Copyright 2001, Zelda. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reposted in part or in full without written permission.
Disclaimer: Earth: Final Conflict and all its characters are the property of Tribune Entertainment and are used without permission. Jarod is the property of the Centre; The Pretender and its characters are the property of NBC Television, and are also used without permission. However, I do promise to put everyone neatly away when I am done playing with them.
Rating: PG-13
Merry Christmas, Mr. Sandoval (Part I)
an Earth: Final Conflict story
By: Zelda
Note: I didn't mean for this story to get so long, but the longer these characters live, the more they have to say! Part II of this installment will bring the first arc of my series to a close. If you think that this is enough, please feel free to review and let me know (can't guarantee I'll listen, but Hey! Who knows?). And if you like the series, please write also. This episode's cameo falls to the lovely and gracious Miss Parker, and we learn why the Taelons are so interested in Kat. Plus the first ever appearance of TropicalRainforest!Augur!
Taelon Mothership
December 23
Third watch on the Mothership. The bridge was nearly deserted; only a minimal crew was on station, and Zo'or was off sulking during his Taelon rest period. Ronald Sandoval exhaled, releasing the breath he'd been holding all day. This was one of his favorite times. No one observing him, no Kat looking over his shoulder. No need to pretend so strenuously. No need to act as if the MI was still fully functional. Now, he could contemplate the lazily rotating planet below, see the darkness stealing across the Earth, the gleaming jewels that were her great cities starting to appear against night's velvet background...
"Sir!" called one of the Volunteers. "Sensors detect an object moving at a high velocity toward the Earth!"
"Origin?" he snapped, reverie sublimated instantly under the screen of his MI.
"Unknown, sir," answered the Volunteer. "But it is heading for the Earth and I am scanning an energy source."
"Can we intercept?"
"Sir, it's going to impact in less than fifteen minutes and we're on the wrong side of the planet."
"Alert Zo'or," Sandoval commanded. He could take this thing out if he moved the Mothership through I.D. space to meet it, but regrettably his authority on board did not extend that far. "Estimated location of impact?"
"Here, sir," answered another Volunteer, calling up a map of South America, a small portion of the northern interior highlighted.
"The nearest embassies are Mexico City or Sao Paolo-Brasilia," he realized.
"Too far away to get a decent shot, sir."
Damn, he thought. He could do nothing to prevent the landing. He'd just have to make sure that, whatever it was, any threat it might present was neutralized. Or brought to the proper hands.
***
Augur's lair
Same day
"I am pleased to announce that, effective immediately, the state of emergency is lifted." The press room at the White House broke out into spontaneous applause. After a moment, the President continued. "We thank our Taelon friends for their kind assistance during these times of trouble, and I now personally authorize the release of all innocent American citizens who have been detained by American or Volunteer forces. In addition, we are able to give you this evening definite evidence that the attempt on my life was made, not by a Resistance sympathizer as was originally thought, but by a professional assassin, Judson Corr." The room buzzed with questions.
A delighted Emma turned to Liam. "Congratulations, Major," she said, smiling warmly.
"You weren't so bad yourself," he returned. "If you hadn't gotten to that coroner..."
"May I remind you two that this whole thing would never have happened if not for my expertise?" Augur interjected. "After all, I was the one who put his vast computer system entirely at your disposal."
"Touché," said Emma as the vid screen behind her switched back to the studio. "That was the stunning news just over an hour ago, and now for reaction from the street, we go to Damien Taylor. Damien, what can you tell us?"
"Ona, the American public couldn't have received a better Christmas gift than their freedom." Augur turned down the volume on the rest of the reporter's commentary. Emma shook her head in mock disapproval. "C'mon, Augur, that's not fair. We owe Damien."
"Damien owes us for giving him that story!" Augur scoffed.
"True," Emma acknowledged. "Now, what are we going to do about giving him another?" Liam's eyes lit up with mischief.
"Well," he began.
"Hold off, my friend," Augur cut in. "I'm getting something from the Mothership." A diagram appeared in the center holo-stream. Emma recognized the outline of the Mothership, dwarfed by the bulk of the Earth. A blinking light tracked across the opposite side of the planet from the ship and struck the ground, illuminating a section of northern South America. Emma rounded the stream to get a better look at the location. "See this?" Augur pointed at a series of readouts. "Something crashed, and whatever it was, had an interdimensional drive as a power source."
"Lili?" queried Liam.
"Lili," Augur confirmed. "It's got to be her. And it landed here." The holo-globe spun around so that the crash site was facing the two men.
"But where is here?" Liam wondered. Augur began an inquiry.
"It's Mazan," stated Emma impatiently, returning to Liam's side. "An independent province with associate status in the Latin American Alliance." Augur nodded surprised confirmation. "I assume we need to be there? And that Zo'or and Sandoval will be there as well?"
"Yes, but..." Liam began.
"Augur, a global link, if you'd be so kind?" The hacker complied, meeting Liam's bewildered gaze with one of his own. Emma dialed the number, then waited for the connection to open. The Taelon schematic disappeared, to be replaced by a young woman's face. Her bored expression vanished instantly. "Senora!" she called, and scrambled offscreen. Emma raised her eyebrows amusedly. A second later another, older woman picked up the connection. "Ysabel!" "Emma," answered the other. "We are somewhat ... distracted at the moment. I'm afraid I don't have time to chat."
"I know. You've got an impact in the interior, probably of Taelon origin." A moment's surprise flickered in Ysabel's eyes. "I need to bring a team down there to extract it. And the Taelons will be sending their own teams. Can you arrange it so that I see the sights, and they don't, Madam President?"
"I should no longer be startled by you, blanca! Of course, what's ours is yours. And Carlos has already started his expedition. You can meet him at Jurura. When shall he expect you?"
Emma blinked in dismay. Oops. When? Try how? The snick of a closing global drew her attention to Liam, who was sliding his back into his belt. "Tell her six hours," he said.
***
Same location, same time
Several levels below
The constant hum of machinery was an irritant that had long passed the bearable, but in an odd way, he welcomed it. As long as it was running, he knew he could maintain his protective trance. By damping and altering his own energy field, he merged with the general level of activity, becoming nearly invisible to all searchers, both human and Taelon.
Not that his own kind were looking all that hard for him. They knew that in the end he would have to return. No Taelon had ever survived without the Commonality. Only Ma'el, but he had been both physically and philosophically removed from them. He, Da'an, was in close proximity to the Commonality; he heard it murmuring in every waking moment. It was part of the reason he welcomed the machines-they were a distraction from his present circumstances. Forced into hiding for the past six weeks, emerging from the trance like a ghist'all from the cocoon, and for what? Repairing the damage that Zo'or had done? Emma had suffered no lasting damage from the attack, though the mental shields he had helped her strengthen were quite a discovery. And as for William-truthfully, there was nothing that could be done. Nothing that would not take considerable time to accomplish. And what brings me the greatest fear is the possibility that we no longer have that time. To ensure the survival of the Taelons, he had once been willing to do anything. Whatever was necessary, he had vowed. And now? Have I allowed emotion to influence me away from what is required?
There had been a disturbance on board the Mothership, after Sandoval escorted him to the holding cell. Volunteers had raced by, and he had felt the pain of the ship itself, the living ship he had helped design. Finally, Sandoval had reappeared. "What has happened?" he'd demanded and the implant had answered, "Captain Marquette tried to sabotage the engines." He had turned away in shock, been relieved at the news of her escape, but only now could he begin to accept the betrayal. Lili, whom he had trusted, who had saved his life at the risk of her own, had tried to kill him. And what might William have done, if given the opportunity, or sufficient motivation? If he had discovered who was truly responsible for his wife's death? And Liam? If Liam were to learn the real truth? I am not the only one willing to do whatever is necessary...but their actions are to ensure the future of humanity...even at the expense of the Taelons...
Da'an blushed an unhappy blue. Even at my own expense...
***
Washington, D.C.
Later that same evening
Liam rapped twice on the manhole overhead. An answering knock from above prompted three more knocks in reply, then a pause, then a final knock. The manhole slid off to reveal an overcast winter sky. "We've got some equipment down below," he advised, as he hauled himself out of the sewers.
"Not a problem!" responded a voice, which, as Emma stuck her head out for her first breath of fresh air since escaping the Mothership, she saw belonged to a thirty-something man in fatigues. At his signal, two others detached themselves from the shadows and hastened down the sewer shaft. "It's good to see you again, Liam."
"And you, Colonel," Liam responded, shaking hands. "Thank you for helping us out."
"Like I said, not a problem. We're always grateful for a chance to get our hands on alien technology. And a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Cook."
Emma bit her tongue and kept her face averted as the Colonel handed her into the waiting truck, Liam following right behind her. "Thanks," he whispered. Emma rolled her eyes in the darkness. "Just keep your head down until we're there," Liam had cautioned her before they had left Augur's. She didn't understand why the deception was required, but for now, she would play along. She inhaled again. Fresh air! Augur and the equipment were quickly loaded in, and the truck rumbled off.
"The portal station we'll be using is only a short drive from here," the Colonel informed them. He leaned forward as the truck passed under a streetlight. Emma turned hastily away from him, and, coincidentally, Liam. "I see her attitude hasn't changed," he commented. Liam forced a laugh in return.
It really was only a few minutes before the truck came to a halt and the Colonel hustled them and their equipment into an apparently deserted warehouse. Inside, another six soldiers fell in behind as Emma and the others lined up inside the portal boundaries. The portal flared, and one warehouse was replaced with another, outside of which a plane waited with engines running. With considerable jouncing around, the plane took off. "Okay, Liam," began the Colonel, "do you want to give me a more precise location to set down, or should I just play it by ear?"
"Do you have a map?" the Resistance leader countered. One was produced almost immediately. Emma drifted closer to the two as they began to discuss the topography of Mazan. "It's here that we want to set down. Jurura," said Liam definitively.
"Jurura!" scoffed one of the younger soldiers. "My recon files say that's nothing more than a dustbowl village anchored in place by a driveway that the locals call an airstrip."
"Mr. Sprockets, your opinion is noted. Liam, I've got to go with Bettis on this one," said the Colonel regretfully.
"Jurura is where we'll meet our local contact," Emma broke in. The Colonel looked up at her in surprise that deepened when he realized she was not who he expected.
"You're not Julia!"
"Thankfully, no," Emma replied, as she removed her toque and shook out her hair. "Emma Weston." She extended her hand to the Colonel.
"Colonel Liam Kincaid," he said dazedly. "The Emma Weston, the ones the Taelons are looking for? Jonny Weston's sister?"
"I beg your pardon?" Emma asked in polite shock. "Colonel Kincaid?"
"It's a long story," Liam cut in quickly. "I am sorry about this, Colonel, but Emma is our Mazan expert. If it wasn't for her, there'd be nowhere to set down."
"Exactly what made you think you could get away with this, Liam?" The Colonel's expression was grim. "And what makes her a local expert?"
"I spent a year in Mazan, during their fight for independence. And the current president owes me a favor. I did provide a distraction to local authorities while Ysabel's husband was liberated from prison." Emma spoke nonchalantly. Both Liams turned to look at her in amazement. She shoved an errant lock of hair off her face in irritation. "Trust me when I tell you we must land in Jurura. If you're capable of landing the plane there." The Colonel bridled as she excused herself and took a seat in the rear of the passenger area.
Kincaid sighed. "What is it with you and women?" he asked Liam. "No, don't answer that. Bettis!" The intelligence expert sprung to attention, swiveling his monitor to face his commanding officer. Emma's picture floated mid-screen, while her dossier flowed uninterrupted underneath.
"She knows the area, Colonel," Liam said softly. "I've read the articles she filed during that year. And I have no reason to doubt her." The Colonel shook his head. "Neither do I, Liam. Her brother was my C.O.'s best friend, and Boone spoke of both of them with the highest respect. But I wish you'd told me before we were in the air. No more surprises," he ordered. "Guess I'd better pass this landing info on to the pilots. And you and Augur had better be ready for whatever we find when we get there."
It was only moments later when Liam shook Emma awake. "We're landing in a few minutes. You might want to belt up," he suggested, taking the seat next to her. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she complied. "Colonel Kincaid," she said, glancing sideways at him. There was a superficial resemblance between the two, she supposed. But no one would ever really mistake Liam's ruddy curls for the Colonel's light brown waves, nor his clear green eyes for the other's hazel brown. Nor, she suspected, would the Colonel blush quite so readily. "It was Augur," he explained. "He was reported MIA. How were we supposed to know he was undercover?" The plane jounced once, twice, then made full contact with the ground. "Oh, I see," she laughed, then hastened to undo the seatbelt as the plane finally stopped. She and Liam were neck-and-neck to the exit as the Colonel gave final orders to his troops, and then, at long last, the door opened and she exited into the faint glow of a Mazan dawn.
Liam inhaled deeply as Emma made her way down the steps to the dirt runway. At the bottom, she crouched down and touched the ground briefly, then stood and turned a slow pirouette, arms outstretched and head tipped back. For a moment, the humid tropical air was replaced by the indescribable scent that was Emma. He reveled in the sensation, then sternly forced it away, only to have it surge up again as she smiled up at him, holding out her hand invitingly. Just friends, he reminded himself. And at best, who knows?
"Blanca!" called a deep voice. Emma spun around and was swept into an embrace by the new arrival. "Carlos!" she chided, without any force. "These are my friends, Liam and Augur, and coming out now are Colonel Kincaid and his men. What have you got for us?"
***
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
December 23
Parker tapped the envelope in front of her thoughtfully. Hard to believe that, after all these years, she was still here. Hard to believe that, knowing what she knew, she remained, instead of running screaming for the hills long ago. But, in another way, not hard to believe at all. She'd been driven by rage for so many years; it had driven her deeper into the arms of the Centre, deeper into its clutches, in a quest to deny those who called her mother weak, not the least of whom was her father. When that rage was taken away, she had thought she might die for lack of a motivating force. Only at that point it was too late to leave; she'd seen and done too much. Then, one day, she took a good look around and saw what she supposed her mother might have seen decades ago. That if she did just this one thing, she could make something better. And one thing led to another, and here she still was, in the end doing the same work her mother had died to do -- fighting to turn the horrific into the beautiful, the oppressors into liberators, the experiments … back into children. Quite a stretch for Daddy's little Angel. But no stretch at all for Catherine Parker's daughter. She stood, jammed the envelope into her tote bag, and strode decisively out of her office. Thank God her legs were still magnificent; how she hated those dowdy calf-length skirts!
"Miss Parker!" A perpetrator of the calf-length look stood quaking to one side. She snarled only a little as she turned to face the girl. "What?" "Umm, nothing. Just...when will you be back?" Parker lifted one eyebrow at the offender. "When I'm done." Her assistant du jour retreated to the safety of her office chair. Alright, she wasn't completely made over. But it was always good to have something to work towards.
Down the Street Café
New York City
The table was in a secluded, darkened corner of the restaurant, but he stood as she entered the room. He smiled ruefully as she approached. "Old habits die hard," he offered in apology as he pulled out a chair for her.
"Don't I know it," she replied. "But it's always good to watch your back. My loving brother might have recovered enough to re-activate the tail he placed on me last summer." She reached into her bag as she took a seat. "Jarod," she leaned forward to pass him the envelope, "I thought you might be interested in this." The waiter came to take their order and was swiftly dispatched. The Pretender made no move to claim the package. "What's in it?" he asked. "Why don't you tell me?" she snapped back. He said nothing. "Dammit, Jarod, I don't have time for these games. And neither do you. I should just tie you up and take you back to the Centre with me!" She glared at the man opposite her. He'd been able to do this to her since she'd been a young girl-reduce her to name-calling in seconds. "Did I mention that skirt looks fabulous?" he asked mildly.
"Jarod!" With a nod, he gave the victory to her, and opened the envelope. His expression hardened as he scanned the contents. "How did you get this?" he growled.
"Lyle. I haven't seen him this excited since Raines's funeral. So I had Broots check it out." Parker shrugged. "You know the Triumvirate-why innovate when you can renovate? Lyle's had this data trap in place for years, on the off chance that someone with the Pretender gene might wander into the Taelons's gunsights."
"And now someone has. Any chance we can get them out?" Parker nearly smiled at the "we," but shook her head in reply.
"Page two," she prompted. "She's already been implanted. Full CVI and MI."
Jarod flipped the page over and swore. "It's too late for her," she began. Jarod overrode her. "I refuse to believe that."
"But," she continued, "based on the behavior of previous implants, I have some concerns-"
"About the safety of her family," he finished. Parker nodded. "I'll look into it."
The look on Jarod's face told her that wasn't all the looking he planned to do.
That suited her just fine.
***
Jurura, Mazan, South America
December 24
Augur pulled at the neck of his shirt.
"Hot?" asked Liam, apparently quite cool.
"Ha, ha," the hacker stated. Only twenty minutes off the plane, and already he was sweating rivers. Emma was speaking quietly at the front of the room to their host, Carlos. Easy to tell this guy had spent most of his life in the jungle. Only a few inches taller than Emma herself, his skin was tanned a deep bronze. His light clothing was ripped and stained, and his boots certainly had seen better days. Emma finished her conversation and came over to join them. "What's happening?" Liam whispered.
Carlos opened a map on the table in front of him. Everyone gathered round. "I asked Carlos to make sure we found the site first," she whispered back. "Pay attention!" Carlos called, pointing to the map with one short finger. "My scouts have narrowed the crash site to this area. We'll divide into three teams, each approaching from a different angle. Luis will lead one team, Jose will lead the second-those will be made up of your men, Colonel. And myself, Emma, and her friends will make up the third. Luis will swing from the north, Jose the south, and we will travel west. Diego and Chandler will stay behind to mislead the Taelons when they arrive. Small teams are less noticeable," he glared at the Colonel, "and will make better time. Luis, you leave immediately, Jose in fifteen minutes, and we'll go in half an hour. Adios!" Carlos turned his back on the soldiers, preventing any further discussion.
"Chandler?" Emma asked.
"His mother loves Friends." Carlos shrugged. "Blanca, you have enough time to change. That lycra was not made to be worn in the jungle. Ysabel sent some things-they're in the back."
"Thank you, Carlos," she said warmly.
***
Taelon Mothership
December 23
Sandoval pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at the dial. Nearly midnight. Five hours since the object had plummeted to earth. And they were no closer to finding it, as he was in the midst of patiently explaining to Zo'or. "We have scanned the area repeatedly, but both the topography and the geology of the area are making precise location of the object difficult. Each time we believe we have a lock, a confirmation scan gives us different coordinates. And it may even have been a sensor malfunction."
"Agent Sandoval, every moment you waste scanning gives our enemy time to become more entrenched." Sandoval glanced at the Companion's hands. He'd long ago deduced that their gesturing was by far the best guide to Zo'or's moods. They were moving in agitated circles.
"Truthfully, Zo'or," the implant licked his lips, "we have not been able to confirm that the object is Jaridian in origin."
"Nor have you been able to deny it!" Sandoval looked away, then met the Taelon's bright blue eyes. Their gazes clashed for a moment, but in the end it was the human who looked down. "I will dispatch a Volunteer squadron immediately."
"You had better, Agent Sandoval. And you had better find this...object and either destroy it or return it to the Mothership." Zo'or settled into his chair with satisfaction.
"I will lead the team myself, Zo'or," the slender man promised, and left the bridge. Kat stepped out from the shadows behind Zo'or's chair. "Follow him," the Synod Leader ordered with a languid wave of his hand.
"And the object?"
"Assess the threat, and report directly to me. I would hate to have to destroy something so ... useful." Zo'or smiled. Kat copied the gesture exactly, and departed.
***
Somewhere in the jungle
West of Jurura, Mazan
December 24
Liam dragged the sopping fabric of his shirt arm across his face in a vain attempt to catch some of the sweat pouring off his head. Serves me right for laughing at Augur, he decided. A few metres in front of him, Carlos and Emma halted abruptly, Emma's brief ponytail flopping back and forth with leftover momentum. "What's up?" he asked as he pulled even with them. Emma passed him a canteen without comment. "Thanks," he wetly mumbled.
"We are very close to the crash site." Carlos pointed straight ahead. "As promised, we will be the first to arrive." Emma reattached the canteen to her belt. She didn't look half as bad as he probably did; most of her hair was pulled away from her face, and the few remaining tendrils curled fiercely in the humid air. And he had to agree with Carlos-the loose linen shirt and pants she had on were definitely better for jungle trekking than Julia's leftover lycra.
"Augur?"
With a suffering sigh, the hacking genius shrugged his pack off his shoulders and dug out a global. He popped open the screen, typed in a command, and swung the device slowly from left to right. "I make it about eight hundred metres, slightly northwest. But all I'm reading now is leftovers from the crash. The power source has been disabled, or shut down."
"Which means we'll keep our head start on Zo'or." Satisfied, Liam adjusted his own pack, and gestured to Carlos to lead the way.
Within half an hour they were creeping through the undergrowth, the acrid smell of burnt vegetation tickling their nostrils. "Eight hundred metres, my ass," grumbled Augur, as a branch let go too early by Liam whacked him in the face. "Try two clicks, all this dammed up and down. Next time," he began, only to be hushed by the others. He hustled his way up beside them, and peered into a clearing. A thin trough straggled back through the rainforest, culminating in a heap of dirt in front of them. He dug out the modified global again, scanning the mound. He frowned briefly at the readings he was getting and entered a recalibration command. As he awaited the new results, Liam strode into the clearing.
"Oh shit," Augur muttered as the scan confirmed his initial findings. "Liam! Get down now! It's Jaridian!" But even as he shouted out the warning, a green light came lancing out of the crash site, immobilizing the surprised Protector momentarily before releasing him with such force he staggered back a few steps to land heavily on his rear. "Liam!" cried Emma, only to be held in place by Carlos's brawny arm.
Leaning back on his arms, Liam shook his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears, then began scuttling back crabwise to the relative safety of the jungle. Jaridian! And with an ID signature-that could only mean trouble. The ground began to tremble slightly as the top of the mound shook itself clear of dirt to reveal the dark green polyhedral top of a Jaridian probe. "Oh shit," he muttered, unconsciously echoing Augur's words of moments before. The top of the probe swiveled slowly around the clearing, and aimed an orifice directly at his head.
***
Elsewhere in the jungle
Kincaid surveyed his men with satisfaction. Not one of them looked undone by the heat. The best soldiers he'd led, by far. "Bettis!" he commanded. The young lieutenant snapped to attention as he reported, "Latest scans place the object approximately eight hundred metres away, sir!"
"Excellent work, Mr. Sprockets. That'll take us about ten minutes," he said, only to be contradicted by a head shake from Luis, their local guide. "Not ten minutes?"
"No, sir," Luis replied. "Eight hundred metres this way," his hand cut horizontally through the air, "nearly two kilometres this way," and his hand scooped up and down several times. "And we go..." the Colonel prompted. "This way, sir," smiled Luis, his hand wiggling up and down in front of Kincaid's unamused face. Luis shrugged. There was just no pleasing some people.
***
Mazan jungle
Jaridian crash site
Emma tried unsuccessfully to free herself from Carlos's suddenly iron grip. In the clearing, Liam continued to edge slowly back towards them, while the probe remained aimed at his head. "Stay back," Carlos ordered, and Emma's quick glance at Augur reinforced the command. The hacker's jaw was clenched tight with worry, his dark eyes focused intently on Liam, until his attention was drawn away by a soft beep from his global. At the same time, Emma became aware of a low hum coming from the probe. "Liam!" hissed Augur, but again the warning was too late. A blue-grey beam shot out of the probe, straight for the leader of the Resistance.
It stopped three feet short of him. Liam was initially too grateful to wonder how the probe's targeting systems could have gone so far awry, but the mystery deepened as the blast, instead of dissipating, intensified. His eyes widened in shock as a figure solidified in front of him. From the greenery behind him, he heard Augur's sharp intake of breath as he recognized her, too.
Emma shook her head and blinked hard to clear her vision. What in the name of the Mother was Augur's holographic program doing in the middle of the Mazan jungle? It wasn't until she heard Augur gasp that she realized it wasn't his holo at all.
"Liam," said the Jaridian projection of Lili Marquette. She closed her eyes briefly, as if to blink away tears. Liam felt his own eyes watering in response. How he'd missed her! "I don't have much time, so listen up. Obviously, I'm with the Jaridians. The last thing I remember was being in the engine room of the Mothership, and then I woke up in a shuttle, headed for Jaridian territory." Lili ran a nervous hand through her hair. "And that's the problem, Liam. The ID drive was disabled but they, they..." She looked down for a moment, then back, all business. "Liam, they can do things, make you believe things-I repaired it for them. It's my fault. The Jaridians have ID technology. They're letting me work with them now. I anticipate they'll be fully converted in six months." The military demeanor faded, leaving Lili looking lost and incredibly young. "God, I miss you guys! Tell Augur-tell him, I miss him." Her head turned to something outside the recording stream, and she reached forward. The hologram disappeared.
"Lili!" Augur ran into the clearing, global in hand. He aimed the device at the probe, tapping frantically. "Give her back!" he demanded. The probe began to hum; the noise broke into Liam's consciousness. "Augur!" he reprimanded, moving to strike the global out of the hacker's grip. But his hand stopped in midair as he took in the information flowing across the tiny screen. "Looks like someone wants to talk," his friend said grimly, as the underbrush on either side of the clearing rustled and the Colonel and his men stepped out.
***
Augur's lair
Same day
"Are you sure there isn't anything else I can get you?"
Jarod smiled warmly at the holographic interface. "No, thank you. Listen, I really appreciate this; I know you're a one-man program, but-"
Holo-Lili cut him off. "One-man program!" she scoffed gently. "He's given so many people access to my systems I think I'm gonna go public. You know I could make a mint franchising myself." Lili's brown eyes danced with amusement. "And it would be good to have something to give little Augur," she mused.
"Face it, Lili. You really care," he teased gently. "And what if I do?" she tossed her head defiantly. "That doesn't mean I shouldn't look out for myself, does it?"
"I guess not."
"Call me if you need anything else. You do know how to whistle, don't you?" He obliged her with a songbird's trill. "Wise ass," she murmured as the interface dissipated.
The laughter crinkling the corners of Jarod's deep brown eyes faded quickly as he opened the envelope Parker had given him. Inputting the anonymous DNA data and finessing the search parameters, he settled back into the chair to await the successful conclusion of his work. Half an hour later, the system chimed gently. He transferred the results into the data stream and took a step back to better view the three-dimensional security-coded projection. "Pretty," commented Holo-Lili from a secondary stream, "if you like red hair. What's her name?"
"Katerina Reidbrecht." She was pretty, but young. Very young. Just eighteen, he realized, as he continued scanning the remainder of the data he'd hacked from the Taelon database. "What'd she do?" Lili continued.
"She's the latest Taelon implant. A friend passed me her DNA sequence. She thought I might be interested." He stepped forward to enter the command that would allow him to access Katerina's more personal records. "I can do that for you, you know," Lili complained gently. "I know," he replied absently as he dug into the young woman's family history.
"What are you looking for?" Jarod crossed his arms across his chest and frowned at the computer. "I've noticed, over the past four years, once the Taelons implant someone, their families have a way of ... disappearing." His voice deepened with disapproval. "But this young lady appears to have no family."
"She's an orphan?" Lili's voice was tinged with pity. "A complete orphan," Jarod confirmed. "No parents, and no grandparents, either." The image in the data stream rippled once and then again. "Damn!" exclaimed the Pretender, calling up the display parameters. Everything looked fine, but the holographic picture continued to degrade and return. "Lili! Any idea what's causing that? Is it backlash from the hack?" Lili twisted around hurriedly as the ripples spread from the main data stream to her own. When she looked back at Jarod, her mouth was set.
"I know exactly what it is. Augur!" she called. "You leave that alone this instant!" The ripples ceased immediately. A small figure appeared next to Holo-Lili. "Augur!" she scolded. "You should know better than to interfere with people's work. You apologize to Jarod immediately." Just at the edge of audibility, Jarod heard soft beeping noises.
"What's going on?" he asked. Lili frowned. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "You know, he's just really learning to talk, and all. It sounds like he found something in your download." Jarod glared at the main console, daring it to claim responsibility. "Wait, I think I've found something." A sequence of code was superimposed over the implant's image. Jarod squinted at the code, then leaned back, eyes wide. "Humph!" he grunted happily. "Code patch!" Lili announced triumphantly. "And a good one. But not as good as my Augur's. Did you ever check into the background we made for-"
"Lili," Jarod gently cut in. "-Major-" she continued.
"Lili," he repeated. She stopped immediately. "Do you have a program to crack it?"
"Do I? Just what kind of hacker's moll do you think I am? Of course I do." She hummed softly to herself.
"Lili!"
"What?"
"Are you running the program?"
"Even as we speak, substitute master!" She winked outrageously. Jarod smiled in spite of himself. If the real Lili Marquette had even half the spunk of her doppleganger, she must be a real treat to know. A chime dinged. "Done!" she caroled. The data in his display vanished, supplanted by the information uncovered by Augur's computer. He scanned it as rapidly as it appeared, shocked by the discrepancies between his initial stolen information and the cache that at least two different hackers had sought to hide. Only fifteen, not eighteen. Suspected of Liberation involvement. And a mother still living. Stephanie Lynn Reidbrecht. He called up the mother's information immediately, and staggered back a step as he gazed into the face of the dead.
Cleveland, Ohio
May, 1998
Jarod checked his reflection in the glass window of the storefront campaign office. Jacket, good quality originally, but shabby with wear; shirt, white, button-down collar, first two buttons open; satchel, butternut brown leather, broken-in. He pushed open the door, carefully avoiding the cardboard and duct tape that held the broken glass in place. The door had been smashed open last night, precursor to an attack that seemed racist in origin, although Jarod had his own suspicions, of course.
"Can I help you?" a young man, arms full of envelopes, asked him. "Yes," he replied, putting on his best friendly, open look. "I'm looking for the campaign manager?" "She's in the back," the youth gestured towards a pair of cubicles. Jarod followed his directions, intensely aware of the pair of eyes focused on his butt. He shrugged. That was why he'd worn these pants, after all.
Only one of the cubicles was occupied. He cleared his throat gently to announce his presence. "And Dawson makes thirty," she mumbled, making a tick-mark on the page in front of her. "Yes?" she looked up. "Hi, I'm Jarod Bernstein." He moved forward, hand held out. She didn't move. "I'm answering your posting-for a speech-writer?" He dug the photocopy out of the satchel and held it forward. "Oh, of course." She stood and shook his hand. "Please, sit," she indicated the chair in front of the desk.
"I brought a resume," and he passed another sheet of paper to her. Even after three years on the outside, he still took pride in a well-faked dossier. Just the right amount of padding. At first, he'd tended to go overboard, be the best at everything, but now he was more interested in tweaking the format to match exactly the level of his Pretend. This one was, he figured, nearly perfect.
She glanced at it, and threw it in the garbage.
At the dumbfounded look on his face, she smiled, and it was like the sun rising. "Mr. Bernstein, in this campaign we don't care about what you did. What matters is what you can do. And what I need is someone who can write a speech for Elsie that sounds like she wrote it herself. Can you handle that?" He looked at her uncertainly for a moment, then nodded.
***
The campaign office was filled with people. And balloons, streamers, and confetti. The volume level was set for party, full swing. Jarod edged his way through the crowd, looking for her-and then there she was, smiling the same radiant smile she'd given him just before he'd written his first speech for Elsie. "Jarod!" she exclaimed. "Have you got a drink?" He lifted the plastic flute in his right hand in reply. "And you?" he asked. She held up her own glass, and he tapped hers with his in a toast. "Congratulations, Miss Marshall, on an excellent campaign."
"Well, I'm not ashamed to admit that we owe a lot of the success to you, my friend. You are one heck of a speechwriter-you really captured Elsie perfectly, y'know?" He made a humble noise. "Don't play bashful with me, Jarod Bernstein," she scolded, eyes bright with mischief. "You know you're good." He shook his head. "I'm not good," he said with false modesty. "I'm the best!" She was suddenly serious. "You are the best, Jarod. Why don't you come to Washington with us? Elsie can really go places, with you on the team."
He could see she regretted the invitation as soon as she made it-it wasn't the first time she'd asked, and he'd refused her that time as well. No matter how much he might long to stay in one place, dream about a life just like everyone else's, he knew he couldn't have it. Not while the Centre was after their prize specimen. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know you have your reasons, and it's not my place to push you into something you don't want." She put her glass on the table behind her. "Care to walk me home?" He looked around the party in surprise. "Oh, these guys'll be going until the wee hours, and I've got an office in Congress to start organizing tomorrow. C'mon."
They grabbed their coats and slowly meandered over to her apartment. The late May air was perfumed with apple blossoms from the park nearby; the full moon cast shadows ahead of them. He didn't ever want it to end, but all too soon they were standing in the hall of her building, outside her apartment. "Well, this is it, I guess." She looked up at him pensively. "Um, thanks." A sad smile curved her mouth. He stood there, immobilized by conflicting desires, exquisitely trained mind firing off a myriad of possibilities. In the end, he settled on the simplest, cupping her jaw gently in his hands and kissing her softly and thoroughly.
"Jarod!" she breathed as the kiss ended, all sorrow dispelled. She pulled back, her eyes wide, pale blue irises all but obscured by black pupil. They tracked across his face in wonderment. "Stay," she said. "What?" he asked, not daring to believe his ears. "Stay," she repeated. "I mean, I have a couch if-" Her voice trailed off, but her mouth stayed open, as if it knew something her brain did not. "I have to leave tomorrow." It needed to be said, though it hurt him to remind her of it. "I know. Stay. Just for tonight." The clinical, cynical voice in the back of his head noted that her respiration rate was elevated and there seemed to be increased blood flow to her face. He told it to shut up, and kissed her again. It noted comparable changes in his own body. "I don't want to sleep on the couch," he whispered mournfully into her ear. She twisted in his arms to unlock the door, then pulled him inside. "Good. Neither did I," she responded as the door swung shut behind them.
***
Newstreet, Maine
September 1998
Jarod drove up the residential street in increasing alarm. A cluster of red flashing lights blocked the road just ahead-police, ambulance, fire. A full squadron of emergency services. He pulled the car over and continued on foot, fear nagging him at every step. He glanced at the house numbers as he ran by-forty, thirty-six, thirty-four, thirty-two. That's where the supervisor's wagon was parked, and where the police began keeping the curious at bay. He shoved his way through the crowd, determined to get to the house ("I really need to see you. Have you been alright?" she asked.). An arm appeared in front of him; he glared at its owner. "I'm sorry, sir," the officer apologized. "It's not safe. You need to stay back."
"Which house is involved?" he demanded, pushing forward, searching desperately through the drifts of smoke and darkness ("Pick me up at seven, 26 Hawthorne"). "Sir!" the officer reprimanded him. "You can't go in there!" Jarod briefly contemplated tempting fate with a charge of assault and battery. ("I thought you had to leave." "I do," he'd replied. "For now. But I want to see you again.") Pity, or fear, prompted the man to offer "It's three houses, actually. Started in number twenty-six and spread to both sides. Sergeant Singh has more information." The arm pointed to Jarod's left, to the middle of the street, where a tall officer in a turban stood in the midst of men and women in assorted nightwear. ("Stay.") His feet automatically moved in the direction of the arm; the rest of him was just along for the ride.
"But what about the Marshalls?" demanded a querulous, elderly voice. "They live in twenty-six. Frank and Claudia. Did they get out?" The police officer answered patiently. "I'm sorry. The fire department is doing the best job they can." "But the ambulance has been here since the beginning!" "They can't have found anyone!" "Maybe they were out?" "Wasn't their daughter home for the weekend?" "Maybe they went out to dinner?" A firefighter came jogging out of the haze; a paramedic stepped up to meet him. "Anything?" The first man shook his head. "Looks like a job for the fire marshal, bud. Anybody left in there by now, well..." Jarod kept walking.
The next morning it was the banner headline in the local paper. LOCAL TRAGEDY-FAMILY OF THREE DEAD IN FIRE. 'Long time Newstreet residents, Frank and Claudia Marshall, were killed in a fire of unknown origin that swept through their Hawthorne Street home late last evening. Also killed was the couple's daughter, Stephanie Marshall, currently assistant to Congresswoman Elsie Wayans of Cleveland, Ohio.'
***
"Jarod?" The gentle query finally penetrated his reverie. He forced his attention back to the present, and back to the face of a person he'd thought was dead for the past sixteen years. Oh, the last name was different (had she married?) and the biographical information didn't match (no doubt a little hacking on the part of Holo-Lili would break that down), but the face, the eyes, and, he had no doubt, the smile, were hers. For a brief moment, he entertained the possibility that it was just the face, that it, along with the biography, had been purchased from some top-notch identity broker, but as he regarded the picture of Stephanie Reidbrecht, mother to Katerina Emily Reidbrecht, Taelon implant, he knew she was the same Stephanie Marshall he'd known all those years ago. And her daughter carried the Pretender gene.
Her daughter. And his.
TO BE CONTINUED
Note #2: See, and this is the tricky part … I've started part two, but haven't finished … only your reviews can give me the strength to carry on … and besides, don't you know that remaining too long in one position can cause repetitive stress injuries? Or was that bloodclots? Anyway, get those fingers moving! It's good for you, I promise!