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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
6/10
by RRP
Ben Miller sat at the kitchen table, bewilderment clear, as he looked around and cataloged everything that had happened. He had driven the five kids to the two story house, and they had all been put to bed. Jarod, Lyle, and three strange men had all been running back and forth, into a back bedroom, then to the kitchen, and then to the bedroom again.
One of the strange men sat across from him now, they said Broots was his name, and he was typing at an unusually quick pace on a laptop, muttering to himself every few minutes. Ben hadn't seen Lyle for half-an-hour, and he had only come out of the back bedroom to talk to Charlie and tell Ben thanks for watching the kids.
Jarod had been carrying what looked suspiciously like medical equipment, and occasionally stopped to look at the laptop screen and exchange whispered words with the Broots guy. An older man, who Ben guessed to be about his own age, was Sydney- who Ben realized with a start- was the kind man Catherine had always been talking about. He had a twin, Jacob, if Ben remembered correctly. Sydney had been upstairs reading stories to the kids for a while, a job he had offered to do.
The last man, who had been introduced to him as Sam, seemed to know Aric Joel. He kept stepping outside to stand on the porch, almost as if he was standing guard. He would step back inside every few minutes, look around, then disappear again.
The front door was eased open again, and Sam once again stepped inside. As Ben watched, he made his way to the kitchen, and opened a cabinet to retrieve a glass. He filled it with water at the sink, and drained it in one gulp. Ben blinked.
"Hey, Sam," Broots, if that was really his name, spoke and motioned to the laptop. "Does this look familiar? I've gotten multiple camera feeds and half of them I don't recognize." Sam leaned over Broots' shoulder and nodded.
"Cafeteria. Sub-Level One. Here. You need to scroll down Sub-Level feeds to the Infirmary on Sub-Level 13." He pushed something on the laptop's keyboard, and stepped back. Broots looked surprised, and nodded.
"Thanks."
"Sam!" Sam whirled around at the sound of Jarod's voice, and Ben watched as Jarod held some kind of pole, balancing it on his shoulder- or attempting to. "Help!" The pole slipped, swung around, and whacked Sam in the nose. There was a yelp, and Sam's hands flew up to his nose.
"God..." He muttered, grabbing a washrag from the sink, successfully catching the first drops of blood. "What are you trying to do? Break it again?" He demanded, looking at Jarod.
"Sorry, Sam." Jarod mumbled, grabbing the pole and maneuvering it out of the kitchen.
"What is that, anyway?" Broots asked, eyeing the pole.
"Curtain rods. Tools of death." Sam muttered from near the sink. Ben was the only one to immediately catch the reference, and started laughing. The other three men in the room looked at him in surprise, as if they had forgotten he was there. Broots gave a nervous laugh, and looked from Sam to Ben.
"Am I, like...missing something?"
"JFK's assassination." Jarod murmured.
"That was good," Ben nodded, still smiling broadly. Jarod glared at Sam, as if he held him personally responsible.
"It wasn't funny. Curtain rods were the only thing I could think of. I was having a bad day." He left the house, and confused glances were exchanged in the kitchen. Broots face slowly twisted into a disgusted frown.
"It was a SIM. JFK's assassination was based on a SIM." He concluded out loud.
"Oh..." Was all Sam could say. Ben's brow furrowed.
"What's a SIM?" Broots started typing again, and Sam left the room, still holding the washrag. Broots paused only long enough to glance at Ben.
"Be glad you don't know."
Sam bolted upright, and looked around in alarm. He had woken from a nearly sound sleep by a disturbing thought. Jarod looked over to the couch Sam occupied, from his spot at the kitchen table. If nothing had been wrong, Sam would have wondered what Jarod was doing up so late. But something was wrong, therefore, simple questions had to be forgotten.
"Sam?"
"Oh my god...Jarod, the pilot!" Sam returned, in a harsh whisper, throwing the blanket he had been using off the couch, and dashing to the door. Jarod was only seconds behind him.
"Where is he? How could we have forgotten him?"
"I don't know! I tied him up and threw him in the cargo storage of the plane. So much was going on- I completely forgot!" Sam left the house as he spoke, and jerked the plane door open. Jarod followed him to the small door that led to the cargo area. Sam opened the door, and peered inside.
A nervous looking Centre pilot stared back at him, eyes darting from one man to the other. He blinked at the light streaming into the cargo holding, and cringed.
"What...what are you going to do to me?" He finally worked up enough courage to ask, trembling with dehydration and anxiety. Jarod tapped Sam on the shoulder, and Sam stepped aside, allowing Jarod room. Jarod pulled the pilot out of the small space, and started untying his bonds.
"First, I'm going to get some water and food into you. I apologize, but the truth is, we completely forgot you were even out here. There is no good excuse for nearly letting you die, but a lot of stuff has been going on."
"I'm...I'm just glad you forgot me, opposed to leaving me out here while you decided what to do with me." The pilot joked weakly, coughing at the same time. Sam helped Jarod pull the man to his feet, and half carry him out of the plane and inside the house.
They set the man on the couch, and a tired voice asked from the hall,
"What's going on, Jarod?" Jarod looked up to see Sydney, standing there with his 'Yale' sweatshirt on, confusion shining out of his eyes, through his glasses.
"The pilot." Jarod replied. Sydney moved forward.
"I forgot completely!" He exclaimed. Jarod nodded.
"So did we. Can you fill up a few cups of water, and bring them here?" Sydney nodded, and started filling up plastic cups. Jarod took the pilot's vitals, and sat down on the coffee table.
"Well, at least you're alive." He said bluntly, unable to think of anything else to say. The pilot nodded.
"Me too."
"What's your name? You probably already know who I am." Jarod asked, and stated. The pilot nodded again.
"Jack Ryan."
"That's Clancy's-" Sam began, and the pilot glared.
"Don't even say it. It was my name first." He turned back to Jarod. "You can just call me Ryan. Everyone else does." Jarod clapped Ryan on the back, and handed him one of the glasses Sydney had brought over.
"One at a time, slowly. Don't drink too much, too fast." Jarod spoke, almost absently, before adding in a more defined tone, "Well, Ryan, welcome then. To the House of Fugitives."
Major Charles clicked the button on the laptop screen, and the computer dialed the number for a video phone. He readjusted his own mini-camera on top of the laptop, and waited for someone to pick up.
"Dad..." A familiar voice behind him said, distractedly. Major Charles turned to see the clone- whom he had come to consider a son- scraping the last mouthful of ice cream out of a vanilla bean carton. "Do we have any more ice cream downstairs?" Major Charles smiled.
"No. You'll have to go pick some up." He replied. The years together had brought them closer than Major Charles had hoped, and the teen had blossomed into what Major Charles definitely considered a beautiful young man. The clone grabbed his coat off a near-by coat rack, and set the empty carton down on side-table.
"I'm going then. Anything else you need?"
"Nope." The computer beeped, and Major Charles swiveled around in his chair. The clone paused, as a voice that sounded exactly like his own greeted the man he considered father.
"Hi, Dad!" The clone strode across the room, speaking to his father as he did so.
"Let me say hi to the Master Copy before I leave." He joked lightly, the subject still sensitive in most areas, but more of a jest between he and his father. He honestly couldn't remember the last time his father had actually gotten in contact with Jarod- not for lack of trying, mind you.
"Hold on, Jarod. Patrick wants to say hi." Major Charles was saying to Jarod, as the clone approached the tall-backed chair.
"Patrick?" Jarod's voice asked, confusion clear. The clone waved to the camera, blinking back his surprise. He had known it would be strange, but it was almost unbelievable. He was looking at an exact copy of himself, except the copy's hair was longer.
"Hi, Jarod." Jarod blinked too, and Major Charles smiled.
"Patrick?" Jarod questioned again.
"Patrick." The clone nodded. "Patrick Henry Charles. Give me liberty, or give me death- and then give me an airplane." Jarod laughed, nodding as well.
"That's a good name, Patrick. A strong name."
"I'm going to go, and let you two talk. I was just on my way out to the store." Patrick waved again, and disappeared from Jarod's view. Major Charles looked at his son for a minute before speaking again. The door was opened and shut behind him, and he finally spoke.
"You look tired."
"I've been busy."
"You look older."
"So do you. It happens." Jarod returned, running a hand through his near-shoulder length hair.
"Son."
"Dad."
"Get a haircut. That's an order." Major Charles said, with twinkle in his eye. Jarod sighed.
"Maybe later, Dad. When this whole mess is over."
"Mess?" Major Charles' brow furrowed. "What's going on, Jarod?"
"Long story short- Emily's here, alive and married to Lyle. But not in perfect health I'm afraid. Miss Parker is somewhere in the Centre, supposedly dead. Her little brother AJ, Emily and Lyle's four kids, Ben Miller, Sydney, Broots, Sam the Sweeper, and a pilot named Jack Ryan of all things, are all here at the Runway house."
"Emily's married to Lyle? When did that happen? Why didn't you tell me?" Major Charles demanded. "And four kids?" Jarod sighed again, and lowered his eyes.
"I apologize in advance, and I'll apologize again. I found Emily- seven and a half years ago. She went undercover at the Centre. One thing led to another, and she told me six months after I met her that she was getting married to Lyle. I made what is arguably the biggest mistake of my life, and disowned her. The Centre kidnapped her, and they've had her for the past year. We just got her out, and Ben Miller brought her and Lyle's kids from his house in Maine, where Lyle and Miss Parker left them when they came to Delaware to rescue Emily."
"We're coming. To help. I'll talk to you there. This sort of thing cannot be settled over the phone."
"We?"
"Patrick and I. We'll be there tomorrow. And I'm bringing scissors to cut your hair." Major Charles ended the call, allowing no time for Jarod to protest. He shut the laptop down, and started gathering things from around the house and packing. It wouldn't take Patrick long to pack and get ready, when he came back, and Major Charles wanted to leave as soon as possible.
Emily slowly opened her heavy eyelids, not sure of what was going on, but knowing that for the past few days she had been warm and safe. She heard voices, far away, and her eyes slowly focused. She was in a room, a normal room. The ceiling was white, and what she could see of the walls were a light green.
As her body gradually woke up, she could also feel things. Some sore spots, some bruises, and her right hand. Another hand, warm and familiar was holding it. Emily turned her head, to see Lyle. His head was near their interlocked hands, and his eyes were closed.
Emily laughed out of pure joy. For the first time she could ever remember, she was glad that they had lied. He was alive, she had known it all along! She reached out with her left hand and shook him.
"Lyle, Lyle. Tell me I'm not dreaming. Lyle!" His eyes snapped open, and he looked up at her.
"Emily?"
"Pinch me, Lyle." Emily begged, tears pooling in her eyes. Lyle didn't pinch her, but pulled her into his arms.
"You're not dreaming, Emily. I promise." Lyle felt his own tears gathering when, for the first time in over a year, Emily hugged him in return. They were still hugging each other when a yell sounded from outside the room.
"Charlie! Charlie-" Sam's voice was abruptly cut off by a moan. Then, another yell. "What the hell is it with my freaking nose, already?"
The door flew open, and Charlie stood before them. He blinked in surprise, and took a slow step forward, as Sam skidded into the hall behind him, holding his nose. Another step, and he was at the end of the bed.
"Mommy?" Emily sniffled, and looked over at Lyle before nodding to Charlie.
"Yeah, baby. It's me." She held out her arms, but Charlie didn't come to her. Instead, he took a step backwards, and fled out of the room. Sam looked to Emily and Lyle with a horrified look on his face.
"I'm sorry, Lyle. Geez...I was trying to stop him-" Sam was cut off again, this time by a joyous yell from a nearby room.
"Maddy! Cat! Spider! Come quick! Mommy's back! She's back!" There was thunder on the stairs, and a few brief seconds later, four little bodies flew past Sam and onto the bed. Emily couldn't get her arms all the way around all four of them at one time, and she couldn't kiss them fast enough. She herself was smothered by slobbery kisses and tight squeezes from little arms. The younger three were speechless, while Charlie kept sobbing hysterically, over and over again,
"Mommy, Mommy, I love you Mommy, don't leave again, please don't leave again. I love you, Mommy."
Sam softly shut the door, and walked back towards the kitchen, still holding his nose. Jarod looked over at him, as soon as he finished draining a glass of water. Sam grabbed another dishrag, and muttered a question,
"When did you get back?"
"Just now. Ben and Broots are unloading the electronic equipment first. Ryan's still asleep upstairs. What happened?" Jarod set the glass in the sink, and peered quizzically at Sam's nose. Sam sighed.
"Charlie decided to follow in your footsteps, when I was trying to keep him from going into the back bedroom." Jarod looked suddenly alarmed, and glanced towards the back bedroom.
"What happened? Did he get in?"
"Emily woke up." Sam shrugged. Jarod threw open a cabinet, and started pulling medical supplies out of it, when Sam grabbed his arm. "Jarod. You can check her out later. Give 'em a few minutes." Jarod froze, and dropped the stethoscope and various instruments onto the counter.
"Yeah. I guess I should."
"Sam?" A small voice from the kitchen doorway piped up. Aric Joel stood there, eyes darting nervously back and forth between the two men, quickly labeling Sam as the better-known of the two, and choosing the Sweeper as the target of his bemused inquiry.
"Yeah, kid?" Sam returned, pulling out a chair and motioning for Aric Joel to sit in it. Jarod watched the big Sweeper interact with the tiny seven-year-old, with a slightly amused grin. Aric Joel skittered across the room, and sat down in the chair, watching his hands as he played with his thumbs. Aric Joel sucked in a deep breath, and finally worked up enough courage to ask the three questions:
"Will my Mommy come back? Do I even have one? How come I've never seen her?" It was Sam's turn to inhale sharply, and he pulled out a chair and sat down across from the child.
"Well, um...I'm going to explain this the only way I know how, and it's not just because I work for your sister that I'm saying it this way. Honestly, kiddo, I've never been good with kids, so this may be a tad more awkward than it needs to be, okay?" Aric Joel gave a hesitant nod, accompanied by a small frown, and Sam continued. "The lady that gave birth to you wasn't exactly the greatest lady alive. But she was okay in the end, so I hear. She died right after you were born, so no, she's not coming back." Aric Joel interrupted suddenly.
"Then I don't have a mom?"
"Hold on, and let me finish." Sam replied swiftly, with a sad smile tugging at the corners of his usually grim mouth. "I grew up without the standard definition of a Mom, but I had an older sister, just like you. Just because she was my sister didn't mean she wasn't my Mom, too. She did a pretty good job taking care of a rebel like me, and you're not half as bad as I was. I guess what I'm trying to say is, while there are going to be times in your life when you wish your birth mom was around, at the end of everything, it's your real mom that matters. And for me and you, our real moms are our big sisters. And I'd say yours is one heck of a mom." Aric Joel contemplated this for several minutes before speaking again.
"Sam, what happened to your," The boy paused for a minute, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to remember the previously used term, "birth mom?"
"That's a long story, for when you're much older, if we're both still around. To make it short, she left."
"And your sister? Your real mom? Where's she?" Sam's eyes drifted to the wall behind Aric Joel, and he stood and tousled the boy's dark brown hair.
"She died, kiddo." He left the kitchen without another word, and Aric Joel looked up at Jarod with wide eyes.
"I'm glad I've got Miss Parker for a Real Mom. She wouldn't leave, or die, would she?" Jarod winced with the un-intended sharpness of the boy's words. He forced a smile and shook his head.
"No, AJ. I don't believe she would."
Mr. Parker looked through the glass window, into the infirmary room of the Centre's triple-lock down sub-level 19, and he watched Miss Parker's chest move up and down, forced into motion by the machines around her. He sighed heavily, a small bit of guilt nagging at the corner's of his twisted mind. The guilt would do no good- it would work for nothing. The knots Mr. Parker's heart and soul were twisted into could not be undone by anything- he was too far gone.
But, at the site of his still daughter, the knots softened, though they did not untangle. To think that he had caused such a beautiful creature such torment and pain was appalling, and at the same time incredibly fulfilling. He knew the power he carried, and reveled in it. No one would dare try to stop him.
Miss Parker shifted fretfully under the thin, white sheets, and the beeping on the monitors quickened, informing Mr. Parker of what he could already see.
She was waking up.
Her lips moved, and his mouth twisted into a frown, as he tried to comprehend the shapes she was making with her mouth, and turn them into words. After several minutes, he finally made the word out, which she had been repeating ever since the first sign of movement.
The word was 'Jarod'.
Mr. Parker cursed, and slammed his fist against the soundproof glass. Would he ever rid her of that monster, that annoyance? Time after time, he had tried to turn Jarod into her enemy, as well as his, but he had always failed. She had always refused.
She wouldn't this time, though. As far as Mr. Parker thought and knew, it was hard to love someone who was dead. He had his plan, his plot, all perfectly laid out. Everyone who had even the remotest contact with Miss Parker over the next few months knew every detail, a movement necessary to fulfill the dream of ridding his daughter of Jarod.
Even the janitor and night watchmen knew, for crying out loud. Before, it was too dangerous to tell the underlings, the little guys, the details. Now it was too much of a risk not to tell them. In case she tried to question any of them.
The people were set, their stories and information identical and flawless. The physical evidence was just as strong. As soon as Miss Parker was well enough, just well enough that the shock wouldn't kill her, Mr. Parker was to tell her, show her the pictures.
Tell her what? Oh, the truth of course.
Jarod had been sedated through needle, compromising the Leak's plans. Broots had disappeared, Sydney had committed suicide, as soon as they had received the news.
The lone Sweeper guard, a employee of Miss Parker's, had stupidly tried to land the plan in a pitiful rescue attempt. Plane, pilot, Sweeper, and two passengers had gone down in the rocky hills off the New England coast.
Five bodies had been found, and it was confirmed- there were no survivors. The elusive Pretender was dead.
Major Charles pulled the sleek SUV into the driveway, and stopped. He was motionless for a moment, before stepping out, scanning the area with his eyes first. Two other vehicles were in the driveway, and a plane sat at the end of the cement and blacktop strip for which they had named the house. There was no moment outside, as far as Major Charles could tell. Patrick copied his father's actions, remaining still until Major Charles opened the driver-side car door.
Major Charles planted his feet in the gravel, and again paused. The green leaves trembled with the weight of the spring dew, and looked almost as if they feared what was sure to be an oncoming storm. Patrick easily sensed the uncomfortable tension in the air, and winced.
But instead of a storm, or the unleashed wrath of a worried father, there was silence and stillness. All the surrounding area seemed to be waiting for something to happen, for the crack in the fabric of peace to appear and rip through the carefully weaved masterpiece. Major Charles choked up.
"Patrick?"
"Dad?" Patrick shot his father a worried look.
"I haven't seen either of them for years. I just don't know what to do, or say." Patrick quickly moved around the car, and put an arm around his father's shoulders, in a very Jarod-like fashion.
"It'll be okay Dad. Just think like one of them. All you have to remember is that Emily and Jarod are both just as much frustrated with the situation as you are, so yelling isn't going to do anyone any good. Right? The Master Copy is obviously sorry for everything he said to Emily, whatever exactly he did say to her, and Emily's probably too ecstatic about just being alive and with her kids, to hold much of a grudge." Major Charles nodded, and fought back a grin.
"You cheater. You simmed them, didn't you?" Patrick stepped back, and sheepishly cast his eyes toward the ground.
"Um, yeah. A couple times, actually."
"Rascal. Let's just go inside." And with that said, both strode towards the house, and Major Charles knocked on the front door. It was flung open a second later, and Broots blinked from his spot in the doorway. He looked at Major Charles for a moment, his eyes soon light, as he realized who Major Charles was. Then, he studied Patrick.
His head cocked to the side, and he frowned. He looked over his shoulder, to someone behind him, then back at Patrick. After a brief second, he jumped, and nearly hit his head on the top of the doorframe.
"Oh my god!" He exclaimed, unable to say anything else. Jarod appeared in the doorway, behind Broots, and he and Patrick both gave Broots identical, skeptical looks. Major Charles laughed.
"It's amazing, isn't it?" He addressed Broots, who nodded shakily.
"Geez...you nearly gave me a heart attack!" He exclaimed. "Um, I'll just go back to my computer now." He disappeared from Patrick and Major Charles' view, and Jarod waved them in.
"You two got here fast!" He exclaimed. Major Charles shook his head.
"I told you we would." Patrick was standing directly across from Jarod, and Major Charles was standing next to Patrick, when Sam entered the room. He did a double take, and stepped backwards, a low, whispered, "My, god!" coming out of his mouth. Jarod and Patrick looked at him at the exact same time. Sam shook his head, as if to clear it, and went back the way he came.
An awkward second passed, before Major Charles pulled Jarod into a warm embrace.
"I've missed you." He said gruffly.
"I've missed you." Jarod returned, returning the hug as well. Jarod started to shake hands with Patrick, but pulled him into a hug instead.
"How egotistical. I'm hugging myself." Patrick muttered, causing Jarod to laugh. "I've missed you too, Master Copy."
"The feeling has been mutual, Patrick." Jarod answered. He turned to Major Charles.
"You want to see her?" It was more of a statement, than a question, and Major Charles nodded vigorously. "This way." Jarod continued, walking down the back hall, to a door. He knocked softly on the door, and recieved a muffled,
"Come in." Jarod softly pushed the door open, and stepped in. Major Charles followed, to see Lyle and Emily holding each other's hands, obviously in the middle of a conversation. Emily's eyes lit up, and Jarod didn't even have to tell her who the man beside him was. She reached out her arms, and exclaimed,
"Daddy!" He was at her side in less than a second, hugging her. Lyle cleared his throat, and mouthed to Emily, "I'll be back later", before leaving the room. Jarod followed Lyle, and started laughing when he saw that Lyle had stopped at the end of the hallway, and was looking at someone on the other side of the room, then back to Jarod, then back again.
"Lyle, I'd like you to meet Patrick. My clone." Jarod said, walking towards him. Lyle's mouth moved up and down a few times, and he looked at Jarod once more.
"Your..."
"Clone. Yes." Patrick finished. "I'm Patrick." He extended his hand, and Lyle tentatively shook it. "Nice to meet again, fortunately under better circumstances." Patrick looked over at Jarod. "I've already talked about this with Dad. Do you have any scissors? I'm supposed to cut your hair."
Jack Ryan, or Ryan as he preferred to be called, sat in the bed he had been given, listening to the hurricane in the next room over. Two men we're yelling at each other, unaware of Ryan's listening ears. He tried to pin the voices, and was unable to identify them. He had spent too little time among his new company to know them by voice alone. Or step.
Step, if he had known them well, would have been his next choice, for one of them men was clearly pacing back and forth. The pounding echoed through the walls, and rang clear in Ryan's ears. The noise was chaotic, the yelling and pacing and slamming combined. At least, Ryan hoped it was slamming, and not hitting. It sounded like someone was bringing their fist down upon a table, or such.
He unconsciously leaned forward, hanging on to the words, struggling to put the shouts into an understandable storyline, or conversation pattern. He was slowly succeeding, as the yelling increased.
"No! I won't do it! It's too dangerous!"
"I can't let you!"
"We've got to get her out of there!"
It took Ryan several minutes of ignoring the new installments to figure out the, 'I can't let you!' line. It seemed as though someone was yelling at themselves, but instead of arguing, yelling that they couldn't let himself not do something. A suddenly sharp phrase caught his attention once more, and he again leaned forward.
"I've got to. She's my sister." The normal voice said.
"She's my...um..." The confusing voice struggled, as if for lack of word.
"Girlfriend?" The confusing voice suggested to himself.
"No! Well, maybe. Sorta. No, no it's not like that. She's my friend."
"Mine too." The confusing voice added to his own sentence.
Ryan was mesmerized. Whoever was in the room obviously had a problem with contradicting himself. Then, it hit him. There were three people in the next room over, and two of them sounded remarkably alike. Almost too much alike to even be twins.
"So, we're in agreement?" The normal voice asked.
"About what? That we're going to rescue her, or how to do it?" The first confusing voice questioned in return.
"Both and neither. We are going to get her out of there. But we still don't know who's going to do it, or how. Which means we haven't gotten any farther than where we were when we came upstairs. We've always known we're had to get her out." The second confusing voice answered both questions, and there was a short silence.
"What do we know, exactly?" The normal voice asked, finally. It sounded as if a map was being spread out, or something like that, then a soft jab, as if someone had forcefully tapped the table, or something on it.
"She's in Sub-Level 19. It took us a while to find the camera feed, because of what Sub-Level 19 is." The first confusing voice spoke, now less confusing. Ryan quickly, mentally dubbed them One and Two, to keep better track of them. The 'normal' voice became known as Zero, because it had come third (go figure, Ryan's brain laughed at him, you're a pilot).
"Triple lock-down. Hosts the Lower Renewal Wing, as well as the Prison- or Restricted- Infirmary." Two spoke, telling himself as well as the other two people in the room. Ryan's concentration was now focused on telling One from Two, and he found it rather hard to follow the conversation as well, but managed considerably.
"Understandable. If they're going to lie to her, they want her where no one with the truth can get to her." Zero pointed out.
"Traditionally, we would use air ducts for this type of thing. We always have." One murmured, regret ringing in his tone. "There's a problem, though. The Centre got smart, and decided to re-size the air ducts on that level. According to Angelo, they did the job five years ago. There's no way anyone larger than a child would fit into the shafts."
"Wasn't the whole point of the larger system for ventilation?" Zero asked in confusion.
"They resized the shafts, and divided them into four ducts running alongside each other. Virtually the same amount of air, yet less body space." One answered.
"So, what does that leave us with?" Two inquired. Again, there was a pause. A rather long pause. There was a deep sigh, and then One spoke again.
"There's only one way, this time. Lyle, you have to go back."
"And take over?" Zero asked incredulously. "How? Waltz in, say 'I'm back!', and wait for the Tower to give me my father's position?"
"I don't know. I honestly don't know. I need some time, okay?" One replied sharply, seeming angry with himself, or Zero.
"Okay, okay. I'm going downstairs. Just make sure your decision is something I can live with, and I mean that literally." Steps on the floor, a door opening, then tapping on the stairs, and Zero was out of earshot.
"What about the pilot? Ryan, isn't it?" Two asked One after a moment. Ryan tensed. "I simmed the current situation, and I'm pretty sure we both have a pretty clear idea of what exactly they're going to tell her."
"Plane crash?" One replied, almost questioning.
"Yeah." Two agreed. "And I'm not sure we can trust him enough to let him go back, anyway."
"My thoughts exactly."
"Of course, what else would you think, but what I think, Master Copy? Or the other way around."
"We keep him here, I guess. We have to."
"And Sam? Do we trust him?" Two continued.
"I think we're going to have to let him go back, no matter what. He won't say anything, he's too loyal to her. He knows that everything hinges on, and is revolving around, her rescue."
"What about his life, itself? Won't they try to kill him, just so Miss Parker doesn't see him?" Two drummed his fingers on the table as he spoke, and Jarod sighed.
"They won't try to kill him, if he's with Lyle. And Miss Parker's going to be in Sub-Level 19 for a rather long time, I'm afraid. It won't matter, for at least a year."
"You really think it's going to take that long for her to recover?" Two asked, horrified.
"Of course not." One said, with a sad laugh. "It's going to take that long for them to convince her she's okay, after they convince her she's not ready to leave."
"Damn. I wish it didn't have to be this confusing all the time." Ryan rubbed his forehead, and sighed.
"I agree." He said, in agreement, without thinking. Two identical men were at his door in less than a second. The one that looked slightly older, the same man that had gotten him out of the plane, stormed over to Ryan, and grabbed him by the collar.
"What did you hear? How long have you been listening?"
"Umm...pretty much all of it?" Ryan attempted to shrug, and shot the man a weak smile. The man looked momentarily disgusted, and threw Ryan back against the headboard.
"Come on, Patrick." Jarod or One, as Ryan matched voice with man, walked towards the door. Two followed him, silently glaring at Ryan for a brief second. Jarod turned, and shot daggers at Ryan with his eyes. "Don't leave the room. At all."
Ryan jumped as the door was slammed shut, and his first thought after Jarod and Two had left, was, 'At least I have my own bathroom.'.
