Disclaimer: My worldly goods have not increased, so suing would still only be an exercise in lawyer jawing.

AN: All you doctors and medical specialists out there, don't roll your eyes so far back in your head that you can see your thoughts at my . . . liberties. I claim no specific knowledge, just enough to get me in trouble.

Sydney's Office

Sydney had remained silent, only occasionally grunting when some thought struck him wrong. Broots could not remember ever seeing his friend so focused before. Admittedly he had not been present during Sydney's sessions with Jarod. Still, it was unnerving. If he didn't know better, he would think that Sydney had decided to treat the DSA like a video game with all the starting and stopping, slow-motion and change of angles. But, he did know better and that made it worse, in a way. Occasionally Sydney would make a note of something or pause the DSA to locate and thumb through one of his many medical texts before continuing his observation.

Broots fidgeted.

At long last, Sydney turned off the DSA and popped it out of the player. He idly fingered the silver disc and looked off into space, his face set in uncompromising lines. Unbeknownst to either of the men in the room, Sydney and Jarod both got the same intense, concentrated look in their eyes when contemplating something or someone unpleasant and the results needed to correct the situation.

"Well?" Broots finally asked, unable to handle the stress another minute.

Sydney shook himself free from his thoughts and cast an apologetic glance at Broots. "Sorry, I . . . ," he paused unwilling to go into detail concerning his thoughts. "It looks as though they are attempting to . . . ," he paused again, seeking the right word. "Reprogram Miss Parker," he concluded.

Broots frowned. "You mean brainwash?"

"In a way, but this is a much more sophisticated version of it. They have, if I am reading this DSA correctly, started mapping her brain to provide them with exact locations for sensory input and manipulation. Once they know exactly where, they can start to associate certain sensations and even memories with external stimuli."

"What?"

Sydney frowned, more at the information than at his friend's lack of understanding. "I would say they will be concentrating on her thalamus and hypothalamus, the pleasure centers, if you will, and the structures of the limbic system that surround them, to condition her for a specific response. It is a delicate procedure, for the pain centers are a mere fraction of an inch away. One slip and negative reinforcement will be the result."

"They are poking around in her brain?" Broots asked, appalled.

"Perhaps," Sydney shrugged, falling into the skin of a researcher. "I would think that would be too risky without a specialist on hand. They don't have to literally open her skull to 'poke' around though. They can use electromagnetic waves with pinpoint accuracy."

"Break it down into laymen's terms, Sydney, what are they doing to her?"

Sydney sat a little straighter in his chair and looked down at the DSA still clutched in his hand. He concentrated on the disc instead of looking at Broots. "They are using a combination of audio/visual stimulation . . ."

Raines' Office

". . . and electromagnetic current in combination with certain triggers have helped to place Miss Parker in a, shall we say, receptive mood, for psychological reconditioning," Dr. Cox concluded his verbal report to Mr. Raines.

A long moment of silence was broken by the hoarse inhalation of oxygen from a portable supply and then the perforated tones asking, "Three months? Why did it take so long?"

Dr. Cox suppressed a sigh at the obvious lack of comprehension on his superior's part. "Miss Parker is not a simple yokel," he pointed out. "She is a red file, with, if I may say so, an extreme anger problem. She was very resistant. In addition, she has unusual developments that seemed to cause problems. Physical problems. The pain center is a mere fiftieth of an inch away from pleasure, it is a very delicate difference and great care had to be taken to make sure that a tremble did not undo all the progress."

"Her inner sense," Mr. Raines breathed each word like it was his last.

"Pardon?" Dr. Cox, questioned, annoyed to have his explanation interrupted.

"Her inner sense. Miss Parker shares her mother's unique talent."

"Oh," Dr. Cox barely kept his skepticism out of his voice but inwardly he rolled his eyes. "Be that as it may, it has taken a while to break her to the point where the . . . reeducation could begin," he concluded, once again.

"But, she is ready?" Mr. Raines questioned, wetly, the words scraping up an artificially inflated throat.

"As ready as she will ever be," Dr. Cox confirmed, memory causing him to unconsciously stroke his jaw. "She will require daily maintenance, but that can easily be worked into his schedule."

"Very well, Doctor. I will expect only good progress reports from you."

Jarod's cell

"Of course," Lyle grinned. "I am jumping the gun here, promising you that which you've been chasing all these years. First, we need to return you to your quarters and let you get cleaned up for her." Lyle pulled out a syringe, popped the lid and held it up to the light to make sure there were no bubbles.

Jarod struggled against his chains. "Damn you, Lyle. Nothing will make me work for you bastards again."

Lyle poked the needle into Jarod's arm with casual disregard. "Don't say anything else," he shushed Jarod. "I'd hate for you to have to eat too many of your words." He cackled and emptied the syringe into Jarod's vein. "Nighty, night," he sang softly and walked away from his fuming captive.