Can one thwart destiny? This is an alternate history story that looks at one possible answer.

This story contains explicit violence and is not recommended for children.

*********************

1984 Prologue

Michel groaned when he saw the time. Midnight, and he had to be up early to work at the markets. Working morning and evening jobs while studying full-time was steadily wearing him down, but they were needed to support himself and his sister, Bernadette. Their parents had died when he was 2 months short of being old enough to become her legal guardian, but his parent's lawyer had managed to tie things up long enough for it to happen. Unfortunately the estate had not been a large one, and the cost of university, and Bernadette in high school, was high. It had been their parent's fond and fervent dream that their children get a good education, and Michel was determined to do whatever was needed to achieve it on their behalf.

Putting away his texts, Michel recalled the impassioned words of his friend Rene from their meeting the day before and smiled fondly. They agreed on so much, there was so much wrong with the world, so much they burned to change. Tonight, however, his usual anger at the injustices of the world refused to rise. He was simply too weary. As he went to check on his sister, a nightly ritual before going to bed himself, he let his thoughts roam unimpeded by the haze of frustration that so often overlay them.

The miner's strike had been an opportunity for him and Rene and the group they were forming of like-minded students: they had dreamed of their role in the struggle as the news broke. The reality had been disenchantingly mundane. Staring down at his sister's sleeping form, Michel's mouth curved into a gentle smile as he remembered Bernadette's disbelief at his account of how he had spent his time. It had angered him at the time but now... In hindsight so much effort had been spent by so many to achieve very little. Michel shook off the depression this insight caused, blaming a lack of sleep, and went to bed. A single question followed him into sleep, despite himself: in following his current path, was he really creating a better world for Bernadette?

***

Michel stared, immobile, at the images of carnage. A single thought looped endlessly through his mind "How could they have done this?".

Three months earlier he had dropped out of the activist group he had helped create, L'Heure Sanguine, much to Rene's disgust. The argument had been bitter and words spoken that could not be forgotten or forgiven. It had started simply enough, with jokes about the miner's strike and their role, and sighs over the lack of impact their words, and the demonstrations they organised, were having. Rene had decided to "escalate" and started waxing lyrical about "heroic actions" to match the glory of the name they called themselves. Michel, in an uncharacteristic fit of waspishness prompted by sheer exhaustion, pointed out the likely outcomes of such actions, but Rene saw martyrs where Michel saw casualties.

Eventually the argument turned personal, and degenerated into the sort of name calling that only two close friends are capable of. They cooled off over coffee, but Michel was not diverted from his original train of thought. He had come to a very difficult decision: he was going to drop out of L'Heure Sanguine. There were a number of reasons, but one of the most important was that he had Bernadette to consider, and the time he was spending with his friends was time he was not spending with her. Her behaviour recently had been worrying him. Besides, if he were arrested because L'Heure Sanguine crossed the line of legality, who would look after her? Rene would not be swayed by such arguments, he knew, but he decided to try.

Michel quietly told Rene he was leaving the group. Rene had been aghast, then furious when he realised Michel was serious. Michel had pointed out that two jobs and full-time study were leaving him too little time as it was to look after his sister. "Think *why* you're in this position!" Rene had urged. "Your circumstances have been forced on you by a corrupt system. It's your *duty* to fight them!" Michel had simply shaken his head and Rene had erupted into a diatribe that had left Michel white faced but silent. Without another word he had left and they had not spoken since.

Now this. L'Heure Sanguine had just, with apparent pride, taken responsibility for a bombing in which many people - innocent people - had died. Watching the television pictures Michel vowed to himself to never get involved with such a group again. Never.

1990 Part One (France)

Michel straightened then winced as a knot made itself known in his shoulders. He had been poring over a printout for the last hour and a combination of immobility and awkward position had conspired against him. Looking around the laboratory he could see no sign of his colleague, Henri. Glancing at his watch he realised it was lunchtime and telling Henri about his discovery would have to wait.

Looking down at the printout once more, Michel shook his head. He had been working with yttrium compounds related to those that had high temperature superconducting properties. Nothing particularly exciting - exactly the sort of tedious work gleefully dumped onto the youngest scientists. In one series of tests though, there had been traces of impurity: an unwanted isomer of the compound he was trying to produce. Out of curiousity, he had isolated a small quantity of the impurity and tested it. Despite the endless stories of serendipity that inspired generations of practical chemists, physicists and materials scientists, he had not expected anything unexpected from the tests. The results had therefore been a shock.

***

Months of hard work followed, trying to identify the processes by which the isomer was produced, producing and isolating enough for an extensive battery of tests, checking the literature. Michel had shown his initial results to his supervisor, Dr de Bouvier, and had been deeply gratified at the support he had been given. Dr de Bouvier had fully supported Michel's diversion, encouraging him to explore, insisting on thoroughness and arranging for notes to be duly sighted and signed in case a patent proved viable. Several scientific papers had resulted and his supervisor had even permitted Michel, despite his junior status in the research lab, to be listed as first author on one.

Michel grinned at his own nervousness as he waited for the visitor to arrive. According to Dr de Bouvier Josef Deitz was a venture capitalist who worked with scientific groups to transition new technologies from the laboratory to the marketplace. It was a high risk investment strategy, but with good choices it could be extremely profitable. Mr Deitz had expressed an interest in his isomer and its properties and Dr de Bouvier had quickly offered a meeting with Michel to discuss the material and its potential applications.

Josef Deitz certainly looked the part of an international investor and Michel was surprised to find himself feeling slightly gauche in the man's elegant and expensive presence. He settled quickly though, going through his presentation with poise. The investor then surprised him with the technical level of some of his questions but Michel had prepared very thoroughly and could answer clearly and succintly. The expressionless face and even voice of the visitor gave no hint as to his level of interest in what he was hearing and Michel awaited his verdict anxiously.

After a minute of silence spent gazing pensively into the distance, Deitz resumed his questions, but now he was clearly focussed on applications, timelines and costs. Michel was largely quiet through this part of the conversation: Dr de Bouvier had been thinking about these issues and, drawing on years of experience applying for research grants, had drawn up a draft proposal. With a nod, Josef rose and concluded his visit.

"It sounds good to me, though I think more researchers could be used. We need to get to a trial manufacture stage early. Go ahead with the patent. I'll have my people draw up an agreement - I think two million Euros for the first year would get things off to a good start. Royalties and licensing would be on standard terms. Look it over, and let me know what you decide." With that he abruptly left, Dr de Bouvier escorting him out. After several minutes of intermingled disbelief and joy, Michel returned to his work.

For the rest of the afternoon it was hard to shake off a faintly stunned feeling at this turn of fortune, but Michel's musings were interrupted by the beep of the calendar on his laptop. It was time to head home. Bernadette had called earlier: she was coming to dinner, bringing her current boyfriend with her. It would be his first chance to evaluate the young man who, it seemed, had completely captured his sister's heart.

Part Two

Michel smiled affectionately at Bernadette. As her only family, she considered bringing her boyfriend over to meet him a monumental step. It was sometimes hard to remember she was legally an adult now - his habits of protection and care were so deeply ingrained. Veronique was chatting to the obviously nervous young man, trying to make him more at ease with her husband and herself, while Michel kept their young son, Alain, out of seemingly never-ending mischief.

Veronique enlisted the young man's help in the kitchen upon hearing that he was an apprentice chef. During Alain's afternoon nap she had taken time out of working on her physics doctoral thesis to try some new recipes and she wanted tips on the correct technique for dealing with the vagaries of choux pastry. He seemed eager enough to help. Michel took Alain into the lounge and Bernadette followed willingly. She never passed up a chance to spend time with her young nephew.

Standing Alain on his tiny feet, Michel watched, entranced, as Alain made his way unsteadily across the room toward his aunt. A handful of running steps would start with a squeal and be accompanied by hands flapping, before the toddler would stop, a faintly bewildered expression on his face as an increasingly unbalanced sway would start, followed by a collapse onto his nappy-protected rear. Alain would then stare at his feet for a few moments, as if uncertain why they had done this to him, before scrambling up again to repeat the process. Once he reached Bernadette he grabbed her skirt tightly, preventing another fall, and celebrated the accomplishment with an open-mouthed smile and gurgle at her.

Brother and sister grinned at each other over the small boy's head as Bernadette lifted Alain into her lap. Alain's father knew from experience that the child would remain there for only a short time before he would start to squirm free, eager to try his new-found mobility again.

Michel's lack of chatter did not bother Bernadette. Her brother had been an outspoken teen, particularly in the months after their parent's deaths. There had been times then when she had been afraid of where his anger might take him. Time and maturity had channelled his emotions into more positive channels to her deep, though unexpressed, relief. The passion was still there, but it was now directed into his family, his music, even his work. He was quieter than usual tonight though, even appearing rather distracted, though in a happy way, so Bernadette set about finding out the reason.

***

The last week had been a long one: although the investment agreement was still in negotiation the priority of his work, particularly a simplification of the manufacturing process, had been significantly raised. Michel was very much looking forward to spending the weekend with his family. Finishing up notes about the latest test processes and results on his laptop, Michel shut the machine down and put it in the cupboard. Going over to Henri's laptop he started going through the results of the latest xray crystallography tests, shaking his head as he read them. The yield of the desired isomer was rising, but the proportion of the useless isomer was still too high. Engrossed in the analysis, he did not immediately look up at the sound of the lab door opening.

"Henri, these diffraction patterns..." he started, turning to look at his colleague, only to stop at the sight of black masked figures pointing guns at him.

"What is going on?" he asked with a creditable appearance of calm despite the sudden tension throughout his body. Some of the figures moved around the lab in a purposeful way, though Michel could not tell what they were doing. Gesturing him away from the laptop another shut it down and secured it, before the man whose gun had never wavered from his heart indicated he was to walk towards the door.

"What is it you want?" Michel asked without moving. Without warning he felt a sudden blow to the back of his head and dropped, dazed. Two of the figures came up to him, threw his arms over their shoulders and started to drag him outside. As they reached a black van, Michel's recovery was thwarted by the sudden prick of a needle. Before the darkness claimed him, and as he was being swung around to be placed in the van, he heard an explosion and saw the lab in flames.

Part Three (Germany)

Michel's first sensation upon awakening was intense pins and needles in his hands and feet. His second was an awareness of being unable to move to relieve the sensations. He was tied, securely, to a chair. Staring around he saw he was in a room without windows, probably a basement. There were several men present, all of them watching him with cold eyes. He reflexively shivered, but instinctively tried to keep the movement from being too obvious. Before he could speak one of the men, exuding the confidence of a leader, stepped forward.

"My name is Tomas and where you are need not concern you. We want information about the process used to create the isomer. If you do not cooperate you will be hurt." Gesturing at the laptop one of his people was carrying Tomas continued. "This machine does not have anything useful. Where are your notes?" It was more demand than question.

"On my laptop. In the lab," Michel replied, his voice creaky from his dry mouth and throat. If his memory of the lab being destroyed by an explosion was accurate, then the notes were lost. The anger on his captor's face confirmed it, but Michel's relief was short-lived.

His anger leashed with startling suddeness, Tomas leaned down to Michel's face and spoke softly, but with deadly purpose. "Tell us the process."

Michel was aware that these people were very dangerous, but he had made a decision six years earlier that he would not have any part of terrorism. He would not act to harm the innocent. While he had given no thought to possible military applications of his discovery, it was clear to him that telling this man anything would betray that decision, and himself. This man was not interested in humanitarian uses for his material.

Michel tried hard to not think of his family waiting at home with no idea of what had happened. Did Veronique think he was dead in the lab explosion? If she knew he was alive, would she understand his choice? As Michel's silence stretched, Tomas examined his face for weakness. Seeing only determination, he nodded and retreated. At his gesture one of the men came forward.

How long the beatings, then lashings, lasted Michel would never be able to say. They apparently did not want to do debilitating damage as nothing was broken. They also did not want to cloud his mental faculties as they did not inject him with any drugs. Michel did not appreciate these subtle points as waves of excruciating pain washed through him.

Calling a halt, Tomas stepped forward to assess him once more. This young scientist was tougher than he had first anticipated, however Tomas had a suitable contingency.

"I will be back soon. You *will* tell us." The voice was cool, confident. Tomas and his men left and Michel let his mind drift with the pain.

Part Four (Section One)

Operations strode behind the briefing desk to address the assembled operatives. Using a remote, he brought up the picture of a middle-aged man.

"This is Josef Deitz. He specialises in acquiring information relating to new technical discoveries that may have value to the terrorist community. He has links through all the major research laboratories in Europe, and sells information on those discoveries, and the researchers who make them, to interested parties. His most recent transaction involves this scientist."

With a touch the picture changed to the face of an attractive young man and Operations continued, "Michel Samuelle. He has discovered a process that results in a ceramic class material which has a wide range of potential applications, including low reflection missile casings and weapons. He, his wife and son, and his notes were taken in raids last night, to this man."

Another change of image, and there was a slight shifting of weight, indicating recognition, amongst the group listening attentively. "Tomas Gutterez, an up and coming player within the Freedom League. We believe Dr Samuelle is being held at a location in eastern Germany. The objective is to get him out of Gutterez's hands and eliminate the substation. Your panels have been updated. The mission leaves in one hour."

Damian, the level four operative leading the mission, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Section wanted the young scientist alive - his discoveries would be of use to them too - but his family had been deemed collateral. Madeline had specified in the profile that it was to appear to Michel that his family had been killed by the terrorist faction holding them. The timing could be tricky. Still considering tactical logistics the team leader proceeded to Munitions for his weapons.

Part Five (Germany)

Michel was startled out of his daze by the bang of his door opening. Blinking rapidly he had trouble focussing on the group that entered, and once he did, he had trouble believing what he was seeing.

Veronique. Here.

Her clothes were bloodied and torn and her face badly bruised. She was only barely conscious, sagging against the man who gripped her arm, dragging her along. No attempt had been made to hide the fact she had been raped as well as beaten.

No! The howl of despair, of grief, of guilt, of horror ripped through him, but never made it past his throat. He had never understood why his strongest feelings rendered him silent. The death of his parents. The brutalisation of his wife. Somehow the silence underscored his terrible impotence.

A man at the back of the group stepped out to the side, carelessly holding a bundle under his arm. Michel's breath stopped when he realised the bundle was Alain. Seeing the child hanging so very still, so limp, he started to hyperventilate in terror. Heedless of the pain wracking his damaged body, not even feeling it in the surge of andrenaline, he surged fruitlessly against his bonds.

A backhand blow brought his attention back to his inquisitor, Tomas.

"Will you answer our questions now?" he demanded.

Michel looked towards his son once more, managing to find enough air to whisper "Yes."

Gripping Michel's face to force his attention back to his questioner, Tomas searched his face, considering what Michel's face had revealed. "Good. Though I think more incentive is needed to ensure you give us the truth."

"No!" This time the cry reached his lips, but it did not deter Tomas. Turning he nodded to one of the guards, who raised his gun, and shot Veronique in the head at close range. Caught between the urge to scream, to vomit, to cry in sheer shock, Michel's breath caught in his throat as he tried first to lunge forward, then to curl his body into a ball, only to be brought up short in both attempts by his bonds.

The high keening of his anguish again did not make it past his throat. To his captors Michel was uncannily mute as his body started rocking. Michel did not feel the blows that followed: his focus was not diverted from Veronique's body until Alain was brought into his field of view. The icy chill that ran through him at the sight of his unconscious, and helpless, child roused Michel from his numbness.

Seeing he had Michel's attention once more, Tomas continued, his voice chillingly matter-of-fact. "Do not hope we will kill the boy too. There are far worse things we can do, and he will feel every one of them. Now tell us the process."

While he was aware intellectually that Tomas would probably kill both Alain and himself once he had what he wanted, Michel's emotions would not let him risk the faint thread of hope for a better outcome. His voice no more than a whisper, Michel gave the information Tomas wanted, his eyes never wavering from his son's small form.

Tomas left, leaving only the man holding Alain. There were threats, and instructions to the guard, but Michel did not listen to either. His focus was entirely on his son's breathing.

***

A group of black-clad figures left the confines of a black van and crept through the shadows into the target building. Each had a specific objective, and a certain knowledge of the price of failure.

The mission went hot.

***

The guard holding Alain turned his head, listening intently to the pattern of gunfire now echoing throughout the building. To Michel the time taken to make his decision was all too brief.

"Please," he whimpered, desperate to save his son even if he could not save himself. Ignoring him, the guard held Alain's unconscious body out at arm's length, hand gripping the child behind the neck. He raised his gun.

"Please."

The shot ripped through the small body, causing it to jerk once, wildly, before it was dropped onto the blood-covered floor.

Michel never noticed the guard turning the gun towards him. His world had stopped.

***

Damian moved through the lower parts of building with insignificant resistance. From the communications chatter, minimal though it was, he could tell that most of the fighting was taking place near the computer room. IR scans placed the hostages in this area, and his job was to secure the package - Michel Samuelle. Coming to a doorway he automatically shot the hostile who had the poor sense to be facing into the room. Assessing the scene he realised that he had just been in time to prevent the package from being executed.

Damian glanced over the bodies before continuing into the room. The wife and child were accounted for - good. That was one less detail he had to see to. He moved to the bound captive in the chair. While Michel's eyes were open, he seemed frozen into his position, staring sightlessly at the smallest body on the floor. Only his ragged, shallow breathing showed he was a living man, and not a grotesquely positioned statue. Damian assessed the injuries he could see, as well as the symptoms of shock the other man was displaying, and reached into his vest for a sedative. It would be easiest to carry the package in.

Once his team confirmed the area was clean Damian had another operative carry the package to the van. The computers had been stripped, strategically placed charges were about to destroy the building, and Housekeeping would see to the cover story and clean up the mess. The mission had been a success.

Part Six (Section One)

Madeline examined the unconcious man on the bed in Medlab. His physical wounds were healing well. Section generally interrogated the scientists it acquired then disposed of them, but her research into the background of this young man, and the impressive range of talents it revealed, had tipped the balance in his favour. Section could use him. If he had not backed out of the revolutionary group he had belonged to during his University days, Section might already have had him. A pity - getting them young, especially after a brutalising prison stay, seemed to generate excellent operatives. Similar conditions could be simulated within Section however, and Michel was still young enough to be malleable. It was time to bring him out from the sedation and start him on his new path.

Operations had been surprised at her decision, questioning it. Once she had shown him Michel's preliminary profile however, he had agreed that the young man appeared to be a good choice. Now she had to mould the young scientist to Section's requirements. To Madeline using Michel in a technical capacity was a fallback position she did not want to have to use. If she did this right, he had the potential to be an outstanding operative. Choosing the right trainer would be crucial, but for the moment she was the best equipped to take full advantage of his current vulnerability. Given his unusual recruitment circumstances a few changes were also required to the usual orientation.

She watched as Section's latest piece of material slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the glare of the lights.

"Hello." Michel turned his head to the source of the soft, warm voice, feeling fogged.

"You're in a place called Section One. This is where you'll train. This is where you'll learn. After two years, if you survive, you'll work for us."

Her words made no sense, and his confusion showed as he groggily looked around the room.

"Train? To do what? Who are you?" he asked groggily. He reconsidered the last question. "What are you?"

"We fight terrorists", a precisely calibrated pause, "like those who killed your family."

She watched as her words hit home, causing an upwelling of deep grief. There ought to be some guilt there too, that he had been unable to protect those he loved. If not, she would instill it. Guilt was an emotion she could use to manipulate him onto a path of Section's choosing. Another precisely calibrated pause. It was now time to divert him before he became lost in the horror of his memories , subsumed by his grief.

"The outside world thinks you are dead." No need yet to reveal the scenario designed to entrap him - it would only alienate him at this point. "This was your funeral." She showed him a photograph, and he stared at it silently, confusion clear on his face as he became more alert.

"Why?" he eventually asked, tearing his eyes from the picture she proferred, to look into her calm brown eyes. His own eyes, and the sudden wariness in his voice, revealed the abrupt awareness of a possible trap. Madeline was pleased - his instincts were better than she had hoped. She also noted his eyes were changing colour with his moods, shifting between blue, grey and green, and she started correlating the colours with facial expressions. The information could be useful later.

"We are an extremely covert organisation. Noone can know that you work for us. Rest now. We will speak further in a few hours." He would have many questions by then, and would not like the answers, but the aim was to divert his grief. Anger would be preferable. Anger could be ... directed. Used. The drugs entering his body via the IV line would help her to keep him focussed outwards.

"My name is Madeline", she suddenly revealed as she was leaving. She turned to look at him once more as she asked, "Can we call you Michael?" His response would allow her to gauge her progress so far. The pause was longer than she would have liked, but eventually he gave the answer she sought.

"Yes."

The End.

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