Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
My Name Is Sydney
Chapter 3: Help
Damn it - where was it? Merde!!
Sydney knew he had put that drawing that Jarod had sent him years ago of himself and Jacob at their confirmation SOMEWHERE in his home filing cabinet, but until this moment had had no urgent reason to keep track of it. But Jarod had given him a very precious gift at the bottom of that drawing: a phone number - and now Sydney needed desperately to use that number.
Miss Parker had done as he had asked her to do. Over the past two weeks, while he had continued to act the quintessential mentor and train little Jamie to be a crackerjack Pretender, she had carefully and quietly collected all of the schematics and specifications for all the upgrades made to the various Centre security systems over the past six years. The mini-CD she had given him that afternoon contained it all - from simple video/audio surveillance systems enhancements to motion detectors to infrared cameras, magnetic locks, pass codes, swipe keys and retinal scanners.
"I trust you will see to it nobody else finds out what's on this," she suggested soto voce as they stood together, ostensibly meeting serendipitously in the cafeteria and sharing a cup of coffee. Her left hand touched his right hand and transferred the little disc into his keeping with very little fanfare.
He had slipped the CD into his pocket and simply gone about his business, returning to the Sim Lab and introducing Jamie to yet another practice round of climbing into the minds of others. The little boy had been restless, however, asking for permission to play outside more than once for a change and showing the first signs that proved the old Pretender Project axiom that great minds held the potential for great resistance to assigned tasks. He had struggled with obviously contrived non-answers to his questions for over an hour with his face painted with a shatterproof and slightly frustrated neutrality. Then, as his vaunted ability to remain aloof and objective threatened to disintegrate completely, he had signaled for Sam to escort the young genius back to his space for the rest of the day.
But Sydney knew he was wearing down, slowly but surely, day after day. He knew too much to believe the lies the Tower would feed him or have much stomach for the task he'd been set. It was getting more and more difficult to turn a deaf ear to heart-breaking pleas for reconsideration as a sweeper would drag the boy away after either resistance or the close of the day's work. Harder still was continuing to ignore the tears of a small child still in deep mourning for parents now inexplicably lost to him. Afternoons - that time of day when the freshness of morning and a youthful, bushy-tailed curiosity about what Sydney might have in store for him had worn off, that time of day when a tired five and a half-year old had re-emerged from the Pretender chrysalis - they were the worst.
Today, Syd had simply shut down the Sim Lab and left for home not long after summoning Sam, not having the energy or even the slightest inclination to document the day's general lack of progress. He wanted to go home, pour himself a very tall and stiff drink, and boot up the brand-new laptop Broots had helped him buy a week ago so he could continue to follow the San Jose Mercury's coverage of the on-going search for James Milburne.
Most of all, when all that had been done, he wanted to find that damned drawing with Jarod's private cell phone number at the bottom. The time had come for him to reach out for effective and expert help in resolving this untenable situation. And there would be no better help to be had at extracting a kidnapped child from the monstrosity known as the Centre than the man who had gotten in and out several times without getting caught. Jarod had managed to spirit away two other innocents in danger of having their lives narrowed to the path between Sim Lab and living space - Sydney could only hope that he'd be interested and willing to do it one more time.
So here he stood in his shirtsleeves at nearly ten o'clock at night, slowly disemboweling his entire filing system looking for one 10 x 15 inch page of drawing paper with a phone number in the bottom right corner. He was beginning to think he'd actually filed it in his work office when the page seemed to slip of its own accord from the folder he was pulling from the bottom of the bottom drawer.
Sending a quick and fervent prayer into the beyond that neither the number was no longer good nor that he would be endangering his former protégé, he punched in the numbers written at the bottom of the drawing and held the phone to his ear. Then, amazingly, he heard a slightly sleepy-sounding but very familiar voice on the other end of the line say, very hesitantly, "Hello?"
"This is Sydney," the psychiatrist announced in an equally hesitant voice. "Are you able to talk?"
"Sydney?" Jarod's voice instantly was sounding infinitely more awake. "What's wrong?"
Leave it to the genius to know instinctively that his old mentor would NEVER have made use of this number if it hadn't been an emergency. "I need your help, Jarod. They're doing it again - and they have me trapped in being a part of it."
Jarod was silent for a long moment. "They took another child with Pretender potential?" he asked finally, sounding very disgusted.
"Yes."
"And you were given the assignment to train this child? To do to another innocent..." Jarod's voice was rising as his anger grew.
"Jarod..." Sydney put up his hand defensively, as if the man on the other end of the line would be deterred by it. "I'm calling you to help me get him out. Miss Parker has given me a detailed summary of all upgrades and modifications to Centre security since the day you escaped. I'm hoping... it will help you get that little boy to safety - and back to his family."
"Miss Parker? She knows what you're doing?" Jarod was astounded.
"She doesn't approve of this anymore than I do, Jarod. She wasn't all that hard to convince."
Jarod was quiet again, and Sydney knew that he would find that latter bit of information difficult to believe. Then: "How do you know this isn't just another Centre trap for you - a loyalty test to see whether you'd still be willing to do their bidding..."
Sydney was shaking his head halfway through the question. "To be honest, Jarod, I really don't give a damn if it is or it isn't. That little boy..." He closed his eyes. "I tell you, I come home from work every night, Jarod - and I can't get his face out of my mind. I feel... dirty... criminal... for what I'm expected to do - what I HAVE to keep doing, to keep playing the game so that no suspicions arise."
"Syd..." Jarod's voice was much gentler now. "OK. I get the picture, and I'm sorry I doubted you. So... What have you managed to find out about the boy's origins? Do you have a name, a region? Anything?"
Sydney smiled grimly at the opposite wall. "I know his full name, his parent's name, where he lives, when and where he was taken."
"Learned to surf the 'Net and find what you're looking for now, eh?" Jarod sounded impressed. "Good for you!"
"Jarod..." Sydney's supply of patience was fairly well depleted from eight to ten hour days participating in something he knew was nothing even remotely beneficial to anyone.
Jarod at least had the decency to sound apologetic. "Sorry. It's just that up until now, you've really resisted learn..." He heard the roaring silence and knew that he'd just about gone as far as he dared in tweaking the man for his anachronistic tendencies. His former mentor DID have a temper, after all - one he'd just as soon not see again, either. "Never mind. Look, are you able to write things down? An email address?"
Sydney moved quickly behind his file-encumbered desk, quickly cleared a small space and pulled out a pad of Post-It's. "Shoot." He copied the information Jarod dictated to him letter by letter and then read it back to him to verify he had it correctly. "OK... Now what?" he demanded.
"I take it that if you've been surfing the 'Net, you have a computer that doesn't run through the Centre mainframe, right? A PC at home?"
"Broots helped me choose it and set it up for me," Sydney admitted easily. "It's completely independent of the Centre, to the best of his ability to make it, that is..."
"Broots is good - you're about as safe from snooping as you're gonna get, then. So now I want you to sit down at that brand new computer and send me everything you have - everything Parker gave you, and every webpage dealing with your new Pretender - and then you need to be patient and let me think up something that will work." Jarod paused. He knew what he was going to say next was not going to sit well. "While you wait, I'm afraid you'll need to continue to play the game, Syd, as if nothing else were going on in the background. I'll be in touch when I'm ready to move and need you to take care of your end of things."
Now it was Sydney's turn to be overwhelmed enough at his former protégé's willingness to drop everything to help him rescue another innocent from the Centre. "I... don't know how to thank you..." he said with a voice ragged with his emotions.
"You just did," the Pretender responded quietly. "By not being able to sit by and let it happen again." He paused, as if not sure how to continue. "I'll be in touch, Sydney, as soon as I have things figured out. You take care of yourself in the meanwhile, OK?"
Sydney closed his eyes, this time in relief. "Thanks, Jarod," he managed before he heard the connection between them severed from the other end. Carefully he laid the cell phone down onto the pad of Post-It's and leaned back in his chair. A weight seemed to have fallen from his shoulders, and yet he knew that it wasn't over yet.
The ride only promised to get bumpier from here on.
Chapter 3: Help
Damn it - where was it? Merde!!
Sydney knew he had put that drawing that Jarod had sent him years ago of himself and Jacob at their confirmation SOMEWHERE in his home filing cabinet, but until this moment had had no urgent reason to keep track of it. But Jarod had given him a very precious gift at the bottom of that drawing: a phone number - and now Sydney needed desperately to use that number.
Miss Parker had done as he had asked her to do. Over the past two weeks, while he had continued to act the quintessential mentor and train little Jamie to be a crackerjack Pretender, she had carefully and quietly collected all of the schematics and specifications for all the upgrades made to the various Centre security systems over the past six years. The mini-CD she had given him that afternoon contained it all - from simple video/audio surveillance systems enhancements to motion detectors to infrared cameras, magnetic locks, pass codes, swipe keys and retinal scanners.
"I trust you will see to it nobody else finds out what's on this," she suggested soto voce as they stood together, ostensibly meeting serendipitously in the cafeteria and sharing a cup of coffee. Her left hand touched his right hand and transferred the little disc into his keeping with very little fanfare.
He had slipped the CD into his pocket and simply gone about his business, returning to the Sim Lab and introducing Jamie to yet another practice round of climbing into the minds of others. The little boy had been restless, however, asking for permission to play outside more than once for a change and showing the first signs that proved the old Pretender Project axiom that great minds held the potential for great resistance to assigned tasks. He had struggled with obviously contrived non-answers to his questions for over an hour with his face painted with a shatterproof and slightly frustrated neutrality. Then, as his vaunted ability to remain aloof and objective threatened to disintegrate completely, he had signaled for Sam to escort the young genius back to his space for the rest of the day.
But Sydney knew he was wearing down, slowly but surely, day after day. He knew too much to believe the lies the Tower would feed him or have much stomach for the task he'd been set. It was getting more and more difficult to turn a deaf ear to heart-breaking pleas for reconsideration as a sweeper would drag the boy away after either resistance or the close of the day's work. Harder still was continuing to ignore the tears of a small child still in deep mourning for parents now inexplicably lost to him. Afternoons - that time of day when the freshness of morning and a youthful, bushy-tailed curiosity about what Sydney might have in store for him had worn off, that time of day when a tired five and a half-year old had re-emerged from the Pretender chrysalis - they were the worst.
Today, Syd had simply shut down the Sim Lab and left for home not long after summoning Sam, not having the energy or even the slightest inclination to document the day's general lack of progress. He wanted to go home, pour himself a very tall and stiff drink, and boot up the brand-new laptop Broots had helped him buy a week ago so he could continue to follow the San Jose Mercury's coverage of the on-going search for James Milburne.
Most of all, when all that had been done, he wanted to find that damned drawing with Jarod's private cell phone number at the bottom. The time had come for him to reach out for effective and expert help in resolving this untenable situation. And there would be no better help to be had at extracting a kidnapped child from the monstrosity known as the Centre than the man who had gotten in and out several times without getting caught. Jarod had managed to spirit away two other innocents in danger of having their lives narrowed to the path between Sim Lab and living space - Sydney could only hope that he'd be interested and willing to do it one more time.
So here he stood in his shirtsleeves at nearly ten o'clock at night, slowly disemboweling his entire filing system looking for one 10 x 15 inch page of drawing paper with a phone number in the bottom right corner. He was beginning to think he'd actually filed it in his work office when the page seemed to slip of its own accord from the folder he was pulling from the bottom of the bottom drawer.
Sending a quick and fervent prayer into the beyond that neither the number was no longer good nor that he would be endangering his former protégé, he punched in the numbers written at the bottom of the drawing and held the phone to his ear. Then, amazingly, he heard a slightly sleepy-sounding but very familiar voice on the other end of the line say, very hesitantly, "Hello?"
"This is Sydney," the psychiatrist announced in an equally hesitant voice. "Are you able to talk?"
"Sydney?" Jarod's voice instantly was sounding infinitely more awake. "What's wrong?"
Leave it to the genius to know instinctively that his old mentor would NEVER have made use of this number if it hadn't been an emergency. "I need your help, Jarod. They're doing it again - and they have me trapped in being a part of it."
Jarod was silent for a long moment. "They took another child with Pretender potential?" he asked finally, sounding very disgusted.
"Yes."
"And you were given the assignment to train this child? To do to another innocent..." Jarod's voice was rising as his anger grew.
"Jarod..." Sydney put up his hand defensively, as if the man on the other end of the line would be deterred by it. "I'm calling you to help me get him out. Miss Parker has given me a detailed summary of all upgrades and modifications to Centre security since the day you escaped. I'm hoping... it will help you get that little boy to safety - and back to his family."
"Miss Parker? She knows what you're doing?" Jarod was astounded.
"She doesn't approve of this anymore than I do, Jarod. She wasn't all that hard to convince."
Jarod was quiet again, and Sydney knew that he would find that latter bit of information difficult to believe. Then: "How do you know this isn't just another Centre trap for you - a loyalty test to see whether you'd still be willing to do their bidding..."
Sydney was shaking his head halfway through the question. "To be honest, Jarod, I really don't give a damn if it is or it isn't. That little boy..." He closed his eyes. "I tell you, I come home from work every night, Jarod - and I can't get his face out of my mind. I feel... dirty... criminal... for what I'm expected to do - what I HAVE to keep doing, to keep playing the game so that no suspicions arise."
"Syd..." Jarod's voice was much gentler now. "OK. I get the picture, and I'm sorry I doubted you. So... What have you managed to find out about the boy's origins? Do you have a name, a region? Anything?"
Sydney smiled grimly at the opposite wall. "I know his full name, his parent's name, where he lives, when and where he was taken."
"Learned to surf the 'Net and find what you're looking for now, eh?" Jarod sounded impressed. "Good for you!"
"Jarod..." Sydney's supply of patience was fairly well depleted from eight to ten hour days participating in something he knew was nothing even remotely beneficial to anyone.
Jarod at least had the decency to sound apologetic. "Sorry. It's just that up until now, you've really resisted learn..." He heard the roaring silence and knew that he'd just about gone as far as he dared in tweaking the man for his anachronistic tendencies. His former mentor DID have a temper, after all - one he'd just as soon not see again, either. "Never mind. Look, are you able to write things down? An email address?"
Sydney moved quickly behind his file-encumbered desk, quickly cleared a small space and pulled out a pad of Post-It's. "Shoot." He copied the information Jarod dictated to him letter by letter and then read it back to him to verify he had it correctly. "OK... Now what?" he demanded.
"I take it that if you've been surfing the 'Net, you have a computer that doesn't run through the Centre mainframe, right? A PC at home?"
"Broots helped me choose it and set it up for me," Sydney admitted easily. "It's completely independent of the Centre, to the best of his ability to make it, that is..."
"Broots is good - you're about as safe from snooping as you're gonna get, then. So now I want you to sit down at that brand new computer and send me everything you have - everything Parker gave you, and every webpage dealing with your new Pretender - and then you need to be patient and let me think up something that will work." Jarod paused. He knew what he was going to say next was not going to sit well. "While you wait, I'm afraid you'll need to continue to play the game, Syd, as if nothing else were going on in the background. I'll be in touch when I'm ready to move and need you to take care of your end of things."
Now it was Sydney's turn to be overwhelmed enough at his former protégé's willingness to drop everything to help him rescue another innocent from the Centre. "I... don't know how to thank you..." he said with a voice ragged with his emotions.
"You just did," the Pretender responded quietly. "By not being able to sit by and let it happen again." He paused, as if not sure how to continue. "I'll be in touch, Sydney, as soon as I have things figured out. You take care of yourself in the meanwhile, OK?"
Sydney closed his eyes, this time in relief. "Thanks, Jarod," he managed before he heard the connection between them severed from the other end. Carefully he laid the cell phone down onto the pad of Post-It's and leaned back in his chair. A weight seemed to have fallen from his shoulders, and yet he knew that it wasn't over yet.
The ride only promised to get bumpier from here on.
