Chapter 17

Later that evening, Michael paid a visit to Boylan in the Infirmary. Doctor Shannon greeted him when he arrived and told him Tom had been awake, but a little confused and still very weak, so he may not respond much. It didn't matter. Michael would just be glad to see him.

The old man had his eyes closed when Michael approached him. He looked a little better than earlier, but still deeply unwell. Michael took a seat beside him, unsure what to do, what to say.

He settled on a simple greeting: "Hi Tom. How are you?"

"Mmm," Boylan responded. Michael wasn't sure if that was a response to his question or not. Michael decided to keep talking to him anyway.

"Will you promise me something, Tom? When you get better, you need to take better care of yourself, okay? Whatever it is, I'll help you. We'll go on a diet, we'll exercise - get you back in shape! If you're stressed, I don't know, we'll meditate or something." He chuckled at the thought of the both of them sitting down with their legs crossed and eyes shut, muttering 'namaste' under their breaths. He couldn't imagine Boylan going for that, but if that's what it took to keep him around, he'd make him do it. "Whatever it takes to keep you healthy." He swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. "I can't lose you as well, Tom. My family...I've lost them all. But you…" He wiped the moisture from his eyes. "You were always there for me. When my dad couldn't be. Or when he treated me like an outsider. You were there, when everyone else turned against me." He wiped the moisture from his eyes "You were more of a father to me than he'd been in a long, long time. I need you around. So just concentrate on getting better."

He squeezed Boylan's shoulder and lingered a moment longer before beginning to get to his feet.

Suddenly, Boylan's hand grabbed Michael's arm. Michael sat back down, stunned. He examined Boylan, who still seemed to be pretty out of it, eyes half closed as he turned his face to stare at Michael.

"Son?"

Boylan's grip was surprisingly strong. He pulled Michael closer. Michael leaned over him, placing his own hand over Boylan's.

"I'm sorry," Boylan wept, tears leaking from his blurry eyes. "I'm so sorry, son. It's my fault. It's all my fault."

"What?" Michael said.

"I should've made sure you had it," he blubbered. "That bloody mask. It was my job to keep you safe. I'm so...I'm sorry. Please. Please forgive me."

It didn't take long to realise what he was talking about. Michael remembered a conversation with Boylan, long ago, about how his son died. Michael knelt beside him, took his hand and squeezed. "It's okay," he whispered. "I forgive you."

Boylan, in his confused state, continued sobbing. "I miss you so much, Peter. My boy. I wish I'd been a better father."

Michael sniffed again, feeling Boylan's pain as if it were his own. "You were the best father," he said softly, squeezing his hand a little harder. He smiled. "The best."

Another tear slid from Boylan's drooping eyes, then he closed them fully. He was silent. Michael placed Boylan's hand back on the bed and bid a silent goodbye.

In Boylan's hand, he had placed a rusty old coin. Peter's coin. Boylan had once given it to him for good luck, now Michael was hoping that luck would help Boylan.

2150

The haze of the Chicago skyline was particularly thick tonight as Lucas stared out of EdenCorp's window at the domes in the hazy distance. He wondered where his father was, if he was even still alive. But the Commander was a stubborn creature. He wouldn't go down easy. Lucas was sure he was still out there, somewhere. Surviving.

Maybe it was in some way a satisfying conclusion to his fantasy of revenge. After all this time detesting him and loathing how much people adored him and lapped up his leadership. It made his toes curl just thinking about it. They didn't know him. Not really. He wasn't the brave soldier they all thought he was. And now they knew it! They hated him too. They were after his blood just as much as Lucas was. Was that not justice? Was that not revenge?

He still found it hard to be content with it. For one, he had no part in the plan. After months of being told he would get to determine the Commander's fate, the decision was suddenly taken out of his hands entirely, with no warning. There was no finality to it. His father was just gone.

And now there was no motivation to his work, maybe even his life. He started every day the same. He'd wake up alone. He'd eat alone. He'd work alone. He'd go to bed alone. And repeat. Nichol had given him a list of things to do as long as his arm, but he had long lost his incentive.

The only slither of enjoyment he got was when he visited his nephew in the evenings, after the nurse had finished feeding him. He would try to find new and interesting things to show the boy, to make him smile. Today it was an old book on Quantum Theory. Not the most exciting thing for a six-month old, but it was one of the few materials Lucas had access to, especially since he had broken his Plex. He sat next to the baby's cot and showed him the old, tattered book. The infant's wide eyes glimmered with amusement, little spit bubbles forming around his lips. Lucas still felt a little strange around the kid, but he knew him well enough by now to know that he could be listening to a bus timetable and still be entertained. Children were such odd creatures.

As he read random passages from the book, he noticed a little head pop up from the glass window opposite. Great. He slammed the book shut.

"What do you want, Sienna?" he sighed with annoyance.

The head bobbed back down, then a few seconds later Sienna appeared by the door. "I just wanted to see William."

"Will you stop calling him William? That's not his name," Lucas grumbled.

"We have to call him something! We can't just call him 'the baby' all the time!"

"Don't you have some drawing to do?"

Sienna shook her head. "Nope. I finished. Look, it's me and mommy." She raised her drawing for Lucas to see. It was indeed a crayon drawing of her and Mira surrounded by green forest. "We're in Terra Nova together."

Lucas rolled his eyes. "You don't believe they'll actually let you go to Terra Nova?"

She pouted. "Why not? I've been good. I did everything they wanted, and I'm sure mommy did too. They promised."

"Yeah, well, when you're older, you'll find adults aren't very good at keeping promises. Especially Miranda Nichol."

"Did she promise you could go back to Terra Nova too?" Sienna asked, coming closer to Lucas.

"No," he muttered. "I'd rather die than go back there."

"Why?"

"It's complicated. I spent a lot of unhappy years there. There's nothing there for me."

Her small brows pinched together. "Nothing at all?"

He glared at her, but Sienna took this to mean he didn't hear her properly.

"Nothing?" she repeated. "There can't be nothing."

Lucas stared at her, too exhausted to be agitated by her presence anymore. He sighed. "Maybe one thing."

"I knew it!" she grinned. "What is it? A person?"

Lucas sat back in his chair, picturing the face of the only person who made him feel something other than hurt and anger. "A girl."

Sienna's face lit up. "You love her?"

Lucas scoffed. "Don't be absurd. Love is for kids."

Now she was confused. "Does she not love you?"

"Definitely not."

"Why not?"

"I was cruel to her." He looked down at his hands, thinking about Skye, the horrible things he said and did to her. She made things...difficult for him. He could still feel her warm lips crushing against his, her small frame leaning up into him, holding him. He'd never felt anything like it before. He wanted to keep touching her, keep kissing her, and more...but it wasn't real. Not for her. And why would it be, after what he had done? At the time he didn't care why she had done it. He'd been thinking with a different part of his anatomy. But now his feelings were stronger, more complex, and he felt something akin to guilt. He didn't really know love, but he did feel an aching thirst - an anguished sense of longing when he thought about her. Maybe that was love, or something just as terrible.

"Why were you cruel to her?" Sienna questioned.

"Because I wanted her to be afraid of me."

"Why?" she said again.

"Don't you get it by now?" he snapped. "I'm not a good person. There's not a single soul out there who cares about me, nor I them. So just...shut up and leave me alone."

"That's not true," Sienna argued. "You care about William. You visit him every day, you read to him. He's your family."

Lucas looked over at the baby. The young boy responded by putting his fist in his mouth. It was true. Lucas did care for him. He had already admitted as much. Was this the familial love he should have felt with his father or brother? Was it the same love he felt for his mother? Maybe.

The edge of Lucas' mouth turned up in a small smile. William. It did sort of suit him.

"Can I hold him?" Sienna asked.

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "You want to hold him?"

"Yeah. Can I?"

He sighed again, visibly annoyed. But then he got to his feet and looked out of the door, making sure no soldiers were passing by. "Fine. Quickly."

He went over to the cot and scooped the baby up with both arms. Remembering what the nurse had instructed him to do, he echoed those directions to Sienna. He still felt nervous handling him. He wasn't used to being gentle or careful, particularly with other people, but he was slowly getting the hang of it.

He carefully placed the tiny human in Sienna's open arms. She smiled widely as William's large green eyes focused on her and he giggled. "He's so heavy! And cute!"

Lucas stood back and, to his own bewilderment, found himself smiling too. "That's actually not bad, kid."

"Do you think he misses his mommy and daddy?"

The smile faded slightly. "I don't know," he admitted.

"It's sad Captain Taylor had to go. I miss him sometimes. Do you miss him too?" she asked Lucas, a sad smile on her lips.

Lucas paused for a moment. He nodded gently. He did miss Michael. Truthfully, when his brother chose him over their father, it was the happiest he had been in years. Finally. Michael saw the Commander's true colours and rejected him like Lucas did long ago. They were reunited at long last.

Of course, their several months at EdenCorp hadn't been smooth sailing. Michael was confused. Bitter. He blamed Lucas for hurting Wash, for bringing her here and for him being forced to serve with the Phoenix Group army. The first few months of their return to the future involved many heated arguments. Then the silent treatment. Then eventually, acceptance. They were both under the control of EdenCorp and they had no one except each other. Michael realised that eventually. They would talk long into the night sometimes, watching the city spiral into chaos from the safety of EdenCorp's walls. Lucas knew he would never win Michael over completely - too much damage had been done - but those brief few months where he had his brother back had been the best in a long time.

Now he wondered if he would ever see him again.

Terra Nova

Staring into his bedroom mirror, Michael's eyes traced the old Terra Novan uniform that now hugged his body. It felt like an eternity since he last wore it, but seeing himself standing there in his old gear reinvigorated that sense of pride he used to feel as a corporal in the security team. It looked good. And it felt good too.

"Welcome back, Corporal Taylor," greeted Jim as Michael met him by the rover. "Uniform still fits, I see."

"Just as it should," Michael replied, smiling. "This is the only uniform I want to wear."

"Glad to hear it."

Malcolm appeared behind Jim, plex in hand.

"Are you ready, Doctor Wallace?" Michael asked.

Malcolm nodded hesitantly. Sensing this, Michael tried to reassure him.

"Don't worry, you can trust me…" He stepped closer. "You know me. I'm not Lucas," he said softly, remembering how violently Lucas' men had treated Malcolm's team during the occupation.

"That's right," another voice interrupted. Corporal Reynolds appeared beside Malcolm, limping. "He's got nothing to worry about. I'll make sure of it."

Michael tried to avoid audibly groaning. Reynolds was coming?

"I asked Reynolds," Jim said, as if reading Michael's mind. "Probably safer with three of you, especially knowing what's out there."

"How's the leg?" Michael asked dryly, surprised he'd been sent out on a mission so soon after his injury.

"It's pretty good actually." Reynolds offered him a tight smile. "Thanks for asking."

Michael didn't reply. Instead, he got in the rover. "I'll drive," he announced. Malcolm joined him in the passenger seat and Reynolds got in the back. This was going to be a long day.

After a few minutes of driving, Michael noticed how irritable Malcolm looked. He was tense, shoulders hunched together, and he was nervously tapping his fingers against the screen of his plex. Glancing over at the scientist, he even seemed to be sweating.

"Doctor Wallace? Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, fine. Fine," he said unconvincingly. "I hope these calculations your brother left are of use, Corporal Taylor. I'd hate to think I came all the way out here for nothing."

"I don't understand them," admitted Michael, watching the dirt road ahead of him. "But I remember them being quite elaborate. I thought we could check out the old Sixer camp too. That's where he finished the equations, maybe he left something back there?"

Malcolm looked alarmed. He scratched anxiously at his fair beard. "That wasn't the plan."

"But it would be helpful?"

Malcolm's fists clenched. Michael didn't understand what the big deal was.

"Let's just get to the falls," Reynolds said from behind them. "Maybe we'll find what we need there and won't need to bother with the camp."

"Fine." Michael put his foot down on the accelerator as they drove deeper into the jungle.

It didn't take too long to get there. Michael parked at the bottom of the falls, as close as he could get to the stream. He smiled as he got out the vehicle and watched the beautiful blue water flow and glimmer in the sunlight. He had lots of memories here. He remembered the first time he had found Lucas' drawings, one day on patrol with Alicia. He had been such a child back then, running off to jump in the stream, flirting relentlessly. Of course Alicia didn't join him. Did he really expect her to? He cringed at his past self. He had no idea what the future was going to bring back then.

In later years, he came here with Skye, despite the area being made off limits due to Lucas' scribbles. He remembered her adventurous spirit convincing him to jump off the falls with her, the first crazy, exciting thing either of them had done in ages. He also remembered that clumsy, awkward kiss shortly afterwards, where he realised he was more than just a friend in her eyes. And that led to him revealing his love for Alicia. Skye, the first person he ever told.

The slamming shut of the rover door caused him to jump out his thoughts. Malcolm had his plex under one arm and a small camera device in his hands.

"Right. Show me where these calculations are. Let's make this quick."

Michael showed him the diagrams on the rock by the stream, then pointed out the others on the cliff wall. Malcolm began writing notes and taking photographs, uttering a "hmm" or "interesting" every now and then.

Michael let him do his thing and joined Reynolds by the rover. "He's not as confident as I remember," he speculated to his companion. "And god knows he wasn't that chilled out to begin with."

Mark rested his hand on his rifle, watching Malcolm work with a hint of concern in his eye. "Yeah. Well, you're not the only one who went through hell this past year."

It had to be something to do with the dino attack in the Badlands, Michael surmised. The guy had seen two of his team members torn apart by that monster. That would definitely lead to some anxiety. But then he remembered something Jim said about something happening after that.

"It wasn't just the initial attack in the Badlands," Mark said, answering his unspoken thoughts. "Things were quiet for a while. Then Doctor Wallace went missing. We couldn't find him anywhere. Then five days later, he turns up outside the gates, beaten and disorientated. The Sixers and The Phoenix Group - or whatever's left of them - they tortured him, trying to get him to fix the portal. Of course, he couldn't. But it took them a while to figure that out."

Michael looked over at Malcolm, jaw hanging open. "Poor guy. And they just let him go?"

"I guess. He doesn't like talking about it. But ever since then, he doesn't like going OTG."

Jeez. Suddenly Michael realised what a big deal it was that Malcolm had agreed to come out with them today. He knew what it was like to suffer trauma, and it sounded like what Malcolm went through was pretty extreme. No wonder he was acting so nervous.

Mark cleared his throat, becoming even more serious - if that were even possible. "I wanted to talk to you."

Michael took in a deep breath. Here we go. More threats and pleas about exposing his deep, dark secret.

"Thank you."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"Thank you for saving mine and Maddy's lives. We meant what we said at the engagement party. We might not be here if it wasn't for you. But I need to know where I stand with you. You know the truth about me and Maddy can't. Nobody can. Are you going to tell her?"

Michael sighed deeply. "Mark, I don't think I'll have to."

"What do you mean?"

"The truth tends to expose itself after some time. Take me for an example. I had plenty of secrets. The truth about what happened with my brother, my relationship with Wash, my deal with The Sixers. That all came out eventually. And I paid the price for it, remember?"

Mark looked embarrassed, probably remembering his men's conduct again when Michael was exposed as working with the Sixers. Maybe he was hoping a similar thing wouldn't happen to him.

"I won't tell anyone," Michael reassured. "But I meant what I said before. They don't just let people go. Even The Sixers aren't free of them, not really. They're not done with you."

"Alright!" Malcolm called, interrupting the two corporals. "I have it. I have it all, and I think it will be useful." He hurried over to them, busily typing onto his Plex. "Thank you, Corporal Taylor. We might have a chance at rebuilding this wretched thing. Although the drawings are so articulate, only a madman would spend so much time scratching these onto rocks of all things!"

"Well, he had plenty of time out here," Michael reminded him. "And he was mad."

"Yes, well, mad or not - he was clever enough to figure this out," muttered the doctor.

"Do you have enough data, Doctor Wallace?" Reynolds asked. "Is it worth visiting the old Sixer camp?"

"Well, there's no such thing as too much data," admitted Malcolm. "If there's more that will help, it could save a lot more time. It's just…"

He cut off there. Embarrassed or ashamed. Michael watched the man's expression fall, his eyes swimming with panic.

"It's okay," Michael said sympathetically, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'll look. You can stay in the rover. Would that be okay? I'll let Jim know we're going."

Malcolm sighed, then nodded. The three of them returned to the rover. It wasn't a long drive, eventually the sun ducked behind the canopy of the forest, leaving them to journey in the shadows.

Gradually, they reached the camp. From below it looked like nothing much. You might not have even known there was a camp here, unless you looked up. As they got out the vehicle, Michael's eyes were drawn up to the treetops. The elaborate treehouse was still secured high above.

Michael never expected to see himself here again. He had spent so long trying to escape. He thought he'd finally put this place behind him. Now he was back, greeted by emptiness. There were no Sixers to be seen; no Mira or her lackies.

"How are you going to get up there?" Malcom asked, observing the height of the Sixer base.

"They had some kind of pulley system. Hang on." Michael got out the rover and walked over to where the rope used to hang. Usually someone from above would have pulled him up, but now he supposed he would have to do it himself. He took the rope and tied a loop to put his foot into. The pulley rope swung next to him.

"Looks a bit dangerous," Mark noted as he and Malcolm looked up at how high he had to go. "Hope you're feeling strong."

"We'll see," Michael smirked. He grabbed the rope and pulled. The muscles in his arms tensed and strained with the feeling of his whole weight. But he kept pulling, gradually hoisting himself up higher and higher. Wheezing with exhaustion, he made it to the top and leapt up onto the wooden canopy.

He looked over the edge, panting and raising his hands in celebration as Mark and Malcolm squinted upwards.

"Anything up there?" yelled Reynolds, unimpressed.

Michael's hands dropped back to his sides. Back to work. He looked around him. It was like the place was frozen in time. A lot of stuff still remained: old clothes and random junk, spare rope, half-melted candles, old books and bottles. Nothing useful or interesting. They obviously only took what they thought they would need. He walked further, the floor creaking beneath him, and he saw the tent where he had first reunited with Lucas.

He still remembered the utter shock and horror upon seeing the state of his twin brother after five long years. That was the moment he realised Lucas had truly lost it. He shuddered, remembering Lucas' manic speech of revenge and hate. Right before he knocked him out and ran off to the future. Obviously, things only got worse after that.

He swallowed the ache in the back of his throat and entered the tent. Most of the posters had been torn down, the many notes and drawings previously scattered about the desk had clearly been picked up in haste. There were a few scribbles left, though it was hard to say how useful they actually were. Michael picked them up and shoved them in his pocket just in case.

With one last lingering look around the tent, Michael headed - happily - for the exit. He was about to call down to the others when he heard a splutter behind him.

"Wh-"

Suddenly, a figure launched at him. Female, slim, agile. And strong. Michael's brain tried to process what was happening as he was thrown to the floor. His instinct was to take hold of her shoulders and push her back.

It was then Michael saw the woman was Mira. She looked terrible. Rabid, bruised and bloody. Her eyes were wild and desperate. She had a knife in her hand. As she swung at him with the weapon, he swiftly grabbed hold of her wrist and squeezed - hard. Her whole arm trembled, tears streaming from her dark eyes. She couldn't withstand the pain anymore. She let go of the knife, letting it fly off the side of the canopy, narrowly missing Mark who shielded Malcolm from harm.

Taking advantage of this brief respite, Michael managed to push Mira away and roll her over. Now he was over her, pushing back her frantic arms as they tried to claw at him.

"Mira, stop!" he yelled at her.

She started to kick beneath him. He used all his weight to push her legs down.

"Calm down!"

After a few seconds, she slowed her movements, letting out a cry and a few exasperated breaths. She looked around her fearfully. Then she focused on Michael above her, as if finally realising it was him.

"Michael," she said in between breaths. "You need to help him."

Michael softened, releasing his hold on her slightly. "Help who?"

She looked over on the other side of the tent. He followed her gaze. Another figure emerged, just as worn and beaten as her. He stepped closer, wobbling, spluttering. As he entered the light, Michael recognised the figure was Carter.

He looked in worse condition than Mira. He took another step, coughed, and then his knees buckled beneath him.