Title: Genesis
Author: Mandy
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: PG-13
Category: S
Spoilers: Pilot
Key words: Pre-Pretender, UST.
Author's Notes: Some aspects of this story allude to events that occur
throughout the rest of the series and the movie. However, if you haven't seen
the movie, it won't be spoiled for you. More notes at the end, they're easier
to ignore.
Summary: Why does Miss Parker hate Jarod so much? Three years before Jarod
escapes, Miss Parker leaves her duties as a Cleaner in Corporate to become head
of Security at the Centre. Burnt out and bitter, her first assignment is
against poachers from a rival company, who want the Centre's prime investment;
the Pretender named Jarod...
Disclaimer: Not mine blah blah blah no infringement intended, no profit gained.
Genesis
September 1993
Miss Parker had forgotten how cold the Centre could be, despite the hiss
of the heater vents. In the six years she had been away nothing had really
changed. Oh sure, a team of decorators went through every couple of years and
swapped sofas, but the Centre's principle design was classic, and hadn't changed
since she was a child. Returning felt oddly like coming home.
"Angel!" came the booming voice as the door to her new office was pushed open.
Miss Parker's face lit up with a smile.
"Daddy! They said you were in Paris until the end of the month," she cried.
The big man stepped inside, and Parker felt a surge of pride. Her father was
still a vibrant man, his salt and pepper hair combed neatly, his moustache
trimmed, a fine double-breasted suit only emphasizing the deep barrel of his
chest. Parker stepped around the boxes on the floor to give him a hug and a
kiss on the cheek.
"Couldn't miss my Angel's return to the Centre now, could I?" he harrumphed. He
gripped Miss Parker by the shoulders, holding her away so he could look her up
and down. "You look beautiful."
Miss Parker smiled tremulously. She knew she looked like shit. The long
hours in Corporate had left her pale, hollow-eyed and dangerously thin. Several
close encounters while protecting various Centre agencies across the country had
left her with some nasty scars and the shakes. Her doctor had told her a career
change was necessary before she got herself killed.
When the position of head of Security had opened up at the Centre, Parker had
jumped at the chance. It wasn't that she particularly wanted the job, or even
that the Centre itself held any real appeal for her. But a step up on the
ladder was a step up, wherever that happened to be, and she simply couldn't
resist the opportunity to be close to her father.
"Perhaps, Daddy, we could have dinner tonight, to celebrate?" Miss Parker asked.
Her father smiled, his hands dropped and he stepped back.
"I'm afraid I can't, sweetheart. I fly to Geneva tonight, business as usual I'm
afraid," Mr Parker said. Miss Parker's face fell. Mr Parker gave her a gentle
clap on the shoulder, "Head up, sweetheart, you're a Parker. We'll have dinner
when I get back. In the meantime, I've left a file for you in your desk drawer;
your first assignment as head of security. One of our prize investments is in
danger, and needs your protection. I want you to give it your full attention,
spare no resource, no expense. Make me proud, Angel."
Miss Parker lit a cigarette as her father left, rummaging through her
boxes until she found a crystal glass and a bottle of Smirnoff. She sat at her
desk, pouring herself a healthy shot and tapping the ash off her cigarette into
a silver ashtray, the only thing she had unpacked so far. It was only nine-
thirty, but she felt she needed the drink already.
Parker hadn't been expecting an assignment so soon. In fact, she wasn't
really sure what she had been expecting. A nice desk job with good dental
cover, watching security footage and organizing sweepers to do whatever it was
that they did. She took a sip of the vodka, grimacing as it burned her throat,
and slid open the top drawer of the desk. Inside lay a thick manila folder, the
only item in an otherwise barren desk.
A glass of vodka and half a pack of cigarettes later, Miss Parker looked
up from the file. She ground out her smoke, watching disinterestedly as her
hand shook in the air. She dropped it to the table, and closed the file. It
turned out that the last head of Security was out of action due to injuries
sustained in the line of duty, namely on this same assignment. The man was not
expected to live.
A new company was emerging in the Eurasian spread, one that was becoming
more and more of a threat to the Centre. Known only as Specifics, it was a
company that was pushing the boundaries in both biologically and technologically
created intelligence. Miss Parker had heard of them before, and knew they were
into everything from nano tech to genetics; nothing was sacred from their
outlandish experiments and research. Parker had even heard a rumor in the mill
that they were working on the possibilities of cloning, but the idea alone
seemed ludicrous to her.
The Centre's main problem with Specifics was the burgeoning company's
attempts - often successful - to infiltrate the Centre. The previous head of
Security had been injured when he busted a Centre employee attempting to
'relieve' the Centre of one of their Pretenders. The Pretender had been
retained, unharmed, however there had been a small uprising resulting in the
death of a sweeper.
Parker was beginning to see her father's reasons for being so eager to
bring her back to the Centre to fulfill her new position. As his daughter, not
to mention next in line for his job, he could be assured of absolutely loyalty.
Miss Parker smiled bitterly to herself; her father didn't need to dangle pretty
promises like the Chairmanship for her devotion.
Miss Parker opened the file again, withdrawing the information on the
Pretender who had very nearly been a kidnap victim. There was a glossy six by
eight photograph amongst the sheaf of papers, and she laid it on the desk next
to the relevant information. The man in the photograph was good looking, in a
boyish sort of way, dark, close cropped hair, a strong chin and clear blue eyes.
He neither smiled nor looked at the camera, but his expression was open and
trusting.
His file said his name was Edward, known as Eddie to his handlers, and he
was a Pretender with good capabilities. Miss Parker understood that; it meant
he was good, but certainly not the best. The Pretender was wanted, but he
wasn't irreplaceable. She would have to debrief him, and all of his staff. In
fact, she realized, she'd have to screen damn near every employee in the Centre,
searching for any of Specifics' little weasels that might have kept their heads
down.
Parker lit another cigarette and lowered her head to bang it on the desk.
****
Eddie, it turned out, was just as good looking as his photo, perhaps even
more so. He sat at his table fidgeting nervously, watching every move Miss
Parker made. For her own amusement she let the silence drag on, studying her
file on him and writing notes in the margin occasionally. Eddie plucked at the
neck of his Centre-issued tunic for a few moments, and then finally broke.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asked nervously. Miss Parker placed her file on
the desk, and carefully lit a cigarette.
"No, Eddie, you did everything right. This interview is just to help me find
the people who want to hurt you," Parker said soothingly. It was true; when the
fight had broken out Eddie, apparently not knowing what else to do, had snuck
away while everyone else was distracted and returned to his room.
"Oh. Good," Eddie replied, his relief evident. Miss Parker recrossed her legs,
Eddie's eyes tracked the movement and he swallowed visibly.
"Your Mentor is Suzanne?" Parker asked, naming one of the doctors. Eddie
nodded.
"Yes, Suzanne takes me for my simulation work. We have been doing a lot of
exercises," Eddie explained.
Miss Parker mentally reviewed what she knew of Suzanne and Eddie's work
from the file. Suzanne was fairly new to the Centre, and had been assigned to
Eddie just twelve months ago. Eddie didn't do sims on a regular basis, mostly
he did legwork, helping preparations for the big simulations, doing research.
Suzanne was there to assist and encourage Eddie, to prevent him from becoming
distracted. So far there had been no complaints on either Eddie's or Suzanne's
behalf, but Parker understood that a Pretender wouldn't exactly know what to
look for.
"Do you like working with Suzanne?" Miss Parker asked.
"Of course," Eddie said, frowning. Of course, thought Miss Parker. Not liking
your Mentor is frowned upon for a Pretender.
"What was your relationship to the man who tried to take you, Eddie?" Parker
asked.
"Mark, he supervised me sometimes. He was new, he didn't know all the rules.
He kept asking me how and why I did things. I didn't like it," he said, his
brow wrinkling in distaste.
"What specifically did he ask you about, Eddie? It's very important that I
know," Miss Parker said. She was alarmed to realise she was talking to this
fully grown man as if he were a child.
"About my simulations, about how I did them. What it felt like," Eddie
answered. He frowned again, "It seemed very important to him, so I answered.
Was that wrong?"
"You didn't know any better," Parker reassured, "When did you first realise
something was wrong?"
"Oh, that is easy," Eddie said with a small smile, "When he held a gun to my
back."
What a beautiful smile, Miss Parker thought, surprised by its intensity.
Automatically she smiled back, and Eddie blushed. Parker picked up her file
again, glancing through it. "This man, Mark, did he say anything to you?"
"He told me not to make any noise. He told me to act like everything was
normal, and if I tried to attract any attention he'd shoot me," Eddie said. It
wasn't anything Miss Parker didn't already know; the whole situation had been
caught on camera.
"And then what happened?" Miss Parker asked patiently.
"He took me out of the sim lab, to the elevator," Eddie flushed, and looked down
at his hands, "I'm not normally allowed near the elevator, but there were no
sweepers on the way, nobody who could stop me."
He's embarrassed, Miss Parker realised. Embarrassed that he was out of
his section. It wasn't his fault, the sweepers in question had been found
unconscious in a storage room on that floor, drugged. Miss Parker looked down
at her file, reading the events as Eddie described them.
"We got into the elevator, and at Sub Level two it stopped, very suddenly. I
could hear an alarm, and people shouting outside. The doors opened and Mark
pushed me out first. He looked very scared. There were a lot of sweepers
waiting, and Mr Johnson," Eddie said, naming Miss Parker's predecessor, "Mark
fired once, so I dropped to the ground. I think that's when the sweeper was
killed. I crawled back inside the elevator, and I could hear a lot of shooting,
but the doors closed before I could see anything. I didn't know what to do, so
I went back to my room."
Miss Parker knew what happened once Eddie had gotten away. Mark had
gotten off a few more shots, one of them getting Mr Johnson in the throat,
before being shot down. Some of Mark's accomplices had been found before news
of the shooting spread; a techie with a fist full of chloroform, a couple of
guards in the car park with a getaway vehicle ready, another at the gate waiting
to let them out.
It didn't make any sense, Miss Parker thought. Surely they would have
realised they just couldn't walk out the front door? Security had realised
something was off as soon as they'd stepped into the elevator; Mark didn't have
clearance to move any of the Pretenders around.
"You did the right thing. If anyone starts asking you strange questions again,
I want you to ask one of the sweepers to tell me. I'll let them all know that
they're to pass on any message you want, alright?"
"Okay. Who do I ask them to tell?" Eddie asked. Parker smiled faintly.
"Just tell them head of security," she said, "Thank you Eddie. I'll walk you
back to your area now."
Miss Parker stood, tucking her file under her arm. Eddie gave her another shy
smile as they left the room, a sweeper falling into step behind them. Eddie
faltered at the elevator, waiting for Miss Parker herself to hit the button.
It's doors opened immediately, and Parker suppressed a shudder at the sight of
the bullet hole still decorating it's interior. Her mother's suicide was a long
time ago, she had to learn to move on.
On Corridor 15 Eddie became surer of himself, almost leading the way, although
he was careful not to leave Parker behind. Miss Parker had a brief moment of
wondering who it was that taught him manners, and then dismissed the thought.
Asking questions like that could only get her into trouble.
"Thank you again for your time, Eddie, I hope I didn't interrupt your schedule
too much," Miss Parker said once they were at his door. He smiled again.
"Oh no, no really, I've just got some gym work and then research, you didn't
interrupt anything..." Eddie seemed to realise he was rambling and trailed off,
blushing again. Miss Parker allowed herself a small smile in return and
squeezed his arm gently.
"Goodbye, Eddie," Parker said, and walked away. She knew, without needing to
look over her shoulder, that Eddie would be watching her butt as she went.
****
"One more," Steve cajoled, and Jarod sucked in a breath and forced it out
through a grimace, pushing the weights over his head once more and feeling the
strain through his arms.
With a sigh of relief Jarod dropped the bar into place, sitting up as
Steve threw him a water bottle. Jarod had worked up quite a sweat in the last
hour, and was well and truly ready to finish up. He sucked at the water bottle,
towelling the cooling sweat from his face at the same time.
"Good work today, Jarod. Shower off and I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Steve
said.
"Thank you," Jarod said, and watched the instructor leave. He stood up and
moved to an empty space on the floor, running through a few warm-down stretches.
"Hello Jarod," someone behind him said, and Jarod turned around to see Eddie
entering the gym. He looked excited; his colour high and eyes shining.
"Is something wrong, Eddie?" Jarod asked. Eddie shook his head.
"No, I mean - no. Nothing's wrong," Eddie said. He bit his lip, and Jarod
smiled.
"Are you... ill?" Jarod asked with dread. Nobody ever got sick in the Centre,
except for sometimes the staff, and they were always kept far away from the
residents.
"No, of course not!" Eddie cried. He blushed, "I just had a debriefing session,
that's all."
Jarod sat down on one of the benches, and Eddie sat beside him. It wasn't
yet time for Eddie's instructor to arrive, which they had a few minutes to talk,
and Jarod was glad. He was intrigued by Eddie's strange behaviour.
"Was it about Mark?" Jarod asked. It was still a tender subject amongst the
residents. Never before had their lives been endangered in such a way.
"Yes. It's okay, really, she was very nice," Eddie said. His words raised a
flag in Jarod's mind, and he turned to Eddie in surprise.
"She?"
"Yes, she," Eddie said, and flushed. He spoke hesitantly, "She... she was very
pretty. Her clothes were nice, she looked... very nice."
Jarod remembered the little girl he had known as a child. "Does 'she'
have a name?"
"No. She told me, if anything like what happened with Mark starts happening
again, to ask the sweepers to pass a message to head of Security," Eddie said.
He twined his fingers together, and looked shyly at Jarod, "I haven't seen her
here before. I would have remembered. Her skirt was very short and she smoked
cigarettes like Dr Raines... I would have remembered her."
The Miss Parker he knew would never have smoked, Jarod thought. He had
done the research into the relation between cigarettes and lung cancer himself;
the Miss Parker he had known would never have taken up such a dangerous habit.
Nor would she be working at the Centre, she was going to be a ballerina, or at
least, that was what she had always said.
Eddie's instructor arrived and Jarod headed for the showers, still
pondering his friend's words as he soaped the sweat from his body. Most women
in the Centre were middle aged or kept well away from the residents, and
certainly none dressed in a way that could be construed as provocative. The new
head of Security must have been brought in from elsewhere.
****
Miss Parker had intended to start at ground zero and work her way out
through the other residents in the Centre, but her plans were cut short by the
arrival of Mr Raines in her office.
"Mr Raines. Sir," Miss Parker said, trying not to be too obvious about her
shock at his visit.
"Miss Parker. It has... been a long... time..." the old man wheezed. Miss
Parker politely held out her hand, almost shuddering when his cold, dead hand
took hers. When did this man get so... old?
"Is there something I can do for you?" Parker asked politely. She jumped when
Raines thumped a DSA reader on the table, raising the lid and inserting a disk.
The image flickered a few times, and then the footage began to roll. It
was of Eddie, Miss Parker realised, barely an hour after their interview. He
appeared to be in the resident's gym, speaking to another man. Another,
incredibly good looking man, and Parker almost leaned in for a closer look,
before the camera's focus shifted to Eddie.
"She... she was very pretty. Her clothes were nice, she looked... very nice,"
Eddie was saying. Miss Parker had to repress a smile.
"Does 'she' have a name?" the other man asked, his voice deep and harmonic.
Parker wished she could see him.
"No. She told me, if anything like what happened with Mark starts happening
again, to ask the sweepers to pass a message to head of Security. I haven't
seen her here before. I would have remembered. Her skirt was very short and
she smoked cigarettes like Dr Raines... I would have remembered her," Eddie said
on the screen. Raines hit the stop button, giving Parker a formidable glare.
"Is there something wrong, sir?" Miss Parker asked.
"Your... attentions are... distracting... the residents. Eddie... was unable...
to focus... after your... interview..." Raines gasped. Parker bowed her head,
fighting fury.
"I must do my job, sir, if the situation is to be resolved. This includes
interviewing the residents!" Miss Parker argued, though she knew she was
destined to lose.
"Find other... means."
****
"Have you been aware of any unwarranted attention from the staff?"
Jarod shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes flicking to the mirror
on one wall. He wasn't sure which he found more intriguing, the idea that
someone was watching him from the other side of the glass, or the fact that he
had a rare chance to study his own reflection.
"No. Mark was never assigned to me, and nobody has asked me any questions,"
Jarod replied. The man interviewing him was reading questions from a card, and
Jarod was becoming more and more convinced that it was for the new Security
head's benefit. She's on the other side of the glass, Jarod thought, and stared
at the mirror once more.
"Do you like working with Sydney?" the interviewer asked.
"Of course. I've worked with Sydney all my life," Jarod said, feeling
bewildered. Surely they didn't think Sydney could be involved in any way?
"He'll be back in another eighteen days."
Jarod had, over a long period of time, come to dread the three weeks
annual leave Sydney took, no matter how much Jarod pleaded with him not to go.
Sydney had left three days ago, and already the time seemed unbearable. The
Centre seemed huge and empty without Sydney to help Jarod to work.
The interviewer touched his ear, and for the first time Jarod realised he
had some sort of transmitter. The man shrugged slightly, then smiled at Jarod.
"Sydney is not under suspicion."
Jarod looked back at the mirror, eager for any sign of movement behind the
reflection. He tapped the files in his hand. "I have work to do..."
The interviewer touched his ear again, then stood, frowning. "Thank you
for your time, Jarod. Someone will be along soon to escort you back to your
area. In the meantime, I suggest you keep working."
When the man had gone, Jarod laid his file on the table and stood
gingerly. The work was merely some calculations that needed to be done, nothing
terribly important. He approached the mirror cautiously, waiting for someone to
come and tell him off. He threw a quick glance at the camera in the top corner
of the room, squared his shoulders and looked.
It had been a long, long time since Sydney had held a mirror in front of
Jarod as a boy, showing him a face he had long forgotten. Since then, the
Centre no longer enforced the ban on Jarod knowing his own face quite so
studiously, but neither was it encouraged. Jarod could count on one hand the
amount of times he had viewed his own reflection in the past few years; any
opportunity was to be taken advantage of.
****
Miss Parker was glad she had left Jarod til last. Of all the residents'
interviews she had been dreading this one the most, dreading seeing her
childhood friend once more. They hadn't seen each other since Miss Parker's
father had sent her to boarding school in Rome.
Imagine her surprise when she realised that Jarod, the gangly teen she
remembered, had grown into a man. The same, handsome man with the melodic
voice, that she had admired so briefly in Raines' DSA. The same, handsome man
who was now checking himself out in the two-way mirror.
Miss Parker understood that he probably didn't get a chance to see himself
very often. To be left alone in a room with a mirror like that must have been
too tempting a situation for the Pretender. The truth of the matter was that
Parker had wanted some time to see him alone, without the idiot interviewer
blocking her vision.
Parker lit a cigarette, inching closer to the glass as Jarod stepped in
front of it. She smiled to herself, realising that with her high heels, they
were almost eye to eye, their faces only a matter of inches apart. It seemed
Jarod was looking right at her, right through her, tilting his head this way and
that. He smoothed his palm across the stubble on his jaw, and then rolled his
shoulders experimentally. He ran his fingers through his short hair, and Miss
Parker mimicked the motion, sweeping her long hair off of her shoulders.
Jarod flattened a hand on his chest, over his heart, and Parker did the
same. His eyes seemed to be black fire, burning through the mirror with the
intensity of his gaze. Jarod reached up with both hands, his fingers tracing a
path across his brow, his temples, around the tips of his ears and down the line
of his jaw. Miss Parker watched the way his shirt tightened over his broad
chest, feeling her mouth go dry.
Abruptly, Jarod stepped back from the mirror, returning to his seat at the
table. He opened his file and took out a pen, seemingly immersed in the
scrawled calculations there within moments. Parker felt physically bereft,
letting out her breath in a deep sigh. She was having dangerous thoughts,
thoughts that could get her killed. Her job was to protect Jarod, not stalk
him.
The afternoon's interviews had led Miss Parker to believe that Jarod was,
in fact the target of Specifics interest. It seemed that almost every resident
with communicable skills had been questioned in some form or another by Mark and
his accomplices, and many of the residents had admitted that they felt there was
an unusual amount of attention being paid to them within the last two months.
All the residents; except Jarod.
Jarod's apparent immunity to such attention led Miss Parker to believe
that the rest was simply a distraction, designed to lead her down the garden
path. Further analyses of the failed kidnapping of Eddie caused Miss Parker to
come to the conclusion that it was a mere diversion. Something was going on
elsewhere in the Centre when the shooting broke out, and she was convinced Jarod
was centre star.
Which meant, of course, in order to protect him she would have to get
closer. Parker sighed, butting out her cigarette. Jarod was working steadily
at his table, tapping his left hand on his leg rhythmically as he scratched out
line after line of sums on his paper. His head tipped forward, his face in
shadow; he appeared to be an ominous study of the scholar. Miss Parker almost
groaned aloud at that thought, leaning forward to lightly bang her head against
the glass in frustration.
Miss Parker realised her mistake as soon as she heard a chair scraping
back. Jarod had risen from his seat, and was approaching the mirror warily.
His eyes flicked back and forth, as if he strained for some glimpse of what lay
behind his reflection.
"Is somebody there?" he called anxiously. Parker closed her eyes briefly.
Jarod came to stand just in front of her, and then cupped his hands around
his face and attempted to peer through the glass. Miss Parker almost wanted to
laugh. Jarod leaned back, understanding the futility of his actions. He
faltered once more, then tentatively raised his hand and placed his palm flat
against the glass.
"I know you are there," he murmured.
Hating herself for what she was about to do, Miss Parker touched her own
to the glass, to Jarod. She held the pose for a few precious moments, then
turned around and walked away.
****
It was hours before Jarod was allowed to return to his room, and instantly
he knew something was different. Just inside the door he stopped, turning back
to the sweeper who had escorted him.
"They searched the room?" he asked. The sweeper waited a beat before nodding.
"All part of the investigation," he said gruffly. Jarod smiled and thanked him,
closing the door. He had learnt long ago it paid to be polite to the staff
around him, working to his advantage later.
Everything appeared to be in its place, Jarod noted, just slightly shifted
around. He was halfway to his desk when he stopped, raising his head and
inhaling deeply. There was an unusual scent in the air, and it took him a few
moments to identify it. Lingering traces of cigarette smoke and perfume.
The thought immediately agitated Jarod, and he fidgeted with his file for
a few moments before placing it on his desk. *She* had been here, he knew it,
the same way she had been behind the mirror. It had to have been her directing
the interviewer, she who later made the noise. Briefly he fantasized that she
had done it on purpose, to let him know she was there. And then she had come to
his room, touched his things, stood where he stood now...
Jarod turned slowly, surveying the contents of his room. Was there
anything missing? Had she taken anything, a souvenir, perhaps? Frantically he
rummaged through his possessions, but every paper, ever pen and every disk
appeared to be in place. He was being silly. She hadn't taken anything. It
was a normal search, like any other.
****
It was dark. The only sounds were her breath and the staccato sound of
distant gunfire. The job had gone sickeningly wrong; the Cleaning team sent in
before the situation was fully resolved. They hadn't counted on the two men in
the office of the warehouse, desperately clutching rifles to their chest. A mob
raid for Centre weaponry gone bad, and these were just kids, just green kids who
had hidden when the sweepers arrived, watched all their buddies get gunned down.
So she and her team had been sent in to clean up, dispose of the bodies and
destroy all the evidence, when suddenly her men had started getting picked off,
one by one. One of the kids had busted out, down the fire escape out the side
of the building. The sweepers outside would take care of him, which just left
her and the kid, high up in the office.
She managed to take him by surprise, busting open the door and kicking the
rifle out of his arms. They fought, like animals, dirty and without honour.
The kid was green but he was huge; still she thought she could take him. She
had martial arts under her belt, and decades' worth of watching her back. She
almost had him, in fact, until the kid pulled a knife, six inches and jagged.
He grinned, jamming it into her gut, watching her gasp in shock and arch into
him...
Parker awoke in a sweat, clutching her belly. Her alarm clock read 2:15
am. She dragged herself out of bed, peeling the sticky sheets from her body and
staggering into the bathroom. She turned the shower on full, pulling her
nightgown over her body and stepping under its cold spray. Under the stark
light her body looked gaunt, all hollows and sharp angles. Miss Parker touched
her hand to her abdomen, to the twelve month-old scar that started just under
her breastplate, between the twin shells of her ribs.
I should probably be dead, thought Miss Parker. Would have been dead if
one of the sweepers hadn't come back on a hunch, shooting the kid between the
eyes. She traced the faint pink scar in wonderment, grimacing as her hand
shook. After the warehouse incident in New York it had all been downhill,
Parker had found herself drinking heavily early in the day, unable to hold her
gun her hands were shaking so badly. The PTBs had tried to ship her off for
therapy, but too soon she had been called back into the field, cleaning up
accidents and evidence all over the country. Her work had gotten sloppy, and
there were a few near misses with the feds that she wasn't proud of.
Getting out was probably the best thing she could have done, Parker
decided. Washing her hair and rinsing off quickly, she stepped out of the
shower and emerged into her bedroom, wrapping herself in a robe. She stepped
around the boxes she hadn't unpacked yet, heading downstairs to fix a drink.
Feeling strengthened by the glass of Smirnoff, Parker pulled her files out of
her briefcase, lighting a lone lamp by the sofa and settling in.
The search of Jarod's room had revealed two bugs, neatly positioned under
his desk and by his bed. Miss Parker had locked them in a box, and they sat
waiting in her office until she could find a techie trustworthy enough to
analyse them for her, though she doubted it would turn up anything useful.
Tomorrow she intended to continue her interviews, starting with the handlers and
anyone who might have had contact with the residents. She expected her time
with the sweepers to be brief; most of them had been around for years and all
were heavily screened before being hired.
Flicking her wet hair from her shoulders, Miss Parker reached for her file
on Jarod, retrieving his photograph from amongst her notes. The picture was
similar to Eddie's, except Jarod looked directly into the lens, his head held
high. Parker curled a lock of her hair around her finger, tracing the outline
of Jarod's face with her other hand. Such a proud man, she thought.
Miss Parker had been reviewing the Pretender Project, and was beginning to
understand how much of it's success hinged on Jarod and the work he did.
Pretenders like Eddie were mainly around to back up the work Jarod did, to take
on the smaller tasks and do the preparations for Jarod's simulations.
'One of our prize investments is in danger, and needs your protection. I want
you to give it your full attention, spare no resource, no expense,' her father
had said, and she now understood he meant Jarod. What she didn't know was to
what lengths her father expected her to go.
****
Miss Parker had found her techie; or rather, he had found her. Parker was
striding in the direction of her office when he rounded the corner, nose buried
in some files. She saw disaster about to strike within moments, his shoelaces
dangerously untied. Miss Parker managed to sidestep when he tripped, staring
down at him in amusement when he sprawled over the floor, papers flying
everywhere. The man rolled over and groaned, flushing deep red when he saw Miss
Parker standing over him.
"Hello," he said. He tried to sit up, but his hand slipped on a sheet of paper
and he thumped back to the floor.
"I'd offer to give you a hand, but you'd most likely take me down with you,"
Parker said dryly. The man nodded, delicately climbing to his feet.
"I, uh... sorry!" The man said, and smiled apologetically. Miss Parker didn't
smile back, merely bending to retrieve some of his papers, looking over them
curiously.
"You work in the tech room. You're a technician?" she asked. The man swallowed
visibly.
"Uh, yeah. I'm Broots, I just started..." Broots said. He held out his hand to
shake, which Parker ignored. Instead she smiled sweetly.
"Come with me, Mr Broots."
****
With Sydney's absence, Jarod found his workload was much lighter than
usual. He had tried sitting in the sim lab and running through exercises, but
his concentration kept being broken by questions. It was no secret that there
was some new security risk at the Centre, and that the residents were the main
targets. What had been kept highly confidential was who was doing it - and why.
Jarod wished he could help, he didn't want to see his friends, like Eddie, get
hurt in any way.
Jarod went back to his room, tucking his arms across his chest and
frowning in concentration as he scanned its contents. Whoever this woman was,
the new head of Security, she certainly seemed capable. He had heard rumors
that most of the sweepers had been interviewed just this morning, and that the
handlers were next in line.
He was startled out of his reverie when he heard the buzzer on the door
sound, locking electronically. It wasn't the first time he had been locked in
his room for no apparent reason, but something inside made him move to stand by
the door, pressing his ear to the colored plexi-glass window and listening.
After a few moments of silence he heard a rhythmic tapping, footsteps
coming closer. But not just any footsteps, Jarod realized, high heels. He drew
in a sharp breath, pressing his ear to the door so hard it almost hurt. He
could almost believe he smelt faint traces of cigarette smoke. The footsteps
stopped just outside his door. She must be just on the other side, Jarod
thought. Who was she? Where did she come from? Why was her interest focusing
on him so much?
The footsteps retreated again, and Jarod waited impatiently for the buzzer
to sound again, then threw open the door. The corridor was empty, of course.
Corridor 15 was usually empty, the residents certainly didn't like to stand
around it. No matter how long or how often the heating vents were on it always
felt cold. Jarod had even overheard one of the sweepers call it 'creepy',
whatever that meant.
Jarod sighed in disappointment; he had been hopping for a glance of the
mystery woman. Instead he headed up the corridor to Eddie's room, knocking
briefly before opening the door. Eddie smiled when he saw who it was.
"Jarod," he said warmly, "Shouldn't you be working?"
"I was, I'm finished. Eddie, I wanted to ask you about the woman who debriefed
you a few days ago," Jarod said, sitting opposite Eddie at his desk. The
younger man ducked his head, studying his hands.
"I... I did a sketch of her," Eddie mumble, and Jarod perked up. Eddie
continued, "They confiscated it. They said it was unproductive. I'm not
supposed to talk about her anymore."
Jarod sighed in frustration, but gave Eddie a friendly tap on the shoulder
as he stood. "Thank you anyway. I'll see you later Eddie."
****
"So, pretty much anyone could have made this. It's the lowest form of bug, so
to speak, made with parts you could pick up at any electronics store. It's
range wouldn't be that good, I'd say only about thirty feet. It's set at a
certain frequency, you'd probably pick it up on a radio or a Walkman," Broots
explained. He looked hesitantly at Miss Parker, who was purposely crowding his
personal space by leaning over his shoulder.
"Huh," she said, and poked the small black box, lying dissected on her desk.
"Does this, uh, have anything to do with the recent security breaches?" Broots
asked. Miss Parker raised an eyebrow at him.
"I *am* head of Security... what does that suggest to you?" she whispered darkly
into his ear. Broots shivered.
Miss Parker straightened up, smiling to herself. Finding the immensely
geeky Mr Broots to hold under her thumb had been one of her better moves. He
had cleared all his security checks, and during their interview, Parker had come
to the conclusion that Broots was perfect for her to manipulate. Naturally
timid, he was obviously in awe of Parker's aura of sex and power. He'd barely
been able to keep his eyes off her chest the whole time they'd been in the same
room together.
Parker headed over to the bar she'd set up in one corner of her office,
pouring herself a drink and lighting a cigarette. Broots coughed self-
consciously, turning back to the bugs and fiddling with them. Miss Parker
ignored him. Whoever had been using the bugs had to have access to Corridor 15,
otherwise planting them there in the first place would have been useless. It
wasn't any of the sweepers, and she had her staff interviewing the handlers at
that very moment...
Corridor 15 was approximately sixty feet long. Miss Parker didn't know
what had compelled her down there earlier that day. One of the sweepers had
informed her that Jarod was safe and sound in his room, and she had activated
the electronic locking system for all the rooms while she was still by the
elevator. Standing outside Jarod's door, she had wondered what he was doing,
had even gone so far as to place her hand on the keypad.
What would she have done? Punched in the code to gain access, gone inside
and had a friendly chat with a man she hadn't spoken to in almost twenty years?
Mentally Parker berated herself for such a foolish moment of weakness, downing
the rest of her drink and striding back over to her desk. Broots jumped in
surprise, and she blew cigarette smoke in his face. She hit the buzzer on her
desk and Joe, one of her sweepers, entered. She motioned for him to wait.
"Listen up, Mr Broots. Right now, you're one of the few people around here I
can trust. You and Joe are going to get me all the footage of Room 4 on
Corridor 15, both in and around the room, for the last month. You're going to
bring it back here and the three of us are going to try and figure out who
planted that bug. Got it?" Miss Parker snapped. Broots nodded dumbly,
scurrying out of the room with Joe in tow. Despite his attitude, or lack
thereof, the balding man actually seemed to have more than two brain cells to
rub together.
Parker decided against another drink, sweeping the scattered pieces of the
bug into her desk drawer. Things were coming to a head; she could feel it in
her gut. She was closing in on the 'who' and 'how' of the assignment. She had
a sneaking suspicion that they'd find the bugs in Jarod's room were planted on
the same day as Eddie's failed kidnapping, proving that it was, in fact, a
distraction. And when she found the bastards who were behind all of this she'd
haul their asses down to Renewal Wing, and let Mr Raines take care of them.
Hopefully, Parker thought, she'd get to them before any attempt was made
on Jarod. To bring in those responsible with no bloodshed whatsoever was an
expectation she hoped to fulfill, but couldn't be sure of. She touched her
abdomen, feeling the irregularity of the skin underneath her clothes. Closing
her eyes, she could easily see the mob kid as a red flower blistered between his
eyes, the surprise on his face. His grip on the knife releasing, he fell
backwards as Parker fell down, clutching the blade and crying out in pain as she
pulled it from her body...
Miss Parker lifted her head sharply, effectively breaking the spell that
had fallen upon her. She trembled all over, and her wet cheeks attested to the
power of the memory. Parker set her jaw grimly, pulling out some files and
setting to work. A bloodless encounter was not just an expectation; it was a
priority.
****
Author: Mandy
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: PG-13
Category: S
Spoilers: Pilot
Key words: Pre-Pretender, UST.
Author's Notes: Some aspects of this story allude to events that occur
throughout the rest of the series and the movie. However, if you haven't seen
the movie, it won't be spoiled for you. More notes at the end, they're easier
to ignore.
Summary: Why does Miss Parker hate Jarod so much? Three years before Jarod
escapes, Miss Parker leaves her duties as a Cleaner in Corporate to become head
of Security at the Centre. Burnt out and bitter, her first assignment is
against poachers from a rival company, who want the Centre's prime investment;
the Pretender named Jarod...
Disclaimer: Not mine blah blah blah no infringement intended, no profit gained.
Genesis
September 1993
Miss Parker had forgotten how cold the Centre could be, despite the hiss
of the heater vents. In the six years she had been away nothing had really
changed. Oh sure, a team of decorators went through every couple of years and
swapped sofas, but the Centre's principle design was classic, and hadn't changed
since she was a child. Returning felt oddly like coming home.
"Angel!" came the booming voice as the door to her new office was pushed open.
Miss Parker's face lit up with a smile.
"Daddy! They said you were in Paris until the end of the month," she cried.
The big man stepped inside, and Parker felt a surge of pride. Her father was
still a vibrant man, his salt and pepper hair combed neatly, his moustache
trimmed, a fine double-breasted suit only emphasizing the deep barrel of his
chest. Parker stepped around the boxes on the floor to give him a hug and a
kiss on the cheek.
"Couldn't miss my Angel's return to the Centre now, could I?" he harrumphed. He
gripped Miss Parker by the shoulders, holding her away so he could look her up
and down. "You look beautiful."
Miss Parker smiled tremulously. She knew she looked like shit. The long
hours in Corporate had left her pale, hollow-eyed and dangerously thin. Several
close encounters while protecting various Centre agencies across the country had
left her with some nasty scars and the shakes. Her doctor had told her a career
change was necessary before she got herself killed.
When the position of head of Security had opened up at the Centre, Parker had
jumped at the chance. It wasn't that she particularly wanted the job, or even
that the Centre itself held any real appeal for her. But a step up on the
ladder was a step up, wherever that happened to be, and she simply couldn't
resist the opportunity to be close to her father.
"Perhaps, Daddy, we could have dinner tonight, to celebrate?" Miss Parker asked.
Her father smiled, his hands dropped and he stepped back.
"I'm afraid I can't, sweetheart. I fly to Geneva tonight, business as usual I'm
afraid," Mr Parker said. Miss Parker's face fell. Mr Parker gave her a gentle
clap on the shoulder, "Head up, sweetheart, you're a Parker. We'll have dinner
when I get back. In the meantime, I've left a file for you in your desk drawer;
your first assignment as head of security. One of our prize investments is in
danger, and needs your protection. I want you to give it your full attention,
spare no resource, no expense. Make me proud, Angel."
Miss Parker lit a cigarette as her father left, rummaging through her
boxes until she found a crystal glass and a bottle of Smirnoff. She sat at her
desk, pouring herself a healthy shot and tapping the ash off her cigarette into
a silver ashtray, the only thing she had unpacked so far. It was only nine-
thirty, but she felt she needed the drink already.
Parker hadn't been expecting an assignment so soon. In fact, she wasn't
really sure what she had been expecting. A nice desk job with good dental
cover, watching security footage and organizing sweepers to do whatever it was
that they did. She took a sip of the vodka, grimacing as it burned her throat,
and slid open the top drawer of the desk. Inside lay a thick manila folder, the
only item in an otherwise barren desk.
A glass of vodka and half a pack of cigarettes later, Miss Parker looked
up from the file. She ground out her smoke, watching disinterestedly as her
hand shook in the air. She dropped it to the table, and closed the file. It
turned out that the last head of Security was out of action due to injuries
sustained in the line of duty, namely on this same assignment. The man was not
expected to live.
A new company was emerging in the Eurasian spread, one that was becoming
more and more of a threat to the Centre. Known only as Specifics, it was a
company that was pushing the boundaries in both biologically and technologically
created intelligence. Miss Parker had heard of them before, and knew they were
into everything from nano tech to genetics; nothing was sacred from their
outlandish experiments and research. Parker had even heard a rumor in the mill
that they were working on the possibilities of cloning, but the idea alone
seemed ludicrous to her.
The Centre's main problem with Specifics was the burgeoning company's
attempts - often successful - to infiltrate the Centre. The previous head of
Security had been injured when he busted a Centre employee attempting to
'relieve' the Centre of one of their Pretenders. The Pretender had been
retained, unharmed, however there had been a small uprising resulting in the
death of a sweeper.
Parker was beginning to see her father's reasons for being so eager to
bring her back to the Centre to fulfill her new position. As his daughter, not
to mention next in line for his job, he could be assured of absolutely loyalty.
Miss Parker smiled bitterly to herself; her father didn't need to dangle pretty
promises like the Chairmanship for her devotion.
Miss Parker opened the file again, withdrawing the information on the
Pretender who had very nearly been a kidnap victim. There was a glossy six by
eight photograph amongst the sheaf of papers, and she laid it on the desk next
to the relevant information. The man in the photograph was good looking, in a
boyish sort of way, dark, close cropped hair, a strong chin and clear blue eyes.
He neither smiled nor looked at the camera, but his expression was open and
trusting.
His file said his name was Edward, known as Eddie to his handlers, and he
was a Pretender with good capabilities. Miss Parker understood that; it meant
he was good, but certainly not the best. The Pretender was wanted, but he
wasn't irreplaceable. She would have to debrief him, and all of his staff. In
fact, she realized, she'd have to screen damn near every employee in the Centre,
searching for any of Specifics' little weasels that might have kept their heads
down.
Parker lit another cigarette and lowered her head to bang it on the desk.
****
Eddie, it turned out, was just as good looking as his photo, perhaps even
more so. He sat at his table fidgeting nervously, watching every move Miss
Parker made. For her own amusement she let the silence drag on, studying her
file on him and writing notes in the margin occasionally. Eddie plucked at the
neck of his Centre-issued tunic for a few moments, and then finally broke.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asked nervously. Miss Parker placed her file on
the desk, and carefully lit a cigarette.
"No, Eddie, you did everything right. This interview is just to help me find
the people who want to hurt you," Parker said soothingly. It was true; when the
fight had broken out Eddie, apparently not knowing what else to do, had snuck
away while everyone else was distracted and returned to his room.
"Oh. Good," Eddie replied, his relief evident. Miss Parker recrossed her legs,
Eddie's eyes tracked the movement and he swallowed visibly.
"Your Mentor is Suzanne?" Parker asked, naming one of the doctors. Eddie
nodded.
"Yes, Suzanne takes me for my simulation work. We have been doing a lot of
exercises," Eddie explained.
Miss Parker mentally reviewed what she knew of Suzanne and Eddie's work
from the file. Suzanne was fairly new to the Centre, and had been assigned to
Eddie just twelve months ago. Eddie didn't do sims on a regular basis, mostly
he did legwork, helping preparations for the big simulations, doing research.
Suzanne was there to assist and encourage Eddie, to prevent him from becoming
distracted. So far there had been no complaints on either Eddie's or Suzanne's
behalf, but Parker understood that a Pretender wouldn't exactly know what to
look for.
"Do you like working with Suzanne?" Miss Parker asked.
"Of course," Eddie said, frowning. Of course, thought Miss Parker. Not liking
your Mentor is frowned upon for a Pretender.
"What was your relationship to the man who tried to take you, Eddie?" Parker
asked.
"Mark, he supervised me sometimes. He was new, he didn't know all the rules.
He kept asking me how and why I did things. I didn't like it," he said, his
brow wrinkling in distaste.
"What specifically did he ask you about, Eddie? It's very important that I
know," Miss Parker said. She was alarmed to realise she was talking to this
fully grown man as if he were a child.
"About my simulations, about how I did them. What it felt like," Eddie
answered. He frowned again, "It seemed very important to him, so I answered.
Was that wrong?"
"You didn't know any better," Parker reassured, "When did you first realise
something was wrong?"
"Oh, that is easy," Eddie said with a small smile, "When he held a gun to my
back."
What a beautiful smile, Miss Parker thought, surprised by its intensity.
Automatically she smiled back, and Eddie blushed. Parker picked up her file
again, glancing through it. "This man, Mark, did he say anything to you?"
"He told me not to make any noise. He told me to act like everything was
normal, and if I tried to attract any attention he'd shoot me," Eddie said. It
wasn't anything Miss Parker didn't already know; the whole situation had been
caught on camera.
"And then what happened?" Miss Parker asked patiently.
"He took me out of the sim lab, to the elevator," Eddie flushed, and looked down
at his hands, "I'm not normally allowed near the elevator, but there were no
sweepers on the way, nobody who could stop me."
He's embarrassed, Miss Parker realised. Embarrassed that he was out of
his section. It wasn't his fault, the sweepers in question had been found
unconscious in a storage room on that floor, drugged. Miss Parker looked down
at her file, reading the events as Eddie described them.
"We got into the elevator, and at Sub Level two it stopped, very suddenly. I
could hear an alarm, and people shouting outside. The doors opened and Mark
pushed me out first. He looked very scared. There were a lot of sweepers
waiting, and Mr Johnson," Eddie said, naming Miss Parker's predecessor, "Mark
fired once, so I dropped to the ground. I think that's when the sweeper was
killed. I crawled back inside the elevator, and I could hear a lot of shooting,
but the doors closed before I could see anything. I didn't know what to do, so
I went back to my room."
Miss Parker knew what happened once Eddie had gotten away. Mark had
gotten off a few more shots, one of them getting Mr Johnson in the throat,
before being shot down. Some of Mark's accomplices had been found before news
of the shooting spread; a techie with a fist full of chloroform, a couple of
guards in the car park with a getaway vehicle ready, another at the gate waiting
to let them out.
It didn't make any sense, Miss Parker thought. Surely they would have
realised they just couldn't walk out the front door? Security had realised
something was off as soon as they'd stepped into the elevator; Mark didn't have
clearance to move any of the Pretenders around.
"You did the right thing. If anyone starts asking you strange questions again,
I want you to ask one of the sweepers to tell me. I'll let them all know that
they're to pass on any message you want, alright?"
"Okay. Who do I ask them to tell?" Eddie asked. Parker smiled faintly.
"Just tell them head of security," she said, "Thank you Eddie. I'll walk you
back to your area now."
Miss Parker stood, tucking her file under her arm. Eddie gave her another shy
smile as they left the room, a sweeper falling into step behind them. Eddie
faltered at the elevator, waiting for Miss Parker herself to hit the button.
It's doors opened immediately, and Parker suppressed a shudder at the sight of
the bullet hole still decorating it's interior. Her mother's suicide was a long
time ago, she had to learn to move on.
On Corridor 15 Eddie became surer of himself, almost leading the way, although
he was careful not to leave Parker behind. Miss Parker had a brief moment of
wondering who it was that taught him manners, and then dismissed the thought.
Asking questions like that could only get her into trouble.
"Thank you again for your time, Eddie, I hope I didn't interrupt your schedule
too much," Miss Parker said once they were at his door. He smiled again.
"Oh no, no really, I've just got some gym work and then research, you didn't
interrupt anything..." Eddie seemed to realise he was rambling and trailed off,
blushing again. Miss Parker allowed herself a small smile in return and
squeezed his arm gently.
"Goodbye, Eddie," Parker said, and walked away. She knew, without needing to
look over her shoulder, that Eddie would be watching her butt as she went.
****
"One more," Steve cajoled, and Jarod sucked in a breath and forced it out
through a grimace, pushing the weights over his head once more and feeling the
strain through his arms.
With a sigh of relief Jarod dropped the bar into place, sitting up as
Steve threw him a water bottle. Jarod had worked up quite a sweat in the last
hour, and was well and truly ready to finish up. He sucked at the water bottle,
towelling the cooling sweat from his face at the same time.
"Good work today, Jarod. Shower off and I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Steve
said.
"Thank you," Jarod said, and watched the instructor leave. He stood up and
moved to an empty space on the floor, running through a few warm-down stretches.
"Hello Jarod," someone behind him said, and Jarod turned around to see Eddie
entering the gym. He looked excited; his colour high and eyes shining.
"Is something wrong, Eddie?" Jarod asked. Eddie shook his head.
"No, I mean - no. Nothing's wrong," Eddie said. He bit his lip, and Jarod
smiled.
"Are you... ill?" Jarod asked with dread. Nobody ever got sick in the Centre,
except for sometimes the staff, and they were always kept far away from the
residents.
"No, of course not!" Eddie cried. He blushed, "I just had a debriefing session,
that's all."
Jarod sat down on one of the benches, and Eddie sat beside him. It wasn't
yet time for Eddie's instructor to arrive, which they had a few minutes to talk,
and Jarod was glad. He was intrigued by Eddie's strange behaviour.
"Was it about Mark?" Jarod asked. It was still a tender subject amongst the
residents. Never before had their lives been endangered in such a way.
"Yes. It's okay, really, she was very nice," Eddie said. His words raised a
flag in Jarod's mind, and he turned to Eddie in surprise.
"She?"
"Yes, she," Eddie said, and flushed. He spoke hesitantly, "She... she was very
pretty. Her clothes were nice, she looked... very nice."
Jarod remembered the little girl he had known as a child. "Does 'she'
have a name?"
"No. She told me, if anything like what happened with Mark starts happening
again, to ask the sweepers to pass a message to head of Security," Eddie said.
He twined his fingers together, and looked shyly at Jarod, "I haven't seen her
here before. I would have remembered. Her skirt was very short and she smoked
cigarettes like Dr Raines... I would have remembered her."
The Miss Parker he knew would never have smoked, Jarod thought. He had
done the research into the relation between cigarettes and lung cancer himself;
the Miss Parker he had known would never have taken up such a dangerous habit.
Nor would she be working at the Centre, she was going to be a ballerina, or at
least, that was what she had always said.
Eddie's instructor arrived and Jarod headed for the showers, still
pondering his friend's words as he soaped the sweat from his body. Most women
in the Centre were middle aged or kept well away from the residents, and
certainly none dressed in a way that could be construed as provocative. The new
head of Security must have been brought in from elsewhere.
****
Miss Parker had intended to start at ground zero and work her way out
through the other residents in the Centre, but her plans were cut short by the
arrival of Mr Raines in her office.
"Mr Raines. Sir," Miss Parker said, trying not to be too obvious about her
shock at his visit.
"Miss Parker. It has... been a long... time..." the old man wheezed. Miss
Parker politely held out her hand, almost shuddering when his cold, dead hand
took hers. When did this man get so... old?
"Is there something I can do for you?" Parker asked politely. She jumped when
Raines thumped a DSA reader on the table, raising the lid and inserting a disk.
The image flickered a few times, and then the footage began to roll. It
was of Eddie, Miss Parker realised, barely an hour after their interview. He
appeared to be in the resident's gym, speaking to another man. Another,
incredibly good looking man, and Parker almost leaned in for a closer look,
before the camera's focus shifted to Eddie.
"She... she was very pretty. Her clothes were nice, she looked... very nice,"
Eddie was saying. Miss Parker had to repress a smile.
"Does 'she' have a name?" the other man asked, his voice deep and harmonic.
Parker wished she could see him.
"No. She told me, if anything like what happened with Mark starts happening
again, to ask the sweepers to pass a message to head of Security. I haven't
seen her here before. I would have remembered. Her skirt was very short and
she smoked cigarettes like Dr Raines... I would have remembered her," Eddie said
on the screen. Raines hit the stop button, giving Parker a formidable glare.
"Is there something wrong, sir?" Miss Parker asked.
"Your... attentions are... distracting... the residents. Eddie... was unable...
to focus... after your... interview..." Raines gasped. Parker bowed her head,
fighting fury.
"I must do my job, sir, if the situation is to be resolved. This includes
interviewing the residents!" Miss Parker argued, though she knew she was
destined to lose.
"Find other... means."
****
"Have you been aware of any unwarranted attention from the staff?"
Jarod shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes flicking to the mirror
on one wall. He wasn't sure which he found more intriguing, the idea that
someone was watching him from the other side of the glass, or the fact that he
had a rare chance to study his own reflection.
"No. Mark was never assigned to me, and nobody has asked me any questions,"
Jarod replied. The man interviewing him was reading questions from a card, and
Jarod was becoming more and more convinced that it was for the new Security
head's benefit. She's on the other side of the glass, Jarod thought, and stared
at the mirror once more.
"Do you like working with Sydney?" the interviewer asked.
"Of course. I've worked with Sydney all my life," Jarod said, feeling
bewildered. Surely they didn't think Sydney could be involved in any way?
"He'll be back in another eighteen days."
Jarod had, over a long period of time, come to dread the three weeks
annual leave Sydney took, no matter how much Jarod pleaded with him not to go.
Sydney had left three days ago, and already the time seemed unbearable. The
Centre seemed huge and empty without Sydney to help Jarod to work.
The interviewer touched his ear, and for the first time Jarod realised he
had some sort of transmitter. The man shrugged slightly, then smiled at Jarod.
"Sydney is not under suspicion."
Jarod looked back at the mirror, eager for any sign of movement behind the
reflection. He tapped the files in his hand. "I have work to do..."
The interviewer touched his ear again, then stood, frowning. "Thank you
for your time, Jarod. Someone will be along soon to escort you back to your
area. In the meantime, I suggest you keep working."
When the man had gone, Jarod laid his file on the table and stood
gingerly. The work was merely some calculations that needed to be done, nothing
terribly important. He approached the mirror cautiously, waiting for someone to
come and tell him off. He threw a quick glance at the camera in the top corner
of the room, squared his shoulders and looked.
It had been a long, long time since Sydney had held a mirror in front of
Jarod as a boy, showing him a face he had long forgotten. Since then, the
Centre no longer enforced the ban on Jarod knowing his own face quite so
studiously, but neither was it encouraged. Jarod could count on one hand the
amount of times he had viewed his own reflection in the past few years; any
opportunity was to be taken advantage of.
****
Miss Parker was glad she had left Jarod til last. Of all the residents'
interviews she had been dreading this one the most, dreading seeing her
childhood friend once more. They hadn't seen each other since Miss Parker's
father had sent her to boarding school in Rome.
Imagine her surprise when she realised that Jarod, the gangly teen she
remembered, had grown into a man. The same, handsome man with the melodic
voice, that she had admired so briefly in Raines' DSA. The same, handsome man
who was now checking himself out in the two-way mirror.
Miss Parker understood that he probably didn't get a chance to see himself
very often. To be left alone in a room with a mirror like that must have been
too tempting a situation for the Pretender. The truth of the matter was that
Parker had wanted some time to see him alone, without the idiot interviewer
blocking her vision.
Parker lit a cigarette, inching closer to the glass as Jarod stepped in
front of it. She smiled to herself, realising that with her high heels, they
were almost eye to eye, their faces only a matter of inches apart. It seemed
Jarod was looking right at her, right through her, tilting his head this way and
that. He smoothed his palm across the stubble on his jaw, and then rolled his
shoulders experimentally. He ran his fingers through his short hair, and Miss
Parker mimicked the motion, sweeping her long hair off of her shoulders.
Jarod flattened a hand on his chest, over his heart, and Parker did the
same. His eyes seemed to be black fire, burning through the mirror with the
intensity of his gaze. Jarod reached up with both hands, his fingers tracing a
path across his brow, his temples, around the tips of his ears and down the line
of his jaw. Miss Parker watched the way his shirt tightened over his broad
chest, feeling her mouth go dry.
Abruptly, Jarod stepped back from the mirror, returning to his seat at the
table. He opened his file and took out a pen, seemingly immersed in the
scrawled calculations there within moments. Parker felt physically bereft,
letting out her breath in a deep sigh. She was having dangerous thoughts,
thoughts that could get her killed. Her job was to protect Jarod, not stalk
him.
The afternoon's interviews had led Miss Parker to believe that Jarod was,
in fact the target of Specifics interest. It seemed that almost every resident
with communicable skills had been questioned in some form or another by Mark and
his accomplices, and many of the residents had admitted that they felt there was
an unusual amount of attention being paid to them within the last two months.
All the residents; except Jarod.
Jarod's apparent immunity to such attention led Miss Parker to believe
that the rest was simply a distraction, designed to lead her down the garden
path. Further analyses of the failed kidnapping of Eddie caused Miss Parker to
come to the conclusion that it was a mere diversion. Something was going on
elsewhere in the Centre when the shooting broke out, and she was convinced Jarod
was centre star.
Which meant, of course, in order to protect him she would have to get
closer. Parker sighed, butting out her cigarette. Jarod was working steadily
at his table, tapping his left hand on his leg rhythmically as he scratched out
line after line of sums on his paper. His head tipped forward, his face in
shadow; he appeared to be an ominous study of the scholar. Miss Parker almost
groaned aloud at that thought, leaning forward to lightly bang her head against
the glass in frustration.
Miss Parker realised her mistake as soon as she heard a chair scraping
back. Jarod had risen from his seat, and was approaching the mirror warily.
His eyes flicked back and forth, as if he strained for some glimpse of what lay
behind his reflection.
"Is somebody there?" he called anxiously. Parker closed her eyes briefly.
Jarod came to stand just in front of her, and then cupped his hands around
his face and attempted to peer through the glass. Miss Parker almost wanted to
laugh. Jarod leaned back, understanding the futility of his actions. He
faltered once more, then tentatively raised his hand and placed his palm flat
against the glass.
"I know you are there," he murmured.
Hating herself for what she was about to do, Miss Parker touched her own
to the glass, to Jarod. She held the pose for a few precious moments, then
turned around and walked away.
****
It was hours before Jarod was allowed to return to his room, and instantly
he knew something was different. Just inside the door he stopped, turning back
to the sweeper who had escorted him.
"They searched the room?" he asked. The sweeper waited a beat before nodding.
"All part of the investigation," he said gruffly. Jarod smiled and thanked him,
closing the door. He had learnt long ago it paid to be polite to the staff
around him, working to his advantage later.
Everything appeared to be in its place, Jarod noted, just slightly shifted
around. He was halfway to his desk when he stopped, raising his head and
inhaling deeply. There was an unusual scent in the air, and it took him a few
moments to identify it. Lingering traces of cigarette smoke and perfume.
The thought immediately agitated Jarod, and he fidgeted with his file for
a few moments before placing it on his desk. *She* had been here, he knew it,
the same way she had been behind the mirror. It had to have been her directing
the interviewer, she who later made the noise. Briefly he fantasized that she
had done it on purpose, to let him know she was there. And then she had come to
his room, touched his things, stood where he stood now...
Jarod turned slowly, surveying the contents of his room. Was there
anything missing? Had she taken anything, a souvenir, perhaps? Frantically he
rummaged through his possessions, but every paper, ever pen and every disk
appeared to be in place. He was being silly. She hadn't taken anything. It
was a normal search, like any other.
****
It was dark. The only sounds were her breath and the staccato sound of
distant gunfire. The job had gone sickeningly wrong; the Cleaning team sent in
before the situation was fully resolved. They hadn't counted on the two men in
the office of the warehouse, desperately clutching rifles to their chest. A mob
raid for Centre weaponry gone bad, and these were just kids, just green kids who
had hidden when the sweepers arrived, watched all their buddies get gunned down.
So she and her team had been sent in to clean up, dispose of the bodies and
destroy all the evidence, when suddenly her men had started getting picked off,
one by one. One of the kids had busted out, down the fire escape out the side
of the building. The sweepers outside would take care of him, which just left
her and the kid, high up in the office.
She managed to take him by surprise, busting open the door and kicking the
rifle out of his arms. They fought, like animals, dirty and without honour.
The kid was green but he was huge; still she thought she could take him. She
had martial arts under her belt, and decades' worth of watching her back. She
almost had him, in fact, until the kid pulled a knife, six inches and jagged.
He grinned, jamming it into her gut, watching her gasp in shock and arch into
him...
Parker awoke in a sweat, clutching her belly. Her alarm clock read 2:15
am. She dragged herself out of bed, peeling the sticky sheets from her body and
staggering into the bathroom. She turned the shower on full, pulling her
nightgown over her body and stepping under its cold spray. Under the stark
light her body looked gaunt, all hollows and sharp angles. Miss Parker touched
her hand to her abdomen, to the twelve month-old scar that started just under
her breastplate, between the twin shells of her ribs.
I should probably be dead, thought Miss Parker. Would have been dead if
one of the sweepers hadn't come back on a hunch, shooting the kid between the
eyes. She traced the faint pink scar in wonderment, grimacing as her hand
shook. After the warehouse incident in New York it had all been downhill,
Parker had found herself drinking heavily early in the day, unable to hold her
gun her hands were shaking so badly. The PTBs had tried to ship her off for
therapy, but too soon she had been called back into the field, cleaning up
accidents and evidence all over the country. Her work had gotten sloppy, and
there were a few near misses with the feds that she wasn't proud of.
Getting out was probably the best thing she could have done, Parker
decided. Washing her hair and rinsing off quickly, she stepped out of the
shower and emerged into her bedroom, wrapping herself in a robe. She stepped
around the boxes she hadn't unpacked yet, heading downstairs to fix a drink.
Feeling strengthened by the glass of Smirnoff, Parker pulled her files out of
her briefcase, lighting a lone lamp by the sofa and settling in.
The search of Jarod's room had revealed two bugs, neatly positioned under
his desk and by his bed. Miss Parker had locked them in a box, and they sat
waiting in her office until she could find a techie trustworthy enough to
analyse them for her, though she doubted it would turn up anything useful.
Tomorrow she intended to continue her interviews, starting with the handlers and
anyone who might have had contact with the residents. She expected her time
with the sweepers to be brief; most of them had been around for years and all
were heavily screened before being hired.
Flicking her wet hair from her shoulders, Miss Parker reached for her file
on Jarod, retrieving his photograph from amongst her notes. The picture was
similar to Eddie's, except Jarod looked directly into the lens, his head held
high. Parker curled a lock of her hair around her finger, tracing the outline
of Jarod's face with her other hand. Such a proud man, she thought.
Miss Parker had been reviewing the Pretender Project, and was beginning to
understand how much of it's success hinged on Jarod and the work he did.
Pretenders like Eddie were mainly around to back up the work Jarod did, to take
on the smaller tasks and do the preparations for Jarod's simulations.
'One of our prize investments is in danger, and needs your protection. I want
you to give it your full attention, spare no resource, no expense,' her father
had said, and she now understood he meant Jarod. What she didn't know was to
what lengths her father expected her to go.
****
Miss Parker had found her techie; or rather, he had found her. Parker was
striding in the direction of her office when he rounded the corner, nose buried
in some files. She saw disaster about to strike within moments, his shoelaces
dangerously untied. Miss Parker managed to sidestep when he tripped, staring
down at him in amusement when he sprawled over the floor, papers flying
everywhere. The man rolled over and groaned, flushing deep red when he saw Miss
Parker standing over him.
"Hello," he said. He tried to sit up, but his hand slipped on a sheet of paper
and he thumped back to the floor.
"I'd offer to give you a hand, but you'd most likely take me down with you,"
Parker said dryly. The man nodded, delicately climbing to his feet.
"I, uh... sorry!" The man said, and smiled apologetically. Miss Parker didn't
smile back, merely bending to retrieve some of his papers, looking over them
curiously.
"You work in the tech room. You're a technician?" she asked. The man swallowed
visibly.
"Uh, yeah. I'm Broots, I just started..." Broots said. He held out his hand to
shake, which Parker ignored. Instead she smiled sweetly.
"Come with me, Mr Broots."
****
With Sydney's absence, Jarod found his workload was much lighter than
usual. He had tried sitting in the sim lab and running through exercises, but
his concentration kept being broken by questions. It was no secret that there
was some new security risk at the Centre, and that the residents were the main
targets. What had been kept highly confidential was who was doing it - and why.
Jarod wished he could help, he didn't want to see his friends, like Eddie, get
hurt in any way.
Jarod went back to his room, tucking his arms across his chest and
frowning in concentration as he scanned its contents. Whoever this woman was,
the new head of Security, she certainly seemed capable. He had heard rumors
that most of the sweepers had been interviewed just this morning, and that the
handlers were next in line.
He was startled out of his reverie when he heard the buzzer on the door
sound, locking electronically. It wasn't the first time he had been locked in
his room for no apparent reason, but something inside made him move to stand by
the door, pressing his ear to the colored plexi-glass window and listening.
After a few moments of silence he heard a rhythmic tapping, footsteps
coming closer. But not just any footsteps, Jarod realized, high heels. He drew
in a sharp breath, pressing his ear to the door so hard it almost hurt. He
could almost believe he smelt faint traces of cigarette smoke. The footsteps
stopped just outside his door. She must be just on the other side, Jarod
thought. Who was she? Where did she come from? Why was her interest focusing
on him so much?
The footsteps retreated again, and Jarod waited impatiently for the buzzer
to sound again, then threw open the door. The corridor was empty, of course.
Corridor 15 was usually empty, the residents certainly didn't like to stand
around it. No matter how long or how often the heating vents were on it always
felt cold. Jarod had even overheard one of the sweepers call it 'creepy',
whatever that meant.
Jarod sighed in disappointment; he had been hopping for a glance of the
mystery woman. Instead he headed up the corridor to Eddie's room, knocking
briefly before opening the door. Eddie smiled when he saw who it was.
"Jarod," he said warmly, "Shouldn't you be working?"
"I was, I'm finished. Eddie, I wanted to ask you about the woman who debriefed
you a few days ago," Jarod said, sitting opposite Eddie at his desk. The
younger man ducked his head, studying his hands.
"I... I did a sketch of her," Eddie mumble, and Jarod perked up. Eddie
continued, "They confiscated it. They said it was unproductive. I'm not
supposed to talk about her anymore."
Jarod sighed in frustration, but gave Eddie a friendly tap on the shoulder
as he stood. "Thank you anyway. I'll see you later Eddie."
****
"So, pretty much anyone could have made this. It's the lowest form of bug, so
to speak, made with parts you could pick up at any electronics store. It's
range wouldn't be that good, I'd say only about thirty feet. It's set at a
certain frequency, you'd probably pick it up on a radio or a Walkman," Broots
explained. He looked hesitantly at Miss Parker, who was purposely crowding his
personal space by leaning over his shoulder.
"Huh," she said, and poked the small black box, lying dissected on her desk.
"Does this, uh, have anything to do with the recent security breaches?" Broots
asked. Miss Parker raised an eyebrow at him.
"I *am* head of Security... what does that suggest to you?" she whispered darkly
into his ear. Broots shivered.
Miss Parker straightened up, smiling to herself. Finding the immensely
geeky Mr Broots to hold under her thumb had been one of her better moves. He
had cleared all his security checks, and during their interview, Parker had come
to the conclusion that Broots was perfect for her to manipulate. Naturally
timid, he was obviously in awe of Parker's aura of sex and power. He'd barely
been able to keep his eyes off her chest the whole time they'd been in the same
room together.
Parker headed over to the bar she'd set up in one corner of her office,
pouring herself a drink and lighting a cigarette. Broots coughed self-
consciously, turning back to the bugs and fiddling with them. Miss Parker
ignored him. Whoever had been using the bugs had to have access to Corridor 15,
otherwise planting them there in the first place would have been useless. It
wasn't any of the sweepers, and she had her staff interviewing the handlers at
that very moment...
Corridor 15 was approximately sixty feet long. Miss Parker didn't know
what had compelled her down there earlier that day. One of the sweepers had
informed her that Jarod was safe and sound in his room, and she had activated
the electronic locking system for all the rooms while she was still by the
elevator. Standing outside Jarod's door, she had wondered what he was doing,
had even gone so far as to place her hand on the keypad.
What would she have done? Punched in the code to gain access, gone inside
and had a friendly chat with a man she hadn't spoken to in almost twenty years?
Mentally Parker berated herself for such a foolish moment of weakness, downing
the rest of her drink and striding back over to her desk. Broots jumped in
surprise, and she blew cigarette smoke in his face. She hit the buzzer on her
desk and Joe, one of her sweepers, entered. She motioned for him to wait.
"Listen up, Mr Broots. Right now, you're one of the few people around here I
can trust. You and Joe are going to get me all the footage of Room 4 on
Corridor 15, both in and around the room, for the last month. You're going to
bring it back here and the three of us are going to try and figure out who
planted that bug. Got it?" Miss Parker snapped. Broots nodded dumbly,
scurrying out of the room with Joe in tow. Despite his attitude, or lack
thereof, the balding man actually seemed to have more than two brain cells to
rub together.
Parker decided against another drink, sweeping the scattered pieces of the
bug into her desk drawer. Things were coming to a head; she could feel it in
her gut. She was closing in on the 'who' and 'how' of the assignment. She had
a sneaking suspicion that they'd find the bugs in Jarod's room were planted on
the same day as Eddie's failed kidnapping, proving that it was, in fact, a
distraction. And when she found the bastards who were behind all of this she'd
haul their asses down to Renewal Wing, and let Mr Raines take care of them.
Hopefully, Parker thought, she'd get to them before any attempt was made
on Jarod. To bring in those responsible with no bloodshed whatsoever was an
expectation she hoped to fulfill, but couldn't be sure of. She touched her
abdomen, feeling the irregularity of the skin underneath her clothes. Closing
her eyes, she could easily see the mob kid as a red flower blistered between his
eyes, the surprise on his face. His grip on the knife releasing, he fell
backwards as Parker fell down, clutching the blade and crying out in pain as she
pulled it from her body...
Miss Parker lifted her head sharply, effectively breaking the spell that
had fallen upon her. She trembled all over, and her wet cheeks attested to the
power of the memory. Parker set her jaw grimly, pulling out some files and
setting to work. A bloodless encounter was not just an expectation; it was a
priority.
****