Shaddyr's Eclectic Collection > Pretender Fanfiction >
Reality Test
By Shaddyr and Liz Schobert
Author's' Notes:
S: It's all Liz's fault. She encourages me. I talk to her and she reads what I write -and she tells me she LIKES it! Then she runs off and writes some, which of course is wonderful (Oh this woman!!) and that encourages me even more... It's so nice to have a partner in this insanity called writing...
L. In actuality, it's Shaddyr's fault, because if I hadn't stumbled into to her, I would never have known that I wasn't the only one doing this writing thing. I wouldn't have gotten all the positive reinforcement from her and from other readers, and I would never have continued. Then again, I would never had all this fun, especially writing this together, so I guess I shouldn't blame her too much…
Disclaimer: They aren't ours, we're just mucking about in NBC's sandbox. We promise to put them back when we're done, mostly none the worse for wear. Don't sue: all you'll get is a half bag of Cheeto's and some belly button lint.
Time: Soon after the beginning of the fourth season
*****************
5:15 pm
November 4th
Forest Lawn Cemetery
Seattle, Washington
*****************
The cold November rain pelted the lone figure. The flat gravestone set into the dark green of the lawn, full of vitality still this late in the year, seemed a mockery. Verdant life surrounding death. The man knelt, extending a hand to trace the engraved letters with a finger. Bitter tears of grief and anger mixed with the downpour he was caught in, but he was oblivious to the storm around him. It was nothing compared to the one that gripped his heart.
He removed the michaelmas daisies, carefully entwined with sprigs of rosemary and china pink, from the now soaked paper they had been wrapped in. The florist had put the arrangement together, each flower significant in its own way. Remembrance, loss, love. Leaning forward to place the bouquet across the stone, the rain pelted the fragile flowers so that they were a soggy mass even before he laid them down. He sank to his knees as the dam of anguish he had been struggling to remain in control over burst. Burying his face in his hands, he doubled over before the grave.
"I'm so sorry," he cried, the pain and regret consuming his being. "I should have been there. It should have been me..."
**************
October 7
Starbucks on Pike Street
Seattle, Washington
****************
Jarod gleefully grabbed the bagel, topped with cream cheese and loaded with strawberry jam. With it in one hand and a steaming café mocha in the other he backed out the door of the Starbucks. He spied a nearby clock while he munched his impromptu breakfast. 8:27 AM. He had 33 minutes before he met with Carl Mersereau, head of Teletronics Ltd., one of the newest up and coming software firms in the country.
It was a brisk October day, but Seattle weather was being favorable and the sun was out. Jarod was careful not to drip any of the wonderful jam down the front of his silk "Animaniacs" tie. He grinned. The way the little cartoon characters managed to get away with everything and make fools of almost everyone appealed to him - he identified with them rather well. Carefully carrying the steaming cup and rapidly disappearing bagel, he made his way down the street. It was only seven blocks to the office, and it seemed a nice day for a walk.
The offices of Teletronics were in one of the converted warehouses that lined the road along the picturesquely named "Alaska Way". At one time, much of the area had been used for shipping, but as the cargoes and routes of the huge vessels had changed, so had the need for large buildings like the one he now approached. He glanced up at the concrete block structure, rising four stories above the narrow road he traveled along. A developer had purchased this particular building for the express purpose of creating office space for the burgeoning software and computer industry that was growing like a mushroom ring around the behemoth company in nearby Redmond. Every week, it seemed, another venture capitalist spread his wealth out to a new group of young entrepreneurs with ideas for a better cyber mousetrap, and if they weren't already in Silicon Valley, the Pacific Northwest was the place to be.
With its previously Spartan entrance replaced with a trendy lobby, the freight elevator converted to a people-mover, partitions erected within the storage space and the addition of every kind of wiring and telecommunications line from T1 on up, the building was perfectly suited for the growing industry, and the owners had little difficulty renting all of the six various size suites. Jarod looked at the listing set on a utilitarian black board in the lobby. Teletronics took up the entire third floor, an impressive situation for a company that had been working out of a basement just two short years before. He walked to the oversize elevator and pushed the button, slipping the last of the bagel into his mouth and wiping it with a napkin before the doors opened up again.
Arriving at the third floor, he was greeted by the sight of a youthful looking Asian woman in a designer suit sitting behind an equally designer chrome and steel desk. A silvery telephone headset barely mussed her carefully groomed hair, a slim monitor sat off to the side of the desktop. She looked every part the twenty-first century receptionist, the guardian of the gate, her smile kind but not overly encouraging. That is, until Jarod had explained exactly who he was and why he was standing before her. After hearing his explanation and checking a calendar, she smiled broadly and instructed him down the hall on the left to the very last office. Mr. Mersereau's assistant, she explained, was away for the day; Jarod should go through the outer office, knock on the mahogany door and walk in, Mr. Mersereau was expecting him.
Looking briefly to his right, and seeing a corridor which was a mirror image of the one to his left, Jarod walked down the carpeted hallway, taking note of the various offices along the way. It seemed that no one other than Mersereau considered it important to close their doors, nearly all of the rooms were open to reveal hard working men and women staring intently at a screen or tapping away furiously at a keyboard. Some of them glanced up as he passed, most with a smile or a wave. Visitors, he reasoned, must be a rarity, but at least on the surface, the staff seemed friendly enough.
Reaching the end of the hall, he opened the door and walked in. As he had been warned, there was no one at the desk set off to the side of the small anteroom, the top was orderly but full, leaving space for the ubiquitous VDO and keyboard. From behind the nearby door, he could hear the muted sounds of a man speaking; from the one sided tempo of the conversation, Jarod assumed he was on the telephone and waited for a few minutes before knocking.
"Come in," he heard a gruff but not unfriendly voice call out.
He pushed the office door open and entered the room. A tall, graying man stepped out from behind the desk, hand outstretched, and strode across the room to greet him. "I am so glad to finally meet you, Mr. Allen," Mersereau declared sincerely, taking Jarod's hand and shaking it firmly.
Jarod took in the other man's appearance. Suit jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up, with a pen behind one ear, Carl Mersereau was obviously a man who did more than just bark out orders and read quarterly reports. The premature gray in his otherwise dark brown hair added a dignified look to the delighted smile on his face. He motioned Jarod forward to take a seat across from the desk cluttered with a laptop and yards of printouts.
"I know this is rather unusual," Mersereau began apologetically, "but we are absolutely swamped, and of course today my assistant, who does most of the hiring work, is out on other business." The man leaned back in his chair, ran a hand through his short cropped hair and attempted, unsuccessfully, to stifle a yawn. "Pardon me," he grinned tiredly. "I never actually got out of the office last night."
Jarod shook his head slightly. "No apologies needed, sir. I've had to pull a few all-nighters myself when a project required it."
"Well, if ever a project required it, it's got to be this one" Mersereau grinned wryly. "I started this whole adventure with a way to work telecommunications through the Internet, especially for business, hence the name. I knew it would take some serious time investment, but some days..." He left the sentence unfinished as he yawned once more.
"And then you created the 'Imitation of Life' game," Jarod added.
Mersereau shook his head. "I never thought that a simple website that I set up for my kids would become so popular. To me, it was just a new role-playing thing for their generation, kind of like "Dungeons and Dragons" was for me when I was growing up."
Jarod looked at him intently. "Dungeons and Dragons?" he questioned.
"Okay, okay, so it's a little more complicated than that, but it really was just an experiment for me; probabilities, algorithms and some half-hearted graphics. Who knew it would become a cult game - certainly not me!" He threw his hands up in mock defeat, but smiled nonetheless. "Now we have two divisions, the business and the games, and never enough people to do either." Leaning forward slightly, he took a more serious tone. "As I told you when we spoke on the phone, right now we're in need of a programming coordinator to oversee the beta testing of our industrial software line. Oh, by the way," he looked up knowingly," I called one of your references, Gerald Winselet. I bet you didn't know that he and I used to work together."
Jarod put on his most innocent look and shook his head. The man he had worked for as a programmer several months ago had been extremely pleased with his work. Studying up for his position here at Teletronics, Jarod had discovered the connection and been quite sure that he would be able to use it to his advantage.
"Well, Mr. Allen, my good friend Gerald positively raved about your work, as much as told me I'd be crazy not to hire you on the spot. But the position I was asking you to fill…" He sighed. "Well, that was last week, and since then, our personnel needs have changed once again, now I'm looking for something else. At risk of overwhelming you, what I'd like to offer you is more along the lines of a Director of our Information Services division, heading up our telecommunication software development, not just the testing." He held up a hand to quell any objections. "I know it's a huge task, but judging from your resume and especially what Gerald had to say, I'm sure that you are more than up to it. I can assign you a personal assistant if you'd like, and you can let me know if there is anything else you require." His earnest green eyes held Jarod's. "Will you come to our rescue, Mr. Allen?"
"I think I might be persuaded. But please, call me Jarod."
The relief in the room was palpable. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed, then stood. "I'd like to show you around a bit, introduce you to your staff, show you your office," he began, leading Jarod out of the office. "After that, I must admit, I'd like to put you to work immediately." Mersereau cocked an eyebrow at him as the walked down the hall. "Are you game?"
Jarod smiled slightly. Things could not have possibly worked out better if he'd planned them this way. He'd thought it would take him at least two weeks to gain the kind of access that was at the moment being offered to him. His smile widened perceptibly. "I would be more than happy to get right to work," he agreed amicably.
********
Afternoon
October 7
Teletronics, Seattle
********
Several hours later, Jarod sat in front of his very own ultra sleek monitor and ergonomic keyboard, with all the possible toys and attachments that any truly avid computer-phile would drool over. Smiling briefly at the thought of how much Broots would appreciate such a system, he pushed aside the small mountain of "new-hire" paperwork and got down to work.
There was "their" work, and then there was "his" work. Jarod had not accidentally stumbled onto Teletronics; he was here because he had discovered a link between the young company and his former "employer." While snooping into the Centre mainframe, something that he tried to do on a regular basis, a particularly large monetary transfer had caught his attention. After a little investigation, he had discovered Teletronics had been the recipient of several large cash advances. It intrigued him, as the Centre had its own programmers to develop whatever software was required. He couldn't see the Tower authorizing outsiders to create anything for the Centre.
Putting out a few feelers, he had been rewarded with an advertisement for an experienced programmer, able to oversee and beta test new software for the company. He had hoped to quickly work his way into a higher level position, but having one literally handed to him was beyond his wildest hopes. Smiling again at his good fortune, he happily set about accessing the Teletronics mainframe.
Thirty minutes later Jarod was not happy. He was not smiling, he was, in fact, becoming rather annoyed. It was not that he had run into an incredibly intricate and complex firewall around classified data. He had expected that. It was not that he was being routed at every turn. He'd reasoned that a company like Teletronics should and would have security on the system. What was so maddening was that it wasn't just the high level files he couldn't access. He couldn't even hack the personnel files. Him - the genius Pretender. He'd hacked the FBI, the CIA the State Department and the White House at various times for different reasons, and none of the aforementioned systems had security that even came close to this. He rubbed his left temple in an effort to soothe the headache building there.
Jarod was puzzled. It was the kind of system that he would design, except that he hadn't. He wasn't sure if he should feel miffed, jealous or elated. He sat back in the comfortable leather office chair, steepled his fingers together, put his feet up on the elegant hardwood desk and stared at the offending "Access Denied" banner cheerfully blinking on his monitor.
This would take some thinking, he decided. Time to investigate the rest of the company, or, at least, those systems that he had access to. Perhaps once he had a better understanding of the program that he was to be working with, it would open up an unexpected pathway into the heart of this intriguing little problem.
**********
Mid afternoon
October 8
Teletronics, Seattle
**********
The events of the last 24 hours had been fruitful, Jarod reflected as he rubbed his aching neck and poured himself a cup of coffee in the staff lounge down the hall from Carl Mersereau's office. Though his initial foray into the Teletronics mainframe had been a bust, he had managed to work his way around it eventually.
He still found himself marveling over the intricacy of the security net in place around even the most simplistic of the company's files. The hours he had spent last evening hacking through it had fostered an even greater appreciation for the unknown programmer's genius. It was uncanny how similar the style was to his own. In casual conversation with Coral, the Teletronics receptionist, Jarod had learned that it was Mersereau's assistant who had done the system security. He was looking forward to meeting this woman, if for no other reason than to talk a little shop during a coffee break. It was rare that he ever found anyone even close to his level of expertise in a subject, and he enjoyed the opportunity to just be "normal" and talk about work as though he simply any other employee.
After working his way through the astonishing security the previous evening, he had gone through everything searching for clues as to what the Centre's involvement in the company was. Jarod suspected that Carl didn't know about the darker side of the Centre at all. He was too honest and open to be hiding some nefarious scheme. What was the connection then? That was the question.
Jarod had tripped over the answer several times before he realized it. After a moment, he'd shaken his head and laughed ruefully. It was sitting right there in plain sight. The mysterious client dumping all the money into the Teletronics coffers to develop the new game was the Centre; the very same game that had caused the shuffling in personnel and created the job opening which Jarod had filled. He'd smiled wickedly and chuckled to think that the Centre's impatience was the whole reason he was even here. If they had been more patient, hidden their transactions better, he might not have found them; if they had taken their time, the game could have come out later and he would have never known about it.
The game. It was called Reality Test, and was being touted as the most amazing thing in recent history. PC Gamer magazine proclaimed that it made Command and Conquer look like Atari Pong. It required a minimum of a Pentium III, with 3-D hardware acceleration. The graphics were supposed to be cutting edge, over 90 frames per second. It was a single/multi-player game that could be played both across the Internet or using a LAN. The marketing aimed at parents purported it to be educational while the advertising focusing on the kids claimed it was the hottest thing this decade. The game itself took a multifaceted approach - as a real time strategy game, it required part eye hand coordination, part adaptability, part intuition and an ability to strategize. There was an optional VR mode (for an extra charge of course) that with goggles and gloves could literally turn the game into a "reality test", where things seemed almost realer than real. It was also said that the game had so many levels, even the most talented of players would spend a year of daily playing to becoming good enough to beat it.
Jarod doubted the Centre had any interest in creating educational toys, and they certainly didn't need to develop and sell games on the side to procure funds. There was something they were doing here, and altruism had no part of it. The Centre had some purpose for investing in this game, and he was determined to find out what it was.
He settled down in one of the lounge's gray leather chairs, sat back, and took a sip of coffee. As he relaxed, Michael, one of the company's star programmers walked in. He was the one responsible for getting all the bugs worked out of "Reality Test". The man looked unkempt, in almost every way the archetypal computer nerd. Dull brown wisps of scraggly hair radiated from his head like a halo. He seemed perpetually distracted, as if only the barest minimum of his mind was focused on things like walking, talking and interacting with other people. It certainly did not appear that he had not been hired at Teletronics for his people skills.
Jarod studied the disheveled man for a moment, then decided a little friendly co-worker chatter might provide some useful information.
"Hey, Michael. How goes the war?" Jarod asked, referring to the (within the company anyway) well-known problem with the game crashing upon the third round of play.
Michael looked over at him silently, then poured himself a cup of coffee and added four heaping spoonfuls of sugar. Jarod inwardly grimaced. Even with his own propensity for sweets, this struck him as a little excessive. Then again, it might explain rumors of the man's wildly vacillating mood swings.
"It's coming along," he replied unhelpfully, brooding over his coffee.
Jarod tried another tact.
"Have you thought about asking Carl or his assistant about it?" he asked, hoping to engage the man in conversation. He was rewarded a distrustful look.
"I think I can handle the problem," the programmer replied, his tone implying insult. He gave Jarod a sidelong glance, then with the coffee cradled in his hands like a precious thing, turned to leave the room.
"I'm sure you can, Michael, I wasn't trying to say otherwise," Jarod tried to recover the conversation before the opportunity was lost. "I was just trying to be helpful, sorry if I sounded pushy."
He stopped in the doorway, considering Jarod's words, then turned back towards him. "Okay, man," Michael's eyes narrowed. "I'll take you at face value… at least for now. You know, there are a lot of people who would like to have my job. When this game hits the market and outsells any Nintendo or PlayStation game ever made, I am going to be so in demand - I'll be able to write my own ticket at any company on the planet. I don't need any claim jumpers saying this or that other thing was their idea...you understand?"
Jarod nodded. "Honestly, I was just curious about how your work was progressing. My own isn't nearly as challenging as yours must be," he continued, trying to soothe the man's suspicions.
Michael appeared to be mollified by the comment and sat in a nearby chair. "Well, yeah, games are a whole 'nother kettle of fish, Jarod," he agreed, comfortable in his superiority. Then he leaned forward conspiratorially. "Especially since there are a few extra tweaks to this baby that'll just blow people away. But hey, you know all about adding stuff, don't you?" The programmer winked at him. "You've probably left a few back doors in programs you've worked on."
Jarod smiled slightly and nodded, glad to keep the man talking. Michael went on to explain how he had personally improved the game to near picture quality, the computer animation almost indistinguishable from a big screen movie. He had also been responsible for an entire re-write of the original specifications of the game after he personally explained to the client what he could do above and beyond the original parameters. "I tell you, I'm creating a whole new paradigm for future games. The only other person in the company who knows as much about it as me is Em, but she doesn't appreciate it." He snorted with derision. "The only thing she seems to care about is how long it will take to get to market. She just doesn't see the beauty in the code, in the programming, all the intricate little details that turn a program, an everyday game into a piece of art." The programmer grinned and drained the last of his ultra sweetened coffee, then tossed the paper cup into the trash. "I got things to do," he announced, then turned and left the lounge.
Jarod puzzled over Michael's comment about "extra tweaks." He was very curious to know more, but the programmer had been tight lipped, refusing to entrust his secrets to a possible "claim jumper," as he had put it. And once again, the mysterious assistant was involved. Jarod was starting to suspect that perhaps the security was so tight because someone was hiding something. At the moment, Mr. Mersereau's assistant was at the top of his list.
Well, he wasn't going to get any more information out of Michael, though, perhaps a brief look into the paranoid programmer's notes would help. Now that he had worked his way into the system, it shouldn't be that difficult to access the man's work. Jarod sighed. It looked like it was going to be another long night.
**********
9:02 am
October 11
Teletronics, Seattle
**********
Jarod walked into the Teletronics offices, distractedly studying the printout that he held in one hand while gleefully devouring yet another strawberry and cream cheese covered bagel that he held in the other. He stopped short and glanced around. Something had caught his attention on an almost subliminal level, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Suddenly alert, he carefully studied his surroundings. Nothing seemed to be out of place. Miss Parker was not charging through the doors, there were no sweepers running up the hall, but something, something was setting off his triggers.
He looked towards the foyer where a group of women were standing; the receptionist, Coral; several programmers; and a woman facing away from him whom Jarod had never seen before. There was something familiar about her however, something indefinable, but almost tangible. He decided that a casual stroll past the reception desk to get coffee from the staff lounge would provide him with an excellent way to get close enough for a better look. Ostensibly studying the printout as he approached the chatting women, he surreptitiously glanced at the new arrival. Just as he passed behind her, she excused herself from the group, turned and walked right into him.
Jarod felt his heart sink down to his knees. That face. The same face that he looked at almost every night on a scorched photograph, there was no doubt. He tried to take a breath, thought that he might never be able to again. It was her. Standing right in front of him, face to face, eye to eye, close enough to smell, touch, embrace. Ridiculous laughter threatened to overwhelm him, darkness played at the fringes of his consciousness. Here. What was she doing here? It took an instant to think all of this, then her voice cut through the fog.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" The light alto broke his trance as she apologized. His bagel was smashed all over his jacket, jam dripping onto the floor, and somehow she had managed to get cream cheese on her chin. She smiled up at him, embarrassment coloring her cheeks a rosy pink. The group of women standing by Coral's desk were all struggling to hold back good natured laughter, while one of them grabbed a stack of napkins from the lounge and brought them back for Jarod.
Coral turned toward him with a stifled grin and began to speak, but it was a moment before the words were able to work their way through to his consciousness. "…and honestly, this isn't the way she usually greets new employees. Let me introduce you to Mr. Mersereau's personal assistant, Emily. Em, this is Jarod Allen, the new Director of Information Services." Coral's smile faded after a moment as she peered closely at Jarod. "Hey, Jarod, are you feeling okay? You look a little pale."
He smiled weakly, desperately striving to recover his equilibrium, using the excuse of wiping the sticky mess off the front of his blazer to delay answering until he regained his voice. "Oh, I'm fine, really," he lied terribly. "Well, perhaps a little tired," he tried again, feeling completely stunned, stupidly wiping at smear that would not come off. He apologized to Emily, as if in a dream, then made his way back to his office as quickly as was possible, trying not to look like he was running away.
*************
10 AM
October 11
Teletronics, Seattle
*************
Jarod hit the "send" button on the LAN e-mail, his hands sweaty, his heart racing. To tell the truth, it hadn't stopped pounding since he had returned to his office forty-five minutes ago. He had sat shaking, intermittently wanting to cry and laugh and all the while trying to figure out some way, some reasonably plausible way that he could tell Emily, tell her everything.
He had looked into her eyes while they stood in the hallway, surrounded by co-workers, and seen nothing but a mild amusement. She had no idea who he was, but then, would she? She had only seen him once, if at all, and that time so very briefly. Had she even known which of the men on the street near the cab had been him? Their mother had known, had she pointed him out to her as they sped off, racing for their lives, their freedom? He doubted it.
And now she was there, in the same building, just down the hall, oblivious to the fact that her only remaining brother was going crazy keeping himself from running into her office and embracing her.
Sitting at her desk, Emily picked up the ringing telephone once again. It seemed that she had put it down not seven seconds before. She was going to have to ask for one of those headsets like Coral had if this was going to keep up - she was getting a very bad crick in her neck.
When she had been hired by Carl Mersereau thirteen months before, he had been looking for some one with a decent understanding of computers to act as his personal assistant while he continued the day to day development of his telecommunications software. Well, perhaps she had been a bit overqualified, but the idea of working with a young, unknown company had intrigued her. Since that time, she had not only taken on all of his correspondences (he claimed he could no longer tell which letters he had written and which she had), hired most of the programmers, developed a security system and a marketing plan and occasionally aided with a test or two, but also helped to set up the new offices, right down to the interior decorating. The truth of the matter was that until a few months ago, her personal life had been more than a little empty. Moving to a new town, all alone, she had happily spent long days at work, and often taken it home with her. There were times when it seemed that she and Carl were in some kind of masochistic contest to see who could work more hours in a week. He, in turn, rewarded her financially and referred to her more than half seriously as his partner. Their friendship was deep, but strictly platonic, a fact that his wife appreciated more than she could say.
When the chance to work on the new game had come about she had cautioned Carl toward a wait-and-see attitude, knowing that he would be too eager to pay much heed to her advice. The long-term rewards, she knew, were huge - if they were able to get this game on-line and in stores by Christmas, each and every one of their futures would be secured. The very generous offerings of the venture capitol "angel" who had come to them with his "idea" had clinched the matter; there was simply nothing Emily had been able to say to dissuade Carl from taking on the project.
Nodding silently, she listened once again to the rather obnoxious man who was their liaison with the company who would be burning the CD-ROMs for the new game. He had serious and understandable concerns about his ability to burn 200,000 copies of the guaranteed best seller before Christmas, knowing full well how important that date was. Emily understood his consternation, but she also understood that if the game corrupted itself, or broke down after three plays due to a programming glitch, they all would be in seriously hot water. Added to that, the website that was an integral part of the whole package was not quite ready for mass consumption; she knew that she would be putting the harried little man off for at least another couple of weeks. Smiling into the receiver, she agreed with his complaints and settled back for phase two of his tirade.
A gentle chime lilted from her monitor informing her that she had a new interoffice memo. With half of her attention, she switched to the proper screen and accessed it.
"Emily, I need to talk to you about something very important. Is there somewhere that we could meet? Jarod."
She stared at the message, no longer listening to the man on the other side of the phone line. Jarod. Jarod Allen. He had been that rather good-looking man that Carl had just hired for beta testing, etc. They had met just briefly in the hall; she smiled inwardly at her own embarrassment over the bagel incident, but remembered that he had looked a tad ill, or ill at ease, at the time. Something about him had sent up little flags in the back of her mind but whatever it was hadn't been tangible enough for her to retrieve. The odd thing was, they hadn't been warning flags, no, something different, but what?
The man on the phone had finally finished, and she hung up as politely as she could without actually giving him any answers or promises. She frowned, he was an irritating individual in what was usually a fun job, she wished once again that this game had never come up.
Her gaze wandered back to the message on her screen and she smiled. Of course, that was it. Jarod. Every time she heard or saw that name, her heart did a tiny little flip-flop. It was her brother's name, a brother she knew only from the stories that she had been told by her mother while she was growing up. Was that even the way that he spelled it? She wondered, thinking back to the picture that her mother had always carried with her, a picture of an adorable little boy, barely old enough to go to preschool. On the back, in faded ink, there had been the simple words written in a loving hand "Jarod, Four Years Old." One day she had "borrowed' her mother's wallet to buy some groceries, and stopped at a printers along the way, getting herself a copy of the tiny picture. It was all she ever had had of her older brother, that and an emotional jolt every time that she saw his name.
"Something very important." Now what could that be? She dreaded to think that he had already become overwhelmed by his responsibilities and wanted to quit. She hoped not, that would be a devastating blow to Carl and the whole company. They needed to keep together if there was any way that they would get both of the projects completed by their goal of the end of the year. Maybe he was looking for more shares, more interest in the company, a way to fatten his own wallet. Well, she would meet him, Carl certainly didn't have the time, but it would be in a public place - you never really knew about people these days.
Jarod almost jumped at the chime that announced the answer to his message. He had been trying desperately to lose himself in the lines of code in front of him, but it had been to no avail. As soon as he had sent the original message, he had regretted it. Suddenly it sounded too melodramatic, too pushy, too, well, too weird. With a dry mouth he pulled up the response, then smiled.
Now all he had to do was figure out what he wanted to say to her.
**************
6:10 PM
October 11
Pier 57, Seattle
**************
Jarod walked hurriedly across the street and looked around. Two blocks down, he spied the sign for the Seattle Aquarium, and walked briskly toward it. The wind tugged gently at the blazer that he had originally been glad that he had worn; the day was sunny but not overly warm. Now, however, it seemed only to exacerbate the flush he felt, the thin layer of perspiration that had nothing to do with the walk.
Turning the corner around the Aquarium/Theater, an old, converted pier, he saw the "boardwalk" that Emily had mentioned in her e-mail. It wasn't very long, running the length of the building and then branching out and up two levels for sitting, viewing, resting. He slowed his pace and strode onto the weathered wood planks, the sound of his shoes unnaturally loud to his ears.
There were a few people around, some milling about waiting for the last of the Imax films to be shown, others obviously having come from the aquarium gift shop by the colorful bags in their hands. A couple of children nearly bumped into him as the scurried after each other in a game of keep away. He smiled and watched them as they ran up to the top level and his eyes fell upon her.
She was leaning on the wooden rail that surrounded the deck, her gaze cast out to the sea and the scattered ships upon it. The late afternoon sun caught the highlights in her hair and it blazed in a warm, vibrant light. He thought again of how beautiful she was.
Beneath her tweed blazer, Emily's shoulders belied no tension, but one foot rested on the side of the toes, bouncing slightly behind the other, the only sign that she was somewhat uncomfortable in the situation. He looked around once more. An excellent location for a meet, quiet enough that they could have a conversation but public enough that she would be able to rely on the aid of more than a few strangers if the need arose. She had learned well in her years on the road.
Emily sensed rather than heard him walk up behind her, she turned her head slightly to the side, catching a glimpse of him in her periphery before gazing back at the sea once again. He waited patiently for her to turn around, silently congratulating her once again. Making him wait gave her mastery over the situation, she already had the upper hand before they had even spoken.
Finally she turned around and leaned casually against the rail, but her eyes were intent. "So, Mr. Allen, what is it that you wanted to see me about, what is so 'important?'"
For a long moment, all Jarod could do was to look at her. It was amazing, after all these years, years of loneliness, of despair, years of searching and frustration and anger, now, there she stood in front of him, his beautiful sister. He swallowed, all the words that he had prepared suddenly seeming so inadequate. He wanted to reach out and hold her, to touch her to make sure that she was real, but not yet, he mustn't yet. "I, uh, I..." His voice broke with emotion, and he closed his eyes to push back the tears.
Emily stared at him. The man was obviously in anguish, what was his problem? Had someone died or what? She stepped forward and touched him lightly on the sleeve, her voice full of caring. "What is it?"
Her touch seemed to galvanize him. He looked up at her and smiled, his face full of a kind of boyish relief, and his hand reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and returned with a picture. He handed it to her.
She looked at the photograph and took a step back, her hand dropping from his sleeve. Her eyes, so kind a moment ago, now looked at him with a cold fury. "Where did you get this? What do you want? Are you with 'them?'"
Jarod stared at her, panic edging into his voice. This was not going at all as he had wanted. "No! No, you don't understand. That's mine."
"What do you mean, it's 'yours?' Who are you, and what are you doing with this?"
He reached for the picture, but she pulled it back out of his reach. His words were forced through gritted teeth as he tried to control his emotions, tried to understand her confusion and her fear. "That is mine, the only picture I have of my mother." He sighed in frustration, his voice dropping. "Our mother."
Emily's expression changed instantaneously. The blaze fell from her eyes, replaced with a wide-eyed struggle for understanding. She took another step back until she was against the rail while the hand holding the picture gradually fell to her side. Her breathing turned rapid but deep, her body swaying with its action. Suddenly she looked so very fragile.
For a moment Jarod was unsure whether she would run, faint or fall backwards into the ocean. He reached out to grasp her hand but she pulled it away again, a flash of fear in her expression. He moved back.
"Jarod?"
He nodded almost imperceptibly.
Since she had been old enough to remember, Emily's childhood had been a never-ending series of lessons on how not to be caught by "them." "They" had taken away her brothers, forced her parents apart, fractured her family and dominated her nightmares for her entire life. "They" had forced her to finally leave even her mother, to search out a life away from the last person who could endanger it. She knew that she was special, knew that she was different, and knew that "they" would do anything they could to get their hands on her.
Would "they" go this far? Would they create a man to pretend to be her brother, the only other person who could possibly understand how she felt? She had little idea how he would look now, only that one picture she carried in her wallet. But if there was a chance that this could really be him…
Her face contorted with the conflicting emotions inside her, she opened up her purse, her eyes never leaving his. Mechanically, she pulled out her wallet and flipped it open, finally looking down at the tiny portraits inside. She pulled out one, two young boys, around the ages of two and four, and held it on top of the picture of her mother, running her fingers lovingly along their tiny faces.
There was a pause, then Jarod spoke. "Who are they?"
"You don't know?" She looked up at him questioningly.
This time he shook his head, but never took his eyes away form hers. She smiled and put the photo back in its compartment, then retrieved another from a hidden pocket. She looked at it for a long minute, the held it up for him to see. "Do you know this one?"
The picture was of another boy, the same age as the older child in the previous one. Jarod took it gently, gazing at it while Emily spoke. "I know every detail of that photo, every shading, every line." She watched him as he looked at the copy further, gathering in the lines of the face, the shape of the eyes.
"This is…me."
"Is it?" There was no menace in the question, only wonder.
He could only look up at her, the truth pleading its way through his expression.
Once again her features contorted with mixed emotions as she sought understanding, her voice a whisper. "I'm scared, Jarod." Her eyes were wide, the struggle to accept, to believe, evident in their depths. "I've grown up scared and I can't get over it so easily. I don't trust people, but it's kept me free for all this time. I…I don't know if I can start trusting now."
He smiled gently and handed back the copy of the picture, then reached up and brushed away a tear that had silently fallen down her cheek. "It's alright, I understand."
Of its own will, her hand grasped his as it left her cheek and she held it tightly to the side of her face. Tenderly, he pulled her toward him until she buried her face and unburdened her heart on her brother's strong shoulder.
*************
9:30 PM
October 11
Pike Street Market, Seattle
*************
It had taken a few moments for the embarrassment to set in, to realize that more than a few passing people were staring at them as they stood near the water, tears of joy and relief streaming down their faces. Undoubtedly, most strangers had assumed that they were lovers caught in an emotional moment - fighting, breaking up, making up. Catching the saddened, empathetic eye of an older woman, Emily had started to giggle, at first lightly, then with more abandon as she realized how odd, and deceiving, the situation must look. She tried, only somewhat successfully, to explain to Jarod what had caused the rapid turn around in her mood, but it was hard for her to get the words out between the laughter. It hadn't mattered, though. Jarod had almost immediately understood, even with her giggled-garbled words, as if he had taken the thoughts right from her mind, and then he, too, had started to laugh. Dabbing at the tears on her face, afraid that they would soon be replaced, she had suggested that they find a table at a nearby restaurant where they could be at least a little less conspicuous.
Jarod had taken her hand in a purely platonic way as they had crossed the busy street and heading up the concrete stairs that led to the Market area. His grip was warm and strong, as was his smile as he looked down at her. She smiled back, allowing herself to bask in the joy for a moment before she returned to reality.
Return she had, however, as they had sat down in a corner table outside. Jarod had asked the waiter for that table, the same one that she would have picked - out of the way, but up against a tall wall and with an open line of sight of anyone approaching it. She knew too well that it was the choice of someone who was always looking over their shoulder, always on guard, and it brought her mind back to those thoughts that were never far away.
She had been tempted in the first rush of emotion to invite him back to her flat, to talk without interruption, without other eyes upon them, but then the old ingrained traits had surfaced, and she had suggested this place instead. There was an advantage to being in public when you were with someone you did not know. There was also an advantage to that stranger knowing that someone else knew where you were. As soon as they were seated, she had used her cell phone to call he boyfriend, Colin, and quite obviously explain to him that she would not be over tonight, that she was at this particular restaurant, and that she would call him later. She had not elaborated about what had happened that had changed her plans so suddenly, how could you explain to someone that you think that you "probably" had just found your long, lost brother, and that he was working at the same place that you were? It didn't sound plausible when she ran it through her own mind, and she was living it.
Or was she?
Looking into his brown eyes, she found it difficult to believe that he was anything other than what he claimed. Jarod, her brother. Her mind reeled with the thought of it, even as her heart leapt. She had let her guard down for a moment, long enough to cry and laugh, but her well-honed instinct for survival had brought it back up again. There was just too much at stake, she told herself, too much that was so important, in reality, her whole future. If she decided unwisely now, her regrets would last a lifetime.
He may not be the white haired man that her friends had told her about, whom she had spotted more than once, the one who showed up usually just moments after she had left, but there was a chance that they could be working together. And if they were…
The waiter appeared almost immediately and they quickly dispensed with the chore of ordering dinner. Finally left alone, Jarod noticed the return of her tentative look.
He smiled again warmly. "It's really quite incredible, isn't it? I mean, I've been looking for you since I got out, well, since I learned that I even had a sister, and then I find you, working down the hall." His eyes mirrored the innocent amazement in his voice.
"It's not that strange." Emily's voice was friendly but even she noticed a hint of wariness in it that she was not able to mask. "I mean, I imagine that we both have pretty much the same strengths and abilities, it's not that odd that we would end up working in the same field."
Jarod's eyes widened and he leaned toward her, his voice hushed but fervent. "You're a Pretender? How did you learn, who taught you?"
"What do you mean?" The wariness was now easily recognizable, as was the fear in her body as she slowly moved back away from the table. This man, whoever he was, wasn't making sense. "What is a 'pretender?'"
"I'm sorry." Jarod sat back and consciously tried to relax. He spread his hands out on the table and smoothed down the cloth, a mindless exercise while he tried to decide what to say next. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." He looked up into her eyes seriously. "You asked me before if I was one of 'them.' Do you know who 'they' are?"
"No, no I don't. Mom just talked about 'them,' how 'they' couldn't get me, why we had to keep moving, keep running, but they never had a name. They wanted me because I was special, but I never really understood why, it was enough to know that I never wanted to be caught."
Jarod's eyes moved away from hers, seeing not their surroundings, but his past. Emily watched as the delight that had radiated from his face just a few minutes ago was replaced by another look, a mask of fear, of remembered torment, of a little boy lost in a shadow world she had seen only in her nightmares.
"'They' are The Centre. They use people, they use children, anyone with the special talents they desire. When they took me, and Kyle, they took our lives away and they turned us into Pretenders, someone who can take on any life, any lifestyle, to actually think like that person. When they had us trained and controlled, they used our abilities in whatever way they wanted. Sometimes it was for a good cause, often it wasn't. The things that I thought up…" his voice cracked, his breath caught in his chest and he looked at her once again. "People died because of me. That's why you can never go there, and why I can never go back."
Once again, Emily's mind reeled. Finally she had a name to go with the threat that had haunted her for her entire life, and a concrete reason to fear them. The Centre. The name sounded ominous, omnipotent.
"What about Kyle? Is he still there?"
Jarod closed his eyes slowly and she knew the answer. The tears burned in the back of her throat while she waited for him to tell her. To tell her how, why she would never get to know her other brother.
"He saved my life, and that of another boy. They tried to turn him into a monster, but in the end…." He sighed, then, to her surprise, he gave her a bittersweet smile. "In the end, he was free."
Emily put her elbows on the tablecloth and rested her head in her hands. Things were coming very fast right now, answers to questions that she had been asking herself for years, details about lives she had only imagined, the grim reality of Kyle's death. And all of this on top of the usual fears for her safety, her freedom, fears that were just too ingrained to be pushed away easily.
She wanted to trust him, wanted him to be REAL. But all these things, they could be part of an elaborate plan for them, for The Centre, to bring her in. Jarod had said he was a pretender, just how good was he? There had to be a way to know.
For a few long moments she was completely quiet, her head still bowed. Suddenly, it snapped up. "Do you have any scars?"
Jarod was dumbfounded. "Excuse me?"
"Do you have any scars?" she repeated. There was no mistaking the conviction, or the challenge, in her eyes.
Jarod was still mystified but willing to play along. "Physical or emotional," he joked. "Take your pick."
Emily attempted to stay serious, but ended up trying to prod him on with an amused smirk.
"Yes," Jarod admitted, then glanced around the restaurant. "But this isn't exactly the place I want to take my coat and shirt off to show you."
"Tell me where." Her voice was shaky.
Raising his shoulder forward, he point to a spot just below the shoulder blade. "Right about there. I can't see it without a mirror, didn't even know it was there for years."
Now it was her turn to close her eyes, but this time in relief. It was a detail that only four people had known about, and one had been too young to remember when it had happened to him, at the cabin that had become a temporary shelter for the family. Emily had learned the story on her mother's knee when she had begged her time and again to tell her more about her brothers, more about her father.
Now she had someone else to learn from.
**************
October 12th
2:30 PM
Teletronics, Seattle
**************
It had been almost impossible for either of them to sleep that night. They had closed the restaurant, ordering coffee after coffee, then walked slowly back to the Teletronics building, all the while talking about their lives, recent and past. Emily was shocked to learn how restricted Jarod's childhood had been, what he had gone through at the hands of the people at the Centre. She was embarrassed to tell him about her own childhood, made happy by those who had loved her so dearly that they would sacrifice anything for her, and often had. Jarod did not seem to hold it against her; quite the contrary, he begged her to tell her more and more stories until she had mined her memories almost dry.
It had been late at night when they had finally said goodbye at the door to the parking structure, and although neither of them wanted to leave the other, they both realized that the dawn, and another workday, would be coming soon. Jarod hugged her tightly and they promised to meet again after work the next day.
Now, that promise was going to be hard to keep, only because the end of the day seemed so far away. Emily had been at the front desk when he had stepped off the elevator and she couldn't help but to blush when he smiled at seeing her. He responded in kind, a fact not lost on Coral, the receptionist.
The day dragged on, as they tried to busy themselves with the multitude of details that filled their respective positions, trying vainly to concentrate on anything but the hundreds of questions begging to be asked of the other and the bond that had already grown between them.
Not all of Jarod's thoughts were pleasant, however. Emily was his sister, of that he was sure, an innate knowledge he knew that she now shared. But her involvement in Teletronics still bothered him. He had been purposely vague as to what he was doing here, why he had come. He had not yet confided in her what he had been doing since his escape from the Centre, the direction his life had taken and the people he had aided. He rubbed his forehead, attempting to ease the pressure of yet another headache. There was still so many questions that needed to be answered, some of them hopefully tonight.
Only another few hours….
**************
October 13th
1:30 AM
University Heights, Seattle
**************
Leaving work, Emily had suggested that they go to her flat in the college area north of town - it would be a quieter place than a restaurant, and she had things to show him. Living in an efficiency hotel only a bus-ride from the Teletronics building, Jarod had been embarrassed to admit that he had no car of his own, so Emily had driven them both to her flat in hers. It was a vehicle that had seen more years than car-washes, an aged Toyota that she hid from their co-workers in a garage near work; she was just as embarrassed in her car ownership as he was in not having one.
On the ride to her house, she had told Jarod about Colin and his two sons, explaining that they were the children in the picture she had tempted him with at the pier. If he had said that he had recognized them, that they were in fact Kyle and Jarod, she would have walked away at that moment, and then run. It would have hurt immensely to leave her "other men," but she was not about to put them in any kind of danger.
Jarod had insisted on buying dinner again, she had demurred, they had settled on getting take-out from a restaurant near her home.
Now they sat together on a beaten up, comfortable plaid couch in small but cozy flat. After dinner, Emily had wrapped herself in one of the brightly colored afghans that draped over the couch, sat back and watched her new sibling in wonder. Since she had pulled out an old green photo album, he had hardly moved. The edges tattered from years of loving use, yellowed with age, it contained priceless pictures and mementos of the family Jarod had never known. He had sat on the edge of the couch, spine stiff, heart racing, eyes hungrily devouring the pictures Emily had laid open before him.
As she turned the pages, she pointed to the different people, explaining who they were, where they were from, what they had done, and most significantly to Jarod, how they were related to him. She smiled as she indicated some of the early photos and told him the stories that she had learned at her mother's knee; how at 13 months old he had taken apart the telephone while his mother had been making lunch in the kitchen, or how, because of his love for buttons and switches he had turned off the lights in a bank one day causing the manager to panic and call the police, believing they were being robbed.
He took it all in like a ravenous man, barely able to let her finish explaining about ever-so-great Aunt Mary, before asking about the next picture and the next picture, and the next. Most of the photos she had were old ones, great aunts and uncles, great, great grandparents. There were a few pictures of his mother and father, himself and Kyle, a few more with Emily as a little girl, but nothing current. Being on the run, Emily explained ruefully, did not lend itself to taking a lot of incriminating pictures that might be used to trace their location.
But even with a lack of current photos, Jarod finally had something he had craved his whole time in the Centre - a sense of belonging. He'd never met them, and probably never would, but these people were his family. He had aunts and uncles and cousins. He, who had lived his life in poverty of family, suddenly felt overwhelmed by the discovery of his true wealth. More than once while listening to Emily tell stories about the people in the pictures, he felt tears come to his eyes. He drank in every detail, soaking up the stories as Emily told them.
Now, reverently, he took the album, cradling it in his lap. He examined the pictures with utmost care, gently paging through the book once again. Long after she had finished relating who everyone was, he still poured over it, as if afraid it might vanish from before him. Emily smiled as she watched him. Her long lost brother. God, that sounded so melodramatic, even though it was, in fact, true. He seemed the very picture of a little boy being allowed to look at mom's pictures as long as he promised to be very good.
Jarod's mind was a whirl. He felt euphoric, and understood for the first time what people meant when they said they were so happy their feet didn't touch the floor. From the moment his sister had made the choice to believe in him, the elation engulfing him had left him feeling giddy, almost drunk with joy.
Finally Emily eased the tattered book from his hands and put it on the coffee table next to the forgotten coffee and scones she had set out. Trying to stifle a yawn, she failed. Jarod grinned at her as he felt himself yawn in response. It had been a long day for both of them.
"Well, big brother," she began playfully, "it's getting late and I have to be at work early tomorrow morning. One of the VC people wants an update on the status of Reality Test and I have to meet with Michael and Carl before the presentation."
Jarod felt a jangle of alarm rip through his happy glow. Emily. Em. His sister was the one who had designed the security net. She was the one who knew all about the game. She was meeting with someone, presumably from the Centre, tomorrow morning. He wasn't sure what to think. Really, what did he know about her? Could she possibly be involved with the Centre? Everything in his being screamed no, but years of caution bade him to be careful. He wanted to tell her everything, why he had come to work there, his suspicion that there was more to the game than met the eye, but he wasn't sure. He sat on the brink of indecision for a long moment before coming to a choice.
"Do you think I could have a look at the game? I was talking to Michael today about it and he wasn't very forthcoming."
Emily laughed. "I bet that's the understatement of the year. He's rather paranoid, he thinks that we're are all out to steal his thunder. He doesn't trust anyone."
"I did get that impression," Jarod nodded. "Although a healthy paranoia has saved my skin more than once or twice."
Emily yawned again, unconsciously snuggling further into the afghan. She sighed. "I'm sure that we can get you a download. I've already got one here, although it is one of the early versions, with a few problems. Remind me someday and I'll burn you a copy." She yawned once again. "I guess I should take you back to your place, where did you say you were staying?"
Shaking his head, Jarod sat back into the couch, his arm reaching around her shoulder. "I don't want to put you out, I'll call a cab or something." He hugged her gently. "You're tired, you should get some sleep."
A muffled agreement came from the folds of the afghan as it, and the form inside it, nestled up against his chest. A moment later a contented, sleepy sigh could be heard, and then a deep, rhythmic breathing. Jarod smiled in his own contentment, the thoughts of the Centre and Reality Test temporarily put to rest. He gently kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek against it. He closed his eyes.
*****************
12:27 PM
October 14
Teletronics
*****************
Jarod pushed a napkin across his desk so that Emily, sitting on the other side, could reach it. She dabbed at the peanut butter that she felt on her cheek and laughed. "You know, I forgot how really satisfying a good PBJ can be. I haven't had one of these in years."
Jarod smiled. "I would say it was an old family recipe, but actually I got the idea from an commercial. It sounded like a good combination."
Cocking her head to the side, she looked at her brother quizzically. Sometimes he said the strangest things; she wasn't quite sure how to take them. Shaking her head, she reached for a carrot in a nearby bag. "When you asked if I wanted to do lunch, this wasn't what I had expected, but it's fun, kind of like an indoor picnic."
"You've been so busy since yesterday I thought you could use a break. By the way, " Jarod said nonchalantly, "how did that meeting with the venture capitol people go?"
Emily rolled her eyes. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. Carl isn't comfortable with that type, so he was antsy; Michael was stranger than usual, really uptight; and I, well, I just tried to be a professional as possible. It wasn't all that easy, though, the guy said practically nothing, just wanted to know when we were planning on shipping and when the website would be unveiled. Luckily, I was able to tell him that the site is basically up and ready to go, all we have to do is get rid of a few glitches in the game."
Jarod mulled over the information as he chewed on a carrot, but there was little that he could extract. He was wondering who was in charge of the project at the Centre, that tidbit in itself could be helpful in determining just what interest the Centre had in the game.
"A quiet one, huh? They're usually the one's that you should watch out for."
Emily nodded. "I've been working with this guy for a while, and he still gives me the creeps. I've never even met him, but I don't like him. Still, he is the one who came up with the cash, without it…." She shrugged. "Sometimes you have to deal with the devil to keep your dreams alive."
"What do you mean, you've never met? You just said that you had a meeting with him yesterday." Jarod was puzzled, still trying to decipher if his sister was working for, with, or beside his pursuers.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't explain. It was a videoconference, it always is. He just sits there on top of the table, with the light shining off his bald head. I think maybe I'm glad he doesn't come by, I'm afraid of catching whatever he has, he sounds just about ready to die."
Jarod nodded absent-mindedly while a chill ran down his spine. This was more serious that he had thought. There was only one man at the Centre who fit that description, and that man's personal grail was to find, or create, another pretender. It seemed obvious that Raines neither knew about who Emily was, nor the fact that Jarod was there, and Emily seemed as equally in the dark as to exactly what kind of "devil" she was dealing with.
Or was it obvious? For just a moment, Jarod wondered if they might both know, and know everything - perhaps Raines was using his sister to find other pretenders, even himself, and that in exchange, she was allowed to continue her life on the outside, to keep her dream of freedom, of a family with Colin and the boys. He felt sick. Could it be true, was this all a horribly elaborate trap?
No, that didn't make sense. He recalled a conversation that they had had a few nights before. "I know that lately there has been one man in particular who has been looking for me," she had said. "A man with white hair. My friends have told me that he was asking about me after I left, it looks like I just missed him."
"More like he just missed you," Jarod had explained, with no attempt to hide the seriousness of the situation. "His name is Mr. White, and he works for the Centre. He's hunting you, to bring you in, or to use you as bait to get me."
Emily had blanched so much that Jarod was afraid that she might faint. "And I thought it might be Dad," she had said weakly. "I can't believe that they were so close to catching me."
Jarod thought again about the look in her eyes as she had realized just what peril she had been in. It had been no act, she had been genuinely afraid. He found it hard to believe that this was pretense now, with her complete lack of fear of Raines, only a quite natural revulsion. No, he told himself, the insider can't be Emily, it just can't.
"If you've got a few more minutes, I wanted to talk to you about some of the staff here." Jarod put down his sandwich and sipped a large coffee mug. "I'd like to get a better handle on specific strengths and weakness. For instance, Michael." He let the name dangle in the air.
"Hmmm." Emily finished chewing her carrot as she thought. "I'm not sure how much I can help you with him. I thought I knew him, after I first hired him to work on the games division. He's an MIT grad, quite a brilliant programmer in his own right. When he first started here, he was all khakis and deck shoes, pretty regimented really. I swear," she laughed, but not maliciously. "One day he wore a bow tie to work. I managed to get it off of him before lunch, for his sake. This is not a bow-tie atmosphere."
Emily's mood darkened. "Actually, I'm a little worried about him now. It seems like he's putting too much of himself into the Reality Test project. At first it was just a little nervousness, maybe jumping too often when someone called his name, but then, other things started to change. Well, you've seen him, he's not that preppy little MIT grad anymore, he's totally into the cheese curls and Mountain Dew computer thing. And his paranoia," she rolled her eyes again. "Even Carl thinks it's getting out of control, and he's paid to be paranoid."
"He's disorganizing." Jarod tossed out, then continued when his sister did not understand. "It's a term that profilers use for serial killers. Not to say that he's a serial killer, but he started out methodical and organized, and now it looks like his life is gradually becoming more and more chaotic. I'd like to know why."
"So would I. I know he has the ability, but lately, it seems like his work is suffering. He just doesn't seem to be getting as far along as I thought he would be by now, and frankly, I'm not sure what to do about it. He's still a valuable member of the team, and some of that code, well, I think he may be the only one who truly understands what he's got in there. We need him, and we need him at 100%, if we're going to finish this up in time." Emily wiped her hands on a napkin, leaned over and kissed her brother on the cheek. "Thanks, Jarod, this was fun. I've got to get back to it, though. Are we still on for dinner?"
Jarod looked up at her, his mind elsewhere. "If you don't mind, could we change that to tomorrow night? I'm in the middle of something here and I'd like to get it wrapped up tonight, but it may take a while."
"Are you kidding? If you want to work until midnight, I'm not going to stand in your way. I love ya, but we're talking business here." Emily grinned. "I'm not going to let a little old dinner get in the way. Good luck to you, then."
Jarod rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he listened to the sounds of his sister's footsteps moving down the hall. Given the information he had, it seemed that it might be time for another foray into Michael's lair.
*****************
7:04 AM
October 15
Teletronics
*****************
Jarod walked back into his office and donned the spare knit shirt that he had thoughtfully placed into one of the drawers of his desk, and replaced the shaving kit and other toiletries that he had taken out a few minutes earlier. When he had realized that it was already three in the morning, he had decided to stretch out on the couch in the lounge for a few hours instead of trying to hail a cab that probably wouldn't be there at such an odd hour, just to go back to his hotel room, change his clothes and come right back.
The problem that had kept him up until the wee hours was still just that, a problem. In searching through Michael's files, he had found nothing suspicious, nothing even remotely personal, for that matter. It seemed that the programmer took his privacy very seriously, there wasn't even an e-mail that was not directly related to Teletronics or his work. This in itself was strange, but not unheard of. Some people really could separate their personal and professional lives that completely. The problem was that Jarod did not think that Michael was normally one of those people.
Coming up with nothing in that area, Jarod had once again ventured out into the rest of the company's files. Now that he knew the safeguards, it took him much less time to get around them. Everything seemed to be copacetic; bills were paid, payroll was made, letters were written and sent, nothing out of the ordinary. On a whim, he accessed a list of hidden files, even though he had done something similar when he had first arrived. Scanning through the list, a name caught his eye. RTHPTDB.EXE. That was odd, he was sure that he hadn't seen that file before, now it showed up, of all places, in the personnel files. He attempted to open it and was denied. He tried to run it, and was denied. Even a simple request for information on the file was denied, it was a locked box, and for six and a half hours, he had been unable to find, or make, a key.
There were few things that frustrated Jarod more than locks. Call it a result of his unusual upbringing, but things that wouldn't open bothered him. Not only did this particular program bother him that way, but also by its location. He had found it in an area of the computer files reserved for use by just one person - his sister.
So now, he thought as he pulled on the same jacket that he had worn the day before, he had another mystery to add to his list, and a full day of work on three hours of sleep. Tonight, he imagined, he would be spending with Emily, to make up for last night. Normally the thought would have cheered him, but that file, and its lock, gnawed at the edges of his mind, and would not stop.