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Chapter or Story
Chapter 1
"Broots? What time did you go to bed last night?" Parker asked.
"Around four-thirty." There was one good thing about his addiction to old movies, Broots thought. It helped him looked tired the morning after Miss Parker gave him assignments she thought would take all night, but that takes him a couple of hours to complete. She had asked him to review the data the OSI had provided them, and confirm that the transmission did in fact originate from The Centre. He had started working on it just around nine, after he had put Debbie to bed. By a quarter to ten, he was convinced the OSI was right; by ten thirty, there was no longer any doubts possible. After that, he had killed some time for a couple of hours, until the channel 38 late movie double-bill started. They had been running an Errol Flynn festival the whole week. Broots was glad for the excuse to stay up and catch a couple of them.
"What's your conclusion?" Miss Parker wanted to know.
"Definitely from The Centre, but I couldn't identify from where within The Centre, as I didn't have access to the phone logs from my place." Actually, he did have access from his place, but there were still some things he did feel the need to hide from Miss Parker.
"You need top level security clearance for that, so I'll have to coordinate with my father. I'll get you access by this afternoon."
"No need to go to that trouble," Broots stopped her. He sat down at her desk, logged on her computer, punched in a couple of commands. Within seconds, he had called up the phone log.
"How did you do that?" she asked, amazed. "Even I don't have access to that log. No, never mind," she cut him off as he was opening his mouth to answer, "just get to work and find an answer."
Broots started comparing data from the printout he had made the night before to the log on the computer screen. The more comparisons he made, the more perplexed he looked.
Parker threw a questioning look at Steve Austin. The expression he gave her in reply indicated that he too had no idea what could be so perplexing. As far as he knew, the data he had provided to The Centre team was rather straightforward. "Well?" she asked Broots. "Don't keep us in suspense."
"Well, the good news is that I've identified which phone line has been used, but I don't think you'll like it. It's Mr. Lyle's"
Parker was shocked. "Daddy will be pleased," was all she could say.
"But it gets better. These transmissions started when Mr. Lyle was -" Broots stopped in mid-sentenced. He looked up to Miss Parker, then to Austin, and back to Miss Parker. " - on leave from the Centre," Broots finished. "And that's not all. There's no record of any use of that phone line on the dates and times the transmissions were made."
"That's a good starting point," commented Austin. His years of training and experience took over, as he took charge of the discussion that had been pretty much only between Parker and Broots until that point. "How many safety protocols would have to be circumvented for a call to be erased from the phone logs, and how many people would have the knowledge to do it?"
"About fifteen protocols - and the whole pool of programmers."
"The whole pool?" Parker asked, incredulously.
"It's the standard test we give prospective employees..." Broots voice trailed off, and he let his sentence go unfinished. Parker just shook her head in disbelief. She had never liked the subculture that had seemed to develop around The Centre's computer people. She would have to do something about this security breach.
"OK, that give us too many suspects for now," Austin continued. "So let's try another approach. Are there any disgruntled former employees that would wish harm on The Centre?"
There aren't too many former employees that are alive," Parker commented wryly.
"Those that are," added Broots, "usually aren't too gruntled either."
"How many of those," Austin asked, "would have the knowledge to tap into your phone system and circumvent your security procedures?"
"Jarod," replied Broots.
"Not his style," contradicted Parker.
*
* *
Oscar Goldman's office
OSI west coast headquarters
Oscar motioned Jaime to sit down. He concluded his phone call, then smiled at her. "And what can I do for you today?"
"Oscar, I think you know why I'm here. It's about Sue Davidson. How's the investigation into the death of her parents going?"
Oscar took off his glasses, and put them on his desk. All signs of pleasantry drained from his face. "It's not," he replied curtly. "Jim Castillian's investigation is going nowhere. I'm giving it another week before I pull him from the case. Problem is, with the years of service the Davidsons had at the OSI, it will be hard to find an agent for whom the investigation would not be personal. What about on your end? Didn't you tell me that Sue was making progress?"
"That's why I'm here, Oscar. The new doctor who's handling her case did make some progress with her - in fact, he's the only one who's had any success. But he told me yesterday he had to start all over again with her every day."
Oscar looked up. "You're suspecting someone at the clinic?"
"I don't know anymore," Jaime admitted.
"Leave it to me, then. I'll arrange for a discreet investigation to be done on the personnel. I'll start with that new doctor - what did you say his name was?"
"Jarod Olivet," replied Jaime. "That's with one L," she added, before Oscar could ask her not to. "And Oscar - thanks!"
"No problem, babe," he replied.
"You, know, sometimes I wish that, after I come back from that conference I'm going to in Ottawa in a few days, everything will be okay: Steve will be back from his mission, Sue will be all right, and her parents' assassins will have been caught!"
"If wishes were horses . . ." commented Oscar. But he knew how she felt.
"Anyway, I have to go now. I want to do some running at the park before I report to the clinic. I need it."
Jaime was glad she had found that park. It was isolated enough, and quite often empty enough, to allow her to run at bionic speed without attracting attention. Today was no exception. There was no one to be seen in the wooden section. She started running. She held back for the first minute or so, just to shake the rust off her legs, then accelerated to top speed.
There was something contradictory in these bionic runs of hers. She was going extremely fast, yet found the exercise extremely peaceful. It helped clear her mind, and reach a sort of inner peace. She had to be careful, of course; on a day like today, she could not afford to get lost in that inner peace, as she did have to go to work. But with all the stress she had been under ever since Sue Davidson had been admitted to her clinic, she needed to forget about her worries for awhile. And the park was the only place where worries about work could be left behind.
"I love ice cream! What about you?"
Jaime stopped in her tracks. That was Jarod's voice. What was he doing here? She looked at her watch. It was just after nine, which meant that she would be late at the clinic, but which meant Jarod was also supposed to be there. There was only one way to find out what he was doing. She started jogging - at non-bionic speed - toward the ice cream stand, and started listening in. She did wish, though, that she had Steve's eye so that she could look as well as listen.
What Jarod was saying was not all that informative. He asked for two cones - one chocolate and one vanilla - and insisted that the salesperson accept an overpayment to compensate for having opened early just to accommodate Jarod and his friend. And that friend was not saying much, so Jamie must move closer to get to the bottom of this.
In no time, Jaime had arrived at the ice cream stand. "Jaime," called out Jarod, waiving at her. She tried to look surprised, and came to join him.
"Jarod," she greeted him. "Fancy running into you here."
"I was surprised I didn't see you at the clinic this morning," admitted Jarod. "I had planned on asking your permission. You see, I thought that going outside and getting some fresh air would be good for Sue." As he was speaking, Jarod motioned with his head towards the nearest picnic table.
Jaime had been so intent on Jarod that she had not even noticed Sue. No wonder I didn't hear who he was speaking to, thought Jaime. "Hi, Sue," Jaime said, as she sat down besides her.
"Would you like some ice cream?" Jarod offered Jaime. "It's really good!" he commented with an earnestness in his voice that Jaime found amusing
"No thanks," replied Jaime, amused. "It's a bit early for me. Besides, I just finished my morning jog, I don't want to put the weight back on."
As Jaime turned back to talk to Sue some more, Jarod took a good look at her. True, she was jogging when she arrived at the ice cream stand. But there was no sign on sweat anywhere on her clothes. Why the lie? Jarod wondered.
But he was drawn from his thought pretty quickly, as a rather loud "Hi, ya, Jarod!" demanded his attention. He looked around and saw a ten year old boy running towards him.
"Hello, Billy!" Jarod replied, kneeling down to meet his young friend. "Billy, this is my friend Sue," he introduced the two children.
"Hello, Sue! Do you want to play?" Billy asked "You can be Little Bo Beep," he continued, without waiting for her to reply, "and I'll be Buzz Lightyear."
Both Jaime and Jarod looked intently at Sue, as they were waiting for her reply. They saw something flicker in her eyes, almost like an indication of an inner conflict. After a couple of seconds, Sue just looked down, withdrawn upon herself once more. Billy shrugged it off, and ran away to play by himself. "I'm Buzz Lightyear, Space Ranger!" He could be heard to exclaim as he ran away. "I come in peace!" Some distance away, he knelt down to zap something in the bushes with his laser (the one that's a light bulb).
The sign of disappointment was visible on Jaime's face. She felt Sue had been so close to finally breaking out of her shell. She looked up at Jarod, expecting him to comment. His question took her by surprise.
"Who's Buzz Lightyear?"
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The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
Steve was looking at the waves break against the cliff. He was schedule to call Oscar for a report in a few minutes, and had used it to get outside The Centre. There was something about atmosphere in that place that he found oppressive. He wanted to clear his mind before reporting in.
Something broke his reverie - nothing in particular, probably more instinct than anything, but something told him he had to stop watching those waves. He looked up at the smaller building just outside The Centre - The Tower, as it was rather unimaginatively known. There was something Steve did not like about it. He zoomed in to the window with his bionic eye, but he couldn't see anything. Still, it was a good place from which someone could watch him, or even eavesdrop, and Steve didn't like it. He got up, and moved away.
After walking a distance - The Centre's Building did stretch out somewhat - Steve looked at his watch. It was time to call in that report. He took out his cell phone, and dialed up Oscar's private line.
"Snow White," Oscar's voice answered after a few rings, using his old code name.
"Snow White, this is Bashful," Steve identified himself.
"I assume you have news from Grandma's house?" Oscar asked.
"The Big Bad Wolf is definitely in here," Steve confirmed.
"How do you find Little Red Riding Hood? Is she helpful?"
Steve hesitated a moment, as he picture what Miss Parker's reaction would be if she knew what her code name was. "So far," he finally answered. "I think she can be trusted, but I don't know how far."
"I see. Be careful, Pal!" Oscar admonished, before hanging up.
Steve turned off his cell phone, and returned to The Centre. He took the elevator down to Broots' office. He found him in an excited state. It was clear that the guy liked his job. Given a challenge, he didn't hesitate to rise to it.
"Ha, Col.. Austin, you're just in time," Broots greeted him. I just finished my surveillance software, like you asked me to design. It will be in place before tonight."
"You'll be able to pinpoint from where inside The Centre the transmissions come from?" Steve asked, just to make sure.
"Definitely," Broots replied, almost insulted that his word was doubted.
"And they'll have no idea we're tracking them?"
"None whatsoever"
"Good. Let Miss Parker know you're finished. And now, we wait. If our mysterious caller sticks to his schedule, he should be making a transmission tonight."
*
* *
Jarod opened up his red notebook, and unfolded the newspaper clipping he had saved. "Young girl, 8, witnesses parents' death" one headline said. "OSI agents' daughter hasn't talked since parents' death" announced another one, while the third proclaimed that "Little Sue Davidson taken to local rehab clinic". Jarod skimmed over the articles once again, to see if there was details he had missed or forgotten. But it was essentially an exercise in futility - he had committed the articles to memory, and this umpteenth rereading provided nothing new.
"Mr. Castillian will see you now, sir," the receptionist informed Jarod. Jarod closed his notebook, and put it back in his jacket pocket. Throwing a smile in the direction of the receptionist, he walked into the office marked "J. Castillian - private".
Castillian got up from behind his desk, and shook Jarod's hand. "Jim Castillian," he introduced himself. "That's with two L's."
"Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice, Mr. Castillian," Jarod replied. "I'm Dr. Jarod Olivet, the new doctor working with Sue Davidson."
"What can I do for you, Dr. Olivet?"
"I understand you're handling the investigation into her parent's death. I was hoping that you could tell me something about the circumstances surrounding the accident - it might help me with the therapy."
"There's not much I can tell you, unfortunately. She saw her parents get into their car, saw it blow up seconds later. She hasn't talked since then. Anything else is either classified or still a mystery."
"Her parents were both OSI agents. Was there a case that they worked on from which someone would hold a grudge, or perhaps a case where someone did not want them to discover the truth?"
"They were both with the OSI for over 15 years. They worked on a number of cases over those years - most of them classified."
"I understand that you can't tell me too much, Mr. Castillian, but I had a good reason for asking. You see, I have some concerns about little Sue's safety. Although I had some progress initially when I first starting seeing Sue, it seems that whatever progress I make is undermined by somebody else - possibly the person who killed her parents. If they think she witnessed anything, they will not want her to get better or start talking again. Now, for me, leaving my previous post to join Jaime Summer's clinic was a career move - I was not able to really give personal attention to my patients at a bigger clinic. But for someone in your situation, where the Davidson girl is potentially your only witness to a major crime, I'd think you would send her to any one of the bigger clinics with an international reputation. There's no shortage of those in the region. Surely, her safety would have been easier to guarantee at one of those clinics?"
"I appreciate you bringing your suspicions to me. But, to answer your question ... well, let's just say we do not have any security question or concerns connected with Ms Sommers' clinic. But the investigation is still ongoing, and I'll keep your thoughts in mind. Was there anything else you wanted to know?"
"No, thank you. You've been a big help."
Jarod kept a poker face while he was leaving the OSI headquarters, but as soon as he was outside, he allowed himself to smile. Finally, he had a break.
When he shook hands with Castillian, and locked eyes with him, he had received a pretty good impression of his personality. He was arrogant and self-assured, but honest. And Jarod was sure that Castillian had answered truthfully - especially when he said the OSI hadn't had any security concerns about Jaime Sommers' clinic. That, Jarod was sure, was his clue. When Castillian said it, Jarod felt there was a connection between Jaime and the OSI. Once Jarod found out what it was, he was sure he could discover what was that secret she was hiding - and that, whichever way it led, would go a long way towards pushing Sue on the road to recovery. Either by eliminating Jaime as a suspect - or removing her permanently from Sue's entourage.
Back at the clinic, Jarod looked at his watch. Jaime was scheduled to be with a patient for another fifteen minutes. Not long, but it should give him time to get started. He sneaked into her office.
Her computer had been left on. He sat at her desk. Getting past the password protection was easy; now, the real work started. But before anything else, he slipped a floppy in the disk drive, and had a file printed. That took care of his cover, just in case he was discovered before finishing.
He started with the financial records - and his eyebrows went up. That's interesting, he thought. The OSI had been giving regular donations to the clinic. That in itself did not prove anything - only that there was a link between the OSI and the clinic. And Jarod was, more than ever, convinced that that link was Jaime Sommers. But he had to find more proofs. Although useful, the computerized records weren't much help, since they did not show anything else beside the fact that the donations were made.
*
* *
In the hall leading to the office, Jaime suddenly stopped walking. "Judy, Get security," she told her assistant. "There's someone in my office."
"How can you be sure?" asked Judy, taken by surprise both by Jaime's sudden halt and by the unexpected request.
"Never mind that. Just do it," Jaime insisted. Her assistant started for the security officers' desk.
Jaime quietly made for her office door. She could distinctly hear the printer working, and someone working away at the keyboard. She threw the door open. "Jarod!" she exclaimed, surprised.
"Jaime!" Jarod replied, with his calm voice and that characteristic smile of his. "My printer's dead," he gave as an explication for his presence while Jaime was coming around to his side of the desk, "and I needed to print this document in a hurry."
Jaime took the document and glanced at it. It looked like a scholarly review Jarod had written. She handed it back to him. Jarod got up, to let Jaime sit in her chair. On the computer screen, she noticed that the Tetris board read "Game Over".
"Next time," she asked, "ask permission first."
"I'm sorry. You weren't around, and I was in a rush. I guess I forgot my manners," Jarod offered, before leaving.
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The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
Parker had been pacing the room for quite some time, now. She was quite a contrast with both Austin, and Sam and his sweeper team who were waiting for her orders. They all were trained field security personnel, whose job often depended on waiting. But, in her case, her training had been quite different, and this waiting game was not her style; she was more of an action person. All the arguments about catching someone red-handed, to have evidence, had never convinced her that it was better than just going after the person your after. Of course, in this case, they didn't even know from where their target operated, which made it a little bit more difficult. But as far as she was concerned, it was all the same: wasted time, that could have been better put to use.
Of course, part of the frustration was that this part of the evening was somewhat out of her territory. She knew next to nothing about the electronics things that Broots excelled at. This was his territory, and Miss Parker had to concede it. And, as much as she secretly admired Broots, and was in found of him, she hated conceding anything, especially to Broots.
The basic principal, she understood. Since the transmissions were being "piggybacked" on Lyle's phone line, they had put a special tap on it to allow them to track where the transmission came from. It was the specifics that had lost her.
Fortunately for them, Lyle was in Italy ("Probably shopping for clothes," Miss Parker had remarked rather sarcastically, not even trying to hide her feelings about her twin), so, in theory, the only call coming from his line should be the spy's transmission. But they still had to wait for it.
After what had seemed like an eternity, Broots signaled to her to be quiet. "I've got it," he finally announced after a couple of seconds.
"Where from?"
"Give me a moment!" Broots stared at his screen, willing his software to go faster. "SL-18," he finally announced.
"That can't be," reacted Parker. "There's no phone lines beneath SL-17!"
"Actually," Broots objected, "all phone lines for The Centre run in the floor between SL-17 and SL-18. Tacking on a clandestine phone line from SL-18 would be child's play. . . relatively speaking of course. Hold on, I'm getting a more definite location - west wing!"
"Let's go!" Austin ordered, practically rushing out of the door.
Parker signaled to the sweepers to follow her as she practically grabbed Broots while running after Austin.
The whole team quickly took the elevator down to SL-18. Once everyone had made it, they carefully made their way to the west wing of The Centre's sub-level. At the end of one hall, a door had been left partially opened, a faint light coming from inside.
"Just how gullible do these people think I am?" asked Miss Parker. "Their trap is so obvious -"
"That maybe they don't even realize we're on to them," completed Austin. Broots tried to stifle a chuckle; he couldn't remember ever seeing someone interrupt Miss Parker, let alone interrupt her to contradict her.
Parker threw an ice-cold look at the OSI agent. "I wouldn't count on that," she said.
"Then, let's turn their trap on them," suggested Austin.
"What do you have in mind?" asked Parker, interested.
Steve didn't answer her question. He just fell silent, and started staring at the room at the end of the hall for a few seconds. Then he moved towards the left wall, turning his head to keep it aimed at the room. When he reached the wall, he started to move toward the right wall, still keeping his head aimed towards the room. When he reached that wall, his body expression changed. He relaxed, as if what he was waiting for had arrived; but not just what he was waiting for - what he was living for. "Wait until I get inside the room", he instructed Miss Parker. "Then start walking towards the door, but stop when you're about five feet away. Then turn around and start arguing with Broots. I don't care what about, but make sure your voices carry. And don't stay in a direct line of sight with the door." Austin turned towards Broots. "Either of you."
Motioning to Broots and Parker to stay silent, Austin started running - running fast! - towards the door, carefully staying in the shadows. With the lights so dim in the hall, Parker and Broots almost lost sight of him, but then they saw a shadow pass directly in front of the door. Parker turned towards Broots; he nodded, silently. Parker motioned to the sweepers to follow them, and headed towards the door. When she judged she was about five feet, she stopped, as she had been instructed. "Broots?" she asked, moving towards the wall, "What was that all about?"
Inside the room, Steve could barely hear them, but he knew they had followed his instructions. Back in the hall, he had adjusted his bionic eye to the infrared frequencies, and had picked up the gunman hiding on the catwalk. When he sped into the room, the gunman tried to aim on him, but had not counted on bionic reflexes. When Parker and Broots had started arguing, the gunman turned his attention back to his real target. That allowed Steve to get closer to catwalk. The gunman thought he was secure, since he was covering the only ladder going up to the catwalk. Time to surprise him, thought Steve. He jumped fifteen feet straight up.
The gunman's reaction was one Steve had seen countless times before on all those OSI missions. He was so surprise to see someone coming up from nowhere that he dropped his gun and never thought of trying to aim. That suited Steve just find, as it allowed him, after landing on the catwalk, to give him a good punch in the stomach and knock him cold for a few seconds. Grabbing the gun with his right hand, Steve twisted the barrel before throwing it down. Then, he grabbed the gunman, raised him in the air, and jumped back down, towards the door.
"It's safe now, Miss Parker" he called out. When Parker came in, he dropped the gunman down at her feet.
She looked at Steve, impressed, then down at the gunman. "Sam," she called, "put him in a holding cell." When the sweepers had taken the man out, Parker continued. "As much as I'm pleased to catch him, he's not the reason we came down here."
Broots took out an electronic surveillance device, and started scanning the room. Steve pretended to patiently wait around, while secretly scanning the room with his bionic eye set to the infrared frequencies. "There," Broots finally announced, pointing in a general direction. They made their way towards the back of the room.
Steve saw it before everybody else. Tiles had been taken down from the ceiling, and wires reworked, down from the ceiling to an instrument on the floor. Broots kneeled down besides it and looked it over. "It's a retransmitter," he finally confirmed.
"Are you saying," Parker asked, "that the transmissions are not originating off Lyle's phone line?"
"It would seem so."
"Can you track its origins?"
"I'd have to rehook my instruments here in this room, but yes, I think I can do it."
"We should assume," Steve cut in, "that since there was someone here to guard this, that the transmissions still originate from The Centre."
"Yes," Parker agreed, "but we're back to square one. Even if Broots can track it down, by the time he brings his equipment down here and re-hooks it, the transmission will be over. And then what?"
"If the patterns hold, they'll be another transmission made tomorrow night," Steve stated.
"Then there's probably nothing more to learn here tonight. I'll interrogate the prisoner tomorrow. I suppose you'll want to be there?"
"Yes," agreed Steve. "Are we calling it a night?"
Parker nodded. She pointed to the door, to invite Steve to go out first. But, as Broots was also making his way out of the room, she stopped him. She waited for Austin to be out of earshot, then turn to look squarely at Broots. "Broots," she asked him, "is there any way to walk into a room, hide from a gunman, and capture him? Any human way?" she added, with emphasis on the word "human"
"I . . . I don't think so," Broots replied, hesitantly.
"Find out everything you can about Clark Kent here," she ordered, symbolically pointing out in the distance to indicate Austin. "There's something about him. And I don't like secrets."
As Parker made her way out, Broots dropped his head, hoping for a pole against which he could bang it.
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Jarod's hideout
Jarod turned on his laptop. After a short time, he succeeded in logging onto the OSI mainframe. Getting past the security protocols was almost child's play. After all, Jarod was getting to be an old hand at that game. The real trick would be in finding was he's looking for. He did a general search for "Jaime Sommers".
Only one reference came up. She was listed as an operative for "Project C-One". OK, thought Jarod, let's find out what Project C-One is all about.
His search for "Project C-One" brought two options: "Description" and "List of contractors". Of the two, "Description" seemed to be the obvious choice. But when Jarod tried to access it, the computer returned the following message.
Project C-One classified Top Secret
Security clearance level 6 required
No digital versions of records in existence - only hard copies available
Let's see if I have better luck with the contractors, Jarod told himself. Going back one level, he selected the "List of contractors" option. This did not tell him much: it was just a list. But each one was hyper-linked to other documents, so it offered possibilities. Jarod pursued the list, to see which one was more promising: Cal Tech, Corning, Dell, IBM, MIT, NASA, The Centre, . . . .
Jarod could barely believe his eyes. He clicked on The Centre link. It offered the choice between correspondence and invoices. He chose correspondence first. It listed only one letter. Jarod called it up. It was dated 1969:
Dear Doctor Rudi Wells:
I am sorry to report that the [whited out] project is a failure.
Although we have found a way to make it work, which would most definitely
be beneficial to mankind, the consequences would be potentially disastrous
if the technology were to fall into the wrong hands.
In view of these results, I feel that the [whited out] project does not fall
within The Centre's charter regarding research, which states that all research
projects undertaken or assisted by The Centre must be for the sole purpose of
improving living conditions for all. Effective immediately, The Centre is withdrawing
from this project.
Please accept my sincere apologies.
[signed] Catherine Parker
Jarod was tempted to make a hard copy. He would have to let Miss Parker know about this one of these days. After all, it was dated less than a year before her mother's death, and might help her find out what led to the murder. But he did not have the time to think about that right now. That letter, before being scanned into the computer's memory bank, had been carefully edited so that it would not reveal what the project was all about, which meant Jarod was no closer to finding what he was looking for. He once again backtracked, so that he could call up the invoices from The Centre. He dared not hope.
Yes! The invoice was for a simulation. One of his simulations. This was going to be easier than he had thought.
He logged off from the OSI database, turned off his laptop, and went to his bed. He pulled out the DSA player he was hiding underneath it. He searched through the collection of disks before settling on one. He hesitated for a second, anxious as to what he would find out, then put the disk in the player, and hit the play button
"I can't move my arm, or my legs," a young Jarod said, as the black-and-white image lit up on the screen.
"You don't want to help them, Jarod," Sydney's voice said from somewhere unseen. "A lot of people could be helped by this, Jarod. We need you to tell us how."
"I want to help, Sydney, but I can't figure out how to make it work. I can't move my arm!" A hint of panic was starting to show in young Jarod's face.
"Concentrate," ordered Sydney.
The expression changed on Jarod's face. He got up sat up on the hospital bed he had been lying on, and pulled off the vital sign monitors that had been hooked up to him. "It's no use, Sydney. We've tried every variation we thought up, and we still come up with the same results. There's no way to make the patient psychologically accept the implants. He knows that it's not his real limbs. These new prothesis just won't work. Can I go back to my room, now?"
Sydney stepped in front of the DSA recorder. "Stop" he ordered.
The screen went blank for a second. The circumstances of that simulation were coming back to Jarod. During the pause in recording, which, in reality, had lasted several hours, his younger self had been inspired and found a solution. He had been so eager to try it out, that he had sneaked out of his room, gone back to the sim lab, and did something he had never done before - or since: turned on the DSA cameras by himself.
"We'll now try a different variation," Jarod explained to the DSA camera, mimicking Sydney's voice. "For the purpose of the simulation, we will assume that the same drugs that were used on the first try were used once again, but that this time the capabilities of the implants have been modified."
Jarod laid down on the bed, and concentrated. He forced his mind to start the simulation. "I can move my arm again," he said, as he raised his arm rather quickly and awkwardly. "I can't control it as much as I want, but I can move it. I'll try my legs now."
Jarod raised both his legs, one at a time, and had pretty much the same results as when he moved his arm.
The expression on Jarod's face returned to normal, as he ended this part of the simulation.
"The patient will obviously need some months in rehab, to learn to use his limbs again. We'll now assume, for the simulation, that I have been in rehab for the required number of months. We'll say that my left arm, and both my legs, have been replaced by the protheses."
Jarod turned around, and saw a bar of metal. "We'll say this bar weighs 500 pounds." Jarod tried to lift it with his right arm. The effort was obvious on his face. He just was not able to lift it. Then, he tried with his left arm. He lifted it up as if it weighted no more than a few ounces.
"We'll try the legs, now," Jarod announced. A treadmill had been placed in one corner of the room. Jarod went up on it, turned it on, and started running as fast as he could. He looked at the speed it indicated and smiled as his mind, fully absorbed by his simulation, saw the speed at which he would have been running had his legs really been implanted with the protheses.
"Jarod! Why are you running slowly?" Sydney's voice resounded from behind him.
"I found the solution, Sydney!"
"What do you mean, Jarod? You're not making any sense!"
"I was running as fast as I could, Sydney, but I had this feeling that I was going slowly. And yet, when I looked at the speed I was supposed to be running at, it was 60 miles per hour. That's the solution! The protheses can't work if they merely replicate normal human capabilities. They only work if they exceed them.
"Do you understand, Sydney? That's the only way anyone will psychologically accept bionic implants."
Jarod turned off the DSA player. "So," he commented aloud, after a moment's silence, "they went ahead and built a bionic woman!"
"Broots? What time did you go to bed last night?" Parker asked.
"Around four-thirty." There was one good thing about his addiction to old movies, Broots thought. It helped him looked tired the morning after Miss Parker gave him assignments she thought would take all night, but that takes him a couple of hours to complete. She had asked him to review the data the OSI had provided them, and confirm that the transmission did in fact originate from The Centre. He had started working on it just around nine, after he had put Debbie to bed. By a quarter to ten, he was convinced the OSI was right; by ten thirty, there was no longer any doubts possible. After that, he had killed some time for a couple of hours, until the channel 38 late movie double-bill started. They had been running an Errol Flynn festival the whole week. Broots was glad for the excuse to stay up and catch a couple of them.
"What's your conclusion?" Miss Parker wanted to know.
"Definitely from The Centre, but I couldn't identify from where within The Centre, as I didn't have access to the phone logs from my place." Actually, he did have access from his place, but there were still some things he did feel the need to hide from Miss Parker.
"You need top level security clearance for that, so I'll have to coordinate with my father. I'll get you access by this afternoon."
"No need to go to that trouble," Broots stopped her. He sat down at her desk, logged on her computer, punched in a couple of commands. Within seconds, he had called up the phone log.
"How did you do that?" she asked, amazed. "Even I don't have access to that log. No, never mind," she cut him off as he was opening his mouth to answer, "just get to work and find an answer."
Broots started comparing data from the printout he had made the night before to the log on the computer screen. The more comparisons he made, the more perplexed he looked.
Parker threw a questioning look at Steve Austin. The expression he gave her in reply indicated that he too had no idea what could be so perplexing. As far as he knew, the data he had provided to The Centre team was rather straightforward. "Well?" she asked Broots. "Don't keep us in suspense."
"Well, the good news is that I've identified which phone line has been used, but I don't think you'll like it. It's Mr. Lyle's"
Parker was shocked. "Daddy will be pleased," was all she could say.
"But it gets better. These transmissions started when Mr. Lyle was -" Broots stopped in mid-sentenced. He looked up to Miss Parker, then to Austin, and back to Miss Parker. " - on leave from the Centre," Broots finished. "And that's not all. There's no record of any use of that phone line on the dates and times the transmissions were made."
"That's a good starting point," commented Austin. His years of training and experience took over, as he took charge of the discussion that had been pretty much only between Parker and Broots until that point. "How many safety protocols would have to be circumvented for a call to be erased from the phone logs, and how many people would have the knowledge to do it?"
"About fifteen protocols - and the whole pool of programmers."
"The whole pool?" Parker asked, incredulously.
"It's the standard test we give prospective employees..." Broots voice trailed off, and he let his sentence go unfinished. Parker just shook her head in disbelief. She had never liked the subculture that had seemed to develop around The Centre's computer people. She would have to do something about this security breach.
"OK, that give us too many suspects for now," Austin continued. "So let's try another approach. Are there any disgruntled former employees that would wish harm on The Centre?"
There aren't too many former employees that are alive," Parker commented wryly.
"Those that are," added Broots, "usually aren't too gruntled either."
"How many of those," Austin asked, "would have the knowledge to tap into your phone system and circumvent your security procedures?"
"Jarod," replied Broots.
"Not his style," contradicted Parker.
*
* *
Oscar Goldman's office
OSI west coast headquarters
Oscar motioned Jaime to sit down. He concluded his phone call, then smiled at her. "And what can I do for you today?"
"Oscar, I think you know why I'm here. It's about Sue Davidson. How's the investigation into the death of her parents going?"
Oscar took off his glasses, and put them on his desk. All signs of pleasantry drained from his face. "It's not," he replied curtly. "Jim Castillian's investigation is going nowhere. I'm giving it another week before I pull him from the case. Problem is, with the years of service the Davidsons had at the OSI, it will be hard to find an agent for whom the investigation would not be personal. What about on your end? Didn't you tell me that Sue was making progress?"
"That's why I'm here, Oscar. The new doctor who's handling her case did make some progress with her - in fact, he's the only one who's had any success. But he told me yesterday he had to start all over again with her every day."
Oscar looked up. "You're suspecting someone at the clinic?"
"I don't know anymore," Jaime admitted.
"Leave it to me, then. I'll arrange for a discreet investigation to be done on the personnel. I'll start with that new doctor - what did you say his name was?"
"Jarod Olivet," replied Jaime. "That's with one L," she added, before Oscar could ask her not to. "And Oscar - thanks!"
"No problem, babe," he replied.
"You, know, sometimes I wish that, after I come back from that conference I'm going to in Ottawa in a few days, everything will be okay: Steve will be back from his mission, Sue will be all right, and her parents' assassins will have been caught!"
"If wishes were horses . . ." commented Oscar. But he knew how she felt.
"Anyway, I have to go now. I want to do some running at the park before I report to the clinic. I need it."
Jaime was glad she had found that park. It was isolated enough, and quite often empty enough, to allow her to run at bionic speed without attracting attention. Today was no exception. There was no one to be seen in the wooden section. She started running. She held back for the first minute or so, just to shake the rust off her legs, then accelerated to top speed.
There was something contradictory in these bionic runs of hers. She was going extremely fast, yet found the exercise extremely peaceful. It helped clear her mind, and reach a sort of inner peace. She had to be careful, of course; on a day like today, she could not afford to get lost in that inner peace, as she did have to go to work. But with all the stress she had been under ever since Sue Davidson had been admitted to her clinic, she needed to forget about her worries for awhile. And the park was the only place where worries about work could be left behind.
"I love ice cream! What about you?"
Jaime stopped in her tracks. That was Jarod's voice. What was he doing here? She looked at her watch. It was just after nine, which meant that she would be late at the clinic, but which meant Jarod was also supposed to be there. There was only one way to find out what he was doing. She started jogging - at non-bionic speed - toward the ice cream stand, and started listening in. She did wish, though, that she had Steve's eye so that she could look as well as listen.
What Jarod was saying was not all that informative. He asked for two cones - one chocolate and one vanilla - and insisted that the salesperson accept an overpayment to compensate for having opened early just to accommodate Jarod and his friend. And that friend was not saying much, so Jamie must move closer to get to the bottom of this.
In no time, Jaime had arrived at the ice cream stand. "Jaime," called out Jarod, waiving at her. She tried to look surprised, and came to join him.
"Jarod," she greeted him. "Fancy running into you here."
"I was surprised I didn't see you at the clinic this morning," admitted Jarod. "I had planned on asking your permission. You see, I thought that going outside and getting some fresh air would be good for Sue." As he was speaking, Jarod motioned with his head towards the nearest picnic table.
Jaime had been so intent on Jarod that she had not even noticed Sue. No wonder I didn't hear who he was speaking to, thought Jaime. "Hi, Sue," Jaime said, as she sat down besides her.
"Would you like some ice cream?" Jarod offered Jaime. "It's really good!" he commented with an earnestness in his voice that Jaime found amusing
"No thanks," replied Jaime, amused. "It's a bit early for me. Besides, I just finished my morning jog, I don't want to put the weight back on."
As Jaime turned back to talk to Sue some more, Jarod took a good look at her. True, she was jogging when she arrived at the ice cream stand. But there was no sign on sweat anywhere on her clothes. Why the lie? Jarod wondered.
But he was drawn from his thought pretty quickly, as a rather loud "Hi, ya, Jarod!" demanded his attention. He looked around and saw a ten year old boy running towards him.
"Hello, Billy!" Jarod replied, kneeling down to meet his young friend. "Billy, this is my friend Sue," he introduced the two children.
"Hello, Sue! Do you want to play?" Billy asked "You can be Little Bo Beep," he continued, without waiting for her to reply, "and I'll be Buzz Lightyear."
Both Jaime and Jarod looked intently at Sue, as they were waiting for her reply. They saw something flicker in her eyes, almost like an indication of an inner conflict. After a couple of seconds, Sue just looked down, withdrawn upon herself once more. Billy shrugged it off, and ran away to play by himself. "I'm Buzz Lightyear, Space Ranger!" He could be heard to exclaim as he ran away. "I come in peace!" Some distance away, he knelt down to zap something in the bushes with his laser (the one that's a light bulb).
The sign of disappointment was visible on Jaime's face. She felt Sue had been so close to finally breaking out of her shell. She looked up at Jarod, expecting him to comment. His question took her by surprise.
"Who's Buzz Lightyear?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
Steve was looking at the waves break against the cliff. He was schedule to call Oscar for a report in a few minutes, and had used it to get outside The Centre. There was something about atmosphere in that place that he found oppressive. He wanted to clear his mind before reporting in.
Something broke his reverie - nothing in particular, probably more instinct than anything, but something told him he had to stop watching those waves. He looked up at the smaller building just outside The Centre - The Tower, as it was rather unimaginatively known. There was something Steve did not like about it. He zoomed in to the window with his bionic eye, but he couldn't see anything. Still, it was a good place from which someone could watch him, or even eavesdrop, and Steve didn't like it. He got up, and moved away.
After walking a distance - The Centre's Building did stretch out somewhat - Steve looked at his watch. It was time to call in that report. He took out his cell phone, and dialed up Oscar's private line.
"Snow White," Oscar's voice answered after a few rings, using his old code name.
"Snow White, this is Bashful," Steve identified himself.
"I assume you have news from Grandma's house?" Oscar asked.
"The Big Bad Wolf is definitely in here," Steve confirmed.
"How do you find Little Red Riding Hood? Is she helpful?"
Steve hesitated a moment, as he picture what Miss Parker's reaction would be if she knew what her code name was. "So far," he finally answered. "I think she can be trusted, but I don't know how far."
"I see. Be careful, Pal!" Oscar admonished, before hanging up.
Steve turned off his cell phone, and returned to The Centre. He took the elevator down to Broots' office. He found him in an excited state. It was clear that the guy liked his job. Given a challenge, he didn't hesitate to rise to it.
"Ha, Col.. Austin, you're just in time," Broots greeted him. I just finished my surveillance software, like you asked me to design. It will be in place before tonight."
"You'll be able to pinpoint from where inside The Centre the transmissions come from?" Steve asked, just to make sure.
"Definitely," Broots replied, almost insulted that his word was doubted.
"And they'll have no idea we're tracking them?"
"None whatsoever"
"Good. Let Miss Parker know you're finished. And now, we wait. If our mysterious caller sticks to his schedule, he should be making a transmission tonight."
*
* *
Jarod opened up his red notebook, and unfolded the newspaper clipping he had saved. "Young girl, 8, witnesses parents' death" one headline said. "OSI agents' daughter hasn't talked since parents' death" announced another one, while the third proclaimed that "Little Sue Davidson taken to local rehab clinic". Jarod skimmed over the articles once again, to see if there was details he had missed or forgotten. But it was essentially an exercise in futility - he had committed the articles to memory, and this umpteenth rereading provided nothing new.
"Mr. Castillian will see you now, sir," the receptionist informed Jarod. Jarod closed his notebook, and put it back in his jacket pocket. Throwing a smile in the direction of the receptionist, he walked into the office marked "J. Castillian - private".
Castillian got up from behind his desk, and shook Jarod's hand. "Jim Castillian," he introduced himself. "That's with two L's."
"Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice, Mr. Castillian," Jarod replied. "I'm Dr. Jarod Olivet, the new doctor working with Sue Davidson."
"What can I do for you, Dr. Olivet?"
"I understand you're handling the investigation into her parent's death. I was hoping that you could tell me something about the circumstances surrounding the accident - it might help me with the therapy."
"There's not much I can tell you, unfortunately. She saw her parents get into their car, saw it blow up seconds later. She hasn't talked since then. Anything else is either classified or still a mystery."
"Her parents were both OSI agents. Was there a case that they worked on from which someone would hold a grudge, or perhaps a case where someone did not want them to discover the truth?"
"They were both with the OSI for over 15 years. They worked on a number of cases over those years - most of them classified."
"I understand that you can't tell me too much, Mr. Castillian, but I had a good reason for asking. You see, I have some concerns about little Sue's safety. Although I had some progress initially when I first starting seeing Sue, it seems that whatever progress I make is undermined by somebody else - possibly the person who killed her parents. If they think she witnessed anything, they will not want her to get better or start talking again. Now, for me, leaving my previous post to join Jaime Summer's clinic was a career move - I was not able to really give personal attention to my patients at a bigger clinic. But for someone in your situation, where the Davidson girl is potentially your only witness to a major crime, I'd think you would send her to any one of the bigger clinics with an international reputation. There's no shortage of those in the region. Surely, her safety would have been easier to guarantee at one of those clinics?"
"I appreciate you bringing your suspicions to me. But, to answer your question ... well, let's just say we do not have any security question or concerns connected with Ms Sommers' clinic. But the investigation is still ongoing, and I'll keep your thoughts in mind. Was there anything else you wanted to know?"
"No, thank you. You've been a big help."
Jarod kept a poker face while he was leaving the OSI headquarters, but as soon as he was outside, he allowed himself to smile. Finally, he had a break.
When he shook hands with Castillian, and locked eyes with him, he had received a pretty good impression of his personality. He was arrogant and self-assured, but honest. And Jarod was sure that Castillian had answered truthfully - especially when he said the OSI hadn't had any security concerns about Jaime Sommers' clinic. That, Jarod was sure, was his clue. When Castillian said it, Jarod felt there was a connection between Jaime and the OSI. Once Jarod found out what it was, he was sure he could discover what was that secret she was hiding - and that, whichever way it led, would go a long way towards pushing Sue on the road to recovery. Either by eliminating Jaime as a suspect - or removing her permanently from Sue's entourage.
Back at the clinic, Jarod looked at his watch. Jaime was scheduled to be with a patient for another fifteen minutes. Not long, but it should give him time to get started. He sneaked into her office.
Her computer had been left on. He sat at her desk. Getting past the password protection was easy; now, the real work started. But before anything else, he slipped a floppy in the disk drive, and had a file printed. That took care of his cover, just in case he was discovered before finishing.
He started with the financial records - and his eyebrows went up. That's interesting, he thought. The OSI had been giving regular donations to the clinic. That in itself did not prove anything - only that there was a link between the OSI and the clinic. And Jarod was, more than ever, convinced that that link was Jaime Sommers. But he had to find more proofs. Although useful, the computerized records weren't much help, since they did not show anything else beside the fact that the donations were made.
*
* *
In the hall leading to the office, Jaime suddenly stopped walking. "Judy, Get security," she told her assistant. "There's someone in my office."
"How can you be sure?" asked Judy, taken by surprise both by Jaime's sudden halt and by the unexpected request.
"Never mind that. Just do it," Jaime insisted. Her assistant started for the security officers' desk.
Jaime quietly made for her office door. She could distinctly hear the printer working, and someone working away at the keyboard. She threw the door open. "Jarod!" she exclaimed, surprised.
"Jaime!" Jarod replied, with his calm voice and that characteristic smile of his. "My printer's dead," he gave as an explication for his presence while Jaime was coming around to his side of the desk, "and I needed to print this document in a hurry."
Jaime took the document and glanced at it. It looked like a scholarly review Jarod had written. She handed it back to him. Jarod got up, to let Jaime sit in her chair. On the computer screen, she noticed that the Tetris board read "Game Over".
"Next time," she asked, "ask permission first."
"I'm sorry. You weren't around, and I was in a rush. I guess I forgot my manners," Jarod offered, before leaving.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
Parker had been pacing the room for quite some time, now. She was quite a contrast with both Austin, and Sam and his sweeper team who were waiting for her orders. They all were trained field security personnel, whose job often depended on waiting. But, in her case, her training had been quite different, and this waiting game was not her style; she was more of an action person. All the arguments about catching someone red-handed, to have evidence, had never convinced her that it was better than just going after the person your after. Of course, in this case, they didn't even know from where their target operated, which made it a little bit more difficult. But as far as she was concerned, it was all the same: wasted time, that could have been better put to use.
Of course, part of the frustration was that this part of the evening was somewhat out of her territory. She knew next to nothing about the electronics things that Broots excelled at. This was his territory, and Miss Parker had to concede it. And, as much as she secretly admired Broots, and was in found of him, she hated conceding anything, especially to Broots.
The basic principal, she understood. Since the transmissions were being "piggybacked" on Lyle's phone line, they had put a special tap on it to allow them to track where the transmission came from. It was the specifics that had lost her.
Fortunately for them, Lyle was in Italy ("Probably shopping for clothes," Miss Parker had remarked rather sarcastically, not even trying to hide her feelings about her twin), so, in theory, the only call coming from his line should be the spy's transmission. But they still had to wait for it.
After what had seemed like an eternity, Broots signaled to her to be quiet. "I've got it," he finally announced after a couple of seconds.
"Where from?"
"Give me a moment!" Broots stared at his screen, willing his software to go faster. "SL-18," he finally announced.
"That can't be," reacted Parker. "There's no phone lines beneath SL-17!"
"Actually," Broots objected, "all phone lines for The Centre run in the floor between SL-17 and SL-18. Tacking on a clandestine phone line from SL-18 would be child's play. . . relatively speaking of course. Hold on, I'm getting a more definite location - west wing!"
"Let's go!" Austin ordered, practically rushing out of the door.
Parker signaled to the sweepers to follow her as she practically grabbed Broots while running after Austin.
The whole team quickly took the elevator down to SL-18. Once everyone had made it, they carefully made their way to the west wing of The Centre's sub-level. At the end of one hall, a door had been left partially opened, a faint light coming from inside.
"Just how gullible do these people think I am?" asked Miss Parker. "Their trap is so obvious -"
"That maybe they don't even realize we're on to them," completed Austin. Broots tried to stifle a chuckle; he couldn't remember ever seeing someone interrupt Miss Parker, let alone interrupt her to contradict her.
Parker threw an ice-cold look at the OSI agent. "I wouldn't count on that," she said.
"Then, let's turn their trap on them," suggested Austin.
"What do you have in mind?" asked Parker, interested.
Steve didn't answer her question. He just fell silent, and started staring at the room at the end of the hall for a few seconds. Then he moved towards the left wall, turning his head to keep it aimed at the room. When he reached the wall, he started to move toward the right wall, still keeping his head aimed towards the room. When he reached that wall, his body expression changed. He relaxed, as if what he was waiting for had arrived; but not just what he was waiting for - what he was living for. "Wait until I get inside the room", he instructed Miss Parker. "Then start walking towards the door, but stop when you're about five feet away. Then turn around and start arguing with Broots. I don't care what about, but make sure your voices carry. And don't stay in a direct line of sight with the door." Austin turned towards Broots. "Either of you."
Motioning to Broots and Parker to stay silent, Austin started running - running fast! - towards the door, carefully staying in the shadows. With the lights so dim in the hall, Parker and Broots almost lost sight of him, but then they saw a shadow pass directly in front of the door. Parker turned towards Broots; he nodded, silently. Parker motioned to the sweepers to follow them, and headed towards the door. When she judged she was about five feet, she stopped, as she had been instructed. "Broots?" she asked, moving towards the wall, "What was that all about?"
Inside the room, Steve could barely hear them, but he knew they had followed his instructions. Back in the hall, he had adjusted his bionic eye to the infrared frequencies, and had picked up the gunman hiding on the catwalk. When he sped into the room, the gunman tried to aim on him, but had not counted on bionic reflexes. When Parker and Broots had started arguing, the gunman turned his attention back to his real target. That allowed Steve to get closer to catwalk. The gunman thought he was secure, since he was covering the only ladder going up to the catwalk. Time to surprise him, thought Steve. He jumped fifteen feet straight up.
The gunman's reaction was one Steve had seen countless times before on all those OSI missions. He was so surprise to see someone coming up from nowhere that he dropped his gun and never thought of trying to aim. That suited Steve just find, as it allowed him, after landing on the catwalk, to give him a good punch in the stomach and knock him cold for a few seconds. Grabbing the gun with his right hand, Steve twisted the barrel before throwing it down. Then, he grabbed the gunman, raised him in the air, and jumped back down, towards the door.
"It's safe now, Miss Parker" he called out. When Parker came in, he dropped the gunman down at her feet.
She looked at Steve, impressed, then down at the gunman. "Sam," she called, "put him in a holding cell." When the sweepers had taken the man out, Parker continued. "As much as I'm pleased to catch him, he's not the reason we came down here."
Broots took out an electronic surveillance device, and started scanning the room. Steve pretended to patiently wait around, while secretly scanning the room with his bionic eye set to the infrared frequencies. "There," Broots finally announced, pointing in a general direction. They made their way towards the back of the room.
Steve saw it before everybody else. Tiles had been taken down from the ceiling, and wires reworked, down from the ceiling to an instrument on the floor. Broots kneeled down besides it and looked it over. "It's a retransmitter," he finally confirmed.
"Are you saying," Parker asked, "that the transmissions are not originating off Lyle's phone line?"
"It would seem so."
"Can you track its origins?"
"I'd have to rehook my instruments here in this room, but yes, I think I can do it."
"We should assume," Steve cut in, "that since there was someone here to guard this, that the transmissions still originate from The Centre."
"Yes," Parker agreed, "but we're back to square one. Even if Broots can track it down, by the time he brings his equipment down here and re-hooks it, the transmission will be over. And then what?"
"If the patterns hold, they'll be another transmission made tomorrow night," Steve stated.
"Then there's probably nothing more to learn here tonight. I'll interrogate the prisoner tomorrow. I suppose you'll want to be there?"
"Yes," agreed Steve. "Are we calling it a night?"
Parker nodded. She pointed to the door, to invite Steve to go out first. But, as Broots was also making his way out of the room, she stopped him. She waited for Austin to be out of earshot, then turn to look squarely at Broots. "Broots," she asked him, "is there any way to walk into a room, hide from a gunman, and capture him? Any human way?" she added, with emphasis on the word "human"
"I . . . I don't think so," Broots replied, hesitantly.
"Find out everything you can about Clark Kent here," she ordered, symbolically pointing out in the distance to indicate Austin. "There's something about him. And I don't like secrets."
As Parker made her way out, Broots dropped his head, hoping for a pole against which he could bang it.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jarod's hideout
Jarod turned on his laptop. After a short time, he succeeded in logging onto the OSI mainframe. Getting past the security protocols was almost child's play. After all, Jarod was getting to be an old hand at that game. The real trick would be in finding was he's looking for. He did a general search for "Jaime Sommers".
Only one reference came up. She was listed as an operative for "Project C-One". OK, thought Jarod, let's find out what Project C-One is all about.
His search for "Project C-One" brought two options: "Description" and "List of contractors". Of the two, "Description" seemed to be the obvious choice. But when Jarod tried to access it, the computer returned the following message.
Project C-One classified Top Secret
Security clearance level 6 required
No digital versions of records in existence - only hard copies available
Let's see if I have better luck with the contractors, Jarod told himself. Going back one level, he selected the "List of contractors" option. This did not tell him much: it was just a list. But each one was hyper-linked to other documents, so it offered possibilities. Jarod pursued the list, to see which one was more promising: Cal Tech, Corning, Dell, IBM, MIT, NASA, The Centre, . . . .
Jarod could barely believe his eyes. He clicked on The Centre link. It offered the choice between correspondence and invoices. He chose correspondence first. It listed only one letter. Jarod called it up. It was dated 1969:
Dear Doctor Rudi Wells:
I am sorry to report that the [whited out] project is a failure.
Although we have found a way to make it work, which would most definitely
be beneficial to mankind, the consequences would be potentially disastrous
if the technology were to fall into the wrong hands.
In view of these results, I feel that the [whited out] project does not fall
within The Centre's charter regarding research, which states that all research
projects undertaken or assisted by The Centre must be for the sole purpose of
improving living conditions for all. Effective immediately, The Centre is withdrawing
from this project.
Please accept my sincere apologies.
[signed] Catherine Parker
Jarod was tempted to make a hard copy. He would have to let Miss Parker know about this one of these days. After all, it was dated less than a year before her mother's death, and might help her find out what led to the murder. But he did not have the time to think about that right now. That letter, before being scanned into the computer's memory bank, had been carefully edited so that it would not reveal what the project was all about, which meant Jarod was no closer to finding what he was looking for. He once again backtracked, so that he could call up the invoices from The Centre. He dared not hope.
Yes! The invoice was for a simulation. One of his simulations. This was going to be easier than he had thought.
He logged off from the OSI database, turned off his laptop, and went to his bed. He pulled out the DSA player he was hiding underneath it. He searched through the collection of disks before settling on one. He hesitated for a second, anxious as to what he would find out, then put the disk in the player, and hit the play button
"I can't move my arm, or my legs," a young Jarod said, as the black-and-white image lit up on the screen.
"You don't want to help them, Jarod," Sydney's voice said from somewhere unseen. "A lot of people could be helped by this, Jarod. We need you to tell us how."
"I want to help, Sydney, but I can't figure out how to make it work. I can't move my arm!" A hint of panic was starting to show in young Jarod's face.
"Concentrate," ordered Sydney.
The expression changed on Jarod's face. He got up sat up on the hospital bed he had been lying on, and pulled off the vital sign monitors that had been hooked up to him. "It's no use, Sydney. We've tried every variation we thought up, and we still come up with the same results. There's no way to make the patient psychologically accept the implants. He knows that it's not his real limbs. These new prothesis just won't work. Can I go back to my room, now?"
Sydney stepped in front of the DSA recorder. "Stop" he ordered.
The screen went blank for a second. The circumstances of that simulation were coming back to Jarod. During the pause in recording, which, in reality, had lasted several hours, his younger self had been inspired and found a solution. He had been so eager to try it out, that he had sneaked out of his room, gone back to the sim lab, and did something he had never done before - or since: turned on the DSA cameras by himself.
"We'll now try a different variation," Jarod explained to the DSA camera, mimicking Sydney's voice. "For the purpose of the simulation, we will assume that the same drugs that were used on the first try were used once again, but that this time the capabilities of the implants have been modified."
Jarod laid down on the bed, and concentrated. He forced his mind to start the simulation. "I can move my arm again," he said, as he raised his arm rather quickly and awkwardly. "I can't control it as much as I want, but I can move it. I'll try my legs now."
Jarod raised both his legs, one at a time, and had pretty much the same results as when he moved his arm.
The expression on Jarod's face returned to normal, as he ended this part of the simulation.
"The patient will obviously need some months in rehab, to learn to use his limbs again. We'll now assume, for the simulation, that I have been in rehab for the required number of months. We'll say that my left arm, and both my legs, have been replaced by the protheses."
Jarod turned around, and saw a bar of metal. "We'll say this bar weighs 500 pounds." Jarod tried to lift it with his right arm. The effort was obvious on his face. He just was not able to lift it. Then, he tried with his left arm. He lifted it up as if it weighted no more than a few ounces.
"We'll try the legs, now," Jarod announced. A treadmill had been placed in one corner of the room. Jarod went up on it, turned it on, and started running as fast as he could. He looked at the speed it indicated and smiled as his mind, fully absorbed by his simulation, saw the speed at which he would have been running had his legs really been implanted with the protheses.
"Jarod! Why are you running slowly?" Sydney's voice resounded from behind him.
"I found the solution, Sydney!"
"What do you mean, Jarod? You're not making any sense!"
"I was running as fast as I could, Sydney, but I had this feeling that I was going slowly. And yet, when I looked at the speed I was supposed to be running at, it was 60 miles per hour. That's the solution! The protheses can't work if they merely replicate normal human capabilities. They only work if they exceed them.
"Do you understand, Sydney? That's the only way anyone will psychologically accept bionic implants."
Jarod turned off the DSA player. "So," he commented aloud, after a moment's silence, "they went ahead and built a bionic woman!"
