I lived way before political correctness. A person who has a low iq because his brain has been damaged by natural or chemical means or his mother had German measles can't by his or her sheer will power increase it. Therefore I will not use the modern political correct term in this chapter.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sydney been so busy listening to this Centre employee tell of his or her problems, that he forgot the little incidents of stealing from his movie reels and camcorder tapes until he went down to the incinerator and found the movie cans with the title "Do Not Convert." Thinking it was a mistake, he called Miss Parker who was busy overseeing Margaret's change to a full Homo Dominant. This process would take considerable time, months rather than days.

He called her on his office phone. "Look Miss Parker," said Sydney, "these were valuable films used in the training of Jarod. Who ordered them destroyed?"

"I have no idea. Jarod, did you?"

"I don't have the authority."

"Well do you know who would?" she demanded.

"One person who's very close to both of us."

Accepting this as truth, she returned to her conversation with Sydney, "Frederick's too young to make that decision, and Margaret would have to obey her husband, and Charles —no Margaret, I'm not talking about Major Charles, but Charles Lewison, my son-in-law —would have no interest in destroying any of your property. Let me get back to you."

"Before you do, can I tell you what was destroyed?" asked the psychiatrist.

"Okay what?"

"The film on Martin Luther King, and the film on the crowd who felt betrayed."

"Prejudice. Oh, what type of people?"

"I gave an example of African Americans, since they were a persecuted minority."

"I think I know who's responsible. Sydney, do you have any other examples of persecution?"

"No Miss Parker."

"Well I suggest you buy some videos on other persecuted groups that are not racially motivated. I went through Jarod's training DSAs and found some disturbing connection between them and his Pretends. He seems to associate the ills visited on the victims with their race rather than their circumstances. Oh and Sydney, I've hired another psychiatrist to help you." With that she hung up.

Sydney was finding it hard to breath. Ever since Carthis, he had found he got tired moiré easily, but he largely ignored it as he ignored the doctor's admonition to increase the fiber in his diet and check his cholesterol He told the doctor since he keep his weight at an optimum level, high blood pressure was not a problem.

"I'm afraid it is," the doctor had said, "You have a family history of high cholesterol and you have to follow a strict regimen. That means the Mediterranean diet. You may have what we used to call Nordic ancestry, but we find that even in the case of those of Nordic and German ancestry who have lived since the fifth and six century in the South of France like the Burgundians, and in Italy, like the Lombards, if they do not adapt to the diet there, they wind up having problems."

"But Doctor, what about when they lived up North?"

"They had a sufficient number of grain products that included bran as well as beans and that protected them. But once they got down here, they wanted to eat what the rich people did. That reduced their numbers. By the way, the middle class grew. You will have to substitute whole grain pasta products for regular semolina. Cut down on your fat, or substitute olive oil. Avoid anything processed. Cut down on your fatty red meat, no large T-bone steaks, a small one once or twice a week would be sufficient. Use ground lean rather than regular. Use meat in casseroles. Increase your vegetables and salads and a serving of fish two or three times a week would help."

Sydney loved to have a glass of white wine or some beer when he was alone. He also preferred his steak to be liberally streaked with fat. He had said a reluctant yes to the doctor, took the prescription to the drug store, and then had gone back to the Centre.

Well he had more problems. He learned that Nicholas was in the Appalachians working for Second Harvest. Apparently the young man had gotten in it through the influence of a certain Antonio Lambourni who returned from a Lambourni funeral and probably visiting the family court. According to Nicholas' email, Antonio's supposed parents didn't register his adoption and the Lambournis were in America illegally. However, since that lawyer had not been influenced by them, and had lived a good part of his life in Mexico and had obtained citizenship there, he was granted duel citizenship retroactively.

The Lambournis were allowed to stay on compassionate grounds, but now Paolo dead and Vincente on his own, the court gave the order for their deportation, and they were on their way back to Italy. There was also evidence of child abuse and neglect. Certainly in the way that the mentally handicapped son Paolo had died was suspect. The medical evidence showed that his retardation and physical problems was not due to an inherited condition but what the mother put in his milk and his food. She felt that having a retarded son would increase her "Aid for dependant children" and that they would miss her husband's take on stolen money from gambling and prostitution. They didn't. Antonio and later Vincente were spared during their childhood because a neighbor took them in and breastfed them. So Antonio was free of the Lambournis, and was in the process of getting his surname changed. Nicholas said he would be back in Blue Cove as soon as the trouble was over.

Sydney went back to waiting for his next appointment and wondering why he needed another psychiatrist. He missed his sessions with Jarod, training him, and influencing him to be a help, not like Raines who really messed with his charges, and the other handlers who were quite indifferent. He had never associated with the other handlers. Raines was also a psychiatrist as well as having been a regular doctor so Sydney felt a common bond.

The man who appeared at the door was no one who Sydney recognized; he was about fifty with graying hair and going bald in the forehead. He was a little shorter than Sydney, and a little wider. He had green eyes, and his face appeared rather disarmingly pleasant. He shook Sydney's hand. "You must be Dr. Green."

"Yes I am." Right away he knew this was not a patient.

"I'm Dr. Colin Colby. I'm supposed to be working with you."

"Do you have your credentials?"

He handed them over. Dr. Colby was no Freudian. He wa a Christian Psychiatrist who had also studied the Adler method. Right away, Sydney knew this was Antonio's doing.

They got to discuss Jarod first and how The Pretender blamed himself for the sims being used wrongly.

"Actually," said Colby, "he shouldn't. Have you objected when he did?" He shuffled the papers.

"No. I believed we held responsibility, Doctor Green."

"So you let him believe that he was responsible."

"We all are."

"And had you known the simulations were not used as intended, would you continue?"

"I had no choice. I needed to survive." Sydney didn't like the look in Colby's eyes.

"Jarod had no choice. You had. Someone has to tell him he's not responsible. Shall I?"

"But we are all responsible for our actions."

"No he did not willingly consent to let his sims be used for evil. You told him it was to do good, therefore I believe you should hold the entire blame." He got on the telephone. "I'm going to explain to Miss Parker. If I can't persuade you to absolve Jarod of his guilt, perhaps she can."

Sydney was in a predicament. This Colby was going too far. He had to stop him, but that gun that Colby held in his right hand persuaded him not to.

"Hello Miss Parker?"

"You must be Dr. Colby."

"The same. I just recently learned before taking this position that the simulations that Jarod performed for the Centre were used for evil purposes without his knowledge and that he blames himself for them. Did you send him the information?"

"Of course I did."

"Why? Out of maliciousness?"

There was a noticeable pause before she answered. "I was told to hate Jarod, that he was just a thing. Why I didn't believe that I could have children, because their species were beneath us, but I believed that he didn't know that my father and uncle sold the sims to the highest bidder. I thought if I did so, he would give up and come back to the Centre and I would make sure that only benevolent buyers purchased the sims. He belongs here."

"I understand. Now Miss Parker, do you truly believe that Jarod holds responsible for the sims."

"No. The information was not for him, it was for Sydney. Jarod is my property now. Just a moment, Doctor Colby."

He heard her press the hold button. Twenty minutes later, she came back on the line. "I tried to get him to believe that he shouldn't feel guilty. It'll take time. When he asked before, I told him my father and uncle lied to Sydney deliberately. But I figured the Pretenders were not even human so even if Sydney told him the truth, he would go do the sims instinctually. It's only in the last year or so, I realized that Jarod and the other Pretenders are different types of humans."

"Thank you, Miss Parker. If he's free, I want to have an appointment with him."

"Very well. Howe about ten o'clock tomorrow?" He heard an audible click and waited a few minutes later. "Oh by the way, I'll be down shortly."

"I have someone else but I'll let you know when you get down here" He hung up the phone.

"Do you mean that Miss Parker has an appointment?" asked Sydney, "I thought that I was in charge."

"Well actually, it's with my wife. I figured they'd have much in common. I'm hardly home and I do love boxing. My wife on the other hand —" He grinned.

The two men spent an hour discussing various cases and their schools of psychiatry. Sydney was a Freudian, but Colby studied under the Adler school. He also had a different terminology. The idea of closure was foreign to him. You never got over a parent's death or what had happened to you as a child, but these things need not affect you. His wife also had the same philosophy.

"Maybe you'd like to meet my wife," Colby said.

"I would." They left the office and walked to the one across the hall and what they saw amazed them.

There was a large photograph of Raines on the wall and Miss Parker was throwing darts at it while a small woman with dark wavy hair in a bun who wore a grey suit with a red silk blouse was encouraging her.

"That's it, Miss Parker, keep it up."

"Take that, you walking corpse. That's for killing my mother! That's for making me hate my only best friend. That's for trying to kill Daddy! That's for —" By the time the photograph was ruined with all the dart marks, she sat down, took a cup of herb tea, and smiled. "You're right. That does make me feel better."

"Now can we get down to talking?"

"Yes," said Miss Parker in an unusual pleasant voice. "It's amazing. I wasn't able to talk about things to Sydney. You can really understand how I feel."

"Correct Miss Parker," said Mrs. Colby, "men are so misunderstanding. Now you say you love Jarod and you hate him. Well tell you the truth, with my husband, he's a fanatic about boxing. Every time I see him turn the TV station to the latest bout, and I want to watch the Discovery Channel, I just want to kill him."

Sydney closed the door and followed Colby back to his office. By the way, Mrs. Colby was going, he'd be the next complainant on the list.