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Without looking at it, Sydney distractedly took his lunch - beef and broccoli (no rice), two egg rolls, and a fortune cookie, his standard order - out of the plain paper bag, laid it out on his desk, and began eating, his interest and attention far from his meal. His thoughts were still focused on Samantha’s revelation. He furrowed his eyebrows as he turned around in his chair, facing the wall as he nibbled one egg roll, not sure if he could believe what the young pretender had told him. Part of him knew that she - like her older counterpart - could think on her feet if she had to; Jarod had taught her well in the past four months. But Sydney didn’t know if she could think on her feet *that* quickly as he turned his chair back around. Samantha hadn’t known anything about Lyle’s theory about her current condition - the only appropriate thought that came to mind - until the psychiatrist had told her, and Samantha hadn’t hesitated in her response, so -
Sydney thoughts were interrupted as he noticed his fortune cookie was missing from its cubbyhole inside the styrofoam container. The psychiatrist looked around his desk, looking underneath papers and behind objects, even underneath his desk, but it was no where to be found. He leaned back in his chair, puzzled, wondering if he really even had a fortune cookie or if his mind was so focused on Samantha’s disclosure that he was starting to hallucinate; it was entirely possible that since he'd only asked for his usual combo meal number, the server hadn't included the cookie and Sydney had just imagined seeing it. He shook his head and sighed, finally deciding that the latter was a better possibility, as he finished his egg roll and started eating his beef and broccoli (after making sure *it* wasn’t a hallucination).
"I thought I smelled Chinese."
Sydney looked up as Lyle walked in, smiling, but the older gentleman’s attention was so focused on Samantha’s revelation that he didn’t offer his usual annoyed expression at seeing the younger man. "Mmmm," he replied.
Lyle smiled and straightened his tie, making sure he looked as approachable as possible to the older gentleman. Personally, he couldn’t have cared less about Sydney’s opinions, but his science project was responsible for impregnating Lyle’s livestock. There would be plenty of time after Jarod and Samantha’s offspring was produced to take control of it, but Lyle wanted to have Sydney on his side before he went to the Tower with the news that Samantha was pregnant - with Jarod’s child, nonetheless - if he was to have any chance of controlling it when they were returned to the Centre.
"You know," Lyle continued, smiling, sounding as sincere as he could, sitting in the chair on the other side of Sydney’s desk, making sure he maintained a taller height than the older man. "I think it’s time we really discuss the role that both of us will play in the upbringing of Jarod and Samantha’s child before and after it’s born."
Lyle reached over and plucked the other egg roll off Sydney’s desk, munching on it. "There are two ways," he mumbled around a mouthful, "this little . . . incident can be looked at, Sydney. As a scientist, you must be able to see the unique opportunity and potential that an offspring of two natural pretenders can have. This is a chance to see if pretenders can successfully breed to produce further natural pretenders.
"And we have to think about their child’s well-being," Lyle continued. He finished the egg roll and lightly brushed his hands. "Being on the run is not an environment that is emotionally or psychologically beneficial, as I’m sure you’re aware of. The isolation, the constant stresses of moving from place to place . . . it can get quite overwhelming, not to mention the inherent dangers from all the uncertainties. Under my - our - care, the child can develop in an environment that can better handle and expand its unique abilities - whatever they end up being, should the breeding be successful."
Sydney turned his gaze up and to the side, warily measuring Lyle with his eyes. "‘Should the breeding be successful.’ Interesting choice of words, Mr. Lyle. So tell me - what happens if the mare drops a foal that is nothing like what you wanted?"
"What do you mean?"
Sydney turned easily in his chair, leaning back and folding his hands over his abs. "Well, you seem to be banking on predictable outcomes here. What happens if the offspring is not a suitable representation of the parents’ traits? Do you have a backup plan? Are you prepared to explain any anomalies? What will you do if you can’t produce satisfactory results as promised?"
Lyle’s eyes narrowed and he had to work to keep the ingratiating air about himself. "Sydney, are you implying something? You do know that dissent is unacceptable around here. Besides, I came to you as a fellow businessman; don't tell me you can’t deal on that level."
Sydney tilted his head slightly. "No, not at all, Mr. Lyle. I appreciate your consideration in this matter. I’m simply . . . hedging my bets, as they say. I enjoy a good business deal as much as anyone else, but I like to be as informed and prepared as possible for all eventualities. I don’t like surprises, especially on a project. Call it . . . insurance."
Lyle held Sydney's gaze for a moment, then took in a breath and let his jaw relax. He did refuse to let down his guard - Lyle wasn't stupid enough to trust the old doctor. In fact, he was flirting with the notion of being insulted. After all, he was a powerful and dangerous man, capable of terminating anything - or anyone - on a whim, and he'd come to one of his underlings with a most gracious proposal, and yet the old moron could only talk about something going wrong - mistakes which, of course, Lyle was too intelligent to allow.
It seemed, though, that this time Sydney was actually thinking this through as a proper business proposition. The older man had held the young entrepreneur's eye contact throughout the exchange, the weathered face thoughtful and guileless. Obviously Sydney was still the same bumbling but reliable scientist - the psychiatrist was completely absorbed in contemplating the project.
Lyle let only a faint impression of his inward smile show on his face; it pleased him greatly to know that he still had the verbal prowess to draw others into the reality he crafted for his own benefit. He slid into a gracious smile as he rose and nodded to Sydney, signifying the end of the meeting. He turned and walked out, mentally patting himself on the back. He liked to remind himself that, despite what anyone might say or what anyone else might order, he knew (and anyone who wanted to live very long knew) that Mr. Lyle was really in control around here, with the power over the life and death of every person the Centre chose to claim. In the end, it was all a matter of control, of making sure that the servants knew their place and the possessions remained in possession.
Back inside the office, Sydney polished off his entrée without tasting it, still lost in thought - about Samantha, Jarod, Lyle, and the newest unwilling player in this twisted game of . . . He wasn't sure what to compare it to; it had been a long time since he'd played any recreational games. If he knew the real objective. . .
That was it. That was what was bothering him - there was more to this situation with the hunter than simply two stray cats on a safari. After all, the hunter couldn't know about Samantha's pregnancy, and yet his actions suggested urgency that a simple bounty didn't explain. There had to be something else. Parker didn't see it because she was too wrapped up in trying to hide her fear under genuine fury; Broots simply didn't have access to enough information. Sydney knew more about the hunter than he was willing to let on to either of his younger colleagues, partially because revealing the information would only cause Parker to take more risks and partially because the only way he could be sure to help Jarod was to trust no one whom the Centre paid.
Sydney knew the workings of the Centre, and he knew that no one there had the power to bring in an outside source, especially one with the hunter's record; he knew the hunter's record personally because of some dealings in the past; he knew the hunter had dropped off the radar long ago with sufficient compensation from the Tower to buy a small country; he knew the man carried power but did not covet it, used money but did not need more of it, and was perfectly capable of keeping himself alive; he knew that Lyle had not revealed his baby gambit to those in power, so none of the authorities knew about Samantha's child; he knew that the Tower would not have changed its procedures concerning the Pretenders without some compelling reason, and that nothing (besides the untold news of the pregnancy) had changed; he knew that the hunter was not the type to take on any job unless something about it intrigued him.
So why was the hunter so determined to find the Centre's two lost lambs?
Before the psychologist could chew any more on that particular dish of thought, his cell phone rang. Thinking that he really needed to change the ring tone, he glanced at the display and raised one eyebrow in surprise. As he raised the small device to his ear and pushed the send button, he swiveled in his chair, facing the blank part of his back wall so that he could visualize what he heard without distractions.
"This isn't part of the deal. You're calling me off-schedule; this had better be worth my time." Sydney's voice had a hard edge he seldom used. After working here for so long, he did not appreciate anything that changed the trajectory of his plan. He couldn't afford surprises.
Fortunately, the caller was a source of his, someone with whom he'd contracted several times over the years for. . . creative research. The fact that the source was making an unscheduled call put Sydney on edge, and even as he heard the message he kept his jaw set and his eyes narrowed, but his face was open and his mind was racing, recalculating and recalibrating his plans. He kept to himself his satisfaction at the unexpected boon his source was feeding him. He thought in the back of his mind that, in a way, he'd learned how to be a bit of a pretender himself over the years, able to reveal to others only what he wanted them to perceive. Sydney had recognized this long ago, and it was brought back to him time and time again as he played the game and dodged death. He'd sat in the dark too long; he might not recognize the game itself, but he was determined to rewrite the rules and take back the control that could have protected so many people.
When his source had disconnected, the middle-aged psychologist sighed with weary satisfaction, gazing past the wall as he watched a few more pieces of the puzzle fall into place in his mind. He relaxed physically and let his thoughts follow the trail. Before he knew it, ten minutes had passed in contemplation. He pulled in a breath and slowly turned his chair back to the desk, where all of his attention went immediately to the green file in the center of his workspace. He opened the file and flipped to the section he wanted, his right hand absently gravitating to the place where he'd left his voice recorder. His fingers automatically formed themselves to the cool contours of the smooth plastic, his wrist accustomed to the weight of the -
His brow furrowed and his head came up and then slowly to the side. Cautiously he lifted his hand to reveal his voice recorder just where he'd left it--but resting on top of it was a small golden brown object that should not have been there.
Sydney picked up the fortune cookie, turned it over and over in his hands as if expecting to find a miniature bomb timer or perhaps a sticker saying "Made in China." He couldn't figure out what was going on; he didn't remember taking it out of the carton and placing it there, or seeing it there after Lyle left the office. After a minute he shook his head sharply to clear it, thinking that the cookie could have gotten up and walked for all he'd noticed, and that if he'd missed *that* he must really be insane.
Elbows on the desk and mouth twitching in anticipation, Sydney carefully broke the cookie at the bend, using his fingernails to remove the delicate slip of paper inside. He set down the pieces of the cookie and concentrated on the paper in his grasp, his eyes rolling over the up side. He raised one eyebrow at the statement - more an axiom than a fortune:
"He who delights in deceiving others is himself easily deceived."
Sydney mulled on that for a moment, nodding to himself; he'd experienced enough at the Centre to know that such a simple statement was stunningly true. He was about to lay it to rest and get on with his work when he decided, on a whim, to flip the paper over and check the lucky numbers. He was too jaded to believe in luck, but he found these concepts to be faintly amusing from a professional standpoint. He turned the paper over in his fingers, and his breath caught in his throat.
Against the ivory of the paper - the richest he'd ever seen for a fortune cookie tag - lay simple black type in a sans serif font. There were no numbers, days, colors, or animals printed there; he found only a single sentence that made his eyes go wide.
It took a moment for the words to fully sink in, and they created an interesting mixture of feelings. With saucer eyes Sydney slowly released his grasp, letting the creamy slip of amazement flutter down to the desktop. He shifted unconsciously so that his left hand was resting on his right forearm and his right hand was covering his mouth. He struggled to wrap his mind around his new conclusions and the implications from them. If he was right, then Samantha was soon going to be in much more danger than she was at the moment, but he had to believe that she knew that and had accepted the risk. He hoped Jarod had the opportunity to make the same connections and to be prepared. Sydney was growing more protective of the two of them all the time, which didn't make much sense, but he would analyze that later. Right now, with his tension mounting and the dangers for everyone growing exponentially, Sydney discovered an unexpected effect overtaking him.
As the minutes ticked by, he slowly let his hand fall away from his face. He found himself feeling oddly satisfied, justified, amused, and vaguely proud of both of his "children." All through the afternoon and night, the faint smile never left his face.
(End of Chapter 6)
Without looking at it, Sydney distractedly took his lunch - beef and broccoli (no rice), two egg rolls, and a fortune cookie, his standard order - out of the plain paper bag, laid it out on his desk, and began eating, his interest and attention far from his meal. His thoughts were still focused on Samantha’s revelation. He furrowed his eyebrows as he turned around in his chair, facing the wall as he nibbled one egg roll, not sure if he could believe what the young pretender had told him. Part of him knew that she - like her older counterpart - could think on her feet if she had to; Jarod had taught her well in the past four months. But Sydney didn’t know if she could think on her feet *that* quickly as he turned his chair back around. Samantha hadn’t known anything about Lyle’s theory about her current condition - the only appropriate thought that came to mind - until the psychiatrist had told her, and Samantha hadn’t hesitated in her response, so -
Sydney thoughts were interrupted as he noticed his fortune cookie was missing from its cubbyhole inside the styrofoam container. The psychiatrist looked around his desk, looking underneath papers and behind objects, even underneath his desk, but it was no where to be found. He leaned back in his chair, puzzled, wondering if he really even had a fortune cookie or if his mind was so focused on Samantha’s disclosure that he was starting to hallucinate; it was entirely possible that since he'd only asked for his usual combo meal number, the server hadn't included the cookie and Sydney had just imagined seeing it. He shook his head and sighed, finally deciding that the latter was a better possibility, as he finished his egg roll and started eating his beef and broccoli (after making sure *it* wasn’t a hallucination).
"I thought I smelled Chinese."
Sydney looked up as Lyle walked in, smiling, but the older gentleman’s attention was so focused on Samantha’s revelation that he didn’t offer his usual annoyed expression at seeing the younger man. "Mmmm," he replied.
Lyle smiled and straightened his tie, making sure he looked as approachable as possible to the older gentleman. Personally, he couldn’t have cared less about Sydney’s opinions, but his science project was responsible for impregnating Lyle’s livestock. There would be plenty of time after Jarod and Samantha’s offspring was produced to take control of it, but Lyle wanted to have Sydney on his side before he went to the Tower with the news that Samantha was pregnant - with Jarod’s child, nonetheless - if he was to have any chance of controlling it when they were returned to the Centre.
"You know," Lyle continued, smiling, sounding as sincere as he could, sitting in the chair on the other side of Sydney’s desk, making sure he maintained a taller height than the older man. "I think it’s time we really discuss the role that both of us will play in the upbringing of Jarod and Samantha’s child before and after it’s born."
Lyle reached over and plucked the other egg roll off Sydney’s desk, munching on it. "There are two ways," he mumbled around a mouthful, "this little . . . incident can be looked at, Sydney. As a scientist, you must be able to see the unique opportunity and potential that an offspring of two natural pretenders can have. This is a chance to see if pretenders can successfully breed to produce further natural pretenders.
"And we have to think about their child’s well-being," Lyle continued. He finished the egg roll and lightly brushed his hands. "Being on the run is not an environment that is emotionally or psychologically beneficial, as I’m sure you’re aware of. The isolation, the constant stresses of moving from place to place . . . it can get quite overwhelming, not to mention the inherent dangers from all the uncertainties. Under my - our - care, the child can develop in an environment that can better handle and expand its unique abilities - whatever they end up being, should the breeding be successful."
Sydney turned his gaze up and to the side, warily measuring Lyle with his eyes. "‘Should the breeding be successful.’ Interesting choice of words, Mr. Lyle. So tell me - what happens if the mare drops a foal that is nothing like what you wanted?"
"What do you mean?"
Sydney turned easily in his chair, leaning back and folding his hands over his abs. "Well, you seem to be banking on predictable outcomes here. What happens if the offspring is not a suitable representation of the parents’ traits? Do you have a backup plan? Are you prepared to explain any anomalies? What will you do if you can’t produce satisfactory results as promised?"
Lyle’s eyes narrowed and he had to work to keep the ingratiating air about himself. "Sydney, are you implying something? You do know that dissent is unacceptable around here. Besides, I came to you as a fellow businessman; don't tell me you can’t deal on that level."
Sydney tilted his head slightly. "No, not at all, Mr. Lyle. I appreciate your consideration in this matter. I’m simply . . . hedging my bets, as they say. I enjoy a good business deal as much as anyone else, but I like to be as informed and prepared as possible for all eventualities. I don’t like surprises, especially on a project. Call it . . . insurance."
Lyle held Sydney's gaze for a moment, then took in a breath and let his jaw relax. He did refuse to let down his guard - Lyle wasn't stupid enough to trust the old doctor. In fact, he was flirting with the notion of being insulted. After all, he was a powerful and dangerous man, capable of terminating anything - or anyone - on a whim, and he'd come to one of his underlings with a most gracious proposal, and yet the old moron could only talk about something going wrong - mistakes which, of course, Lyle was too intelligent to allow.
It seemed, though, that this time Sydney was actually thinking this through as a proper business proposition. The older man had held the young entrepreneur's eye contact throughout the exchange, the weathered face thoughtful and guileless. Obviously Sydney was still the same bumbling but reliable scientist - the psychiatrist was completely absorbed in contemplating the project.
Lyle let only a faint impression of his inward smile show on his face; it pleased him greatly to know that he still had the verbal prowess to draw others into the reality he crafted for his own benefit. He slid into a gracious smile as he rose and nodded to Sydney, signifying the end of the meeting. He turned and walked out, mentally patting himself on the back. He liked to remind himself that, despite what anyone might say or what anyone else might order, he knew (and anyone who wanted to live very long knew) that Mr. Lyle was really in control around here, with the power over the life and death of every person the Centre chose to claim. In the end, it was all a matter of control, of making sure that the servants knew their place and the possessions remained in possession.
Back inside the office, Sydney polished off his entrée without tasting it, still lost in thought - about Samantha, Jarod, Lyle, and the newest unwilling player in this twisted game of . . . He wasn't sure what to compare it to; it had been a long time since he'd played any recreational games. If he knew the real objective. . .
That was it. That was what was bothering him - there was more to this situation with the hunter than simply two stray cats on a safari. After all, the hunter couldn't know about Samantha's pregnancy, and yet his actions suggested urgency that a simple bounty didn't explain. There had to be something else. Parker didn't see it because she was too wrapped up in trying to hide her fear under genuine fury; Broots simply didn't have access to enough information. Sydney knew more about the hunter than he was willing to let on to either of his younger colleagues, partially because revealing the information would only cause Parker to take more risks and partially because the only way he could be sure to help Jarod was to trust no one whom the Centre paid.
Sydney knew the workings of the Centre, and he knew that no one there had the power to bring in an outside source, especially one with the hunter's record; he knew the hunter's record personally because of some dealings in the past; he knew the hunter had dropped off the radar long ago with sufficient compensation from the Tower to buy a small country; he knew the man carried power but did not covet it, used money but did not need more of it, and was perfectly capable of keeping himself alive; he knew that Lyle had not revealed his baby gambit to those in power, so none of the authorities knew about Samantha's child; he knew that the Tower would not have changed its procedures concerning the Pretenders without some compelling reason, and that nothing (besides the untold news of the pregnancy) had changed; he knew that the hunter was not the type to take on any job unless something about it intrigued him.
So why was the hunter so determined to find the Centre's two lost lambs?
Before the psychologist could chew any more on that particular dish of thought, his cell phone rang. Thinking that he really needed to change the ring tone, he glanced at the display and raised one eyebrow in surprise. As he raised the small device to his ear and pushed the send button, he swiveled in his chair, facing the blank part of his back wall so that he could visualize what he heard without distractions.
"This isn't part of the deal. You're calling me off-schedule; this had better be worth my time." Sydney's voice had a hard edge he seldom used. After working here for so long, he did not appreciate anything that changed the trajectory of his plan. He couldn't afford surprises.
Fortunately, the caller was a source of his, someone with whom he'd contracted several times over the years for. . . creative research. The fact that the source was making an unscheduled call put Sydney on edge, and even as he heard the message he kept his jaw set and his eyes narrowed, but his face was open and his mind was racing, recalculating and recalibrating his plans. He kept to himself his satisfaction at the unexpected boon his source was feeding him. He thought in the back of his mind that, in a way, he'd learned how to be a bit of a pretender himself over the years, able to reveal to others only what he wanted them to perceive. Sydney had recognized this long ago, and it was brought back to him time and time again as he played the game and dodged death. He'd sat in the dark too long; he might not recognize the game itself, but he was determined to rewrite the rules and take back the control that could have protected so many people.
When his source had disconnected, the middle-aged psychologist sighed with weary satisfaction, gazing past the wall as he watched a few more pieces of the puzzle fall into place in his mind. He relaxed physically and let his thoughts follow the trail. Before he knew it, ten minutes had passed in contemplation. He pulled in a breath and slowly turned his chair back to the desk, where all of his attention went immediately to the green file in the center of his workspace. He opened the file and flipped to the section he wanted, his right hand absently gravitating to the place where he'd left his voice recorder. His fingers automatically formed themselves to the cool contours of the smooth plastic, his wrist accustomed to the weight of the -
His brow furrowed and his head came up and then slowly to the side. Cautiously he lifted his hand to reveal his voice recorder just where he'd left it--but resting on top of it was a small golden brown object that should not have been there.
Sydney picked up the fortune cookie, turned it over and over in his hands as if expecting to find a miniature bomb timer or perhaps a sticker saying "Made in China." He couldn't figure out what was going on; he didn't remember taking it out of the carton and placing it there, or seeing it there after Lyle left the office. After a minute he shook his head sharply to clear it, thinking that the cookie could have gotten up and walked for all he'd noticed, and that if he'd missed *that* he must really be insane.
Elbows on the desk and mouth twitching in anticipation, Sydney carefully broke the cookie at the bend, using his fingernails to remove the delicate slip of paper inside. He set down the pieces of the cookie and concentrated on the paper in his grasp, his eyes rolling over the up side. He raised one eyebrow at the statement - more an axiom than a fortune:
"He who delights in deceiving others is himself easily deceived."
Sydney mulled on that for a moment, nodding to himself; he'd experienced enough at the Centre to know that such a simple statement was stunningly true. He was about to lay it to rest and get on with his work when he decided, on a whim, to flip the paper over and check the lucky numbers. He was too jaded to believe in luck, but he found these concepts to be faintly amusing from a professional standpoint. He turned the paper over in his fingers, and his breath caught in his throat.
Against the ivory of the paper - the richest he'd ever seen for a fortune cookie tag - lay simple black type in a sans serif font. There were no numbers, days, colors, or animals printed there; he found only a single sentence that made his eyes go wide.
It took a moment for the words to fully sink in, and they created an interesting mixture of feelings. With saucer eyes Sydney slowly released his grasp, letting the creamy slip of amazement flutter down to the desktop. He shifted unconsciously so that his left hand was resting on his right forearm and his right hand was covering his mouth. He struggled to wrap his mind around his new conclusions and the implications from them. If he was right, then Samantha was soon going to be in much more danger than she was at the moment, but he had to believe that she knew that and had accepted the risk. He hoped Jarod had the opportunity to make the same connections and to be prepared. Sydney was growing more protective of the two of them all the time, which didn't make much sense, but he would analyze that later. Right now, with his tension mounting and the dangers for everyone growing exponentially, Sydney discovered an unexpected effect overtaking him.
As the minutes ticked by, he slowly let his hand fall away from his face. He found himself feeling oddly satisfied, justified, amused, and vaguely proud of both of his "children." All through the afternoon and night, the faint smile never left his face.
(End of Chapter 6)
