Vertias Odium Parit
Destiny Dictates

Mr Parker sat once again in the tower meeting room. He had been there for almost 10 minutes and only now two figures had arrived. They sat in the chairs closest but still in the shadows. One lit up before talking.

"Did you miss our meetings that much, Mr Parker?" asked the male figure.

To hell with formality, Mr Parker thought.

"Jarod is useless! He's crazier than my own son. He cannot even perform simple simulations with accuracy. Millions have been lost, not to mention my daughter, her tech, his daughter, my son and one of Raines' creations!" Mr Parker yelled.

"We are aware of this." The man stated calmly.

Take deep breaths, they'll kill you as soon as look at you - sooner if they think you will waste their time. "Well what do you intend to do about it?"

"Have him moved to one of the nicer sub-levels, and remove all contact with Mr Lyle."

"That is not the point!"

"Oh," said a woman's voice, "and stop all searches for his family, they are no longer necessary."

Mr Parker was undeterred. "My daughter is gone! Traded for a man who sits there singing about toad's feet." He stopped yelling. "I'll take this to the triumvirate."

The figures laughed.

"We are the triumvirate."

Mr. Parker scanned the room, trying to see in the shadows. The triumvirate, here? No, please no, he thought. But no matter how hard he strained Mr Parker could only see two.

"We agree much better this way," said the man, as if reading his thoughts.

"This still doesn't change anything," growled Mr Parker.

"Mr Parker," said the women, "The fact that Jarod is no longer useful is irrelevant, all that matters is that he's not free."

"Why?" Mr Parker knew it might well be a death sentence.

The male figure leaned forward. "The centre is full of people with special talents; your own wife was one."

The woman carried on. "Is it not, therefore, conceivable that there was more than one scroll?"

Mr Parker thought for a moment. "If that's so, then why not simply kill Jarod and keep my daughter?"

"Miss Parker has her own destiny to fulfil," said the man cryptically. "Away from the Centre."

"She has the Pretender gene."

They laughed again.

"There are more Pretenders than you think, Mr Parker. We only want certain ones."

"Not Miss Parker?" asked the chairman.

"Not Miss Parker," confirmed the woman.

From behind hands now grasped Mr Parker, pulling him firmly to the door.

"Who?" he yelled.

"Her daughter," came the woman's easy reply.