.  Her voice sounded weak and distant.  It shuddered and wavered like she was talking through a fan.  ``Mike'' she called again.  ``Alana.''

He put the car in park.  ``Cora.  What's wrong'' he called out.  He didn't care who was watching him talk to himself. But Cora didn't answer.  With his hands shaking, he put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space.  He raced home.  He'd try telling himself that he was just being paranoid.  Everything was going to be fine.  

But his feelings of dread and panic remained.  He'd tried to distract himself.  He'd browsed the internet, re-arranged his DVD collection, washed the dishes from breakfast, dusted the surfaces in the living room, made his bed and cleaned up his bedroom.  But nothing could quell the rising tide of his anxiety.  Something was wrong.  He knew it and was powerless to do anything about it. 

He'd had enough.  It was time to do something, anything.  He had to get out of here.  But where could he go?  He hadn't a clue as to where Alana was or what she was doing.  He needed help.  He needed information. But where to get it?

``Friends'' Cora's strained and distant voice called to him.  ``Friends.  Can't do it alone''

Mike had been pacing but stopped dead in his tracks.  ``Cora!  Where is she?  Help me'' he yelled looking up at the ceiling.  

``Friends'' the voice said again.

Mike shook his head.  ``What do you mean?  What friends?''  His vision blurred suddenly.  Inside his head, a scene began to play out.  Mike could see himself, standing on the porch of Jeff's house.  Carol came into view.  She walked over to him and hugged him. ``You're not just a friend to us, Mike.  You're family.  Remember that.  We're always here for you. For anything.'' she said, looking at him sincerely and lovingly. 

``What the...'' he muttered to himself as the vision faded away like a puff of smoke.  ``What do they have to do with this?'' he shouted.  No answer came.  ``Cora...honey...talk to me.  What do Jeff and Carol have to do with this?''  Only silence.  

Mike cursed and kicked the leg of the couch.  This was insane.  What was he supposed to do?  Was he supposed to just march over to Jeff's house and tell him and Carol all about Alana and her crazy fucked up quest to steal a mysterious artifact from Derek Winslow?  And how did he know all of this?  Why, because Alana's dead sister was talking to him in his dreams.  Oh! And she was talking to him during the day as well.  They would have him locked up.  Oh sure, they would feel awful about it, but what are you going to do when one of your friends goes stark raving mad.  

But what else could he do?  He was out of options.   And Cora had yet to steer him wrong.  She was always talking about trust and how important it was going to be for...his destiny.  Whatever the hell that meant.  Could he do that?  Could he entrust these secrets that he'd been keeping to Jeff and Carol?  They were his best friends, his extended family.  If he couldn't trust them, who could he trust?  

He looked up at the clock and shook his head.  He had to do something.  And right now, this was the best he could do.  All he could hope for was that Cora was right.  He pulled his phone out of his pants pocket and dialed Jeff's number.  God help him if Cora was wrong.
\begin{center} * * * *\end{center}

Mike rapped softly on the large oak door of Jeff's home.  A light flicked on in the hallway.  Carol opened the door a crack.  Seeing that it was Mike, she opened it the rest of the way.  Mike was relieved to see that she was still in her jeans and a t-shirt.  At least he hadn't pulled them out of bed.

``Hi Carol.'' Mike whispered.  ``Sorry about all this.  I just...''

She grabbed his hand.  ``Nothing to be sorry for.  You know you're always welcome here.  Besides, Survivor sucks tonight.''  She smiled and looked to Mike for a laugh.  None came.  Mike stood on the doorstep shaking, his face wan and drawn. Carol's smile faded.  She tugged on his sleeve.  ``Come in.  Jeff's pouring us some drinks.  By the look of things, we're going to need them.''

Mike nodded and stepped into the foyer.  Carol took his jacket and led him into the living room.  Jeff looked up as he finished pouring out equal portions of bourbon into three tumblers.  When Jeff's eyes caught the look on Mike's face, his eyebrows raised.  He picked up one of the glasses.  He thrust it in Mike's direction.  ``Drink'' he said, more a command than a request.  

Mike took the glass and downed its contents.  He barely registered the flavor as only a few drops splashed against his tongue.  The greater part of the tumbler's contents went straight down his throat, burning their way down his esophagus and into his stomach.  Jeff nodded in approval and took the glass back from Mike.  He filled it again and put it on the coffee table.  ``Have a seat'' he commanded Mike.  Mike, still looking dazed, plopped down on the sofa.  Carol followed him and sat right next to him, reaching an arm around behind him.  She rubbed his back and looked at him with eyes full of concern.  

Jeff sat in an armchair opposite the sofa.  He didn't relax into it.  He leaned forward and propped his elbows against his knees.  ``What's up buddy?  Girl trouble?'' his voice was calm and even.

Mike leaned forward and grabbed a glass off the table.  He took a quick sip and then held it in his hands, looking down into it.  He regretted taking his first drink of the bourbon like a shot.  It was good stuff.  He felt odd to be noticing such a thing at a time like this.  ``Good stuff'' he said, laughing humorlessly.  

Carol leaned closer to him.  ``Mike.  What's going on?  Come on.  You can tell us.''

Mike let out a long breath.  ``Okay.  Okay.'' He looked at each of them, his face stone serious and anxious.  ``I'm going to tell you guys some...things...right now. And...they're going to sound a little crazy.  A lot crazy, actually.  But I swear to God, they're all true.  And...you have to promise me that...no matter what...what I say never leaves this room.''

Jeff and Carol shared a look of concern.  Jeff nodded and Carol reciprocated.  ``Of course'' Carol said, reassuringly.  

``Absolutely'' Jeff said.

Mike nodded and took another sip of the bourbon.  ``Okay.  Alana's not from Estonia'' he began.  He talked for what felt like hours.  He told them everything.  He told them about meeting Alana in the storage room, he told them about the bet and the things he'd learned from questioning her.  He told them about Winslow and the cipher and Alana's plot to steal it.  And, surprising even himself, he told them about Cora.  He finished his story by telling them about his morning and the strange way that she had disappeared from his sight as she walked underneath the shade of the great oak tree.  When he was done, he swallowed the remainder of the bourbon and sat, waiting to hear their judgment. 

The room was as silent as a church.  No one spoke or even dared to move a muscle.  Mike sat with his head down, focusing on the empty glass in his hands.  The alcohol had taken a bit of the edge off of his anxiety, but not enough to keep his hands from shaking.  He expected that at any moment, one or both of them would rush to the phone to call the police or social services or...whoever you call when your best friend has gone nuts.  

But they didn't move. Jeff was still sitting with his elbows propped up on his knees.  His bourbon remained untouched.  But he tightly gripping the glass.  Carol had pulled her knees up to her chest and had wrapped both arms around them.  A sniffle broke the silence.  Mike jumped at the noise and looked over to where Carol was sitting.  To his horror, she was crying.  Jeff looked up as well and rushed over to the couch to comfort his wife.  Mike sprang up to allow Jeff to sit next to her.  Jeff collapsed onto the couch and threw his arms around Carol putting his head to hers and rubbing her back. 

Mike swallowed hard.  \textit{Damn me} he thought \textit{Damn me straight to hell}.  He absolutely hated himself at this moment.  How could he have been so stupid.  They didn't understand.  They didn't believe him.  And now they were faced with the prospect of having their dearest friend locked up.  ``I'm sorry'' he said aloud. ``I just...I didn't have anywhere else to go.  I'll leave now.  If you don't mind, could you give me a bit of a head start before calling the cops?'' They didn't answer.  Mike nodded.  ``Okay then.  I'm really sorry about this.  I love you guys.'' he said, hanging his head.  He turned and took a step toward the door.

``Stop'' Jeff's voice called out to him.  Mike stopped in his tracks and sighed heavily.  Jeff wasn't going to just let him walk away, he thought.  Very well then, he would stay.  He wouldn't make Jeff have to detain him by force.  He didn't want anyone getting hurt, least of all Jeff.  He put his hands up and turned to face his friend.  

To Mike's surprise, Jeff hadn't made a move to detain him.  He was still sitting next to Carol, though his head was up now, his eyes trained on Mike.  The look on Jeff's face caused Mike's heart to stop for a moment.  It was a look he recognized.  It was the look one got when everything they thought they knew came crashing down around them.  It was a look he had felt on his own face just a day ago.  

``She doesn't think your crazy.  That's not why she's crying.'' Jeff said, his voice shaky and disturbed.  

Mike frowned, his brow knitting in surprise and confusion.  ``Wh-what about...you?'' he asked.

Jeff looked to Carol briefly and then back to Mike.  ``No.  No, I guess not.  I want to...but...''

``But what?'' Mike demanded.  His heart had begun to race again.  He could feel it coming.  He was about to hear something that would blow his mind.  

``You said her name is Cora?'' Carol asked, her voice small and weak coming through her tears and muffled by her knees which where still covering her face. 

``I'm sorry?'' Mike asked, not sure if he'd heard her right.

``The girl...in the white dress.  With the little scar by her eye.  You said her name is Cora?'' Carol repeated.

``Um...yah'' Mike said, trying to make sense of what Carol could be getting at.  ``But...what does...'' he trailed off.  It hit him suddenly.  He hadn't told them about her scar.  When he'd told them about Alana flipping out at him in the storage room, he hadn't mentioned what she'd said about Cora's scar.  ``How...'' he said, his breath failing him.

``We dreamed about her...last night'' Jeff answered, looking far off into the distance.  ``We had the same dream.  It was...the strangest thing.  When...when we woke up, Carol was all excited to tell me about this weird dream she'd had.  I'd had a dream too but I let her go first.  When she started to tell me...I dunno...it was really bizarre.  It was the same dream I'd had.''

``I thought we'd fallen asleep watching a movie or something.'' Carol broke in, ``Or maybe...deja vu or something.  You know, like how sometimes your brain tricks you into thinking you remember something happening before it happened?  I don't know.  But...well...I guess it wasn't anything like that.'' 

Mike took the abandoned armchair and sat down.  ``Tell me.  What happened?''

Carol patted Jeff shoulder and he let go of the hold he'd had on her.  She put her feet back on the ground and reached for the glass of bourbon on the table. She took a long sip and began to speak.  ``It was kind of like you described.  In the dream I found myself in big round room, with huge statues and a big glass domed ceiling above me.  Jeff was there too.  He looked over at me and I asked him where this was.  He didn't know either.  And then suddenly, there was this little girl standing in front of us.  She was wearing a long white dress with short sleeves, just like you said.  And she had long wavy black hair.  But her eyes...that's what really got me.  Her eyes where like...violet.  Like, a really pale light purple.  I just couldn't stop staring at them.  And that's when I noticed the scar on her cheek. Right here'' she said, pointing to a place by her eye ``right by her eye.''

Mike sighed and nodded.  ``What did she tell you?''  He couldn't believe what he was hearing.  Why had Cora gone to Jeff and Carol?  Why couldn't she have just talked to him?  And how did they get there?  Cora had indicated to Mike, the last time they had spoken, that it was Mike himself that was traveling to wherever she was.  

``She apologized.  She said she didn't have time to explain everything.  She said that you, Mike, where going to be coming to us tomorrow...or I guess that's today now...and telling us a lot of stuff that's going to sound crazy. But...that we had to believe you.  Had to trust you.''

Mike swallowed hard.  He was glad that they believe him.  He just wished that it hadn't taken pulling them into all of this supernatural stuff to do it.  They looked utterly destroyed.  ``I'm really sorry, you guys'' Mike said, feeling responsible for their pain.

Jeff held up a hand.  ``That's not all she said.'' he said, not looking up.  ``She said...she said we have to help you. She said you were going to need us.  She said it was of dire importance that we help you.''

Mike nodded.  He'd been expecting that.  ``Well...like I said...I'm sorry.'' he said, his resolve beginning to firm.  ``I don't really understand all of this.  Not much more than you do really.  But...it seems like, for some reason, some...God I don't even know what to call it...some...force wants us involved.  And, I don't know about you guys, but I'm in.  I've got to find Alana.  Cora seems to think you guys need to help.  I'm not going to ask that of you.  But I would appreciate it.''

Jeff and Carol shared a look.  Carol nodded.  ``Of course we'll help.'' she said, wiping her cheeks.  ``But not become some dream girl tels us to.  Because we love you.''

Jeff nodded.  ``Yah...what she said.''

Carol laughed and reached over to an end table to grab a box of tissues.  ``I can't wait to meet this Alana.  She must be one hell of a woman''

Mike smiled, both at her jest and the outpouring of love from these two.  They really were the best people he knew.  ``Thank you guys.  I can't ever hope to repay you for this.  You guys are the best''

Jeff cut him off.  ``That's great.  You can worship us later.  Right now we have work to do.  I'm going to put on a pot of coffee.  You two start talking.''

\begin{center} * * * * \end{center}

``You'd think she'd give us a hint or something.'' Carol moaned as she put her feet up on Jeff's lap.  The three of them had been going back and forth for almost an hour.  They'd not been able to come up with a single idea of how to find Alana.  

Mike barked a harsh laugh.  ``Yah, you \textit{would} think.''

Jeff took a sip of coffee.  ``Okay, well, let's go back to basics again.  There's Alana and there's Winslow.  And we're fairly certain that Alana is in trouble and that Winslow is behind it.  But we can't call the cops because they'd laugh at us and it's not like we can just march up to Winslow and ask him where he's put Mike's girlfriend.''

Carol nodded.  ``That's about the long and short of it.''

``I just wish we knew more.'' Mike said, rubbing his temples.  ``I mean, I know that she needed that cipher to decode some message.  But maybe if I knew what the message was, I would have some idea of where to look for her.''

``You think?'' Jeff asked.  ``I mean, whatever the message or text is, it has to be pretty well hidden.  If what Alana's told you is correct, he's been looking for it for a while now.  And that guy has all the money and power in the world at his disposal.  I doubt that just knowing what the message is would help all that much.''

Mike let out a breath.  ``Yah, I guess you're right.''

Carol yawned.  ``Honey,'' she said, stretching.  ``Will you go check on Babette for me?  Make sure she's not out of bed again?''

Jeff nodded.  ``Sure.  Be right back.''  Jeff stood up and started walking toward the staircase that led up to the bedrooms on the second floor.  

``Oh honey'' Carol called out to him.  ``Don't turn on the light.  It'll wake her up.  Just open the door a little and look in.''

Something about Carol's words stopped Mike cold.  ``Wait a minute'' he said, picking his head up.  Jeff and Carol snapped their heads around to look at him.  

``What's up?'' Jeff asked.

``Open Door.  THE Open Door.'' he said, a smile creeping across his face.

``What are you talking about?'' Carol asked.

``The Open Door Society.''

``What's the Open Door Society?'' Jeff asked, looking to Carol.  Carol shrugged.

``It's, like this club, or secret society I guess.  At Harvard.  Winslow was a member while he was there.'' Mike continued, trying to connect the dots in his own head.

``And?'' Carol asked.  

``George Mason was too.'' Mike answered.

``From Mason Security George Mason?'' Carol asked.

``Yup.''

``Okay great, Winslow has friends in high places, what does that have to do with anything?'' Jeff asked, sounding annoyed.

``Carol'' Mike said, pointing to her, ``Do you remember me asking about your time at Mason Security last night?''

``Yah, I told you about the time that Winslow came to visit.  And how George Mason threw him out on his ear.''

``That's right.  That would have been right around the time that Winslow found the cipher.'' Mike explained.  Carol sat up quickly, her eyes going wide.  ``I asked you about that because I'd just had lunch with George Mason Jr.  Your old boss' son.  He was my roommate in college.''

``Isn't he in jail or something?'' Carol asked.

``Just got out a little while ago.  I asked him to lunch because I wanted to get his opinion on the cipher.  He's nuts for all of that cryptography stuff.''

``What'd he say?'' Jeff asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

``He totally flipped out on me.  He seemed to think that Winslow had sent me.  He said to tell him that he knew what he was up to and that he wasn't going to get it from him.''

``How long ago did George Jr. go to jail?'' Carol asked, looking deep in thought on the couch.

``About six year ago.  Why?''

``What did he go to jail for?'' she continued.

``Hacking.'' Mike answered.

``What was he hacking into?  I mean, when he got caught?''

Mike shrugged.  ``I don't know.  Probably some government network or something.  He was always into UFOs and shit.  It was probably NASA or the NSA or something.''

Carol shook her head.  ``No.  I don't think so.  I'm pretty sure it was Winslow Labs that he was hacking.''

Mike was frowning now and looking back at Carol with utter confusion on his face.  ``Why do you think that?''

``I was working there, at Mason.  We used to do security for Winslow Labs.  It was this big project for us.  We put our best work on the project.  Including a brand-new data encryption algorithm we'd developed.  Well, I remember one day, George Jr. called me up.  He said that he was writing a paper for school and wanted to do it on the new algorithm we'd developed.  He started pumping for details on it.  I got a funny feeling about it so I stopped answering after a point.  I told him that a lot of what he was asking would fall under the heading of trade secrets and that I wasn't allowed to give those out.  Not even to the founder's son.  He got all pissy with me and ended up hanging up.  I told George Sr. about it and he told me that I'd done the right thing.  That was about a week after the meeting he'd had with Winslow.  And a month before George Jr. would get busted and sent to prison.''

Click.  The connection snapped into place in Mike's brain. ``You don't think...could the Mason family be connected to all of this?''

Carol shrugged.  ``It's kind of starting to look that way.  Especially with all that stuff about The Open Door Society.  I don't know what those Harvard guys were up to, but it seems oddly coincidental.''

Jeff nodded slowly.  ``Right.  But the question is, are they friend or foe?''

``Foe I think'' Carol answered.  ``They certainly didn't look like friends when Winslow came to Mason Security.''

``And George Jr. certainly didn't seem to have any love for Winslow either'' Mike added.  He stood then and stretched his tired limbs.  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen.  ``Shit.  It's after eleven.''

``Too late to call?'' Carol asked.

``We're about to find out.'' he answered, scrolling through his contacts list. He found George Mason's number and hit the button to start the call.

The line picked up after one ring.  ``Hi Mike'' George's voice came from the other end.  

``Hi George.  Look, sorry to call so late.  We have to talk.''

He heard a heavy sigh come from the other end.  And then, another voice said something unintelligible in the background.  He heard George answer, but it was obvious that he'd pulled the phone away from his ear.  ``It's Mike'' George said to the other party.  ``I don't know, he didn't say yet.  Yah...I know.  Okay.''

``George, you there?'' Mike said.

``Yah Mike, sorry about that.  Why don't you come up to the house.  My Dad wants to talk to you.'' George answered.  

Mike was dumbfounded.  ``Your...your dad?''

``Yah.  I guess I do too.  I'm sorry about the other day.  I was...uh...misinformed I guess.''

Mike scratched his head. ``Um...okay.  I'll be right over I guess.''

``Cool.  Oh, Dad said to bring your friends.  They should be here too.''

``My...my friends?'' Mike asked, glancing over to Jeff and Carol.  They were watching him with wide expectant eyes.

``Yah, uh...Jeff, Carol, and Barbara Sanderson.'' George answered as though he were reading the names off of a computer screen.

``Babette?'' Mike said, incredulous at the inclusion of the little four year-old daughter of Jeff and Carol.

``Yup.  Bring them all.  It's important.''

Mike shook his head slowly.  ``Um...okay...I'll see what I can do.  See you in a few.''

``Yup.'' George said, hanging up the phone.

``What does Babette have to do with this?'' Jeff asked, sounding angry.

``I don't know'' Mike answered.  ``He said to come over the Mason's house.  And to bring the three of you.  I swear I have no idea what this is all about.''

Carol put a hand on Jeff's shoulder.  ``It's okay.  George is a good man.  He wouldn't do anything to hurt us.''

Jeff looked down and met Carol's eyes.  He seemed to be reassured by her confidence.  ``If you say so.''

``I do'' she said, rubbing his back.  ``Cora seems to have led us to this point.  And...I dunno...I think it's important for us to follow her lead.''

Jeff nodded.  ``Yah, me too I guess.  I just hope she knows what she's talking about.''

``Me too.'' Mike said.  ``Me too.''

\begin{center} * * * *\end{center}

``This is the place'' Mike said, turning the car onto a twisting side road that wound it's way up a hill.  Atop the hill, a large white mansion sat.  Jeff grunted an acknowledgment from the passenger seat.  Carol and Babette were curled up in the back seat, the little girl snoring lightly in her car seat, Carol watching her.

The access road dead-ended in a wide circular driveway at the top of the hill.  At the top of the circle a large iron gate stood, blocking entrance to the house itself.  Mike pulled the car up to the gate.  A security guard in uniform stepped out of the guard house as they approached.  He stood in front of the gate and held up a hand, indicating for them to stop.  Mike applied the brakes as the guard clicked on a flashlight at his side.  The guard walked to the car and Mike rolled down the window to speak to him.

The guard knelt down, bringing his head to eye level with the window.  He smiled pleasantly, but even from this angle, Mike could see the tense set to his shoulders and the hand he had pressed to the gun on his belt.  Mike gulped involuntarily.  The guard brought his eyes back to Mike's.  ``Good evening folks'' the guard said, his eyes moving over the cabin of the car.  ``Need directions back to the highway?''  

It was impossible to miss the insinuation in the guards tone and words.  Mike and his friends did not belong here, especially not at this hour.  And they were not going anywhere but back to the highway from whence they'd come.  Mike cleared his throat.  ``Um...hi.  We're friends of Mr. Mason.  I think he's expecting us.''

The guard smiled wider.  ``Well that's funny.  All visitor appointments come straight to my desk over there'' he explained, pointing to the guard shack.  ``And as of twenty seconds ago, I haven't received any word of visitors this evening.  So, I'm sorry folks, but you'll have to tell your editors that they're not getting an interview tonight.''

``Editors?'' Mike asked confused.  

``He thinks we're from the press'' Jeff grumbled shaking his head.  ``Your friend forgot to tell the guard about us''

Mike laughed. ``Oh...oh you...no no...we're actual friends.  I swear.  We talked to George Jr. just a little while ago.''

The guard laughed.  ``Of course you did.  I tell you what though.  There's not much going on tonight, and I have to give you credit for bringing the kid along.  Very creative of you.  So, I'm going to go right over there and phone the house.  And we'll straighten all this out.  Sit tight.''  The guard winked at them and strolled toward the guard house.

``What an effin' d-bag'' Jeff muttered, staring at the guards back.  ``'Sit tight''' he mocked.  

Mike chuckled.  ``Sorry about this''

``Don't have to apologize to me'' Jeff said, still staring at the guard.  ``You're not the rent-a-cop with a superiority complex.''

``No.'' Mike said, ``I'm sorry for dragging you into this.  All of you.  I'm glad you're here and all, but...I wish you guys hadn't gotten involved.''

Jeff laughed lightly.  ``You know, Carol and I used to joke about how like mild-mannered and mellow you are.  We used to say that one day it was all going to catch up to you and we were going to bring us all down with you.  Well...'' he swept his hand in front of him.  

Mike winced at Jeff's comments.  ``I'm \textit{really} sorry.''

Jeff reached over and patted his shoulder.  ``Take it easy.  I'm just giving you shit.  We wouldn't have it any other way.  You're family, family back each other up.''

``Well, I owe you one.'' 

``God damn right you do.  Now shut up, Paul Blart is coming back''.

Mike looked up and saw the guard walking back, looking sheepish.  He bent over the car window again.  ``Sorry folks.  My mistake.  Hope I didn't offend you guys.''

Mike smiled.  ``Not at all.''

``Okay'' the guard sighed, noting the patronizing tone that Mike had taken.  ``Here's what's going to happen.  I'm going to open the gate and you're going to drive straight up to the house and pull directly in front of the porch steps.  There will be a man there to escort you into the house.''

``Thanks,'' Mike replied, waiting until the guard had turned his back to flip him off.  Jeff snorted.

The gate rolled open and Mike nosed the car into the smaller driveway that led up to the house entrance.  As they rounded the corner they caught their first glimpses of Mason House.  It was magnificent.  The quintessential Masion on the Hill, it looked more a monument than a house.  A dazzling white facade rising up three stories and stretching for nearly the length of a city block.  Small glass windows dotted the front of the house in neat little ranks and files, each sporting a single candle.  White spotlights ringed the base of the house, shining their light skyward, adding to the air of majesty surrounding the building.  

Mike followed the narrow driveway until it wound its way in front of the house.  He pulled to a stop in front of a set of stairs that led up to the spacious porch.  The porch covered by an enormous triangular portico that was held up by huge corinthian columns.  ``Jeeeeesus Christ.'' Jeff muttered as he took in the view.

``Pretty impressive.'' Mike nodded in agreement.  

``I am in the \textit{wrong} business.'' Jeff said, shaking his head.

Just as the gate guard had said, a guard in a man in a sharp blue suite was there to greet them.  He opened the front and rear passenger doors and then hurried around the car to open the driver's.  ``Good evening folks.  Sorry for the trouble up front.  My fault entirely.''  

``No problem'' Mike said, casting a glance toward Carol who was being helped out of the car by the man in the blue suit.  She held Alice, who was awake now and staring up at the house in one arm.  The little girl rubbed her eyes and whispered ``castle'' as she pointed at the house.  

Carol laughed warmly, ``Pretty close I guess.''

``If you'll please follow me folks, Mr. Mason is waiting for you in the downstairs library.'' the attendant said, sweeping an arm toward the door.

``Oh the DOWNstairs library'' Jeff said, sarcasm dripping from his words, ``Darn.  I was hoping for the UPstairs library.''

The attendant smiled ``Right this way please.'' 

Mike, Jeff, Carol and Alice followed the attendant up the flight of stairs and through the doorway which was being held open by a tall, dangerous looking man, also in a neatly cut blue suit.  As they were lead through hallways and down another flight of stairs, no one could stop looking around at the amazing decor of the house.  Mason's taste was simple but extremely elegant. Every room they passed through was a marvel of neo-classical design and furnishing with priceless works of art dotting the walls and flat surfaces of the rooms.  This house was meant for one purpose, the projection of power and majesty over the unwitting visitors.  It was impossible not to be awed by the spectacle of it all.  

The attendant lead them down to a set of large dark oak doors.  He paused to knock.  ``Come in'' came a gruff voice from behind the doors.  The attendant pulled on the doors and stepped aside to allow Mike and his friends entrance.  One by one they filed into the library.  Mike entered first and stopped dead in his tracks.  A wide marble floor covered the enormous, octagonal room.  Rows upon rows of tall bookshelves lined the walls.  So tall were they, that a rolling ladder was propped up against one of the book cases to allow access to the highest shelves.  A gigantic marble fireplace took up most of one wall, a fire roaring inside.  In front of the fireplace, soft brown leather chairs and couches were arranged in a neat conversation circle around a squat black table.  

But what had stopped Mike in his tracks was not the impressive opulence of the room.  It was the two story tall stained glass window that covered one wall.  the intricate patterns of colored glass formed the picture of a large stone door with cryptic symbols arranged around the archway surrounding it. Swirling black clouds surrounded the door and carved into the center of it, was a large sunburst design.  

``What is it?'' Carol asked at his side.

``That's exactly what Pope Pius V asked the man who built it.'' A booming voice came from the other side of the room.  Everyone snapped their heads in the direction of the voice.  Rising from his leather armchair, George Mason Sr. leaned on a cane.  He was smiling calmly as he regarded the window.  Mike was shocked to see how old he looked.  He hadn't seen the senior Mason for a long time. But surely it handn't been that \textit{that} long.  He was much leaner than his son, though the resemblance between them was obvious.  They shared the round face and large kindly eyes.  His skin was slightly lighter than his son's, more a chocolate brown than a dark ebony and his hair neatly cropped and almost entirely gray.  He wore a simple gray sweater and khaki pants, dark blue slippers covering his feet.

George Jr. also rose at this time.  He looked tired, Mike thought.  His face was drawn and there were heavy bags under his eyes.  He stood behind his father, one hand thrust into his jeans, the other placed on his father's back.  The two men ambled toward the visitors standing in the middle of the room.  They stopped and looked up at the window.  George senior continued, ``Pope Pius had commissioned this young stained-glass artist for a window to be placed in one of the Vatican basillicas.  The young man toiled for many months and when he finally unveiled it, this is what he had created.  'What is it?' the pope.  'I don't know,' the young man replied.  'It came to me in a dream, I was hoping you would be able to tell me.'''  

Mike gulped.  ``It came to him in a dream?''

George Senior nodded, regarding Mike fondly.  ``That's what he said.''  he stood watching Mike for a moment and then grabbed Mike's shoulder warmly.  ``How are you Mike.  It's good to see you again.''

Mike smiled back.  ``It's good to see you too, Pop.'' Though Mike's nerves were frayed, he was able to spare enough brain cells to remember the nickname that George Mason Sr had always gone by.  It wasn't heard to see where the name had come from.  He exuded an air of command and compassion.  Looking at him, you knew that whatever your problem was, Pop would have the answer.  It felt good to be in his presence.  

Pop laughed richly.  ``Come on, let's sit down.  We have a lot to talk about.''  he said, turning to lead everyone back to the seating area.  He leaned against the cane and hobbled.

``Diabetes?'' Mike asked, pointing to George Senior's foot.

``Hell no'' Pop answered gruffly.  ``Sprained it playing basketball.''

George Jr. laughed.  ``Sorry.  I tried to warn you.  A man of your age should stick to golf or shuffle board.  Safe sports.''

``I'll safe sport your behind junior'' the father said, reaching up to swat the back of his son's head.  George Jr laughed and dodged out of the way.  

Mike was amazed at the stark difference between the last time he'd seen Pop and George together and now.  Pop hadn't often come down to the university to visit with his son.  But when he did, it was always a tense time.  It had seemed to Mike that the two hated each other.  Pop was annoyed by almost everything in George's life at the time.  His hair, his clothes, his grades, even his choice of colleges.  And George, seemed to delight in angering his father.  Instead of cleaning before one of Pop's visits, George would go out of his way to mess up the dorm room.  Every time that Mike had seen the two together, they'd been at each other's throats. But now, they were practically ``buddies''.   Playing basketball?  Joking?  Things really \textit{had} changed between them.

George Sr. stopped in front of the fireplace and shook his head.  ``I'm so sorry.  Where are my manners.''  He stepped toward Jeff and Carol.  He held out a hand to Jeff.  ``Dr. Sanderson, I'm George Mason, welcome to Mason House.''

Jeff was startled by the gesture.  ``Oh, hi.  Nice to meet you.'' he said, taking Pop's handshake.  

``Likewise.'' Pop said, turning toward Carol.  ``And Carol.'' he said, ``You look wonderful dear.  It's been far too long.''

Carol freed the hand that she had on Alice's back, she smiled as she shook Pop's hand.  ``It's good to see you too Pop.  You have a gorgeous home.''

George smiled.  ``Thank you.  I dare say it's far too extravagent for my tastes.  But,'' his eyes winced a bit for a moment. ``The lady of the house had a great love of beautiful things''  

Mike looked away.  He hadn't heard that Mrs. Mason had died.  He was glad he hadn't asked after her during his lunch with George Jr.  He debated offering his condolences now, but it hardly seemed the time.  George senior smiled and focused his attention on little Alice.  ``And this must be Alice.''

Carol smiled tightly.  ``Yes.  I'm sorry, she's still a bit tuckered out.''  As if to demonstrate her fatigue, Alice yawned and nuzzled against her mother's shoulder. 

``Oh, that's quite alright.  Why don't we have a seat now.  Can I get you all anything to drink?  Coffee, tea?  I'm sure we have some hot cocoa for the little one.'' George Senior offered.   Little Alice who'd seemed dead asleep on her mother's shoulder suddenly perked up.

``Do you have mallows?'' she asked, in a sleepy but very interested voice.

Everyone laughed.  Pop nodded.  ``I'm sure we have some around here.  How about the rest of you?''

Everyone asked for coffee.  George Jr moved picked up the phone and asked for a pot of coffee and a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows.  The group settled themselves into the seating area.  They tried to relax but it was difficult given the imposing surroundings and the strange set of events that had brought them here.  George senior leaned over his arm chair toward Carol and tried to make smalltalk, asking her about her career after her work at Mason Security.  Jeff occupied himself with playing a pattycake game with Alice.  

George Jr, caught Mike's eye.  ``Hey man.  I just want to apologize again for the other day.''

Mike shook his head.  ``Don't worry about it bro.''

``It's just,'' George continued, ``I just got the wrong idea.  Dad straightened me out.  Are we cool?'' he said, putting his fist forward.

Mike laughed and bumped knuckles with George Jr.  ``Totally.  But, what did you get the wrong idea about?''

George Sr, cleared his throat, interrupting their sidebar.  ``Let's save all that until after the coffee comes.  I promise, all your questions will be answered in good time.''

Mike nodded and let out a big sigh.  This was taking too long.  Alana was out there somewhere, possibly in danger.  He needed to find her and quickly.  But what other options did he have?  Something beyond his understanding seemed to be pushing him in this direction.  Something wanted him to be here.  He wanted to grab Pop Mason by the collar and shake him until he spilled out the answer.  But resisted that temptation, instead balling his fists up inside of his pockets.

The library doors opened and the same attendant who had led them in, walked briskly across the floor, a large tray in his arms. He set the tray on the table.  A large pewter coffee pot lay in the middle with five fine china coffee cups surrounding it.  To one side, was a much smaller pot and a child sized mug with a smiling snowman on it.  A little bowl of marshmallows sat next to it.  The attendant set the tray on the table and asked.  ``Will there be anything else?''

``No thank you'' Pop replied with a gracious nod to the servant. ``That will be all Tim.  Would you please lock the door on your way out?''

Tim nodded politely and swiftly moved out of the room, shutting the door behind him.  The door clicked as the lock engaged.  The sound echoed through the nearly silent room.  It was an ominous sound to Mike.  As though the locking of the door signaled the ``point of no return''.  It said to him that at this point, he and his friends had to be in for whatever came next.  There was no turning back.  With a shaking hand he brought the coffee cup to his lips and drank from it.  The coffee was too hot, but he didn't care.  He needed something to wet his completely dry mouth.

Pop smiled his widest smile revealing a full set of pearly whites.  ``Alone at last'' he jibed, giving a small chuckle.  ``Now then, I suppose you all must be thinking 'Just what the hell am I doing here?''' 

``You got that right'' Mike blurted. He'd intended that more as an internal thought but in his heightened state of anxiety, he'd let it slip out.  He was taken aback, hearing it spoken from his own lips.  But once it was out, he was glad.  He was sick of being polite. 

Every eye in the room darted to him.  Even little Alice, though she was still playing with the marshmallows floating in her mug, regarded him with surprise.  Had he really spoken so harshly?  Mike cleared his throat.  ``Sorry.  I'm just a little...''

``Wound up?'' Pop asked, not seeming to have been insulted by the outburst.  ``Good.  You should be.  This is some serious...'' he broke off looking down to little Alice, sneaking marshmallows from the bowl while her mother was distracted.  ``Um...Carol, could you cover her ears for just a moment?'' Carol looked down at Alice and did as Pop asked.  Pop smiled momentarily but then returned to his sober expression.  ``Some serious shit!'' Pop said, emphasizing the profanity.  ``Whether you know it or not, you've all stepped into the lion's den.  I want to tell you young folks to turn around and head for the entrance. But by the looks of you, that ain't gonna happen.  Am I right?''

The room was silent.  Mike, Carol, and Jeff all looked at their steaming coffee cups.  Alice was joyfully sipping from her cup, blowing on it occaisionally, unaware of the tension in the room.  Carol spoke first.  ``It's...we don't know what's going on...but...something...''

``Something wants you to be here.  Or someone is more like it.  I know'' Pop said, sighing.  ``Believe me, I know.''

``\textit{How} do you know?'' Mike asked, his hands squeezing his cup so tightly he feared he might crush it.

Pop sighed and shook his head.  ``This meeting went a lot smoother in my imagination.  I've had almost a week to prepare for it and yet here I am, at a loss for what to say.  I think I must have forgotten what it's like to be you all.  Confronted with the supernatural for the first time in you lives.  I don't envy you.  I lived through it myself and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.''

Jeff snorted a rueful laugh.  Everyone looked up at him.  ``I'm sorry. Thanks...that's real kind of you.'' his voice was dripping with cruel sarcasm.   ``You're a real prince to consider our feelings.''

``Jeff!'' Carol scolded, putting a hand to his shoulder.

He shook his head. ``No, I'm sorry, but I can tell when someone is stalling.  And Pop here is definitely trying to dance around something.''

Pop frowned.  ``I'm sorry.  You're right.  You're absolutely right.  I guess I've spent so long not talking about this very thing that I've forgotten how to speak clearly about it.''

Mike ran a hand through his hair.  ``Please.  Pop.  Just tell us what's going on.  I don't know what you know or how you know it or even if it can help us.  But...there's this girl...''

``Alana'' Pop finished for him.  ``I know.''

Mike looked up in surprise.  ``You know about her?''

Pop nodded, gravely.  ``Yes....yes I do.''

Mike was at a loss for words.  His mouth worked but no sound came out.  Eventually, he was able to make his brain work enough to formulate a question.  ``H-how...much do you know about her?''

Pop laughed a bit and smiled.  ``How much can any man ever know about a woman like that?  But if you're referring to her...extra-curricular activities at Winslow Labs...I know all about it.''

Mike breathed a sigh of relief.  At least he wouldn't have to tell that story again.  ``So, you know about the cipher then?''

Pop nodded.  ``Yes, I know all about it.  A great deal more than you I think.''

``Do you know where Alana is, or where she went?'' Mike asked, eagerly.

``I'm sorry, I don't.'' Pop said, mournfully.  ``And just like you, I'm concerned about that.  I expected them back hours ago.''

Mike rubbed a hand over his face.  He wanted to scream.  This had been his best bet and now it seemed that he was completely lost.  ``Why did you call us here if you don't know where to find her?''

Pop chuffed a harsh laugh.  ``The same reason that you all agreed to come here, no questions asked.  Because I had a dream.''

Everyone turned to look at Pop.  Jeff's head moved back and forth between Pop and Mike.  ``You mean...''

Pop put a hand out at the level of his shoulder.  ``About this tall.  Long black hair.  White dress.  Pale as snow''

``That's the one'' Carol muttered as she flopped back against the couch she was sitting on.  












The room was silent as Pop's words sunk in.  Carol released Alice's ears and sat, chewing her fingernails.  Jeff wrung his hands and let out long breaths.  Mike sat stock still, upright in the chair.  Pop was right about one thing, there was no way that he was turning back.  He had no idea what Jeff and Carol would do, but \textit{he} was going get the answers he came for.  And when he had them, he was going straight to the back of the lion's den, lions be damned.  

Pop let the moment pass before continuing.  ``Now, then.  I don't know what lit that fire under you tonight, but I'm sure you're here because you've had some insight into my prior association to Derek Winslow.'' 

``The Open Door Society'' Mike said, his voice low and serious.  

``That's correct'' Pop confirmed, nodding solemnly.  ``In 1979, I and several other young freshman at Harvard were invited to join the group that I'm sure Mike has told you about.  And yes, the president of our order was Derek Winslow.''

``Great'' Jeff blurted out.  ``So, you're old college buddies. Real glad we came here.''

``'Buddies' is too strong a term'' Pop clarified.  ``I can't say that we were ever 'friends' in the traditional sense.  Truth be told, I could never stand the smarmy son of a...gun'' Pop said, stopping the curse just as his eyes fell on Alice.  ``But, we did share a commonality of purpose. And that is just as bad, in a way.''

``And what exactly was that purpose?'' Carol asked, hugging Alice closer to her.

Pop looked over at George Jr.  ``Son, would you mind getting me the...'' he said, letting the end of the sentence fall away.  George jumped up from the couch and retreated to the back of the room.  Pop watched him go for a second before returning his focus back to his visitors.  ``You have to understand, when I got into this thing, all I wanted was a shot at the big time.  My father busted his behind as a porter on the railways for over 40 years and had nothing to show for it.  The only thing he was able to give me was the desire to give my children what he couldn't give his.  Me going to Harvard was the first step in the right direction.  But I wanted more than that.  I didn't want just want a chance, I wanted some insurance.  I wanted to know that when I left Harvard with my sheepskin, I was going places.  And The Open Door Society could offer me that.  The membership roles are not well publicized, but I can assure that every single member has gone on to fantastic careers.  We boasted twenty-two congressmen, eleven senators, over a hundred CEOs and founders of influential companies, and even a president.  By joining, I was assuring myself a place in history.''

``And you got it'' Carol chimed in, looking skeptical.  ``But what was the price?''

Pop smiled.  ``You always were the smartest.  I knew we should have tried harder to keep you on the payroll.  She's right though, there was a price.  A high one at that.  You see, The Open Door Society was never just another Old Boys Club.  The cultivation of powerful people was never the end goal.  It was merely a means to an end.  A tool for getting what we wanted.''

``And what was that?'' Mike asked, glowering now.  George Jr returned with a book and handed it to Pop.  Pop thanked him and placed the book in his lap.  

``To answer that.'' Pop said, ``I'm going to have to tell you about our history.  Now, Mike, I know you're anxious to be off on your business, but please, be patient.  You're going to trust me when I say that this is all very important.''

Mike nodded, reluctantly.  ``Fine, just get one with it.''

Pop nodded,  ``The society has a long and...for lack of a better term, notable history.  But it all started with a group of misfit kids who started Harvard in fall of 1889.  For one reason or another, these kids just didn't fit in with the rank and file of Harvard students of the time.  They didn't come from the right families, they weren't the right religion...they weren't the right color.  You get the drift.''  Mike nodded.

``So, there they were, at the grandest university in the whole country, and they felt hopeless.  Sure, they were getting a good education and all of that.  But what did it matter?  They were never going to break into the highest levels of society.  It was as if there had been a lottery held before any of them were born.  All of the most important positions of American society had been spoken for long before their numbers were ever called.  The best that any of them could hope for would be to play second-fiddle to a far greater man than he.''

Mason paused to take a drink of coffee.  ``And then along comes Augustus Winslow.  Just like the others, he came from a family that no one had ever heard of, hadn't attended the fancy prep schools, and had nothing going for him after college.  But unlike them, he had confidence.  He wasn't content with his appointed station in life and he wasn't satisfied with the others being satisfied with theirs.  You have to understand, to a group like these fellas, who'd never heard from anyone that they had a chance to be someone great, Augustus Winslow was a breath of fresh air.  Not only did they believe that \textit{he} could do everything he said he was going to, he made them believe that \textit{they} could do it too.  By the end of their freshman year, Winslow had them convinced that the future was theirs and all they had to do was to take it.''  He emphasized the point by smacking a fist into his palm.  

``They spent the summer plotting.  To have any kind of chance on the outside, they were going to have to garner themselves some power at Harvard.  So, Augustus taught them the fine art of leverage.  Do a man a favor, and he \textit{may} repay you in kind.  Get dirt on the fella, and he'll do anything you want.  So, they started gathering dirt on people.  They were the kind of kids that go unnoticed most of the time.  So, they put themselves into positions to hear the right kind of information.  It's amazing what people will say in front of their waiters, their shoe shiners, their caddies.  These kids, pushed by Augustus Winslow had a very productive summer and by the end, had damning information on almost every member of the faculty and administration at Harvard, not to mention some of the more influential students.''

``When they returned in the fall, \textit{they} were the ones in power.  With the information they had, they were able to place themselves in positions of great power at the school.  Editor-in-chief of the Harvard Crimson, President of the Student Body, head of the debate club and so on.  Winslow had taken a group of outcasts, and turned them into power players.  And boy were they grateful.''

``It came time to graduate, and they were all having a drink 'round the fire at the old tavern that Winslow had purchased for the club to hold their meetings at.  All of the members were throwing praises at him.  After a good many drinks had been consumed, all of them asked him what they could possibly do to repay him for the service he had done them?''

``I can just see the smug smile on the old geezer's face now.  I imagine he shrugged his shoulders in that horrendously patronizing way that he used to.  He told them that there was just one little thing that they could do.  Anything, they said.  Old Augustus told them all about The Peabody Museum.  For those of you who've never been there, it's a museum connected to Harvard that focuses on archeology and ethnology.  It was rather new in their day but had already come to be well known in the area.  He told them that recently, the museum had purchased the contents of an archeological dig centered around the area of Plymouth Rock.  One of the items that they had recovered was an ornate golden box with a locking mechanism that was as yet, unbreakable.  Old Augustus must have really turned on the charm when he told them that he was certain, absolutely positive, that the box had come over with one of his ancestors.  He showed them old diary entries and other 'proof' he had that the box was rightfully his.  But those stubborn mules at the museum refused to hear his case.  He hated to do anything illegal, but it would be oh so nice to have that box back where it belonged.''

``That was all these young fellas needed to hear.  Why would Augustus lie to them?  If he said to steal the box, they would jump at the chance to be first to break in to the museum.  And they did.  They didn't have time to put themselves into a position to influence the museum board so they were just going to have to steal the box the old fashioned way.  Under the cover of darkness, they broke in, and took the box.  They stole a bunch of other stuff too just to make the hit look random and unconnected to any item in particular. And the box was gold afterall, how could a thief resist such a prize.''

``Their treasure in hand, they returned to the tavern.  Old Augustus was over the moon at their success.  As a reward, he said, they were going to be allowed to be there when he opened it.  He told them that they were about to become more powerful than they'd ever imagined.  I don't know exactly what reaction, if any, the young men of the nascent Open Door Society had at seeing Augustus like this.  But I think they must have been at least a little bit alarmed.  They had been told they were stealing a Winslow family heirloom and here was Augustus raving about ultimate power and whatnot.''

``Nevertheless, they all stood 'round while Augustus disengaged the lock and opened the box.  Inside where two leather-bound books.  One of the books was very large and ornate.  One of the members describes it as looking like a very well preserved illuminated manuscript from the middle ages.  However, it was written in strange symbols that none of them could understand.  The other, was a more modern looking thing.  And it was written in plain English.''

``It was diary.  It had been written by the Winslow ancestor who had brought the book to the new world aboard The Mayflower. It was an account of how the ornate book had been handed down from father to son for hundreds of years.  It dated back to at least the 1400s.  The writer of the journal claimed that the old manuscript had come from a world other than our own.''

``You mean like Atlantis or something?'' Jeff asked, looking skeptical.

``I don't think so.  Atlantis was said to have been a lost continent.  This was an entire world they were talking about. The writer of this diary describes the world as a fantastical place of magic and wonders the likes of which have never been seen on earth.  Apparantely, the leaders of this world were a great college of mages.''

``Oh, come on!'' Jeff shouted suddenly.  ``I'm sorry.  This is a great story and all Pop, but really?  Mages? Magic?  Other worlds?  This is getting silly.''

``Jeff!'' Carol scolded, putting a hand on his knee.

``No. I'm sorry, but this is just getting ridiculous.  What's next?  Unicorns?  With candy corn horns?  I came here to help my buddy find his girlfriend.  If I wanted to hear fantasy stories I would've stayed at home with a Robert Jordan novel.''

``Dr. Sanderson, why did you come here tonight?'' Pop asked, calmly.

``I told you, to help my buddy...''

``That wasn't the only reason.  There was something that convinced of the need to follow your friend on his quest.  What was it?'' Pop asked, instently.

Jeff stopped dead.  ``A dream.  We...Carol and I...we had the same dream.  There was...a girl.  And apparantely Mike has been dreaming of her too.  She said, we have to help him.'' The color had drained from his face and his words came out slowly.

``Cora'' a small voice said, coming from the floor.  Everyone looked down to where Alice was trying to lick the remaining bits of cocoa out of her cup.  

Everyone's eyes snapped to her.  Carol slid off the couch and crouched next to her daughter, her eyes large with fright.  ``Wh-what?'' she whispered.  Alice continued to play with her cup, oblivious to the shock of the adults.  Carol put her arm around Alice.  ``Alice baby, did you say 'Cora'?''  she asked.  Alice nodded her head up and down in great arcs.  ``Do...do you...have you been talking to Cora too?''

``She's my dream friend'' Alice said, licking chocolate off of her finger.  ``We play games and then she gives me candy.  But you can't keep the candy.  You have to eat it before you wake up.  It goes away when you're not asleep.''

Carol looked ready to scream but she kept her calm.  ``Does Cora tell you things baby?''

Alice thought for a moment, squinting one eye.  ``She tells me that me and Mommy and Daddy have to help Uncle Mike.  She says it might be scary sometimes.  But I shouldn't be afraid.  Uncle Mike is very brave and Cora's sister is very strong.  She says that they won't let anything happen to us bad''

The room fell silent.  Carol collapsed into a sitting position next to Alice.  Jeff loving rubbed his wife's shoulders and watched Alice.  Pop cleared his throat.  ``The point I was trying to make is...is the diarist's story so incredible?  When you were brought here by something so incredible as this?'' he said, pointing to Alice.  

Carol spoke in a raspy, choked voice.  ``Have...have you dreamed of her too?  Is that why you asked us to come here?''

Pop nodded slowly.  ``I have.  She told me that I have to make sure that all of you came here tonight.  And that I needed to tell you everything that I know about Derek Winslow and the book that is at the center of this...thing''

``Go on''  Mike said, the anger and impatience having left him.  He felt weak now.  He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.  But if it could help him find Alana...he would have to do it.

Pop nodded.  ``As I was saying.  This other world was ruled by a college of mages who were the masters of the great power that drove that world.  This traveler...I hope you don't mind...but in my head I've always called him Gregor.  The diary never gave him a name but...''

``Gregor will be fine...go on'' Mike said, hastening Pop on.

``Good.  Anyway, Gregor, is said to have happened upon a group of these mages as they opened a gateway into this world.  When they returned, he followed them. And so found himself in their world.  He says that he lived among them for many years.  He had hoped to learn their great magic.  He believed that if he were to bring it to our world, he would be an unstoppable force.  But alas, the mages refused to teach him.  He obtained a position as one of their servants hoping to steal bits of their knowledge, but they kept their works hidden in great old books that they allowed no one to see but themselves.''

``While he was living there, scheming, he says that a great calamity struck their world.  Kingdoms crumbled, great earthquakes rocked the land, huge storms wiped cities off the map.  The mages huddled together and attempted to use their magic to see into the future.  What they saw, did not improve their moods.  They saw hope for their kind, but none for themselves.  They decided that, no matter what happened, their body of knowledge could not die with them.  They decided to risk it all on taking their books to world that Gregor had come from.  Apparently they had discovered the trick of 'world walking' as they called it, but had found little use for it.  Apparently the mages were only interested in abilities that increased their knowledge of magic.  This world, having none, was of little use to them.''

``Their most important secrets, including that of world walking, were compiled into one book.  Gregor offered to go along with the mage who was to take the book into Gregor's world.  He told them that he could be a guide to the mage and help him to make his way in our world.  The mage agreed to take Gregor along with him.  The mage opened a door to our world and he and Gregor stepped through.  Once through the mage closed the door behind them.  And that is when Gregor struck.''

The listening crowd gasped as Pop slammed his fist against the arm of his chair.  ``They had arrived on top of a hill, in the middle of a crumbling castle, somewhere in Germany.  Gregor picked up one of the crumbled bricks and bashed the mage over the head with it.  The stunned mage had no time to react as Gregor pulled a knife and plunged it into his belly.''

``Gregor, picked the book out of the mages hands and opened it.  He finally had what he had tried for years to get.  But the mages had been too smart for him.  They had encrypted the book.  The dying mage laughed.  He told Gregor that the mages had feared that the book would fall into the wrong hands in this world so that they had protected it.  Gregor was furious.  Though the mage was dying, Gregor began to torture him, inflicting great pain on the dying man.  But all he was able to get out of the mage was that a special ciphering machine had been used to encode the contents of the book and only that cipher would decrypt it.  The cipher was \textit{somewhere} in this world but the mage refused to say where.  Finally, mercifully, the mage died.  Leaving Gregor with a book that he had no hope of being able to understand.''

``The book in the box?'' Mike asked.

``So the story goes.'' Pop said, shrugging his shoulders.  ``The diary claimed that Gregor tried for many years to find the cipher but never found so much as a clue to its whereabouts.  Before he died, he passed the book and the story on to his son.  This man too had no luck finding the cipher. And so it was handed down year after year from father to son.  Eventually it fell into the hands of Christopher Winslow, the Mayflower passenger who had written the diary.  He'd tried for some time to find the cipher before falling in with Puritans.  He wrote that the church had made him see the folly of his families ways, spending so much time seeking magical powers when they should be finding power through worship of Jesus Christ.  He wrote that to protect his family, he was having the book buried with him.  He wanted to end the search with himself.''

``But somehow Augustus found out about it.'' Mike said, not really asking.  

``Apparently'' Pop affirmed.  ``But I don't think he knew the whole story.  I think he was expecting to find the secrets to great power in that box.  But instead, he found an old diary, and a book that held the promise of great power, if only he could read it.  As you can imagine, he was furious.''

``He declared right then and there that he was going to find that book and that his 'friends' were going to help him.  They tried to back out of it, they didn't really believe a word of what the diary said and had no intention of spending their lives chasing after some mythical artifact.''

``But Winslow had an ace up his sleeve.  All of the nasty little things they'd done in his service since their freshman summer.  He threatened to expose them and ruin their lives if they did not agree to his terms.  They would keep the manuscript a secret, they would put themselves into positions of power, they would use that power to direct clandestine searches for information on the cipher, and they would recruit others to his cause.'' Pop explained, shaking his head sadly.

``And that brings us to you I suppose.'' Mike said.

``Indeed it does.  The Open Door Society today operates much like it did in the past.  You join and they start directing you toward positions of power and influence.  And it works.  You get internships that you never would have dreamed of.  You get to work with professors that have a waiting list a mile long.  Without even trying, you get into the most elite dinners and parties.  They put the world at your fingertips.  But then they start to demand payment.  Spy on this guy, threaten that guy, sabotage a project here and there.'' 

``That's awful'' Carol gasped, a look of shock and disgust on her face.

``Awful doesn't even begin to describe it.  But it seems so innocent at the time.  You're not really hurting anyone.  Just...implying that you're going to.  It's easy enough to rationalize when you know that if you refuse, the future you dreamed of is over.'' Pop explained.

``Anyway, yes I joined the society, and yes, I did awful awful things for Derek Winslow in its service.  In your senior year, they lay this story about Gregor and the book on you. And I can tell you, almost no one believes it.  But, we all end up agreeing to go on this fool quest to find the cipher.''

``Why?'' Jeff asked, frustrated.  ``It's so stupid.  Why go along with it?''

``Because it doesn't matter if \textit{we} believe the story.  The Winslow's do. And when it comes to The Open Door Society, they hold \textit{all} the cards.  By this point we've committed so many crimes for them that we wouldn't dare risk having them exposed.''

``So we make our devil's agreement and leave college. True to their word, the Open Door Society makes our careers happen.  Within five years of graduating, I was in a position to start my open company.  I had majored in math but had started to fool around with computers.  And right around this time was when computers started getting networked and used by the government and large corporations.  And of course, they were all concerned about security.  Derek Winslow called me up one day and told me that I needed to get in on this oppurtunity.  The Winslow's fronted me the cash to found Mason Security Systems.''

``To what end?'' Mike asked.

Pop gave a mournful chuckle.  ``We were on the ground floor you see.  We were the first to provide secure systems for government, corporate, and academic uses.  When it comes to computer security, we quite literally wrote the book on it. And there is very little out there that doesn't use some set of our products.  As such, we know how to crack them all.''

``My god!'' Carol gasped.  ``That's....''

``I know...I know.  I'm not claiming to be an angel.  I have committed sins the likes of which I may never hope to atone for.  But it seemed such a small price to pay for giving my son all of this'' he said, sweeping an arm over the room.  ``It seemed like such a big deal at the time.''

George Jr. snorted a derisive laugh.  ``Fool old man''


 \end{document}