Nemesis

 

home / season five / episode eleven / act III

   

The Centre
Blue Cove, DE

Miss Parker stepped off the elevator and began down the corridor, shifting nimbly around a maintenance worker on a ladder, changing a light bulb. *How many forms had to be filled out to get that done?* she asked herself, glancing over her shoulder just to make sure the worker was actually changing a light bulb. He knew she had caught him looking at her and he turned away quickly, feeling the heat of the snarl in her face.

A smile crept onto her visage as she made her way to her destination. She entered the Tech-Room and there he was, diligently working as he had been told. Leaning in very close, making no sound, she asked, “What have you found?” in a husky whisper.

“Jesus.” Broots jumped out of his chair, knocking over his mug of coffee gone cold hours ago. “You scared me.”

“Broots, shouldn’t you clean that up?”

The nervous tech pressed paper towels on the desk and floor, mopping up the brown liquid.

“Have you found anything?” She rocked back on her heels and stood up, placing her hands on her hips, a smile on her face.

Broots tossed the soggy towels into the trash can. “Did I ever. Miss Parker, there are over four thousand items. This list includes everything from office supplies that never reached their destination to the spare tire for Mr. Raines’ oxygen tank.”

A shuffling sound coasted across the Tech Room. “Great. What now?” Miss Parker mumbled, irritated. “What?” she snapped at the noise in her ear.

“This came for you, Miss Parker,” Sam replied. He had not even flinched at her bark. These guys were trained well.

She took the package from her sweeper, examining it closely. “You’re late, Jarod.” She spoke to herself, reading the *Happy Birthday* on the shiny red and blue paper. Tugging on the stark, white ribbon, it came loose, and Miss Parker let it fall to the floor. The happy paper was plucked free and removed from the box. Lifting the lid, she expected one of Jarod’s usual prank-type gifts - a snake flying out at her, plastic dog doo - and was surprised by a simple note. ‘The dealer won’t rest ‘til he sells a child death,’ she read to herself. “Broots.” She waited for his acknowledgement. “Jarod has found a person.”

“You think the thing missing is a person?”

“Well, he hasn’t found four-thousand paperclips,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Okay… well, if it’s people, this should only take a minute.” The techie’s fingers danced over the keys and the machine obeyed his commands. “Looks like this is the best we can do. Fifty files.”

“Are all these people still here?” Miss Parker leaned over the man’s shoulder, reading the information on the screen.

Broots turned his head, finding his face incredibly close to Miss Parker’s breasts. Inhaling sharply, he tried to hold the squeak that rose to his throat. Quickly, he looked away and cleared his throat. “Um, this list hasn’t been updated since 1974. Well, I mean, things have been added to it, but no one has gone in to remove any items that have been located.”

“Fine. We’d better get started. What’s first?”

“Actually, Jarod is at the top of the list.”

“Is this a joke?”

”No. Raines made the entry himself. Jarod is considered missing.”

“What’s next?” she asked, exasperated.

Broots keyed up the next file. “Um, hmm…”

“What, Broots?”

“Your father.”

“Someone really needs to clean up this file. Okay, we know he’s not missing anymore. Next.”

“Something called *Yellow Files*.”

“What are the *Yellow Files*?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Ow! Dammit! Who put this table here?”

Miss Parker turned to the commotion that was her single-thumbed brother. “Trouble in paradise, dear brother?”

“You could say that.”

Broots returned to his terminal and shifted the screen to a different file. Trying not to eavesdrop, trying to look busy, he still overheard the discussion between the Parker siblings. A conversation about a project that was not going well; he tried to ignore the two people behind him and focus heavily on his computer.

*******************************

Mission City, MN

“Mr. Hull,” Mrs. Hatcher put a hand to her mouth.

Jarod put an arm around her shoulder. “It’s all right. I know you’re scared, but agent Ludwig is working night and day to find Andrea. We will find her.”

The dark-suited FBI agent shifted his glasses on his nose while he addressed Jarod. “Mr. Hull, do you have anything further that might be of any aid?”

Shaking his head, “No. That’s all I know. I’m sorry it isn’t more.”

“Thank you. I’ll get on this right away. Mrs. Hatcher, we will find your daughter.” The agent shook hands and returned to his dark car.

“Jarod, we need her back. She’s our life.”

A rage began to build within Jarod; a fiery rage that could only be quelled by the destruction of The Centre. However, he knew he did not have nearly enough resources to take on that mission; instead, he would have to take it one step at a time; starting with the rescue of Andrea Hatcher.

*******************************

The green glow from the laptop lit his face. So much had happened over the last few days and even more would follow; he was certain of it. Jarod tapped into The Centre’s files through an electronic backdoor, searching for anything on Nemesis. An urgent e-mail from his sister, Emily, halted his search. She informed him of big plans by The Centre - the current element of which involved Nemesis.

He knew this was going to get worse. Now, he had to go to Blue Cove and rescue Andrea. @He@ had to do it. One problem entered his mind, in this case, he would require the aid of Miss Parker and Mr. Broots.

“Hello?” Jarod answered the beckoning phone. “Mrs. Hatcher. No, I’m sorry, I haven’t heard anything more. But they’re working on it.” He attempted to calm the still frantic woman.

“Jarod, there is something I think you should know about Andrea.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Not yet, but Andrea was recently diagnosed with a very rare genetic disorder. And if she doesn’t receive her treatments, there’s a good chance she will die.”

“What kind of genetic disorder?”

Jarod absorbed the details he was given. The doctors had diagnosed Andrea with Von Willebrand’s Disease, but something told Jarod there was more to this than a variation of hemophilia.

“Did she have any other symptoms?”

“No, Jarod. Not that I know of. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Who is Andrea’s physician?” Jarod explained to Mrs. Hatcher that as a biology teacher, he was researching rare diseases for an article and was in need of information, and assured her that he would, in no way, exploit her daughter.

“Mrs. Hatcher, one more thing. You said the disease was genetic…”

“Yes, but Andrea is our adopted daughter. Neither my husband, nor I, nor our son have the disease. We were told it wouldn’t be a problem until Andrea wanted to have children.”

“Thank you. I’ll see what I can do.” He placed the receiver in the cradle and began his search.

A thorough search of the medical files in Minneapolis - there were no doctors in Mission City specialized enough to diagnose Andrea’s condition - revealed startling information. The doctor Andrea had been seeing was a former employee of NuGenesis and was receiving regular payments to an offshore account from a research firm funded by The Centre. A little more hacking and he was logged into The Centre’s medical files. Thousands of viral strain files to sift through, this would take a very long time. He attempted a cross-reference with Nemesis, but this resulted nothing. Sighing and settling in for a long night, Jarod began to read through the reports.

Several hours later he stood and stretched. A walk to the refrigerator for more water seemed to stimulate his brain. He stopped, turned back to the table, looked at the phone. The conversation with Sydney. *Time is of the essence.* Sydney had emphasized the word *time*, that had to be the key. Jarod returned to the computer and filtered the files for anything related to time or chronology. The thousands of files were narrowed to just under one hundred. He then eliminated any that were less than fifteen years old and those that were not labeled as genetic, thus narrowing his search to a dozen. Five of these files never reached the human testing stage, leaving seven. Four more files were reserved strictly for animal experiments. His list was down to three - Era IV, Kronos I, and Millennium VII. That was the best he could do.

He received another e-mail from Sydney - Nemesis = Andromeda. This was turning out to be the week of the cryptic e-mails. Jarod fully understood the need for discretion, but this was far beyond the usual level of security, even for Sydney. However, Jarod knew this must be important. The medical files. He reopened the three he had downloaded and searched them for any mention of Andromeda. Only one file referenced that name - Kronos I.

*******************************

The Centre
Tech Room

Miss Parker pinched the bridge of her nose, forcing out some of the dull ache that was building in her head. She arched her back and heard several vertebrae snap in mild protest, but it relieved some of the stiffness. “Broots, how much longer is this going to take? There are only fifty files.”

“The only way to be sure we find the right file is to go through them one at a time.”

“All right, let’s keep going.”

They scanned a couple more files. What’s this? Miss Parker asked herself, staring at the screen. She clapped Broots on the back of the head.

“Ow. What’d ya do that for?” he asked, rubbing his skull. His eyes followed the fierce finger nearly poking a hole in the computer monitor. “Jacob,” he read and risked a glance over his shoulder. “But he’s dead.”

She clapped his head again. “Of course he’s dead, Broots.”

“Would you mind not doing that?” He rubbed his head again. What had gotten into her?

“Sort this list by alive and dead.” Her feet hurt, her knees were stiff, she needed a strong cup of coffee, a massage, and a vacation. Stiletto heels clicked against the linoleum in a steady rhythm across the room. She could almost feel the shaking of his fingers as they tapped the keys. He was really scared this time. That was partially her fault; she should not have been so harsh, but Daddy had really angered her, and she was taking it out on whoever was nearby, in this case, Broots. She made a note to apologize for it later.

“Done.” Broots refused to say more, fearing another intense blow to the cranium.

Miss Parker scanned the list. Perfect, down to twenty-three from fifty. “Broots, is there a faster way of doing this?” She rubbed her tired eyes.

*Yeah, don’t give me a concussion.* Broots keyed in a few lines, but was unable to further shorten the list. “Sorry, Miss Parker. We still have to go one at a time.” He resumed his examination.

Both Miss Parker and Broots were so intensely fixated on the computer monitor and the wealth of information it held, that neither noticed Sydney had entered and exited, leaving behind the strand of hockey love beads.

It was right in front of her and she had missed it. “Hockey, Broots.”

“Huh?”

“Search for hockey. There can’t be more than a handful of names linked to hockey on this thing.”

“How would hockey be relevant to anything in The Centre?”

“I just have a feeling. Now search!”

Broots did as he was asked; his search resulting in only one file. “Andromeda,” Miss Parker hissed over his shoulder.

“Jarod has found Andromeda?” The tech swallowed hard. “That’s one of Mr. Lyle’s projects.”

“That makes life more interesting.” She rose to her full height, towering over the computer wizard in his chair.

*******************************

SL-13

Lyle paced the floor behind his subject. These tests were going nowhere and he needed to know the true level of her abilities. The fact that she was more than uncooperative was making his task much more difficult. Something deep down inside begged him to not follow his next course of action. Easily, he squashed that nagging piece of his conscience - the only piece of his conscience - if that’s what it might be called, and proceeded with his plan.

He marched his ward down the long, dreary corridor and took mental note of her immediate reaction: intimidation. A pretty good feeling from his end, one he knew would improve dramatically. “Ah, ah, ah,” he chided, grasping her shoulders and turning her back to the solid, metal slab on one side of the room. “Now, get on the table.”

She sighed heavily, “Why?” Somehow she was no longer standing on the floor. Cold, hard metal met her back, the sound of Velcro, her ears, nylon, her wrists. How had he done that? The straps were strong; she was barely able to wiggle her fingers. Fear gripped her like a vice, squeezing tighter around her, restricting her breathing. She saw the maniacal look on his face as he leaned over her, brushing her hair away from her face; that she would never forget.

*******************************

Andrea woke in a fuzzy haze, still secured to the table. Her head ached and a wave of nausea hit, forcing her to close her eyes until it passed. She had not realized he had strapped her head as well, and an attempt to roll her head to one side was met with a harsh scratch from the thick nylon. What had happened? How long had she been out? And, that man, Mr. Lyle was his name; where was he? As far as she could tell, from what she was able to see, she was surrounded by an empty expanse.

A door opened, then closed. Shoes tapped across the floor and shuffled to a stop by her side.

“Good, you’re awake.”

Mr. Lyle. Now he was flipping through pages on a clipboard. Shaking his head, he spoke over her again, “You did not perform to my expectations. We will have to try this again.” Lyle laid the clipboard aside and collected several items from a nearby tray. Andrea watched him load a syringe and give it a flick to dislodge any air bubbles.

“Please, no more.” She tried to shake her head, with no success. “My head aches. And I swear, if you give me any more drugs, I’m gonna hurl.”

“No you won’t,” he replied nonchalantly and pushed the needle into her arm. “You’ll be awake for these tests.”

There was nothing she could do, the drug was taking affect, relaxing the part of her mind that obeyed commands, thus ensuring complete cooperation. The Centre had used this drug before on several other projects, but not to this level. Lyle was pushing the envelope on this one, and no one was questioning his methods.

He ran his tests. The conclusions were satisfactory. She answered all of his questions accurately. She even informed him that Miss Parker and Broots had discovered the files for his project and were digging for more information. Nemesis was turning out to be an excellent venture after all, and very successful too. The Triumvirate was sure to be pleased with his accomplishments. And, he could now bring Jarod back to The Centre, clinching his place in the Tower, and removing anyone who got in his way.

Testing complete, it was time to put Andromeda’s abilities to work. He released her restraints and escorted her back to his simulation room. “Andromeda, I want you to tell me where Jarod is.”

“Who?” She asked over her shoulder, only responding to that wretched name because it meant he would not inject her with some awful drug.

“Jarod,” Lyle snapped, wishing he had kept her strapped to the table.

“Who’s that?”

He took a deep breath - anger check again. Damn those drugs. And had she forgotten what he looked like already? “I just need to know where I can find him.”

She furrowed her brow at him. “Look, you want me to tell you where he is, but you don’t give me any specifics. Do you know how many Jarod’s there are just in Delaware?”

How did she know she was in Delaware? Her abilities were stronger than he thought. “All right. He’s a Pretender. A genius. And very elusive. He masquerades as other people, taking on any job he chooses. If you want physical attributes, he’s about 6’1”, dark hair, dark eyes, muscular. Anything else you need?”

“No. That should do. He’s in Blue Cove.” She crossed her arms over her chest and reclined into the bean bag.

Lyle raised his hand to strike her, but stopped. “You’re lying. Jarod is NOT in Blue Cove!”

“Suit yourself. I can only tell you what I know.”

Irritation was just the first of the expressions to strike his face, anger and frustration were there too. “I grow weary of your foolish games. We are going to try this again, and again, until I get the response I want.” He administered another injection and leaned against the wall to wait.

The girl began to convulse and twitch on the floor, catching Lyle completely off guard. “What the hell is going on?” he asked to absolutely no one. Not trained in any true medical technique, he was at a total loss about what to do. He entered the number for The Centre’s medical center into the phone and ordered a physician to SL-13 immediately. During the excruciatingly long wait, he managed to keep the girl from hurting herself, but could not cease the seizure.

Lyle attempted to conceal his frantic behavior when the doctor arrived, but succeeded only in revealing much of his desperation. “What happened, Mr. Lyle?”

“I don’t know. She was sitting there, answering my questions, then she started shaking.”

“I have never seen anything like this. I’ve administered a mild sedative that should control the seizures until I can do a full work up. We’ll need to get her to the infirmary.”

“NO!” Lyle said sharply. “She must remain here. Whatever you need can be brought to this room.”

“Very well, Mr. Lyle.” The doctor handed him a syringe and a bottle, with instructions on how to administer and when, then left to make arrangements for creating a medical lab on SL-13.

On to Act IV

 
  The Pretender - © NBC, All rights reserved.
Web Maintenance by Rayhne
  home | primer | season five | season six | staff | updates | guestbook
"Ownership of the characters of The Pretender is property of NBC/TNT/Pretender Productions. Copyright of the original works on this site, including title graphics and written episodes, are the property of their creators and the VS site only, and may not be used without express written consent of the authors/artists/webmaster."