conspiracies part 1

Hi everyone --

As usual, it took me forever to get this latest chapter/episode
in my "Prey" universe done, but it's done, finally, thanks to a lot
of help and a lot of days spent ignoring the dust bunnies and
dirty bathrooms in favor of staring at the computer screen and
obsessing about Tom and Sloan.

It's my Christmas gift to you all .... I hope you enjoy it!

Sue

~~~~~~

Disclaimer: The characters and premise of the following
piece of fan fiction are not my property. They are solely
the creations of those who worked so hard to make "Prey"
a reality. I've just borrowed them for a bit, and hopefully
have treated them well.

Explanation: This story, my version of what would have
been Prey's Episode 18, carries on my alternate universe for
"Prey", in which Tom was captured by a secret faction of
the government, caged, experimented on, and eventually
rescued. This is the sixth Prey story I've written, and at
this point Tom has recovered for the most part from the
trauma of his capture and torture, and from the dreams
that resulted. He and Sloan have taken in Shane Baker,
the teenaged dominant that Tom met in Episode 9, and
Shane's brother Trevor, who had been held hostage by
the same man who had kidnapped Tom, and the four of
them are slowly becoming a family. This story will take
three chapters or episodes to tell, and I've already begun
writing the next one in my mind. (Oh, and load up your
printers with lots of paper .... this episode came out at 80-plus
pages in my Works for Windows program.)

I can't thank Sharon, Marruzella and Pat enough for their
help in getting this story out to you. It was a particularly
hard one to write .... I knew what I wanted to do from the
start, but my mother died midway through my work on it
and I lost both my bearings and my confidence for a while.
They gave me support and encouragement when I needed
it most, and I'm more grateful than I can say for that. Sharon
nursed me through my insecurities, made me laugh, and fixed
my sloppy writing; Marruzella proved to be a much better
editor than I was when it came to spotting problems (thank you!!);
and Pat in particular helped me shape this story, helping me
flesh out some new characters, and making my storyline much
better than I could have made it on my own. Pat, this story
wouldn't be what it is if it wasn't for you.

I'd like to dedicate this story to my mom. She and I used to
make up crazy stories together and add to them each time
we talked, and she was always urging me to put them down
on paper. But I could never translate what was in my mind
into written words, which sounds pretty strange coming from
a newspaper reporter. She was so excited that I'd finally managed
to try writing fiction, and was my biggest fan, and my best
friend.

"Conspiracies", Part 1
-----------------------
By Sue

"What we need," Sloan Parker says with a grin, emerging from
the bathroom to find three pairs of eyes fastened on her, "is more
space."

Shane jumps up from his perch on the edge of the bed and
rushes past her without a word, his only response a look of
relief as he closes the door behind him. Sloan's grin grows
wider as she looks over at Tom. "Four people were not meant to
share one bathroom, not first thing in the morning."

"Not if some people spend longer than others," he teases
her gently, looking significantly at the clock.

"Some people need more time," she says loftily, reaching up
to run her hand through her damp hair and smiling at
Trevor, who is tucked under the covers in bed, watching Tom
and Sloan silently.

The sounds of flushing and water running behind her finally
stop, and Shane emerges, a towel clutched in one hand.
"Next," he calls out with a grin, and Tom rises from the side
of the bed to walk past them both, shutting the door behind
him with a smile.

"What we need is another bathroom," Sloan says, looking at
Shane ruefully. "And bedrooms for the two of you." Looking
toward the living room and the jumble of pillows and blankets
spread over the couch and large chair, she shakes her head.
"This is no way for you to live."

"Dr. Parker," Shane begins, a look of worry on his face, but
stops himself at an admonishing grin from her. "Sloan," he
corrects himself, "we can't ask you to .... "

"You aren't," she interrupts him firmly. "We're offering. When
we asked you to move in here with us, we meant it, and not
just for a few days. You both need a home, and we want you
here with us."

"But .... " he begins, but she cuts him off with a quick hug,
her arm around his shoulder.

"No buts," she says lightly. "Go start breakfast .... we've got
some planning to do, and I need coffee before I can think
straight."

Giving her one last quick smile he heads for the
kitchen, and Shane turns her attention to Trevor, still curled
up under the brightly-colored bedspread on her bed.

"How are you doing this morning?" she asks gently, coming
over to sit down on the bed facing him and examining his weary
face with concern. "Any better?"

"A little," he says, hunching his shoulders in a small shrug.

"Still tired?" she asks, and he nods silently, his eyes shadowed.

"It will get better," she says softly, leaning forward to smooth
the tumbled hair back from his forehead. "I promise."

He stays still as she touches him, his eyes on hers, and she
gives him a small smile. He's come far in just one week, she
reflects; at the start, he would flinch at her touch, seemingly
confused by her casual affection, but now he seems to soak
it up, storing away the memory of each gesture.

The sound of the bathroom door opening has them both
looking over at Tom, and his eyes soften at their closeness
and the sight of Sloan's hand still touching Trevor's hair. "Is
everything all right?" he asks quietly.

"It will be," she says in response, dropping her hand to the
coverlet and pulling it back. "Come on, Trevor, it's your turn."
Helping him crawl out of bed, she rubs his back comfortingly
and steers him in the direction of the bathroom. "Once you're
done, we'll have breakfast ready," she tells him, and moves to
stand beside Tom, watching as Trevor quietly closes the door after
him.

"How is he?" Tom says quietly, resting his arm around her
waist, his eyes on the closed bathroom door.

"A little discouraged, I think," she says in reply, resting her
head against his for a minute. "Last night's nightmare was
the worst yet."

Tom tightens his hold on her waist. "Putting him in bed with
us was a good idea," he says softly. "What made you think of
it?"

"My mother did it for us when we were small, and scared,"
she explains, smiling reminiscently. "It always made us feel so
much safer. I thought it might help Trevor too."

"It did," he says, turning to look at her. "I think it's the first
night he's actually gotten some sleep."

"And how are you feeling?" she asks probingly, reaching up to
touch his cheek. "Still sore?"

"A little," he confesses. "But it's almost healed."

"Ed said you'd be tender for a few days after having the implant
removed." Wrapping her arm around his waist in turn, she gives
him a quick squeeze and a small smile. "I've missed you."

Tom smiles back, a knowing, intimate smile, and brushes his
knuckles against her chin. "I've missed you too. But with Shane
and Trevor close by and the effects of the surgery, we haven't
had much choice."

Leaning forward, Sloan kisses him lingeringly, and then pulls
back with a grin. "Then we've both got a challenge .... you heal,
and I find a way to give the boys their own rooms and us some
privacy."

Tom's arm tightens around her waist as he looks around the
apartment, his eyes falling on the bright colors of the chairs in
front of the fireplace and the new couch nearby. "I'll miss this
place," he says quietly. "It's been the first home I've ever known."

"I know," she says softly, and touches his head with hers again.
"But there just isn't enough room here for the four of us."

The click of the bathroom door opening draws their attention
back to the door and they watch Trevor emerge, his steps
hesitant as he sees the two of them standing there in each other's
arms.

"All done?" Sloan asks encouragingly, and he nods quietly,
rubbing his still-damp palms on his pajama bottoms.

"Good," she says, leaving Tom's arms to come forward and
take Trevor's hand. "Then it's time to eat."

--------------------

Marcus Adams gives his assistant a look of triumph as he hangs
up the phone. "He's in."

Dr. Sam Anderson looks at him calmly, masking his unease.
"Privately or publicly?"

"Privately, for now," Marcus concedes. "He'd be taking his life
in his hands to throw his support to us publicly .... at least at this
point. He wants to lay the groundwork first before making an official
announcement .... feel out other members of the Council and see
how much support he can gather for our side."

"But won't he be putting us all at risk if he reveals even a hint of
his intentions to them?" Sam points out. "How do we know he'll
choose the right ones to approach?"

Marcus looks at him curiously. "What's wrong, Sam?" he asks.
"You've been questioning this every step of the way."

Sam Anderson returns his gaze evenly, and then shakes his head,
looking over at the window nearby. "Something about this just
doesn't ring true," he responds. "Roger Abbott, one of the most
powerful men on the Head Council .... a man who has been more
hard-line than most in the struggle for dominance .... suddenly starts
making overtures to you, telling you that he now sees that peace is
the answer."

Rising from his chair, he paces over to the window, his hands
behind his back. "Why the sudden change, Marcus?" he asks,
turning back to look at his boss intently. "And why now? Just
weeks ago he was demanding more action .... he wanted all of
our infiltration programs speeded up, and Lewis's chameleon
program expanded. Now he wants peace?" Sam's eyes narrow
speculatively. "It doesn't make sense."

Marcus watches his assistant with concern. Sam Anderson has
been with him for years, putting his life at risk to help Marcus
achieve his dream of peace with humans. To have him
doubt Roger Abbott's sincerity is unsettling, no matter how confident
Marcus himself is in Abbott.

"Sam, you know better than anyone how careful all of us who
want peace have to be," he reminds him. "How I have to watch
every step I make, and every word I say. The Council tolerates us because
they see us as a fringe group, with only minimal support among our
people and no hope of gaining more. It makes them look good
to allow us to exist, to convince the more moderates among us
that they're open to ideas different than their own."

Rising from behind his desk, Marcus crosses the room to stand
in front of his assistant, his eyes searching his. "But if we started
attracting the support of men like Robert Abbott, they'd lose their
patience and see us as a threat. And you know what that would
mean .... unless we had enough support, enough men like
Roger throwing their weight to our side, they'd feel safe in
eliminating us all and explaining it away as a necessary security
measure.

"That's Roger's dilemma, Sam," he says, trying to convince him. "He
can't suddenly soften his stand on the humans before the Council, not
if he doesn't want to raise suspicions. He'd be in as much danger as
we would if the Council thought he was changing sides. He has to be
even more hard-line than before as a way of masking his real intentions,
while he works behind the scenes to gather the kind of support that
we need to really become a force against the Council."

Sam looks back at Marcus with troubled eyes. "How can you be
sure he's not a plant, Marcus?" he persists. "Someone sent by the
Head Council to destroy us?"

"I'd know," Marcus says reassuringly. "Give me enough credit for
that, Sam. I've known Roger Abbott for years, and I've seen a change
in him in our last few talks. He's seen the need for coexistence ....
he admits that the Head Council's on the wrong track. And I know him
well enough to trust in what he says."

Marcus shakes him gently by the shoulder. "Just think of it, Sam.
Someone of Roger Abbott's caliber on our side, leading our movement.
It could give us the credibility we need to openly confront the Council."

"And what about Tom Daniels?" Sam asks intently. "You saw
him as the best hope we had for the movement."

"I still do," Marcus confirms. "Tom is the bridge we need to
link the two sides, while Roger is the voice we need on the Council.
Together, they'll make an unbeatable team."

"Have you talked to Tom about it yet?"

"Not yet," Marcus responds, dropping his hand from Sam's shoulder
and looking out the window reflectively. "I was waiting until he'd
recovered from his ordeal at the hands of Drew Richards, and then
he got caught up in Trevor Baker's rescue. He's had a week to
recuperate, though .... I was going to call him this morning."

"Call him now," Sam suggests. "Bring him in for a meeting. I'd
feel better if we had him on our side before we let Roger Abbott
in any further."

"Sam .... " Marcus beings to protest, but Sam cuts him off. "I mean
it, Marcus. Call Tom first. Talk to him. Lewis always praised Tom's
intuitive sense for people .... let's see what he thinks of Abbott and
his sudden conversion."

Marcus hesitates, unwilling to let go of the dream he has for such a
prominent member of the Head Council to join the peace movement
and to bring other members with him. He's worked for it almost all
of his life .... what will he do if Tom Daniels backs Sam's suspicions?

Meeting Sam's serious gaze, he finally relents. "I'll call him right now,"
he agrees, "and see if he can be here later this morning."

--------------------

Another muffled thump from the apartment next door has Sloan
raising her head from the real estate section of the paper, her
eyes meeting Tom's in confusion. "What do you think he's doing?"
she whispers quietly. "Setting up another experiment?"

Tom shakes his head, pausing in his reach for another slice of
toast. "I wouldn't even want to guess," he confesses. "The
sense I get of him is so scattered it's hard to tell what he's doing."
He gives Trevor and Shane a small grin. "We studied politicians
and leaders in our chameleon training, but not eccentrics."

"Mr. Carmichael isn't exactly an eccentric," Sloan hedges,
wanting to defend the small, rumpled man who has been her
neighbor since she first moved in. "He's just .... different."

"Sloan, he sets fire to the place regularly," Tom points out,
reaching over to offer more toast to Trevor. "He causes
blackouts on the whole block every other week. He won't
open the door to any of the deliverymen he calls .... the
hall is filled with boxes he won't sign for."

"And cats disappear," Shane says, a small gleam in his eye.
"Mrs. Peabody swears it." He grins at Tom teasingly. "She
thinks he's an alien, or a member of Sloan's new species."

Sloan, who had buried her head again in the paper,
looking with despair at the prices of houses for four, pops
her head up over the top of the newspaper. "She thinks what?"

"That he's a member of the new species," Shane repeats,
buttering his toast. "She's a big fan of yours, Sloan .... she's
read all the articles in the paper, and keeps her eye out for
any dominants she might meet, so that she can tell you about
them."

"And you know this how?" Sloan asks, amazed at all the
information Shane knows about her landlady when she knows
so little herself.

"She dropped by one afternoon when you and Tom weren't here.
She said it was just to drop the mail off, but I think she was curious
about us staying here with you."

"And you let her in?" Tom asks with concern, his eyes flashing
to Sloan's. They've both feared that Charles Baker would try
to take his sons back, and have warned Shane and Trevor against
answering the door when they're not there.

"I didn't," Shane reassures him. "I ran into her in the hallway just
outside the door, when I was coming back in from the pizza place."

"Shane .... " Tom begins, still concerned about his safety.

"Tom, have you ever met Mrs. Peabody?" Shane asks, his grin
widening. "You can sense her sincerity a mile away. She's a nice
lady .... she just has this thing about aliens, and the new species."

"She knows about my work?" Sloan asks a little helplessly, searching
her memory. She's met Ellen Peabody only a few times in the two
years or more than she's lived here, and then only briefly .... all
she can remember is her friendly face and bright eyes, and a
fondness for chatter that Sloan soon found herself tuning out.

"Like I said, she's a big fan," Shane says with a nod, reaching for
the pot of jam. "She can't wait to meet a dominant .... she told
me all about them."

Tom's mouth quirks in a smile as he watches Shane's twinkling
eyes. "And what did you say?"

"I just smiled a lot, and nodded my head," he says, grinning back
and looking over at Trevor.

Another muffled thump, louder than the last, has Sloan emerging
from behind the paper again, and the subsequent knock at her own
door makes her jump.

"Who could that be this early in the morning?" she asks, dropping
her paper and looking at Tom quizzically before getting up to
answer the door.

Wondering if it might be another of Mr. Carmichael's rejected
deliverymen, she quickly deals with her security system
and door chain, and opens it wide enough to find an older woman
on the other side, dressed in a pink sweatsuit and sneakers,
a collection of letters and magazines in her hand.

"Dr. Parker," the woman says with a friendly smile, her bright
blue eyes darting past to look into Sloan's apartment. "How
wonderful to find you still home."

"Mrs. Peabody," Sloan says weakly, hearing the sound of
muffled laughter behind her. "What a nice surprise."

--------------------

"Dr. Tate?" A quiet voice comes from behind him, and Ed Tate
jumps in response, dropping his keys on the floor and only narrowly
hanging on to his coffee cup.

Looking up, he watches as a small figure detaches itself from the
shadows of the empty hallway in front of Whitney Labs and comes
forward, a hand outstretched. Brushing the hair back from his eyes,
he realizes that it's a woman, dressed in a dark, unremarkable suit,
her honey-brown hair pulled back, her face solemn.

"Dr. Sarah Fielding," she says, taking his hand as he holds it out
to her unthinkingly. When he looks at her blankly, she adds, "I
believe Marcus Adams told you we were coming?"

"Right," he says suddenly, as memory of Walter's warning comes
back to him. With Whitney Labs joining forces with the new
species' peace movement, Marcus has appointed two of his
senior people to act as liaison with Walter's team as a way of
easing the transition. Looking around the empty hall searchingly,
he echoes, "We?"

"My partner, Dr. Donovan, will be along shortly." Dr. Fielding
looks at him through calm, clear grey eyes. "You've dropped your
keys."

"My keys," Ed says, glancing down at the floor and dropping
down swiftly to pick them up. "Sorry," he apologizes with a brief
grin. "It takes me a while to get moving first thing in the morning."

His friendly overture meets with silence, and he looks up to find
her watching him gravely, waiting for him to unlock the door.
'Obviously not one for humor,' he thinks to himself ruefully,
and opens the door quickly, turning to flick on lights throughout
the lab. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier," he flings back over his
shoulder, heading for the nearest corner to deposit his keys and
cup. "Walter wasn't sure when you'd arrive."

"I didn't have to wait long," she says dismissively, and looks around
the lab with interest. "When does the rest of your staff arrive?"

"Within the hour," Ed says, checking his watch. "I'm usually the
first one in, depending on what I'm working on."

"We'll expect to meet with all of them individually," she informs him
briefly, turning to run her hand over the gleaming countertop, her
eyes taking in the equipment set out nearby. "To assess them."

Ed does a double take, staring at her partially-turned back.
"Assess them?" he echoes.

"Yes, Dr. Tate," she responds, turning to look at him. "To be sure there
are no security risks. And that they meet our standard criteria."

Ed gives her a long look, his mouth working, and then settles for
a small, wry grin. "I think we've done a pretty good job on screening
ourselves, with Tom Daniels to help us, Dr. Fielding."

"And yet you let Michael Connelly work for you," she points out
calmly, and looks away. "We'll use that room there," she says,
pointing to Ed's office. "Please have each of your staff meet with
us in turn, as we request them."

"Why don't we wait until Walter Attwood gets here, and see
what he says?" he suggests mildly. "I imagine he and Marcus have
already worked a lot of these details out."

Sarah Fielding looks back at him consideringly. "Marcus told
us we have a free hand in determining how the two labs work
together," she says evenly.

"He may have told you, but he didn't tell us," Ed says just as
evenly, his eyes bright with challenge. "And you'll find that we
don't respond well to being ordered around."

Her mouth tightens as she picks up on his obvious antagonism,
and she takes a seat on one of the lab stools nearby, tucking her
feet beneath her neatly and placing her folded hands in her lap.
"Then I guess we'll wait for Dr. Attwood," she says simply, her
eyes on his.

"I guess we will," he echoes, meeting her stare for stare.

--------------------

"I have your mail here for you," Mrs. Peabody says with a warm
smile and another glance in at the apartment, her eyes lighting up
at the sight of Tom, Trevor and Shane grouped around the
dining-room table.

"How nice of you," Sloan responds with a weak smile of her
own, reaching for the mail and hoping to cut the friendly woman
off before she asks more questions that Sloan is ready to
answer.

"And I wanted to speak with you for a moment if I could,"
Mrs. Peabody adds, nimbly stepping past Sloan into the
apartment and turning to her expectantly.

"Um .... certainly." Sloan clutches her robe tighter in one
and juggles the mail in the other. "What can I do for you?"

"It's about Mr. Carmichael," the older woman says in a stage
whisper, nodding at Sloan's far wall and the thumps coming from
beyond it. "I'm afraid he's rather upset."

"Upset?" Sloan echoes, frowning in confusion.

"Yes," Mrs. Peabody says with a nod. "About the noise."

"The noise," Sloan repeats blankly.

"Your guests," Mrs. Peabody confirms, turning to give Trevor
and Shane a small wave, her eyes softening as Trevor hunches
down in his chair slightly, his eyes round.

Turning back to Sloan, she leans forward and says in a low
voice, "Mr. Carmichael isn't fond of small boys. Or
big ones, either. Too noisy, he says, especially at night."

Trevor's nightmares, Sloan thinks with a panicked gaze over
at Tom. He's woken screaming every night since they've brought
him home, and the sound must have carried.

"Mrs. Peabody .... " she begins, but her landlady cuts her off
with an reassuring wave of her hand.

"Personally, I love boys," she says with a warm smile, "especially
small boys like that one over there. Which is just as well, since
I had four of them myself."

"Four boys," Sloan says with an attempt at heartiness she doesn't
feel. "How wonderful .... "

"And between you and me, Mr. Carmichael could use a little
shaking up in his life," Mrs. Peabody says with a decided nod of
her head. "That man spends entirely too much time locked up in
that apartment of his."

"I'm so sorry about the noise .... " Sloan tries again, but her
voluble landlady shushes her with a twinkle in her eye.

"No need to apologize, Dr. Parker," she says. "No need at all.
I've come up with the perfect solution, and just wanted to let
you know, so that you'd understand about all the activity here
the next day or two."

"A solution?" Sloan cautiously.

"I've persuaded Mr. Carmichael to move to the basement,"
Mrs. Peabody says with satisfaction. "There's a fully-furnished
apartment down there with all the space that he needs for his
work, and no neighbors to bother him. And no sun, which
he'll find a relief .... he keeps those windows of his blacked over
because he says the light interferes with his experiments."

The scientist in Sloan suddenly sparks to life and she looks
at Mrs. Peabody with interest. "Just exactly what is he
doing over there, Mrs. Peabody?" she asks curiously.

"Ellen," Mrs. Peabody says with a friendly tap on her arm.
"Call me Ellen. As for what he does, I haven't a clue, Dr.
Parker. When I ask, all he'll say is 'important work'."

"Please, call me Sloan." Sloan shifts her mail from one
hand to the other and listens attentively.

"My theory, Sloan, is that he could be a member of your new
species," Ellen Peabody says confidingly, darting her eyes
toward the far wall. "I've been observing him for you, trying
to learn more about his kind. That's one of the reasons I'm
so excited to finally have the chance to talk to you today."

"You think he's a dominant," Sloan says, biting her lip.

"That's why I put up with the fires," Ellen says, nodding
eagerly. "And all the deliveries he refuses. So that I can
observe him." Glancing behind her at a small stack of cartons
that have been sitting in the hall for days now, she shakes her
head. "He doesn't trust them, you know. The delivery men.
He thinks people are after him because of the nature of his
work, but I've suspected that it's because of what he is."

"You have?" Sloan manages, hearing a deafening silence behind
her and wondering how her three dominants are reacting to all
of this.

"But I shouldn't say any more," Ellen Peabody says, giving
Sloan a small wink. "Not until I have more information to go on.
I know how secretive work like yours must be."

"Yes," Sloan says feebly. "Very."

"I'd love to talk more with you about this," Ellen says intently,
casting another look over at the far wall. "The more you can
tell me about the new species, the more I can be sure whether
my suspicions are right or not."

"I'd be happy to help." Sloan searches frantically for a way to
let this friendly woman down easily. "I should tell you, though,
that dominants are very hard to detect. And not all are bad."

Ellen Peabody's face clears at her words. "What a relief,"
she says brightly, laying a hand on Sloan's arm. "The thought of
having one of them here in my building has shaken me up, I
must confess."

Sloan winces slightly and resists the urge to glance over her
shoulder into Tom's knowing eyes.

"Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that my sons will be
here over the next day or so to help Mr. Carmichael move all
his things to the basement .... just in case you wondered about
all the noises."

"Actually .... " Sloan begins, but Ellen Peabody interrupts
her to lean out into the hallway for a minute. "Davey .... be
sure to take care with that box Mr. Carmichael left near
the door," she calls out, waving her hand. "He was very
insistent about that one .... says it's full of breakable equipment."

"Sure, Ma," a patient male voice calls out, and Sloan finally
lets herself glance back at Tom, frowning at the look of amusement
on his face and on Shane's as they watch in fascination.

"I also wanted to let you know that the apartment next door
is available for rent," Ellen Peabody says, returning her attention
to Sloan with a warm smile. "In case any of your friends are
looking for a place to stay. I always prefer to find new tenants
through my existing ones .... that way I have more faith that
I'll find the right ones."

"If I can think of anyone, I'll let you know," Sloan says
with a smile of her own, finding it hard to resist Ellen Peabody's
friendly charm despite her overwhelming nature. "As a matter
of fact, this apartment may be available soon as well .... I'm
afraid we're going to need more space .... "

"Oh dear," Ellen says with a frown, darting a look over at Tom
and the boys. "I'm so sorry to hear that .... you've been such
a lovely tenant."

"Yes, well," Sloan manages, knowing she's actually been an
absent tenant most of the time, especially in recent months,
"that's kind of you to say. But there are four of us now, and
there just isn't enough room here."

"So your guests will be staying with you permanently?" Ellen
says with a spark of interest in her eyes, and Sloan darts another
quick look at Tom, who takes pity on her by rising out of his chair
and coming forward, Shane and Trevor slowly following behind him.

"Mrs. Peabody," he says smoothly, falling with ease into what
Sloan always thinks of as his FBI-agent mode, "It's good to
finally meet you. I'm Tom Daniels, a friend of Sloan's." Taking
her hand, he gives her a warm smile and Sloan stifles a grin
at the slightly stunned look on Ellen Peabody's face.

"Yes," she stammers, taking in Tom's good looks and
clear blue eyes. "I mean, it's good to meet you." Shaking his
hand more firmly, she smiles back at him happily. "I've seen
you come and go, but have never had the chance to introduce
myself."

"And that's been my loss," he says, his smile widening, his
hand holding hers slightly longer than necessary. "I'm just sorry
we won't be here long enough to get to know each other."

"So am I," she responds with a slight sigh, and then looks over
at Shane with a welcoming grin. "Shane I've already met," she
says, reaching out to shake his hand. "But this one I haven't,"
she says, leaning down slightly to give Trevor a soft smile.

Trevor, who is standing pressed against Tom's side, looks
at her silently, and Tom reaches his hand down to rest
it on Trevor's shoulder. "This is Trevor, Shane's brother," he
says easily. "Shane and Trevor are living with us now .... that's
why we find ourselves in need of more space."

"Of course you would," Ellen Peabody says encouragingly,
giving Trevor another motherly smile. "Growing boys need
rooms of their own. This place is fine for two people, but not
for a family."

"I'll be sorry to leave, though," Sloan says wistfully. "I really
love this place."

"It's too bad," Ellen agrees sympathetically, looking around with
admiration. "You've done such a wonderful job decorating it
.... " Her voice drifts off as she looks past the fireplace to the
two large green cupboard doors beside it, and gives a sudden
start.

"What is it?" Sloan asks curiously, following her gaze to the
two doors.

"Maybe the answer to your problems," Ellen says excitedly,
and then turns back to Sloan with a delighted grin. "Did you
know that this apartment and Mr. Carmichael's used to be
connected through a large doorway right where this cupboard
stands?"

Walking over to the large green doors, Ellen touches one with
her hand and looks back at Sloan to explain. "This apartment and
Mr. Carmichael's were once one large living space, but I
couldn't find anyone to rent it to so I had my boys put the cupboard
in and break the space up into two apartments." Her eyes
bright with enthusiasm, she adds, "What if we took the cupboard
out and opened it back up for you?"

Sloan darts a look at Tom, her eyes lighting with interest,
but before she can speak the phone rings, startling them all.

Excusing himself, Tom reaches for the phone and turns away,
speaking softly into it as Ellen Peabody reaches to open the two
doors and then hesitates, looking back at Sloan. "Do you mind?"

"Be my guest," Sloan says with a gesture, and watches as
Ellen opens the doors and surveys the cupboard thoughtfully.
"You can either take the cupboard out entirely," she suggests,
"or just remove a part of it to open up a doorway and leave
yourself with a bit of storage room on the side."

"How large is Mr. Carmichael's apartment?" Sloan asks
curiously, glancing over at Shane and Trevor with a smile as they
move to stand beside her, their eyes on the open cupboard.

"The same size as yours," Ellen says, turning to grin at the
two boys. "Enough space for rooms for both of them, once
my boys do a little construction work, and a living area for
them to spread out in."

"What would the cost be, to convert the apartment and then rent
it?" Sloan asks doubtfully, mentally scanning her bank account.

"We could work out the cost of supplies, and my boys would do
the work free of charge," Ellen Peabody offers with enthusiasm.
"It would be worth it to have you stay .... I hate to lose a good
tenant. As for the rent, I'm sure we can work something out."

Glancing over to see Tom still occupied on the phone, Sloan
gives her landlady an apologetic grin. "Could I get back to you,
after I talk to Tom?" she asks. "I know how much he loves this
place, but I should check with him first."

"Absolutely," Ellen says with another pat on Sloan's arm. "Of
course you two need to talk. I tell you what .... see what Mr.
Daniels has to say, come next door if you'd like to see what we
can do to turn the space into rooms for the two boys, and then
decide, how's that?"

"Perfect," Sloan says with relief. "I can't thank you enough for
this .... "

"My pleasure," Ellen Peabody beams, and then winces as another
loud thump echoes through the living room. "In the meantime, I'd
better go see what my boys are doing over there," she says,
bustling toward the door. "Mr. Carmichael is *so* particular
about his things. Just call me when you'd like to talk."

With one last wave at Shane and Trevor, she closes the door
behind her, and the room suddenly falls silent in the wake
of her cheerful departure. Sloan looks over to see both Shane
and Trevor staring at the door, Trevor with wide eyes and Shane
full of humor, and she raises her eyebrows at him. "I see what
you mean about Mrs. Peabody," she says with a grin. "She's
a little .... "

"Overwhelming?" he suggests with a twitch of his lips.

"Overwhelming," Sloan agrees, her grin growing wider. "*And*
obsessed with dominants."

"And nice," Shane finishes for her.

"Very," Sloan agrees with a laugh, and looks over at Tom as he
completes his call and comes over to stand in front of them.

"Marcus wants me at the lab for a meeting right away," he
says, and then surveys the three of them with a smile "What did
I miss?"

--------------------

"We have to get them back," Judith Baker says implacably,
watching as her husband Charles checks his tie in the mirror
and pulls on his suit jacket. "People are starting to ask questions."

"I know," he says briefly, his eyes meeting hers through the mirror.
"Council members have asked me what's happening .... they've
heard rumors about Trevor."

"The people on my staff have heard the same thing," Judith
says, watching her husband critically as he buttons his suit jacket.
"It doesn't look good, Charles. A man of your stature with the
Council, someone with my position on the Council staff. We're
supposed to be examples, leaders for others among our species.
To have two of our sons .... " She breaks off and shakes her
head.

"It's Tom Daniels," Charles says, staring at his reflection, his
face hardening. "He's taken both of them from us .... twisted
their thinking, convinced them that we're the ones in the wrong
when he's the real traitor."

"You should have tried harder to get Trevor back from those
people," Judith says, rising from the bed to take his place in front of
the mirror as he moves away. Checking the fit of her trim blue
suit, she smoothes down her skirt. "If you had, Daniels wouldn't
have had the chance to lure Trevor away."

"I thought I could handle it," Charles says, his mouth tight with
displeasure.

"Well, you couldn't," she says evenly, raising a hand to check
her hair. "You gambled and you failed .... I hope you've learned
from your mistakes, Charles. Dealing in human emotions is a risk
none of us can afford to take, no matter how great the provocation."

Turning from the mirror, she looks at him reprovingly. "You took a
huge risk making a deal with the humans, Charles. You put both our
lives and our reputations at risk, and for what? A plan that failed
miserably."

"I know that, Judith," Charles grinds out, looking at his wife with
impatience. "What I've done isn't the issue here. It's what we have
to do to get Shane and Trevor back."

"That's my problem now," she responds dispassionately. "You focus
on Tom Daniels."

"I already have," he assures her, reaching for his briefcase and keys.

"You've spoken with them?" she asks with an arch of her eyebrow.

"At the meeting last night," he says heavily. "They had already set their
plan in motion, and were more than willing to expand it to include the
capture and eventual execution of Tom Daniels. I offered my help
in any way I could, offering my personal knowledge of Daniels'
movements, and they accepted."

Judith crosses the room to straighten his tie, and he stands patiently
before her. "With Lewis still held by the humans, your knowledge
would be invaluable to them," she says with satisfaction.

"So they thought," he responds complacently. Watching her as she
steps back and reaches for her purse and briefcase, he narrows his
eyes thoughtfully. "When will you begin working on Shane and Trevor?"
he asks.

"Today," she responds. "The sooner we get them back, the better."

"Be careful," he warns. "Sloan Parker is no fool."

"She's a human," Judith says dismissively. "How much of a challenge
could she be?"

-------------------

Ed Tate and Sarah Fielding are still in the same positions
when Walter Attwood walks into the lab fifteen minutes later, Ed
leaning casually against the counter of a long worktable, his now-
empty coffee cup in hand, and Dr. Fielding still perched on the lab
stool, her hands resting in her lap, her eyes turning to Walter's
expectantly. Some of the lab's staff have already begun their
work for the day, but all have avoided the area where Ed and
Sarah sit, immediately sensing their antagonism.

Ed swings up from his relaxed stance as Walter stops in front of
them, his brow raised inquiringly, and greets him with a grin of
anticipation. "Walter, we've been waiting for you."

"We?" Walter says with a quick smile for the small, quiet woman
watching him, and holds his hand out formally. "Dr. Walter
Attwood," he introduces himself.

"Dr. Sarah Fielding," she responds, stepping off the stool carefully
and reaching out to shake his hand. "From Marcus Adam's lab."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Fielding," Walter says with a smile,
and quirks a look at Ed, who is watching their interchange with
barely-concealed impatience. "Forgive Dr. Tate here .... he's
not one for formalities."

"I had noticed," she says gravely, casting a look of doubt at Ed.

"Now then," Walter resumes, picking up on the antagonism between
the two, "what have I missed?"

"Dr. Fielding has announced that she'll be screening everyone in the
lab, to judge whether we meet her 'standard criteria'," Ed says
evenly. "And whether any of us might be a security risk."

"I see," Walter says, looking at Sarah calmly. "What standard criteria
might that be, Dr. Fielding?"

"We accept only the best at our lab," she explains carefully. "The
challenges we face in stopping the Council's more ambitious plans
to destroy humans are too great to allow for slipshod practices or
scientists less proficient than ourselves."

"Less proficient," Walter echoes, his mouth twisting wryly.

"Before we can achieve a true working relationship, it's my job
to weed out those on your staff who could endanger us with their
mediocrity," she says simply. "I've indicated to Dr. Tate that I will
meet with each member of your staff and determine their acceptability."

"And you do this with Marcus's blessing," Walter says, glancing
over at Ed, who meets his gaze with a lifted brow and knowing look.

"I believe I do," Sarah says with a small nod. "Now, if we can get
started?"

"I'm afraid not," Walter says heavily, laying his briefcase down on the
counter and turning to face Sarah with a frown. "Dr. Fielding, I
was very specific with Marcus, and I had believed we'd reached
an understanding. This is an equal partnership, with trust on both
sides. We have no intention of being judged by you, or dictated
to."

"Dr. Attwood .... " Sarah begins, but Walter raises his hand to
stop her.

"Dr. Fielding, you've made yourself perfectly clear," he says
evenly. "And we have no intention of submitting ourselves to your
assessments. I think you should leave."

"Dr. Attwood," she repeats, "you misunderstand. I'm not doing this
to insult you, I'm doing this to protect my own people. Surely you can see
that."

"Dr. Fielding, your intention may not be to insult us, but that's
exactly what you've done," Walter responds pleasantly, a thread
of steel in his voice. "And just as you are intent on protecting
your own people, I am intent on protecting mine." Standing to
one side, he politely gestures at the door. "As I said before, I
think you should leave. Now."

"Ah, Sarah," a new voice says reprovingly. "You've done it again."

All three combatants look up to see a young, casually-dressed man leaning
against the entry door to the lab, shaking his head at Sarah Fielding
with a rueful smile on his face.

Seeing that he has everyone's attention, the man comes forward,
hand outstretched. "Dr. Walter Attwood, I presume," he says with
a friendly smile. "Dr. Martin Donovan. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Turning to Ed, his smile widens. "And Dr. Ed Tate." Taking Ed's
hand, he shakes it heartily. "One of Dr. Ian Copeland's prize
students back when he was teaching humans. Dr. Copeland thought
very highly of you."

Ed grins back uncertainly, shaking Martin Donovan's hand in turn.
"Not exactly the kind of recommendation that thrills me," he says
wryly. "Considering what he did to me later."

Martin Donovan acknowledges his barb. "Dr. Copeland was
brilliant, but driven in the end to overreach himself."

"You could say that," Ed says, his eyes shadowed.

Turning back to Walter, Martin makes a small bow of apology. "You'll
have to forgive Sarah here, Dr. Attwood. She sometimes takes her
work too seriously, and her instructions from Marcus too literally."

"Martin," Sarah interrupts, her mouth tight with disapproval, "I was
doing my job. Our job."

"And badly," he says sharply, his pleasant demeanor slipping for
a moment as he gives her a warning look. "We're here to work
with Dr. Attwood and Dr. Tate, not to antagonize them before we even
get started."

"Maybe we should take this into my office," Walter suggests,
catching the furtive interest of the lab workers nearby.

"I agree," Martin Donovan says smoothly, and stands aside as
Walter collects his briefcase and leads the way to his office.

Left behind them, Ed and Sarah stare at each other for a moment,
and then Ed gestures her forward with a polite wave of his hand.
"After you, Dr. Fielding," he says with a slight bow, and grins as
she turns her back on him stiffly and walks away.

--------------------

"Ask you can see," Ellen Peabody says wryly, "Mr. Carmichael
is not fond of sunlight."

Sloan stares in astonishment at the heavy black drapes firmly sealing
out any light from the three windows lining the far wall. Mr.
Carmichael's apartment, from what she can see, is a duplicate
of hers, only in reverse, with windows on the left wall and a fireplace
matching her own on the right. Both are only dimly visible through
the few lights left scattered among the clutter of boxes, papers and
pieces of laboratory equipment.

"I had no idea," she murmurs, her eyes wandering up to soot and
smoke stains on the brick walls. "I always wondered, though."

"So did I," Ellen says ruefully. "I don't think he let me through the
door more than once or twice in the time he's lived here. He was
so insistent on paying me through the mail, and when he would
open the door to me, it was just by a crack."

A sudden crash in the back of the apartment has Trevor edging
forward curiously, and Shane emerges from behind a stack of
cartons with a grin on his face. "Sorry about that," he apologizes,
dusting his hands on his jeans. "You wouldn't believe the stuff he's
got stored back there .... boxes and boxes everywhere."

"Be careful," Sloan warns as Trevor follows Shane back through
the maze of cartons, her eyes following him anxiously.

"He'll be fine," Ellen says comfortably, watching as Shane slows
down to let Trevor catch up with him. "They seem like good boys."

"They are," Sloan says, meeting her landlady's warm smile with one
of her own. "But Trevor's been through a lot lately .... I guess I
fuss over him a little more than I should."

"No harm ever came from fussing," Ellen responds with motherly
assurance. "Especially when they've had a rough time of it."

Putting her hands on her hips, she turns to survey the messy apartment
assessingly. "They'll each need a room of their own .... I could have
Davey build two separate bedrooms toward the back of the place,
and leave a living space up front."

"We might need a second bathroom as well," Sloan says thoughtfully,
her mind already filled with possibilities. "One for each of them. What
do you think?"

"Davey could do that," Ellen agrees. "Whoever has the back bedroom
could have the main bathroom, while Davey could add a bathroom to
the other bedroom." Turning, she gives Sloan a happy grin. "You'll be
taking the place, then?"

"We will," Sloan agrees, and grins back at her. "This is the perfect
solution to our problem .... I can't thank you enough for telling us
about it, Mrs. Peabody."

"Ellen," her landlady corrects her heartily, and then looks over
curiously as Trevor and Sloan suddenly emerge from behind the
cartons, their faces tense, their eyes fixed on the open doorway leading
into the apartment.

"What is it?" Sloan asks, her heart suddenly speeding up at the
wary looks on their faces. "Trevor? Shane?"

"She found us," Trevor says in a small voice, and Sloan turns swiftly
toward the door to watch as a small, blond woman appears in the
doorway, dressed trimly in a blue suit and looking at them anxiously.

"I'm looking for a Dr. Parker," she says hesitantly. "A Dr. Sloan
Parker. I knocked next door, but no one answered."

Sloan moves to stand protectively in front of the boys, and gives the
woman a wary smile. "I'm Sloan Parker. Can I help you?"

Her face flushing with relief, the woman holds her hand out to Sloan
and shakes it gently. "I'm Judith Baker," she says, her clear blue eyes
meeting Sloan's guilelessly. "I've come about my sons, Trevor and
Shane."

--------------------

"So one of the key members of the Head Council has decided to
side with the peace movement," Tom says speculatively. "And you
want me to determine whether he's sincere."

"In essence," Marcus says with a nod, leaning forward, his elbows
resting on his desk, his face set with determination. "We need to
know if we can trust him .... trust that he really does want peace,
and isn't someone the Council has sent to destroy us."

"But you already trust him," Tom points out.

"I do," Marcus agrees. "But Sam has reservations, and I've learned
over the years to trust Sam's instincts, no matter how much I may
want to doubt them. He's rarely wrong."

Tom twists in his chair to look at Sam Anderson, who stands in
his favorite position, arms crossed, leaning back against the wall
in a corner of the room. "What are your instincts telling you,
Dr. Anderson?" he asks curiously.

"That there's more to this than Abbott would have us believe," the
tall, quiet man says thoughtfully, looking at Tom with troubled
eyes. "Why would a man who has always been among the loudest
in demanding the eradication of humans suddenly want peace with
them?"

"Because he sees the futility of our struggle," Marcus interjects.
"That it's unnecessary and that it may very well put us all at risk."

"Or the Council has realized that the peace movement stands in the way
of its goals," Sam Anderson counters. "And it's decided to
eliminate us, using Roger Abbott to do it."

"Sam .... " Marcus begins impatiently, but Tom raises a steadying hand
and turns back to Sam. "You suspect that Abbott is a plant," he says
evenly. "What you haven't explained is how Abbott would expect to
infiltrate you without raising any suspicion."

"By masking himself," Sam says, and shakes his head at Marcus's
curt gesture of dismissal. "It can be done, Marcus," he insists. "It's
done
by some of Lewis's chameleons, and he had even begun training
a few key members of the Council before his capture."

"Masking is a myth," Marcus says dismissively. "Something that Lewis
dreamed up to make himself look impressive and more valuable to
the Council."

"Masking is real, Marcus," Tom says grimly, turning his intent gaze back to
the dominant peace leader. "I've seen it done .... I've had Lewis's people
do it to me, and Randall Lynch, and believe me, when the operative is
trained properly, it works. I just hadn't realized that Council members
were now being trained to use it."

"Tom .... " Marcus says uneasily, and then turns his head to the door
alertly,
his actions followed by Sam and Tom. Giving a cautionary look at both
men, he warns in a low voice, "That will be Roger. He called at
the last minute to say he'd be coming in this morning to plan our
next step. Tom, I need you to be my eyes and ears in this meeting."

Tom nods imperceptibly as a knock sounds at the door and one of Marcus's
assistants ushers in Roger Abbott, an older, rugged-looking man who
greets Tom's presence in the room with a lifted eyebrow. "Mr. Daniels,"
he acknowledges, and looks at Marcus questioningly. "I'm surprised
at you, Marcus," he says bitingly. "Allowing yourself to be seen with
the most notorious traitor our species has ever known."

Sam Anderson tenses at his words, but Tom watches Abbott
imperturbably, aware that Abbott has chosen his words for effect
and is even now gauging Tom's response. Marcus, well aware of
his old friend's purpose, quirks his mouth wryly. "Point taken,
Roger," he says, rising to reach out his hand. "You know
why Tom is here, you resent it, and you want to see how hard
you can push him."

Abbott looks at Marcus for a long moment, his face unreadable,
and then gives Marcus a wry smile of his own and shakes his hand
before turning to Tom. "You must tell me what it's like dealing
with humans sometime, Mr. Daniels," he says, his smile turning
rueful. "It must be refreshing to deal with people who can't sense
your motives quite so clearly."

"It has its advantages," Tom says, rising to shake Abbott's
hand, and then settling back down in his chair as Abbott
takes a seat beside him. Abbott does so without a glance at the
quiet man in the corner, and Tom senses both Anderson's disquiet
and Abbott's clear intent to snub him. Abbott, Tom muses, is obviously
aware of Sam Anderson's doubts.

"I must confess I'm disappointed that you felt the need for this,
Marcus," Abbott says gruffly, leaning forward in his
chair. "You've been getting bad advice."

Marcus's eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't take Abbott's bait.
"I've been getting sage advice, Roger, and you know it," he
says bluntly. "What you're asking me to do could mean my death,
and the deaths of everyone I work with. I won't take that risk without
being sure of your motives, and you have to admit, your reputation
precedes you."

Abbott waves his hand dismissively, but his eyes are watchful
and he makes no effort to hide his irritation from Marcus or from
Tom. "I've done what I had to on the Council to keep my power
base. I can't just change from advocating domination to peace,
not without bringing the wrath and the suspicion of the Council
down on me .... so I advocate war because that's what they expect
of me."

"You must admit your change of heart is a radical one," Tom
suggests lightly, watching the man beside him carefully. "What
caused it?"

"Pragmatism, Mr. Daniels," Abbott responds, turning to look at
Tom assessingly. "Oh, I know you expect me to talk about peace,
about the need for cooperation and coexistence the way Marcus
does in order to convince you of my sincerity. But I won't .... that's
not what this is about."

"Then what is it about?" Tom asks quietly.

"Survival, Mr. Daniels," Roger Abbott says, rising from his chair to
pace the floor near Marcus's desk. "Pure and simple. I've assessed
the odds, and they say we were doomed if we don't opt for peace.
And I have no intention of dying, not when I can make a deal with
the humans that will give us the chance at least of coexistence."

"And your feelings about humans?" Tom prompts him, and receives
a glower in return.

"Inefficient," Abbott snaps out. "Emotional. The last ones who should
be in charge of running this planet. But they've got the balance of power
for now, and so they're the ones we have to deal with .... at least until
such time as we make our presence known, and rise to power within
their governments."

"Then you don't want the same kind of peace that Marcus does,"
Sam Anderson says quietly.

"Does it matter?" Abbott asks, turning his head around to give
Anderson a dismissive look. "You need someone of my
position and power to back you. I could use your organization
to convince the Council to back me. We would all get what we want."

"But .... " Sam begins, but Abbott turns away from him abruptly
and confronts Marcus. "I came here today because we're
running out of time, Marcus. I need to make my move before
someone on the Council senses what I'm doing , and I need to
know you'll be there to back me when I do."

Gesturing at Tom, still sitting quietly in his chair, Abbott shakes
his head. "I've answered your questions, I've explained my position.
After all the years we've known each other, that should be enough,
and I don't have the time or inclination for any more."

"Roger .... " Marcus begins evenly, but Abbott silences him with
an abrupt wave of his hand as he heads toward the door.

"I mean it, Marcus," Abbott says tightly. "I need your word by the
end of the week. Without it, I don't make my move, and you lose the
biggest chance you'll ever have of Council support for your peace
movement." Turning to Tom, Abbott nods at him abruptly. "Mr.
Daniels." One last, long look at Sam Anderson, and Abbott leaves,
shutting the door firmly behind him.

The room falls silent with his departure, Tom lost in thought and
both Marcus and Sam looking at him expectantly. Finally Tom
looks up, and shakes his head at Marcus. "I know you want me
to tell you that Dr. Anderson is wrong," he says steadily. "But I
can't. Not yet."

"You sensed something?" Sam Anderson asks, his voice quickening
with interest as Marcus makes a wordless sound of protest.

"It's what I didn't sense," Tom replies slowly. "How much experience
have you had with masking, Dr. Anderson?"

"Call me Sam, please," Marcus's assistant says, finally moving forward
to sit in the chair that Roger Abbott had recently occupied, his eyes fixed
on Tom's. "I don't have any personal experience with it .... I just know
what I've heard."

"I've had used on me," Tom tries to explain, looking from Sam to
Marcus searchingly. "And I've realized that there's something missing
when a person is masking themselves .... almost a blankness where
thought or emotion would normally be. It's fleeting, and almost
impossible to detect, but it's there if you know what to look for."

"And you sensed that with Roger Abbott?" Sam asks intently.

"I did," Tom admits, and shrugs in the face of Marcus's obvious
consternation. "I'm sorry, Marcus. He said all the right things ....
his approach was completely convincing. We would have suspected
him instantly if he'd suddenly started talking in terms of peace for
peace's sake. But he didn't .... he stuck to the kind of behavior you'd
expect from him, and had me almost completely convinced."

"So you're asking me to pass up this chance because of a feeling,"
Marcus says with a frown, lacing and unlacing his fingers as he leans
forward to study Tom. "One that you're not even sure of yourself,"
he adds perceptively.

"I'm not asking you to pass it up," Tom objects. "Not yet. But I
want you to wait until I can check this out."

"How?" Sam asks curiously.

"Do you remember the informant Drew Richards told me about?"
Tom asks. "The one that he said is placed high up in the Head
Council's bureaucracy? Richards told us that the informant believed
the Council was sending a plant to infiltrate your movement and destroy
it from within."

"I remember," Marcus responds, nodding his head reluctantly.
"You're saying that Roger could be that plant?"

"I don't know," Tom says simply. "But it's suspicious enough to check
out, particularly after what I've just sensed from him. I think we need
to talk to Richards' informant, see what he knows and whether he
can identify Roger Abbott as the plant."

"Do you know who he is?" Sam asks.

"No," Tom says, rising from his chair. "Not even Richards knows that,
or so he says. But he gave me the man's code name, and how to get
in touch with him. It's time I had another talk with Richards to get a
better sense of the informant, and then I'll set up a meeting, hopefully
for later tonight."

Rising to shake Tom's hand, Marcus looks at him with concern.
"Tom," he says slowly, "I'm grateful for what you're doing for us.
Don't mistake that. But this is crucial to our future .... your future,
if you're willing to work with us for peace, as I hope you are.
I know I said that I would listen to you and respect your opinion,
but Tom, we need Roger Abbott on our side .... I can't reject his
offer to support us just on the basis of your feeling. I need proof, one
way or the other."

"If it's there to be found, I'll get it for you," Tom says evenly.

--------------------

"I want to clear up any misunderstandings my colleague may have
caused," Martin Donovan says, his pleasant-looking face creased
with concern as he leans forward in his chair. "We're here to work
with you, not against you, Dr. Attwood."

Walter looks at him thoughtfully, and at Sarah Fielding, who has
settled into a chair beside Martin, her expression guarded and
tense.

"I would hope that that's the case," Walter says finally. "I'm troubled,
though, at Dr. Fielding's plan to screen my people to judge their
suitability. Marcus knows we run a first-rate lab here .... otherwise
he wouldn't have been interested in working with us."

"Dr. Attwood, Tom Daniels insisted on screening our contacts," Sarah
points out carefully. "Why would you deny us the right to do the same?"

"Sarah .... " Martin says warningly, but Walter cuts him off, giving
Sarah an even look. "Tom screened your contacts for security
purposes, Dr. Fielding," he says pointedly. "With the permission
and approval of Marcus. Not quite the same thing as judging
whether or not we're intelligent enough to meet your standards."

Sarah opens her mouth to argue, but Martin places a restraining
hand on her arm and turns to look at Walter and at Ed, who has
perched himself on top of a computer tabletop near Walter's desk.
"We've gotten off on the wrong foot here, and for that I apologize,"
he says placatingly. "It's our job to work with you against the
more militant dominants, and I'm here to see that the work goes
smoothly. I'll admit that some of our people are uncomfortable
working with humans, Dr. Fielding included, but I'll deal with
that and ensure that there are no further problems."

"I would appreciate that, Dr. Donovan," Walter says evenly.
"It was a difficult decision to make, agreeing to work with you.
I would hate to think it was the wrong one."

"I can assure you it wasn't," Martin says. "What I might suggest
is that we be introduced to your staff, spend time with you and
Dr. Tate to familiarize ourselves with your methods, and then
meet to discuss the project we're currently working on."

"They've come up with a new weapon?" Ed says alertly, his body
tensing as he shoots a quick look at Walter.

"You might say that," Martin acknowledges, "and I don't mind telling you
we've had a tough time coming up with a way of neutralizing it."

"What are we talking about?" Walter asks curiously.

"Mind control," Martin explains. Looking from Ed to Walter with
a frown, he asks, "Are either of you familiar with masking?"

"We know more about it than any of us would like," Walter says
heavily, thinking back to the reporter they had used to lure Lewis
out into the open, and Tom's failure to save him through Lisa's
ability to mask herself and her intentions.

"Then you know that trained dominants can mask their thoughts
from each other," Martin goes on. "But what you don't know is that
Lewis's people have taken that one step further, and are now
experimenting with plans to control other people's thoughts, to direct
them to do things against their will."

"The way children born of a dominant and a human can?" Walter
asks, and nods his head at Martin's inquiring look. "We ran into
one of them recently, a boy named Kevin, and saw how he was
able to take over a person's mind .... even make them do things
they didn't want to."

"That's a new development," Martin says with a frown, "and one
that the scientists involved in the project are examining, along with
the methods that dominants use in the making process."

"How do you know all this?" Ed asks curiously.

"We have someone planted in Lewis's organization who's been
sending us data on the experiments," Sarah says, meeting his eyes
reluctantly.

"From what we've seen, they're beginning to get results from their
experiments on human subjects," Martin adds.

"And the purpose of all this is .... ?" Walter asks thoughtfully.

"If dominants can control human actions, they can speed up
the timeframe for taking over from them, and wiping out the
human race," Martin says bluntly. "We can't let that happen.
Marcus wants the mind-control program subverted before it gets
past the experimental stage, and he's assigned us -- your lab
and ours -- to do that."

"Talk about mission impossible," Ed mutters, running his
hand through his hair distractedly.

"You're saying you can't do this?" Sarah asks, watching him
coolly.

"What I'm saying," Ed says, his voice tightening in the face of
her obvious disapproval, "is that we've been given an impossible
task." Rising from his seat on the computer table, he shoves his
hands in his pockets and gives her a challenging grin.
"So, where do we start?"

--------------------

"Mrs. Baker, I don't understand," Sloan says quietly, settling down
on the couch beside Judith Baker. "Why haven't you come about
your sons before now?"

"I wanted to, believe me," Judith says, her voice soft and hesitant.
"But Charles was so hurt, and from the little he told me I knew
that Trevor had been hurt as well by what had happened." Clutching
her purse, she looks up at Sloan with troubled eyes. "I wanted
to come here so badly, to be with my son .... both of my sons ....
but I felt that they needed time, and that it was important that I
give them that."

A slight movement catches Sloan's eye, and she looks over at
Shane and Trevor, who sit perched on two of the kitchen stools,
their eyes on their mother, their faces solemn. They haven't said
a word since Trevor's warning just before Judith Baker appeared
at the door of the apartment next door; instead, they've let Sloan
do the talking as she ushered their mother back into her own apartment
with a last, apologetic glance at Ellen Peabody. Shane sits on the edge
of his stool as though ready to flee, or to defend Trevor, Sloan can't
tell which. And Trevor hasn't taken his eyes off his mother since
her arrival, his figure still and quiet as he sits on his stool. His
fingers, though, Sloan notes with concern, are plucking repeatedly
against his jeans, a gesture she hasn't seen from him since his
time in the hospital.

"And now .... ?" Sloan prompts her.

"I couldn't bear to be away from them any longer," Judith says
simply, her eyes straying over to her sons and fixing on Trevor's
watching face. "I needed to come here and speak to them .... to
convince them to come back with me, and work things out with their
father."

"Mrs. Baker," Sloan says, taking a deep breath, "both Shane and
Trevor are here of their own choice. We were very careful to make
sure that it was what they wanted."

"I understand that, Dr. Parker," Judith says quietly, looking back
at Sloan, "and I can't thank you enough for your generosity. Knowing
that they were with people who would take good care of them is
the only thing that's made these last few days bearable."

Looking back at Trevor, she shakes her head. "But this
isn't what they need, much as I appreciate what you've done. They
belong with their father and I, in their own home, among their own
species. Surely you can understand that."

"Mrs. Baker ...." Sloan begins hesitantly, torn between this woman's
obvious need for her sons and her own unease at their reactions to
their mother.

"Dr. Parker," Judith interrupts, looking back at Shane and Trevor.
"Could I speak with my sons alone? Please?" Turning back to
Sloan, Judith reaches out her hand and places it on Sloan's arm
gently. "Just for a few minutes."

"I don't think .... " Sloan says doubtfully, and looks at Shane for
guidance, unwilling to do anything without a sign from him. He gives
her a small nod, and slowly stands, putting his arm around Trevor's
thin shoulders. "We'll be all right, Sloan. Honest."

"If you're sure," Sloan says, and Shane gives her a faint grin.
"We'll be fine," he reassures her quietly. "Why don't you go wait
with Mrs. Peabody? She's probably hovering outside the door
right now."

Sloan tries to smile at his teasing but can't, and rises with Judith
to stand in front of the two boys. "I'll be right outside if you need
me," she says quietly, searching Trevor's serious face and seeing
his eyes shift to hers, dark and unfathomable. "Okay?"

His nod barely perceptible, Trevor's eyes shift back to his mother's,
and Sloan exchanges a concerned glance with Shane before turning
to Judith Baker. "I'll be in the hallway outside, and I want the door
left open a bit," she says evenly. "You're their mother and have every
right to talk to them, but they're under my care right now, and I need
to know that they're safe."

"I understand," Judith says, her face clearing at Sloan's words, and
she gives her a soft, hesitant smile. "I would do the same if I were in
your situation."

Sloan returns her smile, but can feel her heart pounding as she walks
the short distance to the door and opens it. Trevor and Shane had
become hers in just a few short days, and she's ready to fight anyone
she has to to keep them.

But, she thinks reluctantly, turning back and watching as Judith
reaches out to brush back Trevor's hair, she hadn't expected
their mother to be so .... human, so obviously devoted to them.

Sighing softly, Sloan leaves the door ajar, and steels herself for the
questions she knows will be coming from her voluble, friendly
landlady. Questions that she has no idea how to answer.

--------------------

"Tom Daniels." Drew Richards looks up with a small smile on
his face, his eyes knowing. "Why am I not surprised?"

Tom nods his dismissal to the guard who had escorted him to this
small interview room in the secure facility Marcus had directed him
to, and turns to look at his nemesis. Dressed in a grey prison jumpsuit,
his posture stiff from the bandages obviously binding his broken
collarbone together, Richard still has a presence to him that a week
in captivity hasn't lessened.

His face carefully blank, Tom crosses over to sit across the table
placed in the center of the room. He no longer has the dreams that
haunted him after Richards caged him for three days .... Sloan's love
and care had cured him of those, and of his dreams of Lewis. But
the sight of his former captor still makes him tense, and he shakes
off his automatic reluctance to be in the same room with him.

"You were expecting me?" he asks casually, settling into a chair
across the table from Richards.

"Eventually," Richards says, his smile growing. "They've been
questioning me daily, but never about the most important information
I have to offer."

"Jacob," Tom says evenly, resting his elbows on the table and pleating
his fingers together.

"Jacob," Richards echoes complacently, leaning back in his chair
gingerly, his shoulder held carefully in place.

"I want to know more about him," Tom says. "What he's like, the
best way to deal with him in a face-to-face meeting."

"You want to meet with Jacob yourself?" Richards asks speculatively,
raising his brow. "May I ask why?"

Tom raises his brow in turn, and after a long, challenging moment of
silence, Richards nods his head in acknowledgement. "If I tell you,"
he says evenly, "what do I get in turn?"

Tom looks at him inquiringly, and Richards lifts his manacled hands
to the table in an expansive gesture. "I've cooperated, just as I said
I would," he points out. "I've answered every question they've asked
me. I've told you about Jacob, about how to get in touch with him and
set up meetings .... about the kind of information he's given me in the
past.
Surely giving you more entitles me to some special treatment."

"What were you expecting?" Tom asks mildly.

"My release," Richards responds, his voice suddenly gaining a slight
edge. "You have no legal right to hold me. You won't kill me .... I'm
too prominent a figure in the intelligence community for that. And
sooner or later, your holding me will put you at risk .... my men are
working as we speak to get me out."

"Actually," Tom says with a small smile, "they're not."

Richards' reaction to his words is barely perceptible, but Tom can
sense his shock and his unease, and his smile slowly grows.

"I find that hard to believe," Richards says finally.

"I don't see why." Tom rises from his chair to move back near
the wall, casually putting his hands in his pant pockets and noting
with satisfaction Richards' sudden flinch at Tom's movements. The
memory of what had happened before in a room just like this one
.... the careful questioning, Tom's hand on Richards' shoulder, the
sudden, violent sound of a bone breaking .... lies between them, and
Richards' lips tighten fractionally. "As I said before, you're the kind of
leader who fails to gain the loyalty of his people. And the fear that you
did generate isolates you in the end."

Leaning one shoulder against the wall, Tom watches Richards steadily.
"We've kept a close watch on this facility, and on your base of
operations,"
he says quietly. "There's been no activity, and one of your men who
agreed to go back to your organization as our informant says there's
been a power shake-up in your absence, and that your second in
command has taken over."

Tom gives Richards a small smile. "You're on your own, Mr. Richards.
I'd advise you to give me the information I need."

"Or .... ?" Richards asks, his momentarily weakness behind him and
his eyes challenging.

"Or," Tom says, straightening from his casual position and slowly
beginning a circle of the room, his hands still in his pockets, "I'll
continue questioning you until you do."

Richards stays still in his chair, his posture seemingly relaxed, refusing
to turn his head to watch as Tom circles behind him. But his pulse
rate quickens, and Tom, slowing his steps as he moves to stand
behind Richards' chair, senses his struggle with fear and anticipation.

"Now," Tom continues softly, "about Jacob .... "

--------------------

She had expected a flood of questions, even recriminations from
Ellen Peabody, questions that the landlady would feel she had to ask
for the boys' sake. Questions she'd ask herself if she'd been in her
place and suddenly wondered whether the boys were being held
against their will. What she hadn't expected was Ellen's look of
sympathy.

"It's hard to leave them alone with her even for a minute, isn't it?"
her landlady says, her blue eyes warm with concern.

"It is," Sloan confesses, and looks back over her shoulder at the
door, left open a crack and letting through the sound of murmured
voices.

Turning back to Ellen, Sloan clears her throat and tries to begin to
explain. "Mrs. Peabody," she says hesitantly, " .... Ellen, I know what
you must be thinking at this point, or at least wondering."

"You might be surprised," Ellen says cryptically, and, turning
around, bends down to begin tugging at a long, wide cardboard box
behind her. "Help me with this," she says a little breathlessly.
"We'll pull it over near the door so that we can sit and talk, and
still be able to hear them if they need you."

Reduced to silence by Ellen's unexpected sympathy, Sloan bends
down to help the older woman, and they quickly drag the box
over near the doorway and sit down on top of it, Sloan angled so
that she can keep track of the voices.

"It might make you feel better to talk to me about it," Ellen says
softly, her eyes searching Sloan's. "I know I come across as a busybody
.... too nosy for my own good, my Jack always said .... but I'm a
good listener, and it looks as though you could use one of those right
about now."

Sloan looks at Ellen silently for a long moment, seeing her sincerity
and suddenly needing her calm, reassuring presence. "It's hard to
know how to explain .... " she says slowly.

"Then let me start out for you," Ellen says, settling comfortably on
her side of the carton. "You took those boys in because of that
woman, didn't you? That woman, or her husband."

"What makes you say that?" Sloan asks curiously, startled at
Ellen's perception.

"There's something wrong about her," Ellen says thoughtfully, gazing
through the crack in the door. "Put yourself in her place .... your
sons are living with someone else, have been for at least a week,
and finally you get a chance to see them again. What would you do?
I'd be through that door in a shot, and have them in my arms before
they'd see me coming. I'd be hugging them, and scolding them, and
demanding to know why they weren't with me." Turning back to
Sloan, her eyes bright with emotion, she adds, "I'd also want to tear
a strip off whoever had them, whatever their reasons were. A mother's
protective instinct is a fierce thing, Sloan."

Glancing back at the door, she shakes her head in puzzlement.
"She didn't do any of those things. Didn't even speak to them at
first, didn't touch them ..... and they just stood and watched her.
And the looks on their faces .... " Looking at Sloan perceptively,
she says, "Those boys don't look that way at you. They watch
you, you know, when you're not looking .... I spotted that right
off when we were in your apartment together. Like they need to
keep you in their sight, just to reassure themselves. But when
they saw that woman, it was like their worst fears had come true.
That's not the way sons should look at their mother."

"Some families aren't as demonstrative as others," Sloan says
slowly, thinking over Ellen's words. "I know enough about her,
about the kind of people she comes from" -- 'how do I explain
this?' she wonders frantically -- "to know that they're very
reserved. Almost withdrawn when it comes to showing emotion.
That's what surprises me so much .... that she seems to care for
them as much as she does."

Ellen watches her silently for a moment, her brows crinkled in
a frown, and then she shakes her head again. "That may be so,"
she admits. "You would know more about her than I would.
But there had to be a reason why you wanted those kids with you ....
and why you're so uneasy just leaving her alone in the room with
them."

"Their father," Sloan says painfully, choosing her words with
care, "betrayed them both, in different ways. He put his interests
above theirs, and came close to risking both their lives to do so.
Tom saw what was happening, and took both of them under his
wing before they could be hurt. But their mother .... " She
looks at Ellen, her eyes torn with conflicting emotions. "She
*seems* so sincere."

"But if she let her husband do that, put her children at that kind of
risk, how sincere is she really?" Ellen asks, reaching out to clasp
Sloan's hand comfortingly. "That's what troubles you, isn't it?"

--------------------

"I'm disappointed in you, Shane," Judith says evenly, laying her
purse down on the chair and facing her older son with cool eyes.
"But then that shouldn't come as a surprise to you."

"It doesn't," he responds, tightening his hold on Trevor's shoulder.

"We've had to pay for your mistakes, for your failure to follow
your purpose in life." She puts her hands behind her back, and both
sons flinch momentarily at the sight. Among their earliest memories
as children is the sight of their mother in this pose, the guise of loving
mother that she puts on when humans are around dropped in favor of
the direct, uncompromising demands of a dominant mother entirely
dedicated to the cause of her species. "But you haven't thought of
that, have you? Or cared enough to realize the damage you've done
to us in the eyes of the Council."

"I've made the choices I needed to make," Shane says stubbornly.
"I won't be what you want me to be."

Judith looks at him consideringly, her hands tightening behind her.
She had insisted to Charles that she would get both their sons back,
but she had never held out much hope for this one. He had been
intransigent even at a young age, an aberrance among dominant
children his age and a humiliation to her. He had felt things, said
things, that were unfathomable to her, and if it weren't for concern
for how it would reflect on her, she would have let him go years
earlier.

But the young one, she thinks, looking down at him. He's the one
they need back most, the one who shows the most promise of
following in their footsteps and one day sitting on the Council.

"I'm disappointed in you, Trevor," she says, softening her voice
slightly, knowing that he responds best to persuasion rather than
force. "You knew what we'd gone through when Shane left ....
the shame it brought to us all. You suffered as much as we did."

Reaching out, she cups Trevor's chin in her hand and gently forces him
to look at her. "Why would you do this, Trevor?" she asks.
"Why would you make the same mistakes as your brother?"

He watches her silently out of troubled eyes, and, reading his guilt
and disquiet at having chosen Sloan Parker and Tom Daniels over
his parents -- over his species -- she uses it to her advantage.
"We taught you well, I thought, Trevor," she says softly. "To honor
your parents, your species, and your Council. To fight against the
humans. How could you do this to us?"

His eyes well with tears, and she tightens her lips at the sight, angry
that both of the sons she'd chosen to represent her among humans
in their guise as a suburban family were so weak, so fraught with
emotion. "Trevor," she says reprovingly, and he bites his lip, fighting to
keep the tears from overflowing. "Answer me, Trevor," she says,
tightening her hold on his chin a fraction.

"You don't have to answer her, Trev," Shane interrupts, tightening
his hold on his brother's shoulder and shooting Judith an angry
glance. But Trevor's eyes are caught in her gaze, and he seems
not to hear.

"Father .... " Trevor says falteringly, his lip trembling. "He left me
there .... he .... he didn't care .... "

"He didn't care?" Judith echoes, fighting to keep her voice
reasonable and not show the contempt that she has for him at
this moment. "There is no room in our lives for caring, or for
emotions, Trevor. You know that. They weaken us, lessen
our abilities to struggle against the humans." Trevor watches her
silently, his lip caught in his teeth, his head held up by her hand.

"Your father did what he had to, Trevor," she explains.
"What I would have done in his place. What any dominant
parent would have done. What I would expect you to do
someday."

Leaning down to look in his eyes, she says softly, "This is what
happens when you live among the humans, Trevor. You become
confused. You let your emotions take over, and that can be so
dangerous. You know you're safer at home with us, don't you,
Trevor?"

"Leave him alone, Mother," Shane warns, reaching out to pull
her hand away, but she gives him a searing look that has him
stopping his hand in midair, years of training at her hands clicking
into place automatically.

"Don't you, Trevor?" she repeats carefully, focusing her eyes back
on her younger son's, running her thumb along his cheek and keeping
his gaze locked on hers.

Finally, reluctantly, he nods his head, and she presses her advantage.
"And you'll tell that to Dr. Parker, won't you?" she says, keeping
her voice at the same even level and refusing to let him go.

Trevor's eyes darken at the mention of Sloan Parker's name,
and it seems to galvanize Shane as well, his hand lashing out to
grip her wrist in his and yank it away from Trevor's chin. "Leave him
alone," Shane says tightly, his voice rising. "You've said what you
wanted to. Now get out."

Judith straightens to glare at Shane, her hand coming up to rub
against the marks he's left on her wrist. "He's leaving with me,"
she says evenly, a thread of steel running through every word.

"No, he's not," a voice interrupts, and Judith whirls around to see
Sloan Parker standing in the doorway, her green eyes blazing
with anger. Shane and Trevor turn to look as well, relief flooding
their features.

"You had your time with your sons, Mrs. Baker," she says
bitingly. "I'll have to ask you to leave now."

"Dr. Parker," Judith says placatingly, angry at herself for not having
sensed the woman's presence at the door earlier in her absorption
with her sons, "please don't misunderstand."

"I don't see how I could, Mrs. Baker," Sloan Parker says,
standing with her hand on the doorknob, the older woman Judith
had seen with her earlier hovering behind her. "Your son asked
you to leave, and I'm asking you as well."

"If I could just explain," Judith says, reaching out to touch Trevor's
head in a gentle gesture and ignoring his slight start of fear and his
pleading look at Sloan, "Trevor needs a structure to his life.
Discipline, and reassurance. If I spoke to him or to Shane more
harshly than you would have liked, I apologize for that, but I assure
you .... "

"I don't want to hear it, Mrs. Baker," Sloan says, still standing
implacably at the door. "I've seen the way your husband deals
with your sons, and I've seen you now as well .... and I can tell you,
Mrs. Baker, that Tom and I won't be allowing you to take either
of your sons home with you."

Judith's lips tighten at that, and she curses herself inwardly for
misjudging this woman. Charles had warned her, but she had
been confident of her mastery over humans, and had badly
mismanaged this. "I don't believe you have that right, Dr.
Parker," she says gently. "We are their parents, and their
legal guardians."

Sloan Parker raises her eyebrows at this, and walks forward
to stand between Judith and the two boys, her voice lowered
so that only Judith could hear her words. "I wouldn't
use the law as a threat, Mrs. Baker," she says softly. "Not unless
you and your husband are prepared for retaliation on our part."

"Retaliation?" Judith replies just as softly, dropping her human
guise to look at Sloan calculatingly. "What could you do to
hurt us?"

"I could reveal you for who you are, Mrs. Baker," Sloan
says with an angry smile. "What would your husband's
employers think if they found out he was a dominant put in
place to destroy them? What would your neighbors and
friends think if they knew you were dominants, that you
use your children the way that you do?"

Judith's lips tighten despite herself, and Sloan Parker smiles
in satisfaction. "I thought so," she says softly, and hands Judith
the small purse. "It's time for you to leave, Mrs. Baker."

Judith studies Sloan Parker for a moment, her eyes cold
and steely, and then looks searchingly at her two sons standing
nearby, Shane with a hostile look on his face, Trevor tucked
against his side and watching Sloan with wide eyes.

In a slightly louder voice, aware that the older woman is still standing
in the doorway, Judith says, "I'm sorry that you've taken this
position, Dr. Parker. I would have thought that you, as a woman,
would understand a mother's need to be with her sons."

Sloan Parker's mouth twitches at this, and Judith can sense
her awareness that this performance is for the sake of the
watching landlady. "Please leave, Mrs. Baker," she says. "Now."

Inclining her head slightly in acknowledgement, Judith turns
to leave, and gives the watching woman at the door another
nod before making her way down the stairs.

Sloan Parker is a problem she hadn't counted on, Judith reflects
as she reaches the last step and opens the door leading out to
the street. Her next move, she calculates, will have to be made
when Trevor is alone.

--------------------

"How did it go?" Marcus asks tensely, looking up at Sam
Anderson ushers Tom back into Marcus's office.

"Well enough to be able to set up a meeting with Drew Richards'
contact at midnight tonight," Tom says, taking the same seat
he had occupied that morning during their meeting with Roger
Abbott. "Richards is convinced that this man Jacob can get
anything we need, for the right price."

Marcus frowns. "But can we trust what he tells us? If he's
willing to sell out his own people, what's to say he won't
betray us in a second to the Council if it's to his advantage?"

Tom's expression turns grim. "I'll convince him that it's
to his advantage to tell us what we want to know .... and to
keep his mouth shut about us."

"It doesn't feel right to me," Sam says unexpectedly, and looks
over at Tom from where he stands leaning against the door, his
arms crossed, his expression thoughtful. "Not that you can't control
him," he reassures Tom. "But that he would sell out the way he has."

Tom frowns at this, and nods his head slowly. "I've had the
same thought. It doesn't fit with the way we think, even those
of us who have turned our back on the Council." Looking up
at Sam thoughtfully, he says, "Richards was telling the truth about
Jacob's reliability, and the value of his information, I could sense
that much. But he was holding something back .... something about
the man himself." Hesitating for a moment, he reflects back on
his meeting with Drew Richards. "It's almost as if he wanted me
to think the worst of Jacob."

"More mind games?" Sam suggests.

"Probably," Tom agrees.

"Be careful tonight," Marcus cautions him, and receives a fleeting
smile in return. "I will," Tom says simply, and then looks at him
inquiringly. "You said you wanted to speak to me about something
else as well?"

"Two things, actually," Marcus acknowledges, and then hesitates
for a moment, looking at Tom searchingly. "We've talked a lot
today about Roger Abbott and what he could mean to the peace
movement. What we haven't talked about is the role that you could
play .... if you're willing."

Tom looks at him with surprise. "I don't understand," he says slowly.
"I'm willing to help you in any way that I can, but I don't see what I
could do."

"Be a leader, a spokesman for us," Marcus says intently. "You could
be the bridge we need between the humans and our own species,
Tom. You've got contacts through Walter Attwood .... you're
comfortable living among the humans .... and you're seen by many
of our species as the way of the future, someone who believes in
cooperation and lives it as part of your everyday life."

"I'm seen as a traitor by most of our people and you know it,
Marcus," Tom objects, his eyes darkening with pain. "There may be
people in your movement who believe in what I've done, but not
among the general population. I'd be a liability to you."

"You're wrong about that, Tom," Sam interjects quietly, and nods his
head when Tom flashes a startled look at him. "You haven't lived
among us for years now because of your chameleon work, so
you haven't seen the changes that have been taking place."

"What changes?" Tom asks with confusion.

"There is a growing faction among our species who believe that
the Council is too militant," Sam says, moving from his stance in front
of the door to stand near Marcus's desk, his arms crossed in front
of him, his eyes intent on Tom. "Not the ones who openly call for
peace, but the moderates, the ones who do what they're told but are
tired of the restricted lives they've had to lead. They want the freedom
to experience whatever traces of emotions we inherited from our
human ancestors without being penalized by the Council."

"That's why your defection had such a huge effect on us all,"
Marcus explains. "It wasn't just a case of a highly-placed chameleon
switching sides .... you became a symbol to them, a highly-trained,
dedicated member of their own species who turned his back on
Council teachings and who not only admitted to having feelings, but
acted on those feelings."

"Copeland told me that my leaving sparked a debate about the
existence of vestigial emotions in our people," Tom says slowly.
"He said that he suspected there were more of those emotions in
us than most were willing to admit."

"Why do you think we wanted you there at the negotiations we
held with Walter Attwood?" Marcus asks pointedly. "We saw
you as a bridge between our two species even then, someone
who we could trust because we respected the choice you'd made,
and what you'd rejected."

"I don't know .... " Tom says slowly, shaking his head. "I'm not
a politician, Marcus."

"But you *are* one of the Chosen," Marcus responds, and meets
Tom's wary look evenly. "We found out about that after you'd been
kidnapped .... it's the main reason we offered to work with Walter
to rescue you."

"I don't want any part of that," Tom says flatly. "The whole idea
of the Chosen fits in with the Council's drive to succeed against
the humans .... it's part of their mythology, not mine."

Marcus watches Tom silently for a minute and then leans forward,
his elbows on his desk. "Tom," he says gently. "Don't make the
mistake of rejecting us all and what we stand for because of the
Council, and people like Lewis and Charles Baker. There's good
in us, and good in our beliefs and our value system. The Chosen
are a basic part of our beliefs, you know that. And they don't have
to be a tool of the Council .... they can be the force behind our
peace movement, leaders who can bring us out of this trap we're
in of kill or be killed, and into a better era of coexistence."

Tom looks down at his hands, absently pleating and unpleating
his fingers, and Marcus presses his point. "Just imagine the power you
could have, Tom. A member of the Chosen, speaking out for
peace. Dealing with the humans, and making them understand
what we're about. You would be invaluable to us."

Tom shakes his head mutely, his eyes firmly fixed on the
restless movements of his hands, and Marcus looks over to
Sam in silent appeal.

"I think Tom needs time to think this over, Marcus," Sam suggests,
watching Tom carefully. "Why not leave this with him for now,
and talk about it again later?"

Tom stays quiet, and Marcus gives Sam a reluctant nod of
agreement. "That brings us to the second reason I wanted to
meet with you again," he says slowly. "We think we've found
a way to break through the shut-off mechanism Lewis programmed
into your memory."

Tom rises his head at that and looks at Marcus intently. "How?"

"I've been able to go over some of the notes made by Lewis's
scientists at the time they developed the mechanism," Sam
explains, coming to sit down beside Tom. "They were thorough
.... in addition to creating the shut-down code that they planted
in your consciousness, they came up with a way of defusing it,
should Lewis ever want that done."

"What does it involve?" Tom asks, and frowns as Sam darts a
quick look at Marcus. "You'd have to be hypnotized
again, and started on the regression therapy," Sam explains. "Then,
when the shut-off mechanism is poised to go into action, I defuse
it with a series of electrical impulses designed by Lewis's people.
The danger is in the timing .... if I don't hit it at the exact moment,
the shut-down mechanism goes into effect."

"It's a big risk, Tom," Marcus says with concern. "From what Walter
said, you almost died the last time you underwent the regression therapy.
Are you sure it's worth it?"

Tom's eyes darken as he looks away for a moment. "Things have
changed somewhat since I asked you for help," he says quietly.
"The dreams are gone, for the moment at least, and Sloan's helped me
with the worst of my memories."

"Then maybe you should let it alone," Marcus suggests. "Put Lewis
in your past, where he belongs."

Tom looks back at Marcus searchingly, and then shakes his head. "I
can't, Marcus. Not if I want to go on with my life. I'm not having
the dreams any more, but the questions they raised are still there, and
I keep wondering what more there is that I'm not remembering."
His eyes darken with remembered memories and horrors. "What
he did to me .... sterilizing me like that. If he could do that, he could
do worse, and I need to know what that is."

Turning to Sam, Tom asks, "How soon can we schedule a session?"

"Tomorrow, if you want," Sam says slowly. "I'd want Walter here
for it, and Sloan, just to be on the safe side. They were here the last
time you went under, and would know the warning signs to watch for."

"I'll call Walter to arrange a time," Tom says, "and then I'll get back to
you."

"Tom .... " Marcus says warily.

"I need to do this, Marcus," Tom insists, turning to face him. "For
my own peace of mind."

"All I ask you to do is think it over tonight, Tom," Marcus cautions
him. "You're a valuable member of our team, whether you agree to
be leader or not. We don't want to lose you, not to something in
your past that no longer holds any power over you."

"But that's the problem, Marcus," Tom points out quietly. "I'm
not sure that it doesn't."

--------------------

Picking up the last of his scattered notes, Ed flashes Martin a
look of satisfaction. "For a first planning session, I think it went
well,"
he says. "When do we get to meet the rest of the senior people from
your lab?"

"I'd like to set up a meeting within the next day or two," Martin
says with a weary sigh, leaning back in his chair. "We can bring
you up to date on what we've done so far, options we've discussed,
and see what your people think."

"Sounds good to me," Ed says with a nod, collecting some of
the empty coffee cups and crumpled papers that give mute testimony
to the long meeting held that afternoon in the main conference room
of Whitney Lab, and tossing them in the nearby wastepaper basket.
"The more we know the better, especially when it comes to what
kind of timeframe we're dealing with."

"I'll have Sarah set up a time and place for the meeting," Martin
says, making an note to himself on papers spread in front of him.

Ed glances out the windowed wall of the conference room to
Sarah Fielding, who had left the meeting the minute it had concluded
and was now sitting on one of the lab stools, studying her
notes with a frown.

"What's up with her, anyway?" Ed asks curiously, turning back to Martin.
"I would have thought anyone from Marcus's lab would be open
to dealing with us, but she seems to have judged us before we've
even started."

Martin glances Sarah's way and then back at Ed with a rueful
smile. "That's just Sarah's way," he says apologetically. "She's
tough on everyone .... she sets high standards for herself, and
expects everyone else to do the same."

"But she seems to distrust humans so much," Ed points out, taking
up a perch on the edge of the conference table and looking at
Martin inquiringly. "Why does she work with the peace movement
if she thinks so little of us?"

"Don't misunderstand," Martin warns, leaning forward, his elbows
on the table and his gaze intent. "Sarah's dedicated her life to the
cause of peace. She hates what people like Lewis have done ....
what they've made people like you think about our species. But
she's a lab rat .... she's spent all of her time working behind the
scenes and has never dealt on a one-to-one basis with humans
before now. She's feeling awkward, and so she's acting defensive."

"What about you?" Ed asks, propping his feet up on the chair
in front of him and leaning forward to lean his elbows on his knees.
"I'd say you've lived with humans most of your life."

"Is it that obvious?" Martin asks with a laugh, leaning back in
his chair again and tucking his hands in his pockets.

"Oh yeah," Ed says with a grin. "You joke around, you were
very relaxed when you met each of our people .... if I didn't know
better, I'd have said you were one of us."

"Some of my species adapted much more readily to blending in
with humans than others," Martin says reflectively. "I guess my
parents were among them. They encouraged us to play after school
with human friends, to get involved in a social life, and they did
the same thing with our neighbors. And it was just more that putting
on a front to blend in .... we really got involved in our lives among
humans.
After a while, I think my parents came to believe that coexistence
was not only possible but preferable."

"So you had a normal childhood?" Ed asks curiously. "From
what Tom's told us, I didn't think dominant families allowed their
kids to *be* kids."

"Tom Daniels is a different case," Martin explains, frowning down
at the scattered notes in front of him. "My parents willingly adapted
to life among the humans. I'd say Tom's family was much more militant
.... those were the ones most willing to volunteer their children for the
chameleon program."

Shaking his head, he looks up at Ed with serious eyes. "I've heard
enough about the chameleon program to know that it was brutal.
To be honest, I was surprised when I heard that he was working with
you .... I hadn't expected that anyone who went through that kind of
training to be open to peace with humans. Or be as comfortable working
with you. I thought they'd be too programmed to even consider the
possibility."

"It was tough for him at first," Ed says, thinking back over the early,
awkward days of his association with Tom Daniels. "But Sloan
helped him come to terms with what he was, and what he could do,
and he's changed a lot since then."

"Sloan Parker," Martin says with a grin and a raised eyebrow. "Now
that really shocked me .... learning that Tom was in love with a human.
Just the idea of a member of my species being 'in love' with a human
is almost unheard of. But for a former chameleon to give way to his
emotions like that .... that shook the foundations of our whole species
She must be quite a woman .... I can't wait to meet her."

"You will," Ed says with a smile. "She's taken a few days
off to deal with some personal stuff, but she should be in tomorrow.
And yeah, she is quite a woman .... she fought for Tom long before
we were ready or willing to accept him." Looking at Martin
curiously, he asks, "What about you? Do the more moderate
dominants believe in love, or lasting relationships?"

Martin looks startled at Ed's question, and then grins up at him, the
corners of his eyes crinkling. "What is this .... Understanding The
New Species 101?"

Ed flushes at Martin's teasing, but takes it good-naturedly and
nods his head, grinning in return. "Always the scientist," he admits.
Quirking his eyebrow at Martin inquiringly, he presses his question
again. "So? Do dominants fall in love?"

Martin's grin widens. "Do dominants fall in love?" he echoes, and
then glances out at Sarah again, his expression becoming reflective.
"We do form lasting relationships," he says finally. "My parents were
very close, and not just the close unit of two people on a mission
They genuinely cared for each other, and for us." Tilting
his head in thought, he tries to explain. "Those of us who aren't
militant, who believe in coexistence, are the ones who don't fear the
traces of emotion within them, I think. Who see the emotions that
humans express freely, and feel those same emotions inside themselves,
however much they've been taught to deny them."

Looking down at the table, a shadow crosses his face. "I saw what
my parents had, and I've wanted that for myself," he says in a quiet
voice. "I just haven't found the right person yet." Then, his
expression lightening, he looks back up at Ed with a smile. "But
that's not to say I've stopped looking. What about you?"

"Same thing," Ed says ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck with
one hand. "There have been a few relationships, but nothing
serious, and nothing long-standing. I've always been too wrapped
up with my work, and with Sloan around I never felt as though I
needed anyone else."

"Sloan?" Martin asks curiously.

"Don't get me wrong," Ed says, looking out at Sarah reflectively.
"There was never anything romantic between us, although I
wondered, when we first met back in college, if there might be.
But it didn't seem right .... we were best friends from the minute
we met, and that's the way we seemed to fit together. And we've
stayed best friends for years, always working together, spending
time together after work .... with Sloan around, I never needed
anyone else." And then, giving Martin a knowing look,
Ed grins. "Well, except for times when I needed more than a
hand to hold."

"Uh-huh," Martin says, grinning back. "I've been there myself a
few times."

Nodding in Sarah's direction, Ed looks at Martin inquiringly. "You
looked over at her when I asked you about dominant relationships.
Was there ever anything .... ?"

"With Sarah?" Martin echoes. "Never .... we work together and
that's it. I'm not sure Sarah would ever be open to anything more,
even if I wanted it. She may be part of the peace movement, but
that's one woman who hasn't embraced her emotional side .... not
at all."

Ed watches the small woman for a moment, sitting silently on her
stool, still studying the papers spread out in front of her. She still
rubs him the wrong way .... her silent, tight-lipped presence at
the meeting had left him constantly aware of her distrust .... but
the sight of her out there, seemingly isolated from everything
around her, suddenly has him feeling sorry for her.

"What do you say we go out for a drink?" Martin suggests,
bringing Ed's attention back to him. "To put a seal on our working
relationship, and hopefully on a promising friendship as well?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," Ed says, rising from his perch on
the edge of the table and watching as Martin gets up from his
chair and begins gathering up his handwritten notes. "What
about including Sarah?"

Martin glances up at Ed for a minute, a look of surprise on his
face. "I didn't think you liked her."

"I don't," Ed says promptly, and then catches himself. "Not
really. We got off to a bad start." Looking back out at her
and watching as she suddenly raises her head and looks back
at him, her face solemn, he adds, "I just thought it might help .... "

"Trust me, it won't," Martin says, gathering the last of his
papers in one hand and clapping Ed on the back with the other.
"Sarah's always refused our invitations to socialize, even among
our own people. Asking her would just make her feel uncomfortable."

"If you're sure .... " Ed says, his eyes on Sarah's dark, unfathomable
ones.

"I'm sure, Ed," Martin says, heading to the door and opening it
with a glance back at Ed. "Shall we go?"

"Hmm?" Ed asks, watching as Sarah looks over at Martin for a
moment, a flicker of emotion crossing her face. It almost looked
like confusion, Ed thinks to himself. But about what?

"Ed?" Martin asks again. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," Ed says slowly, "I'm ready."

Ushering Martin out ahead of him, Ed keeps his eye on Sarah as
they walk past her in the lab, Martin saying a casual good-bye to
her. She doesn't respond, her head bent over her papers and her
face obscured by a lock of honey-brown hair that's come loose from
her bun and fallen forward.

Ed hesitates as he walks by, but keeps going, her silence a palpable
thing behind him.

--------------------

Sloan meets Tom at the door when he finally arrives back at the
apartment that night, giving him an anxious smile and a kiss as she
takes his jacket from him.

"I'm glad you're here," she confesses, and he pauses in the act
of putting his keys down on the bookshelf next to the door to
look at her with concern. "What's wrong, Sloan?" he asks.
Looking past her at Shane and Trevor, who sit close together
on the couch watching t.v., he frowns. "What's happened?"

"Their mother came today," Sloan says quietly, keeping her
voice low. "Judith Baker. I didn't know what to do .... she
wanted to speak to them, and she seemed so sincere that I let
her. But when she got them alone, she really went after them
.... I heard enough to know that she's as bad as their father,
and I threw her out." She glances back at the boys, and then
looks at Tom with eyes filled with concern. "They haven't
said a word since she left, and Trevor's really been clinging to
Shane."

"Are you all right?" Tom asks, cupping her cheek in his hand
as he looks at her searchingly. "Did she threaten you?"

"I'm okay," Sloan reassures him. "I think she wanted to, but
Ellen Peabody was here and so she acted the part of the
concerned mother, even after I'd caught her." Shaking her head,
Sloan looks at Tom unhappily. "I'm just so mad at myself for
leaving them alone with her .... I should have trusted my instincts
and said no."

"You couldn't have known, Sloan," Tom says soothingly, rubbing his
thumb against her cheek. "You did what you thought was best."

"I know," she confesses, and then looks back at Trevor and Shane.
"We need to talk to them, Tom. Make them feel better, somehow."

"We will," Tom says, slipping an arm around her waist and
walking with her toward the couch. Shane and Trevor watch
his approach with troubled eyes, Trevor tucked up under a woolen
blanket Sloan had left on the couch, his hands picking against a
frayed spot along the blanket's fringe.

"I heard what happened," Tom says quietly, kneeling down in
front of Trevor. "Are you all right?"

Trevor nods silently, his eyes wide, but his nervous movements
don't stop and Tom reaches out to put his hand on top of Trevor's
and still his jittery fingers. "She can't get you back, Trevor,"
Tom says. "Not unless you want her to."

"I don't," Trevor says in a small voice, looking down at Tom's
hand covering his own, and curving his fingers to fit into Tom's
palm. "I should, but I don't."

"What do you mean, you should?" Sloan asks softly, sitting
down on the couch beside Trevor and placing her hand on
the part of the blanket covering his knee.

Trevor looks over at her uncertainly. "It's my responsibility,
isn't it?" he asks her, his eyes filled with guilt. "To be a good son,
to do what my mother and father tell me to?" Looking back down
at Tom's hand, his voice lowers. "Isn't it?"

"Not if your parents aren't good to you in turn, Trevor," Tom
says quietly, squeezing Trevor's hand in his. Looking up at Shane,
he asks, "What did she say to you?"

Shane looks at him out of shadowed eyes, and his attempt at a
casual shrug fails. "She didn't expect to get me back, or even want
to, for that matter .... she made that pretty clear," he says bitterly.
"But she really went after Trev .... about how disappointed she
was in him, how he was learning all the wrong things staying with
you." He cast a swift glance at Trevor's downturned face. "How
our father was right to leave him where he was in that plant, and
how she would have done the same thing."

His mouth tightening, he looked back at Tom. "She wanted him
to agree to go home with her, and to tell Dr. Parker .... to tell
Sloan that it was his idea."

Sloan looks stricken at this, and raises her hand to smooth Trevor's
tumbled hair back from his forehead. "I'm so sorry, Trevor," she
says quietly. "I should never have let her near you. It's just that
she seemed to care for you so much .... the way she looked at you,
and touched you .... "

Trevor looks at her miserably, and Shane shakes his head. "Don't
blame yourself, Sloan," he says quietly. "She's good at what she
does .... she's put on the loving-mother act for all of our human
neighbors and friends for years, and they buy it."

"When she touches me," Trevor says quietly, looking down at
Tom's hand, "it's not real. Not like when you touch me." His eyes
meet Tom's, and then he turns to look up at Sloan. "When you touch
me, I can feel what you feel .... that you like me, and that
you want to be with me." Looking back at Tom, he shifts his fingers
under Tom's and shivers. "When she touches me, it doesn't mean
anything. I wish it did, but it doesn't."

Sloan makes a wordless sound of protest at this, and puts her arms
around Trevor, hugging him close to her. His hand still in Tom's,
Trevor turns his face into the side of her neck and, closing his eyes,
quietly starts to cry. Cradling his head in her hand, Sloan tucks him
more closely against her and begins to rock him from side to side,
murmuring to him quietly.

Shane looks at Tom helplessly as he listens to Trevor's sobs, and
after one last squeeze of Trevor's hand Tom rises to his feet and
beckons Shane to follow him up to the bedroom, closing the doors
behind him and motioning him to sit on the bed beside him.

"What aren't you telling me?" Tom asks quietly, looking at Shane
evenly.

Shane looks at him silently for a moment and then turns away,
a flash of pain in his eyes. "I don't think she'll stop at this, Tom,"
he says in a subdued voice. "She didn't come after me when I left
because I had no value to her. She'd already given up on me. But
she's always seen Trevor as her hope .... her future."

"Why didn't you tell me about her before, when you were talking
about your family?" Tom asks him gently. "You only mentioned
your father as a problem."

"I guess it's because he's the one who was so up front in his
disappointment in me," Shane confesses, rubbing his forehead
wearily. "He was the one who ran our lives, and dealt with us
on a day-to-day basis. She played the loving mother when humans
were around, and then withdrew from us when they weren't.
It's like we were props in her life .... she only dealt with us
occasionally, when we didn't do what we were supposed to, or
messed up somehow. The rest of the time, she ignored us."

Looking at Tom with eyes filled with pain, Shane shakes his head.
"You don't know what she's like, Tom. She's hard, even for
someone in our species, and she's ambitious. She uses us to make
her look good among the humans and with the people she works
with on the Council, and when we don't cooperate, she's ruthless.
When I rebelled, she froze me out .... maybe because she couldn't
get through to me any other way."

"And Trevor?" Tom asks.

"Trevor she manipulates," Shane says, his voice turning harsh.
"She uses his feelings of obligation against him. And she uses his
need for affection against him. He'd do anything to get a word of
approval from her or from my father, and they made him jump through
hoops to get it, each in their own way. That's why he wouldn't come
away with us before. He accepted everything they said as absolute truth
because that would please them, and there's no way he could accept
what we were saying about the chameleon program, or his leaving
home. I knew that, but I still had to try."

"You think she'll be back," Tom says flatly, fighting to keep his
anger in check.

"I *know* she will," Shane says, looking at Tom bleakly.

"Then we'll just have to be ready for her," Tom says, and looks at
his watch with frustration. "I have to go out tonight .... I've got a
meeting set up for midnight, and I can't miss it." Looking back up
at Shane, he asks, "Do you think she'll be back tonight?"

Shane considers this and shakes his head. "Not so soon. She'll
want to rethink her approach." Crinkling his brow in thought, he
suddenly looks up at Tom. "I'm betting she'll wait until both of you
are gone. I saw the look in Mother's eyes when Sloan stood up to
her today .... she knows Sloan's smart, smarter than she'd given her
credit for, and she'll wait until Sloan's out of the way before making
her move."

"We'll have to make sure that he's never alone, then," Tom says
thoughtfully. "I'll talk to Sloan, and we'll work out a schedule
of some kind."

Taking in the weary, defeated look on Shane's face, Tom reaches
a hand out to grip his shoulder. "How are you doing, Shane? Seeing
your mother today can't have been easy for you."

"I'm all right," Shane says automatically, ducking his head. "Trevor's
the one she went after."

"That must have been difficult for you, though," Tom says perceptively.
"Knowing that she wanted him, but wasn't going to fight for you."

Shane shrugs his shoulders, and looks at Tom with resignation.
"You get used to it after a while."

Tom watches him carefully for a minute, keeping his hand on his
shoulder, and then grips it encouragingly. "What do you say we
check with Sloan and Trevor, and order in a pizza tonight? I
think we all need a break .... you can tell me what happened with
the apartment today, and Mrs. Peabody."

Shane nods his head, his sad expression lightening a bit, and rises
off the bed as Tom does. "Shane," Tom says, hesitating for a
moment before reaching to open the doors to the living room.
"I know it hurts .... to have a mother like that. Mine was very
much like yours, I think."

Shane stills at Tom's words, dropping his gaze to look down at the
floor. "You may say that you're used to it," Tom adds, watching
him closely, "but it doesn't get any easier, does it?"

Shane looks up at Tom silently and then shakes his head, a small movement
that brings with it a cracking of Shane's careful control, and his eyes
grow bright with tears. Wordlessly Tom pulls him into his arms, and
feels Shane shudder, his breath coming unevenly.

"Your parents are fools," Tom says softly. "You know that, don't you?"

Shane shakes his head mutely and buries his face against Tom's shoulder,
his arms holding on to Tom tightly.

"They are," Tom insists, finally drawing back to look at Shane intently,
his hands on his shoulders. "I would give anything for sons like you.
Anything."

Shane ducks his head at this, and then looks up at Tom with a
watery smile. "Well, it looks like you have us."

Tom gives him an encouraging grin back. "I guess I do."

--------------------

Carefully shutting the door behind her, Judith Baker stands in
the hallway of her large, suburban house and contemplates her future.
The house is silent and waiting, none of the muted sounds of
sons in the family room, busy with their homework, or of her husband in
the library. Charles is still at the Council chambers, and her sons
.... her sons are with that woman.

Judith's lips tighten slightly at the thought of her failure today,
and she carefully lays her purse and keys down on the table in
the hall before walking into the tastefully-appointed living room.
Standing there, surveying the furniture and colors she had chosen
so carefully, she reviews her options. She and Charles have
established themselves not only in the upper echelons of her species,
but among the humans as well. She sits on the school board
and on the board of their local church, while Charles spends two
nights a week serving as advisor for prominent charities. They have
established themselves as pillars of the community .... no one would
question their sincerity or their commitment. But now Sloan Parker
holds the power to bring all of that down on their heads.

Letting Dr. Parker win is not an option. Neighbors are asking after
both Trevor and Shane. The school principal has contacted her about
Trevor's absence, and the few friends that she had allowed Shane still
call repeatedly. And, worse, her colleagues had begun asking questions.

Shane she could explain away. A restless, rebellious boy, always
the unhappy one in the family, striking out on his own despite the best
efforts of his two, loving parents. A tragedy, but one that many parents
were all too familiar with. Even the disapproval and questions among
the members of her species had died down after a while in the face
of Charles's promising future with the Council, and her own grip on
power.

But Trevor. Judith's eyes darken as she takes a tour through the
living room, reaching out to straighten a picture already hanging perfectly
straight on the walls, adjusting a framed photograph slightly. Trevor
can't be explained away, and won't be. She had chosen among her
children carefully in light of her mistake with Shane. When it came
to Trevor and his three siblings, she had selected the one who was the
first-born and the largest of the four to come from that pregnancy. The
others .... Judith passes on into the dining room, shifting one of the
gracefully-designed Queen Anne chairs slightly, surveying the shining,
polished surface of the matching table with satisfaction. The others had
been dealt with, and Trevor would have to do.

The question was, how to get him back?

Making her way through the spotless family room, her sons' books lined
up neatly on the bookshelves, their last pieces of schoolwork aligned in
piles on the computer table in the corner, she reaches for the phone and
punches in a familiar number.

"Gerald," she says authoritatively as her chief assistant answers. "Set
up surveillance for me on Sloan Parker's residence. You'll find the
address on my desk."

Glancing over at one of Trevor's drawings, carefully pinned to the
refrigerator door, she nods her head. "That's the one. I want to
know Sloan Parker's movements .... when she leaves each day,
and when she returns."

Walking over to adjust the picture, she adds, "And Gerald, I want
this done quietly. No report to the Council, no report to the
Administrator. Put the requisition in the file we have on Tom
Daniels."

Hanging up, she walks over to the refrigerator, a frown marring
her face. She had disapproved of her son's artistic bent, regarding it
as a sign of weakness. But the sight of other women in her neighborhood
pinning their children's work up on their refrigerator doors had made
her think twice, and after carefully observing them she had taken
some of Trevor's drawings and done the same thing. Their comments
and praise when she had had them over for tea recently had convinced
her of the rightness of her actions; it had increased their estimation of
her as a proud and doting mother.

The one drawing has become worn with time, however, its
edges frayed with the constant opening and closing of the refrigerator
door. Noting its imperfection, she removes it from its place on
the door and crumples it tightly in her hand, reaching up with her
other hand to adjust the remaining drawings accordingly.

Then, taking one last look around her gleaming kitchen, she opens
the cupboard door below the sink and tosses the crumpled paper
into the plastic garbage container.

--------------------

Clearing up the last of the empty pizza boxes and dirty plates, Sloan
pauses in front of her refrigerator door and looks at the drawing
Trevor had shyly offered her earlier two days ago. It's of Tom, a
character study of amazing depth and detail for a boy Trevor's
age, done in pencil on one of the sheets of paper she'd given
to him.

She had watched him scribble on cast-off bits of paper in
his first two days with them, drawing on whatever he could find, and
so she had picked up a pad of drawing paper from a local stationery
story and been rewarded with a look of pleasure and excitement
in his eyes when she gave it to him. This drawing had been the first
thing he produced on that paper, done quietly one night as he sat
on the couch by her side and watched as Tom and Shane built
a fire and sat in front of it, talking with each other. Sloan had
pretended to keep reading her book, but had kept one eye on
his drawing and had watched with amazement as Tom's face
emerged with a few deft strokes of Trevor's hand.

She had kept quiet over the next few days, not wanting
to scare him off, as he filled page after page with his drawings,
but finally he had caught her poring over the picture of Tom
after he'd left his pad open to that page on the dining-room
table. Silently moving forward, he had very carefully torn
the page out of the pad and handed it to her, his eyes solemn,
and had watched as she fastened the picture to the refrigerator
door with magnets, tracing her hand for a moment over the
lines of Tom's face and looking back at Trevor with a smile.
His look of pride had caught at her heart, and she treasured
the drawing as much for that as for anything.

Looking at the drawing now, she reaches out and touches it
again. Trevor had caught Tom in a contemplative mood, a slight
smile on his face, and she moves her finger across the line of his
lips lingeringly.

"He's got real talent, doesn't he?" Tom asks softly, standing
close behind her.

"He does," she says with a sigh, leaning back into him and feeling
his arms come around her waist. "I don't understand .... "

"What?" he prompts her quietly, moving his cheek against
hers as they both admire the drawing.

"I don't understand her," Sloan says, her voice troubled. "How
she could treat him the way she does? He's so sweet and gentle,
and has so much talent. Why isn't that enough for her?"

"Because she's one of the worst of them," Tom says, tightening
his arms around her. "They see their children as soldiers in a war,
Sloan. Art has no place in their world. Neither does emotion,
or a gentle nature."

"What did Shane tell you?" she asks quietly, turning in his arms to look
past him at the two boys tucked up close together on the couch,
watching t.v. "Does he think she's coming back?"

"He does," Tom says with an nod. "He thinks she'll wait until you're
gone to make her next move."

Her eyes shadowed with worry, she looks at Tom searchingly. "What
can we do to protect him?"

"For now, we'll make sure that one of us is always with him," he responds.
"You have him with you at the lab, or I'll take him with me to Marcus's."

"I was hoping to enroll him in school soon," Sloan says, looking over
at Trevor with concern. "Both of them need to get on with their lives.
But I'm afraid to now .... she could take him right out of the schoolyard,
and we don't have the legal authority to fight her."

"I've been planning to talk to Marcus about schools," Tom says
thoughtfully,
turning to watch the two boys, his arm settling around Sloan's waist.
"A lot of his people have their children concentrated in a few schools.
I was thinking we could enroll Trevor in one, where he could meet other
children of his kind .... children raised more freely than he was. And I
could have some of Marcus's people watch him, to keep him safe."

"I'd like that," Sloan says wistfully, leaning into him. "We need to
talk to Shane about what he wants to do now too. Finish high school,
and then look into a good college maybe?"

"Maybe," Tom concedes, tilting his head in thought. "He hasn't
said anything, but then I don't think he's let himself think about the
future up until now." Tom watches as Shane leans over to listen
to Trevor for a minute, their fair heads coming close together, and
sighs quietly. "Their parents damaged both of them .... it's going
to take them a while to believe that they *have* a future."

"Then it's up to us to help them believe," Sloan says, tightening
her arm around his waist.

"They seem excited about the prospect of their own bedrooms,"
Tom says. "Did Mrs. Peabody say how soon the work can be done?"

"We didn't get around to that," Sloan confesses. "Judith Baker's
arrival put everything on hold, and Ellen left us alone once she
was gone. But we'd already talked generally about what to do
.... I imagine she'll be here bright and early tomorrow to start
planning."

"With Davey in the next room, hard at work," Tom teases, and Sloan
laughs softly. "She's a character, all right," she admits. "But she's
perceptive too .... she knew right away that there was something
wrong with Judith Baker, and seemed as worried about the boys as
I was. Something tells me she's decided to mother them both, whether
they want it or not."

"We could use her eyes and ears around here," Tom says reflectively.
"She sees everything that happens, and would know the minute Judith
tried to get back in here."

"Davey will be around too during the renovation," Sloan agrees. "I'll
ask them both to keep an eye out for her, or for anyone suspicious-
looking."

"I don't know," Tom drawls slightly, giving her a wicked grin. "I think
Mrs. Peabody sees something suspicious in just about everybody
these days .... she *is* keeping an eye out for those nasty dominants,
you know."

Sloan laughs helplessly at that, turning her head into his shoulder to
muffle her chuckles. "I thought I was going to die when
she started to talk about dominants," she says, trying to catch her breath.
"I kept wondering what she'd think if she knew she was in a room with
three of them."

Tom chuckles softly. "She'd probably be torn between reporting
us to the authorities, and asking us questions for hours."

"*And* staring at you in fascination," Sloan teases, lifting her head
to grin at him with sparkling eyes. "You did give her the smooth FBI
act, after all. All that charm, and that friendly smile. And the way
you held her hand just a little too long."

Tom grins unrepentantly. "It worked on you, didn't it?"

"So the truth comes out," she says with mock suspicion. "You do
that to all the human women you come across!"

"Not all of them," he says, his mood suddenly turning gentle as he lifts
his hands to trace her lips.

"Oh really?" she says with a soft grin, her eyes falling to his lips and
watching as he moves closer.

"Really," he says quietly, leaning forward to kiss her gently, his mouth
lingering over hers. Lifting her hand to curve around the back of his
neck, she drifts her lips over his, pressing softly as she feels his breath
quicken.

Bringing her closer against him, his hand kneading the base of her
spine, Tom returns her kiss, opening his mouth to hers, and then moves
his lips over the soft skin of her cheek, lingering at her jawline and
moving on to her ear.

A burst of muffled laughter coming from the couch stops him in the
middle of his exploration of her ear. Breaking away just long enough
to glance over at Trevor and Shane and watching them laugh at the
movie they're watching, Tom looks back at Sloan ruefully, and give
her a small grin. "How soon did Mrs. Peabody think it would take to
get those rooms built?"

"Not soon enough," Sloan grins back, kissing him one last time and
then burying her head in his shoulder with a muffled groan. "Not
soon enough."

--------------------

Charles closes the door to his office with a smile of satisfaction on
his face. Not the office he toils in all day as a city government
worker, but the one he holds in the Council's main west coast
building and only visits at night, once his day job is done.

His smile grows wider as he takes in the size of the office itself
.... a recent promotion has given him larger quarters and office
furniture more suitable to one of his stature within the Council's
administration.

Crossing the richly carpeted space to his desk, he takes his
seat behind it and punches in the most often called number on
his speed-dial phone. His home number, and his contact with
Judith, who has been waiting for word on his progress.

"What happened?" she asks abruptly, her voice impatient.

"He's in," Charles reports. "We're getting our first reports back
from him, and so far it seems to be working."

"Does Tom Daniels suspect?"

"Not so far .... he's convinced that Daniels bought his cover
story." Charles leans back in his chair and loosens his tie as he
speaks, the smile on his face widening with each word.

"How quickly can he put his plan into action?"

"He wants time to settle in, and deal with any suspicion he might
raise to lull them into a false sense of security. When we spring
this trap, we want it done right, and with Tom Daniels involved,
we'll have to be particularly careful."

"The longer he's in there, the greater the chance that he'll be
discovered," she warns him. "Lewis claimed that Daniels was
the most intuitive student he ever had .... he could break through
the masking if it's not done well enough."

"I know that," Charles says, an edge of impatience entering his
voice. "We've taken that into consideration .... he's been trained
by the best of Lewis's men and put through hours of testing to
see if they could break him. They couldn't, and neither will
Daniels."

"Good. I want Tom Daniels taken in, Charles .... now more than ever."

"Why?" he asks, straightening in his chair at the sound of her voice.
"What happened today?"

"You were right," she says grimly. "Sloan Parker is smarter than
I'd counted on."

"You didn't get them back?" Charles asks.

"Not yet. I'll need to get Trevor alone .... I almost had him agreeing
to come home, and then she stepped in and stopped me."

"How?" he asks, his brow wrinkling with concern.

"She threatened to expose us both to the humans if we took him."
Judith's voice tightens. "She was serious, Charles .... she would have
done it if I'd tried to take Trevor by force."

"What about Shane?" Charles asks.

"Forget Shane," Judith responds. "He's a lost cause, you've said so
yourself. Trevor we can handle .... all we need to do is get him alone."

"What are you planning?" Charles turns in his chair and stares out
at the dark night, his brow furrowed.

"I've got Sloan Parker's apartment under surveillance. I'll wait until
she leaves, and go in to get him."

"Any chance of interference?" he asks with concern.

"A landlady I met there today," Judith says thoughtfully. "She
doesn't trust me .... I could feel her suspicion as soon as I arrived.
I'll watch to make sure she's gone as well."

"Be careful," Charles warns. "This has to be done quietly, and
before Daniels can stop us."

"I know that," she responds, an edge entering her voice. "When
will you be home?"

"Soon," he says, checking his watch. "Our meeting just ended ....
I have two people I need to talk to and then I'll be on my way."

"Good," she says briefly, and he can hear the pages of her day
book flipping as she pauses. "The Fergusons have that open
house tonight .... I'd warned them we'd be there late, but we have
to make an appearance."

"Judith," he protests, but she cuts him off impatiently.

"The questions are getting worse, Charles," she says bluntly.
"Amy Penrose stopped me on my way in tonight to ask again
where Trevor was. I gave her the story about both boys visiting
my aunt, but people are wondering why we'd send them away
during the school year. We have to come up with a better
explanation, and give it out tonight at the Fergusons'."

Nodding his agreement, he checks his watch again. "I'll leave
as soon as I can," he agrees. "Set my blue suit out, will you?

"I will," she says. "And Charles?"

"Yes?"

"Pick up some milk on the way home. We're almost out, and the
maid forgot to pick some up when she was out at the market."

"Yes, dear," Charles says, already slipping effortlessly into
his human guise as he anticipates the evening ahead.

--------------------

"I wish you didn't have to go," Sloan says quietly, looking up from
her spot next to Trevor on their bed. They had chosen the bed over
his chair tonight in the expectation that Judith's visit will lead to
another
session of nightmares for him, and Sloan wants to be close to him
when they happen.

"So do I," Tom says softly, leaning down to touch Trevor's tousled
hair gently. He smiles at the sight of Trevor's drawing pad, tucked
firmly in the sleeping boy's arms, and straightens the edge of the blanket
under his chin. "But Marcus needs this information."

"Do you know anything about this man Jacob?" she asks with
concern. "I mean, can you trust anyone that Richards dealt with?"

"I'll be on my guard," Tom says reassuringly, and straightens up to look
one last time at Trevor before turning to Sloan and laying a hand on
her shoulder. "But I get the sense that Jacob won't be a threat to me,
not the way you're thinking." He looks back at Trevor for a
minute, his expression pensive. "Richards described him as a
mercenary, willing to sell information for money, but something about
that doesn't feel right, and Sam Anderson agrees with me."

"Do you know what?" Sloan asks, looking up at him.

Tom, his eyes still on Trevor, shakes his head. "I can't see a dominant
selling out for money," he says, his voice low. "For a cause, maybe,
or some strongly-held belief .... maybe because they disagree with
the Council's drive to destroy humanity. But not for money."

"Does he know it's you who's coming, and not Richards?" Sloan
asks, rising up to stand beside him and gaze down at the sleeping
boy.

"Not that I know of," Tom says. "I sent the code that Richards gave
me, and got a coded message in return. All I can do now is show up
and see what happens."

"Be careful," she says, turning her eyes, dark with worry, to
his.

"Always," he says softly, and leans forward to kiss her gently.

--------------------

"Dr. Fielding," Walter says with surprise, emerging from his office
to discover Sarah Fielding perched on a lab stool, her head bent
over a series of written notes spread out before her. "I thought that
I was the only one still here."

Raising her head, Sarah looks at him gravely. "I wanted to go over
my notes one last time," she explains. "Just to get my thoughts
together."

"Where did Ed and Martin go?" Walter asks, looking around the
empty lab.

"I don't know," she answers quietly, following his gaze. "They left
some time ago." Checking her watch, she begins to gather her
papers together. "I'm sorry, Dr. Attwood .... I hadn't realized how
late it was. I should leave so that you can close up."

Walter watches her silently, noting the weariness on her face. It
had been a long day for all of them, and an uneasy one after the
tension of this morning's confrontation, which he had blamed
entirely on her. But watching her during the long meeting, so alone
in the middle of a crowded room, he had reconsidered. She had
unwittingly pushed every one of their buttons with her arrogance
that morning .... but had it been arrogance, or just a blind seeking of
perfection in her work and theirs?

"Dr. Fielding," he says slowly, crossing his arms in front of her
and looking at her thoughtfully, "I'm afraid we got off on the wrong
foot this morning." As she raises her head to look at him, her grey
eyes wary, he adds, "I'd like to remedy that now, if we can."

Sarah turns on her stool to face him, her one hand still lingering
over her papers, and her expression is both expectant and hesitant.

"I don't know how much you know about us," Walter says,
leaning back against the counter behind him, "but we've been through
some difficult times lately. A person who we relied on for information
and guidance betrayed us, for lack of a better word. And in the
bargain, she treated us all very badly ..... myself particularly."
His eyes growing distant for a moment, he searches for the words
to explain. "She had a knack for telling me what to do, and denigrating
what I had done, that has left me overly sensitive, I imagine."

Focusing back on Sarah, he gives her a small, self-deprecating smile.
"I swore to myself that that would never happen again, and so your
words this morning had me reacting strongly ..... more strongly than
I might have otherwise."

"Dr. Attwood," Sarah says carefully, dropping her eyes back down to
her paper and moving her fingers gently over the paper she holds in
her hand, "I feel that I must apologize myself. I .... " Firming her
chin, she turns and looks up at him. "I'm not used to dealing with
humans, or being out of the lab. I don't .... I'm not good with people,
not even the ones I work with each day. I'm much more comfortable
dealing with facts."

"Not an uncommon fault among scientists," Walter says gently.
"Ed and Sloan have been known to run roughshod over people's
feelings, not because they mean to but because they're
so caught up in the science of the thing."

"Dr. Tate," Sarah says, her face flushing a pale pink. "What
I said to him this morning, and the way he reacted .... I only meant to
explain the need for excellence in our work."

"You have to understand Ed, Sarah," Walter says, and then pauses.
"May I call you Sarah?" She gives him a small nod, and he continues.
"What Dr. Copeland did to him .... kidnapping him and exposing him
to the Spanish flu.... shook Ed to the core. He had trusted Dr. Copeland,
and respected him. To discover who he really was and what he
planned to do to us all opened Ed's eyes to the danger posed by your
species .... at least, the more militant members of your species .... in
a way that nothing else had. From that moment on, it's been personal,
and he's been very wary and defensive around dominants, even
Marcus."

"But Martin and he .... " she protests, and then falls silent, her eyes
dropping again to her papers.

"Martin and he hit it off," Walter completes her thought, and nods
thoughtfully. "From what I've seen, Martin is unusual .... he's the most
relaxed dominant I've ever seen when it comes to dealing with us,
far more so than Tom Daniels ever was at the start. For whatever
reason, he's able to relate to us on a very friendly level, and Ed
responded to that."

"Martin grew up among humans," Sarah says in a low voice,
running her hand over the written notes on the page in front of
her. "We all find him a bit .... radical, but he's very popular among
our own people as well. He has a way with him .... "

"So I've noticed," Walter says gently, watching her fiddle with
her papers. "It may be that the more you work with us, the more
comfortable you'll feel, as well."

"I don't know .... " she says hesitantly, and then looks back at him
gravely. "As I said, I'm not very good with people."

"Give it time," he says kindly, and then glances at his own watch.
"It's time for me to be leaving. May I escort you out to your car?
It's late for a woman to be out on her own in a dark parking lot."

"Thank you, but it's not necessary," Sarah says, finally gathering
her papers up and standing up from the stool. "Dominant women
.... "

"I know," Walter says, raising a hand to stop her explanation and
giving her a small grin. "Dominant women are strong enough to stave
off any mugger. But humor me .... it would make me feel better to
see you safely to your car."

"If you wish," she says a little awkwardly, and then speaks again
just as he gives her one last smile and moves toward his office.
"Dr. Attwood," she says hesitantly, and then holds out her hand.
"I appreciate what you've done here tonight. You've made me feel
a little more welcome .... and helped me understand you all a little
better."

"I'm glad I could help," he says, taking her hand in his and
shaking it reassuringly. "I want this project to work, Sarah,
and for us all to work well together."

"I want the same thing, Dr. Attwood," she says. "Please believe
that, whatever your impression of me may be."

"Walter," he says, and smiles when she looks at him in confusion.
"Please, call me Walter."

"Very well, then," she says with a small nod of her head, looking
awkward and suddenly very human herself. "Walter."

Water watches the pink flush on her face deepen, and smiles
inwardly. There just may be hope for her yet.

--------------------

As Jacob approaches him from behind, Tom knows that he'd been right.
This is no mercenary, hungry for money, he thinks to himself grimly
as he tracks the man's progress toward him. This is a man caught
in a trap, a man desperate enough to be dangerous.

"Don't move," Jacob says tensely. "I have a gun."

Tom stays still where he stands on the side of the hill, facing the
lights of the city below him, and raises his arms slightly from his
sides to show that his hands are free of any weapon.

"I'm not armed," he says quietly.

"Where is Richards?" Jacob circles behind Tom cautiously. "Who
are you?"

"A friend, possibly," Tom responds.

"If you're a friend of Richards', you're no friend of mine," Jacob
says grimly.

"Then we have something in common," Tom says, and turns his
head slightly. It's too dark to see much more than the shape of
the man .... small, compact, his face pale in the reflected lights of
the city below. He's older than Tom had expected, possibly in his
late 40's, with a slightly receding hairline and glasses. A man more
comfortable behind a desk than with a gun in his hand, Tom
surmises, watching warily as the hand holding the gun trembles
slightly.

"Eyes forward!" Jacob orders, and Tom turns back obediently.

"Where is Richards?" Jacob repeats.

"In custody," Tom responds. "Held by people who won't be
letting him out for a long time."

"Humans?" Jacob asks, and Tom shakes his head. "A faction of
our people who want peace," he explains slowly. "We captured him
over a week ago."

"We?" Jacob echoes, and moves slightly closer, the barrel of his
gun pressing into Tom's back. "Who are you?"

"Tom Daniels," Tom says quietly, and feels the man's shock at his
words.

"The traitor," Jacob says on an indrawn breath.

Forcing himself to remain calm, Tom keeps his eyes on the flickering
lights in front of him and makes a small sound of amusement. "You
might say that," he allows. "But isn't a man who sells his own people
out for money just as much of a traitor?"

"I didn't!" Jacob protests automatically, and then falls silent, keeping
the gun at Tom's back. Tom can sense him thinking rapidly, unsettled
by Tom's presence and the news of Richards' capture. It's time, Tom
decides, to take control of the situation.

"I felt that about you," he says quietly. "That you didn't take money
for the information you gave Richards. What was he holding over you?"

"What do you mean?" Jacob asks suspiciously, his voice wavering.
"What do you want with me?"

"He knew something about you, didn't he?" Tom continues softly.
"Something he blackmailed you with .... forced you into cooperating
with him. Something you did once that could destroy you if the
Council finds out. So you gave him the information he wanted, but
he kept asking for more."

"Stop!" Jacob protests, and Tom sees a flash of movement out of the
corner of his eye as the man raises a hand to his head in confusion.

"But you'd had enough, finally," Tom finishes. "You brought a gun
tonight to finish it .... to kill Richards." Hearing the man's breathing
accelerate, Tom adds, "I'm right, aren't I?"

Jacob stays silent, still holding the gun at Tom's back, and, sensing
his indecision, Tom presses his advantage. "Put the gun down,
Jacob," he says quietly. "I can help you."

Jacob gives a strangled laugh at that. "Why would you want to help
me?" he says bleakly. "You're going to use me, just the way Richards
did."

"I do want information from you," Tom acknowledges. "But after that,
you're free of him, and of me."

Jacob falls silent at that, and Tom slowly lowers his arms and turns to
face him. "You know I'm telling you the truth," he says, his eyes
searching Jacob's in the reflected lights from the city.

Jacob looks at him carefully, sensing his sincerity, and then slowly nods,
lowering the gun. "What do you want?" he asks quietly.

"First, that you put the safety back on," Tom says with a small smile,
and watches Jacob dart a startled glance down at his weapon, and
then back up at Tom, before awkwardly doing as Tom asks.

"Thank you," Tom says with a heartfelt grin, and then sobers as he
looks at Jacob. "I won't ask you again what Richards had on you.
That's your business, and his, and where he is he can't get at you."

Jacob eyes him silently, and then looks out over the city below,
his face troubled. "He may not be able to, but one of his men
will, sooner or later." He shakes his head in resignation. "I'll
never be free of him."

"Maybe," Tom acknowledges. "I can't give you any guarantees.
But maybe I can help you, once you help me."

Jacob looks back at him. "What do you need from me?" he
asks heavily.

"You told Richards that the Council was sending a man in to
infiltrate the peace movement," Tom says evenly. "I need to know
who."

Jacob doesn't respond at first, looking at him thoughtfully. "The
word is that you turned your back on us because of a woman," he says.
"A human woman."

Tom watches him for a long moment, unsure of his intent but sensing
how important this is to him, and then slowly nods his head. "It's
true, in part," he says. "I think I would have left on my own, eventually,
but it was my feelings for a woman that made me leave when I did."

"You fell in love with her," Jacob says, looking at Tom for confirmation.

"I did," Tom says simply. "Although I didn't understand what I was
feeling at first."

"Then you believe in love. In emotions."

"I do," Tom acknowledges, and, feeling a sudden surge of relief in
the man standing before him, he widens his eyes. "And so do you."

Jacob looks away from him at that, staring back over the city landscape
spread out before him. "Maybe," he says slowly, and then shakes
his head in confusion. "Maybe not. I don't know."

Lowering his head, he stares down blindly at the ground and then at
the gun he still holds in his hand. "I can't understand how I got to this
point," he says, almost to himself. "Life seemed so simple. I believed
in our struggle, in our superiority."

"But now?" Tom prompts him.

"Now .... " Jacob falls silent, looking back up at the lights before him.
Tom can feel him struggling with his thoughts, and stands beside him
quietly. Long moments pass, and then Jacob turns to him suddenly,
his expression determined.

"I can give you the information you want," he says intently. "But
I want something in return."

"My silence?" Tom asks.

"That, and one thing more," Jacob says, and hesitates for a moment,
taking a deep breath. "I want your protection."

"To keep you safe from Richard's men," Tom concludes.

"Not me." Jacob shakes his head, and looks away, his expression
bleak. "It's too late for that." Turning back to Tom, he looks at
him with desperate appeal. "I want you to protect a woman. A
human woman."

Tom's eyes narrow as all the pieces of the puzzle suddenly fall
into place. "You're in love with her."

Jacob's face tightens. "I want her kept safe. It's my fault she's
in danger .... I need to know that she's protected before I'll tell
you anything."

Tom looks at him consideringly, and then nods. "Tell me who
she is and where I can find her, and I'll have her taken to a safe place
tonight."

Jacob hesitates at that, and Tom can sense his turmoil. "You have
to trust me, Jacob," he says quietly. "Without her name, I can't
help you."

"I can't .... " Jacob says on a gasp, and turns his face away.
"If I do, and you use her against me .... "

"Jacob," Tom says slowly. "I know what it is to love someone.
To be ready to sacrifice your life for them to keep them safe. It's
not like fighting for a cause .... it goes deeper than that. It makes
you feel .... " He shuts his eyes for a moment in frustration, trying
to find the words to make convince this man of his sincerity.
Jacob has turned back to watch him warily.

"There are times when I look at Sloan," Tom says finally, looking
away at the lights of the city, "that I can actually feel my heart move.
It's hard to describe .... all she has to do is smile, and it just turns
over." He looks back at Jacob steadily. "She's my life, and every
moment that I'm with her is worth whatever I've given up to have her."

Jacob watches Tom for a moment more, and then turns away,
his hands going into his pockets. Tom waits silently, following
his gaze down the hill to the houses below.

Long minutes pass, with the sounds of the night and the city below
them the only things to break the silence. And then Jacob speaks,
his voice husky but determined.

"Laura. Her name is Laura Shapiro." Turning back to Tom,
he makes a small gesture of surrender. "I have her address in the
car."

--------------------

"Help me."

Sloan lifts her head from her book and looks over at Trevor, who lies
curled up on his side in bed, facing away from her. He had been quiet up
until now, sleeping peacefully, but in the last few minutes he's started to
move restlessly.

"Help me, Tom," he mutters fretfully. "Please .... "

"Trevor?" she says softly, bending over to touch his shoulder.

Her touch galvanizes him. Yanking away from her, he lets out a
piercing shriek and screams Tom's name, burrowing under the covers
with his hands over his head.

"Trevor," she says more loudly, dropping her book and flinging
back the covers to try to take him in her arms. He freezes this time
at her touch, curling into himself, and she holds onto him tightly,
wrapping herself around him.

The doors to the bedroom open abruptly, and Sloan looks up
to see Shane rush in, his hair tousled and his face still bleary with
sleep.
"Another nightmare?" he mouths at Sloan, and she nods silently, keeping
her arms around Trevor as Shane moves forward to sit down by their
side on the bed.

"Trevor, wake up," she says firmly. "It's Sloan. You're here in
bed with me where no one can get you."

He shudders at the sound of her voice, and she speaks more quietly,
leaning down to press her mouth near his ear. "It's Sloan, Trevor.
You're safe here with me. Okay?"

She can feel Trevor come awake in stages, the unnatural stiffness of
his body easing slightly, and he turns his head against hers. "Sloan?" he
asks quietly, his voice husky.

"It's me, sweetie," she says softly. "You were having a bad
dream."

"Where's Tom?"

"He's out at a meeting," she says, still holding him and rocking
him slightly against her. "He'll be back soon, though, I promise.
And Shane's here."

"Shane?" Trevor says in a small voice.

"I'm here, Trev," Shane says, moving slightly to lean against
Trevor's legs and lay a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay."

"She's coming for us, Shane," Trevor says quietly. "You know
that."

"It doesn't matter, Trev," Shane reassures him. "She can't get us.
Tom and Sloan won't let her."

"He's right, Trevor," Sloan says softly, her head pressed
down against his. "We won't let her near you again, no matter
what."

"You don't know her," he says miserably, and she can feel the
dampness of his tears against her arm. "She'll find a way."

"Not as long as I'm around," Sloan vows. "And then there's
Mrs. Peabody. Can you see anyone getting past her? Why,
she'd talk your mother to death before she could get near you."

Trevor gives a weak chuckle at that, and Shane gives Sloan
a relieved grin before bending down to peer at Trevor's hidden
face. "We could tell her that Mother's a dominant, Trev," he
says conspiratorially. "She'll have so many questions for her
that Mother would never get away."

"That is if she doesn't report her first," Sloan says, giving
Trevor a small squeeze and feeling him chuckle again. "I'd
like to see that," Trevor confesses.

"So would I," Sloan says with a grin, and turns her head,
still pressed against Trevor's, to look at his flushed face.
"Are you feeling a little better now?"

Trevor nods slightly, and turns to look up at Sloan. "When
did you say Tom will be back?" he asks.

"Soon, I hope," she says, and lifts one hand to smooth down
his hair. "Why don't you climb under the covers, and Shane
can stay here with us and wait?"

"Okay," he agrees, and watches quietly as she pulls away from
him to reach for the bedspread and for his drawing pad, tossed
aside in the confusion. Restoring him to his place in bed, tucked
under the covers and with the pad under his arm, Sloan
settles down on one side of him, and Shane on the other.

Silence falls on the dimly-lit room, with Trevor rubbing his eyes
sleepily and Shane staring at the ceiling. "You know," he says,
turning his head to look at Sloan, "we could use a t.v. in here.
For late nights like this, I mean. So that we'd have something
to watch."

Turning her head to look at him, she gives him a small grin.
"And popcorn. We could use popcorn."

Trevor glances over at Shane, and then at Sloan, and wriggles
slightly under the covers. "A soft drink would be nice," he suggests
tentatively. "To go with the popcorn."

Sloan looks down at him and then at Shane, her grin widening.
"You get the t.v., I'll get the popcorn," she proposes, and laughs
at the look of horror on his face.

"*You* get the t.v.," he insists, scrambling out of bed. "*I'll* make
the popcorn. When you make it, you eat half of it before we even
get a chance at the bowl."

"I do not!" she protests, jumping out of bed to chase after him.

--------------------

"You trust this man?" Jacob asks again, looking nervously at Tom as
they drive through the relatively quiet city streets.

"I do," Tom confirms, and looks over at Jacob reassuringly.
"I wouldn't have called him if I didn't."

"And he's found a safe place for Laura to stay?" Jacob persists.

"The peace movement has a series of safe houses set up for
people who need protection," Tom explains. "Either from humans,
or from the Council. He's taken her to one of them, and will
make arrangements to have someone stay with Laura all the time
until we can arrange something more permanent for her."

"She sounded so frightened," Jacob says, gazing blindly out the
passenger window. "Not of him, but of the whole situation .... me
asking her to drop everything in the middle of the night and leave
with someone she doesn't even know .... "

"She agreed, though," Tom points out. "She has faith in you."

"She does," Jacob says softly. "I don't know why, but she does."

"You'll feel better once you see her." Tom checks the street sign
at the upcoming intersection. "It's just down this street, I think."

Slowing down to count the house numbers of the quiet, middle-class
neighborhood, Tom soon spots the house they're looking for .... a
small Craftsman bungalow, set back in the lot with flowers filling
its front garden and two small lights shining through the curtained
windows. "This is it," he says, pulling the car up against the curb
and turning off the engine. Looking over at Jacob, he raises an
inquiring brow. "Are you ready?"

Jacob looks nervously at the house, and then at Tom, his face
drawn with worry. "How do I explain it to her?" he asks hesitantly.
"What do I say?"

"Tell her the truth," Tom says simply. "Who you are, and what you
are. And what you feel for her."

"What I feel for her," Jacob echoes, and shakes his head slightly,
looking back at the house. "I can't even put it into words for
myself."

"Do your best," Tom says with a small smile. "If she's anything like
Sloan, it will be enough for her."

Jacob looks back at him one last time and, taking a deep breath,
opens the door of the car. Tom joins him and the two walk up
the brick sidewalk and mount the three steps in silence, Tom knocking
on the wooden door quietly.

A tall figure fills the doorway as the door opens, and Tom nods
at him in welcome. "Sam," he says, his hand on Jacob's arm. "This
is Jacob."

"Jacob," Sam Anderson says, reaching his hand out. "It's good
to meet you."

"Thank you," Jacob says, shaking Sam's hand and looking past him
searchingly. "Is she here?"

"She's .... " Sam begins, and then stops as a small, fair-haired woman
appears at a doorway to his right, an anxious look in her eyes that
clears as she sees him standing in the doorway. "David?" she says
tentatively.

"Laura," Jacob says with a sigh of relief, and walks swiftly down the
hallway to take her in his arms, his embrace so fervent that she gasps
in surprise before bringing her arms up to encircle him.

"Are you all right?" she asks searchingly, pressing her cheek against
his, and raising her face to glance past him at Sam and Tom, still standing
quietly at the door. "These men .... David, what's going on? You
sounded so upset on the phone."

"Laura," Jacob says slowly, lifting his head to look at her searchingly
and raising a hand to touch her cheek. "I have so much to explain ....
and I don't know where to start."

"Just tell me that you're all right," she says softly, looking up into his
eyes. "That's all I care about."

"Laura," he says on an indrawn breath, and then lowers his head to
hers, kissing her deeply.

Nudging Sam gently, Tom leads the way out onto the porch, and the
two men leave the embracing couple alone in the hallway. "Did you
have any trouble convincing her to come with you?" Tom asks
quietly.

"Not once you put him on the phone with her," Sam replies, glancing
back through the open doorway. "What is all this?"

"He's Richards' informant," Tom says, crossing the porch to lean
against its long wooden railing. "You were right .... he wasn't in it
for the money. Richards found out about her, that the two of them
had fallen in love, and he was blackmailing him into passing on Council
information."

"And he just told you all this?" Sam asks skeptically.

"After I convinced him to put the gun down," Tom says ironically,
and smiles at Sam's startled reaction. "He came to the meeting
determined to kill Richards, and found me instead. He wasn't happy,
but he was willing to listen in the end, and finally told me his price
.... the information we want for her safety."

"Do you trust him?" Sam asks, glancing back again at the open
doorway.

"I do," Tom says slowly, following his gaze to the couple inside,
who now stand close in each other's arms, talking quietly. "He's
not masking .... he's just a bureaucrat caught up in something
out of his control, desperate to protect someone he cares about."

"Has he talked yet?"

"Not yet," Tom responds. "He needed to see her first."

Both men turn their heads at that point to see Jacob approaching
them, his arm around Laura Shapiro's waist. "I'm ready to answer
your questions," he says quietly.

--------------------

"My real name is David Armstrong," Jacob says, leaning forward
on the couch, his hands clasped together. The three men have
retreated to the living room, grouped in a circle, with Sam and Tom
sitting in chairs facing Jacob. "I head the database section of
the Council's main offices, and as part of my job I create identities
for every person who goes into the field. I know every operation
we've launched against the humans, and have worked undercover
myself to skew the databanks of some of the humans' major
corporations and governments."

Looking down at his hands, he smiles fleetingly. "That's how I
met Laura .... I was assigned to her office, and got to know her
during the months I spent going over her city government's databanks."

"Did you create the identity of the man planted in the peace
faction?" Sam asks intently.

"I didn't have to," David Armstrong says, turning his gaze on
Sam. "He went in under his own name, using his own background.
But I've kept records of all the meetings held planning his mission."

"Who is he?"

"One of the senior Council members, Roger Abbott." David Armstrong
looks from Sam's face to Tom's, and stiffens slightly. "You already
knew."

"We guessed," Tom responds, glancing at Sam's still expression
with concern. "He was trained by Lewis's men in masking, wasn't
he?"

David Armstrong nods his head. "They spent months planning this
.... Abbott underwent intensive training with the best people in
Lewis's program. How did you know it was him?"

"Masking leaves a signature," Tom explains, and glances again
at Sam, who sits silently in his chair, his eyes shadowed. "Do you
have any idea what the plan involves? How long it will be before
Abbott springs his trap?"

"No idea," David says with a shake of his head. "They're keeping
this so secret that only a few members of the Council are briefed
on all of the details, and nothing is being officially recorded. All
I know is that he's been sent to gather as much information as he
can, and then discredit you all, coming up with manufactured
evidence that will give the Council the excuse it needs to have
you arrested."

"And killed," Sam says, finally breaking his silence.

David looks at him and then drops his gaze, nodding slowly.
"I'm afraid so," he says, his voice subdued.

"Now that we know, we can stop him," Sam says, turning to
Tom. "I'll call Marcus .... "

"There's more," David interrupts, lifting his gaze to stare at Tom.
"I didn't tell Richards about it .... I wasn't going to volunteer anything
I didn't absolutely have to. But after tonight, and what you've done
for me, and for Laura .... "

His voice trails off, and he falls silent, his head bent in thought.
Clenching his hands more tightly together, he says, "The Council
has a back-up plan, one buried so deep in secrecy that no one
person on the Council knows everything about it."

"What can you tell us about it?" Tom asks gently.

"Abbott is actually one of two operatives assigned to the case,"
David says slowly, "although he doesn't know that. Council members
were afraid that he might be detected, although they hoped that his
relationship with Marcus Adams would see him through. So when
someone came to them with the idea of a second operative working
inside the peace movement, they grabbed at it. That way, if Marcus
or one of his men began to suspect Abbott, their attention would
be focused on him and the second operative could operate in
secrecy and complete the mission."

"A second operative," Tom says reflectively. "Do you know who
they are?"

"No," David says, shaking his head. "If I did, I'd tell you. I owe
you that much. But .... "

"This doesn't make any sense," Sam interjects. "Abbott's the only
person we've had approach us recently. We haven't added anyone
to our staff in months .... I'd remember if there'd been anyone new."

"That's just it," David says, leaning forward intently. "The operative
isn't someone we planted inside your movement .... they've been
working with you for years. They came to us with this plan .... we
didn't seek them out."

"They came to you .... ?" Sam echoes, his eyes widening, and
he turns to look at Tom in disbelief.

"There's someone inside your organization who wants you stopped,"
David Armstrong says gravely. "You've got a traitor in your ranks."

The End

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