Nikita shifted again in her sleep, however, and he sighed. If he kept up these thoughts, he would wake her once more--and he couldn't stand the idea of hurting her by forcing her to feel his emotions. He couldn't do that again.

He didn't know the future with any certainty, then, couldn't know it. He had to let himself, therefore, just accept what he had right now, the fact that this sweet child was still with him and in his arms. He was happy that he had seen in her thoughts time and again that she needed him, that she wanted him nearby, even felt a sort of happiness from it; she fretted when he wasn't there, indeed--and he couldn't have that. He could never allow them to be parted again.

He held her a little tighter, as his determination built, as well. As long as they didn't prove too extraordinary separately, then--and continued to share their unspoken understandings--he hoped that their watchers would decide that they were a valuable enough study to continue keeping together. It was all he could allow to happen.

His mind turned once more--going back into the darkness of his fears, making the anger in him rise. If their keepers didn't believe this, indeed, if they dared to change their minds about himself and his partner, he would make them pay--his heart shuddered--and then Nikita would know him to be the monster he already understood himself to be. He hoped, then, that that day wouldn't come--because neither of them could ever live with that for long.

***********

The last few weeks had been, well--"terrible" was probably too polite. Everything seemed to be coming down on her, closing in, with no way yet to escape--and nowhere she could find to turn. Nothing in it at all made it seem bearable anymore.

Nikita sighed, exhausted from prolonged depression; she ran her hand over her face. She was lying on her bed in her apartment again, finally having been granted a little downtime after this last, terrible incident with Jerome. She had just finished, as well, debriefing about it to Mr. Jones, bringing him up to date. Now, then, she had a little time to herself.

She let out another soul-weary breath, as she flopped both her hands back over her head and stared up at the ceiling, while her mind turned. Mr. Jones, she knew, had seemed rather, perversely, pleased over these last several days, had even enjoyed George's latest foray against them--despite his self-injured foot. She shook her head; she might never understand him at all.

Her mind ran further over her true leader, however--turning specifically around the incident which had happened so early in this mission. The strip bar, of course, had fit her boss's cover as "Mick," but she couldn't say she had enjoyed it, nonetheless. She wondered now whether he had just done it to try to wind her up--to see how she would react; he liked doing that, if not usually in any particularly malevolent way. She had gotten used to it, then.

She sighed. It was this latter trait of her superior, though, which truly separated him from her more immediate masters. He just wasn't that evil. In Section, as well, that in itself was a change.

The strip bar, too, had rather showed his strange sense of humor--the one which had been even more prominently on display when he had demanded to see Operations. She could see that he had really enjoyed that incident, had loved checking out the man in person. Maybe he thought that this way it would be even more fun for him to take him down, in the end.

Her mind continued working through these memories. She had been rather worried for awhile at the bar, however; after all, to keep up his cover, he hadn't really been able to defend himself. She had had much to look out for, therefore.

Her emotions soured slightly at this last thought--and at the memory of her debriefing with him. While he had told her not to worry about the latest incident in Section--about the whole war with George--too much, it was an easy thing for him to say; he wasn't the one going through it, wasn't the one in immediate danger. Herself, on the other hand . . .

She shook her head, her heart, her body tired, her mind still grappling. There was so much going on, lately, were so many things which needed to be dealt with. For awhile, indeed, she had known that her years-long assignment with Mr. Jones was beginning to wind down; that had made itself clear from the time he had moved in across the hall from her, posing as "Mick." . . . Yeah, right.

Her lips quirked in an ironic smile, as she thought about this nonexistent man again. . . . If only he were the real one.

Her gaze was distant, but still a little sharp, too, as she tried to understand all of this once again. She had come, during the last year or more--she had to admit--to kind of like Mr. Jones' adopted persona--to enjoy the man he pretended to be; she wished sometimes, in fact, that she didn't know he wasn't real, that she could believe his, rather smarmy, overtures of friendship. It would have made her life *so* much simpler.

She sighed quietly again. Of course, she really wasn't that ambivalent toward her real superior, either; if she had been, truly, she never would have started this mission. He was dangerous and focused, certainly, but that was true of anyone in the organization. While she was sure, too, that--had she double-crossed him--he wouldn't have let her live for very long after it, he wasn't really as vindictive as the people she supposedly worked for. They, truly, were evil.

Her eyes grew a little more red-rimmed, as she took up a study of the corner of her room, her mind continuing along these familiar paths. It was all of this, too, which had convinced her to work for her real leader originally, which had told her that she should. He hadn't really forced her to, in fact. Certainly, he had let it be known that she would be watched--that revealing his plans or his identity to anyone would be deadly for both herself and her confidant--but, beyond that, there had been no threats, no twists of control. It had been . . . unusual.

The memories were still clear for her, still rankled when she compared them to the masters who usually controlled her fate. He, indeed, had simply set out the plans, the dangers, and her options before her--pointing out that she might well be able to survive outside of Section's radar for many more years, at least, had she not agreed. There had been no bullying. He had never at any time, in fact, acted like *them*.

It was this truth, too--this utter lack of resemblance to her usual leaders--which had mostly convinced her to help him, but there had been a little more to it, as well. Part of her motive had been at least partly altruistic; he had explained in detail how little he liked the way Operations and Madeline ran things, how much he would like to go back to a slightly saner way of controlling the world, if that were possible. Since, too, she had been wanting this for quite some time herself--if not something even more drastic--it had appealed to her greatly. It alone had made up most of her mind.

The rest of her decision, however, had been influenced on a far more personal level. While part of her had been enjoying her time on the outside, had been reveling in the sense of freedom it had been giving her, there was another part of her which had cried out for something--for *someone*--she had lost.

She closed her eyes, her thoughts turning here once more, going back to a well-recognized path. Michael. For so much of her life now, it seemed, he had been her motive, her one motivating force--for either good or ill. She had thought herself at least partly delusional, certainly, that she wanted to go back to him for much of her time on the outside, but the desire to see him again had ached within her, nonetheless. She supposed that, even then, she had seen the truth in him--the real depths of his love--although their first three years together had really done little to prove it to her. She had wanted, then, desperately, to have her chance.

Mr. Jones, of course, had done nothing to discourage her inclination. In fact, he had made a reference or two to Michael's "feelings" for her--and, when she had tried to convince him of his mistake--he had just given her his indulgent, "what a sweet little delusion you have" smile.

She gave a smile of her own, remembering again. She supposed now, too--looking back--that it might well have partly been his encouragement which had first taught her to hope that her fantasies of the man she now so firmly loved were not her imagination alone. She suspected, in fact, that she had originally come back more for him than for anything else, including Mr. Jones. Nothing else, truly--including the fate of Section--had ever meant as much.

Her smile lingered slightly. For awhile, too, near her return to her old "home," she had clung to her love for Michael; even when he had seemed to turn against her, it had kept her going in a way nothing else quite had, had always been more real than anything else. It was only after watching her masters going through all their old, torturing motions again that she had been convinced that her new leader was right; they had to be either changed or eliminated. And it had been her job to finally decide which.

Her smile had faded, her thoughts more somber now; she shook her head slightly, as she opened her eyes, trying to bring herself back from the past. She had been through so much in the last year--and before--had been forced to endure all of her immediate leaders' unpleasant little games for so long. Her true superior, indeed, had warned her that he couldn't interfere in--or, usually, even warn her about--anything which was happening, not until the time was right, until his information was complete. Till then, she was on her own.

This last thought, of course, could be a little tormenting, but she tried to look ahead to one of his promises to her, to one of her reasons for continuing. Mr. Jones had promised her that many things would happen, if she were to prove as loyal and efficient as he suspected she would: he would listen to her respected input on the futures of those around her, would give her a place in Center with himself, and would allow her to make her own determination about her future with Michael. . . . It had just been too blissful a group of promises to turn down.

She looked back at the last of his offers again, though, and let out a little laugh at herself. Alright, so he hadn't quite said that, had actually just offered her one favor, within--a fairly wide range of--reason. It was just that she had always interpreted this--and he had never discouraged her ideas--as being about herself and her, now long-time, lover. Her newer superior, after all, didn't hold Madeline and her partner's opinions about the two of them, didn't feel that she and Michael together was a bad idea. It was, still, a bit of a new thought for her.

Her new leader, in fact, had even encouraged her bond with Michael, subtly and otherwise, more than once. Even during Michael's greatest treasons against Section for her, he had smiled on the man's actions--had even aided them; she suspected, indeed, that he was really something of a hopeless romantic at heart, even if it were buried under a few dozen layers of efficiency and official reserve. If she decided, then, that she wanted Michael with her in the future, all she had to do was ask. . . . All that was required to reach that so-desired goal, then, was to survive.

This, however, was seeming more and more difficult of late. She let out another deep sigh and closed her eyes again, her earlier cheer fading again. While she had expected to be her current masters' continuing target for sometime, of course, she had never really thought that she would become George's, as well. Still, the last several weeks had proven that irrevocably. She was top of his cancellation list. . . . There was no way back anymore.

She swallowed heavily again, her ongoing pain moving through her once more. It was true that, when he had ordered her to kill Paul, there had been little choice than for her to accept; she had been given the nod by Mr. Jones' second, in fact, in the bookstore where she had briefly worked. She had known, though, that it would be easier for everyone--including her main superior--if she didn't actually carry it out, but she hadn't quite understood, at the time, how that was to be done. Center's head may have agreed to the scheme simply for the purposes of understanding more of George's treason, but that man's plans for Paul had continued. She, then, had needed a way out.

She opened her eyes tiredly once more, her look a little, exhaustedly, amused. It had been rather ironic that Madeline had been the one to give her that egress, had been the one to save her from this faux pas--which, really, was the most Mr. Jones would have seen it as, from her. Still, her suggestion had been tormenting her ever since, especially given the fact that her main superior was no more forthcoming in details on her life or Section than anyone at One. The thought that Paul might be her father, then, turned her stomach still.

She swallowed back her revulsion, though, and tried to move her mind along. It had been this "betrayal" of George, however, which had really set him off, which had stepped up his war with the Siamese Twins. And she, Michael, and everyone else she cared for were now permanently caught in the crossfire.

Her heart ached again at this thought; she gave a small, unhappy laugh. God, she hated this, hated that she had brought this misery down on them all; they didn't deserve to be caught up in this, didn't deserve to pay for her own mistakes. That distinction belonged to her alone.

She felt another shudder of pain within her and tried to repress it, without much success. She just needed for them all to hold on, however, to get through long enough for this mission to be over, for her evaluation for Mr. Jones to be complete. They were getting there, after all--slowly but inexorably. Now, if she could just help them all survive until that day came, . . .

She let out a small, shuddering breath, as she tried to look elsewhere; she couldn't think on this for too long. She had, after all, come so close to getting all of her friends destroyed by George more than once in the last few weeks--had done this when they were all so close to salvation from their cruel masters' dictatorial reign. It was unforgivable. She just prayed, in fact, that she could keep them all safe from him, until her true goals were reached. If not, . . .

The pain flowed through her terribly again with this last thought, overtaking her once more; her mind focused in on just one of her newest enemy's recent ploys. Her thoughts, indeed, as her mind had been scraped on the commands of Oversight's leader, had been instructive, really--had said so much. Of the main ones she remembered, in fact, three of them had centered at least partly around Michael--and all of them had spoken to her current state of mind.

She closed her eyes and let her thoughts flow back, analyzing again. That she had remembered her first encounter with Michael in one of the white rooms--had remembered her entrance into Section--had surprised her at first; she hadn't really thought back to it in so long, consciously. Still, even if she could see now that her memories of the event had been truncated--her pain over her mother's desertion deleted--it made sense to her now; she had long ago, truly, dealt with the pain which had then lain inside her with any thought of her mother. It was Michael, however, who she was still working out her future with.

This memory, therefore, was easily comprehended--as, too, were her other memories--of days off that weren't, of her discovery that she had been purposely brought into Section, and of one--particularly remembered--early rescue of herself by her beloved. All of them, indeed, seemed obvious to her now.

Her thoughts moved back over these memories again, then, analyzing, as her distant gaze returned to the ceiling. All of these unconscious thoughts had focused around her current feeling of entrapment, around the torment of knowing just how alone and captive she really was. Even in what was supposed to be her downtime--just like that incident with Gray--there had been no real sense of freedom. She just wasn't able to find that anymore.

Her heart ached, as she thought into this again. Lately, there had been no time at all with Michael, had only been a moment or two when they had been together at all--and all of those had been in Section--were centered around missions. Without him, too, there was no sense of relief or release for her--was no way to deal with her pain. . . . God, she needed him with her again.

Her heart warmed a bit more, however, a smile curving her lips, as her mind moved on--thinking over her last, unconscious image once more. For so long, during her first full year as an operative, she had looked to Michael for her rescue; now, however, it was herself--and Mr. Jones--who she hoped would prove to be his. Her smile faded again. That was, if he could ever forgive her for having betrayed him all these years, for never having let him know. She swallowed heavily. Dear God, she hoped he could. Without him, . . .

Her breath shuddered from her more heavily, as she moved her mind on again; she couldn't continue to ponder this and stay sane. She focused, then, on George's latest assault, on the young boy he had used against them--Jerome. She gave an ironic laugh. Well, no--not a boy, really. He was more a machine, was a construct his masters had put together. Dr. Section Franken-bloody-stein.

She felt a shudder go through her with these thoughts, however, and her amused look faded. No--it wasn't even remotely funny--scared the crap out of her, in fact. While she had responded to him as a child in need, there had just been something whenever she had looked into his eyes which had made her shudder--or, rather, there had been something *missing* which had. It was like they had raised him without a soul, had raised him to be a *thing*. She swallowed back her revulsion and fear. And, she feared, they had succeeded.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, as her thoughts went on. Jerome's effects on those around him, herself included, had been rather amazing to watch. He had rattled *everyone*--even the, generally unshakeable, Michael. Yes, the fact that the boy had known about Adam could have been due to a pre-briefing, but that belief really seemed more like a comforting lie. When his eyes turned on you, you could almost feel him getting into your thoughts, digging through them, sorting out what would hold his interest. It was . . . disturbing, to say the least.

She took another deep breath at these thoughts, still not wholly calm. What had really puzzled and unsettled her the most, however, had been the child's attachment to herself; she found it completely unfathomable to try to understand why he had taken any particular liking to her. In fact, given all her recent doubts and fears, she couldn't see it just as him responding to her light--in whatever sense; she didn't believe she had that anymore. No. What she saw, instead, was a little, programmed creation responding to a larger one. And that thought, truly, frightened her more than she could say.

She shuddered slightly, uncontrollably again and crossed her arms over herself, rubbing them, trying to account her new discomfort--not very successfully--to a chill in the room, as she moved her mind on a little. She had tried, after everything was over, too, to get her superior to tell her something about the project the child had come out of, but he was tight-lipped as always. Whatever was going on in Section Four, then, he seemed to either find it irrelevant to the situation at One, or he believed her better able to run a believable cover without the knowledge. She sighed. As much as she generally might trust the man's instincts, she hated being left in the dark. . . . It was too cold there to ever be comfortable with again.

Her mind, as well, went back further now, as she thought more about One's recent, young guest. She couldn't help remembering another time she had seen children in Section--ones who had seemed altogether too familiar. It was a memory, too, which shook her still.

She swallowed back her muted terror heavily, her mind whirling here. She would never forget finding all of those young children in the closed-off part of the old One, would never forget finding *herself* there. She shuddered. Still, since they had all disappeared by her next visit to the place, she had never been able to do anything more about it, had never yet gained any satisfactory information on what was to be done with them. The thought, truly, haunted her still.

She had asked her true superior about this memory, as well--both at the time and after Jerome's recent visit--but he had yet to tell her anything enlightening, seemed, like so many times before, to be perfectly content to let her continue on with her tormenting questions. She sighed. If only knowledge had been part of her original bargain with him, she might be a less tormented woman. She shuddered again, thinking of the possibilities. Or maybe not. Sometimes in Section, after all, ignorance was sanity.

She turned her mind once more, therefore, unconsciously attempting to get away from these thoughts again. Yes, her superior did let her in on some things, if he felt she had to know them to carry out her mission, had let her know beforehand--all those years ago now when Adrian had originally found her--that someone would be coming to get her, that she would, whatever her own emotions, need to follow through on the mission she had been called on by the Siamese Twins to perform. . . . She had hated it.

Trying to bring about a personal end to Section just before Adrian's supposed cancellation, then, might have been her own, unauthorized plan, but she had needed to play that little charade just to put the fear of God into Operations, after all she had found out about him--couldn't just let him feel that he could go on ruling the world with impunity. She had known, of course, that she couldn't carry out her plan in full, that she would have to revert to Section's side in the end, but her rage had been too great to deny. She still didn't regret it at all.

Her mind turned further here, a slight smile on her face. She had even hoped, really, that Mr. Jones might make his move when she had come so close to being cancelled in the months thereafter--or, at least, had hoped that she might be conveniently killed in the field and spared further torment. Knowing what she was part of had just been too much for her. Nothing--especially given her, then recent, betrayal of Michael and his subsequent distance--could make her want to live.

She shuddered a little, as her thoughts lingered here. It was this memory, however, which made her fear so much for the future, which made all of the pain and depression of the last several months so especially terrible. Half the time now, she wondered whether she could even be happy with Michael, if they were given some downtime together--or whether her continuing fears of his abandonment once this lengthy mission was revealed would simply make her too distracted and pain-filled to even really enjoy his presence. She swallowed heavily. She really didn't know.

What she did know now, though, was that--however selfish it might be--she needed her beloved with her again; nothing else made her feel real at all. It was possible that she wouldn't be able to give him all of herself--the way she should, the way he needed and deserved--but she just couldn't survive this lingering, Section-staged distance between them for much longer. It just wasn't possible.

Even if their closeness was an illusion, therefore, she needed it. He might turn her away the second he discovered the truth of her false life with him, might never--understandably--forgive her. Still, he was the only thing which ever filled her heart in any deep way. Even another day of separation, then, seemed too much.

She let out a deep, shuddering sigh and closed her eyes once more, fighting back tears. There were times, truly--too many of them now--when she hated herself. She was doing the right thing by working with Mr. Jones, she knew, but that didn't actually make her a good or redeemable person. After all, she was manipulating all of her friends and her most-beloved partner during this mission with her silence, as well. There just seemed to be no way out.

She just hoped, in fact, that, when it was over, she would be able to find someplace safe for each of them; that might have to be enough. Sometimes, truly--like now--it just seemed too much to ask that they could forgive her personal treason at all. She, certainly, never could.

He was asleep now, finally; that was good. He spent too much time worrying, always looking at the dark side of their lives. She rubbed her cheek over his heart again, sighing quietly. She just wished she could get him to see the rest of it.

Nikita alpha, as she knew she was sometimes called by the watchers around her--even if she didn't understand the term--was awake now, was still being held by her friend. There had been a lot going on today to upset him, though, to make his emotions all swirly and unpleasant. She just wished she were better at making him calm.

She sighed softly and listened to the sound of his heart; she liked it, had for as long as they had been allowed to sleep together like this by their trainers. It was a deep, comforting rhythm. It alone--outside of his quiet words in her mind--could put her to sleep, could relax her, as he held her close to him. She was just so glad they were both here.

This wasn't all of the happiness she got here, however; when she put her ear to it, too, she could feel the emotions in him even more strongly, till they nearly overwhelmed her whole body. She didn't mind, though. They were Michael's emotions, after all--and his feelings, whatever they were, were welcome ones to her.

She smiled, as her mind continued, glad in some ways that her constant companion wasn't able to feel her own emotions as strongly as she could his; she might wake him up. Still, she needed to keep her thoughts soft, as well. If they were too loud, he got restless, and she didn't want that. He had had a long day and needed rest. She would look out for him for awhile.

His arms seemed to tighten around her in his sleep, and he let out a little moan. She frowned. He was having those bad images again, the ones which made his feelings all sharp and painful. She hated that. He was a good person, was the one person she had ever met who she wanted to really be around all the time. He deserved a quiet sleep.

She placed her lips over his heart and kissed his shirt, therefore, transferring her concern for him there; he moaned again, but his emotions lightened, became more pastel in color. She smiled. Good.

She put her head back on his chest, then, and listened to his heart once more, as she remembered back through the day. He had been worrying a lot lately--even more since they had arrived at their new quarters. It had only been since coming here, of course, that she had realized consciously that she really knew this--that she had been trained to understand what she was picking up in him, but she had always felt it, had always understood what was going on in him. It was just that, now, she had a name for some of the colors and sensations she had always seen inside him. She liked it.

She smiled, continuing on here. She knew, too, that he felt like this ability she had had brought them closer, and she liked that, as well. Now, if she could just get him to stop worrying so much.

She sighed a little, her hands holding his shirt closer to her, as she rubbed her cheek against him. It had only been since they had come to this place that she had realized she had always been hearing his thoughts, too; he thought loud, after all--at least to her. No one else seemed to notice it, though, unless he were thinking *about* her; then, they all seemed to know instantly. . . . It was weird.

Anyway, his loud thoughts were why she really knew so much more than he thought she did, more than she knew he wanted her to. With some of it, as well, she could see why he worried; it frightened her, too. Still, what he didn't completely seem to understand was that she didn't want to just be protected by him, although she liked that he wanted to try--and did like it some of the time. What she really wanted, though, was for him to just stop closing himself off from her for fear she would turn him away. He did that *a lot*. No matter how often she showed him that she cared for him, she couldn't make him stop.

She felt a little sad, as she thought into this habit of his further. She knew that, if she tried to make him look at her deeper feelings--tried to share them with him--he would just close himself off from her even more; it was probably why he didn't realize how much of his thoughts she actually heard. She didn't understand why he did this, but he seemed to feel like he was . . . she didn't know . . . defective or something, like she couldn't really care about him, if she knew the truth. He wouldn't see that she cared more for--and about--him *knowing* the truth. Yeah, it made her worry--a lot, sometimes--but it pulled her closer, too. She didn't want to let him go.

She held his shirt a little nearer and rubbed her cheek against him; he moaned again, and she smiled. She had unwittingly transferred some of her feelings for him to him again, so the noise was a pleasant one--even if it sounded like he was in pain. Strange.

Her look grew confused, as she pondered this further. She never really understood that. In fact, it reminded her of an image she had been seeing in his head a lot today--of this older couple, naked and . . . doing stuff. Whatever it was, too, it didn't look like any fun at all, and the noises they made sounded like they were in horrible pain--but, weirdly, the emotions which almost exploded from them were almost unbearably bright and pretty. . . . She didn't understand it at all.

She sighed. It was this image, however, which had preoccupied her for awhile, was one which she had especially been trying to figure out today, whenever he was too distracted to accidentally look into her mind. She knew it wasn't something he wanted her to know about yet; he thought that it would frighten her or something--but it didn't. It confused her pretty good, but it didn't scare her. She just wanted to figure it out.

She held his shirt closer, as he slept and snuggled against him, thinking over it again. There was a lot there she didn't get at all. What really weighed on her companion the most, though--she knew, were the names the couple thought of each other as; they were the same as hers and Michael's. She shook her head again. Weird.

She had been trying to figure this out for a long time, really, ever since she had consciously realized that she was hearing his thoughts. She didn't know yet, though, whether he were thinking about the two of them in the future--the people in his mind were grownups, after all--or whether there actually *were* two other people with their names that looked like them; she frowned in concentration. If there were, then they sure were a lot like her and Michael, except a lot older. In fact, the feelings which ran between and around them had the same sort of color and texture as the ones she saw between herself and her companion. It was something she liked to look at, then.

She smiled, too, thinking back over her choice of words. Well, you couldn't really say that there was much "between" that couple in his head; the two of them were pretty closely mashed together in that image. There wasn't really any space there at all.

She knew, as well, that she and her Michael had never been that close--or felt anything like the things which came out of the couple in his mind. Still, she wondered what it would be like to feel those things someday, thought it would be nice. She guessed anything was possible.

Her young mind focused in. She hadn't ever seen two people that closely bound to each other before, either, except there in her companion's mind. It seemed natural, though, when she looked at it--like something everyone should have. She frowned again. If only she could understand just what the heck they were doing to each other . . .

She shook her head and sighed, giving up on her concentrated look. She didn't know, probably wouldn't find out. She certainly couldn't ask Michael. He tried to protect the image from her, tried to keep it to himself. She knew, too, that he was trying to protect her, but she still wished he wouldn't. She really did want to know.

She had to, however, give up on trying to figure this out finally, at least for now. She knew there was nothing to be done about it for awhile. Maybe, though, she would find out in the future.

She smiled at that thought, contenting herself; her mind moved on again, therefore. There had been a lot of thoughts in Michael's head lately, a lot that bothered him--some which worried her, too. She decided, then, now that he was asleep, that it was a good time to think about them.

She still didn't know quite what had happened in these last few days--what had bothered him so much--but she knew it had had something to do with Jerome. She shuddered a little--trying to keep her feelings to herself, but his arms went around her further, reflexively, anyway, warming her. She half-smiled. She liked that.

Still, whatever was going on with the other boy, she didn't like it at all. He looked at her funny sometimes, kinda like she had seen the others look at their meals when they were *really* hungry, and it made her upset. His emotions, too, were a mixture of dark and light--but the light had been overwhelmed by the darkness, kinda like a picture of a sun that had been covered in black paint; the light was there, but you couldn't really see it anymore. There was something in his feelings, too, which grabbed at her, tried to pull her too close when she didn't want to go; it made her uneasy and hurt. . . . She didn't like him at all.

She didn't like to be around Jerome alone, then--didn't much like being around him at all--and she knew that Michael liked it even less. What made her even more uneasy about him, though, was what he seemed to do to Michael. Most of the time, after all, her companion couldn't think or feel anything which hurt her, but his emotions got all sharp and pointy when Jerome was around, when he looked at her in that nasty way. They didn't just cut at the other boy, either; they pointed at her, too--even if he didn't seem to mean to. She frowned. She *really* didn't like that.

She sighed, then, the frown lingering. She didn't distrust Michael for any of this, though, knew he didn't *want* to hurt her with his feelings. Still, they were there. He got this way, in fact, whenever he seemed to think she was in trouble. His emotions got grabby, pulled her too close to him, made her hurt and fidgety, like when he held her too tightly in his sleep. She knew, too, that he didn't even know he was doing it, was just trying to keep her close and out of danger, but she didn't like it anyway. . . . It was one of the only times he made her a little afraid.

This last thought, of course, was not a good one--bothered her a lot. She rubbed her face against his shirt, then, sniffing at him; that tended to calm her down, frequently. She didn't know why.

Fortunately, too, it did again now. Still, her thoughts lingered on this unpleasant topic. She couldn't quite move them along.

She had never understood this side of the person she was always with, could never quite look into his emotions enough to figure them out. Okay, she could *see* them, felt them clearly, but they still just didn't make any sense to her; she didn't know why he wanted to hold her so tight, even when he knew he shouldn't. It just wasn't logical at all.

She sighed once more. Still, she couldn't ask him about this; he didn't really trust her enough. Well, in a way, he trusted her completely--absolutely--but, when it came to caring about him, he seemed to think that her feelings were only temporary, while his were permanent. Again, it was just plain weird.

She wished she could make him see, of course, wished she could make him understand how she felt. There was something in her that responded to him in a way she knew for certain she would never respond to anyone else. They had shown them, in fact, in their old quarters, videos of how dogs and wolves and stuff bonded, how they followed the strongest member of the pack. This was kinda like that--but she knew she didn't respond to him for the same reasons. It was something inside of him, something too hard to explain, which made her so close to him. It wasn't something for words.

She smiled once more. All of these feelings, too, were ones she knew he returned in full. Sometimes, of course, his seemed to go too far, got a little confining, but they were real, anyway. She knew she would never lose that. . . . She just hoped she didn't grab at him in return.

Oh well. She knew there was nothing to do about this fear except to watch herself, be sure that she didn't. No reason to dwell on it any longer, then.

She let her mind go on once more, therefore, running back again. She liked their new quarters much better than their old ones, even if Michael worried more here. They got to stay together almost all the time here, after all--or, at least, were almost never far from each other. That in itself made her happy.

There was something else about this new place, though, which made her content, but it wasn't something she could name. Yes, she knew it had something to do with the way she and Michael communicated better here, but that alone wasn't it. Maybe it was the way their trainers saw them, the way they always thought of them as a pair. She smiled. She liked that. That made sense--and made her happy. So long as Michael was with her, really, she could smile.

She closed her eyes finally, then, and let herself start to drift once more; she didn't want to wake Michael up--wanted him to sleep some now. She got the real feeling from her trainers, after all, that they wouldn't separate her from her companion again, and that alone was enough to make her content.

It was true, of course, that they were teaching Michael--and herself--stuff that she didn't like, which didn't feel right, but they were letting them stay together, too. So long as she didn't have to live without his arms around her, then, she could get through anything. They, after all, were a pair.

**********

It had been a really crappy few weeks, ones he hadn't recovered from at all; everything in them had seemed bad, had seemed to open up some new wound. . . . Everything, in fact, since Nikita had returned had gone downhill.

Birkoff sighed and took off his glasses to run his hand over his face; his last thought hadn't come out as he had meant. It wasn't so much that Nikita had come back which was the problem; that, in fact, he was *really* happy about. No, what was getting to him so much was that the promise of freedom her short release had brought him had proven to be a delusion. Freedom for him, then, was unachievable.

He sighed and continued to rub his eyes for another few seconds, his thoughts tormenting him--until the new, temporary girl came up with a completed sim. for him to look over. He stared up at her, putting on his glasses again; Quinn, or something like that, had moved in from another Section recently for a few weeks of further training. Whatever. Didn't matter much. She was just another drone. Like him.

He gave her a polite nod and uploaded the sim. to look over it. Her work wasn't bad, but it wasn't extraordinary. He still had a lot to teach her--if he could bother to get the time.

His eyes ran over it briefly, then, evaluating, making a few corrections. She was getting better, really, had potential, he guessed; he would make a note on her file about that. Still, she would be gone again before he got a chance to see whether she would ever amount to much, would probably be away before she even took in his existence much at all. Oh well.

She was working out for doing general Comm. stuff, then, even if he wasn't warming to her particularly. It was just that she was so . . . boring--and had an attitude to boot. Not his type at all--for friend or lover. Good thing, then, she was just another subordinate at a computer, one who saw this as simply another, arbitrary assignment--and himself as just another tech. op. to be largely ignored. Meant he had to deal with her a *lot* less.

He filed away her sim., therefore, and moved his mind and his work onward. He had better--or, at least, more pressing--things to think about right now.

The first of these, too, was his growing sense of insanity to be out of this place, to finally have a real life. This, of course, had been going on for awhile, but the last few weeks had brought it to a fever pitch. . . . He just didn't know how much longer it would take before he exploded.

He sighed, as he tried, unsuccessfully, to focus on the file in front of him, attempting to put off his continuing torment over this half-life he had been cheated into. After a few minutes, however, it was obvious that his effort was a total failure. He decided, then, to give it up.

He logged off his terminal, told his new second that he would be in the ready room till the next mission, and walked away; he had to get out, for a little while, at least, had to put himself at a slight remove from the bullshit that called itself his life, or he would just start screaming. There was only so much any one person could take.

His anger, truly, was simmering within him; the last few weeks had shown him his limits. He had been trying pretty hard, after all, just to accept the fact that he had a brother--a twin--and, even more, that that twin was free on the outside, while he was stuck in here. That had been a bitter one to try to get himself to accept, indeed, had been damn hard to deal with. . . . The last few weeks, though, had made it even worse.

He continued to think back, then, as he walked. He had tried at first to put off his anger, to look toward a possible way out. When Nikita had been--supposedly--offered a new life, had been used in a "pilot program" to see whether they could all, eventually, be let go, he had felt some tiny amount of hope for the first time in *years*. He sighed. If only that dream had been proved true, as well, he might have been able to go on with any sense of sanity.

His disconnected stare went on, as he wandered toward the ready room. That belief, however, had fallen through pretty quickly; within six weeks or so, she had been back--a failure. . . . He had hated it.

He had been more than a little angry at her, too, in the beginning, especially when he had originally thought that she had just returned for Michael. He really hated to admit it, saw what a total loss his feelings were, but he still cared for Nikita--a lot more than a simple friend should; he still had dreams at night that would rival, he would guess, any pubescent high schooler's. They were embarrassing, at his age. Still, he guessed he hadn't exactly been on the outside enough to be able to exorcise most of his youthful hormones--only made sense they turned up in his dreams, instead. . . . Great.

He sighed again and began to walk a little faster, disgusted with himself. He couldn't help wondering, though, what his brother's life was like. He was curious about whether he had had a chance to work out all these sorts of emotions, whether he actually had someone who gave a shit about whether he came home or not. Maybe. Certainly, he had a better chance than himself to find that person, whatever the outcome. He wasn't stuck running missions all day.

He felt once again the sour feeling of jealousy tighten his chest; he hated it, but it was directed at a lot of people right now. He was jealous of Nikita, indeed, for getting at least those six weeks to do whatever she wanted, was jealous of Michael for having Nikita come back for him--whatever her other motives as well, and jealous of everyone else in this God-forsaken place for having had damn *lives* before they were stuck in here. They, at least, whatever had happened to them, hadn't been *born* here--hadn't been condemned into Hell practically from the moment of conception. They, at least, had had a choice.

He let out another disgusted breath, as he reached the ready room finally--but his thoughts suddenly changed; he paused at the door, looking into it. He was alone here again, though, so--fortunately--no one noticed his distraction. He supposed that maybe he should at least be grateful for that.

His eyes now were lost in visions of the past. He had been in here a lot since that one time he had thought he was with Nikita, but--whether alone or with others--the memory had always come back to him, every time since. He had never been able to get it out of his head.

He made himself go lie down, however, trying to forget once more--but the thoughts weren't that easy to banish. He had even remembered them when he had been brain scraped a few weeks ago; they were one of his unconscious's memories when he had been in the process of being turned into a vegetable. He sighed discontentedly. He hated that. If only he could forget it, in fact, he was sure life around Nikita might be at least a little simpler.

He took off his glasses and laid them aside, rubbing over his eyes, moving his mind along. Nothing in this place was simple, though. Hell, on the outside, your chances of being seduced by an almost-exact replica of your fantasy woman, who was just using you for her masters' ends, were pretty damn slim; in here, though . . . Nope. In here, anything was possible. And that was *never* a good thing at all.

He tried to move his mind on, therefore, remembering the other images that scrape had brought back to him. They were all telling, really--all of them revolving around Nikita in some way, and usually around his place in Section, too. He sighed. Great.

Despite his disgust, however, his mind focused in. He really hated to admit how much he still felt for his Amazonian blonde friend, after all, knew it was a *totally* lost cause. Michael was in that woman's bloodstream; there was no way to get him out without killing her--and vice versa. No hope there for some lonesome computer geek, however little-brother-ish she might see him as. Nope. Her type was tall, dark, and silent--not scrawny, light, and nerdy. No--"No chance for you, little boy; she's already got her man," he half-whispered, before regretting it and letting out a disgusted breath. God, if only things could be different.

He shook his head again and let his hand fall on his chest. No chance of that, though; no hope there. He should have given up on her long ago, he knew--should have accepted his status as friend and little brother. She was kind enough to him, truly--did really seem to care about him in those more fraternal ways. Still, his heart--and his damn body--kept wanting her in other ways, in ones it was all too obvious she cared nothing for in return. He just wished he could force himself to let her go.

He sighed heavily, however, saddened by this last thought. He couldn't really do this--didn't want to, in some ways, knew that she really was a friend. He just needed, then, to keep reminding himself of this--about a hundred times a day. Maybe then he could begin to remember it.

He moved his mind along once more, therefore, going back to the scrape images. There was another message in them, too, after all--one he really couldn't let himself ignore. They had shown him, indeed, just how much stronger he had become; he really wasn't the little boy with the big brain who ran Comm. anymore. No. He had run missions on his own--both on and off-profile, had been in the middle of a gun battle and come out breathing more than once. He really was an operative now--could survive on those terms, if he had to. It was a huge change from his younger days, then--and, once again, Nikita was really much to thank. His heart sank again. Great.

He let out another tired breath, as he thought through this further. If only he didn't have so much to thank her for, maybe he could disentangle himself from her further. Still, the very fact that he was still alive was a lot due to her influence and help; even back in those days when she *really* hadn't had to, when they couldn't have even been called friends, she had given that freely. She had looked after him, indeed, had taught him to survive--in a way he guessed she had been forced to learn, as well. There was a lot, then, to thank her for.

He didn't want to think about this anymore, though. Besides, all of this didn't really cover all of his emotions of late. He would really have to push on.

Another thing his subconscious mind had revealed to him during the scrape, after all, was that he wanted out--*needed* to be out; he thought into this further. He had lied for so long about where he had come from, about his background--had had to. Now that he knew what it really was, then, he needed to explore it--needed to know. He had another half of himself out there somewhere--had somebody he needed to go find. . . . He just wondered how long it would take him to work up the courage to do it.

He let himself drift for a few minutes, avoiding this question--or attempting to--but his mind was soon pulled in another direction, went back to the last couple of days. George's ordered neural scrape had been bad enough, of course--had been enough of a torment--but he suspected it was really the appearance of Jerome, and the thoughts of Section Four, which had plagued him the worst lately. The whole idea of a whole Section-full of children being raised for specific purposes in the organization--raised to have no emotional bases but very strong minds--just struck him too deeply, seemed too familiar. He couldn't look into Jerome's eyes, indeed, without seeing a twisted little version of himself. And that thought, truly, scared the crap out of him.

He didn't know what to think of Section Four entirely, of course, except that he didn't like it. He supposed, too, that he had carried his dislike of the idea onto the child, as well, but he just couldn't help it; there was something *way* too familiar about Jerome, something he couldn't deal with at all without shuddering. The kid--and what had been done to him--scared him. He supposed, in fact, that he still half-expected to wake up one day and find some nasty little bit of programming tucked away in his brain--some leftover bit of data from his early, and entirely unremembered, days, which would someday force him toward some terrible act or another. It frightened him.

It was something he just couldn't get past at all, in fact. More than once, especially lately, he had wondered what had happened to him in his youth. Who had trained him? Who had raised him? Had he been one of those Section Four-like veal calves, left in complete isolation, or had there been others of his kind there? For all he knew, in fact, he could have been suckled by a computer; it would certainly explain his familiarity with them. He just had no idea.

It was this absolute lack of knowledge of his own early life which plagued him so desperately of late, too. Now, especially, that he knew he had a brother on the outside, he needed to know--needed to see what he might have been like if it had been him. He wasn't angry with him for getting the better end of the deal--even if he *was*, increasingly, pissed at Walter for having made the decision. No. What he wanted to see was whether he would have been more normal on the outside, whether he might have stood more of a chance. He just needed to know.

His mind went on here, then, analyzing his situation on the inside. In here, after all, he was eternally the baby brother--at best. Even though there were many recruits younger than him now, too many people still remembered him from his early teen days, remembered the "kid" who ran Comm. While he was here, then, he would never have a chance to get out of that role.

He sighed again and opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. He knew, of course, that there was no real way out--had given up on that brief delusion. Still, he more and more was realizing that he needed to understand where he came from, what his roots were; without that, he was just floating and unsure--directionless and empty. He had to know for certain.

His eyes became hard, as his determination began to set. He needed to find his brother, needed to know for sure where their connections lay. If he just knew that, he was sure he could go on, could--he hoped--come back to this Hell and get through it. He just had to know, first, that he was more than an experiment. Until then, there was no sanity.

All of his plans, therefore, were beginning; he would take his next downtime and would go away--far away--would find his brother. He didn't really know what the heck he might do after that, of course, but he would see when he got there. For right now, it was enough to know that this connection could be discovered and explored; that was the only thing which would keep him even mildly together--and the only thing he could trust at all. Jason was the only focus. . . . Everything else was meaningless.

The last few days, and his first real mission, had gone very well; he could see it in the minds of his leaders--although he didn't need such meager evidence for what he already knew. He was on his way up.

Jerome smiled, as he sat alone in his small quarters, thinking back over his actions. He had been a success, had been from the very beginning; his age had thrown them off, had led them to believe that he wasn't particularly formidable. That had been their first mistake. . . . It hadn't been their last.

The whole assignment, then--really--had given him pleasure; he wasn't sure where to start in running back through it again. He supposed, however, that he would start at the top.

Although he hadn't required outside confirmation of his success, George's approval of his information had been satisfying. The older man had had certain goals to achieve, and he had completed them all. He had gained him some insight into his enemies, had unsettled their whole structure--and had, thereby, proven just how easy that was to do; they had been completely unable to handle him, hadn't even had a clue how to begin. And George had been very pleased with it all.

This small success, however, hadn't really been the whole of his latest achievement. While pleasing this superior was good, Jerome had had other--more personal--goals in mind, as he had entered One. And all of those had been achieved, as well.

A small, rather evil, smile came over the small child's face, as he thought once more over the knowledge he had most enjoyed gaining--and the couple who had given it to him. . . . It had been perfect.

His mind ran along further here. He had been intrigued by the small Michael and Nikita from the time of their arrival in Four, it was true. Possibly, it was partly because they were allowed to stay together, were not isolated like everyone else. Mostly, though, it was something about this particular young girl's thoughts; they were . . . lighter than any he had seen before. Even the children he had seen on the playground during the mission hadn't matched her--and they were living on the outside. She was in a class of her own.

He rid himself of the thought of the playground incident quickly, however, since it brought him no particular pleasure; still, he continued to focus in on Nikita. He had liked the young child version of her at once, had seen in her someone who there was much to get out of, had understood that there was much in her he could use. He smiled to himself. Soon.

He pulled his mind back from this pleasant diversion for a second to further ponder his plans to come. The stumbling block in all this, indeed--both younger and older--was her constant companion: Michael; his displeased look set firm. He was an obstacle--and he was going to be removed.

His smile came back, then, as he thought into this possibility further; it was a favorite mental track. The young Michael, of course, was far less powerful than he was; his own assignment for this mission should be proof enough of that--had it not been obvious on its own. Yes, his, barely competent, rival could sometimes block out the thoughts he tried to send to Nikita, but that was just because he let the boy; if he burned out his mind, after all--at least, without permission--his trainers might get upset. His smile deepened. He would have to wait till he was finally allowed to do so officially.

He let out a pleased breath, his slight smile lingering. There was no doubt at all in Jerome's mind that this day would come, too; he--he was certain--was on the upward track, while Michael was only being tolerated as an experiment with his young companion. When he was finally allowed to kill his rival, then, he would make one request in return--that he be given the girl to "train." His smile grew broader. He was quite certain he could find some interesting uses for her, indeed.

He quite enjoyed these thoughts of his future triumph, of course; his smile continued, then, as his mind went on. He had all of this mentally set, of course--had for sometime. To be able to see and delve into the minds of the couple's older counterparts, therefore, had been a treat. He had enjoyed every second of it.

What he had discovered there, too, had been very instructive. Nikita had warmed to him instantly, instinctively. She might have told herself that it was because he was just a child, but he knew otherwise. She was meant to be his.

Michael, however, was another story. It was true that his older version--whose mental powers weren't at all developed--had been able to tell when he was scanning him; he could see it in his mind. Fortunately, though, that man had also told himself that he was imagining things, had refused to believe the proof of his thoughts. While he had unconsciously, then, been able to put up partial shields over his mind, they hadn't--because of this lack of belief--been entirely effective; the man simply hadn't thought such things could real, so they couldn't keep anyone out completely. Good.

Jerome, of course, didn't pick up on the contradictions in his thoughts, couldn't let himself believe in any deep abilities of either of these rivals. There was just no mechanism inside him which would allow for unpleasant truths.

His musings, therefore, continued unabated. This lack of belief, however, hadn't been the only reason the older Michael had been so easy to read. The other cause of this, too, was that his thoughts about Nikita were obvious--were practically screamed; there was no keeping them to himself, no matter how much he might think he did. Jerome, then, had been able to pick up many different bits of information from him he was sure the man hadn't been too willing to share--including memories of several of the couple's sexual rendezvous--and all of those, especially, had kept him happy in reviewing for hours.

It had been this latter bit of information he had mostly tried to put into the young Nikita's mind, as well--sadly, unsuccessfully. Still, the young Michael had been forced to deal with it, at least, and it had obviously sent his thoughts flying. He smiled. Good.

His own thoughts now made him content; he continued them, then. These sexual details, however, hadn't been all of the information he had gained from the older man; the other fun bits of information he had gotten had been about his betrayals of his partner--including the thoughts of his child with another woman. Those had been especially enjoyable to put into his young version's head, had left the boy, he was sure, with much to think over. He tried not to laugh. And that, truly, was a success.

Not everything which had happened lately made him happy, though; his smile faded, as his thoughts turned. What he had left out of his thoughts to the young Michael, indeed, was the fact that none of these betrayals seemed to be uppermost in Nikita's mind; in fact, she seemed mostly preoccupied with her own. Sadly, she hadn't had the details of these manipulations conscious enough for him to be able to access them--not without her knowing, at least--and George had made it clear that he was not to do any permanent damage to the personnel, if he could help it. Whatever she felt she was hiding, then, was--unfortunately--safe.

He lightened his thoughts again soon, however; none of this mattered in the end, after all. What did was the information he had been able to cull from Madeline and Operations, George's real targets. Everyone else was incidental.

His smile returned with these new thoughts, therefore, his delight in his performance rising. He had been especially pleased with the results in this area, too; he had thrown them both from the very beginning. Neither of them had taken him seriously, indeed--and Madeline's thoughts, upon seeing a child enter the Section, had been particularly colorful, if dark. He had liked them. If he hadn't been having such fun trying to destroy her, he might have warmed to her even more.

Still, this hadn't been possible, in the end; his mission had been too important. Besides, she had been such an easy target--so sure of herself and the absolute sanctity of her thoughts--that she had been very simple to penetrate. He was amazed, in fact, that she seemed surprised when he had mentioned her sister; that memory was so clear in her mind--so much so that it was absolutely ingrained in every surface of her office. There was no way at all to keep it from a trained mind; any fool with even basic telepathic skills could pick it up. He didn't know what she thought she was hiding.

The look on her face, however, as he had revealed this knowledge to her--as he had easily made his way into her office--had been priceless. If she had only understood how easy it was to do--especially this latter feat--she wouldn't have been half so impressed. All you had to do was run your fingers lightly over the keypad and feel which keys warmed; the right ones--the ones which had been touched the most frequently--were nearly hot, especially on a pad as well-used as hers. Then, all he had needed to do was focus slightly to pick up the residual impressions of the order of entry before entering and waiting; he had already known her worst fear from the first few seconds of his arrival. The rest had been merely a matter of proper timing.

The same basic process, too, had been easy to perform with Operations. Just finding a child--one sent by his enemy--in his office had disturbed him enough. If he really thought that his fear of losing control and power wasn't obvious, though, he had fooled himself too easily--far more than anyone else; he probably could have figured that out, in fact, even without his skills. It had been evident in everything he did. There was no way he could try to escape it.

He liked these thoughts, of course, but moved his mind on once more, nonetheless. With both of these targets--however easy they may have been, on many levels--the best part in his assignment had been in being able to finally try out his assault skills. That had been a long-desired amusement.

He smiled. It wasn't simply this which had given him pleasure, though; these two subjects were fun to play with, as well--reacted so well. No one else in Section would have responded in half so amusing a way. He had loved every second.

His eyes were a little unfocused now, therefore, as he thought back to his attack on Madeline. She had been so shocked when he had reached into her mind, when he had taken over her will, but it had been so simple. All you had to do was insinuate yourself into someone's thoughts and then squeeze. . . . It was quite a bit of fun.

He smiled further again. He hadn't really pressed too hard, of course, but she had still responded most gratifyingly, moving back in shock--totally overwhelmed. Should anyone with even marginal skills like those found in Four try to take over Section, therefore, she would be one of the first to go; she had no real defenses at all, despite her beliefs to the contrary. You couldn't, after all, transfer a psychic attack to someone else--force them to take the brunt of it, as she so enjoyed doing in other parts of her life--not without skill anyway. She, then, had been lost.

Operations, too, had been pretty easy, simply because he believed himself to be so invincible. Had Jerome actually tried his skills on many of the others in Section, in fact, he would have had at least a little more of a battle; no one else was that overconfident--and it was that delusion which made everything simple.

His contentment was complete now, therefore; he had greatly enjoyed his outing into Section. Perhaps there were a few parts he wouldn't be focusing on as much--such as Madeline's words about his upbringing or the incident at the playground--but they were minor enough, were easy to overlook. Everything he had truly needed to do had been done. He was on his way up.

Jerome, then, was completely satisfied with his effort; he had made a bond with the older version of the girl he wanted to own, had made the older version of her companion very nervous, and had totally unsettled George's enemies. He could have shut down the whole enterprise, in fact, had he wanted to, he was sure. . . . Too bad that hadn't been allowed him yet.

There was one other fact which made him especially pleased with himself right now, however, and that was that he had finally been allowed his first kill. He had been wanting it for awhile, indeed, had been waiting for the privilege. Every other time, though, his trainers had made him stop before he was done. This, then, had been special.

His small eyes shone brightly at these memories, as they made him feel complete. It was thrilling to be able to close your hand entirely around someone's mind--to keep closing it and never stop; their every last thought seeped out and into you--their emotions, their terror, giving the experience a special flavor of victory. It was much like he expected a fine wine would taste--although he doubted he would ever experience anything else quite so intoxicating. He truly hoped that he got to try it again soon.

His happiness now, therefore, was complete; this mission had been an absolute success. He had made everyone nervous--even Walter, the older version of his keeper--and had achieved all of George's goals. Since he was the first one chosen for such an assignment, too, he knew even more that his future was bright. All he had to do was wait, then--and soon everything he wanted would be his.

**********

Biotech/Psych. Op.: Eisenger 49-D-404 Assignment #: 4-264-1867/0319 Subject: Section 4, with addendum (Jerome 78-H-610; Michael 16-A-319 and Nikita 31-A-7) Reason for Evaluation: Monthly Report and Assessment of P.O.S. Rating: S4--70%; Jerome--65%; Alpha Pair--82%

Section Four:

Summary: Subjects in Section 4 continue to steadily improve in P.O.S. Program goals are on target.

Review and Recommendations: Progress toward objectives for Section 4 have remained steady from beginning. While early growth was slow, subjects have begun to move beyond first stages of development. All fields are experiencing upswings. While maturity should help in heightening of skill levels, as well, all extant subjects are on course for the present. Suggest continued study.

Telepathy: 95% of subjects continue to show pronounced skills in this area, and all are improving. Have increased frequency of tests at blocking thoughts as well as reading them; 93% are improving in this area. Suggest more time be devoted to this newer skill, however, before any further tests are made in the other. Otherwise, subjects may leave themselves open for attack.

Visual Projection: This area has been the hardest to develop. Many of the subjects have had difficulty singling out individual targets, and results have been inconsistent. 90% are now able to single out the thoughts of one individual in a crowd, however, and continued growth of subjects should increase their accuracy in kill results. Suggest continued tests of localization skills for now, therefore, and possibly implementation of simple thought projection exercises to test accuracy. Then, when subjects reach puberty and their scores in this area spike, further testing of Remote Assassination would be in order.

Telekinetics: This area has seen the greatest overall improvement; 97% have excessive skills here. Many, in fact, are beginning to outpace the instructors, and all are well on target. If subjects are allowed to understand their growing competence to too full an extent, however, they could become a threat to Section security. Would suggest cutting back in this area somewhat, therefore.

These three areas, of course, represent the greatest focus of Four, but other continuing tests are also being conducted in: Remote Viewing, Precognition, and Empathetic Bonds; these represent only 3% of budget and time. Would suggest, too, that the latter two continue. The former, however, is a well-researched area whose work is easily duplicated. Would suggest cutting this study off, then, and canceling main subject (Madeline 14-A-9), as she has yet to improve to acceptable levels in other areas of study and has proven consistently ungovernable.

Conclusion: Study is continuing well within projected limits. Results, as well, should begin to be particularly noticeable in about two years, as many of the subjects reach puberty. Would suggest a 2% staff increase, then, to cover attrition, and a continuation of budget projections. Reliable Remote Assassination is still very much within reason.

Jerome:

Summary: Subject has progressed well in many areas. Emotional stability, however, has not been among them. Recommend cancellation.

Review and Recommendations: Subject was recently sent on first mission outside Section Four, within Section One. He was chosen for two main reasons.

1) Skills in all areas have been high and increasing; subject excels in telepathy and telekinetics, especially. Remote projection, as well--when within viewing distance of target--has been extremely high. He seemed quite capable, therefore, of handling mechanics of assignment.

2) Subject has shown increasing psychological variance outside acceptable norm. He has been particularly obsessed with another team within Four, occasionally even causing small disruptions to routine. He had never been outside of extremely controlled environment to test in, either. Further evidence of loyalty and stability were needed.

His p.o.s. within One were very high, as well. His telekinetic abilities disrupted generators, allowed him access to equipment, and shattered a glass wall--as an acceptable show of his strength. All of this was admirable. His ability to read into the thoughts of his targets, further--from lingering mental traces in their environments if not always from their minds--was about 80%, successful mostly with senior staff. He was able to obtain required information, then, and to test One's ability to handle unpredictable factors. In all of this, he was a success.

Jerome's failure, however, came in a more personal area. He has, for a year now, shown a particular design upon one of the members of the Alpha Pair (Nikita 31-A-7). His future uses for her are unclear but are quite evidently not destined to help with Four's plans. Evaluation was needed.

He was sent to One, therefore, to test his reaction with the Prime Pair; his immediate connection to Nikita prime (Nikita 31-J-7) was marked, and he attempted to make mental contact with her alpha on his return--which was stopped only by her pair. This predilection, then, shows no signs of ending. All attempts at distancing have been fruitless.

This, though, was not the only variance from profile. A further, unpredicted, development of his time at One is the increasing desire for personal time and a less regimented life. This was started, too, simply by a random comment by Madeline prime (Madeline 14-D-9) in an attempt to control him. Its results, however, were seen in a complete break of protocol, ending eventually in an visual-projection-induced car accident which killed the driver and endangered himself and other operatives (Michael and Nikita prime). Reactions to outside emotional stimulus, therefore, cannot be accurately predicted.

Subject has not forgotten this new, unhealthy notion, either. While he has repressed this need for now, in focusing on the aforementioned alpha, it will resurface in time--very possibly in a treason attempt. Cancellation recommended.

Conclusion: Jerome is an extremely capable operative, even in youth. His emotional instability will make him highly unworkable, long-term, however. The program can and will flourish without him.

Alpha Pair:

Summary: Pair was put together to test possibility of inherent bond also shown in primes. Results so far are compelling and worth further study.

Review and Recommendations: Both members of current alpha pair were originally chosen for replication in One because of likelihood of operative skills, intelligence, and efficiency. Upon arrival at Four, and after subsequent tests, however, deeper links between them were found. Study began from these observations, therefore, and pair have been allowed to share quarters for the purposes of this investigation.

Early days of study of alpha pair, of course, have been discussed in previous evaluation. Their bond, though, seems to continue to grow. While they occasionally do still speak aloud to one another, this seems more to be habit than necessity. Were both of them rendered temporarily mute, for one reason or another, communication seems likely to continue; this, indeed, has been observed in the prime pair from which they were created. Suggest, then, trying this particular experiment through non-surgical means.

Each member of the pair, of course, has different skill sets--as has also been shown in their prime counterparts. Nikita alpha's main verifiable parapsychological skill seems to be empathy; she has been tested and has reached a 99% success level in transferring emotions, always positive so far, to others through touch; her success without touch have been lower, but she is still quite young. With age, then, her success rate should rise. Suggest continuing to test her abilities at a distance, therefore--and also suggest, in coming years, testing her facility with more negative emotions.

Evaluator would further suggest, with this particular alpha, an increased testing of her telepathic and other abilities. It seems likely, from her bond with her partner, that her skills in these areas are higher than has been previously noted. Her partner, it seems--at least from observation--tends to try to keep her from making them too obvious.

Michael alpha's skills so far have been more in the telepathic and visual projection fields. Sims show that he seems likely to exceed all other subjects in this latter area and to equal any of the others in the former. While suspicions have arisen that he is hiding the depths of his skills, as well--as, it has been noted, he also seems to have instructed his partner to do--evaluator would suggest that further, subtle testing be done in these areas, pushing him toward revealing true strengths.

Much of the above information, of course, should give hints as to these subjects' weaknesses. They are dependent on one another completely for emotional and psychological stability; something similar has been witnessed in their primes. Michael alpha, as well, has shown a consistent tendency to try to shield his pair from taking part in more useful Section activities; he seems to have a desire to keep her "innocent" or "pure." This danger has yet to be rectified.

These problem areas must be addressed. As yet, though, no particular approach has been found which will make results assured; separation of subjects has led to extremely dangerous ends. Would suggest again, if cancellation ever becomes the object with them, that: a) both will have to be eliminated and b) Michael alpha will have to be the first, if it proves impossible to cancel them simultaneously. Danger to Section could be immeasurable, otherwise.

While future path for the training of these two is still an open area, then, would suggest that, for now, they be kept together and eased along toward obtaining further objectives. As Nikita alpha grows, chances of being able to bargain with both parties may well increase. Their potential, indeed--as seen in their prime counterparts--is too great to destroy without reason.

Conclusion: Keep Alpha Pair together. Even if they do not live up to their full potential as Four operatives this way, their value as a study is immense. Further, no positive results of any kind can come from separation, and it is hoped that their slow progress toward maturity will lead them to be more open to negotiation. Would certainly recommend further study on this path before any other course is attempted.

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

He read through the pilfered report with great interest, a growing smile on his face; he had always known that he had chosen the right ally for his evaluation of Section, but what he was learning from George's half-secret study at Four was invaluable, nonetheless. Michael and Nikita would be his pair of the future.

Mr. Jones' smile didn't fade, as he turned off the report before him. He was well aware, of course, that both Madeline and George believed their separate studies of the alphas had been done in private, but they were quite wrong. He had been watching the entire process, always interested to know what might develop between what was now known as the "alpha pair." They really were more valuable than he could express.

He let out a contented little sigh, therefore, and filed away the report before him for future reference before leaning back in his chair, his mind continuing on. This last thought, of course, was true of the prime pair, as well as their small replicants; Nikita, too, had been the object of some study since her entrance into One, but it was really the synergy between herself and the man who was now her unofficial partner which had made the study so intriguing. She may have had her moments of doubt, but Mr. Jones never had; she and her partner, should they--hopefully--survive, would be the future of this organization. They, together, were the lifeblood it needed.

He had left this adult pair's future, as well, in Nikita's hands--had done so from the moment of her recruitment to his cause. Still, he had no doubts about what her decision would be; she would want to see Michael protected and herself with him. It was all the pair had ever wanted, truly--and, he was quite certain, once this was allowed, that they would do whatever was asked of them without question--especially if what was asked, for once, went against very few of their personal beliefs. It would be in the best interests of all.

He was quite happy, then; it was all perfect, was shaping up quite nicely. It was true that, in the early years between them, things had run less smoothly, but their recent bond had been far less shakable. Nowadays, they were inseparable, given even the vaguest chance at time alone; they needed each other--and the fact that One had kept the pair apart recently, which was obviously causing both of them to pine, was just more future inducement for them to reunite. Even the unwitting subjects of his and Nikita's evaluation, then, were playing right into his hands.

His mind turned back to the report he had just scanned, therefore. While he didn't admit to fully understanding the bonds which these two exhibited, it was obvious in them--whatever was done with their DNA. Even their small versions were fiercely loyal and devoted to each other; they, too, would make quite an addition to the Sections, in the future. And that, truly, would be a day to see.

All he needed to do, then, was keep the alphas alive until their prime counterparts were free of their current leaders' influence. Then, once everything had settled itself between the older couple--he did assume there would be a certain period of instability, following Nikita's revelation of her current role, but nothing insurmountable--he might well tell them about the younger pair and see what they recommended. It would be intriguing to know their ideas.

He was utterly free of doubts here; his mind refocused slightly, therefore. While the alphas would obviously be capable of making quite a set of cold ops., he allowed that there were other options for them, as well. He assumed, too, that their older versions might opt for these latter options--but, whatever happened, they could still be quite valuable, especially if they were allowed the older pair--at least, in their more established days--as role models. He just had to wait and see.

His smile in response to these thoughts, of course, was subtle but utterly genuine. True, both pairs had a bit more trial by fire to survive before their glory days came upon them, but they would make it; both partnerships were strong. All he had to do, therefore, was observe and wait for the right moment. . . . And then everything in this organization would finally be as it should.

[The End]

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