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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
The Winds of Change
Chapter 2 (rating PG)
The Centre, Blue Cove, Delaware
Infirmary Building, Level 3
August 7, 1997 2000 EST
Sydney felt both pity and contempt for the silent figure lying before him. Not long ago, this gnarled, bandaged form had been the at least animate body of his colleague, and one time friend, Dr. William Raines. The Centre had the best medical facilities available. Even that might not be enough. With severe burns over sixty percent of his already frail, damaged body and severe tissue damage and scarring inside his lungs, the doctors were not optimistic about Raines’ chance for regaining consciousness.
Sydney did not hold the illusion that had the roles been reversed Raines would be here visiting him now. Raines had lost the capacity to feel years ago. He lost that ability about the same time he lost the ability to breathe unaided by the oxygen tank which was his undoing. Sydney quietly noted the bitter irony of the situation. Even now, the steady infusion of oxygen keeping Raines alive under the burn tent mirrored the labored breathing which for years had been his dark trademark. How bitterly similar and yet tragically different were these two extensions of Raines’ existence.
In 1982, Raines had disappeared for three months. When he returned, he was chained to the portable oxygen bottle he carried since. Raines reportedly had undergone surgery for lung and throat cancer. It was after this that Sydney noticed the changes in him. He lost his humanity. Something in Raines died on the operating table that day. Maybe it was his soul. Never a personable man, Raines deteriorated over the years to a skulking ghoul, haunting the Centre and terrorizing the Pretenders, young and old alike. Even to this day, he evoked far greater amounts of fear than respect from co-workers and students alike.
It had not always been that way, Sydney recalled. Sydney, his brother Jacob and Raines had been hired in the early sixties for the Centre’s Pretender Projects. They had been a dynamic team of young idealists in those early days. The world was theirs and the Centre provided the avenues for research and advancement impossible to reach outside these walls. Jacob held a Doctorate in Biology and a Masters in Organic Chemistry. Today, they would call Jacob a micro-biologist, but even then he understood more about DNA replication and gene splicing than Sydney suspected most scientists knew to this day. Raines had been a medical doctor. A pioneer in micro-surgery and unequaled in radiographic medicine, Sydney knew that current medical researchers would greatly benefit from Raines’ extensive research in chemical and radiation therapies.
Modern science was only now beginning to approach his work in the early sixties. Sydney was a certified Psychologist, a Behaviorist and the designer of the simulation projects. Sydney suspected that both his brother and Raines had underestimated his contribution to the program. Jacob had perhaps known, or was beginning to know before his accident. God knows, Jacob knew far more than Sydney ever suspected. Neither man treated him with the professional respect he felt he earned. The Centre always recruited the best talent. Money was no object to their needs. It had been an honor and a privilege to work with the Centre, or was it? Sydney was no longer so sure.
Their names were not likely to appear in any history books despite the brilliance of their many innovations. Neither would the names of Jarod, Kyle, Daniel, Bridgett, Samantha, Julie, Marc nor any of the other Pretenders ever achieve the recognition they deserved. The Centre held patents on many advances which had been created by its minions. Some of the more common of these included the microprocessor (under the name of Intel), laser technologies (under the name of Spectra-Physics), a new engine design (manufactured under license by Mazda Engineering – Rotary Engine Division), the Windows software programs (managed by first generation Pretender Billy), Doppler and Aegis radar systems (under the name of Sperry) and many other products in frighteningly common use. The Centre would not disclose the true originators of these products because exposure was death for corporations such as them. Their business was anonymity. They were paid well for it. So was Sydney.
The Centre coupled a number of the most successful Mutual Funds (managed by two first generation Pretenders) with a hard currency depository greater than most independent nations. Sydney knew the Centre would not soon run short of funding. The Centre was either exempt from or simply above scrutiny. Sydney could never decide which. The Centre never wanted for anything. Except Jarod, Sydney mused. They wanted him badly enough. Sydney knew that they would not be able to retrieve him though. Jarod had out-survived the rest of the second-generation Pretenders through intellect and sheer will. Sydney knew of no man to match him.
Jarod was the most intelligent Pretender to pass through the program but Jarod was never a true Pretender. Throughout his sims and exercises he always retained some part of himself, just with a filter, so to speak. He never truly let himself go and completely absorb the object of the sim. Sydney had been unable to break him of the habit, despite many attempts. This habit made Jarod less effective for sims of past situations. He was consequently shuttled off for the more important planning or future sims and the current event sims. In these, Jarod was unequaled. Often, Jarod’s solutions to scenarios had been real-time sent to field operatives and been implemented with outstanding results. The other Pretenders had much greater problems with these. Sydney suspected that Jarod’s insistence in maintaining self in the sim environment allowed him to use his own intellect while absorbing the surrounding conditions. Sydney recognized this talent and stopped trying to break Jarod of the habit, despite Tower directives to the contrary.
Jarod, Angelo and Julie had been Sydney’s Pretender projects for the second generation group. As was the custom, Sydney’s Pretenders never saw each other. Each one was a separate experiment. Sydney honored this command of the Tower with the same dedication as he observed each rule at the Centre, with few exceptions. Each second generation Pretender had an assigned counterpart for sims: Jarod had Kyle, Samantha had Julie, Daniel had Angelo, and Bridgett had Marc. Occasionally, the counterparts had contact with each other and performed sims together. The Centre allowed no contact between Pretenders within each generation excepting between sim partners. Samantha, Daniel and Marc had been Jacob’s second generation Pretenders. Kyle and Bridgett had been Raines' Gen-2 Pretenders. After the accident which put Jacob in a coma, Sydney took over Samantha and Raines was given Daniel and Marc. Samantha and Julie were used together in sims and had previous exposure to each other. The Tower allowed Sydney to maintain the contact between Julie and Samantha after Jacob’s accident. Sydney fostered this relationship. It seemed to help the girls.
Samantha and Julie disappeared from the Centre in 1969, which Sydney now suspected was part of Catherine Parker’s attempt to "rescue" the children. Maybe she helped, but at the time Sydney did not think so. Samantha, Julie and most of the other "rescued" children were recently found dead. Most had suffered deaths from random accidents. Sydney found this proliferation of random incidents disturbingly precise.
Daniel died in a sim accident in 1971. The simulation DSA showed Daniel trapped in an air deprivation bubble. The purpose of the sim was to study the effects of asphyxiation. As the air began to run out, Daniel had pleaded with Raines. He called his safe word, Sanctuary, repeatedly, but Raines sat unmoved. Immediately after the boy’s collapse, Raines removed him from the chamber and attempted to revive him but was unsuccessful. Daniel’s death had been a severe blow for Raines’ credibility. Sydney used both this incident and another involving the use of real hydrochloric acid during a Jarod and Kyle interrogation sim to demonstrate that Raines was pushing things too far. After the Tower reprimanded Raines, things were never the same between them. This occurred shortly before the unscheduled release of Bridgett and Marc.
Marc and Bridgett were the first Gen-2 Pretenders to be officially released. They had shown remarkable talents and potential. Although not up to Jarod’s pure intellect, their motor skills and ability to adapt and blend with their surroundings were unsurpassed by the others. Both Pretenders displayed incredible skills at mimicking during sims of past situations. Although he did not work with either Pretender, Sydney had reviewed may reports extolling the work Raines and Jacob had done with these two. Jacob raved constantly about the remarkable progress Marc was making right up until the accident. Raines took over Marc’s training after Jacob’s incapacitation. Marc and Bridgett were released in 1972 much to the surprise of everyone in the Pretender program group. They spent scarcely nine years at the Centre.
The release also coincided with the hiring of a new Program Director, Dimitri Klashinov, a distant relation to the Klashinov family of Russia. Dimitri defected to the Centre during the 1972 Olympics. He received amnesty with no publicity or fanfare by direction of both the Centre and the US Government. He brought his mechanical genius and electrical background to the Centre. He had posed as a gymnastics coach for the Russian women’s team. Sydney enjoyed the memory that he defected moments before a medal ceremony. Due to his sudden absence, the other Russian coaches had been forced to leave the gym or face some hard explanations. Sydney never suspected the Israeli athletes had lost their lives creating a diversion for this very defection.
Sydney never knew what happened to Dimitri, because like so many at the Centre, he disappeared as quickly as he appeared. He had most likely been transferred either to a language or code-breaking section. Sydney knew upon meeting him that his background had limited use to either of Sydney’s projects: the Pretender project and the Twins Research project. Apart from these two aspects of the Centre’s operations, Sydney knew few of the thousands employed at the Centre. Kyle was reportedly released in 1972 due to stagnation in his growth curve. This left only two second generation Pretenders at the Centre: Jarod and Angelo. Since both remaining Gen-2 Pretenders were Sydney’s responsibility, the Tower re-assigned Angelo to Raines following Kyle’s release.
Normally, eight to twelve Pretenders were admitted in each generation. Past experience had shown that of that number, only two or three would be suitable for the needs of the Centre. New generations of Pretenders were admitted every five years. They were currently recruiting for the next generation of Pretenders, Gen-9, scheduled for admission in 1998. They had already taken in two children for this generation, Rebecca and Marie. Sydney had now reached the level of Program Director and no longer had daily workings with the new Pretenders. He hired a very capable staff for those duties. He did however conduct a great deal of the recruitment himself. Congress had his proposed standardized tests in their possession and a vote was scheduled for next month. Standardized testing in public and private schools would make recruitment for the Centre much easier and much less random. Millions had been spent in the lobbying effort. Billions were at stake.
Sydney could not help wondering, with everything he had learned over the last year, how much he really knew about the Centre. Hard questions posed by Jacob and Jarod had forced him to turn a critical eye towards himself and his employer. Sydney knew the questions by rote but had precious few answers:
Kyle had been kept ten years after his supposed release. Why was he kept out of that decision? Why Kyle? How many more decisions had been made without his input?
Samantha and Julie had been ‘rescued’ then killed under very suspicious circumstances. Julie had been a doctor, a pediatrician. Samantha had been an actress. Each had lived for years without exposing the Centre. Why were they dead?
Jarod had seemed happy, or at least content to be at the Centre. Certainly life at the Centre was the best Jarod could have hoped for, was it not? Clearly, though, Jarod was held here for years against his will. Why?
Jarod had always displayed short and long term memory lapses, but Sydney believed that to be in the nature of the Pretenders. They all experienced it. He hypothesized that in changing persona, Pretenders shed memories as well as psyche. Since his escape, Jarod had developed a nearly photographic memory. Why?
Who was trying to retrieve Jarod? Sydney knew in his heart and his mind that Jarod was no danger to the Centre or to himself. The only way to cause Jarod to go over the edge was to pursue him as they were. All they really needed were the DSAs to reconstruct Jarod’s contributions to the program. Didn’t he deserve the freedom?
Why was Raines ready to shoot Jarod down in the street when the Tower Directive was to bring him back alive? Even Raines could not blatantly disobey a Tower Directive, could he?
What did Jacob know that he still did not?
Questions, always questions and he still had precious few answers. Precious few. Sydney knew the answer to these, and many other questions lay dormant in the broken, comatose body before him. It made him sad to be this close to so many answers and yet be so far from the knowledge contained in them. The irony did not escape him. The Centre’s primary force for good (Jacob) and for evil (Raines) were now effectively neutralized. All that remained was the Centre’s conscience, Sydney.
"Don’t tell me you forgot." The ice cold tear of Miss Parker’s voice would have startled any man alive. Sydney, unimpressed, began to wonder if he was really alive or if he was just starting to wake up from a coma of his own. He had been in such deep thought that he had not heard the hollow shell of a person he once loved as a daughter approach.
"Miss Parker," his level, hushed voice was stark contrast to hers in the intensive care ward, "how could I have forgotten about our meeting. Shall we go to the conference room or do you want to have the meeting here." The sly smirk on Sydney’s face belied his amusement at her impending answer.
"No thanks, Syd. Frankenstein’s even creepier now than he was alive." Her beligerant tone belied a contempt beyond expression.
With her usual disdain for regulation, Miss Parker deliberately exhaled a lung-full of smoke in the direction of the oxygen tent. Sydney found her total disregard for regulations astonishing, especially coming from her background in the Special Investigations Service, the police of the Centre. He correctly guessed that most people assumed it was much safer leaving her to her own devices. "Besides, we’re moving the meeting to the Lear. We have reason to believe Jarod’s in Arizona. We’re leaving immediately. I hope you packed your toothbrush this morning." Her look was a challenge, one Sydney knew enough to avoid.
"As always," he replied calmly. His research would have to wait. Again.
Sydney noticed the hard, cold eyes of Miss Parker glance towards the respirator. He did not need his years of training to deduce the workings of her mind. The SIS had done the investigation of the Raines shooting, and no one really knew who had shot the oxygen tank. Sydney could not help wonder if perhaps she had used her contacts and garnished the favor of an inconclusive investigation. No one at the Centre, excepting the highest echelons of power, would miss Raines, and the shooter would garner more praise than contempt from the staff. Did she really have that much power? Her father certainly did. Maybe that was enough. She lingered just a moment too long at the power strip feeding the life support equipment. Perhaps she was contemplating finishing a job she started only two months ago. Sydney wished he had the courage.
As they turned to walk away, the heavily bandaged head of Dr. Raines rolled slightly towards them. Although neither took notice of this, Raines had taken notice of them.
*****
Little Rock, Arkansas
August 7, 1997 1915 CST
Jarod arrived at the Little Rock airport fifteen minutes behind schedule. Despite the sheer volume of people moved by airlines each day, he was still amazed at their lackadaisical approach to scheduling. Furthermore, the small, twin engine SAAB airplane he had taken from Dallas-Fort Worth was the height of discomfort. Quietly he mused that someone had obviously done extensive calculations to determine the seating arrangement of this plane. They did not want to promote bodily harm, but still needed transit the maximum number of people possible. It reinforced his hatred of commercial airlines.
Jarod made it a habit to not use commercial aircraft to travel around the country. Certainly this was not out of a fear of flying. It was due mostly to the knowledge that should he be tracked to a specific flight, Miss Parker would be the happiest person in the arrival terminal. Not that Jarod would mind being met at the gate. Air travel was a constant reminder of the loss of home and family to him. Getting off the plane and entering the terminal he was bombarded with scenes of homecoming: kids running to greet parents; lovers embracing with the passion of completed separation; old friends laughing off the years. In all this Jarod felt the sorrow of the lone man with no expectant faces; no welcoming party, as the slang went. The Centre had seen to it that his one chance at this was ruined. At times like this, the loneliness was crushing. As with anything, though, habit gets you caught. If he never used the airlines it would free the Centre up to search for him more easily in other areas. Maybe the Centre already stopped watching the airlines knowing his disdain for them. He doubted it.
The pleasant woman at the rental counter handed Jarod the keys to a Chevy Lumina. Her charming smile tried to say something more, but Jarod was blind to it. He had begun to completely enter the new arena. His new persona was taking hold. The drivers license he showed her took him ten minutes to create. Updating the Massachusetts State Patrol records took less than two. His degree from the University of Illinois took slightly longer, but he figured someone in the admissions department was accustomed to hackers. They had installed the latest in protective software. Jarod found it dreadfully inadequate.
The white Lumina positively sparkled in the mid-afternoon sun. Jarod quickly scanned the car for damage, in order to appear normal. He had no doubt that the rental agency would never see this car again. The Centre would undoubtedly tear it apart, bolt by bolt. This was the usual fate of his rental cars. He was unconcerned about the insurance or deposit, either. Miss Parker had just opened a new Gold Card account with Citibank and remarkably a duplicate card, authorized to her boyfriend Jarod Stewart, arrived at his PO Box. The card would be handy, but he did feel a slight pang of remorse about what he was doing to her credit rating. On some level, though, he knew it kept them close. Anyway, Jarod always figured she placed these expenditures on her Centre expense report. She never did.
He popped the hood and made a show of checking the oil and the other vital fluids of the car. Everything was as he expected. Before leaving the engine compartment, he replaced the standard GM computer control chip with his own ‘Jarod Special’ chip. The chip upped the performance of the 3.4 liter engine to nearly 300 horsepower. Of course the engine was only good for about ten thousand miles but he wasn’t concerned.
The next stop was to a Goodyear tire center. The extremely surprised salesman sold him four brand-new Eagle Aquatreds to replace the Michelin tires currently on the car. Jarod expected to spend quite a bit of driving time in the rain, and he knew these were the best tires for hard driving in the rain. Despite his initial shock, the gold card convinced the salesman quickly, and Jarod was on his way in a matter of twenty minutes.
Finally, Jarod stopped by the local WalMart to stock up on some of the supplies he would need for the next two weeks. Toiletries, clothes, underwear, Pez, a small traveling bag, a Magellan GPS unit and a 100 foot measuring tape completed the list. On the way out the store, he picked up a few magazines, crumpled them up and placed them on the driver's seat. He then proceeded to sit on them and drive off, with the traveling bag tied to the rear bumper support for the Lumina. Four miles down the road he pulled off, retrieved the dilapidated bag and packed his small assortment of goods into it. Jarod Stewart was ready to begin.
*****
Carthage, Missouri
Sunset Mobile Home Park, near Route 96 East
August 8, 1997 1347 CST
If Jarod had children, he would have understood the scene before him. What had only minutes before been a quiet, nice community of manicured lawns and skirted mobile homes was now a scene of mass destruction. It was as if a giant child had thrown a temper tantrum and had strewn its toys about with reckless abandon. Five ton trailers lay tossed about like matchsticks. Others had roofs and siding peeled off like string cheese. Jarod had seen the aftermath of war and it paled in comparison to this. For once in his life, Jarod was utterly speechless.
Families began to emerge from the hollowed out shelters they had dug into the ground and surveyed the damage. The wail of numerous sirens filled the air as EMS and police units converged on a community unaccustomed to attention. The tears of children and adults alike filled Jarod with a sense of burning and loss he struggled to fight back. He had to act or face being swallowed whole by the scene. He quickly set up a triage station and organized the rescue of two families trapped in trailers that had suddenly discovered an affinity for flight. The carnage was sickening.
A group of tourists were found fifteen minutes later in a full sized van that the twister tossed from Route 96 into the Kellogg Lake, nearly two hundred yards away. Their driver, a freelance photographer had panicked when the F-4 tornado turned on them. Not realizing the storm would follow the road, he attempted to outrun the twister. In his vain attempt to outrun the wind, he misjudged a corner and ran the van headlong into an oak tree. The tornado was on them before anyone had a chance to regain consciousness from the accident. Another amateur storm chaser out for a good picture unknowingly putting his own life and the life of six others in the balance. The odds always came through. Jarod could not understand the impulse that drove a man to intentionally witness this carnage. He could not understand how another human could thrive on the suffering of others. Maybe he should have asked himself that same question.
Jarod maintained the field triage unit as best he could until the EMS arrived. The tornado had cut a wide swath through the area, devastating twenty-seven homes, a small twelve unit apartment complex and this trailer park. It really could have been worse, though. The tornado had passed between two busy hotels where it crossed Route 96. The Circle W truck stop had not been so lucky.
With top winds estimated at 225 miles per hour and a funnel width of 75 yards at the base, it was one of the most devastating storms of this lengthening season. It was late for storms of this magnitude. By now, most long-time residents began to watch the gulf coast for hurricanes. This area of the country faced many of Nature’s forces. They dealt with each as best they could. This was hard for even them to understand.
Jarod spent seven hours walking the five miles of the storm's path. He traced the storm along gully, hill, road and river. He took careful, painstaking measurements and continually monitored his progress and position with the Magellan GPS unit he had recently purchased. Although less accurate than his own GPS, this unit drew much less attention. With the proliferation of hunters in this area, the locals were no stranger to GPS systems. They would notice if his was different. Every few feet, he noted measurements and position in his notebook and on a DMA topographical chart he had downloaded ten hours before and then continued.
Despite the late hour, slipping away from the trailer park had turned out to be harder than he suspected. The media had shown up in full force along with the usual gaggle of storm junkies and disaster freaks. Many of the locals sighted him as he tracked the storm’s path through the trailer park and directed the media towards their ‘angel of mercy.’ Jarod narrowly avoided the glare of the camera lights and had to beat a hasty retreat to avoid being spotted and filmed. Jarod knew from his experience as a camera-man that after editing the hours of film being shot would amount to only a few seconds on the evening news, but he could not take the chance. This was too important.
Finally, out of the glare of the lights he tracked the storm to its end in an open field. Jarod was not surprised to find he was not the first to arrive here. Four people stood in the shallow circle of torn grass that marked the end of the storm’s path. He had been expecting them, although they knew nothing of him. As he approached, he took note of the three men and one woman standing in a circle, talking about the twister. He knew them all by reputation, all except the woman. She was a recent addition to the team, added three months ago. Her camera equipment identified her as the photographer.
"Hello, my name is Jarod. Jarod Stewart."
His abrupt introduction clearly startled the group who quickly abandoned their conversation and wheeled to face Jarod as an adversary. They incorrectly assumed he was with the media. "What are you doing here?" the eldest one, perhaps fifty, challenged.
"Oh," said Jarod, casually strolling up to the group, "just taking a walk. Say, are you guys hiring?"
Chapter 2 (rating PG)
The Centre, Blue Cove, Delaware
Infirmary Building, Level 3
August 7, 1997 2000 EST
Sydney felt both pity and contempt for the silent figure lying before him. Not long ago, this gnarled, bandaged form had been the at least animate body of his colleague, and one time friend, Dr. William Raines. The Centre had the best medical facilities available. Even that might not be enough. With severe burns over sixty percent of his already frail, damaged body and severe tissue damage and scarring inside his lungs, the doctors were not optimistic about Raines’ chance for regaining consciousness.
Sydney did not hold the illusion that had the roles been reversed Raines would be here visiting him now. Raines had lost the capacity to feel years ago. He lost that ability about the same time he lost the ability to breathe unaided by the oxygen tank which was his undoing. Sydney quietly noted the bitter irony of the situation. Even now, the steady infusion of oxygen keeping Raines alive under the burn tent mirrored the labored breathing which for years had been his dark trademark. How bitterly similar and yet tragically different were these two extensions of Raines’ existence.
In 1982, Raines had disappeared for three months. When he returned, he was chained to the portable oxygen bottle he carried since. Raines reportedly had undergone surgery for lung and throat cancer. It was after this that Sydney noticed the changes in him. He lost his humanity. Something in Raines died on the operating table that day. Maybe it was his soul. Never a personable man, Raines deteriorated over the years to a skulking ghoul, haunting the Centre and terrorizing the Pretenders, young and old alike. Even to this day, he evoked far greater amounts of fear than respect from co-workers and students alike.
It had not always been that way, Sydney recalled. Sydney, his brother Jacob and Raines had been hired in the early sixties for the Centre’s Pretender Projects. They had been a dynamic team of young idealists in those early days. The world was theirs and the Centre provided the avenues for research and advancement impossible to reach outside these walls. Jacob held a Doctorate in Biology and a Masters in Organic Chemistry. Today, they would call Jacob a micro-biologist, but even then he understood more about DNA replication and gene splicing than Sydney suspected most scientists knew to this day. Raines had been a medical doctor. A pioneer in micro-surgery and unequaled in radiographic medicine, Sydney knew that current medical researchers would greatly benefit from Raines’ extensive research in chemical and radiation therapies.
Modern science was only now beginning to approach his work in the early sixties. Sydney was a certified Psychologist, a Behaviorist and the designer of the simulation projects. Sydney suspected that both his brother and Raines had underestimated his contribution to the program. Jacob had perhaps known, or was beginning to know before his accident. God knows, Jacob knew far more than Sydney ever suspected. Neither man treated him with the professional respect he felt he earned. The Centre always recruited the best talent. Money was no object to their needs. It had been an honor and a privilege to work with the Centre, or was it? Sydney was no longer so sure.
Their names were not likely to appear in any history books despite the brilliance of their many innovations. Neither would the names of Jarod, Kyle, Daniel, Bridgett, Samantha, Julie, Marc nor any of the other Pretenders ever achieve the recognition they deserved. The Centre held patents on many advances which had been created by its minions. Some of the more common of these included the microprocessor (under the name of Intel), laser technologies (under the name of Spectra-Physics), a new engine design (manufactured under license by Mazda Engineering – Rotary Engine Division), the Windows software programs (managed by first generation Pretender Billy), Doppler and Aegis radar systems (under the name of Sperry) and many other products in frighteningly common use. The Centre would not disclose the true originators of these products because exposure was death for corporations such as them. Their business was anonymity. They were paid well for it. So was Sydney.
The Centre coupled a number of the most successful Mutual Funds (managed by two first generation Pretenders) with a hard currency depository greater than most independent nations. Sydney knew the Centre would not soon run short of funding. The Centre was either exempt from or simply above scrutiny. Sydney could never decide which. The Centre never wanted for anything. Except Jarod, Sydney mused. They wanted him badly enough. Sydney knew that they would not be able to retrieve him though. Jarod had out-survived the rest of the second-generation Pretenders through intellect and sheer will. Sydney knew of no man to match him.
Jarod was the most intelligent Pretender to pass through the program but Jarod was never a true Pretender. Throughout his sims and exercises he always retained some part of himself, just with a filter, so to speak. He never truly let himself go and completely absorb the object of the sim. Sydney had been unable to break him of the habit, despite many attempts. This habit made Jarod less effective for sims of past situations. He was consequently shuttled off for the more important planning or future sims and the current event sims. In these, Jarod was unequaled. Often, Jarod’s solutions to scenarios had been real-time sent to field operatives and been implemented with outstanding results. The other Pretenders had much greater problems with these. Sydney suspected that Jarod’s insistence in maintaining self in the sim environment allowed him to use his own intellect while absorbing the surrounding conditions. Sydney recognized this talent and stopped trying to break Jarod of the habit, despite Tower directives to the contrary.
Jarod, Angelo and Julie had been Sydney’s Pretender projects for the second generation group. As was the custom, Sydney’s Pretenders never saw each other. Each one was a separate experiment. Sydney honored this command of the Tower with the same dedication as he observed each rule at the Centre, with few exceptions. Each second generation Pretender had an assigned counterpart for sims: Jarod had Kyle, Samantha had Julie, Daniel had Angelo, and Bridgett had Marc. Occasionally, the counterparts had contact with each other and performed sims together. The Centre allowed no contact between Pretenders within each generation excepting between sim partners. Samantha, Daniel and Marc had been Jacob’s second generation Pretenders. Kyle and Bridgett had been Raines' Gen-2 Pretenders. After the accident which put Jacob in a coma, Sydney took over Samantha and Raines was given Daniel and Marc. Samantha and Julie were used together in sims and had previous exposure to each other. The Tower allowed Sydney to maintain the contact between Julie and Samantha after Jacob’s accident. Sydney fostered this relationship. It seemed to help the girls.
Samantha and Julie disappeared from the Centre in 1969, which Sydney now suspected was part of Catherine Parker’s attempt to "rescue" the children. Maybe she helped, but at the time Sydney did not think so. Samantha, Julie and most of the other "rescued" children were recently found dead. Most had suffered deaths from random accidents. Sydney found this proliferation of random incidents disturbingly precise.
Daniel died in a sim accident in 1971. The simulation DSA showed Daniel trapped in an air deprivation bubble. The purpose of the sim was to study the effects of asphyxiation. As the air began to run out, Daniel had pleaded with Raines. He called his safe word, Sanctuary, repeatedly, but Raines sat unmoved. Immediately after the boy’s collapse, Raines removed him from the chamber and attempted to revive him but was unsuccessful. Daniel’s death had been a severe blow for Raines’ credibility. Sydney used both this incident and another involving the use of real hydrochloric acid during a Jarod and Kyle interrogation sim to demonstrate that Raines was pushing things too far. After the Tower reprimanded Raines, things were never the same between them. This occurred shortly before the unscheduled release of Bridgett and Marc.
Marc and Bridgett were the first Gen-2 Pretenders to be officially released. They had shown remarkable talents and potential. Although not up to Jarod’s pure intellect, their motor skills and ability to adapt and blend with their surroundings were unsurpassed by the others. Both Pretenders displayed incredible skills at mimicking during sims of past situations. Although he did not work with either Pretender, Sydney had reviewed may reports extolling the work Raines and Jacob had done with these two. Jacob raved constantly about the remarkable progress Marc was making right up until the accident. Raines took over Marc’s training after Jacob’s incapacitation. Marc and Bridgett were released in 1972 much to the surprise of everyone in the Pretender program group. They spent scarcely nine years at the Centre.
The release also coincided with the hiring of a new Program Director, Dimitri Klashinov, a distant relation to the Klashinov family of Russia. Dimitri defected to the Centre during the 1972 Olympics. He received amnesty with no publicity or fanfare by direction of both the Centre and the US Government. He brought his mechanical genius and electrical background to the Centre. He had posed as a gymnastics coach for the Russian women’s team. Sydney enjoyed the memory that he defected moments before a medal ceremony. Due to his sudden absence, the other Russian coaches had been forced to leave the gym or face some hard explanations. Sydney never suspected the Israeli athletes had lost their lives creating a diversion for this very defection.
Sydney never knew what happened to Dimitri, because like so many at the Centre, he disappeared as quickly as he appeared. He had most likely been transferred either to a language or code-breaking section. Sydney knew upon meeting him that his background had limited use to either of Sydney’s projects: the Pretender project and the Twins Research project. Apart from these two aspects of the Centre’s operations, Sydney knew few of the thousands employed at the Centre. Kyle was reportedly released in 1972 due to stagnation in his growth curve. This left only two second generation Pretenders at the Centre: Jarod and Angelo. Since both remaining Gen-2 Pretenders were Sydney’s responsibility, the Tower re-assigned Angelo to Raines following Kyle’s release.
Normally, eight to twelve Pretenders were admitted in each generation. Past experience had shown that of that number, only two or three would be suitable for the needs of the Centre. New generations of Pretenders were admitted every five years. They were currently recruiting for the next generation of Pretenders, Gen-9, scheduled for admission in 1998. They had already taken in two children for this generation, Rebecca and Marie. Sydney had now reached the level of Program Director and no longer had daily workings with the new Pretenders. He hired a very capable staff for those duties. He did however conduct a great deal of the recruitment himself. Congress had his proposed standardized tests in their possession and a vote was scheduled for next month. Standardized testing in public and private schools would make recruitment for the Centre much easier and much less random. Millions had been spent in the lobbying effort. Billions were at stake.
Sydney could not help wondering, with everything he had learned over the last year, how much he really knew about the Centre. Hard questions posed by Jacob and Jarod had forced him to turn a critical eye towards himself and his employer. Sydney knew the questions by rote but had precious few answers:
Kyle had been kept ten years after his supposed release. Why was he kept out of that decision? Why Kyle? How many more decisions had been made without his input?
Samantha and Julie had been ‘rescued’ then killed under very suspicious circumstances. Julie had been a doctor, a pediatrician. Samantha had been an actress. Each had lived for years without exposing the Centre. Why were they dead?
Jarod had seemed happy, or at least content to be at the Centre. Certainly life at the Centre was the best Jarod could have hoped for, was it not? Clearly, though, Jarod was held here for years against his will. Why?
Jarod had always displayed short and long term memory lapses, but Sydney believed that to be in the nature of the Pretenders. They all experienced it. He hypothesized that in changing persona, Pretenders shed memories as well as psyche. Since his escape, Jarod had developed a nearly photographic memory. Why?
Who was trying to retrieve Jarod? Sydney knew in his heart and his mind that Jarod was no danger to the Centre or to himself. The only way to cause Jarod to go over the edge was to pursue him as they were. All they really needed were the DSAs to reconstruct Jarod’s contributions to the program. Didn’t he deserve the freedom?
Why was Raines ready to shoot Jarod down in the street when the Tower Directive was to bring him back alive? Even Raines could not blatantly disobey a Tower Directive, could he?
What did Jacob know that he still did not?
Questions, always questions and he still had precious few answers. Precious few. Sydney knew the answer to these, and many other questions lay dormant in the broken, comatose body before him. It made him sad to be this close to so many answers and yet be so far from the knowledge contained in them. The irony did not escape him. The Centre’s primary force for good (Jacob) and for evil (Raines) were now effectively neutralized. All that remained was the Centre’s conscience, Sydney.
"Don’t tell me you forgot." The ice cold tear of Miss Parker’s voice would have startled any man alive. Sydney, unimpressed, began to wonder if he was really alive or if he was just starting to wake up from a coma of his own. He had been in such deep thought that he had not heard the hollow shell of a person he once loved as a daughter approach.
"Miss Parker," his level, hushed voice was stark contrast to hers in the intensive care ward, "how could I have forgotten about our meeting. Shall we go to the conference room or do you want to have the meeting here." The sly smirk on Sydney’s face belied his amusement at her impending answer.
"No thanks, Syd. Frankenstein’s even creepier now than he was alive." Her beligerant tone belied a contempt beyond expression.
With her usual disdain for regulation, Miss Parker deliberately exhaled a lung-full of smoke in the direction of the oxygen tent. Sydney found her total disregard for regulations astonishing, especially coming from her background in the Special Investigations Service, the police of the Centre. He correctly guessed that most people assumed it was much safer leaving her to her own devices. "Besides, we’re moving the meeting to the Lear. We have reason to believe Jarod’s in Arizona. We’re leaving immediately. I hope you packed your toothbrush this morning." Her look was a challenge, one Sydney knew enough to avoid.
"As always," he replied calmly. His research would have to wait. Again.
Sydney noticed the hard, cold eyes of Miss Parker glance towards the respirator. He did not need his years of training to deduce the workings of her mind. The SIS had done the investigation of the Raines shooting, and no one really knew who had shot the oxygen tank. Sydney could not help wonder if perhaps she had used her contacts and garnished the favor of an inconclusive investigation. No one at the Centre, excepting the highest echelons of power, would miss Raines, and the shooter would garner more praise than contempt from the staff. Did she really have that much power? Her father certainly did. Maybe that was enough. She lingered just a moment too long at the power strip feeding the life support equipment. Perhaps she was contemplating finishing a job she started only two months ago. Sydney wished he had the courage.
As they turned to walk away, the heavily bandaged head of Dr. Raines rolled slightly towards them. Although neither took notice of this, Raines had taken notice of them.
*****
Little Rock, Arkansas
August 7, 1997 1915 CST
Jarod arrived at the Little Rock airport fifteen minutes behind schedule. Despite the sheer volume of people moved by airlines each day, he was still amazed at their lackadaisical approach to scheduling. Furthermore, the small, twin engine SAAB airplane he had taken from Dallas-Fort Worth was the height of discomfort. Quietly he mused that someone had obviously done extensive calculations to determine the seating arrangement of this plane. They did not want to promote bodily harm, but still needed transit the maximum number of people possible. It reinforced his hatred of commercial airlines.
Jarod made it a habit to not use commercial aircraft to travel around the country. Certainly this was not out of a fear of flying. It was due mostly to the knowledge that should he be tracked to a specific flight, Miss Parker would be the happiest person in the arrival terminal. Not that Jarod would mind being met at the gate. Air travel was a constant reminder of the loss of home and family to him. Getting off the plane and entering the terminal he was bombarded with scenes of homecoming: kids running to greet parents; lovers embracing with the passion of completed separation; old friends laughing off the years. In all this Jarod felt the sorrow of the lone man with no expectant faces; no welcoming party, as the slang went. The Centre had seen to it that his one chance at this was ruined. At times like this, the loneliness was crushing. As with anything, though, habit gets you caught. If he never used the airlines it would free the Centre up to search for him more easily in other areas. Maybe the Centre already stopped watching the airlines knowing his disdain for them. He doubted it.
The pleasant woman at the rental counter handed Jarod the keys to a Chevy Lumina. Her charming smile tried to say something more, but Jarod was blind to it. He had begun to completely enter the new arena. His new persona was taking hold. The drivers license he showed her took him ten minutes to create. Updating the Massachusetts State Patrol records took less than two. His degree from the University of Illinois took slightly longer, but he figured someone in the admissions department was accustomed to hackers. They had installed the latest in protective software. Jarod found it dreadfully inadequate.
The white Lumina positively sparkled in the mid-afternoon sun. Jarod quickly scanned the car for damage, in order to appear normal. He had no doubt that the rental agency would never see this car again. The Centre would undoubtedly tear it apart, bolt by bolt. This was the usual fate of his rental cars. He was unconcerned about the insurance or deposit, either. Miss Parker had just opened a new Gold Card account with Citibank and remarkably a duplicate card, authorized to her boyfriend Jarod Stewart, arrived at his PO Box. The card would be handy, but he did feel a slight pang of remorse about what he was doing to her credit rating. On some level, though, he knew it kept them close. Anyway, Jarod always figured she placed these expenditures on her Centre expense report. She never did.
He popped the hood and made a show of checking the oil and the other vital fluids of the car. Everything was as he expected. Before leaving the engine compartment, he replaced the standard GM computer control chip with his own ‘Jarod Special’ chip. The chip upped the performance of the 3.4 liter engine to nearly 300 horsepower. Of course the engine was only good for about ten thousand miles but he wasn’t concerned.
The next stop was to a Goodyear tire center. The extremely surprised salesman sold him four brand-new Eagle Aquatreds to replace the Michelin tires currently on the car. Jarod expected to spend quite a bit of driving time in the rain, and he knew these were the best tires for hard driving in the rain. Despite his initial shock, the gold card convinced the salesman quickly, and Jarod was on his way in a matter of twenty minutes.
Finally, Jarod stopped by the local WalMart to stock up on some of the supplies he would need for the next two weeks. Toiletries, clothes, underwear, Pez, a small traveling bag, a Magellan GPS unit and a 100 foot measuring tape completed the list. On the way out the store, he picked up a few magazines, crumpled them up and placed them on the driver's seat. He then proceeded to sit on them and drive off, with the traveling bag tied to the rear bumper support for the Lumina. Four miles down the road he pulled off, retrieved the dilapidated bag and packed his small assortment of goods into it. Jarod Stewart was ready to begin.
*****
Carthage, Missouri
Sunset Mobile Home Park, near Route 96 East
August 8, 1997 1347 CST
If Jarod had children, he would have understood the scene before him. What had only minutes before been a quiet, nice community of manicured lawns and skirted mobile homes was now a scene of mass destruction. It was as if a giant child had thrown a temper tantrum and had strewn its toys about with reckless abandon. Five ton trailers lay tossed about like matchsticks. Others had roofs and siding peeled off like string cheese. Jarod had seen the aftermath of war and it paled in comparison to this. For once in his life, Jarod was utterly speechless.
Families began to emerge from the hollowed out shelters they had dug into the ground and surveyed the damage. The wail of numerous sirens filled the air as EMS and police units converged on a community unaccustomed to attention. The tears of children and adults alike filled Jarod with a sense of burning and loss he struggled to fight back. He had to act or face being swallowed whole by the scene. He quickly set up a triage station and organized the rescue of two families trapped in trailers that had suddenly discovered an affinity for flight. The carnage was sickening.
A group of tourists were found fifteen minutes later in a full sized van that the twister tossed from Route 96 into the Kellogg Lake, nearly two hundred yards away. Their driver, a freelance photographer had panicked when the F-4 tornado turned on them. Not realizing the storm would follow the road, he attempted to outrun the twister. In his vain attempt to outrun the wind, he misjudged a corner and ran the van headlong into an oak tree. The tornado was on them before anyone had a chance to regain consciousness from the accident. Another amateur storm chaser out for a good picture unknowingly putting his own life and the life of six others in the balance. The odds always came through. Jarod could not understand the impulse that drove a man to intentionally witness this carnage. He could not understand how another human could thrive on the suffering of others. Maybe he should have asked himself that same question.
Jarod maintained the field triage unit as best he could until the EMS arrived. The tornado had cut a wide swath through the area, devastating twenty-seven homes, a small twelve unit apartment complex and this trailer park. It really could have been worse, though. The tornado had passed between two busy hotels where it crossed Route 96. The Circle W truck stop had not been so lucky.
With top winds estimated at 225 miles per hour and a funnel width of 75 yards at the base, it was one of the most devastating storms of this lengthening season. It was late for storms of this magnitude. By now, most long-time residents began to watch the gulf coast for hurricanes. This area of the country faced many of Nature’s forces. They dealt with each as best they could. This was hard for even them to understand.
Jarod spent seven hours walking the five miles of the storm's path. He traced the storm along gully, hill, road and river. He took careful, painstaking measurements and continually monitored his progress and position with the Magellan GPS unit he had recently purchased. Although less accurate than his own GPS, this unit drew much less attention. With the proliferation of hunters in this area, the locals were no stranger to GPS systems. They would notice if his was different. Every few feet, he noted measurements and position in his notebook and on a DMA topographical chart he had downloaded ten hours before and then continued.
Despite the late hour, slipping away from the trailer park had turned out to be harder than he suspected. The media had shown up in full force along with the usual gaggle of storm junkies and disaster freaks. Many of the locals sighted him as he tracked the storm’s path through the trailer park and directed the media towards their ‘angel of mercy.’ Jarod narrowly avoided the glare of the camera lights and had to beat a hasty retreat to avoid being spotted and filmed. Jarod knew from his experience as a camera-man that after editing the hours of film being shot would amount to only a few seconds on the evening news, but he could not take the chance. This was too important.
Finally, out of the glare of the lights he tracked the storm to its end in an open field. Jarod was not surprised to find he was not the first to arrive here. Four people stood in the shallow circle of torn grass that marked the end of the storm’s path. He had been expecting them, although they knew nothing of him. As he approached, he took note of the three men and one woman standing in a circle, talking about the twister. He knew them all by reputation, all except the woman. She was a recent addition to the team, added three months ago. Her camera equipment identified her as the photographer.
"Hello, my name is Jarod. Jarod Stewart."
His abrupt introduction clearly startled the group who quickly abandoned their conversation and wheeled to face Jarod as an adversary. They incorrectly assumed he was with the media. "What are you doing here?" the eldest one, perhaps fifty, challenged.
"Oh," said Jarod, casually strolling up to the group, "just taking a walk. Say, are you guys hiring?"
