CHAPTER SEVEN
Unaware of Jarod2's death, the fake Major Charles went on pretending to be the real one, changing the true nature of Major Charles to one who believed in spiritualism, sending fake information to the Centre which in turn made sure that these little bits of morsels were picked up by that traitor who was sending messages to who knows where.
At least the Centre was ahead of him or her. The few FBI agents who turned up to investigate some evil goings on got the sanitized tour, and the few social workers who wanted to know if the Centre knew anything about missing kids got the usual smiles and promises of donations.
Meanwhile what about the real Jarod? Now supposedly eighteen, he was permanently down in the sublevel, whether it was twenty-one or twenty-six; twenty-two or twenty-five, twenty-three or twenty-four, he had no idea. He thought his life was pleasant, because he knew of no other. Sydney, the perfect trainer and the perfect protector, kept him satisfied with various simulations and his own prejudices.
The films shown to Jarod were usually of the Civil Right's Movement, the Black struggle in America. Jarod knew little about Sydney's past in the concentration camps and the medical experiments. Thus a slave himself, Jarod was taught to think that he was not in bondage, that what he did was his choice. He was taught a lie.
The DSAs of his childhood and youth were carefully stored away. The record of his existence was put down besides so many pieces of furniture, an aquarium with piranhas, seventeen watchdogs of the vicious Pit Bull type, a picture of Mr. Parker and Mrs. Parker, He was now officially an asset of the Centre, an acquisition obtained sometime in the nineteen sixties.
He never saw Miss Parker or if he did, the Renewal Wing wiped away the encounter and did the same to Miss Parker. Not that it would have done any good to remember. The biology books he was allowed to read told nothing of the physical relationship between husband and wife. Jarod got pictures of flowers and trees, of mother rabbits alone, mother rabbits and daddy rabbits, and then mother, daddy, and baby rabbits. He knew how the sperm enter the egg, but not the process. If someone had told him that a giant rabbit flew through the sky and landed the baby rabbits at mother rabbit's feet, he would have believed that. To the Centre, everything was scientific, devoid of love and emotions. You did not marry and have families, you took your DNA — a life of loneliness and prolonged childhood.
The Centre was wise to capture him. Someone like him was rare and they valued him as a prize dog, for in their estimation, that is what he was.
The new DSAs were in color. There was no need for alterations. Jarod wasn't going anywhere.
However, Theodore Walstaff was. As a supposed Air force Major, he entered a world of military secrets and flights over areas where men still fought with sabers, and women hid behind veils. Experience had taught him how to maneuver an airplane, to land it silently, to know when to attack and when to not.
And there were so many Majors in the Air force and so many transfers. The lines between the real Major Charles and the fake one became blurred so even the Centre knew not who was which.
Only when they landed back in the states, did the lines become separated once more.
Theodore was in Arizona again, back in his home base, making fake attempts to locate his son while the real Major Charles was keeping one step ahead of the Centre, having no hope from Catherine Parker who was no more. He sent the Centre periodic photographs of himself which they put in the Centre records. The Centre technicians then made sure that someone found a particular photograph so someone could later say, "This is a photo of Jarod's father."
When Jarod was thirty, the call came from the Centre to Mr. Walstaff. "I believe it's time for your retirement."
"Retirement?" Walstaff gulped. Retirement from the Centre meant a death sentence.
Mr. Parker smiled. "Retirement from the Air force. You are going to take a more active interest in ah 'trying to find ' your son. The real Major has already retired, and separated from his wife and daughter. I have the location of where he is. Go to your APO box. There will be a package. Open it, but only after your retirement."
"What's in it?"
"What did the Centre tell you about questioning our directions?"
"Permanent retirement, sir."
"Good Mr. Walstaff. Remember, there is a timer in the package, not a bomb, and the Centre has made advances in electronic equipment."
They wished him good luck in returning to civilian life. He got a hug from his Indian friends. He then opened the package and smiled. It contained all the information on where the real Major Charles was likely to be and all he had to do was to mimic his steps.
It would work as long as Jarod did not escape, but then things went wrong. The Pretender ran away.