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Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM and NBC Productions and used without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.
Major Charles looked at his softly snoring child and sighed sadly. The boy still reeked of alcohol even though it was nearly 8 in the morning. Jarod stirred and mumbled, reminding the Major of his disjointed rambling the night before. Over and over again he’d told them that "she killed it, and she didn’t even care!" Charles had an uneasy suspicion that he could guess just what it was that "she" had killed, and if his suspicion was right he knew that he would probably be upset too. However, he was still wildly curious about who "she" was.
"Shouldn’t we wake him up?" JJ looked at his older brother with the kind of fascination only younger siblings could manage. "He’s sleeping kinda late, don’t you think?" He added with a hint of chastisement.
"He’ll wake up soon, son. When he does his head is going to hurt like the very devil too."
"Don’t-----shout." The weak voice came from the man on the bed. Both the boy and the Major looked at him and both smiled with amusement at the way Jarod had his pillow wrapped protectively around his head.
"That pillow won’t do any good, boy. You need aspirin and plenty of liquids." The man told his miserable son.
"I need to die." Jarod argued painfully.
"Well, you aren’t going to, so quit complaining and make yourself presentable. I would have thought you, of all people, would have known better than to try and solve your problems with the help of the bottle." His father was lacking in sympathy, to say the least.
"I didn’t look for any help---I got drunk." He corrected his father, not understanding the metaphor.
"Exactly my point. You know getting drunk doesn’t accomplish anything."
"Sure it does." JJ interjected mischievously. "I made him suicidal."
"Go set the table." The Major ordered his youngest child, trying hard to control the twitching of his lips.
"Set it where?" Both boys responded with the same question at the same time. The older man sighed, feeling decidedly outnumbered.
"You, set out the plates, glasses, and silverware for breakfast." He ordered the grinning adolescent. "And you, shower, change into one of my outfits, and join us at the table." He ordered the moaning adult.
"Yes, Sir." JJ saluted smartly and giggled as he made his way to the kitchen.
"All right, Dad." Jarod sighed. "But when I die it will be your fault."
Major Charles sighed and wondered if he really wanted to be a father after all.
Within the hour he and the boy were demolishing the scrambled eggs and bacon he’d prepared while Jarod downed his fourth glass of orange juice. At least his oldest looked like he would live after all, the Major reflected with some humor.
"Okay, son. Tell me what’s so bad that you had to drink yourself under the table." He said, as his son poured a fifth glass of juice.
"I wasn’t under a table, I was sitting at the bar." Jarod frowned.
"A phrase, son. It’s just an expression mean very drunk." He wondered if he was going to spend the rest of his life explaining the obvious to his two brilliant sons.
"It was Miss Parker." Jarod said, his face contorted with pain.
"The woman you stayed behind on the airfield to help?" His father questioned.
"The pretty lady who asked me if I wanted to play like other kids?" The boy asked excitedly.
"Yes." Jarod answered simply. "She and I---well, let’s just say that we like each other a lot and one thing led to another and she ended up pregnant."
"Well, ask her to marry you and live happily ever after." Charles urged, recognizing the misery of love when he saw it.
"It’s not necessary, Dad." Jarod answered, his eyes filling with tears. "She had an abortion." He pushed away from the table and hurried into the room he’d awakened in. He didn’t really want to cry in front of his father or the boy.
"Damnation!" Charles sighed, his fears realized.
"No she didn’t!" The boy declared, his brows lowered in a dark glare. "She wouldn’t do something like that!"
"She might have, son. She wasn’t always as kind as she seemed to you." Charles tried to explain.
"No! You’re wrong!" JJ insisted, jumping up from the table in his fury. "I know you’re wrong!" And he raced out of the kitchen as though the hounds of hell were on his heels.
The Major looked from one exit to the other, wondering which son needed him more. Finally he left the boy alone and went in to comfort Jarod.
****************
Broots and Sydney looked up as the door to the Sim lab they had claimed as their own slammed open. Lyle stood in the door, breathing hard, with fury in his eyes. Broots, easily intimidated, shrank back and Sydney, working hard to contain the amusement he felt, straightened slowly. Mr. Lyle was dripping from head to toe with something green and slimy.
"Mr. Lyle! What on earth happened to you?" Sydney was proud of his control when not even a hint of a smile graced his lips.
"If I *ever* find out that either of you had anything to do with this, if I even find out that you knew about it and didn’t warn me, YOU WILL BOTH BE DEAD!!!" Lyle threatened them darkly. "Now, one of you will call the conference room and make sure that the Triumvirate knows I will be a few minutes late. I have to shower and change."
"Yes, Mr. Lyle." Broots whispered, no longer terrified of Lyle, but still terrified he was going to laugh out loud and get himself killed by the psychopath. In spite of his best efforts a giggle slipped out as the door shut behind Lyle. Then Sydney snickered, then the two of them were laughing helplessly.
"Oh, did you see him?" Sydney moaned, trying to regain control.
"His shoes squelched!" Broots managed.
"What *was* that stuff?" Sydney wiped his eyes.
"I don’t know. Slime?" Broots rested his head on the table before him, knowing that if he saw Sydney he’d start laughing again. "Oh, God, how am I going to keep from laughing the next time I see him?" He chortled.
"Shhh!" Sydney’s admonition broke midway with another chuckle. "I have to call the Triumvirate!" He tried desperately to compose himself while he dialed the number, and only his broad grin betrayed his continuing amusement.
"Hello, this is Sydney, from the Centre in Blue Cove, Delaware?" He spoke with as much gravity as he could muster. "I have a message for the Triumvirate from Mr. Lyle." He stopped and held the receiver away from his mouth while he laughed silently again.
"I’m afraid," He gasped, trying to go on. "He’ll be a few minutes late for their conference." Once again laughter overwhelmed him.
"I know that the Triumvirate doesn’t consider meetings a laughing matter." He defended himself cheerfully, "But you didn’t see Lyle and we did!" He disconnected the phone and dissolved into guffaws that were completely at odds with his normally reserved personality.
**************
Lyle, grimly staring down each and every amused Centre employee he encountered, squelched his way to their family apartments at the Centre. At least he kept a change of clothes here for emergencies, he thought, trying to be optimistic.
Since last night all he’d had were disasters. Some he knew were deliberate, some he wasn’t sure of. His sheets had been shortened in a childish practical joke. The hooker he’d picked up to help him release the pressure his imaginings had brought had fled the apartment screaming when it was discovered that along with the shortened sheets came a pair of garter snakes slipped into the bed. This morning, his car wouldn’t start, forcing him to call a tow truck and a taxi, and then, when he’d finally arrived at work, a pail of green Jell-O had doused him when he walked into his office. Someone was going to *pay* for his humiliation, he fumed.
Finally, cleaner and calmer from his shower, he discovered the final straw. Someone had replaced every piece of clothing he’d left in the suite with an identical piece that was two sizes too small. His options were to borrow something of his father’s, which would make him look like a little boy playing dress up, or to blow off the conference he’d called with the Triumvirate. Knowing his life expectancy would drop to nothing if he did the latter, Lyle pulled on his father’s smallest suit, belted it as tightly as he could, and made his way to the conference room.
When he entered the room the first thing he saw was Parker’s amused smile and it took all of his self-control to keep him from leaping over the table and throttling her. Only the reminder that after this meeting she would be his to do with as he would kept him from losing it.
"New style, Lyle?" She purred sarcastically. "I’m sorry, but I just don’t think you can pull off the baggy look."
"Mr. Lyle!" Mutumbo’s faintly accented voice came from one of the large, flat TV screens on the walls of the overseas conference room. "You do realize that we do not take it lightly when we are kept waiting, particularly when *you* called the meeting!"
"I’m truly sorry, sir." Lyle apologized through gritted teeth. "Apparently someone has decided to play a few----practical jokes on me."
"We aren’t interested in your excuses." Mutumbo growled. "Now, what is this information that you feel we simply *must* know about right away?"
Smiling a predatory smile Lyle began to explain his findings in the date base. About half way through his explanation he realized that Parker wasn’t looking at all concerned. In fact, she was smiling her own predatory smile. Lyle felt the first twinges of unease looking at her smug grin.
"So, you see, she’s betrayed you. I’ll bet she didn’t even have the abortion at all!" Lyle finished on a tone of faint desperation, wondering what was wrong.
"The only person I see who has betrayed us is you. Were you not given specific orders to remain away from anything concerning the Gemini project?" Mutumbo snarled menacingly.
"Well, yes, but I-----"
"You violated a direct order!" Mutumbo’s voice cracked like a whip. "You presumed to think you knew better than the Triumvirate!"
"Ah, well, I----"
"Silence!" Mutumbo thundered, the apparent spokesman for the group. "It would appear that your suspicions were right, Miss Parker." Mutumbo acknowledged heavily to the smirking woman. Lyle’s vision turned red as he realized his sister had set him up.
"Lyle, only your relationship to the chairman has saved you from our full wrath. You will return to your assigned duties and any further violations of a direct order from this body will result in your immediate termination---is that understood?"
Lyle, realizing that termination in this sense meant death and not unemployment, nodded his head with apparent submission.
"Very good, you may leave." Mutumbo dismissed him. "Parker, we would like to discuss your proposals for Project Gemini further."
Lyle was so angry that he literally couldn’t think straight. He slammed out of the office and a few minutes later out of the Centre itself, trying desperately to come up with a plan for revenge. His temper wasn’t improved in the slightest when he realized ten minutes later that he wasn’t wearing his own clothing and didn’t even have the change to call for a taxi to take him home.
Parker, her face carefully arranged in respectful lines, present her proposal to the Triumvirate, while rejoicing at her brother’s downfall. She wasn’t satisfied yet that he’d been adequately humiliated for his treachery towards her, but it was a start.
*****************
Emily looked around the barren, cement room and sighed. There was absolutely nothing of interest, in fact there was nothing in the 10' x 12' room except her steel frame twin bed and a chemical toilet in the corner. She wondered why they hadn’t at least left her a book, even a book of physics would be preferable to this mind numbing boredom.
She laid back on the bed and clasped her hands behind her head. Well, she could always try again to puzzle out the actions of that strange woman, Miss Parker. She had informed Emily that she was in charge of this Project Gemini thing, and then she promised to help her to get revenge on the man who’d kidnapped her in the first place. She’d seemed nice, in a coldly reserved sort of way, but she was a stranger, and connected to this hellhole, and Emily wasn’t about to trust anyone connected with this place.
On the other hand, there was a faintly lost and lonely look in her eyes that Emily empathized with. Somehow she knew that Miss Parker had no one in her life to trust, much like Emily at this point in time, and she was drawn to that need in the tall brunette. Emily never questioned her insights, she’d always had a gift for getting into the heads of the people around her. She knew who she could trust, who to avoid, and most of all, who was hurting and needed her help. Parker, for all that she was her jailer, needed her help----Emily just wondered if Parker realized it.
She sighed briefly. Until the woman returned there wasn’t anything more she could do. No one spoke to her, her meals, if you could call them meals, were shoved into the room through a slot in the door, and she was utterly ignored. She wondered, and not for the first time, either, just how people could work for an organization like the Centre. As near as she could tell its only purpose was to spread misery and heartbreak.
"Shouldn’t we wake him up?" JJ looked at his older brother with the kind of fascination only younger siblings could manage. "He’s sleeping kinda late, don’t you think?" He added with a hint of chastisement.
"He’ll wake up soon, son. When he does his head is going to hurt like the very devil too."
"Don’t-----shout." The weak voice came from the man on the bed. Both the boy and the Major looked at him and both smiled with amusement at the way Jarod had his pillow wrapped protectively around his head.
"That pillow won’t do any good, boy. You need aspirin and plenty of liquids." The man told his miserable son.
"I need to die." Jarod argued painfully.
"Well, you aren’t going to, so quit complaining and make yourself presentable. I would have thought you, of all people, would have known better than to try and solve your problems with the help of the bottle." His father was lacking in sympathy, to say the least.
"I didn’t look for any help---I got drunk." He corrected his father, not understanding the metaphor.
"Exactly my point. You know getting drunk doesn’t accomplish anything."
"Sure it does." JJ interjected mischievously. "I made him suicidal."
"Go set the table." The Major ordered his youngest child, trying hard to control the twitching of his lips.
"Set it where?" Both boys responded with the same question at the same time. The older man sighed, feeling decidedly outnumbered.
"You, set out the plates, glasses, and silverware for breakfast." He ordered the grinning adolescent. "And you, shower, change into one of my outfits, and join us at the table." He ordered the moaning adult.
"Yes, Sir." JJ saluted smartly and giggled as he made his way to the kitchen.
"All right, Dad." Jarod sighed. "But when I die it will be your fault."
Major Charles sighed and wondered if he really wanted to be a father after all.
Within the hour he and the boy were demolishing the scrambled eggs and bacon he’d prepared while Jarod downed his fourth glass of orange juice. At least his oldest looked like he would live after all, the Major reflected with some humor.
"Okay, son. Tell me what’s so bad that you had to drink yourself under the table." He said, as his son poured a fifth glass of juice.
"I wasn’t under a table, I was sitting at the bar." Jarod frowned.
"A phrase, son. It’s just an expression mean very drunk." He wondered if he was going to spend the rest of his life explaining the obvious to his two brilliant sons.
"It was Miss Parker." Jarod said, his face contorted with pain.
"The woman you stayed behind on the airfield to help?" His father questioned.
"The pretty lady who asked me if I wanted to play like other kids?" The boy asked excitedly.
"Yes." Jarod answered simply. "She and I---well, let’s just say that we like each other a lot and one thing led to another and she ended up pregnant."
"Well, ask her to marry you and live happily ever after." Charles urged, recognizing the misery of love when he saw it.
"It’s not necessary, Dad." Jarod answered, his eyes filling with tears. "She had an abortion." He pushed away from the table and hurried into the room he’d awakened in. He didn’t really want to cry in front of his father or the boy.
"Damnation!" Charles sighed, his fears realized.
"No she didn’t!" The boy declared, his brows lowered in a dark glare. "She wouldn’t do something like that!"
"She might have, son. She wasn’t always as kind as she seemed to you." Charles tried to explain.
"No! You’re wrong!" JJ insisted, jumping up from the table in his fury. "I know you’re wrong!" And he raced out of the kitchen as though the hounds of hell were on his heels.
The Major looked from one exit to the other, wondering which son needed him more. Finally he left the boy alone and went in to comfort Jarod.
****************
Broots and Sydney looked up as the door to the Sim lab they had claimed as their own slammed open. Lyle stood in the door, breathing hard, with fury in his eyes. Broots, easily intimidated, shrank back and Sydney, working hard to contain the amusement he felt, straightened slowly. Mr. Lyle was dripping from head to toe with something green and slimy.
"Mr. Lyle! What on earth happened to you?" Sydney was proud of his control when not even a hint of a smile graced his lips.
"If I *ever* find out that either of you had anything to do with this, if I even find out that you knew about it and didn’t warn me, YOU WILL BOTH BE DEAD!!!" Lyle threatened them darkly. "Now, one of you will call the conference room and make sure that the Triumvirate knows I will be a few minutes late. I have to shower and change."
"Yes, Mr. Lyle." Broots whispered, no longer terrified of Lyle, but still terrified he was going to laugh out loud and get himself killed by the psychopath. In spite of his best efforts a giggle slipped out as the door shut behind Lyle. Then Sydney snickered, then the two of them were laughing helplessly.
"Oh, did you see him?" Sydney moaned, trying to regain control.
"His shoes squelched!" Broots managed.
"What *was* that stuff?" Sydney wiped his eyes.
"I don’t know. Slime?" Broots rested his head on the table before him, knowing that if he saw Sydney he’d start laughing again. "Oh, God, how am I going to keep from laughing the next time I see him?" He chortled.
"Shhh!" Sydney’s admonition broke midway with another chuckle. "I have to call the Triumvirate!" He tried desperately to compose himself while he dialed the number, and only his broad grin betrayed his continuing amusement.
"Hello, this is Sydney, from the Centre in Blue Cove, Delaware?" He spoke with as much gravity as he could muster. "I have a message for the Triumvirate from Mr. Lyle." He stopped and held the receiver away from his mouth while he laughed silently again.
"I’m afraid," He gasped, trying to go on. "He’ll be a few minutes late for their conference." Once again laughter overwhelmed him.
"I know that the Triumvirate doesn’t consider meetings a laughing matter." He defended himself cheerfully, "But you didn’t see Lyle and we did!" He disconnected the phone and dissolved into guffaws that were completely at odds with his normally reserved personality.
**************
Lyle, grimly staring down each and every amused Centre employee he encountered, squelched his way to their family apartments at the Centre. At least he kept a change of clothes here for emergencies, he thought, trying to be optimistic.
Since last night all he’d had were disasters. Some he knew were deliberate, some he wasn’t sure of. His sheets had been shortened in a childish practical joke. The hooker he’d picked up to help him release the pressure his imaginings had brought had fled the apartment screaming when it was discovered that along with the shortened sheets came a pair of garter snakes slipped into the bed. This morning, his car wouldn’t start, forcing him to call a tow truck and a taxi, and then, when he’d finally arrived at work, a pail of green Jell-O had doused him when he walked into his office. Someone was going to *pay* for his humiliation, he fumed.
Finally, cleaner and calmer from his shower, he discovered the final straw. Someone had replaced every piece of clothing he’d left in the suite with an identical piece that was two sizes too small. His options were to borrow something of his father’s, which would make him look like a little boy playing dress up, or to blow off the conference he’d called with the Triumvirate. Knowing his life expectancy would drop to nothing if he did the latter, Lyle pulled on his father’s smallest suit, belted it as tightly as he could, and made his way to the conference room.
When he entered the room the first thing he saw was Parker’s amused smile and it took all of his self-control to keep him from leaping over the table and throttling her. Only the reminder that after this meeting she would be his to do with as he would kept him from losing it.
"New style, Lyle?" She purred sarcastically. "I’m sorry, but I just don’t think you can pull off the baggy look."
"Mr. Lyle!" Mutumbo’s faintly accented voice came from one of the large, flat TV screens on the walls of the overseas conference room. "You do realize that we do not take it lightly when we are kept waiting, particularly when *you* called the meeting!"
"I’m truly sorry, sir." Lyle apologized through gritted teeth. "Apparently someone has decided to play a few----practical jokes on me."
"We aren’t interested in your excuses." Mutumbo growled. "Now, what is this information that you feel we simply *must* know about right away?"
Smiling a predatory smile Lyle began to explain his findings in the date base. About half way through his explanation he realized that Parker wasn’t looking at all concerned. In fact, she was smiling her own predatory smile. Lyle felt the first twinges of unease looking at her smug grin.
"So, you see, she’s betrayed you. I’ll bet she didn’t even have the abortion at all!" Lyle finished on a tone of faint desperation, wondering what was wrong.
"The only person I see who has betrayed us is you. Were you not given specific orders to remain away from anything concerning the Gemini project?" Mutumbo snarled menacingly.
"Well, yes, but I-----"
"You violated a direct order!" Mutumbo’s voice cracked like a whip. "You presumed to think you knew better than the Triumvirate!"
"Ah, well, I----"
"Silence!" Mutumbo thundered, the apparent spokesman for the group. "It would appear that your suspicions were right, Miss Parker." Mutumbo acknowledged heavily to the smirking woman. Lyle’s vision turned red as he realized his sister had set him up.
"Lyle, only your relationship to the chairman has saved you from our full wrath. You will return to your assigned duties and any further violations of a direct order from this body will result in your immediate termination---is that understood?"
Lyle, realizing that termination in this sense meant death and not unemployment, nodded his head with apparent submission.
"Very good, you may leave." Mutumbo dismissed him. "Parker, we would like to discuss your proposals for Project Gemini further."
Lyle was so angry that he literally couldn’t think straight. He slammed out of the office and a few minutes later out of the Centre itself, trying desperately to come up with a plan for revenge. His temper wasn’t improved in the slightest when he realized ten minutes later that he wasn’t wearing his own clothing and didn’t even have the change to call for a taxi to take him home.
Parker, her face carefully arranged in respectful lines, present her proposal to the Triumvirate, while rejoicing at her brother’s downfall. She wasn’t satisfied yet that he’d been adequately humiliated for his treachery towards her, but it was a start.
*****************
Emily looked around the barren, cement room and sighed. There was absolutely nothing of interest, in fact there was nothing in the 10' x 12' room except her steel frame twin bed and a chemical toilet in the corner. She wondered why they hadn’t at least left her a book, even a book of physics would be preferable to this mind numbing boredom.
She laid back on the bed and clasped her hands behind her head. Well, she could always try again to puzzle out the actions of that strange woman, Miss Parker. She had informed Emily that she was in charge of this Project Gemini thing, and then she promised to help her to get revenge on the man who’d kidnapped her in the first place. She’d seemed nice, in a coldly reserved sort of way, but she was a stranger, and connected to this hellhole, and Emily wasn’t about to trust anyone connected with this place.
On the other hand, there was a faintly lost and lonely look in her eyes that Emily empathized with. Somehow she knew that Miss Parker had no one in her life to trust, much like Emily at this point in time, and she was drawn to that need in the tall brunette. Emily never questioned her insights, she’d always had a gift for getting into the heads of the people around her. She knew who she could trust, who to avoid, and most of all, who was hurting and needed her help. Parker, for all that she was her jailer, needed her help----Emily just wondered if Parker realized it.
She sighed briefly. Until the woman returned there wasn’t anything more she could do. No one spoke to her, her meals, if you could call them meals, were shoved into the room through a slot in the door, and she was utterly ignored. She wondered, and not for the first time, either, just how people could work for an organization like the Centre. As near as she could tell its only purpose was to spread misery and heartbreak.
