Early morning sunlight shone through the polished windows of the Tower boardroom, but Sydney was in no mood to appreciate the fine weather.  An early riser by habit, Sydney had been woken earlier than usual that morning by persistent knocking on his front door.  When he had answered it, Sydney had not been entirely surprised to find two Centre sweepers waiting for him wearing identical expressions of impatience on their faces. 

A ghost of a frown flitted over Sydney’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.  When he was a younger man, Sydney had been frequently summoned to the Centre at odd hours, mostly to deal with his younger charges.  But it had been years since Sydney had been summoned so unexpectedly, and this was the first time he had been taken to the boardroom instead of the resident’s levels. 

Glancing around the empty room, Sydney permitted himself a grimace.  Although the handsome mahogany and coal furnishings largely appealed to Sydney’s sense of aesthetics, he was never at ease here.  A summons from the boardroom was almost always cause for concern, more so depending the circumstances surrounding the summons. 

Sydney’s brooding was interrupted by the soft whoosh of air as the frosted glass doors of the boardroom swung open.  Mr. Parker, accompanied by the Director and an unknown man, walked into the room.  The stranger was imperially slim with close cut dark hair and, if Sydney was any judge of age, most likely in his mid-fifties.  Despite the early hour, all three new comers were impeccably groomed, and Sydney straightened his jacket as stood to greet them.  Something was definitely afoot to bring the Director to Bluecove at this hour. 

“Good morning, Sydney.”  Mr. Parker greeted, all protocol and no warmth. 

Sydney nodded to each in turn.  “Good morning, Mr. Parker.  Madam Director.” 

“Dr. Green, this is Mr. Hubley of the Bishop Program.”  The Director introduced as she sat down.  As Sydney resumed his seat, he took pains to keep the first stirrings of uneasiness from showing on his face.  He had heard of the Bishop program, of course.  Just like most other program funded by the Centre, it was dubious in its moral standards, highly secretive, and – most importantly, to the three people sitting across from him – highly profitable. 

If the Director noticed the subtle change in his posture, she did not comment on it.  “Mr. Hubley has a small problem that we need Jarod to examine.” 

“Jarod, Madam Director?”  Sydney felt his earlier uneasiness become full-blown apprehension in the span of a heartbeat.  If the Director and the Chairman were both here to garner his cooperation on a project that required Jarod, then it must be more than a ‘small’ problem. 

“Madam Director, if I may?”  Mr. Hubley spoke.  At her nod of permission, he pulled a manila folder from his briefcase and slid it across the table to Sydney.  “Sixteen days ago, our top subject was deployed for a relatively straight-forward mission in the upper mid-west.  Unfortunately, something went wrong.  We lost contact with the subject for nearly fourteen days, and only reacquired her a little over thirty hours ago at considerable expense.” 

Sydney mentally braced himself before opening the folder, and was glad for having done so.  The folder contained a debriefing report which was generously censored with black marker, and several loose photographs.  Sydney looked through the snapshots slowly, taking pains to keep his face devoid of emotion.  The photographs were of a young woman the file labelled only as ‘Kathleen’.  The first photograph appeared to have been taken in the Centre’s medical lab, and it was apparently meant to catalogue her injuries, which, Sydney noted, were extensive.  There were several more of the same, and then a single headshot photograph taken of the girl some time in the recent past.  The eyes staring back at Sydney from that photograph were sharp and bright – nothing like the woman in the other pictures. 

“After she was treated by medical staff, she was left in the infirmary to recover.  We had anticipated that an extended medical leave would be necessary, but an incident last night has forced us to reconsider her future.” 

“An incident?”  Sydney questioned, cautiously.

Hubley hesitated for a fraction of a second, as though debating whether or not to directly answer the question.  “An incident.”  He affirmed after a moment.  “Two sweepers went to retrieve her for bloodwork and she… reacted unexpectedly.”  Hubely bent over his briefcase for a moment, before he pulled out a single photograph and slid it across the table to Sydney.  It showed a male sweeper with a long gash running from his left temple, down his cheek, and across the bridge of his nose.  Judging by the photograph, it must have taken considerable time for the wound to be stitched.  Sydney passed the photograph back across the table. 

“How can Jarod be of assistance in this matter?”  Sydney questioned cautiously, cutting to the quick of the matter. 

“We need him to sim her.”  The Director answered.  “We want to know if she can be salvaged.”

“A lot of time and money went into her, Sydney.”  Mr. Parker cut in suddenly, “It would be a waste for her to be remanded to Renewal Wing if we can avoid it.”

Mr Hubley slid another considerably thicker folder across the table to Sydney.  “You will find all of the pertinent details in there.  You may contact me if you require any additional information, but I’ll warn you that most of what you are authorized to know is in that folder.” 

Sydney took the folder, knowing that he had no other choice.  “What is the priority level?”

“It’s your highest priority, Sydney.” Answered the Chairman. 

“Of course, Mr. Parker.”  Sydney replied, slipping into his familiar role of gracious diplomat, “I’ll have Jarod woken immediately.”

“Thank-you, Sydney." The Director nodded, "We look forward to your report.” 

Sydney recognized a dismissal when he heard one.  Gathering the documents he was given, as well as his whirling thoughts, Sydney stood and left the room.