Early the next morning, an annoying beep broke into my sleep, bringing my hand into a reflexive position on top of the off button. As I lay in the sudden silence, my mind began to retrace the previous day.

Australia.

I could hardly wait.

Excitement coursed through my veins as I got out of bed and thumped down the stairs, pausing in the kitchen to pull out a box of cereal.

After downing the contents of the bowl, I rinsed it and placed it in the dishwasher before jogging back upstairs to grab a quick shower and change into comfortable traveling clothes. Within 15 minutes I was out the door and in my jeep, turning the key in the ignition.

As I drove to the airport, my mind wandered, running over what I would do once I had completed what work required. I planned on camping out for a few nights before returning to Perth, where my flight was scheduled to leave a week after my arrival.

I pulled into the parking lot at the airport, grabbing my backpack and throwing it over my shoulder. Upon entering the building, a mobile obstacle course of people and suitcases hindered my movement. I struggled forward to get in line, silently thankful that claustrophobia had never been on my list of fears.

The people in front of me inched slowly forward in the crowded space, moving gradually toward a long desk with several women standing behind them and tapping away on computers. One of the ladies held a phone to her ear, and while I couldn't hear the words issuing directly from her mouth, they echoed overhead almost intelligibly, announcing numbers and names of gates.

Finally, I was next up in line, and I walked over to pay for and take my ticket for a flight that went first to Sydney, then to Perth.

"Good morning, sir." The woman behind the counter looked like she thought it was anything but as she snapped her bubblegum in boredom.

"Morning." I smiled and waited for her to respond. Nothing. Oh well. "Name's MacGyver. There should be a ticket reserved for me?"

"Perth, Australia?" She asked after a few tries at correctly spelling my name. At my nod, she continued typing.

After I had received my ticket and gotten my luggage through, I walked over and sat next to my gate.

I stared somewhat vacantly into space, my mind idealizing the time I would spend in Australia. In the back of my mind, I knew that things wouldn't happen the way I was imagining them, but I figured so long as I knew I was only dreaming, there was no harm in it.

A loud, accented voice removed me from my distant state. In fact, it looked like it had also removed those around me from their own.

"Coach? But I reserved my seat on this flight weeks ago!" The Australian accent echoed slightly in the cavernous room, reaching far through the airport. I located the source of the peace-breaker: a man wearing a finely made suit, his hair forced into submission my gel and a comb, and an annoyed scowl chiseled onto his face.

A petite young woman dressed in a stewardess's uniform appeared to be attempting to reason with him, her hands motioning as she expressed what I assumed was sympathy.

As their debate continued, I allowed myself to retreat back into my mind. I honestly wasn't that interested in a battle to be taken back to first class. Besides, I was pretty sure I knew who would come out on top-the stewardess. Though calm and cool, they were made of steel, and no one managed to keep disagreeing with them.

Moments later, the intercom sounded again, and though I couldn't understand a word of what was said, I determined from my watch-and the fact that everyone was moving to stand in a line-that it was time for my flight's departure.

Somehow I ended up right behind the man who had been struggling to regain his seat in first class, and by all appearances, he was still fuming. He snapped at the woman who was checking tickets, stormed down the tunnel that led onto the plane, and, to my dismay, threw himself into the seat closest to the aisle of row twenty.

Somewhat frantically, I rechecked the row number on my ticket. Twenty.

Great.

I made my way down the aisle and practically had to climb over the man who had been parked in my row as, in an attempt to display his anger, he refused to cooperate and move his legs. This was going to be interesting, I could tell.

There I was; on one side, a man who was furious because he had to sit somewhere with less leg room, and on my other side a perfect view out the window that would reveal that I was somehow, by the laws of physics, seated in a giant chunk of metal that would momentarily be hurtling through the air at 500 miles per hour.

I slouched in my seat and stared straight ahead as a voice began to announce that in the unlikely event that the plane started to crash, we could all jump out of a door to save ourselves. The airplane began taxiing down the runway, and my stomach dropped as the ground outside vanished. I stifled the urge to groan. Have I ever mentioned that I hate heights? Because I do. I really...really do.

In the interest of maintaining a... well, a debatably pleasant seatmate beside me, I refrained from groaning, instead pulling down the flap that covered the window.

"Put that back up!" the man beside me demanded. "Young people today..."

Actually, he didn't look that much older than me. His hair was light brown and his face was unlined. The styling of his clothes also suggested that he was younger, though sometimes a more modern side is hard to detect when a person is wearing a suit. But since I didn't think he was kidding, I decided to take his comment about young people as a compliment.

The plane bounced through turbulence as I said, "Could I leave it closed? I have this thing about heights."

The man glared at me. "I enjoy a view!"

I flipped opened the corner of the covering on the window. White rushed by us as we were jostled through a cloud. "Ummm... I think these conditions could qualify as a white-out."

"Look, mister, I don't know who you think you are, but I have a right to an open window! I happen to enjoy natural light!"

For crying out loud, the guy almost sounded American.

Vogue; Reader's Digest; an Australian Guide to Wildlife... I grabbed this one, flipping through the pages and lingering on Australia's signature animals: kangaroos, koalas, and platypuses. Oh my.

By the time our arrival to the land down under had been announced, I had become thoroughly sick of the man beside me. He grumbled, complained, and made the tasks of those poor flight attendants ten times harder than was necessary. I spent most of the flight pretending to be asleep, since I couldn't look out the window without making nail marks on my armrests and my neighbor had already snapped at me for supposedly staring at him as I avoided the window.

Having only a few options left for where to look, I decided to gaze fondly at the insides of my eyelids.

We descended and bounced onto the runway. The minute the seat belt sign went off, my ever-so-patient seatmate charged off ahead of everybody and exited the plane. I rolled my eyes as I clicked off my own seatbelt, grabbing my pack as I merged into the line of passengers leaving the plane.

I flowed with the crowd out of the gate but separated as most of them went to meet with those waiting for them or headed towards the luggage carrousel. I turned, looking for the airport gift shop where I was supposed to meet Roy Matthews.

As I waited for him to appear, I wandered aimlessly about the small store, eying hats with pictures of kangaroos and T-shirts with the word "Australia" printed on them. Key chains were on display next to the cash register, and I shrugged, not even fighting the impulse to buy one.

I glanced at each different variety, trying not to wince at the ear-piercing screech of metal as I twirled the display case to see them all. I eventually settled on one that was red with a smattering of different creatures native to Australia. As I was paying for it, someone spoke behind me.

"Excuse me, sir, are you Mr. MacGyver?"

I turned and glanced at the middle aged, dark haired man who had spoken.

"Yeah. How'd you know?" There were people all around me-quite a few Americans among them-and I felt a little concerned that he had been able to pick me out.

With a slight smile, he motioned to my hair. "The Phoenix Foundation provided us with a brief description."

I nodded my head. "Roy Matthews?"

The smile on his face disappeared. "No, Mr. Matthews couldn't make it today, he had some sort of family emergency. My name is Kurt Jennings. Mr. Matthews told me to come in his place and show you where to go."

Must have been some emergency for this guy to miss when he had put a lot of effort into contacting us. "I hope everything's alright."

"Me, too," Kurt gave a small, sympathetic nod before he smiled again. "Well, Mr. MacGyver, I'll show you where you can rent a good car."

I followed Kurt to the rental car shop, examining the variety of vehicles. There were some pretty nice cars, but I felt drawn to the single Jeep, the only car that appeared practical for where I was heading.

"Here," Kurt held out a floppy piece of paper, folded tightly into a small rectangle. "I've marked a route on this map. Good luck, MacGyver."

"Take care, Kurt." I watched him walk away before climbing into the jeep. As I sat, I took the newly bought key chain from my pocket and clipped it onto the zipper of my pack, saving it for my keys at home. I shook open the map and, after a few moments of deciphering, I started the engine and was on my way.