~~~

"What is it, sir?"

Branyt noted the open curiosity in the tech's voice and silently echoed it. This was supposed to be a simple salvage job. These lower levels hadn't been operational in decades…not since the ChangeOver. According to their information, this level had been abandoned even before the war. It had once been part of the science division, laboratories and such. With the onset of the war, all scientific research not directly related to weapons technology or defense had been curtailed. After the war…well, the ChangeOver had preoccupied the world. Whatever projects had once been pursued in these depths had never been rekindled.

Or, at least, that's what they'd been told.

What he saw said otherwise.

Branyt raised his flashlight, focusing the beam of light on a long, slender, black cylinder that took up the majority of the room. Surrounding it, unfamiliar equipment flashed and hummed as it busily performed whatever function it was set for. The generators to these levels hadn't been operational in decades. What powered this equipment?

Taking a deep breath, and questioning his sanity, Branyt took a step into the room. He played his flashlight around the various equipment, forming and just as rapidly discarding theories on their function. He finally let the light come to rest on the cylinder. It seemed to be the main focus of the machines. Whatever they were doing directly involved the cylinder.

Branyt glanced over his shoulder. The tech remained in the doorway, his face clearly expressing his uncertainty and apprehension. Branyt looked back at the cylinder and with another bracing breath, moved toward it. The beam of the light danced over the slick, black surface, reflecting back to cast eerie shadows around the room. Branyt reached out as he approached the foot of the tube, sliding his hand along its exterior as he moved forward. It was cold to the touch and slick, like glass.

The black surface appeared seamless until he reached the far end. There it gave way to a transparent covering about two foot square, a window of sorts. Branyt moved the beam of light closer and leaned over the tube, hoping to catch a glimpse of what, if anything, might be inside. His nose almost touched the clear surface.

"Oh, my God!"

He leaped back so suddenly his flashlight went flying, clattering loudly in the small room. A hand on his shoulder nearly sent him into cardiac arrest. He looked up, meeting the concerned eyes of his tech.

"Sir?"

Branyt's eyes darted back to the cylinder.

The tech moved hesitantly past him, slowly raising his flashlight until the contents of the tube fell beneath its beam.

"Sweet Mother Mary…What…Who is it?"

~~~

"The official records say only that it was 'scientific research'. Something to do with chemical weapons technology."

"This is not a chemical weapons lab." It was really the only thing General Arlen Rouse could say for certain at this point. He stepped further into the room, but was blocked from approaching the slender black tube that dominated the room by the score of science and medical personnel surrounding it. He listened to their rapid discourse for a few minutes, then tuned it out when it became apparent it was 'techo-babble'.

The general addressed the man at his side without moving his eyes from the specter before him. "I have a meeting with President Arledge in two hours. He'll be expecting answers." Rouse turned to face the man, letting the frustration he was feeling reach his eyes. "I can't very well give him answers I don't have, can I?"

"No, sir." The colonel swallowed audibly. He slowly shifted his eyes to the enclave in the center of the room. "Doctor Porch has assured me his report will be ready by 0900. I have two teams searching through the available archives, military and civilian, for anything that could be even remotely connected."

Rouse didn't even try to suppress the sigh of frustration which escaped. The archives were a joke. What records had not been destroyed in the conflict itself had been all but eradicated in the ensuing ChangeOver. The few records which had survived were woefully incomplete and disorganized. Frankly, with much of the world preoccupied with survival in the wake of the devastation of the war, rebuilding old archive records had not been a top priority.

But there has to be something! Whatever they had been doing down here prior to the war, they must have kept some kind of record. If this room, this equipment, this…person…had survived, then there was a good chance the records had survived, too.

~~~

"I'm sorry, sir, that's all we have at this time." General Rouse hated apologies, especially when they passed his lips. If you were good, if you did your job, there should be no reason to apologize…ever. He watched the President carefully, trying to gauge the man's reactions.

President Edward Arledge sat unmoving, his back rigid. His sharp gray eyes flicked over the report spread wide on his massive oak desk. The President lifted a small, perfectly manicured hand and moved aside the top few sheets of the report to reveal a photograph. "So this is it."

The photo was upside down to Rouse, but he didn't have to see it to know what it depicted. He saw it every time he closed his eyes. The face haunted even his waking hours. "Yes, sir, that's it…him."

"Him," Arledge repeated. "He really is alive."

It was not a question, but Rouse felt compelled to answer. "Yes, sir. Alive and, as far as Porch can determine, relatively healthy."

"After all these years? It just doesn't seem possible. Even today, we don't have this kind of technology."

"Yes, sir," Rouse agreed, "but a lot of tech--"

"Yes, yes, I know," Arledge interrupted impatiently. "I don't need to be reminded how much technology was lost in the war. But if we had the capability a hundred years ago to…to…" he waved a hand over the photograph, "to do this, then why don't I know about it? Why doesn't anyone know about it?"

"I can't answer that, Mr. President."

"What can you answer, General? We have to know something!"

Rouse forced his jaw to unclench. "We're attempting to find answers, sir. Progress through the archives is difficult at best, as I'm sure you're aware, but I have several teams on it. If there's anything there, we will find it."

"Put more men on it," the President ordered, turning his attention back to the photograph. "He looks very young," he said after a long minute.

"Yes, sir." Rouse didn't tell the president how much younger the man looked in person. How he appeared to be merely sleeping in the coffin-like black tube which had been his bed for almost a hundred years. He refrained from mentioning how looking down on the young, innocent face, you felt as though the eyes would open any minute, piercing you with their intensity. Who was this young man? Why was he so important that he had been preserved in such a manner? Who had locked him away in the bowels of the Pentagon only to be forgotten as the decades rolled silently by above him?

And what color would those eyes be if they did open?

"Can we wake him?"

The President's question startled Rouse from his silent musings. "Excuse me, sir?"

Arledge lifted his eyes, impatience in their depths. "I asked, can we wake him?"

"I don't think it has been determined yet, sir. The technology employed here is frankly beyond anything we've seen before, Mr. President. It will take time to determine exactly what we're dealing with and decide how best to proceed."

"But the young man is alive and healthy. You said as much. He could provide the answers we're seeking."

"It may not be that simple, sir." Rouse paused. He had read over Porch's initial report just minutes ago, but he hesitated to even attempt to translate it for Arledge. "Perhaps it would be best for you to speak to Doctor Porch. I'll send for him immediately."

"No." Arledge dropped his eyes once more to the photograph. "I want to see this scientific impossibility for myself." He dropped the photo back into the file and closed it, then stood. "We'll go to Doctor Porch."

~~~

Doctor Daniel Porch hurried through the busy corridors. He didn't have time for this, and he didn't care if his impatience showed. They wanted answers and they wanted them yesterday, so why couldn't they leave him alone long enough to find those answers?

He brushed past the military guards at the elevator, scarcely acknowledging their presence. Entering the lift, he stabbed impatiently at the button for the bottommost level. The elevator hummed to life around him as his thoughts turned again to the sheaves of notes on his desk, awaiting his scrutiny. At this rate, it would be another hundred years before their 'patient' could be awakened.

The lift deposited him on the lower level, where a soldier awaited.

"He's arrived?" Porch asked, moving swiftly forward.

The soldier fell into step beside him. "Yes, sir. He and General Rouse have been taken directly to the chamber."

Porch frowned. And so it begins.

He entered the room, pausing at the door in deference to the pair before him. The President and General Rouse stood silently beside the cylinder. Behind them stood the requisite retinue of assistants and security. Porch stepped closer and cleared his throat. All eyes turned to face him.

"Good morning, Mr. President, General Rouse. I apologize for not being here to greet you. I was busy elsewhere when I received notice of your arrival."

President Arledge waved a hand dismissively and turned his attention back to the occupant of the tube. "He's very young."

Porch moved to the opposite side of the tube and looked down at the young man, though it was unnecessary; the image was firmly etched in his mind. The young man's upper body, all that could be seen through the small window, was naked. A multitude of leads and tubes were attached to his head and chest. Long, chestnut curls were spread artistically around a face that could almost be described as angelic. Deep in an artificially induced sleep, the young man's face was relaxed, free of even the subtle signs of dreaming. He did, indeed, look very young. Porch had initially estimated his age at no more than seventeen, eighteen tops.

Until an hour ago…

"He's twenty-four," Porch announced, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

"What?!" General Rouse demanded, startled by the announcement.

"Well, technically, he's one hundred and eighteen, but he was twenty-four when he entered the final stages of the cryogenic sleep.

"And, sir…" Porch paused, looking the President in the eye. "He's a Guide."

~~~

"You didn't see fit to share this information?"

Porch sat back in his chair, calmly watching the general angrily pace the length of the office before turning and heading once again for the opposite wall. In contrast, President Arledge sat very still, his intense gaze fixed on Porch as he awaited an explanation.

"I haven't had the opportunity. We found the files less than an hour ago. Shortly thereafter, I was informed of your impending arrival."

"We should have been notified immediately. You shouldn't have accessed the information until given authority." Rouse stormed the circuit of the room once more, his anger spilling over to his feet.

"It's his medical history, for God's sake!" Porch surged to his feet. "I'm his doctor! What more authority do I need?"

Rouse moved forward to confront the doctor. "Your authority ends with--"

"Gentlemen!" President Arledge's imposing tone cut through the shouts with little trouble. Both men turned to face him. "Sit down! We'll discuss this like the reasonable, responsible adults we profess to be."

Porch heaved a sigh and reclaimed his seat, glancing apologetically at Rouse. "I think we're all a little frustrated."

Rouse nodded in agreement, anger leeching from his expression. "A lot is at stake here."

"So, Doctor Porch, you were saying the files contain the boy's medical history?"

"Yes, Mr. President." He picked up a sheaf of papers from his desk, passing them to Arledge. "This is my copy. I'll have copies made for both of you. I've barely had a chance to glance at it myself."

Arledge flipped slowly through the papers, handing an occasional sheet to Rouse.

"The information appears remarkably detailed," Porch continued, unsure if he had their attention or not. "It covers a multitude of tests and experiments that were run over the course of a seven year time frame."

"How much of this have you read, Doctor?" Arledge asked. "Are the answers we need in here?"

"I haven't gotten that far yet, sir, but I would hazard a guess that at the very least, the reasons behind his preservation would be outlined."

Arledge looked up. "The boy--"

"Sandburg."

"What?"

"His name is Blair Sandburg."

Arledge nodded acknowledgment. "Sandburg. He's a Guide? You're certain of that?"

Porch smiled, acutely aware of the importance of the information. "Yes, sir."

"An honest-to-God Guide!" Rouse exclaimed softly. "No wonder they preserved him."

Porch shook his head. "No. It would explain their interest in him, but why suspend him? Why not pair him with a Sentinel?"

"Maybe he was incompatible," Arledge suggested. It was uncommon, but the records showed it did occasionally happen. Or maybe Guides weren't as rare a hundred years ago as they are today."

"Or maybe there was something wrong with him," Rouse added. "Something which prohibited a connection."

"Whatever the case, I think we'll find our answers in there." Porch indicated the report still in the President's hands.

Arledge stood, dropping the papers on the desk before Porch. "We'll leave you to it, then, Doctor. I want a copy of that report." He glanced at Rouse. "See to it."

"You'll be staying then?" Porch questioned.

Arledge fixed his steely gray gaze on the man. "Doctor, if what you're telling me is true, if this…boy…is a Guide, then there is no greater matter before the world at the moment."

~~~

"Blair Sandburg, approximately twenty-four years of age. He was a citizen of what was then known as Washington, United States of America. He was a student of exceptional intelligence, which is what first brought him to the attention of…" Porch paused, searching for a polite reference for the bastards behind this fiasco -- there wasn't one, "…the government at the age of fourteen. Two years of observation followed, during which it was decided his guide tendencies were strong enough to make him worth further study."

"So, this Sandburg…" Under Secretary Benning said into the tension of the conference room, "…was definitely a Guide?"

"Is," Porch corrected. "He is a Guide. The young man is alive."

"And no Sentinel was ever found for him?"

General Rouse cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the assembled cabinet members to himself. "An extensive search was launched to find a Sentinel for the boy. They were unsuccessful. Apparently, Sentinels were as rare a century ago as Guides are today."

"So they kept the boy," Benning said. "To what end?"

Rouse opened his mouth to reply, but Porch jumped in, overriding him. "To use him. Or more correctly, the Sentinel/Guide pair, should a Sentinel ever be found."

Benning nodded slowly, her short gray hair dancing around her delicately lined face. "I can see the attraction. Such a pair would be invaluable given the world climate at the time." She lifted her eyes, again meeting Porch's. "But there were no Sentinels?"

"No, there weren't," Porch agreed. He leaned back in his chair, letting his hands drop to his lap. "They searched for about a year before concluding that there simply were no Sentinels. It was decided the young man was too valuable to 'waste', so preparations were begun to…preserve…him for future use."

"The cryogenic sleep," Rouse contributed.

"What do we know about the technology employed here?" asked a man at the end of the conference table.

"More than we did yesterday," President Arledge answered. "But not as much as we would have hoped."

"Given time," Rouse assured the assemblage, "we will figure this out. Once the boy is removed from the tube, we'll have greater access to the technology which went into its construction and function."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," the President cautioned. "I have a question, Doctor. You gave this man's age as twenty-four. Now, I'll admit, most of this report is beyond me, but I understood that he was placed into suspension two years after his…confiscation, which you are saying happened when he was fifteen."

Porch exhaled loudly, letting it carry the tone of his disgust. "Yes, sir. He was seventeen years old when he was placed into the sleep, but the technology was new, untried. There were…problems."

"What kind of problems?" Benning asked.

"They managed to suspend him, but he didn't react as anticipated. Though technically suspended, he continued to age. It took almost seven years to work out the problems and fix them."

Porch waited a moment to let the implications of the revelation sink in, then continued. "Additional data shows he was monitored for the next twelve years as they continued to search unsuccessfully for a Sentinel. The reports stop abruptly shortly thereafter. I suppose we all know why." He felt it unnecessary to remind them of the onset of the war.

"And he was just…forgotten?" Senator Baris asked, incredulous.

"Very few knew of his existence in the first place," Rouse pointed out. "Between the massive death tolls, the destruction of much of the world, and then the ChangeOver…" He let their imaginations finish the sentence.

"Damn," Benning murmured, voicing the curse for them all.

Arledge cleared his throat softly, bringing their thoughts back to the present. "Can we wake him, Doctor Porch?"

Porch hesitated. He had been expecting the question, but was still unprepared for it. "Possibly…probably," he quickly amended. "But not without complications. This is new territory for me…for us all. With no more information than I have, no more resources than are available, all I can give you are speculations."

"Then speculate for us, Doctor," the President commanded.

"I believe we can successfully remove him from the cylinder. However, it's possible that he will have sustained damage from the procedure. As I said before, the technology was new, untested, and it was never intended for him to remain suspended for almost a century. I can't even begin to guess at what we'll be facing. Muscle damage, certainly. Vision, auditory problems, probably. Cardiovascular, pulmonary, brain damage, possibly. How many of these, if any, will be permanent? I can't say. He could come out of it with only minor difficulties which can be overcome with proper treatment and rehabilitation, or he could be a vegetable. I just can't give you definite answers."

Arledge absorbed the information as though it was what he had expected all along, nodding as the potential problems were named. When Porch finished, he said, "I understand the novelty of this venture, Doctor, believe me. However, the only other option I see is to leave him as we found him."

"Do you realize what you're saying?!" Senator Hawkins demanded, his fist banging loudly on the table. "This boy is a Guide! A Guide, damn it! There hasn't been one confirmed Guide in my lifetime. Think of the possibilities!"

"I wasn't suggesting we leave him, Gary," Arledge stated calmly. "Merely pointing out the limited options. Believe me, I'm well aware of the possibilities."

"With all due respect, Mr. President," Porch interrupted, his temper rising, "that's the thought which led to the current situation. Blair Sandburg is not a commodity. He's a human being! He was kidnapped and held prisoner for over a year! He was treated like a…a… lab rat! He was put into suspension for almost a century! All because someone, somewhere was aware of the possibilities! If -- and that's a damned big 'if' at this point -- we are able to successfully wake him, he's going to have way too much to deal with to be concerned with finding a Sentinel with which to be paired."

Anger flashed in President Arledge's gray eyes as he listened to Porch's ranting, but when he spoke, his tone was calm. "You're jumping to a great many conclusions, Doctor Porch. I'm well aware of the indignities suffered by this young man. I'm well aware, thanks to your report, of the difficulties he will be facing once we are able to awaken him. But I am also aware of the difficulties faced by the roughly one hundred known Sentinels on a daily basis as a direct result of having no Guide. My allusion to 'possibilities' was merely in reference to the possibility of finding him a compatible Sentinel."

Porch swallowed his retort. It may have been the President's intention, though Porch wasn't one hundred percent certain of that, but he had definitely seen the gleam in more than one senator's eye at the mention of the boy's capabilities. He knew how politicians thought, and, after spending the past twenty-four hours reading Sandburg's files, he was very well aware of the temptations of a functioning Sentinel/Guide pair. Keeping these doubts to himself, a terse, "Yes, sir," was his only reply.

Arledge met the gazes of the assembled men and women around the table. "As I see it, our next course of action is twofold: find a way to safely awaken the Guide, and find a suitable Sentinel." He rotated his chair until he faced Porch. "How soon can we make the attempt?"

We? Porch scoffed silently. You mean me. If this fails, if something happens, it'll be my ass in a vise.d Aloud he said, "I'd like to monitor him for a while longer. I need to run additional tests--"

"How much time do you need?" Arledge interrupted impatiently.

"Bare minimum…six weeks."

Arledge nodded. "Perfect."

Porch raised an eyebrow. He had expected an argument. "Excuse me, sir?"

"That will give us just about enough time to find him a compatible Sentinel."

~~~

Lieutenant James Ellison pulled off his flak jacket and tossed it across his desk with a weary sigh. Across the squad room, other officers were doing the same thing. It had been a hard mission, ending badly. Two civilian hostages had been killed, four wounded…one Planet Security officer dead. That was three deaths too many in Jim's estimation.

Jim dropped heavily into his chair, enviously eying the coffee pot across the room. Even with his Sentinel senses dampened to slightly below normal levels, he could detect the subtle aroma. He would give a year's wages at this moment for just one cup of the stuff. He watched longingly as Joel Taggart lifted the pot and sloshed a generous amount of the dark, steaming liquid into his mug. Joel caught Jim's gaze across the distance and smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, Jim," the large, black man mouthed silently.

Jim smiled back and shrugged. Coffee was one of the things he missed most, but it was also near the top of the "prohibited list" for suppressed Sentinels. Stimulants and suppressants were definitely not a good mix. Jim could understand the logic of it, but damned if he had to like it. The thought of never having another cup of coffee was just too depressing to think about.

"Damn," Jim swore under his breath with a wistful sigh. Depression was another of the damned drug's side effects. Depression, mood swings, short temper…There were days when he wondered if it was all worth it, but then he'd remember the day his senses had come online for the first time, leaving him spinning hopelessly out of control. The indescribable agony of those few short hours of sensory overload were enough to convince him it was worth each and every one of the cursed "side-effects" of the Pycnogycine. He didn't think he could go through that again and come out of it sane. If being short tempered and tired were the price he had to pay for sanity, then so be it. Jim forced the depressing thoughts away, refusing to allow himself the luxury of self pity. He could count his blessings, even if they were few and far between these days. He'd seen the films of what happened to Sentinels born before Pycnogycine had been developed. They had invariably lost themselves to the onslaught of sensory stimulation, living a life of almost total sedation, many times in mental hospitals. Jim might curse the drugs, but he couldn't lose sight of where he'd be without them.

After all, it wasn't like there was a choice.

With a familiar sigh of resignation, Jim turned his attention to the mission they had just completed. The commissioner would be wanting their reports as soon as possible, so the heads could start trying to figure out how to spin their story for the media.

A flashing yellow light on Jim's computer caught his attention. Yellow…a personal message. With a frown, he pushed a button, displaying the communication in text across the small screen. His frown deepened as he read the message.

It had been only week since his last Pycnogycine renewal, and the doctor had scarcely given him a second look during the mandatory physical before okaying the injections. There had been no indication of a problem. Why was he being summoned back to the Sentinel Treatment Center now?

~~~

Jim forced himself to sit still, not an easy feat. Anxious, his feet demanded action, but there was little room to pace in the small area where he had been directed to wait. It was a part of the center he was unfamiliar with. Newly discovered Sentinels were tested at the Sentinel Treatment Center for drug compatibility before being started on a lifetime of dependence on the "miracle" medicine. The Sentinel physicals were dispensed in one small area of the center, and there had never been a reason for Jim to delve deeper into the place since the day he had been brought in, deep in sensory overload. Thankfully, he remembered little of that day.

"Mr. Ellison?"

The flat female voice called Jim back to the present. "It's 'Lieutenant'," he corrected automatically.

Ignoring him, the woman-- nurse? receptionist? glorified flunky? -- gestured through the door. "If you'll follow me, they're ready for you, now."

She led him down a narrow hallway, toward a set of large double doors at the end. As they approached, one of the doors opened and a man stepped out. His eyes locked with Jim's as the two men passed one another, and in an instant they sized one another up. As tall as Jim, the other man was bulkier in the torso, but still in prime physical condition. Where Jim's hair was short and light brown, the other man's was darker and long, almost to his collar. He wore it slicked back, which emphasized a hard face, devoid of expression.

Jim glanced over his shoulder as the man passed, watching until he had disappeared around the corner. An unexplained irritation crawled up the back of his neck, confusing Jim. They had not exchanged a word, yet Jim felt a deep, inexplicable animosity toward the man.

"Mr. Ellison?"

Jim turned to find the woman standing impatiently beside the double doors, her arms crossed over her chest in thinly veiled annoyance.

"The Directors are waiting for you, Mr. Ellison."

"It's Lieutenant," he growled, pushing past her as she swung open the door. He hid a pleased smile as the woman jumped back in surprise at the angry snarl.

Jim entered the room, taking quick stock of his surroundings before heading for the table before him and the chair obviously meant for him. On the far side of the table sat three men -- the Board of Directors for the STC. The men varied in age and description, but all wore the distinctive air of self-importance he had come to associate with this place.

"Welcome, Lieutenant Ellison," the older of the men said. "I'm Doctor Watts, Chief Administrator of the Northwestern Sentinel Testing Center. My apologies for the abruptness of our summons. We certainly appreciate your prompt response." He indicated the chair across from him. "Have a seat."

Jim hesitated only briefly. Once he was settled, the man picked up a folder from the table and opened it.

"James Joseph Ellison," Watts read aloud. "Planet Security Forces. Lieutenant, second grade. Age: thirty-one. Online for six years." The man glanced up at Jim. "You were twenty-five when you came online. That's rather old, isn't it?"

Watt's tone raised Jim's hackles. "That would be your area of expertise."

A slight frown marred the man's otherwise neutral expression. "Yes, I suppose it would. Twenty-five is rather old, Lieutenant Ellison, though not unheard of. It seems, however, the late development did little to weaken your abilities." He glanced again at the open report before him. "You were rated in the upper brackets for all five of your senses."

"Interesting," Jim retorted sarcastically. He honestly didn't see what difference it made in the long run. His senses were unusable. Absently, he reached up and scratched at the back of his neck, where the irritating itch remained.

"Yes, very interesting," the man mumbled absently as he continued to read the file.

Showing no sign of his growing discomfort, Jim let his gaze stray to the remaining two men at the table. Both were studying him in a way that made him feel like a bug under a microscope. He returned the stares, one at a time, inwardly pleased when both surrendered the contest first.

"Look," Jim finally broke the silence with an annoyed snarl, "someone want to tell me what's going on here? I'm sure you had ample time to read my file before I got here."

Watts looked up, an eyebrow raised questioningly. For a moment, he appeared to have his own sharp retort prepared. If so, he changed his mind. He closed the folder and leaned back in his chair. "You're right, of course, Lieutenant. It's an interesting file, I must say. You've had an exemplary career, twice publicly decorated for outstanding bravery, plus multiple commendations from all of your superior officers, and all of this despite the suppression drugs and their side effects. I'm sure you're aware that very few suppressed Sentinels are able to lead a "normal" life, much less one so distinguished?"

It was common knowledge, so Jim took the question as rhetorical and waited for the man to reach his point.

Realizing Jim didn't intend to answer the question, Watts continued, "Before I proceed, Lieutenant Ellison, let me ask you a question. Are you always this…disagreeable?"

"Only when I feel my time is being wasted," Jim shot back. The belligerence of the answer surprised Jim. He had no idea where his hostility for the men across the table was coming from. There was a deep irritability gnawing at him which he couldn't understand or seem to control. He glanced up, meeting the eyes of the director, and was surprised to see only a calm curiosity, not the annoyance he would expect under the circumstances.

Watts smiled complacently at Jim. "I suspect you're as surprised by your attitude as we are, Lieutenant. Why is that?"

"Why don't you tell me," Jim snarled back. He was fast running out of patience.

The three men exchanged knowing looks, seeming to reach some sort of conclusion.

"All right, Lieutenant Ellison, I will tell you, though I suspect you might have already reached the correct conclusion on your own. You are, after all, a perceptive individual. The man who left here ahead of you…you passed him on your way in, did you not?"

Jim nodded. "The Sentinel?"

A pleased look crossed the man's face. "Do you know Mikal Yagudin?" At Jim's negative response, he continued. "How is it, then, that you know he's a Sentinel?"

Jim opened his mouth, then shut it, unsure exactly how to answer the question. He had no idea how he knew, but he was certain he was correct.

"You felt it, didn't you, Lieutenant? An irritating itch on the back of the neck, perhaps? Or maybe nothing more than a growing discomfort in the pit of your stomach? Unsuppressed sentinels would feel this…alert…when encountering a fellow Sentinel. Perhaps you didn't know that? Suppressed Sentinels, however, do not." He flipped open Jim's file once more, scanning quickly through it. "According to your records, you received your injections only a week ago." He looked to Jim for conformation.

Jim nodded absently, mulling over this new bit of information. He had run into probably a half dozen or so Sentinels since coming online, on the job and here at the center, but this was the first time he'd experienced this feeling. Why now? Jim's unease grew. "Why don't you just cut to the chase, Director?" he snapped, not wanting to dwell too much on the implications.

The man closed the file, pinning Jim with a look that was two parts irritation, one part arrogance. "My point, Lieutenant, is that you should not have felt the warning, and although you haven't said as much, I think it's safe to assume from your reactions that you did, which indicates to us you're either becoming immune to the suppression drugs or you're a stronger Sentinel than any of us, yourself included, suspected. In light of the fact that you are not writhing in the floor in the midst of sensory overload, I think it's safe to conclude it's not the former."

Jim silently worked his jaw, considering the words. The drugs were working; he had no doubts about that. His very thoughts and reactions were tainted by the damn things, sluggish and languid. It was a curse he had learned to live with, even compensate for, but one which he still recognized as existing.

Which left the director's second suggestion. Jim considered it only momentarily. It made no difference that he could see. Level one or level ten, his senses were useless. God had given him a gift, or so he had been told, yet He had neglected to provide him a way to use the gift. In Jim's estimation, God was a bit short sighted.

"I can see you have reached a similar conclusion, Lieutenant Ellison. As fascinating as all of this is, however, it is not the purpose of this meeting." The director paused, clearing his throat before continuing. "We have a…well, not exactly a "proposition"…more of an offer. As one of the foremost Sentinel Testing Centers in the resettled world, we are well aware of the trials and disadvantages faced by suppressed Sentinels in today's society and have been searching for alternatives that would allow them to function to their full capacity…to use their God-given abilities as they were intended to be used. We are initiating a trial program for one such possible solution, and according to your records, Lieutenant, we feel you would be an ideal candidate."

"You want me to volunteer to be a lab rat for one of your experiments?" Jim let the disgust he felt color his tone. "Do the words 'hell no' mean anything to you?"

"Perhaps I'm not explaining myself well, Lieutenant. We aren't looking for 'lab rats' for an experiment. This program does not involve alternative drug treatments."

"Just what in the hell are you trying to say?" Jim was getting fed up with the director's stuttering attempts to beat around the proverbial bush.

The director seemed to sense Jim was reaching the limits of his patience. The man leaned across the table, resting his weight on his forearms. "It's believed that we have found a guide substitute, Lieutenant Ellison. One which would render the drugs unnecessary. This program has, however, room for only one applicant. After extensive research, we've narrowed the list to five possible candidates, of which you are one. If, of course, you're interested." He leaned back in his chair again, letting the words hang between them.

Jim was silent for a long moment, absorbing the man's words. "No more drugs?"

"If this program is successful, there would be no more need for drugs."

Jim chewed the inside of his cheek as he mulled that thought over. "What kind of substitute?"

"If you decide you're interested, you'll be sent to the Sentinel Research Center in New Paris and given all the necessary facts at that time. I feel I must remind you, however, the program has need for only one applicant. There are no guarantees you'll be chosen."

"The Sentinel who just left…Yagudin…he's a candidate?"

The director nodded. "One of them, yes."

"What would I have to do?"

"As I said, you'd be sent to New Paris for further evaluation--"

"What kind of evaluation?" Jim pressed.

"Psychological studies, medical test…they want to be certain they choose the candidate with the highest possibility of success, of course."

No more drugs. The phrase repeated itself in Jim's head, overriding all other thoughts. As far as he was concerned, it didn't really matter what else it involved. If there was the slightest chance he could forever wean himself from the suppression drugs, he was damned sure going to take it, consequences be hanged.

"Make the arrangements."

~~~

Simon Banks set his beer can on the low table in front of the sofa, wishing once again for a "real" beer, alcohol and all, rather than one of the bland substitutes deemed acceptable for suppressed Sentinels. Simon had long ago decided, in deference to his friend, he would grin and bear the things. He had thought he would eventually grow accustomed to them. Unfortunately, it had yet to happen. He wondered how Jim could drink the vile liquid on a regular basis. Maybe it had something to do with his senses being dampened. Simon leaned back, relaxing into the soft cushions of the couch.

"All right, Jim, you've fed me, I've got beer -- such as it is," he added under his breath, "when are you going to get to the point?" He'd known from the moment Jim had issued the dinner invitation something was up. As close as the two men had grown over the past few years they had worked together, Jim seldom entertained in his loft. It was his personal space, and he shared it with few. Simon could count on one hand the number of times he had been here in the past year. The fact Jim had invited him here tonight, coupled with the fact that Simon knew of the summons to the STC this morning…well, Simon could put two and two together.

Jim took a long swig of his own beer before answering. "I need a leave of absence, Simon."

Concerned now, Simon sat forward. "Something wrong? You're not sick are you?" Simon didn't know a lot about what went on at the STC, but he did know that Jim, as did all Sentinels, went in once a month for his suppression injections, and he knew that as a matter of routine, the Sentinels were given a physical and blood work before getting the injections. Jim had gone in just a week ago. Maybe they had found something--

"No, it's nothing like that," Jim interrupted Simon's thoughts. "It's good news, actually. Or at least it has the potential to be…I think…"

Simon narrowed his eyes, studying his friend. Jim wasn't normally hesitant about anything. The man was very self-assured. A bit of a loner, and almost what you'd call anti-social, but confident and sure. "This has to do with this morning, your going in to the center, I'm guessing."

Jim nodded, taking another swig of his drink. "They wanted to discuss a proposition with me." Jim leaned forward, setting his bottle down on the table and resting his elbows on his knees, imparting to Simon with his body language the seriousness of his comments. "No one said as much, Simon -- not in so many words -- but I don't think I'm supposed to discuss this with anyone."

"You're starting to worry me here, Jim," Simon said, only half joking.

"I have to tell someone, and…well…you're really my only friend, the only one I can trust with this, at any rate."

Jim leaned back into his chair, only to sit forward again after a few minutes. Simon had never seen the usually imperturbable James Ellison so restless…almost…nervous.

Another few minutes of fidgeting, and Jim seemed to find the words he was searching for. "They've found what they think may be a substitute for the Pycs. They weren't really very forthcoming with the details, but they did assure me it did not involve drugs."

"You said they "think" they've found a substitute…that means it's something experimental, right? You're thinking of volunteering as a guinea pig? That doesn't sound like you, Jim."

Jim allowed a small smile. "That was my first reaction, too. The director's actual words were "a guide substitute", which implies to me that it won't simply suppress the senses. Think about it, Simon. If they've got something that will allow Sentinels to use their senses, rather than spend their lives drugged into a half stupor, I want in on it. I don't care how experimental it is. I can't live my life like this, Simon. I can't…I'll take whatever chance I have to, but I won't live like this for the rest of my life."

It was the first time Simon had heard Jim discuss his feelings about the drugs. He knew the man hated the side effects and restrictions the drugs imposed on him, that much went without saying, but Simon had never heard the despair he was hearing now.

Hiding his reservations, Simon asked, "How much do you know?"

"Not a lot. They were pretty vague. Said I'd be filled in when I get to the SRC in New Paris. I got the impression they don't know a lot themselves. What they did say was there is room in the program for only one Sentinel, and they've narrowed the field down to five. I'll have to undergo some testing."

"One? That seems a little odd, doesn't it?"

Jim nodded, chewing his bottom lip for a minute. "I think they're looking for the 'candidate who is most compatible'."

"Compatible with what?" Simon wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.

"I don't know, Simon, but whatever it is, I want in on it."

Simon studied his friend for a few moments. Jim no longer looked unsure or nervous. He wore a look Simon was much more accustomed to seeing on him, one of steely determination. It was the look that made him one of Simon's top men, the one that said he would get the job done no matter what it took. Failure was simply not an option.

Making a decision, though he had a feeling it was already out of his hands, Simon nodded. "All right, Jim. Take however much time you need, but I want you to stay in touch with me." He held up his hand to stay Jim's protest. "I know, I know. This is the government we're talking about here. I know you won't be able to really tell me anything. Just let me know you're okay from time to time."

"Thanks, Simon." Jim smiled, a genuine smile that lit up his eyes and made Simon question how the man had managed to stay single so long.

It did nothing, however, to lift the feeling of foreboding which was beginning to settle over Simon.

~~~

"Do you really think it's possible?"

Doctor Daniel Porch looked up from the monitor he was studying to find his assistant staring intently at their "patient". The tube had been transferred to the New Paris center several weeks ago, and in that time, Daniel had consulted some of the top medical and scientific minds in the resettled world. They were making progress, but it was slow, and Daniel sometimes felt overwhelmed by the amount of knowledge still lacking. He would be the first to admit they were way out of their depth on this one. "What?" he asked, momentarily losing track of the question.

Myra Damaron looked up and met the doctor's gaze. "Do you really believe we'll succeed? In awakening him, I mean?" The question wasn't prompted by professional interest. As Daniel's chief assistant, Myra had full access to his notes and files. She knew the possibilities almost as well as he did. She was asking for more than a rundown of the odds. She wanted his honest opinion.

Daniel took a deep breath, then exhaled loudly. "Yes…"

"But…?" Myra prodded.

Daniel allowed a small smile. The older woman knew him well. The smile faded, however, as he considered his answer. "What will we have when we do? The physical challenges alone will undoubtedly be numerous and far reaching. We can make our best guess, but we're on uncharted ground here. We have no way of knowing, much less being prepared for what we may actually have to deal with."

Daniel turned his gaze to the young man in the chamber. Merely sleeping…if only. Daniel sighed deeply. "To answer your question, yes, I can wake him. The real question is, can I keep him alive?" Daniel shook his head sadly. "I wish I could answer that one."

~~~

As she had every morning for the past ten days, the nurse drew a blood sample and left the room. Jim was beginning to feel like a pin cushion. He wondered if he would eventually run out of blood, absurd as the thought was.

Jim paced absently around the small examination room. It was fast becoming a second home for him. He started out each and every day here. They would draw blood, then one of the many doctors at the center would come give him a brief physical. Why this had to be done daily was beyond Jim. It wasn't like he was going to change overnight. That finished, someone would come and take him down to one of the many labs on the lower levels, where he would undergo another full day of testing. He wondered what it would be today. He honestly couldn't think of one test they hadn't already run, physical or psychological. Frankly, it was getting old fast.

The door opened, and Jim looked up, expecting to see one of the self-titled 'Sentinel experts' come to administer his daily physical. He was surprised when Doctor Seth Gilliam, the Director of the Center, entered the room, followed closely by another man.

Jim took quick note of the man's military uniform, and pieces of the puzzle began to slowly fall into place. He had smelled "government involvement" from the beginning. The military's presence confirmed his suspicions.

Doctor Gilliam stepped to the side, and the military man -- a general, Jim noted by the stars on his sleeve -- moved forward a step.

"General Arlen Rouse," the man identified himself as extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Lieutenant Ellison, though I will admit, I've been watching you -- from a distance -- since your arrival."

Jim returned the handshake warily.

"Have a seat, Lieutenant," Rouse said, claiming one of the chairs in the room for himself. He waited until Jim was settled before continuing. "Let me confirm what I'm certain you've now concluded. The government has an interest in this project. In fact, the President, himself, is following it's progress very closely. I'm sure this conclusion has probably started a lot of nasty suspicions racing through your head, and I assure you, none of them are true. You have questions, no doubt. I'm here to answer them if I can, but first, let me say how pleased we are with your test results. You're one of the strongest Sentinels we've has seen in quite some time...at least as far as we can tell with the influence of the Pycnogycine."

"I take it this is what you were looking for." It wasn't a question.

The general nodded. "That, a positive psychological profile, and overall good physical health. The problem we are facing now is that we can't get an accurate baseline for your senses with them suppressed as they currently are."

Jim's eyes narrowed as the direction of the general's comments became evident. "You want to discontinue the Pycs." Again, it wasn't a question.

"It'll be necessary, before we can continue. I'm assuming, of course, you want to continue."

Jim stood, pacing away a few steps, then turned back to face the pair. "I'm not sure if you're aware of what you're asking me to do." Brief flashes of memory flared to remind Jim of exactly the hell they were proposing. "Oh, I'm sure you've got documented studies of exactly what goes on in a sensory overload…from medical and physiological standpoints, but you have no idea the hell and the misery involved from a personal standpoint. If you want me to trust that it's necessary, then you're going to have to give me something in return. You going to have to tell me exactly what the potential payoff is."

To Jim's surprise, neither Rouse nor Gilliam seemed surprised by his demand. In fact, Rouse actually smiled.

"Sit down, Lieutenant," the general said.

Jim hesitated a minute, then did as he was instructed.

"What I'm about to tell you will not leave this room."

Jim recognized the tone immediately as one that would brook no argument. He nodded, though he was sure his acknowledgement was not being called for.

The general clasped his hands on the table before him. "What would you say if I told you we have a Guide?"

"Respectfully, sir…I'd call you a liar."

The general raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

"There are no Guides," Jim stated. "There haven't been since before The Changeover." He paused, pinning the general with an icy look. "Or so the public has been told."

"That's entirely true, Lieutenant. However, we do have a Guide. How he came to our attention is not pertinent to this discussion. The point is, we do have one, and we are searching for a compatible Sentinel to pair him with."

Jim sat silently, absorbing the words and their meaning as it pertained to him. "One Guide…and a world full of Sentinels," he mused aloud.

"Which is why this knowledge must be kept secure," Rouse said. "Can you imagine the chaos if this were to become common knowledge?"

Jim nodded almost absently. "It explains a lot of things."

"Our problem to this point has been choosing a Sentinel for our Guide. We were able to narrow it down to a handful of potential candidates fairly easy. Known Sentinels in the resettled world are, of course, registered due to the medical considerations, so eliminating those who were too old, too young, too unstable, too weak, or in poor health was relatively easy. The difficulty has been narrowing the field further."

Jim's attention returned to the two men before him. "I can assume, then, because you're telling me all this, I've made the final cut?"

One corner of Rouse's mouth quirked upward briefly. He nodded, affirming Jim's conclusion.

"I hope you can see the necessity of weaning you from the Pycnogycine," Doctor Gilliam stated. "We have no way of accurately measuring your abilities while it is present in your system. What we propose to do is decrease the amount of the drug in your system over a prolonged period of time, approximately three weeks, to diminish the side effects and withdrawal symptoms. You would be closely monitored, of course, and given appropriate medical treatment as your senses begin to manifest. There will be…discomfort, I'm sure, as you begin to experience your senses again, but you will gradually adjust."

"And if all goes well," Rouse added, "you will have the benefit of a Guide to help with the final adjustments."

Their words were thrilling…and terrifying. Jim closed his eyes, concentrating on his decision. It was a lot to ask. Sensory spikes, overloads, zones…but if it was temporary…could he do it? For the chance for a Guide? And what would that entail? He had no idea how the Sentinel/Guide thing worked. What exactly did a Guide do to help a Sentinel with his senses?

Too many questions overwhelmed Jim's thoughts. There were too many unknowns, but Jim had never been afraid of the unknown. He didn't intend to start now, with so much at stake.

Opening his eyes, he pinned the general with a look. "How many made the final cut?"

Rouse appeared to have been expecting the question. "Yourself and one other. Mikal Yagudin."

"And if he…" Jim struggled with an appropriate word, then gave up, using the first one that came to mind, "wins…I'm just up shit-creek."

"That's one way of putting it," Rouse replied. "You'd essentially be out nothing. You would resume the injections and be no worse off for the experience."

Jim snorted. "Easy for you to say. You aren't the one who would have to deal with the spikes and zone outs. You won't have to go back to a life of drugs and their side effects, knowing someone else got 'the prize'."

"True enough," Rouse admitted. "You'll have to decide if it's worth the risk, but I'll need your answer soon. We need to move forward with this as quickly as possible."

"How do you know I won't spill the beans? If I lose, I mean. What's to say I won't walk out the front door and call a press conference?"

Rouse shifted forward in this chair. "Frankly, Lieutenant, if we thought that was something you would do, you wouldn't have made it this far." He smiled, then leaned back again. "Think about what I've said. Don't make this decision lightly. No matter what the final outcome, your life will never be quite the same. But we do need a decision by the end of the day--"

"I don't need any more time," Jim interrupted. His decision was made. "I've come this far. I'll see it through."

~~~

It had been three days since they had begun decreasing his Pycs, and clinically speaking, Gilliam knew Ellison must be feeling the first stirring of his heightened senses. The man was stoically calm, however, presenting an exterior which betrayed none of the symptoms one might expect in the early stages of withdrawal. Gilliam had a feeling the Sentinel was not being totally honest in his evaluation of the degree of sensitivity he was experiencing. Not that he thought Ellison would deliberately deceive them, but Gilliam had a feeling this man was unused to voicing what he perceived as minor inconveniences to his health or well being.

Under the pretense of making notes in Ellison's chart, Gilliam covertly observed the man from the corner of his eye. A nurse was preparing to draw blood. Ellison sat still, his back rigid and his gaze fixed on the far wall, as he waited for her to finish. His only reaction was a tightening around his eyes as she inserted the needle. If Gilliam's calculations were correct, with the increasing sensitivity of Ellison's tactile senses, that simple needle prick probably felt more like a root canal.

The nurse finished, packed up her newly drawn vials, and left the room. Gilliam set the chart on the closest counter top and moved to stand before Ellison. "Any problems I should know about?" he queried, knowing, even as he asked, the man would not admit it if there were.

True to predictions, Ellison shook his head, his gaze remaining locked on the far wall.

Gilliam shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his lab jacket. "You know, this would be a hell of a lot easier if you were a little more forthcoming, Lieutenant."

Ellison's gaze finally shifted, locking briefly with the doctor's, before sliding away again. "I don't know what you mean."

"Unfortunately, I'm sure you don't," Gilliam sighed. "Comparing your latest test results against the base line we took upon your arrival, we're seeing minor, but significant differences. My job is to monitor and document those differences, which is a little difficult when all I have to go by are the subtlest of clues in body language."

The Sentinel closed his eyes, but remained silent.

Exasperated, Gilliam paced away a few steps. "Okay. For starters, why don't you tell me about that headache. Must be a doozy, huh?" At Ellison's startled look, he chuckled. "It's my job to notice these things." His smile faded. "It would make that job easier if you would just talk to me. Look, Ellison, I'm sure you're not trying to be deliberately obtuse…hell, I'm not sure you're even aware of what's going on with your senses. You've probably tuned these minor differences out, to a degree. Turned up your tolerance levels, so to speak. What I need you to do is turn those tolerance levels back down, at least long enough to tell me what you're feeling. How else can I help you? Which is what I'm trying to do."

Ellison's expression remained veiled for several silent moments while Gilliam waited, hoping the man had at least heard him. Finally, he spoke, "I do have a headache."

Gilliam bit back a triumphant smile. This, he had already determined, but it was a start. "Okay, let's start with that. On a scale of one to ten, where would you rate it?"

"Twelve."

The doctor winced in sympathy. "I'll get you something for it." He made a notation on Ellison's chart. "What else? What about your hearing?"

"I've had a few…spikes," Ellison admitted. He reached up and tugged at his left earlobe. Gilliam didn't think the man was even aware of the telling action. "Nothing consistent, just the occasional surge in background noise."

"Have you made any attempts to focus on the noises?"

Ellison appeared startled by the question. "I was under the impression that was a bad idea."

Gilliam shook his head. Of course Ellison would think that. Any Sentinel would. They were taught from birth to fear zone outs, avoid their senses as though they were a sickness. He should have realized Ellison would be harboring those ingrained fears. He set the chart down and focused his full attention on the man sitting on the exam bed before him. "Without the Pycs, your senses are going to become more and more of an issue. What you're feeling now is just the beginning. Your senses will become stronger, and as you adjust to their presence, the spikes are going to escalate in intensity. The only way to make it stop is to resume the Pycs. That's an open option, Lieutenant. If, at any time, you feel it's too much, all you have to do is ask for the Pycs, and they're yours. No strings, no admonishments from anyone. I'll see to that."

The doctor snagged a rolling stool and slid it close to where Ellison sat silently regarding him. He settled his frame onto the seat and returned Ellison's frank regard. "I'm going to let you in on something. It's not really a secret, but I don't make it a habit to tell people." Gilliam paused briefly, choosing his words carefully. "I'm a borderline Sentinel." He had Ellison's full attention now. "Very weak, really. I have only the occasional spike, and I've never had a zone. For the most part, my senses are content to remain at or near normal levels, which gives me the luxury of being able to choose to take the Pycnogycine or not. I chose not to so I could continue my work. I think of my…episodes…much as one would a migraine -- agonizing, but temporary.

"I'm telling you this, Lieutenant, because I want you to know I do understand what you're going through. What you're dealing with now is most likely very similar to my episodes: agonizing, but temporary. No matter how this turns out, this will be temporary. You'll either resume the medication…or you'll have a Guide.

Gilliam pushed back, letting the stool roll away a couple of feet. "Now, I know it's been ingrained in you to avoid your senses. What I'm asking is contradictory to everything you've been taught. When they spike, I need you to attempt to focus them. Not a lot -- without a Guide I don't think you could -- but enough so that you can feel what they're actually doing. You will eventually get a feel for them, be able to recognize a spike before it occurs, which will give you time to take appropriate action."

"Won't I zone if I try to focus on any one senses?"

Gilliam was aware of how much Ellison was admitting by asking the question and the effort it took. This was a man frightened by the prospects of losing control of himself. It was a valid fear, and Gilliam couldn't bring himself to sugar coat it. Ellison would be much more appreciative of honesty and candor in the long run, and Gilliam had a feeling if he lied to the man there would never be any trust between them.

"Yes, zones are a risk, increasingly so as your senses become more active, but we'll take every precaution we can. You'll be monitored closely. We have several experts in the care and treatment of sensory spikes and zones available at all times. We've spent years studying this phenomenon, and we feel comfortable dealing with it. That said, know that we'll be moving into uncharted territory. There's much we don't yet know, but you won't be left in a zone to 'vegetate', Lieutenant. That I can promise you."

Gilliam studied Ellison's face for a reaction, but was given little. He tried to put himself in the man's place, imagine how he would feel under these circumstances, but found he was unable to do so. There was too much speculation required. He sighed deeply, running out of words to reassure his patient. "We'll do our best, Lieutenant. That's the most I can offer. We've thought this through as well as we can given the number of unknowns we're dealing with. We're as prepared as we can be. Trust us."

Ellison was at least considering it carefully, if his expression was any indication. Gilliam found himself holding his breath, awaiting the decision. Finally, the man gave a short nod. "I'm not backing out now," he assured the doctor. "I'll see this through to the end, whichever way it goes."

Gilliam released his breath, feeling most of his tension leaving with the stale air. He even smiled. "You won't regret it, Lieutenant, I promise."

"Jim."

Gilliam raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"My name is Jim," the Sentinel stated matter-of-factly. "You can call me that."

~~~ "Essentially, he's in hibernation. There's been a physiological modification of sleep which has allowed the physiological temperature range to be stretched to include temperatures that were previously fatal. We've determined there was some type of pre-conditioning -- though we don't yet know exactly how it was managed -- which essentially caused manufacturing proteins and sugars to allow the cytoplasm to turn into a substance similar to glass at temperatures about 30 to 40 degrees centigrade below zero. Once the cells vitrified, they were immune to low-temperature excursion. There is also evidence of an elaboration of natural cryoprotective agents, such as glucose and glycerol, plus a plethora of less-significant agents. These allowed the major organs to deposit the ice externally, rather than inside, where permanent damage would occur."

Arledge frowned. "Do you have children, Doctor Porch?"

Porch blinked at the non sequitur. "Uh…no, sir. I have a nephew, though, eight years old."

"Good enough," Arledge replied. "Pretend you're explaining this to him, and start over."

Porch caught his smile before it escaped. "Yes, sir. Okay…" He considered briefly which tact to take. "Basically…the patient is asleep, but frozen. His body chemistry was altered in a way that allowed it to withstand sub-freezing temperatures, theoretically, without the permanent damage you would normally encounter at such temperatures. We can speculate about those alterations, but we're unable to confirm them…at this time. I think I can safely say, sir, this puzzle will keep us busy for a lifetime."

Arledge leaned back in his chair, taking the report with him. He silently skimmed over it for a moment. "Good work," he finally said, raising his eyes to meet the doctor's. He set the report on the desk before him. "How close are you to waking our young Guide?"

Porch frowned. He'd known the question was coming, but he didn't like the way it was phrased. It make the young man sound like the government's personal property. He brushed aside his irritation to answer the question. "We're almost ready, sir. I'm assembling a medical team now--"

"How much longer?" Arledge asked bluntly. "Give me something tangible."

Porch hesitated. He hated being held to specifics, especially when they were dealing with so many unknowns. "Three to five days." At the President's unhappy look, he added, "I'm sorry, sir, that's the best I can do. There are too many variables. Once the team is assembled, and everyone has had a chance to examine our findings first hand, we can be more specific."

Arledge nodded. "All right, Doctor, gather your team. Let them examine our boy. But give me a twelve hour notice before you do anything. I want to be there when you wake him."

~~~

"I don't like this, Jim," Simon Banks argued. "There's too much you're not telling me."

Jim massaged the area between his eyes, trying to push away the persistent ache there. "Captain…Simon…trust me on this. There's not a lot I can say." It was logical to assume the call was being monitored, but more importantly, Jim had given his word he wouldn't discuss the specifics of what was going on when he had asked to make the call. Frankly, he was surprised they had allowed it at all, given the sensitive nature of this whole project. "But I have a…reasonable confidence in these people."

"A reasonable confidence? What in the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Jim sighed, regretting his choice of words. "I can't say more, Simon, I'm sorry. Look, I'll be finished here in another couple of weeks, I think." One way or another, he mentally added.

"Can you just tell me this, Jim…is this going to be successful? Is this going to pay off for you?"

Jim closed his eyes with a sigh. "God willing, Simon."

Simon answered with a sigh of his own. "Okay, Jim. Whatever it is you're doing, you have my support. Just…be careful, all right? Watch yourself."

"Always, Simon. Always."

~~~

Porch did one last quick survey of the now crowded room, mentally listing each team member and his/her respective responsibility. The survey served a dual purpose: to make sure he hadn't forgotten anyone or anything, not that it would do any good at this point; and to make certain each person in the room had a reason to be there. Once they began, there would be no room or time for "onlookers" underfoot. Porch tried to ignore the small observation window on the wall beside the door. He knew there was a small audience -- the President and a few others with interest in the success of this venture -- gathered in the room beyond. For the moment, it was knowledge best forgotten.

Letting his eyes find and meet each of his team members', Porch scanned the room.

Barton Fielding: foremost authority in pulmonary medicine in the resettled world. Porch had worked with Fielding twice before and had every confidence he was the only choice for this spot on the team. The short, balding man met Porch's silent query with a small nod. He was ready.

Tatia Murano: cardiovascular specialist. She was unknown to Porch by anything other than her reputation. Said reputation, however, was impeccable, and based on that alone, Porch had become a fervent believer in her ability to perform miracles. Hopefully, one would not be required here. In answer to Daniel's raised eyebrows, the elderly, dark skinned woman gave a small smile and a nod. She was ready.

Alan Honeycutt: neurologist. Again, a sterling reputation. Porch had met the man on one prior occasion, at the New Asian medical conference a few years ago. The large man had struck Daniel as arrogant and smug. Well, actually, Daniels initial reaction had been less…virtuous -- he'd found the man to be a pain in the ass. But Honeycutt was, without doubt, the best man for this job. Despite his personal dislike for the man, Daniel didn't question his choice for the team. At Porch's silent inquiry, Honeycutt effected a look that easily read, I'm here, therefore I'm ready.

Porch let his gaze likewise find and question each remaining team member, from the specialists to the technicians to his own assistant, Myra. Each met his gaze and query with a confident nod.

This was it.

A sudden herd of butterflies stampeded through Porch's stomach. No more conjectures, suppositions, or hypotheses. No more stalling. For better or worse, success or failure, it was time.

Porch cleared his throat, tamping down on the uncharacteristic nervousness, and moved into position to the left of the black cylinder which dominated the room. He looked at the boy…Sandburg…briefly, then turned so he could address his team. "Okay, then." He cleared his throat again. "I'm sure I don't need to remind any of you to remain focused solely on your given responsibility. You wouldn't be here if I felt a reminder was necessary. However, given the novelty of this venture, and the…well, frankly, the excitement of it, I daresay total focus will be difficult." A small smile found its way to the surface. "I also know there's no need to remind you of the historical and medical significance of what we're about to do. I want everything you encounter recorded, no matter how insignificant it may seem. What we're about to do will be scrutinized and studied and dissected for lifetimes to come. Let's give 'em enough to keep them busy."

He paused, returning his gaze to his patient. "Mr. Sandburg has waited a very long time to meet us. Let's do our best to see he gets the chance." He glanced up, once more letting his eyes make a full circuit of the room. "If everyone is ready…" Porch raised his breathing mask into place, signaling the initiation of the process. "All right, first step, I'll be opening the tube." He let his gaze fall on the technician sitting at the head of the chamber. "I want temperature readings in centigrade every thirty seconds or five degrees, whichever comes first." At the man's nod, Daniel reached for the control which would begin the process. As he turned it, the silence of the room was filled with a soft hiss of escaping gasses.

Porch looked to the tech. "Baseline and holding, sir," the man reported.

There was a click, loud and unexpected in the silence of the room, and from the corner of his eye, Porch noticed several people jump at the sound. The clear covering of the chamber jerked with the click and began to move, sliding slowly into a recessed slot on the right side. Daniel leaned forward, scarcely noticing the chill of escaping, century-old air against the exposed skin of his forehead and neck. He caught his breath and held it unconsciously.

~~~

In the back of Ellison's mind, he was very much aware he was slipping into a zone. Even armed with the knowledge, however, there was nothing he could do to prevent it. The tangible world twisted sickeningly before sliding away as he began his descent, falling deeper and deeper into a lifeless, gray void.

~~~

"Temperature beginning to rise…minus 40…39…"

Daniel allowed a few minutes to pass, letting the air stabilize somewhat, before reaching for the first of the leads connecting the boy to his lifeline. He let his gloved hand brush lightly across the boy's cheek. His mind had only a few seconds to marvel that his was the first human contact the young man had had in almost a century. Even through the layer of latex, Daniel could feel the stiff chill of the skin and had to fight the reflex to pull away. It was like touching death itself. He couldn't stop the shiver which worked its way up his spine.

Shaking away the morbid thoughts, while praying they were not a portent of things to come, Daniel returned to the task at hand. They would have to move slowly now, shutting off each of the lifelines in turn and gauging the responses. Though they had spent untold days studying and speculating as to each one's intended purpose, it was just that -- speculation. Now would come the test of their collective geniuses.

Disconnecting the first lead, Daniel released the breath he'd been holding and drew in another. And waited.

"Minus 35…"

When there was no noticeable response, Daniel disconnected another.

"Minus 30…"

Temperature was rising rapidly. Daniel had expected this. It would most likely slow as it approached more normal levels. As the temperature headed steadily upward and Daniel disconnected more leads, there was a noticeable change. The patient's bare chest shuddered once, then again. As one, the occupants of the room held their breath. Fielding moved into position, attaching an O2 monitor to the patient's finger. Sandburg's chest shuddered violently as rusty lungs struggled to remember their job. The gasp for air to expand those lungs was audible, and served to kick start the race.

"Minus 14…"

Each specialist began attaching their own monitors in place of the ones Daniel was removing. The temperature continued their rapid rise. Technicians moved into place, preparing to move the patient from the tube to the awaiting bed the moment the word was given. Daniel finally disconnected the last of the leads, though it was difficult to tell with the new, more familiar ones which had taken their place.

"Minus 10…"

He was approaching freezing point, Porch noted. If their computer simulations held true, that's when the real race would begin. The organs would begin to thaw and, God willing, resume their functions.

"Minus 8…"

"Raise the room temperature ten degrees." Porch signaled the technicians. "Let's do it."

The doctors moved back a bit, giving the techs room to work. Removing the young man from the chamber which had been his bed for the better part of a century was a complicated job, made more difficult by the many wires and probes now tethering him to the various machinery around the perimeter of the room, but it was done with an efficiency which satisfied even Porch.

"Minus six…minus four…"

Porch watched silently as the assorted doctors skillfully performed their tasks. A catheter was inserted and a towel draped across the naked young man's lower body. I.V. ports were attached at both wrists, awaiting medication which would certainly be ordered shortly.

"Three degrees…"

Daniel's eyes flickered to the various monitors around him. Still nothing discernable on the electrocardiogram. The lungs were obviously trying to function, but they'd expected that to be the first sign of returning life. Fielding looked up, meeting Daniel's gaze.

"The instant there is thawing of the tissues, I want to intubate. His lungs are trying, but I want to ease the struggle. He's going to need to expend that energy elsewhere, I'm afraid."

"Six degrees…"

Daniel nodded his approval, not that Fielding really needed it. These specialists had carte blanche. Keeping this young man alive was the only mandate. No ego, no power struggle could be, would be tolerated. Their only concern, by necessity, was their patient.

"Eight degrees…"

"I've got something," Murano announced suddenly. "It's virtually negligible, but there is cardiac activity."

"Ten degrees…"

The patient was noticeably struggling to fill long-unused lungs. A tinge of blue appeared around his lips and fingertips.

"Twelve degrees…"

"Go," Daniel gave the word to Fielding. The pneumologist wasted no time. Within seconds the patient was intubated, a ventilator easing the strain on his lungs. "Fifteen degrees…"

"Any brain activity?"

Honeycutt didn't look up from the machine he was practically wrapped around. "Nothing."

That worried Daniel a bit, but he refused to panic. Though he had thought to see limited neurological activity by now, it was early still.

"Eighteen degrees…"

"Give him 20ccs of Adidrel," Daniel ordered over the hum of activity filling the room.

"Twenty-one degrees…"

"He's established a rhythm," Murano announced with a smile in her rich voice, "and I'm getting a weak blood pressure -- circulation has resumed."

"Twenty-four degrees…"

"I've got activity," Honeycutt proclaimed loudly.

Daniel breathed a sigh of relief.

"Pulse rate is 22. Blood pressure…48 over 25…"

"Twenty-six degrees…"

"Where's that blood gas?"

"…increase Aminophylline to 30…"

"Twenty-eight degrees…"

"Pulse is at 46…"

"Arterial pH is 6.85."

"Start tromethamine…let me know when it reaches 7.15."

"Blood pressure 62/40."

"Creatinine levels elevated…12 units…"

"Damn!"

"Thirty degrees…"

"Bring the room temperature up another five..."

"Give him fifteen units of insulin in 60 Gm glucose, 50 percent dilution."

"Blood pressure is dropping!"

"SGOT is at 180 units…SLDH is 350."

"He's going into shock!"

"Shit! 4 ml 0.8 mg Cedilanid!"

"Thirty-two degrees…"

"Pulse is down to 24…Sinus bradycardia!"

"Thirty-five degrees…"

"100 mg heparin! 1 mg atropine sublingually-- watch for tachyrhythmias!""

"He's seizing!"

Daniel grimaced in barely noticed sympathy as Sandburg's reawakening body jerked in protest to the loss of its artificial life support. Honeycutt, much calmer than he had any right to be, barked orders to various team members, trying to bring the situation back under control. To his left, Murano worked to do the same, fighting to stabilize the struggling heart and blood flow.

Organs that hadn't functioned in nearly a century struggled to remember their purpose. Medication after medication was administered in an effort to assist them. It was a battle, but one each team member was dedicated to winning. And, by damn, win they would!

~~~

There was an absence of sound. It was Jim's first thought, even before he opened his eyes. Nothing. Absolute, total silence. Not the questionable silence of the "soundproof" room to which he had been recently moved. Even there, safely ensconced from outside stimulation of any kind, there was a constant hum of the ventilation system, the murmur of voices, ever present in the distance…audible sounds of "silence" all about him. Now…there was nothing.

And it was deafening.

Opening his eyes, Jim took a moment to orient himself to what he found. Instantly, he knew something wasn't right. The world around him had taken on a eerie bluish tint, reminiscent of a bad movie effect. He was also laying on the ground. Overhead, Jim saw thick foliage.

Foliage…?

Stunned and confused, Jim pushed himself to a seated position. Foliage…all around him…trees, vines…

It was a dream, it had to be -- but Jim knew he wasn't asleep. The last thing he remembered was…he paused in mid-thought, trying to recall exactly what he did remember last. He had met with Gilliam for more damned test. The doctor was testing Jim's vision, urging him to push his limits. Jim had been resisting, fearing a zone out. Another zone out. He had experienced almost a dozen zones in the past week, each deeper than the one before, and while Gilliam had successfully drawn him back each time, Jim was frankly terrified of going so deep no one could pull him out of it.

With a stab of fear, Jim realized that was exactly what had happened. He had given in to Gilliam's demands, and he remembered the familiar feeling of graying out as he fell into an abyss. He had zoned.

Looking around him again, taking in the startling setting, Jim gave into his confusion. A zone couldn't explain this. It certainly didn't explain what he was seeing. Unless…

A hallucination? No one had ever mentioned hallucinations with regards to zones, but it could be possible, couldn't it? If so, then he was in a zone right now, locked somewhere in his mind. This could be nothing more than a memory, a moment from his past he was reliving while waiting for Gilliam to bring him out of the zone. Only Jim had no real memories of the jungle. There were few true jungles remaining since the ChangeOver. Vast areas of the unsettled world had reverted to their natural states in the past century, but these areas were dangerous, havens for those who could not or would not take part in the ChangeOver. For the most part these hold outs consisted of those affected by the fallout of the war, or criminals seeking refuge in a world they knew the Planet Security Forces wouldn't pursue. Jim had only ventured into the jungles one time, and that had been part of a disaster so great, it had led to the revamping of current laws allowing pursuit into unsettled regions.

Jim shook off the depressing thoughts and returned his attention to his surroundings. His one trek into the jungles had been nothing like this. This was…surreal…and unnaturally silent. Then, the jungle had seemed almost a living thing. There had been a constant din of creatures filling the air. Now, there was nothing, no birds, no small animals, not even wind through the trees.

Jim pushed against the ground beneath him, rising to his feet. Even his movements were wrong. They were jerky, slow…like moving through water…or a slow-motion film. He stood still for several moments trying to adjust. The out-of-sync movements were nauseatingly disorienting.

A small sound drifted to him on still air…a whimper, scarcely a sigh of sound, but in the absolute silence surrounding Jim it was all but a shout. Jim's head whipped around, trying to pinpoint its source. The whimper sounded again, both desperate and compelling at the same time. He felt an irrational need to find the source of that noise. It drew him like a magnet.

Jim closed his eyes and listened with his heart. When the noise came a third time, he was ready. The direction identified, his eyes snapped open, and he took off toward its source. The mystifying slow-motion movements hampered him only slightly. The noise became louder as he ran, affirming his choice of direction.

Time lost its tangibility. It could have been hours later, or mere seconds, but eventually Jim erupted through the thick tangle of foliage into a small clearing. Bright sunlight illuminated the ground in small circles. In one of the spotlights lay a creature, appalling in appearance. Though pristine, its fur was dull, and stretched tightly over the painfully obvious skeleton. The creature appeared dead, and had Jim not heard its mournful cry with his own ears, he would have believed it so. A step forward revealed the animal's face. Jim didn't immediately recognize it. It resembled a dog, but was larger and rangier in appearance. There was a quiet beauty in the animal's face, despite it's ragged appearance.

Jim moved slowly toward the creature, fearful due to ignorance of its potential. At the same time, he was compelled to its side. As the distance closed, he could see the animal was drawing in abrasive breaths through its muzzle. It shivered visibly, and its limbs jerked spasmodically every few seconds. The animal was in clear distress.

Jim dropped to his knees, doing a visual search of the creature, but no obvious wounds were apparent. Another whimper filled the air, laden with misery and tearing at Jim's heart. On impulse, Jim reached out a hesitant hand, laying it on the animal's chest, over its heart. He could feel the staccato beat, unsteady and weak, and knew in his soul the animal was dying.

"No!" Jim shouted, or thought he did. He heard the sound of his denial, but it was as though from a distance, echoing through the jungle from all directions at once. It was imperative this creature live. Jim didn't question the certainty of his belief.

"Come on," he implored the animal. Jim's hand tightened, closing around a fistful of the fur. "Come on…" His other hand reached out, stopping just a fraction of an inch away from the creature's forehead. He could feel the warmth of life radiating from the animal, but it was faint, much like the heart which struggled to beat beneath his fistful of fur.

"Don't do this, fella. Come on…I don't know what's wrong with you, but you don't look hurt. If you were, I'd know what to do… Just…just don't give up, okay? You'll be all right. You just have to fight, okay?"

There was a stirring beneath his hand, and Jim felt the heartbeat quicken, stutter, then regain its rhythm, slightly stronger this time. Encouraged, Jim continued talking to the animal, not really paying attention to his words, only his tone. The heartbeat continued to strengthen, and eventually the shivering subsided. The animal's breathing began to ease and, to Jim's delight, its eyes opened. Deep blue, the color of the ocean in a storm, the animal's eyes met and held Jim's own. There was a message in the depths of those sapphire orbs. Something of great importance, but Jim was at a loss to capture its meaning. Jim leaned closer, as though the diminished distance would make the message clearer, louder somehow. Something imperative…something he needed to know…something--

A hard shake snapped his head back, and Jim jerked, opening his eyes to find Doctor Gilliam's worried face only inches away. He took a deep breath, filling lungs that seemed starved for oxygen.

"Thank God!" Gilliam sighed wearily.

Disoriented, Jim pulled away from the doctor, regaining his personal space. He looked around, assuring himself he was back in the examination room. Back…from where?

"I zoned," Jim stated. Though it wasn't a question, he was nonetheless reassured when Gilliam acknowledged it.

"Yes, and it was the deepest one yet," the man admitted. "I've been trying for almost half an hour to get you back."

Half an hour? That seemed about right. The hallucination had happened in real time. "Why didn't you tell me about the hallucinations?"

~~~

"We've got a rhythm!"

Porch closed his eyes in a brief prayer of thanks at Murano's announcement. It had been close. Too damn close. And for a long few moments, it looked as if there was nothing any of them could do to prevent it. Then, suddenly, everything had just…started back up, as though someone, somewhere had flipped an "on" switch. Miracle? Maybe. Porch wasn't above admitting they existed. Maybe it was their persistence, their refusal to admit defeat with this patient. Or maybe the patient had decided he wanted to live. Ultimately, it didn't matter one whit. They had him back, and from the looks of things, he was stabilizing.

It took the better part of two more hours before that thought was verified. Pulse, blood pressure, temperature, brain waves, all indicators were within acceptable ranges. All major organs were functioning at partial capacity or better. As tired techs and exhausted doctors, their duties accomplished for the moment, took a break from the hours long battle, the room began to empty.

The battle was not over, but they had a reprieve, at least for the moment. Porch ran a final check of the most critical monitors, then pulled a stool closer to his patient and parked himself on it. He knew he should grab a quick break while he could. Eventually, he would have to report to the President, but for now, he couldn't bring himself to leave.

The patient -- Blair Sandburg, Porch reminded himself -- despite his very important change in sleeping arrangements, looked much the same. Though their purpose was different, he was still tethered to multiple machines by lines and wires and tubes. The one notable difference was the presence of the ventilator, taking the burden of breathing for the weakened lungs. Porch had hope it wouldn't be necessary for long. Most of the major organs seemed to be picking right up where they had left off nearly a century ago. Operation was sluggish in a few cases, but there were indications it would improve.

Daniel was so intent on his thoughts, he missed the slight movement of the patient until Myra pointed it out to him. Sandburg's head rolled ever so slightly to the side. Daniel jumped to his feet, leaning over the young man with baited breath. He watched carefully, trying to determine if the motion might have been involuntary, or perhaps precipitous of something more. It hadn't been much of a movement, but it was the first overt sign of life Sandburg had shown.

For long minutes there was nothing. On impulse, Porch reached out, laying a careful hand on the young man's forehead. Daniel took a second to marvel at how different the skin felt compared to the first time he had touched his patient. Though still cooler than the doctor would have liked, there was a gentle warmth beneath his hand.

Perhaps it was coincidence, or it may have been in response to the touch, but the young man's eyes fluttered, moving beneath their darkened lids. A few seconds later, they blinked opened.

Blue, was Daniel's first thought, a deep, ocean blue. The color was quite striking. Porch could easily imagine those eyes sparkling with humor and life and joy. Right now, though, they were dull, unfocused.

"Welcome back, Mr. Sandburg," Daniel said, as gently as he could.

The young man blinked slowly a few times in Porch's direction, attempting to focus.

Porch turned to Myra, prepared to ask for moisturizing drops, only to find his assistant has anticipated his request. He smiled his thanks and turned back to his patient. "I'm going to put some drops in your eyes. They'll help with the dryness you're experiencing." Daniel kept his movements slow and deliberate as he placed the drops. Sandburg closed his eyes, letting the liquid spread. After a few seconds, he reopened them.

"Better?"

The young man shifted his head in the direction of Porch's voice, and Daniel felt a small thrill of excitement flash through him. The magnitude of the moment was not lost on the doctor.

The eyes seemed to focus this time, and Porch smiled gently. "Hello, Mr. Sandburg," he greeted his patient again. "I've waited a long time to say that…though not as long as you have, I suppose." He winced mentally at the lame joke, reminding himself the boy was most likely confused, at best -- uncomprehending, at worse. "I imagine you're feeling rather weak, at the moment, Blair. You're on a ventilator to assist your lungs while you recuperate and get your strength back."

The blue eyes clouded with what Daniel guessed to be confusion. "Do you understand me, Blair?"

The eyes blinked slowly, but Daniel couldn't tell if it was an answer or a reflex. He tried again, leaning in closer to the young man. "Blair…are you in any pain?"

There was no reaction this time. The blue eyes seemed to be losing their focus, and after a few minutes, the blinking became slower, until finally, they did not open again.

Daniel lifted his gaze and ran a quick sweep of the monitors, assuring himself all was well. Sandburg was merely sleeping. Merely sleeping…this time it was true, he reminded himself. And a well deserved rest it was, too.

The doctor straightened, letting his gaze linger on the miracle below him for a moment, then turned for the door. There were reports to file, and Arledge would be waiting.

~~~

"How long has he been like this?"

"Going on two hours." Doctor Gilliam glanced at General Rouse, then back at the screen. On the small video monitor, Ellison paced the circuit of his room, his movements tight, controlled. It was almost as though the Sentinel was searching for something. "It started shortly after a zone. He came out of it -- with some difficulty, I might add -- and asked why we hadn't warned him about the 'hallucinations'. He was showing signs of agitation. At first, I assumed it was evidence of an impending sensory spike, so I brought him back to his room and activated the white noise generators, but as you can see, the irritation is getting worse."

Rouse stared at the screen in silence for several long minutes. "Do you have another theory for his reaction?"

Gilliam mulled over several thoughts which had occurred to him over the course of the past two hours. Each was more ludicrous than the one before, and he hesitated to mention any of them to the general.

"Let me help you out here, Doctor," Rouse said into the silence. "If it was a sensory spike, the reduction of outside stimuli should have improved his attitude. I think we can probably agree, then, this is not an ordinary spike."

"Correct," Gilliam conceded, picking up on the general's train of thought. "If it was an ordinary spike. It's a theoretic possibility the spike is beyond normal parameters."

"But you don't think that is the case," Rouse guessed.

"No, sir, I don't. A spike intense enough to overcome the safeguards we have in place would have Ellison writhing on the floor in pain."

Rouse nodded thoughtfully. "What about the hallucination Ellison mentioned?"

"That's what has me stumped," Gilliam admitted. "In my experience, there's never been mention of hallucinations during a zone. However…"

"However….?" Rouse prompted, when Gilliam trailed off.

Gilliam turned away from the monitor, crossed the room, then turned back to face the general, who was watching him with interest.

"Doctor, I'm detecting more than a bit of hesitation from you. If you have a theory, please share."

"I do have a theory, but…frankly, General, I'm finding it a bit…unusual. There's little data on zones, as I'm sure you're aware. Sentinels, as soon as they begin to exhibit signs of their heightened senses, are immediately started on Pycnogycine. Few advance to the point of zones, so we haven't really had a chance to study the phenomenon in much depth. At least not firsthand. And I'm sure I don't have to tell you the state of the archives from before the ChangeOver. I've been studying Sentinels most of my adult life, however, and I have found a few obscure mentions which could be relevant. Very vague, in most instances, but I've formed hypotheses…"

Rouse seemed to be listening patiently, his arms crossed over his chest and his attention focused on Gilliam's words. It gave Gilliam the courage to say what he was thinking. "I think Ellison had a vision while zoned."

Rouse raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

Gilliam swallowed and continued, "I think there is a spiritual side -- a mystical side, if you prefer -- to Sentinels. My theory is that ancient Sentinels, ones who were allowed to fully utilize their senses, experienced visions -- such as walks on the spirit plane. I can only guess at the purpose of these visions. Perhaps they offered insight into the waking world, or maybe they were nothing more than a respite, or 'breather' from the demands of a full-time Sentinel's life. There's no way we can ever be sure without further data to study."

"You think Ellison had one of these visions?"

"It would explain his hallucination."

"Did he describe this hallucination?"

Gilliam shook his head. "Not in any detail. He mentioned a jungle and an animal of some kind. He didn't recognize it, but it could have been any of a number of species which disappeared after the war. There is speculation some stragglers still remain in the unsettled zones. The animal was wounded -- dying, Ellison said -- and he seemed pretty upset about it."

"Why an animal? Why this particular animal, one Ellison is unfamiliar with?"

Gilliam shrugged. "There used to be certain ethnic factions who believed every human's spirit is represented by creatures from the world around us. My theory," he paused briefly, "my theory is the creature in Ellison's vision was a manifestation of your Guide's spirit."

If Rouse thought the theory ludicrous, his expression didn't show it. "Could this be related to his present agitation?"

Gilliam took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose. "General…" He paused, taking a few steps forward. "The Guide has been awakened, hasn't he?"

Rouse narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

"I don't. I was guessing. Tell me, General, how long ago did this occur?"

Rouse's gaze didn't move from Gilliam's face for too many minutes. The doctor was beginning to think he had stepped over the wrong line with his question. He knew the Guide was a security matter of the highest level, and while he had been briefed at the onset of this project, he was not a member of the medical team dealing with the young man, and therefore, was not privy to updated developments concerning his status. It was speculation on his part, pure and simple, but it fit.

The general seemed to reach a conclusion on how much of the Guide's status was pertinent to the current conversation concerning the Sentinel. "It began at 0900 hours, this morning."

Just as Gilliam had suspected. "The same time Ellison began his zone -- or vision, if my theory is correct."

"Exactly what are you saying, Doctor?"

"Well, you have to admit, it's a hell of a coincidence."

Rouse turned back to face the monitor. Gilliam moved closer until he could see the Sentinel on the small screen. Ellison seemed to be settling down. He no longer paced the room, but was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head lowered to his hands. He looked tired -- exhausted, in fact. The episode appeared to be passing.

Rouse stared at the screen as though deep in thought. Suddenly, he reached for a nearby phone and punched in an extension. "This is General Rouse. What's the status of the Guide at present?"

There was a long pause as the person on the other end of the phone updated the general. Gilliam studied the man's face in a vain attempt to figure out what he was thinking.

"Is the President still on site?" Another pause. "Inform him I'll need to see him before he leaves." Rouse hung up the phone and turned to face Gilliam. "What about the other Sentinel? Has he exhibited any similar signs?"

"No, not yet, but I'm having him closely monitored as well."

The general nodded thoughtfully. "Keep me informed." He turned for the door.

"General?"

Rouse stopped, looking back over his shoulder. "Our Guide has only just been stabilized, after a rather complicated and difficult battle for his life, and he is now resting comfortably. Coincidentally, Ellison has only just calmed down." He paused dramatically. "I never have been one to believe in coincidence. I think it's time for me to have a talk with Lieutenant Ellison."

~~~

President Arledge glanced up as the door swung open. General Rouse took a single step inside the center's conference room which had been set aside for the President's use. He spared only a glance at Arledge's other visitor.

"Excuse me, sir," Rouse apologized, "but something has just been brought to my attention, and I think you may be interested."

"Come in, Arlen. Have a seat. I'll be with you in a moment." Though clearly unhappy at being told to wait, Rouse simply nodded and slid into a seat at the large conference table. Arledge was confident the general would not have disturbed him if the news had not been deemed important, but he was also confident whatever it was could wait a few minutes more. He had questions for Doctor Porch first.

Arledge waited until Rouse was settled, then returned his attention to the doctor. "I understand your report, Doctor Porch, but what I need is a long-term prognosis for our Guide. Surely, by now, you've been able to make some kind of determination."

Porch's irritation at the question was thinly veiled, but his voice was neutral as he answered. "It's too soon. We've barely gotten Mr. Sandburg stabilized." Arledge didn't miss the emphasis on the Guide's name. "We need time to run further tests, analyze results, monitor the young man--"

Arledge let out an impatient huff of air, cutting off the doctor. "I'm aware of all that, Doctor, and I'm not asking for absolutes. Just give me something, anything! You said a few days ago we could be looking at anything from minor physiological problems to a complete vegetative state. I have decisions to make, and a limited amount of time to make them. I need something from you!"

Porch drew in a deep breath, dropping his eyes to the reports spread across the table in front of him. "I just don't know, sir. I can give you my best guess, based on what I'm seeing in these reports from the other team members, but you have to understand, their reports are preliminary. They may or may not hold up over the next few days."

"I understand," Arledge said, leaning forward in his chair and clasping his hands on the table. "I assure you, Doctor, I won't hold you to anything you say right now. I just need to know what you think, based on what you've seen so far. We have two Sentinels whose futures may well depend on Mr. Sandburg. We'll have to tell them something soon, one way or another. So, Doctor Porch, do we have a vegetable on our hands? Or is there a chance we may get a fully functioning Guide?"

"He's not a vegetable."

Arledge let out a breath of relief and leaned back again in his chair. He exchanged a quick glance with Rouse, noting the general appeared as pleased by the news as he was.

"That's not to say he will necessarily be 'fully functional', however," Porch continued. "Most major organs, including his heart, appear to be functioning at normal or near-normal levels. In fact, his cardiovascular system appears much stronger than anticipated. His lungs are weak, but that's to be expected. We'll keep him on the ventilator for a few more days, until they've had time to regain some of their strength. He'll have muscle weakness, that's a given, but how much remains to be determined. We're not really seeing the atrophy you might expect under the circumstances. My best guess is we're looking at weeks, maybe months of rehabilitation and physical therapy. I would expect he'll regain full use of his arms and legs, but again, this is pure speculation on my part. There are no guarantees one way or the other.

"The biggest area of concern is neurological. It's too soon to tell if there's been brain damage. I can't even begin to even speculate in that regard. He opened his eyes briefly, as I reported, and it did appear as though he was able to focus his vision somewhat, so I think it's safe to rule out total blindness, which was a possibility we were considering. Also, when I spoke, he appeared to hear me, though I couldn't determine if he understood what I was saying. This could be a result of the trauma he's just been through, or perhaps the medications we administered…or it could be a sign of brain damage. As I said, I can't even begin to speculate. Doctor Honeycutt will have to determine the full extent of any damage with further testing. Once Mr. Sandburg is awake and responsive, I can probably give you a better idea of what we're facing."

Arledge mulled over the doctor's words for a few minutes. All in all, it was a better prognosis than he had expected.

"Also, sir," Porch interrupted Arledge's thoughts, "I feel I must point out, even given our best case scenario -- Sandburg makes a full physical recovery with no lasting disabilities -- there are still the psychological ramifications to consider. He will have to deal with the reality of all he knows having disappeared. Remember, he entered into the sleep before the war and ChangeOver. Not only will he have to deal with the vast changes to the world while he slept, but everyone he has ever known, his friends, family, everyone is long dead and buried. He may appear to be twenty-four, but you have to remember, sir, we're essentially dealing with a seventeen year old young man. It won't be an easy road ahead for him."

Arledge nodded. He had spent many a sleepless night in the past couple of months speculating, imagining, envisioning every possibility, including this very same view. He knew Porch thought him a heartless man, more concerned with the logistics of the situation than with the young man at the heart of it, but it was simply not true. Arledge did feel concern for the young Guide. He was not, however, in a position to let those concerns influence his decisions or actions. There were far greater matters to consider, and as president of the resettle world, it fell to him to see to it those more important issues remained the top priority.

"I understand, believe me," Arledge assured the doctor. "Mr. Sandburg will have the help he needs to deal with these issues, I'll see to it."

The words didn't appear to appease the doctor, but he didn't argue, for which Arledge was grateful. He had a great deal of respect for the man's willingness to defend his patient from any perceived harm, but Porch did have an inability to work within the larger equation.

"Thank you, Doctor Porch--" Arledge began, dismissing the doctor so he could get Rouse's report.

"This may be of interest to Doctor Porch, as well, sir," Rouse interrupted.

Porch reclaimed his seat.

"First, let me say, Doctor," Rouse began, "how pleased I am to hear the boy is doing as well as he is. When I left the observation room, he was in a great deal of distress. I'm glad to hear he made it through. Can I ask, though, was there a point where the tide seemed to turn?"

At Porch's confused expression, Rouse tried again. "To be frank, Doctor, when I left, I had the impression you were losing him. What I'm asking is, what brought him back? Was it a medical procedure, or was it something beyond your control? Maybe something you can't even identify?"

Arledge spoke while the doctor was still considering the question. "Is there a point, Arlen?"

"Yes, sir. A very important, though bizarre point, I believe. As you know, Doctor Gilliam summoned me with what he described as a very 'urgent' matter concerning the Sentinels. One of the Sentinels, as it turned out. At 0900 this morning, the same time our Guide was being removed from the sleep tube, Lt. Ellison entered a very deep zone, during which, he apparently experienced what he describes as an hallucination. During this hallucination, he reports interacting with a wounded animal in a jungle setting." Rouse slid the sheaf of papers he had brought with him toward the President. "The details are in there. Ellison describes the animal in some detail, a wild dog of some sort -- not of a type he recognized. He describes the distress the animal was in, and how it seemed to…"revive" at his touch."

"You think the Sentinel's hallucination is related to the Guide's revival?" Arledge questioned, his eyes quickly skimming the report.

"Yes, sir, I do. Doctor Gilliam has a theory, based on data he found in the pre-war archives. He thinks Ellison had a vision, and the creature in the vision was a manifestation of the Guide's spirit. After listening to his report and talking to Ellison, added to what I've seen for myself, I'm inclined to believe him." He leaned forward, catching the President's gaze and holding it. "Sir, Ellison came out of the zone extremely agitated, and spent the better part of the next two hours in some sort of extraordinary sensory spike. When I first saw him, he was pacing his room, clearly irritated, but also -- I don't know how else to describe it -- he was looking for something. His senses seemed to be raging, but under his control. Doctor Gilliam reported Ellison had been like this since coming out of the zone. About twenty minutes after I arrived, he suddenly settled. He seemed to relax. Whatever had been irritating him had stopped."

Porch looked up. "How long was he in the zone?"

"Half hour."

Arledge could almost see the gears in Porch's head, and knew where the man's thoughts were going. "That would have been about the same time the Guide was stabilized," he spoke what they were all thinking.

"Yes, sir," Rouse confirmed.

"What you're insinuating isn't possible," Porch stated. "You think Ellison--"

"Met his Guide -- in animal form -- in a vision," Arledge finished for him. "I have to admit, Arlen, it does see a bit…incredible."

"Yes, sir, it does. But then so does the whole notion of Sentinels and Guides in the first place, if you think about it, yet no one questions their existence."

"But we have proof of their existence," Porch argued. "It's tangible. A spirit world…visions…they can't be viably verified."

"Or refuted," Rouse declared. "And I would have to argue that we have, at the very least, circumstantial evidence right here in front of us. How else could Ellison have known the exact moment the Guide was being removed from the tube, or the moment he was finally stabilized. How else can you explain the Sentinel's reactions?"

Porch bit back whatever reply he started to make, shaking his head instead.

"If what you're suggesting is true," Arledge said into the silence that followed, "can we conclude that Ellison's interaction with this animal in the…vision…in some way affected the Guide's recovery?"

"It's a possibility we need to consider," Rouse pointed out.

"Or it could be pure coincidence," Porch interjected. "Maybe it was just what Ellison suspected in the first place -- a hallucination! It could be nothing more than an overactive imagination brought on by the stresses of dealing with the onset of hyperactive senses. We shouldn't be too hasty to read too much into this episode."

"I agree, Doctor," Arledge said. He held up a hand to stay Rouse's objections. "However, we have nothing to lose by pursuing the matter."

"How do you purpose to do that?" Porch asked, a hint of sarcasm seeping through his tone.

Arledge ignored the question for the moment, turning instead to Rouse. "What about the other Sentinel, Yagudin?"

Rouse shook his head. "His most recent zone was yesterday afternoon, and he didn't report any visions or hallucinations -- yet," he added as an afterthought. "He's being closely monitored. Mr. Yagudin doesn't seem to zone as often as Lt. Ellison, but his sensory spikes are more frequent and more severe."

Arledge drummed his fingers on the table as he mulled over this new information. Porch was right in one respect, the whole notion was as far fetched an idea as he had ever heard, but Arledge couldn't dismiss the possibility of something like this existing. Truth be told, he couldn't think of one viable alternative explanation.

"If we follow this line of reasoning, sir," Rouse injected into the silence, "then it could be to everyone's advantage to introduce our Sentinel to the Guide."

"Now wait a minute!" Porch exclaimed, pushing his chair away from the table. "Sandburg is in no shape to handhold 'your' Sentinel. It hasn't even been twelve hours since we removed him from the chamber. Just a few short hours ago, I wasn't even sure he would still be alive at the end of the day. I still can't guarantee he'll survive at all. I will not authorize your little 'experiment' in Sentinel tranquility!"

Arledge sat back and watched as Rouse's anger rose to meet the doctor's. Had the situation not been so incredibly important, he might have found the verbal sparring match amusing. As it was, he simply found it informative. Each man had a valid argument, and Arledge was interested in hearing those arguments verbalized, even in the heat of their respective tempers.

"I'm not asking for the Guide--"

"Sandburg!" Porch yelled springing to his feet. "The man has a name, Goddammit! Use it!"

Rouse took a deep breath, but it apparently did nothing to quell his anger. "I am well aware of the man's name, Doctor." His calm tone was at odds with the fire in his eyes. "However, for our purposes, he is first and foremost a Guide. If you could see past your commendable -- but useless -- compassion, you would be aware of that fact." He slowly stood, facing the doctor head on. "However, as I was trying to point out, I'm not asking for the Guide to 'guide'. All I'm suggesting is bringing the Sentinel in to see him, see what happens. If, as I suspect, he is trying to make a connection with him, then I think we'll see evidence of that. If not, what harm will be done?"

"The harm is that Sandburg is fighting for his life! And don't think for a moment I'm being melodramatic or exaggerating for effect. He doesn't need the added stress and aggravation you're suggesting."

"If what I suspect is true, and I think the evidence supports it, then the Sentinel could help your Guide!"

"Faith healing?! Surely, you're not serious?!"

"Not faith healing…per se…" Rouse made a visible effort to collect himself before continuing. "Listen, Doctor Porch, our fighting is counterproductive. We both want the same thing--"

"For far different reasons!" Porch interrupted.

Rouse's nostrils flared as he noisily sucked in air through his nose, but he nodded, conceding the point. "Maybe. However, our goal is similar. We want what's best for the Gu-- Mr. Sandburg. This might be what's best for him. In Ellison's vision--"

"--or hallucination."

Rouse ignored the interruption. "…the animal calmed at his touch, and according to Ellison, it appeared to physically react in a positive way. Now, you can't deny, Doctor, your patient took a turn for the better at precisely the same moment. Maybe that's a coincidence. Maybe it's not. But don't you think it's worth finding out?"

Porch was quiet for a long moment. Arledge watched the man, waiting for his reaction to the general's argument. Not that it mattered. Arledge had already made his decision on the matter.

Finally, Porch pulled his chair back to the table and sat down. His temper seemed to visibly deflate. "I don't like taking risks with my patient's well being."

"I don't fault you for that." Rouse took his seat as well. "And if I thought this would jeopardize your patient in any way, I wouldn't have even suggested it. All I'm proposing is a brief meeting, strictly controlled, to see if there's a reaction. It could lead to a better understanding of whatever phenomenon is at work here."

"If any," Porch added.

"If any," Rouse conceded. "Either way, what could it hurt?"

"If you two are finished…?" Arledge sat forward, rejoining the conversation. "I think the general is right, Doctor, but I can also see your concerns, as well. So, I'm willing to offer a compromise. We'll wait until the end of the week. That should give you time to further evaluate your patient, and if at that time, you deem his health too fragile, we'll reconsider."

Porch nodded. "Agreed."

"Good, now that this is settled--"

"How much do they know?" Porch cut in.

Arledge looked at Porch, uncomprehending.

"The Sentinels…do they know about Sandburg?"

"If you mean, do they know his origins," Rouse answered, "no. They were told only that we have a Guide."

"So they don't know his medical situation?"

Arledge picked up his pen and tapped it a couple of times against the hard surface of the table. "Good point, Doctor." He looked to Rouse. "We'll have to tell them something."

"I don't see a need, as yet, to give them the full facts," Rouse said. "We can give them a partial truth, enough to satisfy them, but we have to bear in mind, one of these two men will be eliminated from the equation in the very near future. There is a danger in too many people having all the facts of this case."

"All right," Arledge decided, gathering the reports from both Porch and Rouse. "Come up with a cover story, and run it by me. We'll meet back here Friday morning, and unless circumstances have changed for the worse, it looks like we'll be introducing Ellison to our Guide."

~~~

Mikal pushed harder, reaching further with his senses. With determination born from desperation, he ignored Doctor Liu's warning. He knew what he risked. In fact, a zone was precisely what he was seeking, and if the idiot doctor would get out of his ear and leave him alone, he might find one. He had learned hours earlier of Ellison's zone, thanks to hearing which had decided to spike at a very fortuitous moment. Ellison had, according to the two unidentified voices Mikal had overheard, experienced a 'vision' while zoned, and as a result, the other Sentinel was going to be allowed to meet the Guide.

Mikal's hearing had regressed before he could learn more, but what he had heard had left him furious. Ellison would gain a huge advantage if he was allowed to meet and interact with the Guide. They would have a jumpstart in establishing a connection, and that would give the upper hand to Ellison in the final decision of who got the Guide. Mikal could not allow that to happen. He would not allow that to happen. The Guide was his!

Mikal cursed his luck. If his hearing was a bit more controlled, if he could have held the spike a few minutes more, he might have learned some details of Ellison's vision. Given more information, he could have easily faked his own, something more elaborate than Ellison's, something to give him the edge. As it was, he had no idea where to even start creating a fake vision.

The next best thing, he decided, though not as controlled, was a vision of his own. He had made several unsuccessful attempts already. Each and every time he managed a zone, this idiot doctor interrupted before a vision could occur. And though the idiot was trying again, Mikal was determined to find whatever it was Ellison had found.

As Mikal pushed harder, the world around him, including Liu's voice, began to fade. He felt the zone pulling him, and fought to hold back the reflexive panic at the loss of control. He relaxed into it, giving himself to the void.

Mikal sat up with a smile of victory. He was definitely not in the SRC. If the unfamiliar setting around him was any indication, he had found his vision. Ignoring the strange trees and lush undergrowth, he climbed to his feet. What now? He was here, wherever here was, but what happened now?

He turned in a slow circle, searching for a clue, some indication of what he was supposed to do to complete the vision. He searched his memory for what little he had ever heard concerning visions. They were like dreams, right? Only with a purpose. What was the purpose of Ellison's vision? Surely Mikal's would be the same. It was a safe bet it involved the Guide somehow. Otherwise, why would they be planning to take Ellison to the Guide as a result of his? Therefore, the Guide must be here somewhere. All Mikal had to do was find him.

Choosing a path at random, Mikal set off, only momentarily disoriented by the jerky, slow-motion movements. The undergrowth thickened substantially as he traveled. He briefly considered taking another route, but decided against it. This one felt right in a way he could not explain. He was drawing closer to the Guide, he was sure of it.

Mikal stubbornly stuck to his chosen path, fighting his way through bushes which seemed almost alive in their determination to stop him. Sharp thorns tore mercilessly at his arms and legs, but he doggedly pushed on. He would not be stopped. The Guide was his. It was simply a matter of claiming him.

At last, he pushed his way through to a small clearing beside a stream. Beside the stream, lay a dog. He moved closer, until he was standing over it. The animal -- not exactly a dog, but similar -- was still, except for the heaving of its chest as it struggled to draw in ragged breaths. The weakness of the dog-creature disgusted Mikal.

He started to turn away to resume the search for his Guide, but was stopped by a thought. This animal, pathetic as it was, was the only sign of life Mikal had seen since entering this Godforsaken place, therefore it must bear some importance. He nudged it with his foot. Getting no response, he gave it a small kick, catching it in its emaciated ribs. The creature whimpered forlornly and opened its eyes.

Mikal dropped to his knees. The dark blue eyes which looked up at him were clouded with pain and misery, and for a moment, Mikal almost felt sorry for the creature. He quickly rejected the thought. He had no idea how much time he had in this place, but he doubted it would be much longer. He had already spent who knew how long just fighting to get this far. He had no more time to waste. If this animal had the key to his search, and he was somehow sure it did, Mikal was damn well going to get it.

He reached for the animal, only to pull back sharply when the pitiful creature let out a low growl. Angered by the response, Mikal reached for it again. This time the dog-creature snapped at his hand, almost biting him. Reacting on instinct, Mikal lashed out, striking the dog on the head.

"Son of a bitch!" Mikal roared. He struck the dog again. The creature just needed to know who was boss, Mikal decided, then it would help him, and as much as it galled him to admit it, Mikal knew he needed the animal's help.

He reached again for the dog, ignoring the snarls that met his movements. The animal tried to lift its head for another strike, but Mikal was quicker, catching the animal by the neck with both hands and pulling it toward him. It struggled, but its strength quickly waned.

Mikal smiled in satisfaction, drawing the dog-creature's face up even with his own. Their eyes met, and Mikal let out a chuckle at the fear he saw in their depths. "Yes, little one, fear me and you do well, because you will help me!"

Defiance filled the blue eyes at his words. Rage engulfed Mikal. He shoved the creature away from him, drawing some satisfaction from its yelp of pain as it met the ground. Damn pathetic beast would submit to him! He would show it who was boss!

Mikal lashed out with a fist, aiming for the animal's head, but before it could connect, he felt himself being pulled away. He screamed a denial which echoed from the trees around him. He wasn't finished! He had not yet found the Guide! His Guide!

A gray mist swirled through his vision for a brief moment, before coalescing into a dark face with fear-widened eyes. In anger, Mikal savagely pushed the man away from him with a curse. Doctor Liu fell back, only the wall keeping him from hitting the floor.

"You idiot!" he screamed at the man. "I wasn't finished!"

"You were zoned," the doctor explained, his voice wavering every so slightly in the face of Mikal's fury.

"I know that!" Mikal shouted. He scrubbed his face with both hands, shaking off the last vestiges of the zone. "I was in a vision, searching for my Guide. The dog-creature was just about to help me when you pulled me out of it."

Doctor Liu's eyes widened almost comically. Mikal suppressed a grin. Maybe he had seen enough. With what he had, perhaps he could embellish the rest, or at least enough to satisfy them he had indeed experienced a vision. They would take him to see the Guide now, then he would make his claim.

~~~

"Are you certain it was a vision?"

"How else could he have known about the jungle and the…what did you say the animal was?"

"A wolf," General Rouse provided. It had taken a while, but they were finally able to identify the animal Ellison had described. A photo of the animal shown to the Sentinel had confirmed it. "Yagudin is a Sentinel. He could have overheard someone discussing it."

Doctor Gilliam shook his head. "He doesn't have that much control. Besides, his descriptions, while somewhat similar to Ellison's, vary different enough to lend credence to his story."

General Rouse paced the length of the room. "I don't know. Something about this just doesn't ring true to me."

"You think Yagudin made this up? What would be the point?"

Rouse sighed, resisting the urge to point out just how much was at stake. "Tell me again what he saw." He knew the story, having heard it once already and read it for himself just a few minutes ago, but he was hoping whatever niggled at his mind would clarify itself with a retelling.

Gilliam picked up the report and flipped through it to the appropriate page. "Yagudin experienced a sensory spike shortly after the beginning of his routine psychiatric session. It was approximately 13:30. Doctor Liu recognized the onset of a zone, but was unable to prevent it. Yagudin reports awakening outdoors in a setting with 'a lot of trees and bushes"." He glanced up at Rouse. "He's unfamiliar with a jungle, but based on Ellison's identification, I'm assuming that's where he was." He looked back at the report. "Yagudin says he felt the presence of the Guide. As he was trying to locate him, he found an animal…the wolf, judging from his description…laying beside a stream. The animal came to Yagudin and seemed to try to communicate with him. He felt it was trying to tell him where to find the Guide. That's when Doctor Liu pulled him out of the zone." Gilliam set the report down. "Yagudin is a little…um…annoyed at that. He's been in an ill temper ever since."

"Like Ellison's reaction?"

Gilliam shook his head. "I would describe Yagudin's attitude as aggressive, angry, whereas Ellison's was more irritation and frustration. The difference could be in my interpretation, however, or in how their individual personalities translated what they were feeling. I would certainly say they were both under some type of mental influence brought on by their respective visions."

Rouse nodded, accepting the information. "This is no more or less than we were expecting." In spite of that fact, Rouse was still uneasy, but without further insight, he couldn't justify a reluctance to accept the second Sentinel's report. He had no doubt President Arledge, when presented with this new information, would want Yagudin introduced to the Guide as well.

"Yagudin referred to his vision as a vision upon coming out of the zone, did he not?" Rouse asked.

"According to Doctor Liu, yes."

"So he was aware of just what had happened during his zone."

"Evidently. Maybe the concept is one he's familiar with."

"He also seemed to realize the Guide was there."

"Unlike Ellison," Gilliam finished for him. "It does seem significant."

"Or auspicious."

"I get the feeling you mean 'suspicious'," the doctor guessed.

"Like I said before," Rouse explained, "I don't believe in coincidence." He picked up the report Gilliam had just set down. President Arledge would be interested in reading it for himself. "However, it's not my decision to make. Thank you, Doctor Gilliam. Keep me informed."

~~~

"What if I don't buy into your interpretation?" Jim questioned.

"What would your interpretation be?" Doctor Gilliam asked in response.

Jim leaned back in his chair, studying the man sitting opposite him. Gilliam seemed unnaturally calm, in light of what he had just suggested. "A hallucination, pure and simple. A figment of my zoned-out imagination."

"And how would you explain the numerous coincidences?"

"Coincidence."

Gilliam frowned. "Has anyone ever told you, Jim, you are extraordinarily close-minded?"

"No. Never."

"Somehow, I doubt that. At any rate, short of launching an extensive study, I can't substantiate my theory or yours at present. Won't you at least consider the possibility?"

Jim thought about what Gilliam was proposing. A vision? It seemed so…incredible. If it was true, then the animal -- the wolf -- was representative of the Guide. How could that be? Why would his imagination manifest the Guide as an animal so unfamiliar to Jim? Maybe he had seen a picture once upon a time…but the hallucination had been so detailed! Right down to the animal's deep blue eyes. Jim would never forget those eyes, nor the plea in their sapphire depths.

He shook off the memory, unsettled by it. "The wolf was dying," he stated, hoping that fact alone would convince Gilliam of the unreasonableness of what he was suggesting.

To Jim's dismay, Gilliam nodded. "Yes, and the Guide was dying at time." The doctor sat forward. "Jim, I don't have free reign to go into details, but you have a right to know this much -- the Guide is very ill. Two days ago, at precisely the same time as your vision, they almost lost him. He's since been stabilized, and from what I understand, he's doing much better. Now, don't you think it's a hell of a coincidence that the Guide was fighting for his life at the same time you found the dying wolf? And to take it one step further, don't you think it's a hell of a coincidence the wolf responded to you, reviving at precisely the same moment the Guide was stabilized? You believe in that much coincidence?"

"Makes more sense than a 'vision'," Jim responded stubbornly.

"Jim, you're a mule-headed son-of-a-bitch!"

Jim raised an eyebrow. "This is news?"

Gilliam laughed. "No, not really, but it does make my job more difficult." He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Look, Jim, let me be frank with you, they want to take you to meet the Guide."

Jim straightened, suddenly interested as the conversation took an unexpected turn.

"So, you see, it doesn't really matter what you or I believe. There are a few things you should know first. As I said, the Guide has been very ill. He's not even conscious, from what I've been told. All we're talking about is a brief visit, a chance to see what happens."

"An experiment." Jim let his displeasure color his tone.

"In a way," Gilliam conceded, "but a valid one. If, as I suspect, your hallucination was a vision, and if I'm interpreting it even half-way correctly, then your subconscious could be trying to make a tentative connection to the Guide."

"And if it was, as I suspect, simply a hallucination?" Jim prodded.

"Then you get to meet the Guide."

~~~

Myra did not bother knocking on Daniel's office door. She never had, unless she knew he wasn't alone or was busy with something urgent. Neither was the case at the moment, however. He was merely "brooding", and she didn't intend to let that situation remain unchallenged.

"Daniel?" She waited until the doctor lifted his head, frowning at the exhaustion in his dark brown eyes. He needed a break, but she knew from experience he wouldn't leave as long as he had a patient who needed him. "I've brought you some coffee."

Porch smiled his thanks as Myra set the cup on the corner of his desk.

"You want to talk about it?" she offered, taking a seat in the closest chair.

"You always could read me like a book," he replied, taking a tentative sip of the hot liquid.

"Not that challenging. You wear your emotions like a flag." Myra crossed her arms. "I know it's not our patient, because he's doing as well as can be expected. Actually, better than some expected, I suspect. My guess is it's the bureaucracy."

"Got it in one, Myra." Porch sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Arledge is planning on introducing 'their Sentinels' to 'our Guide'."

"I assumed that was the purpose of this exercise from the start."

"No, you don't understand. They want to bring them here now! This afternoon!"

"What?!" She sat up straighter, startled and a bit angry by the news. "The son-of-a-bitch!"

Porch laughed. "Myra! Such language from a lady!"

Myra snorted. "Get real, Daniel. You've heard me curse before."

"And it never ceases to shock me to hear such coarse language from someone who reminds me of my mother."

"Kiss my ass, Daniel," the only slightly older woman replied with a glare.

Porch held up both hands in a placating gesture. "Sorry, sorry. That wasn't an age crack, and you know it. It's just the way you…coddle me."

"If you'd remember to sleep and eat occasionally, I wouldn't have to."

"Point taken," Daniel replied. "Anyhow…it seems one of the Sentinels has had a…spell, of some sort, and they're playing with the idea that it could've been a vision. They want to test their theory by letting the man see Sandburg."

Myra shook her head. Of all the arrogant, empty-headed, off-the-wall nonsense! "No doubt you've already told them the boy isn't even awake and certainly in no condition to play their silly games."

"Oh, believe me, Arledge is well aware of my feelings on the matter. Ultimately, it doesn't matter, however. The decision wasn't mine."

"You're his doctor!" Myra was outraged.

"And Arledge is the President. Seems he outranks me."

Myra sighed deeply. "What are they expecting to happen?"

Porch shrugged. "General Rouse is under the impression that the Sentinels may be seeking on some kind of subconscious, 'mystical' level to connect with Sandburg." His tone implied exactly what he thought of the idea.

Myra snorted in a very unlady-like manner. "Connection my ass! They actually believe this mumbo-jumbo?"

Again, Porch shrugged. "The general does, and Arledge is open to the possibility. I think they are getting desperate, myself. I think they're down to the wire, and they don't know which Sentinel to pick, so they are hoping for some sort of supernatural intervention to make their choice easier."

"Have they even considered the boy may not want a Sentinel? God knows he's going to have enough on his plate to deal with as it is!"

"They don't give a damn what he wants!" Porch replied, anger darkening his eyes. "They're so wrapped up in their lust for a working Sentinel/Guide pair, they can't see anything else. Heaven only knows what their long range plans are."

"Whatever their plan is," Myra said, "I don't think it bodes well for Blair Sandburg."

~~~

"A military escort?" Jim questioned.

Gilliam gave him a sideways glance as the two men fell into step behind the officer who waited for them at the bank of elevators reserved for staff. "The Guide is being kept in a secure area."

Jim raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. It made sense, he supposed.

They entered an elevator, and the officer stabbed a button. Sub-basement, the logical part of Jim's brain noted. The three men were silent for the duration of the long ride down. When the car finally stopped and the doors slid open, Jim was surprised to see armed military men blocking their exit. They glanced at the officer, nodded, and stepped back, allowing the men passage.

"Doctor Porch is waiting in his office," one of the men informed their escort.

The moment Jim stepped from the elevator, he became aware of a background noise invading his consciousness. It pounded relentlessly through his head, becoming louder, sharper as they were led through the complex to a small office. Surprisingly, unlike most of the persistent sounds he had picked up on the past few weeks, this one did not lead to a headache. Still, it worried Jim. Now would be the worst possible time for a sensory spike.

Their escort knocked and opened the office door. He waited until Jim and Gilliam had entered and closed the door behind them from the outside.

"Good to see you again, Seth."

Jim quickly sized up the speaker as the man stood and moved around his desk. He was almost as tall as Jim, but was much thinner. In his mid thirties, he would probably be deemed good looking when rested and clean shaven -- which he was not at the moment. His eyes were circled with dark smudges and his face was pale, as though he had not seen the sun in far too long.

"You must be the Sentinel…Ellison, is it? I'm Doctor Daniel Porch. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, although I feel I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that this visit is against my better judgment."

"Daniel…" Gilliam began.

Porch raised a hand. "I know, I know…the greater good, and all that garbage. I just want it on the record that I object."

"I was under the impression your patient was improving," Gilliam pointed out.

"He is," Porch assured, "but he's still far too weak for Rouse's nonsense. He hasn't even regained consciousness yet, for God's sake!"

"Doctor," Jim interrupted, "if it makes you feel any better, I'm not crazy about being part of the general's experiment myself. I'm not so sure I buy into this 'vision' hypothesis. In fact, I'd go so far as to say I think it's a load of crap -- no offense," he added for Gilliam's benefit. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to meet the Guide, but if you think it's a bad idea right now, I'll wait."

Porch appeared startled by Jim's words. A smile pulled at his lips. "Finally, a sensible man." He glanced at Gilliam. "I bet you have your hands full with him, Seth."

Gilliam chuckled. "He has a mind of his own, that's for sure."

Jim glared at Gilliam, which made the doctor laugh harder. "See what I mean? He speaks his mind, but you can believe what his says."

Porch nodded. "A man after my own heart, Ellison. However, I'm afraid neither of us really have a choice in the matter. This meeting is beyond our control. My goal, and hopefully yours as well, is to make it successful -- my idea of successful. I couldn't care less about Rouse's experiment. My concern is my patient's well being. If at any time, I deem the meeting detrimental to his health, I have full authority to end it."

Jim nodded his agreement. He would expect no less of the man, and he certainly had no desire to bring harm to the Guide. The mere thought sent a twist of pain through Jim's chest in response, surprising him. Though he considered himself a compassionate man, compassion and duty didn't always work together compatibly, so Jim had learned long ago to curb the emotion. That control seemed to be slipping a little today.

"Okay, good." Porch leaned back on the edge of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not sure how much you've been told, but I'd like to give you my version. My patient is very ill. He's been through a lot, medically speaking, in the past few days. As I said, he's unconscious, and he's on a ventilator to assist his breathing. I don't want him stressed in any way, but I do think it can be beneficial for you to talk to him, and not because you're a Sentinel -- I'm not sure how much of this 'connection' concept I believe. It's my belief comatose patients are often aware, on some level, of what's going on around them. In that respect, I believe you could do the young man some good. Just don't expect a response."

Porch straightened. "If there are no other questions…?"

Jim shook his head. He had tons of questions, but didn't want to take the time to ask them. He had come this far, and he was anxious to get on with it. He felt an irrational need for something he couldn't quite name, and the confusion of this nameless urge frustrated him. To make matters worse, the pounding in his ears was increasing as Porch led the way down the hall.

Not now…He couldn't afford a spike now. He would lose this chance, and he might not get another.

They stopped at a supply room, where the doctor handed Jim and Gilliam each a set of scrubs to cover their clothes. "His immune system is taxed as it is," Porch explained, pulling a gown over his own clothes and tying it behind his head. Once similarly robed, Porch distributed masks before heading further down the hall.

A pair of guards stood before a door at the end of the hallway. As they approached, one of the guards shifted to the side, opening the door behind him. Porch entered, followed closely by Gilliam and Jim.

Jim stepped into the room and stopped. A quiet washed over him. The pounding in his ears decreased, though remained. Tension he hadn't even been aware of was suddenly gone, leaving him with a serenity he hadn't felt since…since the hallucination, if he was honest.

Jim's eyes followed Porch as the doctor crossed to the bed in the center of the room. A multitude of machinery lined the walls, each beeping out their message at regular intervals.

Jim's senses rose, sharpened and flared out. He panicked, fearing a spike. After a few seconds, however, they settled into a heightened state which both amazed and alarmed him. The only time his senses were ever this clear, this sharp, was right before a zone. Refusing to give in to his fear, he struggled to push aside the sensations.

Jim quickly regained control and moved closer to the bed. For a brief moment, he doubted his sanity. On the bed, connected to the life sustaining machines, was the wolf from his hallucination. Jim blinked, looked again, and breathed a sigh of relief. The animal was gone, and in its place was a young man.

Based on what he'd been told, Jim was surprised at the Guide's appearance. He had expected bruising or some obvious signs of an injury, but there were none. Nor were there signs of illness. The young man was pale, and there was a tube in his throat, but other than that, he could be simply sleeping.

The sound in his head, the relentless pounding demanded Jim's attention. He listened, marking it in his memory, noticing as he did a machine behind the bed beat an identical rhythm. It was a heart monitor. The beep marked the Guide's heartbeat. Amazed, Jim filed the information to sort out later.

A question suddenly came to Jim. "What's his name?"

Porch looked at Jim, a pleased smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "Blair Sandburg."

Jim studied Sandburg's face. He was very young. Jim hadn't expected that. He looked like he should be in school somewhere, not laying unconscious in a hospital bed, waiting for his fate to be decided by powers out of his control. Did the boy even want to be a Guide? Did he want to tie himself for a lifetime to a Sentinel? To a stranger? Did any of them have a choice in what was happening? Jim did. He could walk away right now and resume the Pycs and his life. But what about this kid? Would he be given a option? Could he choose not to Guide?

Involuntarily, Jim's vision began to narrow, focusing tightly on the skin around the boy's mouth. He held his breath as the pores of the skin magnified tenfold. Tiny capillaries, just below the surface of the skin, zoomed into sight, and for the briefest of seconds, Jim imagined he could actually hear blood rushing through those capillaries. Panicked, Jim pulled back, trying to bringing his vision back to normal. Amazingly, it responded. Never had his vision gone so far without leading to a zone, but never before had Jim felt so in control. All five of his senses seemed to hum in perfect sync. He spent a few minutes simply marveling at the power he felt. Even the air around him seemed alive with sounds, smells, tastes…it was breathtaking. Was this what true Sentinels of the past -- those who were allowed to fully utilize their senses -- had felt?

For the first time in his life, Jim felt truly alive. His senses sang. And he knew his choice had been removed. His sanity would never survive on the Pycs again.

~~~

Porch watched the Sentinel carefully, knowing Seth was doing the same from the opposite side of the room. He tried to forget those who were watching on the vid-screens down the hall. Ellison's jaw clenched and unclenched in rhythm. It was impossible to read the man's expression. Giving up, Porch let his gaze drift to the monitors, studying their readings while he waited…for what? What did Gilliam and Rouse expect to happen? Did they think Sandburg would open his eyes and declare salvation in the face of the Sentinel?

Not bloody likely, Porch snorted derisively.

Ellison glance up, questioning the noise with his expression

"Talk to him," Porch suggested, covering.

"I don't know what to say."

"It doesn't really matter. It's the sound of your voice more than your words." Porch moved around the bed, pulling the lone chair in the room closer to Ellison. "You might as well get comfortable."

Ellison accepted the chair, scooting it close to the side of the bed and settling himself into it. Tentatively, he began speaking, his voice scarcely a whisper at first, but gaining volume after a few words.

"Hey, kid. You don't know me, but my name is James Ellison -- Jim, I guess. At least that's what my friends call me. I'm hoping we'll be friends when you wake up, which I hope is soon."

He faltered, glancing up at Porch. The doctor pretended to have his attention elsewhere. After a few seconds, the Sentinel began speaking again. Porch tried not to listen, tuning the one-sided conversation out in favor of the readouts from the various machines recording Sandburg's status.

As he moved from machine to machine, Porch's forehead creased in puzzlement. The readings had improved dramatically since the last time they had been recorded. He glanced back up at Ellison, who was still speaking, telling the unconscious man a little about himself and his life. Maybe Daniel had been wrong. Maybe there was a benefit to bringing the Sentinel to meet the Guide. Rouse would eat up this bit of information.

~~~

Jim didn't really know what he was saying, but figured it didn't matter anyway. Porch had said his tone was what was important. So he kept speaking, rambling really, about his life, cases he had worked, vid-programs he had enjoyed -- or not -- the weather, anything he could think of to say.

On impulse, Jim reached his hand toward Sandburg's closest one, but caught himself when he noticed the number of needles and wires tethered to it. He looked up, catching Porch's eye. The doctor nodded his permission, so Jim took the hand carefully in his. A tiny charge of static electricity passed between them at the contact. Jim heard the snap, then felt the slight sting. Probably a build up from all of the machines connected to the kid, Jim reasoned, dismissing the quirk.

The kid's hand was cooler than Jim expected, almost cold. Concerned, Jim pulled the light blanket stretched across Sandburg over their clasped hands. He kept his hold on the hand, liking the sense of connection it gave him. It seemed odd for him to be carrying on a one-sided conversation with an unconscious stranger who was little more than a kid, but Jim was surprised at how comfortable he felt. Maybe it was the way his senses were finally behaving, or maybe it was the control he felt over them…or maybe it was simply the inexplicable sense that the kid needed him right now. It felt right, knowing he might be doing some good.

Whatever it was, Jim gave himself to it. He picked up the conversation where he had left off, absurdly content, and not willing to question why.

~~~

It was cold. Infinitely, completely, overwhelmingly cold. And Blair did not like it. He wanted to go back to the warmth of the jungle he'd come to know so well. The jungle was a dream, he knew that, but it was a good dream. The jungle was warm, and he was free to run, play, explore. Unlike the cold, sterile labs where someone was always telling him where to go, what to do, what to eat, what to say. He hated the labs, and he hated the doctors who kept him there. Only in his dreams, in the jungle, was he free.

This dream had lasted a very long time, though, Blair thought. Or so it seemed. Hours…days…? He had no way to track time, but it felt like a lifetime. It was nearly idyllic. His only complaint was the solitude. The jungle of his dreams was lifeless -- not even a bird to break the silence. Blair was well familiar with loneliness, however, so he reserved his complaints. His time living in the labs had been filled with an endless series of doctors, scientists, technicians, but no one he could truly call friend. At least in the jungle, there was no one demanding he listen, pay attention, perform on command like some trained dog.

Blair had sensed a change, though, in his dream jungle. He had been growing steadily weaker. He played less, spending most of his time resting in the warm sunlight. He had noticed it was growing colder and darker, as though the long day was drawing to a close. Then came the most significant change of all. He was no longer alone. As he rested in one of the last pools of sunlight, a panther, black as a starless night, emerged from the jungle and approached him. At first, Blair was afraid, but the cat radiated no threat. Blair was elated. Finally, he would have someone to talk to, to play with, to break this eternal cycle of loneliness. But the cat had not stayed. Blair mourned the loss.

Soon after, he felt another presence in his jungle. For a short moment, he was elated, thinking the panther had returned, but as the visitor approached, a sense of danger encompassed Blair.

The creature who entered Blair's clearing was not the panther, but a lion, huge and menacing. Blair was instantly afraid, but lacked the strength to flee. The lion approached, baring its teeth ominously. When it had closed the distance, the cat struck. Blair struggled, but in his weakened state, it was ineffectual. He closed his eyes in defeat, waiting for the animal to finish him. Nothing happened. Blair opened them again, to find the animal gone. This time he rejoiced the return of his solitude. But his strength was gone. He knew he could not survive here much longer, and he was no longer sure he wanted to. Blair closed his eyes and prayed for the dream to end.

Now…minutes -- hours? days? -- later, Blair felt the jungle darkening around him and the cold pervading him. He was waking, leaving behind his jungle paradise for the cold, sterile world of the labs. Though it saddened him, he knew it was time.

As the jungle faded completely to darkness, Blair became aware of outside sensations. Smells, sounds, touches. There was activity around him he couldn't identify. Beeps and clicks…voices…one voice in particular. He couldn't make out the words, but the sound of it was oddly soothing. Blair relaxed into it, letting the rise and fall of it wash over him.

He was bone-chillingly cold, save for his right hand. There was a warmth there which spread up his arm and into his chest. It felt good, and he longed for it to totally engulf him.

Blair wanted to open his eyes, find the source of the warmth, but they were too heavy. It just didn't seem worth the effort. He was so tired. Maybe if he rested a bit, he could make the attempt.

Blair relaxed into the security which seemed to surround him, letting the voice soothe away his fears and carry him deep into a dreamless, healing sleep.

~~~

Reluctantly, Jim removed his hand. He felt a distinct loss, an aching, at the break in contact. His soul cried out at him to stay, to protect the Guide, but it was time to leave. He had no choice. Maybe they would let him come back later. Maybe the kid would be awake, and they could have a real conversation. Jim consoled himself with the promise as he backed away from the bed.

Jim was only peripherally aware of his senses latching onto the Guide, cataloging they young man forever in his memory. The sound he had heard -- the heartbeat --strengthened, surging for a moment before taking up residence in the recesses of Jim's soul. He knew, instinctively, it was a sound he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

~~~

Gilliam watched Jim prepare to leave, knowing something momentous was taking place, but clueless to name it. The doctor had felt his own frail senses surge in proximity to the Guide and knew Ellison would be feeling the sensation a hundredfold. The Sentinel took a step away from the bed and stopped. His nostrils flared, and his head tilted to the side. His senses appeared to be working in perfect accord, taking in the Guide. Gilliam suspected a connection had begun to form with the vision. Now he was sure of it. Ellison was marking the Guide in his memory, preliminary to establishing a link.

Where this left Yagudin, Gilliam couldn't say. He was certain the second Sentinel wouldn't take the loss well, and the doctor couldn't blame him. The man was scheduled to meet the Guide later in the day. Gilliam would present his theories to Rouse and Arledge, but he was certain they would want the meeting to proceed as planned. The doctor would go along with it, but he knew in his heart it was a waste of time. The Guide had chosen, and Ellison was the winner.

~~~

"Night and day," Gilliam announced to the small, assembled group. Frustration leached through to his tone. "I don't know how you can even compare them."

"No one's questioning your judgment," said President Arledge. "However, this decision is not one to make lightly. We're talking about a lifetime commitment, if I understand the Sentinel/Guide connection correctly."

"Yes, sir," Gilliam nodded. "I understand the significance of this decision. However, I think the facts are undeniable." He looked to Doctor Porch for confirmation. "I think everyone here is well aware of my skepticism regarding this 'connection'," Porch stated. "But even I can't deny the facts. Sandburg's response to the two Sentinels was remarkably dissimilar."

"And their reactions to him was equally dissimilar," Gilliam added. "Night and day."

"I have to admit," General Rouse interjected, "I didn't think Yagudin's reaction was appropriate."

Gilliam snorted. "Appropriate? The man laid claim to the kid right there in the room, threatening to fight to the death anyone who disputed his claim. I would call that extreme."

Arledge collected the papers scattered across the tabletop, stacking them neatly before him. "I have your reports, gentlemen. I'll look over them, and--"

"Sir," Gilliam interrupted, "Yagudin is not going to take the news well."

"You're assuming I'll decide in Ellison's favor," Arledge pointed out.

"Respectfully, sir," Gilliam answered, though his tone fell just short of respectful, "it's the only logical decision. A connection has begun between Ellison and Sandburg. They have chosen one another, and I don't think you can negate their choice. It just doesn't work that way."

"You're sure of this…connection?"

"Yes, sir. It's the thread which binds the whole of the Sentinel/Guide relationship. Their very function depends on its conception and birth. You want a successful partnership? You'd do well to take it seriously."

"But you, yourself, have reported Yagudin is the stronger Sentinel," Rouse pointed out.

"Stronger, yes," Gilliam conceded, "but undisciplined. He's difficult and unpredictable."

"His psychiatric evaluations are all favorable," the President said.

"I'm telling you, sir, as the expert you called in to make this determination, Yagudin is unstable. Even without the benefit of a Guide, Ellison has more control of his senses than Yagudin."

"And you think Yagudin will be a problem if dismissed from the program?"

"Yes, sir. As I said, he won't take the news well. He feels the Guide is already his, and I suspect he'll see this as an attempt to 'steal' what he feels he is entitled to."

"How did a man so volatile make it this far?" Porch asked. "I would've thought he would have been screened out at the beginning."

Gilliam sighed. "I've been asking myself that very question, Daniel. As the President pointed out, his psychiatric evaluations have all been favorable. His questionable behavior began only in the past couple of days…immediately following his 'vision', as a matter of fact."

"I'm sure that's significant," Rouse said, "but I'm at a loss to see how."

"I'm not sure, myself," Gilliam admitted. "We're working out of our depth, having to rely totally on reports from Ellison and Yagudin regarding the content of their respective visions. Interpretations are subjective, at best. We're treading new ground. The best I can do is go with my instincts and the few facts I have. Right now, my instincts are practically screaming."

"Are your instincts similarly vocal, Doctor Porch?" Arledge questioned.

Porch took a breath, then nodded. "Yes, sir. Based on what I've seen, I have to agree with Seth."

Arledge glanced at Rouse. "While I had't previously considered this a democracy, it seems both of our doctors have cast their vote, Arlen. Would you like a say in this as well?"

The general cleared his throat. "Yes, sir, as a matter of fact, I do have something to say. Having met both of the Sentinels, and having seen their senses in use, and also having seen both interact with the Guide, I find myself siding with the doctors. Ellison is the most logical choice."

Arledge was silent for several long minutes. He tapped his fingers noisily on the tabletop, his expression serious. "From what all of you are telling me," he said at last, "the choice is not, in fact, ours to make. It has already been determined. All right. I'll bow to your collective expert analyses. I want Ellison moved closer to the Guide, on the same floor, and Yagudin is to be dismissed." He faced Gilliam. "Give him our deepest regrets, and inform him the decision was close. See to it he receives remuneration to compensate him for his time and cooperation."

He collected the written reports and stood. "Let's pray we've made the right choice."

~~~

Something was different this time. Blair scarcely remembered the last time consciousness had teased him, but he knew this was different. There were no voices, for one thing, and there had been before, he was sure of it. One voice in particular, rich and full, and…soothing. He longed for its return. He had felt safe listening to the voice. Now, there was only an aching emptiness which he didn't understand.

Slowly, he forced his eyes open. His vision was hazy, and no amount of blinking would clear it. He wasn't sure where he was, but he knew it wasn't the labs. The smell was different, and the sounds. A small ball of unease began spinning in his chest, gaining momentum as new realizations dawned. He didn't remember what had happened, or how he'd gotten here. He couldn't see, nor could he move. The unease blossomed into panic.

Suddenly, beside his head, an insistent alarm sounded, followed in short order by others. Within seconds, a door slammed open and the room filled with voices. Blair blinked desperately, dry lids scraping painfully against his eyes, but he still couldn't focus on the blur of movement around him. The lack of vision compounded his panic. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to suppress it.

Someone was beside him, a hand touched his forehead briefly, then left. Blair drew in air through his nose, wincing at the intense pain which ignited in this throat and lungs. The pain made it harder to fill his lungs. He gasped loudly in an attempt to push air past the raw ache.

A voice spoke very close to his ear, low and soothing, and though not the voice he longed for, he latched onto it nonetheless, struggling to understand the words.

"Breath slowly, Blair. Slow and easy. That's it…slow and easy. In…out."

Blair focused on the words, trying to obey them.

"In and out…" the voice continued, "slow and easy. A little at a time."

Something was placed over Blair's nose and mouth, and cold air teased his lips. He sucked gratefully at it, relieved when the vise squeezing his chest began to loosen.

Blair became aware of a gentle hand on his forehead, rubbing small circles. He concentrated on the soothing motion, letting his lungs work instinctively. The panic began to retreat.

"You've been on a ventilator for a few days," the voice explained. "We removed it last night, but your throat will probably be sore for another day or so. I've given you something to help take the edge off the pain. It'll also help you relax."

Blair heard the words, but did not really pay attention to their meaning. He was rejoicing in the simple act of pushing and pulling air in and out of his lungs. As his breathing eased, Blair took inventory of the rest of his body. He was sore, but did not really hurt anywhere other than his throat.

A ventilator…? The words penetrated his thoughts. He must have been injured somehow. An accident? Then he was in a hospital?

"Mr. Sandburg?"

An accident would explain a lot…like why he couldn't remember leaving the labs.

"Mr. Sandburg? Can you hear me?"

And why his arms and legs felt so heavy.

"Blair?"

The voice was very close to his ear, demanding his attention. Blair shifted his head slightly toward the sound.

"Blair, try to stay awake, if you can. I know it's difficult. You must be very tired, but it's important. Can you open your eyes?"

His eyes were closed? Oh, yeah. He had closed them because everything was so fuzzy. Slowly, tentatively, he opened them. A white blur filled his view. Blair blinked several times, attempting to bring the blur into focus.

"Wait--" the voice said.

A second later, his eyelids were lifted and drops were placed in his eyes. Blair blinked rapidly. The moisturizing liquid soothed the uncomfortable dryness. When Blair opened his eyes again, the blur was beginning to take shape. A person…a man, he determined with another blink, stood over him, though Blair couldn't make out details of the man's face just yet.

"Better?"

Blair nodded…or he thought he did. He wasn't really sure. He felt very heavy. Substantial movement was out of the question.

"Hello, Blair," the man said. There was a smile in his voice. "We've met before, but I don't expect you would remember. I'm Doctor Porch. I've been taking care of you."

Blair licked his lips and tried to swallow. "Uhnnn…"

What was that God-awful noise? It definitely didn't sound like the questions he thought he was vocalizing, and it hurt like hell!

"Don't try to talk yet," Porch said, reaffirming what Blair had just figured out. "There'll be plenty of time for that later, when your throat has had a chance to heal. I need to ask you a few questions, though, if you feel up to it. Just yes or no questions. Okay? Are you up to it?"

Blair nodded.

"Are you in any pain?"

Blair took a quick inventory. Nothing really hurt but his head, and he suspected that was the strain from trying to focus his eyes. His arms and legs felt fine, just really, really heavy. He shook his head.

"Good, good," the doctor assured. "Now, I need you to do something for me. I need you to wiggle your fingers, okay?"

Blair attempted to comply, but he couldn't seem to get the message to his fingertips. Gravity appeared to increase with his efforts. He closed his eyes and concentrated as hard as he could on making the movement.

"What about your toes? Can you move your toes?"

Blair switched his focus, straining for the simple movement. Oh, God! What if he was paralyzed? What if that was why he didn't feel pain in his arms and legs? What if whatever accident had brought him to the hospital had left him a quadriplegic? No, wait…that couldn't be right. He could feel the warmth of a hand on his, someone was lifting his hand, massaging it lightly. He could feel it, but he couldn't move! His body wouldn't obey his command! Panic squeezed his chest, making breathing both difficult and painful.

"It's all right, Blair," the doctor assured. "It's all right. There's nothing seriously wrong with you, I promise. Relax, and concentrate on your breathing. Take it slow, just like before…in…out…that's it…slow it down…you're going to be fine, I assure you. This is nothing more than we expected. "

Blair concentrated on the soothing words, working to control the panic racing through him. Finally gaining a small measure of self-control, Blair opened his eyes again, somewhat relieved when Doctor Porch's face began to take on some detail. At least he wasn't blind, he told himself. Paralyzed, maybe, but not blind.

~~~

Porch smiled, hoping to reassure some of the fear he saw in the boy's eyes. He reminded himself that he was essentially dealing with a seventeen year old, regardless of his physical age. "I imagine it must be very frightening not being able to move." The increase in the boy's breathing told Porch how true his statement was. "You've been asleep for a very long time, Blair. Your muscles have forgotten how to respond properly, that's all. They just need time to remember what they're supposed to do."

The boy's blue eyes, dark with fear and confusion searched Porch's face. Daniel concentrated on projecting confidence and sincerity with his words. "I give you my word, Blair, you're going to be just fine."

Some of the fear faded from Blair's expression at the promise, though the confusion remained. Porch felt abnormally satisfied to know Blair believed his assurances. Porch's heart went out to the boy in a way he didn't usually allow. It wasn't appropriate nor sensible to become emotionally attached to a patient, yet Porch realized he had with this boy. Perhaps it was the many, many long hours he'd spent with Blair, the fight -- first for information, then his life -- encompassing every waking hour for the better part of two months. Perhaps the feelings were paternal, though Daniel hadn't had any experience in that arena. This was a child, for all practical purposes, after all. A child who had lost everything he knew, everyone he had ever known, and didn't even know it yet. That was the kicker, Porch decided. As frightened and confused as the boy was now, Porch knew it was nothing compared to how he'd feel once he learned the truth.

Daniel sighed deeply. He only hoped Rouse and Arledge would wait until Blair Sandburg was stronger before dropping that information on him.

~~~

Blair allowed himself to relax a little at the doctor's assurances. The man had a kind face, and there was sincerity in his eyes. He wanted desperately to question him, find out what had happened, how he had ended up in the hospital, but the fire in his throat reminded him of his last attempt.

"I know you have questions," Porch said, evidently reading Blair's expression. "When you're feeling stronger, we'll talk. You're going to be fine, Blair. Just concentrate on that, and on regaining your strength. I'm going to give you something to help you rest. Sleep is the best medicine for you right now."

Blair wanted to tell the man to save his medication. He was so exhausted, he didn't feel he needed help sleeping.

"Go ahead and rest," Porch said. "We'll talk later, I promise."

Blair believed the man. He stopped fighting his drooping eyelids, letting them slide over his eyes to shut out the sea of unfamiliar faces. He blocked out the myriad thoughts racing through his mind and sought again the warmth of the jungle.

~~~

Jim paused before the huge oak door. The soldier who was escorting him knocked, waiting for a call from within before opening it. He gestured for Jim to enter, then closed the door behind him. Jim took a step inside and looked around.

An enormous desk dominated the room. Several wingback chairs sat before it. In one of the chairs sat General Rouse. The officer stood at Jim's entrance, but Jim ignored him in favor of the man sitting behind the desk.

President Arledge.

Jim recognized the man from news-vids, and though he had been told the President was keeping an eye on the project, he had no idea he would be meeting the man.

Arledge beckoned Jim into the room. "Lieutenant Ellison, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Jim moved closer to the desk. "Thank you, sir."

The President stood and extended his hand across the desk to Jim. "Let me be the first to congratulate you, Lieutenant, on your selection."

Jim clenched his jaw in an effort to prevent his mouth from dropping open in shock.

"From what I've read and personally seen, we've made a fine choice."

Rouse nudged Jim not so gently, indicating the President's hand, still extended and waiting on Jim's response. He stepped forward, taking the hand. "Thank you, sir."

Arledge chuckled. "I see we've caught you by surprise, Lieutenant. Maybe we should give you a few moments to collect your wits…?"

Jim grinned in embarrassment. "No, sir. I'm fine, sir. I'm just…"

"Surprised?" Rouse supplied.

Still grinning, Jim nodded. "Yeah, a little bit. I wasn't aware a decision had been made."

"Have a seat," Arledge indicated one of the chairs as he reclaimed his own. "We've only just reached a consensus. You have no objections, I assume?"

"No, sir, none." Relief washed over Jim as the news began to sink in. He had known the moment he'd stepped into the Guide's room there'd be no turning back for him. Having experienced the full force of his senses, he knew his sanity would never survive a return to the Pycs. It was a relief and a joy to know he wouldn't have to. Jim felt a momentary flash of sympathy for Yagudin. He held no love for the man, but he could pity him. Jim had spent many waking hours imagining himself in the situation in which the other Sentinel now found himself.

"What now?" Jim asked, pushing away the dark thoughts. It was Yagudin's problem. He looked up in time to see the President and Rouse exchange uneasy looks. Instantly, he was on guard. "Is there a problem?"

"No, not a problem," Arledge assured. "You already know the Guide has been quite ill, though Doctor Porch reports he's coming along nicely, and his prognosis is encouraging. There are, however, some facts you should be aware of before we proceed."

Wary, Jim nodded. "I'm listening."

"I'm certain you are aware," Arledge began, "of the…shortage…of Guides over the past century?"

"We were led to believe they no longer existed."

"That was true," Rouse answered. "It is true."

"With the exception of our Guide," Arledge clarified.

Jim bristled at the President's possessive phrasing.

"Guides in this time are no longer being born," the President continued, "At least in the resettled world. A century ago, that wasn't the case…"

Jim waited, but Arledge didn't continue. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of reaction to his statement. Confused, Jim considered the words. "I don't follow you, sir."

"Ellison," Rouse began, "our Guide was not born in this time."

"What are you saying?" Jim resisted the urge to laugh. Surely, they weren't saying what it sounded like they were saying -- it was ludicrous!

Arledge leaned across the desk. "Blair Sandburg is one hundred eighteen years old."

Picturing the young man he had seen in the hospital bed just days ago, Jim did laugh. The kid couldn't be a day over twenty. "Right, and I'm your long lost son."

Arledge did not appear amused by the sarcasm. "I somehow doubt it, Lieutenant. However, I don't appreciate being called a liar."

Jim sobered, realizing that was precisely what he'd done. He threw a quick glance at General Rouse, surprised to see a trace of amusement in the man's eyes. "No disrespect intended, Mr. President, but…well, you have to admit, what you said…it's a little bit…um…out there."

"Nevertheless, it's the truth."

Jim searched the man's face for signs of…what? Humor? Senility? He found neither.

"Perhaps you should tell him the whole story," Rouse suggested.

"I think you're right, Arlen." Arledge took a deep breath. "Without going into too many long, boring details, our Guide was discovered, frozen in a cryogenic chamber, during a salvage project in one of the border zones. He was brought here, studied, revived, and is now recovering from his ordeal."

Jim blinked, startled by the short, blunt revelations. "I think I'd like the long, boring details, sir."

Rouse chuckled.

"I'll see to it you get a copy of the pertinent reports," Arledge said, throwing the general a glare which silenced him. "For now, all you need to know is, the young man you met two days ago is, in fact, one hundred eighteen years old. He was frozen before the war, and somehow, forgotten in its wake. He has slept, lost and forgotten, for nearly a century. We have successfully revived him, and I have been assured he will, in time and with proper care, recover sufficiently." "I know you have questions, Lieutenant," Rouse said, sitting forward in his chair. "Doctor Porch can answer some of them. He's been working with the boy from the start. He's familiar with the technique used to…preserve…him, and he can update you on what, if any, lasting effects there'll be. I'll see to it you are allowed access to the reports the President mentioned. If you still have questions afterwards, I'll do what I can to get them answered for you."

Jim was still trying to absorb the whole concept of what they were proposing. It was preposterous, and yet they discussed it as though it was as natural as a thunderstorm. They wanted him to believe the kid -- kid! -- was over a hundred years old! "How is this possible? How could have been done?"

"You've seen Science Fiction vids about suspended animation, I'm sure," Rouse said. "Well, this isn't fiction. It's fact."

"But we don't have this kind of technology." Jim turned to look at the general. "Do we?"

"No, we don't, but I'm sure I don't have to remind you of the effect the war had on the technological sciences. Our records are incomplete, at best, and what we do have is disorganized."

"So…a hundred years ago, they had the technology to…to…freeze people? Why aren't there more? Or are there?"

"As far as we know, Mr. Sandburg is the only one. The technology was new. We have reason to believe this was the first and only instance it was used."

"One hundred and eighteen?!" Jim was still struggling to wrap his mind around that piece of information. My God… It couldn't be true…but it apparently was.

~~~

Jim sat on the edge of his bed and lowered his head to his hands. It was too much; too many revelations, too fantastic to believe. What had seemed so simple as recently as a few hours ago had now become a nightmare of intricacies and complexities.

Doctor Porch had come to talk to him, at the President's request, but hadn't eased Jim's mind one bit. If anything, Jim was more confused now than he had been before the conversation. Yes, the story was true, Porch confirmed. Yes, the boy was in fact, one hundred eighteen years old…or twenty-four…or seventeen…depending on your view.

Seventeen! Sandburg was just a kid! And now, ninety-four years later, everything he knew, everything he had ever known was gone! And he didn't even know it! According to Porch, Sandburg was only supposed to be frozen for a few years, and Porch wasn't convinced the boy was even aware of the plan for him.

Jim's anger raged anew, imagining a scared seventeen year old put into a cold sleep without his knowledge or consent, only to awaken a century later to find his whole world was gone, dead and buried beneath years of rubble. Did he have a family? A girlfriend? A best friend? Dead now, all of them. The thoughts ignited something deep inside of Jim, firing an fury he hadn't known he was capable of, and he had no way to vent the emotion. Those responsible were long gone.

An urging in his soul pulled him to his feet and down the hall to the kid's room. The closer he got, the more his senses surged in response.

Porch had given Jim permission to visit Sandburg again and had evidently informed the staff. No one stopped him or questioned his presence. He pushed open the door and entered the room, noting the steady thrum of the Guide's pulse in his ears. It was stronger than it had been two days ago, and it gave Jim heart. Porch had assured him Sandburg was improving, gaining strength with each passing hour.

Moving closer to the bed, Jim studied the sleeping boy. He looked exactly the same as on Jim's first visit. Peaceful in his sleep…young. My God…so very young! But appearances were evidently deceptive. This kid was a more than a century old!

Jim reached out a tentative hand, letting his fingertips lightly trace the contours of the boy's face. He felt no different to Jim's touch, slightly colder than he should, but "normal". Jim knew it was illogical, but he had thought maybe he would know if he touched him, that Sandburg would feel somehow different. Jim let his hand drop back to his side.

"What will you think of this mess, Blair Sandburg?" he whispered. "With all you've ever known gone, how will your soul find any solace?"

The boy stirred slightly, his head shifting a fraction of an inch toward Jim. There was a slight pucker of the brows for an instant, a quickening of his breath, then the creases smoothed and his breathing regained its rhythm.

Jim shook his head, mystified by the pull he felt looking down at this young man. Something in his soul stirred, and Jim was very much aware of it. From the moment he had met Blair Sandburg, his world has shifted on its axis. He had questioned his sanity. He had looked for an explanation. Then he had simply accepted it. He didn't understand it, but he accepted it.

Now, with the knowledge of his Guide's true origins, his world shifted again. Jim had no idea where it would stop, how it would end, but however it went, whatever happened, Jim was on board for the ride.

~~~

Even before he opened his eyes, Blair knew he wasn't alone. There was a…a presence…in the room. It was strong, and seemed familiar somehow, which surprised him. He had not seen a familiar face since the first time he had awakened to find himself in the hospital.

Blair opened his eyes tentatively. He was still having problems with blurred vision and light sensitivity. The doctor had told him his vision would improve with time, though he might possibly have some permanent residual problems. Hopefully, nothing more than glasses could correct.

Blair's eyes searched the room, settling on a dark figure sitting beside the bed. Blair blinked, wondering if he was dreaming. The figure looked like a large cat…the panther from his dreams. Blair closed his eyes briefly, then looked again. Gone was the cat, and in its place sat a man, his attention focused on a book in his lap. The man was a stranger. Disappointment washed though Blair.

As though sensing the gaze on him, the stranger lifted his head. Pale blue eyes brightened as they met Blair's, and a smile crinkled the corners. "Hello."

Blair blinked slowly, taking in the man's features. He was older than Blair, maybe early thirties. He had light brown hair, sheared close to his head, and a warm smile which seemed to be solely for Blair. And he wasn't a doctor, Blair noted with some astonishment. This was the first person Blair had seen whose reason for being here was not to run a test or poke him with a needle or draw blood. The names and faces had blurred together over the past couple of days, but Blair did not remember seeing this man before.

Why, then, was his "presence" so familiar? Had they met before? Blair didn't think so. He was normally pretty good with faces. Besides, this man's aura -- as Naomi would call it -- was so distinctive, Blair was sure he'd remember him if they'd met. Still, there was something about the man…something familiar…Blair just couldn't pin it down. Yet. It would come to him. Maybe when he was better, and his mind wasn't so hazy.

The man stood and moved closer to the bed. Blair slid a dry tongue over drier lips and attempted to swallow. He closed his eyes at the stinging produced by the action. Instantly, something touched his lips, and he opened his eyes. The man was holding a cup with a straw to Blair's mouth.

"The doc said you could have a bit of water, but he warned me to tell you to take it slow. Small sips until your stomach gets used to it, okay?"

Blair nodded, wrapping his lips gratefully around the straw and pulling. The cool liquid was delicious, and felt wonderful on his sore throat. It took a great deal of willpower not to quickly drain the cup. He obediently took a few small sips and released the straw.

"Thanks." His voice sounded like bad plumbing, almost unrecognizable, but Blair was happy the word was decipherable.

The man's smile widened. "You're welcome." He set the cup down. "I'm not sure you're supposed to be talking. Doctor Porch said your throat was pretty inflamed from the vent they had you on. I guess, though, if it's not hurting you too much, it's okay."

"'s not too bad," Blair lied. It was bad enough not to be able to move, but his voice worked, and he damn sure intended to use it. "We…" he stopped and swallowed, then started again. "We've met?"

"Not officially. Not while you were awake, anyhow. I'm Jim. Jim Ellison. I was here before, while you were sleeping. I've been talking to you…" The man dropped his eyes, sounding embarrassed at the admission. "Doc said you might be able to hear me, that it might do you some good."

Yeah, okay…Blair did recognize the voice from before. Maybe that explained it. His forehead creased as he considered it. No. Something was still not right. There was something about this man…his presence -- his aura -- was strongly familiar. It flickered with an energy which Blair could almost see, and he certainly could feel it. It was as though--

Realization suddenly dawned on Blair. "You're a Sentinel."

Ellison's eyebrows climbed his forehead. "How could you know that?"

"You are." Blair was sure of it. "They found one? I thought they said there weren't any more. Where did they find you?"

Jim looked uncomfortable with the question, and didn't answer right away.

"They think we'll connect," Blair said, bitterness leaching into his tone. "I don't want to connect. I don't even know you."

"That's okay," Jim assured, though Blair didn't miss the brief flash of disappointment in the man's eyes. "No one is going to make you do anything you don't want to do. Besides, we have plenty of time to get to know one another."

Blair wasn't convinced, but he didn't feel up to an argument at the moment. He was tired -- exhausted, in fact. How could that be when all he did was sleep? Still, his eyes were beginning to close of their own volition.

"Go ahead and sleep, Chief," Jim said. "We can talk later."

I'm going to hold you to it, Blair thought, letting his eyes close. Man, have I got some questions for you…we are definitely going to talk.

~~~

Jim waited until Blair's breathing slowed in sleep before reclaiming his chair. He picked up his book and found his page again, but didn't even attempt to resume reading. His thoughts centered on the Guide…his Guide.

Despite the young man's words, Jim felt a connection already working to establish itself. Just a few short days ago, Jim had adamantly declared his disbelief in such a thing to Doctor Gilliam. He could no longer deny its existence. It permeated his very core. It was wrapped around him, saturating his senses. From the first moment of their first meeting -- his and Blair's -- his senses had known. They had recognized the young man as a Guide, and they had reacted in a way Jim had never before experienced. They sang in the Guide's presence. They were alive, and Jim felt a control he had never known. This was the way it was supposed to be. It was right.

Dark thoughts overtook him. What if the kid really did not want to be his Guide? What if he truly did not want a connection? He couldn't force Blair, but where would Jim be left?

Jim closed his book and set it on the floor beside his chair. Was it all for nothing then? After all these many weeks of preparation, was he to be rejected now by his Guide?

Depression stole into his heart, but Jim stubbornly pushed it aside. He was ashamed of his selfishness. Of course, the kid would be wary of him. He had just been awakened from a century long nap only to have a Sentinel shoved at him in hopes they would make a connection. Jim frowned. It was too soon. They should've waited to introduce the pair. Blair was in no condition to have to worry about connecting with a stranger right now. He needed to concentrate on getting his strength back without any added pressures. Jim would talk to Gilliam and Porch. The doctors could make other plans, and to hell with the President's plans. The Guide's health had to come first. Nothing else mattered if Blair wasn't given every chance to recover.

This time the depression washed over him unchecked. Jim settled back with a sigh. There was a problem with his decision. He didn't want to stop his visits to see Blair. True, this was the first time the young man had awakened, but Jim had come to enjoy the visits, even look forward to them. He had hoped when Blair woke up, they would talk and get to know one another, maybe even eventually become friends.

Jim sighed. If it was best for Blair, it didn't matter what Jim wanted. The young man had been through a physically traumatic experience and was no doubt feeling weak and confused. Besides, Blair was right, they were strangers.

That, however, was a circumstance which could be corrected, Jim decided. He would give the young man a chance to get to know him. Blair would see he wasn't a bad guy.

~~~

Blair turned his head toward the door. Someone was approaching, and he knew in his heart who it was. It frightened him…the knowing. The first time it had happened, he passed it off as a lucky coincidence. Then it happened again…and again, and again. Everyday. Blair had no watch or clock to judge the time by, but he knew the times of day varied, so it couldn't be attributed to routine, and there just weren't a great many other possible explanations.

"You awake, Chief?" Jim Ellison stuck his head around the door.

Right again. "You're a Sentinel, Jim. You know I'm awake." Blair tried to sound annoyed, but couldn't quite pull it off. He enjoyed Jim's visits, though he wasn't ready to admit it aloud just yet. Sometimes the older man would read to him, or sometimes they would just talk, but his visits always made the day a little brighter.

"So I am," Jim smiled, moving into the room. "And so you are. Awake, that is."

"What did you bring me?" Blair asked, eagerly eyeing the large bag in Jim's hand.

"What makes you think it's for you?"

"I don't see anyone else in the room." Blair made a show of searching the small room.

"You're a smart ass, kid, you know that?"

"Beats being a dumb ass. So? What'd you bring me?"

With a dramatic sigh of exasperation, Jim reached into the bag and pulled out a set of clothes. He set them on the side of the bed. "Sweats," he explained.

"I see that. What for?"

"Your therapist says you walked all the way around the room this morning--"

"Did she also say how I was trembling like a leaf in a storm by the time I fell back into bed? I feel like a damn baby trying to take his first steps." Blair tried to keep the bitterness from his tone, but failed. It was so damned frustrating not to be in control of his own muscles.

"Well…if the analogy fits…"

"Gee, thanks, Jim." Blair couldn't stop his smile. "I feel so much better now." Oddly enough, it was true. Jim had a way of snatching Blair out of the pits of self-pity before he could wallow in it.

"So, anyway, Doc Porch is gonna remove your catheter tomorrow and let you start going down the hall for some real therapy -- you know, the rack and pinion kind of stuff."

"Ooh, yay," Blair said with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

Jim picked up the clothes and made a show of refolding them and putting them back in the bag. "I thought you might like some real clothes to wear, but I guess I was wrong. You'll just have to deal with the cold drafts and lusty leers of the nurses in that nightgown thing you're wearing."

Blair laughed out loud. "Lusty leers, huh?"

"The lustiest."

"Hmmm…" Blair pretended to consider it. "Well, it's tempting, but the cold drafts just don't cut it, man. I am so sick of being cold. I'll have to trade lusty for warm. Gimme the sweats!"

"Good choice, Chief." Jim set the bag on the bedside table and settled into his customary chair.

"Why do you call me that?"

"Chief? It's just a nickname. It seems to fit." Jim paused. "It's what I used to call my kid brother when we were little."

"You have a brother?" Blair suddenly realized just how little he knew about Jim. They talked a lot, but they usually stuck to mundane, "safe" subjects…the weather, basketball -- though Jim didn't seem to know any of the big teams -- Jim's job, which sounded something like a cop, though Jim called it something else.

"Yeah. I haven't seen him in a long time. We had a falling out, haven't really seen each other since."

"Man, that is so not cool. Family is everything, man. When everything else is gone, they're what you have left." Blair couldn't understand anyone purposely choosing not to keep in touch with their own flesh and blood. "It's just me and my mom…" Blair paused, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. "She's all I've got. I haven't seen her in…like, forever, but I know she's there, and I know if she could, she'd be here. That's the next best thing, you know? Knowing she's there."

Jim turned away and cleared his throat loudly. "Yeah, well, it's a little different with my family. A lot of water under the bridge…"

He turned back, and Blair was startled by the pained expression on his face. There must have been some really deep water under that bridge, Blair decided, to affect Jim so sharply.

"Hey, Jim, I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories. Don't ever give up, though. Family is family, and you can't change that. Hey, you never know…maybe one day, things will work out for you guys. Just keep a door open."

Jim smiled, but it was obviously forced. "I'll keep it in mind, Chief."

"Good enough."

"So, other than your victory lap around the room, how was your morning?"

Blair didn't bother to hide his grimace.

"That bad, huh?" Jim guessed.

The grimace turned into a sigh. "No, not really. I know I shouldn't complain--"

"But that won't stop you."

Blair chuckled. "Hey, man, if I've got to live it, the least you can do is listen to it."

"Shoot, Chief. What was so bad about your morning?"

"Not 'bad', really…just…you know…" He sighed again. "I'm so tired of being poked and stuck. I know that's what hospitals do, don't get me wrong, and I know the doctors are only trying to help me get well, it's just…the only difference in this place and the labs are the faces." He reached up and brushed his hair out of his face.

"And another thing, man…was I in a coma? I asked Doctor Porch about it, but a guy would have to be a PhD to figure out his answer. I know he said something about me being asleep for a long time…Do you know how long, Jim? It must have been a looong time, because my hair was not this long the last I remember."

A flicker of emotion passed over Jim's face too quickly for Blair to decipher. "I can't say exactly how long it was, Chief, but I can tell you this, I've been here almost two months, and you were asleep when I got here."

"Damn…two months? Hell of a long time to be out of the world, man. No wonder my hair has grown. It always did grow fast. Naomi, that's my mom, she likes it long. Used to make me wear it in braids when I was little. I've seen pictures, man." Blair mock shuddered. "So not cool." He picked up a long strand, pulling it forward to look at it. "She'd love this."

Blair was silent for a minute, thinking about his mom. He missed her so much. Maybe now that he was sick, they'd let her come and see him. Couldn't hurt to ask, he decided. He'd have to remember to ask when Doctor Porch came back in. "Hey, can you get me a mirror? I'd like to check it out. I guess I look pretty rough, though. It needs washing, I'm sure. It feels grungy. And I've lost weight, I can tell."

"You'll put it back on," Jim assured, not really answering Blair's question.

"Yeah, maybe, but not on this liquid crap they're making me drink. I need some real food, man."

"Your system--"

Blair help up a hand. "I know, I know. Porch already told me, three times, but it's just doctor speak for nothing but watered down broth and some chocolate milkshake crap which tastes a lot like Naomi's experiment with strange vegetables."

Jim chuckled. "I'll make you a deal, Chief. Drink your meals for now like a good boy, and the minute Porch gives the word, I'll sneak you in a nice, juicy cheeseburger."

"Sheesh, Jim, you trying to kill me, man? Those things are pure grease. Now what I could really go for is some seafood. Shrimp or crab legs, or hey, I know, lobster!"

"I don't know about lobster, but shrimp might be doable."

Blair laughed. "Deal, man. I'll drink my crappy shakes for a few more days, but you better come through on the shrimp, man. So what about a mirror? Think you can find one? I want to see just how bad I really do look."

Jim hesitated. "Why don't we wait a few more days, Chief. What about a shower, though? Now that you're a little more mobile, I think I can talk Porch into letting me help you with a shower."

"Ah, man, that would be great! I feel like I haven't had a bath in ages. If you can talk him into it, I will be forever in your debt, man!"

"Hell, now that's an offer I can't refuse," Jim laughed. "I'll see what I can do."

Blair was readjusting his position when he noticed Jim suddenly wince sharply. "Jim? You okay, man?"

The Sentinel shook his head, as if to clear it. "Yeah, I'm all right. Someone down the hall dropped something. It just caught me off guard for a moment."

Concerned, Blair pushed himself more upright to look Jim in the eye. "You gotta keep your senses dialed down when you're not using them, Jim. You can't go around with them on high. That's dangerous, Jim! You're opening yourself up to a world of hurt that way."

Jim shook his head. "I'm not following you, Chief. Speak English."

"You don't know about the dials? Man, what do they teach Sentinels around here? Why hasn't anyone told you about the dials?"

"What dials?"

"For your senses!" Blair was staggered. How could Jim not know about something as basic as dials? It was in all the books. "Oh, man, Jim! How are you even functioning without being able to turn your senses down? What about spikes? How do you get through them?"

Jim shrugged. "I go back to my room. It's specially designed to act as a buffer against spikes."

"So you hide from outside stimuli until the spike abates?" Blair shook his head. "That's no way to function, Jim. It's not a solution, it's a stop-gap, and it won't work forever. You've got to learn to control your senses so you don't have spikes."

"There's no one to teach me, Chief."

"There are books."

"I haven't seen any. Besides, how can a book substitute for a Guide?"

"It's better than nothing, which is what you've got now!" Blair worked to control his anger. He would not be manipulated into guiding this man. If he made the choice, and that was a damned big "if" at this point, it would be a choice made of his own free will. No one was going to force it on him. "How long have you been online, Jim?"

"Six years."

"Sheesh, and you've been flying solo all that time? How in the hell have you kept your sanity? You are still sane, aren't you?"

"Funny, Chief," Jim smirked. "Pycnogycine."

"What?"

"Pycnogycine. It's a suppression drug. Keeps the senses suppressed to normal or slightly below normal levels."

"Oh, my God…" Blair was stunned at the information. How could a Sentinel survive such an unnatural suppression of his senses? It was barbaric!

"The only other option is insanity."

"No, Jim. Another option is to learn to use your senses, to accept them. You've spent six years denying what you are, refusing your gift. You can't survive like that. Your spirit is caged, man. You've got to turn it loose, be who you are."

Jim didn't answer, but the deep pain in his eyes spoke volumes. Blair sighed deeply. He couldn't ignore this man's suffering, despite what his head was telling him, not when he had the knowledge, the power, to help him.

"Jim…" Blair hesitated, knowing he was about to embark on a narrow and dangerous path. He would have to tread very carefully to avoid the pitfalls he knew awaited him.

Clearing his throat, Blair started again. "Jim, I…I can't connect with you. I know it's what they want. Hell, it's why they brought me to the labs in the first place. It's undoubtedly what you want, as well. But I can't. Not now. Maybe one day. Maybe it'll work out that way. I don't know. But I do know I can help you. It doesn't have to be a connection, you know. I can teach you about the dials and how to control a spike, and I have some ideas I've been thinking about for awhile. Just some tricks which could help you use your senses, rather than simply hide from them. And the zones -- oh man! How are you dealing with the zone outs? Sheesh, Jim, you're really winging it alone here? Why in the hell hasn't someone helped you before you got this far?"

"There's no one who can help me, Chief." Blair couldn't miss the wistfulness in the Sentinel's voice.

"I can help you, Jim. No connection, I'm sorry, but I'll do what I can. I'll teach you what I know, and between us, we can learn some more."

Jim's gazed locked with Blair's, and for a long moment, the two men looked into one another's soul. Jim's jaw tightened briefly, then relaxed. "Thank you."

"Hey, man, don't thank me yet," Blair laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "You might be begging for some of those Pick-whatevers you were taking by the time I get through with you."

~~~

Mikal Yagudin took another long draw of the whiskey, praying the fire of it would burn through the hollowness in his soul. Bad idea, his head screamed, but another shot drowned the annoyingly logical voice. He'd been told all his life of the dangers of mixing alcohol with Pycs, but today he didn't give a damn. Today, he wanted to get roaring, stinking, falling down drunk, and no damn little voice of reason was going to stop him.

"Out with the garbissh," he slurred drunkenly. "Goddamn, sonna-bishes! Put me through HELL!" he screamed, throwing his glass at the wall. It shattered on impact, and amber liquid streamed down the yellowed wallpaper to the floor. He watched it impassively, his anger temporarily quenched by the violent action. A week ago, he could've seen every drop of the liquid in infinite detail, right down the very molecules it was composed of. Now…he was lucky if he could read the words on the front of the whiskey bottle.

Speaking of the bottle…Mikal turned it up and took another swig. He wasn't quite drunk enough yet. He could still think, and that had to stop. It was no good, remembering what he had had, only to have it ruthlessly snatched away.

"Goddammit!" He shouted. His Guide, His! They had dangled the boy under his nose like a carrot, prodding him to perform for their entertainment with the promise of a prize to come, then…they had given the goddamn prize to Ellison, the son-of-a-bitch!

Mikal angrily downed another swallow. He had to put out the fire of his anger before it consumed him. He had to drown this emptiness which was swallowing him whole. He couldn't live like this. A week ago, the world had seemed bright, alive, full of promise. Today…there was nothing, and Mikal couldn't survive with nothing. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

~~~

"You don't have to do this, you know?"

"Do what?" Jim pretended not to understand. He continued pushing the wheelchair down the hall toward the physical therapy room -- the torture chamber, as Blair had dubbed it.

The hallway was empty, as always. Blair had questioned it at first, wondering how a hospital could operate with no one around, but before Jim could think of an answer, the kid had reasoned out one for himself. He concluded his "keepers," as he called the doctors from the labs, didn't want the general public aware of their "project", and therefore were keeping him isolated, even in the hospital. He looked to Jim for confirmation, but Jim had merely shrugged, not able to bring himself to directly lie to Blair. Blair had let it drop, satisfied by his conclusions and not seeming to need verification from Jim.

"Go with me to my torture session. You don't have to go."

"You don't want me around? I thought I was offering moral support."

Blair snorted. "Don't lie to me, Jim. You go to watch me suffer. You get off on it, man, and don't think I don't know."

"Well, yeah, there's that, too."

"Kiss my ass, Jim."

"Watch your language, kid. You want your mouth washed out with soap?"

"Oh, hey, Jim, way to make me feel like a kid, man! How old do you think I am?"

"At least twelve," Jim answered, evasively. He wished he had chosen his words more carefully. There were so many minefields to dodge it made his head swim. He hated the deceptions, and questioned the decision to keep the truth from Blair. He was going to have to be told. Too many people knew the truth for it to remain a secret for much longer, and Jim felt it was better revealed under controlled conditions than for it to slip out unexpectedly someday.

"Sheesh, Jim, I said 'ass', have a cow, man! Hell, even Naomi's not this bad. I know a lot worse stuff than that, in way more languages than you can count. I learned a few things before going to the labs."

Jim had to laugh at the visual image Blair's slang evoked. "'Have a cow?' I don't know where you get your expressions, kid."

Blair glanced over his shoulder, amazement coloring his expression. "You've never heard that expression before? What rock have you been living under? It was a popular saying when I was a kid. Came from some television cartoon, I think. I don't really remember. It was a long time ago."

"Television? Oh, you mean vid."

"Am I in England or something? You don't have an accent, no one around here does, but you keep using weird words, and you don't know common slang. England would explain it."

"Nah, you were right the first time, kid. I've been living under a rock. The rent's cheap, and the neighbors mind their own business for the most part. Not much of a view, though. I've been thinking of upgrading to a tree."

Blair laughed. It was a nice laugh, Jim decided. Deep and pure, from the heart. Laughing seemed to come easily for Blair. It seemed to be something very natural for him. It was hard for Jim to believe, considering what little he knew about the kid's life before he…well, before.

God knows, Blair wouldn't have much reason to laugh when the truth came out. And come out, it will. Jim mentally sighed as they rounded the corner to the therapy room. God help the kid when it did.

~~~

He couldn't continue like this and survive. Mikal wasn't even sure anymore he wished to survive. Surely death would be kinder than insanity. He was two days overdue for his injection of Pycnogycine. He knew it would draw attention if he didn't go in for the meds soon, but he had no intention of taking the drug again. Ever! He had been given a taste of what life could be like without the Pycs, and he wanted it back. So far, his senses had not reemerged, but they would. They had before, and they would again.

Mikal knew what he was risking, but it was a minor, temporary risk, and he would soon have a permanent solution. He had a plan. A good plan. True, it called for money, and he had little, but he wasn't worried about such a trivial point. Money could be gotten. He knew sources. Once he had plenty of money, it would be easy to find the type of assistance he required. Everyone had a price.

~~~

Jim helped Blair from the wheelchair, wincing in sympathy at the grunt of pain from the young man as he settled onto the side of his bed. Deep lines creased Blair's forehead and exhaustion radiated from him like a fever.

"You want to lay down?" Jim offered, reaching for the blankets on the bed to pull them down.

"Nah. I'm wasted, but I don't want to crash yet. The z's are taking over my life, man, and all this rest…it's so not me."

Jim shook his head in fond amusement. The slang was confusing. It was like the kid spoke another language sometimes.

Blair looked up at Jim, a hopeful expression in his eyes. "I was hoping we could talk."

"Sure," Jim said. "Let me get rid of this thing." He pushed the wheelchair into the hall and returned, pulling his customary chair over in front of Blair and settling into it. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't care," Blair said. "Anything you want…I just…I just don't…" His voice broke slightly, and he turned his head away.

"Blair…? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." His body language said otherwise.

"No, you're not." Jim moved to the side of the bed, sitting next to Blair. "Who would be in your place? You're exhausted, you're hurting… "

"I'm sorry," Blair said, lifting a shaking hand to rub his eyes.

"Don't be. You have a right to be a little emotional with all you're going through."

"I just don't…"

"You don't what, Chief?"

Blair turned to face Jim. The raw pain in the boy's eyes took Jim's breath away. At that moment, he would've done anything to take the pain away.

"I don't understand what's going on here. Why isn't anyone I know here? Where is Doctor Songer? He's been my doctor since I went to live at the labs. Why isn't he taking care of me? I didn't want to ask, because I'm afraid something might be going on, something I don't really want to know about, but I can't help it. I need to know, Jim."

A deep, intolerable anger began to build within Jim -- anger at the bastards who had stolen the boy's life nearly a century ago. Anger at Rouse and Arledge, and even Porch, for keeping the truth from him. Blair had a right to know. He deserved the truth, no matter how painful. Surely it couldn't be worse than whatever the kid was imagining?

The absurdity of that thought almost made Jim laugh. What was he thinking? Hell, yes, the truth could be worse. It was worse! Those bastards had frozen the kid for nearly a hundred years! Life, time, the world had gone on without him while he slept in ignorance, buried deep in the bowels of an abandoned building. It was a reality more horrible than anything the kid could possibly imagine.

Blair had to be told the truth eventually, and if Jim had been in his place, he would want to know sooner, rather than later.

"I don't want to be here," Blair said, in a quiet, child-like voice, which reminded Jim of the boy's true age. "Could you tell them that? Everyone here is nice, but I know it's only a matter of time before I have to go back to the labs. I don't want to, Jim. I don't want to go back. Could you get them to let me go home?"

Pain replaced anger with the sorrow laden words. "I'm sorry, Chief. I can't…"

Blair dropped his head, his hair swinging forward to hide his expression, and Jim detected the briny odor of tears. He put an arm around the thin shoulders, pulling Blair toward him.

Blair resisted at first, his body tensing to pull away. Jim hung on, knowing the kid needed the contact. Finally, Blair relaxed, burying his face in Jim's shoulder. Silent tears fell, and Jim held on through it, rubbing circles on Blair's back in an attempt to comfort him. This was not something Jim was accustomed to. He hadn't often played the role of comforter in his life, preferring to leave it to those more suited to the job, but this felt right. It was right. It was his job to take care of this boy…his Guide.

For long minutes, they sat without moving. The kid made no move to pull away, content to lean on Jim while he brought his breathing back under control. "Jim…"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe…could you…"

"What is it, Chief?"

"Could you get a message to my mom?" He pushed away from Jim far enough to look him in the eye. "I don't really know where she is, but I could tell you where to look--"He broke off, dejection and betrayal darkening his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone suddenly cold. "I shouldn't have asked." Blair turned his back to Jim.

Guiltily, Jim realized Blair must have misinterpreted something in his expression. "Blair, wait--" He placed a hand on Blair's shoulder, but the boy moved away from the touch.

"I'm tired. You should go."

"You don't understand," Jim attempted to explain. How could he? What could he say that Blair would understand?

"I understand perfectly, Jim," Blair said, without turning. "You're just like all the rest of them here. Every time I ask about my mom, they get this funny look on their faces, like you just did." Blair turned suddenly and the anger in his eyes surprised Jim. "I haven't seen my mom in over a year! Doctor Songer told me she moved to California, but I don't believe him. I think they stopped letting her visit for some reason. I think they just want me to think she stopped loving me. I don't believe their lies, and I won't believe yours either! So you can just go away and leave me alone! I do 'alone' really well, Jim. I've had a lot of practice!"

Something snapped inside of Jim, and without thinking he grabbed both of Blair's shoulders, forcing the young man to look at him. "I will never lie to you, Blair. Never! I would give your mother a message if I could…" An alarm went off in Jim's head, warning him to stop, but he was powerless to halt the next words out of his mouth.

"But I can't…because she's dead."

~~~ Porch's head snapped up at the statement, the report on his desk instantly forgotten. His eyes found the small monitor screen on the table across the room. He'd been trying to ignore the conversation, allowing Jim and Blair as much privacy as he could, but Ellison's words had jumped out at him like a firecracker. Good analogy, he figured, because something is about to explode.

The doctor moved quickly across the room, his attention focused solely on the scene being played out down the hall.

"Your mother is dead," Ellison repeated. "And has been for a very long time."

"Oh, God," Porch whispered. "He's really going to do it. He's going to tell him." His first instinct was to run down the hall, interrupt the conversation and get Ellison the hell out of the room, but something kept him rooted in place him, his eyes glued to the small screen.

Would it really be so bad if Ellison told Blair the truth? The boy had to be told sooner or later. He was intelligent, and he was beginning to figure out something was being kept from him. It was only a matter of time before he started putting clues together and reaching his own conclusions, and those conclusions were bound to be wrong. Who could imagine the truth in their wildest imaginations? Who would ever dream up something like this?

No, Porch decided, it was time…and while he was not entirely sure he would've chosen Ellison to be the one to tell Blair, it was started now, and Porch was going to let it play out. For better or worse. And if it went badly…

Porch sighed, pulling a chair in front of the monitor and sitting down. If it went badly, he would just have to help pick up the pieces.

~~~

"What are you talking about?" Blair questioned, confusion replacing anger in his expression. "My mother's not…she's not…she's in California. She's not…what you said! You're lying!"

Jim hesitated. The worst was yet to come. "Chief, I'm sorry. She is dead…Doctor Songer is dead…everyone you knew…they're all gone. I'm so, so sorry, Blair. They're all dead and long gone."

"Now I know you're lying!" Blair pulled violently away from Jim's hold. "Get out of here! Get out!"

"Blair, listen to me. They've been gone for a very, very long time. Decades…almost a century. You've been asleep. You slept through it all."

To his surprise, Blair laughed. The sound was frightening. "What the hell are you talking about? You're crazy -- or you've seen one too many Stephen King movie. Either way, you've lost it!"

"Chief--"

"Don't call me that!" Blair screamed at him. "It's a childish, absurd nickname! Nicknames are for friends, and we sure as hell aren't friends! Friends don't lie to one another!"

"Blair, look at me, look in my eyes. Look into my heart. You're a Guide, you're my Guide. I'm your Sentinel. Regardless of your insistence otherwise, we do have a connection. You can tell if I'm lying, I know you can. I'm telling you the truth. Those…bastards…the ones who kept you in the labs -- they froze you, in a…a cryogenic something or other…until they could find you a Sentinel. Only there was a war, and then the world changed, and somehow…somehow…you were forgotten. It's been almost a hundred years. God, Blair, believe me, I am so, so sorry. I wasn't supposed to tell you. They thought you weren't ready for the truth yet, but I know you are, Blair. You're stronger than they know, and I know you need the truth -- and God as my witness, Chief, this is the truth!"

Blair was staring at him, his face expressionless, his eyes blank. Jim reached for him, worried when there was no reaction.

"Blair?"

Worried, Jim gave him a small shake. Still no reaction.

"Chief, come on, you're worrying me."

Blair's mouth moved slightly. Even with his senses up and running properly, Jim had to strain to hear the words. "It's true…ohgodohgodohgod…it's true…" The kid's heartbeat took off at an unnatural pace.

Jim turned toward the surveillance camera hidden above the ceiling tiles in the corner. "Porch! I need some help, goddammit!"

"You're not lying…" Blair's voice had gained strength. "I can…I can…I can tell…you're not lying…ohgod…Jim…Jim, I can't…I can't…"

Blair's breath was coming much too fast. He was hyperventilating.

"Blair! Blair, listen to me. Calm down…it's all right…well, hell…no, it isn't all right." He had just promised Blair he'd never lie to him and here he was, almost doing just that. "It's not all right, but it will get better. I'm so sorry, kid. I'm so sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have told you, but I thought you had a right to know."

The door burst open, spilling forth Doctor Porch. The man moved rapidly to Blair's side.

"I told him," Jim confessed. He didn't care if the man approved or not, but he did need him to understand so he could help Blair.

"I know," Porch said. "We'll discuss it later." He turned his attention back to Blair. The young man was still struggling to catch his breath. "He's having a panic attack. It's scary to witness, and even scarier to experience, but it's not life threatening." He spoke to Blair. "Blair, listen to me, can you hear me?"

Blair lifted frightened eyes to meet the doctor's and nodded.

"Good, listen, you have to slow your breathing; you're hyperventilating. Take deep, full breaths. In through your nose, and then blow it out slowly. Can you do that?"

Blair nodded again, and closed his eyes. He made a visible attempt to follow the doctor's instructions. After a few seconds, his breathing slowed, and Jim could hear his heartbeat doing the same.

"Good, good…you're doing great," Porch coached. "Just concentrate on your breathing, slow, deep breaths…that's it."

"It's true." Blair opened his eyes, his gaze darting between Porch and Jim. "It's true?"

"Yes, Blair," Porch answered, sitting in the chair Jim had vacated earlier. "It's true. You've been in cryogenic hibernation for ninety-four years. You were found a few months ago, and after extensive work we were able to wake you. That's why you're so weak. Your muscles have gone unused for a long time. They need time to readjust, strengthen. But you're making a remarkable recovery, Blair. You're going to be just fine, given time."

Blair turned watery, confused eyes to meet Jim's. "My mom…Naomi…she's…she's dead? My mom is really dead? My mom?" A single tear spilled over, coursing unnoticed over his cheek. It was followed by others, and the dam broke.

Jim cursed himself for starting this, though the logical part of his brain argued it would have been the same, now or down the road. He wrapped his arms around his Guide, pulling him close. Tears flowed freely as Blair grabbed fists full of Jim's shirt and hung on for dear life. Ragged sobs broke free, filling the small room. Jim met Porch's gaze over Blair's head. He was surprised to see a deep sorrow in the doctor's eyes.

Porch dragged a thumb under one eye and stood. "I'll go get something to help him sleep." He left the room quietly.

Jim rocked the sobbing young man in his arms, trying to absorb the soul deep misery radiating from him. He wanted desperately to ease this pain, to take some of it and bear it himself.

In his head, Jim heard the mournful howl of the wolf, and his heart broke.

~~~

Blair rolled over to face the wall. The effort of the simple movement took his breath away, and he spent several long minutes regaining it. He tried to corral his thoughts, keep them away from what Jim had told him, but it was a pointless battle. How could he not think about it?

A hundred years!

He didn't want to believe it, but he knew in his heart it was true. It just didn't…it didn't seem possible. How could something like this happen? How could they do this to him without his knowledge?

Blair laughed aloud, the sound humorless and strangely wet. He wiped absently at the tear streaks on his cheeks. He was well aware of how it could have been done. All they had to do was sedate him. God knows, they were always giving him shots of one kind or another. How simple would it be to slip in a sedative, and as soon as he was asleep…God! This was real! It wasn't some cool scene out of a sci-fi movie. It had really happened…to him!

If it wasn't so horrible, it might be interesting, Blair realized with a start. The concept of freezing a human being…it was fascinating! The technology which must have gone into the procedure was mind boggling! Or would be, if it was happening to someone else. As it was, it was simply horrifying.

Blair sighed deeply, letting his eyes drift closed. He was so tired. Porch had given him something to help him sleep, but it didn't seem to be working. His mind wouldn't slow down from its roller coaster spin long enough for him to give in to his exhaustion.

Maybe if he just…just cleared his mind…like his mother had shown him when she was teaching him to meditate…

Mama…she's dead…

Blair clenched his eyes tighter, forcing out more tears. He would have thought them all used up by now, but apparently not. Did his mother know what had happened to him? Had anyone told her? Maybe she'd been told he was dead. He might as well have been, as far as she was concerned.

How had she died? Hopefully, old age, though it was hard to imaging Naomi as old. She was so young and beautiful, the last time he had seen her.

Hadn't Jim said something about a war? And something changing the world? Blair hadn't even thought to ask about it with everything else he was trying to process at the time. It must've been a hell of a war. How long after…what they did to him…was the war? Which countries had fought? Was is World War III? Would Naomi have been killed in it? How had the world changed?

"AAAHHHH!" Blair screamed into the silence of the darkened room. He threw his pillow as hard as he could. The tantrum helped. He felt a little better, but he really wished he hadn't done that. Now he'd have to sleep without a pillow. At least it had distracted him from his circuitous thoughts. Or it had, until he realized it, which, of course, led right back to the thoughts he was trying to avoid.

God! Would morning ever come?

Not much later, a dark figure slipped quietly into the room, retrieving the pillow and stealthily tucking it under the sleeping boy's head. The figure stood silent guard over the Guide for a long time, content to watch him sleep.

Close to dawn, the sentry rested a gentle hand on the boy's forehead, whispered, "Pleasant dreams, Chief," and slipped from the room.

~~~

Jim cautiously entered Blair's room, not sure what he'd find. The young man was sitting up in bed, an untouched breakfast tray perched on the table across him. He was absently pushing the eggs around with a fork.

"They probably taste better than they look," Jim offered lamely. Blair looked up tiredly. "Promise?"

"No, but you should try them anyhow."

Blair managed a small smile. "Not really hungry, I guess." He set the fork down and pushed the rolling table away from him.

Jim pushed the table back toward the young man. "Wrong answer, Chief. You have to eat if you want to get your strength back."

Blair lifted anger filled eyes to meet Jim's, but could only hold the emotion for a few seconds. Resignation replaced the anger, and he nodded. Wearily, he retrieved his fork.

Jim almost wished Blair had argued with him. Temper was easier to deal with than the despondency he was seeing now. Not that he could blame the kid.

Settling into his chair, Jim watched Blair make an attempt to eat. Every bite was met with a grimace, but the kid bravely kept at it until the plate was half empty. When he pushed it away this time, Jim didn't stop him.

"You want to talk about it?" Jim offered.

Blair didn't answer for a minute. He stared at the bare wall behind Jim's head. Finally, still not meeting Jim's gaze, he said, "What happened?"

"To you?"

Blair closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against his pillow. "Me, the world…my mom…"

Jim sighed. "I don't know what happened to your mom, Chief. I'm sorry."

Blair opened his eyes and looked at Jim. "Can you find out?"

"I…" Jim hesitated, not wanting to promised something he might not be able to deliver. "Probably not. There aren't a lot of those kinds of records. Most were destroyed in the war, and those which remain aren't easy to access."

Deep disappointment dulled the dark blue eyes. "s'okay, Jim."

"I'll give it a shot, anyway. There are organizations attempting to reconstruct some of the old archives. I can probably get in touch with them and see if they can help. Maybe we'll get lucky."

Blair nodded, but didn't look very hopeful. "Thanks, man. I don't suppose it really matters. I mean, I know she's dead, but I just…I'd like to know how, you know?"

"I understand," Jim said. "I'm sure I'd feel the same way."

Blair was quiet for several long moments. "What about the world? You said there was a war? What happened?" Jim sighed deeply. Where to begin? "It started over something stupid, I'm sure. Most wars do. Some little third-world country with nothing to lose, a grudge to bear, and weapons of mass destruction. It didn't take long for the whole world to get involved."

"World War III…" Blair nodded. "It's what a lot of my generation expected. Was it nuclear?"

"Partly, but only at the end. It was mostly biological."

"God…" Blair whispered. "How bad?"

Jim clenched his jaw. "Bad. Over half the world's population was killed in the first three years."

"Jeez, Jim! How could they let that happen? Why didn't someone stop them?"

"No one was prepared for such a large scale attack. The major super powers were busy selling peace and got caught with their pants down."

"Shit…" Blair laid his head back and closed his eyes.

"Yeah," Jim agreed with the sentiment. "It got out of hand. I don't think anyone expected things to go so far, and by the time anyone realized what was truly happening, it was almost too late."

Blair opened his eyes, rolling his head to the side to face Jim. There were tears in his eyes. "How can people be so stupid, Jim? My mom probably died in the war, then, huh?"

"Possibly…" Jim hedged.

"So, what happened? You said the world changed after the war?"

Jim nodded. "With most of the world's fresh water supplies contaminated, many more people died over the next few years. Some of those supplies are still undrinkable. Between the massive loss of life, and destruction of many of the world's population centers, technology took a huge step backward. We're only now really 'catching up'."

"What's the population count now?"

"I'm not sure exactly…maybe two billion, in the resettled world, another half billion or so in the unsettled zones."

Blair's forehead creased. "Unsettled zones?"

"We don't have country divisions, per se, not like you had before. Large parts of the world are nearly uninhabitable. There are some radioactive hot spots, still, and like I said, most of the fresh water supplies are contaminated."

"People live in these places? How do they survive?"

Jim shrugged. "They're suited to it. Criminals and refugees from civilization. The zones are forbidden, for the most part. Those who choose to live there are dangerous, wild to match their environment. Between the criminals and the altered--"

"Altered?"

Jim searched for another word, one Blair would understand. "Mutants."

"Mutants?! God, Jim, it sounds like something from a movie! All of this seems so surreal. I thought I'd open my eyes this morning and find out it was all a bad dream."

Jim scooted to the edge of the chair and reached over to the kid, letting his hand rest on Blair's arm. "It's not a dream, Chief. For your sake, I wish it was. This is real, but it's not so bad. You'll adjust. I'll help you."

Blair ran a hand over his eyes and gave a bitter laugh. "I don't suppose I have a lot of choice. Jesus, Jim…this is too much! I can't process this. I can't wrap my head around it."

"Would it help if I brought you some books? History books? I'm sure I've made a mess of explaining it all. Maybe it would be better for you to read it for yourself."

Blair nodded. "Yeah, that'd be great, thanks. It'll have to wait until my eyes are better, though. I'm still having some trouble focusing."

"Sure, no problem, Chief."

Blair sighed deeply. "I thought my real nightmares were bad enough. Hell, they're a walk in the park compared to reality."

"You're having nightmares?"

Blair glanced over at Jim, blushing a little. "Well…yeah…but I've always had nightmares of one sort or another. The ones since I…well, since I woke up from…you know…they're kind of…weird."

"You want to tell me about them?" Jim offered.

"Not really a lot to tell. They're in the jungle…" He glanced up at Jim, his eyes alight with curiosity. "I've had dreams about the jungle for…" He laughed. "I started to say for years. That's a relative term now, I guess. I've had dreams of the jungle ever since I went to live at the labs. Good dreams, mostly. But some…" He let out a noisy breath. "Some were real doozies, you know what I mean?" His expression became suddenly shy. "I've never really told anyone about them."

"I'm a pretty good listener," Jim assured him with a smile.

Blair nodded. "Yeah, Jim, I've noticed." He was quiet for a moment, staring at his hands as he gathered his thoughts. "I learned to look forward to the dreams. I liked the jungle. It was warm and, I felt…safe. I was always alone, but that was okay. Being alone can be a good thing. At first, there weren't even any animals there, which is weird, considering it was a jungle, but I figured it was my dream, and maybe my subconscious knew I needed to be alone, so I went with it."

Jim waited a long time, but Blair seemed lost in his thoughts. "You said 'at first'?" he prodded.

"Yeah…" Blair shook himself a bit, looking up. "This is gonna sound weird, but there was this one dream which lasted…well, I didn't really think much about time, you know, but it seemed like I was there forever…" His eyes narrowed in thought. "You think maybe I could have been dreaming while I was frozen? That doesn't really seem possible, based on the things Doctor Porch told me about cryogenics and what it does to a body, but I don't know, maybe…it makes sense in a way…"

"I don't know, Chief," Jim admitted. "Anything is possible, I guess." Including both of them 'dreaming' about a jungle, he added mentally. Jim was going to have to talk to Gilliam and get his perspective on this new development. Maybe he'd been too quick to dismiss the doctor's 'vision' theory.

"Anyway, I was there a long, long time, and I was alone for most of it. Until close to the end. It was getting dark and cold, and I was getting really tired. I knew the dream was close to ending. First, there was this big, black panther. I thought maybe I had found a new friend, but he didn't stay…"

Loneliness filled Blair's voice, and Jim's heart went out to him. He squeezed the arm beneath his hand, smiling when Blair lifted his eyes to meet Jim's. The boy returned the smile, though wanly, and took a deep breath.

"You know, it's really odd…"

"What is, Chief?" Jim asked when Blair paused.

"I just remembered…the first time I saw you, I thought I was still asleep, still dreaming…I looked at you and I thought I saw the panther. Weird. But I've been having some trouble with my eyes…or maybe it was just my conscious mind playing tricks on me…or a holdover from the dream…" He shook himself.

"Anyhow, later, there was a lion, but I don't really remember much about him, other than being afraid of him. He wanted something from me, I think, but I'm not sure what. Not long after, I woke up here."

"And the nightmares?" Jim knew there was more to Blair's story.

Blair shook his head. "I don't know…they're the weirdest of all…Lately, I've been dreaming about the jungle again, only it's different this time. It's not empty anymore. There are dozens, maybe hundreds of animals lurking in the bushes around me, but I can't really see them. I know they're there, though. I can hear them, feel them, and it's not a good feeling. They all want something from me, and it scares me. The lion is the loudest of them all. He roars almost constantly, crying as though he's in unbearable pain. He's hungry…" Blair's voice dropped to a whisper. "I get the feeling it's me he wants."

~~~

The remembered fear of the nightmare clamped firmly around Blair's heart. He was pulled back into reality by the tightening of a hand on his forearm. Before he could thank Jim, the door opened and Doctor Porch entered.

"Good morning, Blair…Jim." He moved to the side of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

The doctor's voice was soft, gentle, and sincerely concerned. Blair forced a smile he did not really feel. "Kind of like Rip Van Winkle."

Porch returned the smile, but his eyes held an understanding which warmed Blair's heart. Doctor Porch was so different from the doctors in the labs. Most of them, with the exception of Doctor Songer, had come and gone on a regular basis. None of them ever had time for Blair, other than in a clinical manner. They were so intent on their experiments and tests, Blair sometimes got the feeling they weren't even aware he was a real person.

"If you're feeling up to it, Blair, there are a couple of people who would like to meet you."

Anger and embarrassment washed over Blair, and he couldn't stop his response, "Someone wants to see the hundred year old freak? Hell, who am I to deny them? By all means, show 'em in!"

"Blair," Jim interjected, standing, "no one thinks you're a freak."

"Oh, yeah? I'm over a century old, Jim! Hell, even I think I'm a freak!"

"Blair, if you'd rather wait, just say the word." Porch bit back a chuckle. "Believe me, it would give me a great deal of pleasure to tell these gentlemen no."

Curiosity battled with Blair's embarrassment and won. "No, man. What's the point? I am a frea--" At Jim's glare, he changed his wording, "--a curiosity. I don't guess I'll be spending the rest of my life in isolation, so I may as well get used to it, huh? Send them in. I promise to play nice."

Porch studied Blair for a long, silent moment, then nodded. "Okay, but if you get tired, or uncomfortable, just let me know, and I'll get rid of them."

He left the room, returning a few minutes later, followed by two men. As they approached the bed, Blair took a moment to study them. One wore a military uniform, though Blair didn't recognize it. He wasn't much taller than average, and was slightly overweight, but had the look of a man who had once been very fit. He carried an air of authority, but his eyes were kind as they settled on Blair. He offered a smile, but Blair didn't feel like returning it.

The other man was smaller, not much more than Blair's own somewhat deficient height, and thin. However, Blair instantly recognized that this was a man of power. He was immaculately dressed in a dark suit, the lines of which were very similar to the fashion of Blair's time. He was probably in his mid to late fifties, Blair decided, judging from the graying hair and the lines around his eyes and mouth.

A kid, compared to me.

The absurdity of the thought almost made him laugh. The only thing which stopped him was the idea of having to explain his dark humor to these men.

The military man nodded briefly to Jim before turning his attention to Blair. "Hello, Mr. Sandburg. It's a pleasure to meet you at last. I'm General Arlen Rouse, RWF--I'm sorry, that's Resettled World Forces."

"One world government?" Blair surmised.

The general nodded. "For almost seventy five years now. Blair, I'd like to introduce President Arledge." He indicated the man who had entered with him.

"President?" Blair sat up straighter, intrigued. "Of what…?"

"Of the world, son," the President answered with an amused smile. "At least the resettled world."

"Wow…" Blair said, his mouth dropping open in amazement. "I must be big news to rate a visit from the President."

"More than you know, my boy." Arledge moved closer. "Doctor Porch has been keeping us updated on your progress. We're very pleased to hear how well you're doing."

"One world government, huh? There was talk of that before…well, in my time. Guess it took a war to bring it about." Blair looked away from the two men, uncomfortable with the way they were staring at him.

"There have been many significant changes in the past century," Arledge said. "I'm sure you must have numerous questions."

"Not really," Blair returned. "Jim has explained a lot of it."

"Yes, well…" Arledge glanced at Jim, not looking entirely pleased. "Still, if you do have any questions, I want you to know we'll do our best to answer them."

"There is one thing I'm curious about," Blair admitted, wondering if he would be told the truth. "What's the plan for me?"

"The plan?"

"Yeah. What's going to happen to me?" From the corner of his eye, Blair noticed Jim take a step closer to the bed and felt the Sentinel place a hand on his shoulder. Blair was grateful for the contact and the sense of calm it brought him.

"You'll stay here to continue your recovery for the immediate future--" Rouse began.

"And just where exactly is here?"

"The Sentinel Research Center, New Paris."

Sentinel Research Center, Blair repeated mentally. So they not only had Sentinels in this time, but spent resources researching them as well, unless the name was a misnomer. He would ask Jim about it later. Blair preferred to get his answers from someone he trusted, and he wasn't entirely sure the President was on that list. "New Paris?" he asked aloud.

"It's in the area you would know as central Canada."

"Oo-kay…" Has everything changed, Blair wondered. "What about after I've recovered?"

Rouse and Arledge exchanged a furtive glance, and an unease began to grow in the pit of Blair's stomach. He knew the feeling -- it was something the doctors at the lab had been particularly interested in testing -- and it always meant something bad. This was the first time he had experienced it since waking. The underlying emotions of the two men sizzled in the room. Blair glanced at Jim, but the Sentinel didn't seem to be feeling the same electrical charge of…wrongness.

"Can I leave?" Blair asked, testing the feeling. "If I wanted to, could I walk out of here? Am I free to go?"

The President's expression was all the answer he needed.

"I didn't think so. Here or the labs…seems the only thing that's really changed is the date."

Jim's hand tensed on Blair's shoulder. Absently, Blair reached up and grasped it, not even noticing how Jim immediately relaxed at the contact.

"Mr. Sandburg…Blair, I don't think you fully understand the situation," Rouse began. "You're a Guide--"

"No shit, Sherlock," Blair cut in sarcastically. Hell, as if he wasn't aware of that fact!

"You're the only Guide in the resettled world, a world with roughly a hundred known Sentinels…"

Realization waltzed up and slapped Blair in the face. "A hundred Sentinels? And no Guides?"

"I see you're beginning to grasp the problem," Arledge said.

Blair glanced up at Jim. "That's why you were taking that drug…what was it? Pick-something."

"Pycnogycine," Jim supplied.

"It suppresses the senses," Blair remembered. "My God, how do they survive?"

"Some don't," Rouse answered, "not with their sanity intact. Others manage to function at near normal capacity. Lieutenant Ellison is one of the lucky ones."

"If you could call it lucky." Bitterness dripped from Jim's words.

"As you can see," Arledge continued, ignoring Jim's comment, "you're a very valuable young man. If the world at large became aware we had a fully functional Guide…"

Blair closed his eyes, suddenly reminded of his dream and the animals in the bushes. Sentinels, he realized without knowing how. Hungry Sentinels, desperate for a Guide. And he was the only one. "Damn!" Blair looked up at Jim. "So you…what, won the lottery, flipped a coin, drew the short straw and got the prize? Which, I guess, would be me."

"Lieutenant Ellison was chosen from amongst dozens of potential candidates as the most compatible," Arledge explained.

Suddenly heartsick and angry, Blair shrugged off Jim's touch. "You make it sound like a damn dating service!"

"Chief…Blair--"

"Don't, Jim. I don't want to talk about it anymore right now." Blair dug his fingertips into his eyes, trying to drive away the familiar tingle of tears.

"That's enough, gentlemen," Porch said. "I warned you not to stress my patient."

Blair didn't open his eyes. He tuned them all out. He just wanted them to go away. All of them, even Jim. God! How could he have misjudged the man so badly. He had thought they were becoming friends. Hell, he knew Jim was a Sentinel, and, if he was honest with himself, had probably known on some level the man needed him -- as a Guide -- but Blair thought there had been some kind of…connection! Damn and double damn! Shit!

They had connected!

He almost sobbed with the realization. He hadn't even noticed, but now that he knew, he could feel it, a sliver-thin fiber of vibrating energy, unseen between them. An hour ago, the realization might not have been such a bad thing, but now, with all these new revelations, the thought made him heartsick.

What now? What could he do? Could the connection be broken? Ignored? He didn't know much about Sentinel/Guide connections. He hadn't exactly been in a position to research the concept at the labs, and no one there ever answered his questions.

"Blair?"

Opening his eyes, Blair was surprised to see the room was empty, with the exception of Doctor Porch.

"Are you all right, son?"

Blair sighed raggedly. "Not really. I just want it all to stop. It's too much." He was embarrassed to realize he was crying again.

"I should have followed my instincts and made them wait, I'm sorry." Porch sat on the side of the bed.

"They talk like I'm not really a person at all…like I'm just a…a…seeing eye dog or something. Don't they care how that makes me feel?"

"Probably not," Porch admitted ruefully. "Whatever their agenda is, I'm sure they can't see beyond it." He rested his hand on Blair's arm. "Blair, don't lump Jim in with those bastards."

Blair gave a wet bark of laughter. "Jim is a Sentinel looking for a Guide! What makes him any different from the rest of them?"

Porch let out a long breath. "I've watched you and Jim over the past couple of weeks, Blair. I've seen you grow into friends. Yes, he's a Sentinel, and I'm sure finding a Guide must seem like a Godsend to him, but I think it's secondary to your friendship. I know it is! And I think you do, too. There's something between the two of you, and I think if you search yourself, you'll recognize it. Think about it, Blair, but don't think too hard. Let yourself feel it, and trust your feelings. They won't betray you."

~~~

Porch found Ellison in his room sitting quietly on the edge of his bed. The Sentinel looked up at his arrival.

"How is he?"

"Hurt. Confused."

Jim nodded, dropping his head. "Who could blame him? If I were in his place, I doubt I'd be holding up as well as he is."

"It's a lot to come to grips with," Porch agreed. "He was already emotional, I should never have agreed to let those two in to see him."

Jim looked up, half a grin lifting one corner of his mouth. "Kind of hard to say no to the President though, huh?"

Porch chuckled. "Well, yeah, there is that. Still, I knew Blair wasn't ready. I should've made them wait a few days, let him get over the bomb we dropped on him yesterday first."

"The bomb I dropped, you mean." Ellison rubbed a hand over the back of his neck in what Porch had learned was a sign of frustration.

"Well, it might not have been the way I would've chosen to tell him, but Blair did have a right to the truth. I don't think it would have mattered who or how in the long run. It would've been just as devastating next week or next year. Besides, he's too smart for his own good. He'd have put it together eventually, and who knows what he would've come up with?"

"They aren't going to let us go, are they?" Jim asked suddenly. "How could they?" he continued, without waiting for an answer. "They can't risk this story getting out. They don't want the public knowing where Blair came from, and I can't say I blame them. The response would be…well, less than civilized, I'd bet. Besides, how safe would Blair be? Every Sentinel in the world would want him. Why didn't I think of all this before? Why did I let myself believe we could just go back Cascade and live a normal life?"

"You've had other things on your mind, Jim. Don't beat yourself up over this. Even if you had known, would you have done things differently? Would you have passed up the program?"

"No." There was no hesitation in Jim's answer. "But what now? Do you know what their plans for us are?"

Porch gave a humorous chuckle. "I've been a very vocal thorn in Arledge's side over this issue from the beginning. I somehow can't see him sharing his plans with me."

Jim sighed deeply. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, letting his hands hang limply between them. "Doesn't really matter, I suppose. I doubt Blair wants anything to do with me now."

Porch sat beside the dejected man. "Blair needs time, Jim. This has been too much for him too quickly. He just can't deal with it all right now. I do know this though, there is a connection between the two of you. I've seen too much to doubt its existence anymore. Blair needs to come to the realization for himself and get used to it. He just needs time."

"You think so?" There was a desperate hope in the eyes the Sentinel turned to Porch.

"I'm going to give you the same advice I just gave him, Jim. Search yourself. You'll know the answer when you find it."

~~~

"Just get what you want and get out," the young man hissed urgently. "You don't have a lot of time."

"I have all the time I need," Mikal answered impatiently. The corporal was highly strung, erratic, but he was easily bought, and that fact was all which really concerned Mikal at the moment. "Ellison is taken care of?"

"Yeah, I did just like you said, slipped the 'juice' in the coffee I took him. He'll be out until morning. You know, there's a good chance they'll be able to trace this back to me. I been thinking…I think maybe…" The young man swallowed nervously. "I think I deserve more…for the extra risks I've been taking. I didn't realize how hot things were going to get when I agreed to this. They trace the juice back to me, I may have to skip, you know? I'm gonna need enough to get me into New Asia unnoticed. It ain't cheap to get new ID and stuff."

Bastard! Mikal felt his anger grow with each word the man uttered. He would not be betrayed! How far was he willing to go to assure his plans weren't jeopardized? Nothing could be allowed to endanger his chance of rescuing his Guide from Ellison. No one would stand in his way!

"Don't worry," he assured, coming to a sudden decision. He would protect his Guide at all costs. "You're going to get everything you deserve…and more."

The man's eyes widened almost comically as Mikal slid the knife effortlessly between his ribs. A slight push dislodged the knife, and the soldier slid bonelessly to the ground.

Mikal watched dispassionately. The man wasn't dead, but he soon would be. He'd be well hidden in the dark stairwell where they'd met. His body wouldn't be found until at least morning, perhaps longer. Not that it mattered. Mikal would have what he wanted and be gone long before then.

He gave the corporal a nudge with the toe of his boot, sending him tumbling helplessly down the stairs. Firming his resolve, Mikal turned and headed in the opposite direction.

~~~

Something pulled Blair toward consciousness. He fought it, wanting to return to the peace of sleep, but the "something" wouldn't let him. Even before he was fully awake, he felt it. There was a presence in the room with him, and it felt…wrong…bad -- not evil so much as…hungry. Ravenous.

Cautiously, Blair opened his eyes to darkness. Something lurked in the night. Frightened, Blair sat up, searching. When he found it, his heart skipped a beat. Yellow, glowing eyes watched him from the shadows. The eyes moved forward, and for a brief moment, Blair saw the face of the lion from his dreams, hungrily surveying him as it approached.

As Blair watched, the lion shifted, twisting and elongating to morph into a man. A Sentinel, Blair knew. A hungry Sentinel in search of a Guide. The lion/man moved to his bedside.

"Hello, Guide," the creature murmured softly, reaching out to run a possessive hand down the side Blair's face.

Blair wanted to pull away, the touch making him ill, but he was paralyzed, helpless.

"My Guide…"

Blair scarcely had time to register the words before a sharp pain lanced through his head and darkness claimed him.

~~~

He felt the "wrongness" before he opened his eyes. Without conscious thought, he reached for the slender thread of connection, feeling for his Guide…and panicked when he couldn't easily find him.

"Blair!" Jim's eyes jerked open, and instantly closed again as the light nearly blinded him. He brought his hands up to press hard into his eyes.

"Jim…"

The word was like an air horn in his ear. He moved his hands to his ears in a vain attempt to block the sound. The noise increased, as did the light, seeping through his tightly clenched eyelids to sear into his brain. He groaned aloud, the sound reverberating through him with shards of agony. This was a sensory spike like he had never known.

"Blair," he whispered soundlessly, needing his Guide. He was answered by the soft, gentle caress of his Guide's voice. It penetrated the horrendous noise around him, gaining volume until it drowned out the other sounds. Jim's world became only that voice, as it led him through finding and resetting the dials. An eternity later, Jim lay still, breathing heavily, but able once more to open his senses without overloading.

Slowly, tentatively, he opened his eyes. The lights no longer blinded him. He turned his head and saw Doctor Gilliam watching him with more than a little concern.

"How are the senses, Jim?" The doctor's voice was scarcely a whisper.

Jim licked his lips, surprised at how dry they were. "Better." He looked around the room, searching for the source of the voice which had brought him back to sanity. His Guide wasn't in the room. Instantly, he remembered what had sent him into the sensory spike in the first place.

"Where is he?" Jim rolled his head back around to look up at Gilliam. "Where's Blair? What's happened to him?"

The doctor drew his eyebrows together. "How could you-- Wait! Lay still, Jim!"

Jim swayed with the effort to sit up. Closing his eyes against the vertigo, he was forced to heed the doctor's words. "What happened?"

"You were drugged. There are residual traces of a strong sedative in your system. Nothing dangerous, but strong enough to knock you out."

"How long?" Talking was proving difficult. Jim's throat and mouth felt like cotton and tasted even worse.

"We found you this morning. It's late afternoon now. We assume it happened sometime during the night."

"Where's Blair?"

There was a long pause. Jim opened his eyes, pinning the man with a glare he hoped was more intimidating than he felt.

"We don't know, Jim."

Jim pushed up from the bed, this time ignoring the dizziness that assaulted him. "I heard him. He was just here, talking me through the spike." Jim's eyes narrowed. "Only it wasn't him, was it? The voice was wrong. What the hell's going on, Gilliam?"

The doctor grabbed Jim's arms, helping him to gain his balance on the side of the bed. "It was a recording. You were in one of the worse spikes I've ever seen. It was the only way I could think of to reach you."

"You recorded us?" Jim knew they were monitored most of the time, but he had no idea they would stoop so low as to tape them while they were working on his senses.

"Get real, Ellison," Gilliam responded indignantly. "You know as well as I do how valuable this kind of information could be. Don't be so damned selfish! There are a hundred Sentinels out there who don't have a Guide. If there's the slightest chance we can help them, don't you think we're going to take it?"

Jim closed his eyes. He understood what the man was saying, but still felt as though he'd somehow been violated. However, there were more important things to worry about now. He opened his eyes. "What happened?"

"All we know is Blair was missing from his room this morning. We aren't sure what happened. The security cameras in his room and in adjacent areas have been tampered with."

"Yagudin." Even as Jim said the name, he knew it was true. Fear seized Jim's heart, for as surely as he knew the man had his Guide, he knew the other Sentinel was unstable.

"Yagudin? Why would you think it was him?"

"It was. The son-of-a-bitch has Blair!"

"Jim, wait!" Gilliam grabbed Jim's arm. In his weakened condition, it was enough to stop him. "They don't know yet what happened or who was behind it. Yes, Yagudin is a logical assumption, but--"

"I don't have to assume anything! He's got my Guide, and I've got to find him. The man's unstable! He's dangerous!"

"Well, I'll agree he's unstable. I don't know how dangerous--" The doctor broke off when Jim grabbed his shirt, pulling him close.

"Listen to me, Gilliam. Yagudin has my Guide. He's dangerous, and I can't take the chance he might hurt Blair. I'm going to find the son-of-a-bitch, with or without your help!"

~~~

The pain was throbbing and relentless, beginning at the back of his head and radiating around to take up residence right between his eyes. Blair gingerly rolled his head to the side and tried to ignore it. Finally, in defeat, he opened his eyes. Maybe he could get someone to bring him an aspirin or something.

Met by unfamiliar shadows around him, Blair blinked hard to clear his hazy vision. Realization was slow in coming, and with it came a start of surprise. He was no longer in the familiar room of the hospital--of the center, he corrected himself.

Blair studied his surroundings with guarded interest. The room was dim, but he could easily make out a dingy, peeling yellow wallpaper. There were few furnishings -- the bed he lay on, a decrepit dresser with a cracked mirror and a single wingback chair in the corner. There was one door in the room, with a single, heavily draped window beside it.

Some things haven't changed, Blair thought to himself. Unless he was totally off in his conclusions, he was in a cheap hotel room. And he was alone. Which brought him to his second question…how had he gotten here?

The last thing he remembered was…he scrunched his eyes in thought…what was the last thing he remembered? The President…an argument…with Jim? He thought he was angry at Jim for something…no, not angry…hurt…but he couldn't remember why. His head hurt too bad to concentrate for long. He gave up, hoping it would either come to him later, or someone would show up to explain it to him.

The pain in his head was throbbing in time to his heartbeat, making him slightly nauseous. He closed his eyes and concentrated on relaxing; not an easy thing to do, he decided, when you didn't know where you were or how you had gotten there. Had the doctors moved him? Or that president guy? The man seemed pretty pissed when Blair had questioned his freedom. Maybe they figured they'd better lock him up somewhere before he escaped.

Blair snorted softly. Yeah, right. He could scarcely walk unassisted, how was he going to escape? Besides, where would he go? He was a stranger in an unfamiliar time. From the way Jim had talked, the world was drastically different. But Blair knew he was a survivor and a fast learner. He probably could've found a way. Not that it really mattered now.

The door clicked, and Blair's eyes jerked open. Bright light flooded the room, temporarily blinding him. He barely had time to register a large figure entering before the door slammed shut and the light was gone.

"It's about damn time you woke up, Guide."

The voice was deep, loud. The sound of it sent waves of foreboding through Blair. Something tingled at the edges of Blair's perception, a warning…

The man moved closer, and Blair got his first good look at him. His breath caught in the back of his throat as memory came flooding back. The lion…hiding in the shadows…hungry…then pain in his head and everything went black. This man was the lion…

His dream…

Fear widened his eyes in sudden realization. "You're a Sentinel."

"Your Sentinel," the man corrected.

Blair had a feeling arguing with this man would be a bad idea. "Who are you?"

The man moved to the side of the bed and sat down. Blair tried to scoot further away, but his body wasn't in a listening mood. He could scarcely find the energy to move his head, much less his arms or legs.

"I told you, I'm your Sentinel. You can call me Sentinel."

Okay, looney tunes, Blair realized, his unease growing. Last thing he wanted to deal with was a crazy, hungry Sentinel. Especially when it's me he's hungry for!

"We'll be leaving just as soon as it gets dark," the man said. "I want you up and moving by then, understand?"

"Where are we going?"

"Away from here. That's all you need to know for now." The man stood. "Get up. I brought you something to eat." He crossed to the dresser and picked up a bag. A frown crossed his face when he saw Blair hadn't moved. "I told you to get up!"

"Okay, chill, man…I'm working on it." Blair forced his arms under him and pushed. It took several tries and more minutes, but finally he was sitting up on the side of the bed. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort. He hadn't been this weak since the early days of his recovery and it worried him.

The Sentinel stood watching impassively. Once Blair was seated, he shoved the bag into his hands.

"Thanks, man," Blair murmured sarcastically. He rolled up the top of the bag and peered inside. His stomach did a flip-flop as the smell assaulted him. "Eww…sheesh, what is this?"

"Meatloaf sandwich and bar-b-que fries."

Blair swallowed hard, rolling the top back down. "No thanks, man. I'll pass."

"You'll eat," the Sentinel countered, his tone brooking no argument. "I need you mobile, and you need your strength to get that way."

"Hey, man, you'll get no argument from me on that, but I can't eat this stuff. My stomach's queasy enough as it is. This'll make me barf for sure."

To his surprise the man simply sighed. "Look, Guide, it's the best I can do. My choices were limited. Eat what you can. I'll get something lighter next time."

Blair narrowed his eyes at the Sentinel. The man sounded completely sane at the moment, making Blair wonder if he had jumped to an erroneous conclusion earlier. Resigned, he pulled the sandwich from the bag, bypassing the fries, and took a tentative bite.

Apparently satisfied, the Sentinel leaned back against the dresser and watched Blair eat. He looked sane enough right now, but Blair had a bad feeling about the man. He assumed he had been kidnapped, and he had no trouble imagining why. Sentinel, Guide -- yeah, the 'whys' seemed pretty obvious. The 'hows' didn't really matter, Blair decided. Which left only the 'wherefores'. Somehow, he had a feeling the man wasn't about to outline his plans for Blair's benefit.

He was as weak as a kitten, so escape was out, at least for now. Besides, where would he go? He had no clue where he even was, much less where he could go. His eyes drifted around the room as he chewed. No phone was in sight -- did they even have phones in this time? Hell, they probably had communicators, or some other futuristic type gadget. Besides, who would he call? He didn't know a soul on the planet other than Jim and a handful of doctors at the center…well, and the President. Somehow Blair doubted he could get through to the President of the world…excuse me, "resettled" world.

At the thought of Jim, something in the back of Blair's mind flickered, startling him. The connection. He'd forgotten about his discovery of the tender thread of energy, new and untried, flowing between him and his true Sentinel. He probed the connection tentatively. Now that he had finally acknowledged its existence, it flared brightly, vibrating with a life of its own, almost as a separate thing, apart from him.

Before he could explore it further, hands grabbed his shoulders, shaking him violently. Blair bit his tongue hard, tasting blood as it filled his mouth.

"Stop it!" the Sentinel screamed at him. "Whatever you're doing, stop it!"

Shit! He felt it? This Sentinel could feel Blair's connection with Jim?

Blair barely had time to ponder the significance of the revelation. Nausea swamped him. Between the jarring of the shaking, the taste of the blood and his already queasy stomach, he lost his battle, barfing the few bites of meatloaf all over his captor.

~~~

Jim angrily paced his room, resisting the urge to scream his frustration and fury. It would not help, and would probably give him a headache. There had to be something more productive he could do. His Guide had been kidnapped, dammit! All Jim wanted was for everyone to just get the hell out of his way and let him find the son of a bitch who had taken Blair. That's all. Nothing too terribly hard. Just get the hell out of his way!

He made another circuit of his room, his mind racing, searching for a way out. Guards had met him in the hallway the instant he'd attempted to enter the elevators to the ground floor and had "escorted" him to his room and locked him in. Jim wanted to blame Doctor Gilliam, but had seen the shock and anger on the man's face. No, the blame lay squarely with Arledge and Rouse. The smug bastards had even stopped by to "explain" how all available resources were being utilized to locate Blair Sandburg, but, no, they couldn't risk letting Jim free to search for his Guide on his own.

Finally, Jim couldn't contain his frustration any longer. He screamed, long and loud, and yes, it did give him a headache, and no, it didn't help.

~~~

"You got a minute?"

Porch looked up to see Seth Gilliam stick his head around the corner of his office door. "Come on in, Seth. Please tell me you have good news." Daniel had had a full day of inactivity to consider the possible fate of Blair Sandburg.

"Not here," Gilliam shot his eyes purposely to the ceiling.

Daniel nodded, understanding. He didn't know for sure his office was monitored, but he wouldn't put it past Arledge. The doctor stood, moving around his desk, and followed Gilliam down the hall to a storage room. Only when the men were inside, did the other doctor speak.

"We've got problems, Daniel."

"Tell me about it. Blair Sandburg is missing, a soldier is dead, and they can't even find two clues to rub together! They still don't know who's behind this?"

"They don't…but Ellison does."

"Ellison? You said he was drugged, slept through the whole thing."

"He knows, nevertheless."

"Well, hell, Seth, don't keep me in suspense."

"Mikal Yagudin."

"What?"

"Think about it, Daniel. It makes sense. The man was obviously teetering on the edge. Who else would have as much motive? No one else knows about Sandburg. Plus, Yagudin would know Ellison would have to be taken out of the picture if he were to have any chance of success at all."

Daniel considered the scenario Seth was painting. He had to admit, it made a certain amount of sense. "He would've had to have help, someone on the inside. There's no way he could've gotten in here undetected otherwise."

"I've been thinking about that. The soldier they found this morning -- Corporal Sellers -- had access to the security cameras. Funny what a man will do for money."

"If we can figure this out, you know Arledge probably has, too."

"If he hasn't, he will soon, but Arledge won't find them. Not in time."

Daniel's stomach clenched at the truth of the statement. "You know about the contamination."

"Well, hell, Daniel, I'm a doctor, too, you know. How much time do you figure Sandburg has?" "Under the best of circumstances…a couple of weeks."

"Yagudin will head for the zones."

"Yeah." Daniel sighed heavily. "A week, tops."

"Damn! What are we going to do?"

"Like we have a lot of options!"

"We have one…"

Daniel raised an eyebrow. He could not see too many from where he stood.

"Ellison."

"Ellison?"

"Come on, Daniel…the connection! It could lead him to his Guide."

"You believe that?"

Gilliam took a deep breath. "Yeah, Daniel, I do."

Porch nodded. "I do, too." He looked up, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. "Think we can convince Ellison?"

The other doctor laughed. "He's a mule-headed bastard, that's for sure." He sobered suddenly. "But he's feeling the pull already. They had to practically tie him down to keep him from busting through the walls to get out of here and track Yagudin down."

"So, what are we going to do about it?"

"We have to get Ellison out of here."

Daniel thought for a minute. "That's doable." He looked up, meeting his friend's eye. "You know we're finished if we do this."

"If we don't, the boy will die…and I don't think Ellison will be far behind him." He shrugged. "So what if we lose our jobs? So what if we might get arrested and spend the rest of our lives in a military prison? What's life without a risk or two?" he asked with a grin.

Daniel shook his head. "You are in serious need of a vacation, my friend, you know that?"

Gilliam laughed. "Well, this is pretty good timing, then, because we might just be getting a permanent vacation."

Daniel chuckled. "With incentive like that, what are we waiting for?"

~~~

Jim heard footsteps approaching despite the white noise generators. When the door to his room-turned-prison-cell slid silently open, he was tensed and ready. Only the sharp fragrance of a too familiar aftershave stayed his attack.

"You don't know how close you just came to getting your heads ripped off," he observed dryly, relishing the alarm on the two doctors' faces.

"You know, I actually believe him," Porch said, not entirely joking.

"You should." Jim eyed the door, judging his chances of getting through it.

"We're no happier with this situation than you are, Jim," Gilliam replied, his voice low. "That's why we're here. We need to talk."

Jim glanced toward the ceiling tile in the corner. "Not a lot of privacy."

"It's been taken care of," Porch assured, moving further into the room. "The vid is on a loop showing you sleeping. It won't fool more than the casual observer, so we don't have a lot of time."

"What's your game?" Jim asked, suspiciously. Of all the people at the center, these two he might once have considered friends. Now he didn't know who to trust.

"No games, Jim," Gilliam promised. "We have a…proposition for you."

Jim almost laughed. "Those are the very words which got me into this mess in the first place."

"Yes, well, this time we have a common goal, Ellison," Porch pointed out.

"And what would that be?"

"Finding Blair Sandburg."

~~~

The motion of the car made it difficult to control his nausea. Blair hunched miserably against the passenger-side door, his arms wrapped around his stomach in an effort to hold everything in. The Sentinel hadn't been too happy the first time Blair had barfed, and would undoubtedly not care too much for a repeat performance. Tentatively, Blair unwound one arm and reached up to probe the side of his face, wincing as his fingers found the tender spot where the man's fist had connected.

"How's your face, Guide?" The Sentinel sounded genuinely concerned.

Blair threw him a cautious glance. The flip flopping personalities were starting to piss him off. "Hurts like hell, thank you very much!" he retorted sarcastically.

To his surprise, the man laughed. "You want something to eat, Guide? Or a drink?"

Blair's stomach churned at the thought of food. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. "No, thanks." After a minute, he added, "My name is Blair, not Guide."

The air in the car became charged, crackling with an energy that caught Blair by surprise. He opened his eyes, glancing at the Sentinel warily. Blair had always been very perceptive to changing moods around him. Doctor Songer had been especially interested in the ability and had spent months testing it. But that perception had been nothing like what he felt coming off of the Sentinel now. This was more alive, more…volatile. Blair almost felt as though he could reach out and touch the emotion. It was a scary feeling.

"I don't give a damn who you are!" the man yelled angrily. "I only care what you are. As far as I'm concerned, your name is Guide!"

Blair swallowed hard, backing away. The Sentinel was off the deep end again. His moods were like a yo-yo. Blair realized he was going to have to be careful until he could figure out how to keep from setting the man off. The Sentinel grew quiet again after his outburst, and the charged air seemed to fizzle out. In an attempt to get his mind off of how miserable he felt, Blair turned his attention to the passing scenery. It was the first time he had seen daylight in…well, in ninety-four years, plus his year and a half in the labs. He wished he didn't feel so utterly miserable so he could actually appreciate the moment.

It was amazing how little seemed to have changed. Blair could almost have believed he was still in his own time. The car they were riding in was a little different, mostly just in the styling, though, it seemed. It appeared to operate much the same. Houses, the highway, everything looked much the same to the casual eye.

The only true difference he had found so far was the sky. It had been dark when they had set out, but the sun had made an appearance about an hour ago. It looked to be a cloudless day. The sky, he had noticed right away, was a deep, blue-green, almost a teal color. It was odd, and Blair couldn't think of any logical reasons for the difference. Radiation, maybe? It was a possibility, but if there was that much radiation in the atmosphere, surely it would be too dangerous to live in, right? So the people would have done something to avoid it. Live underground, maybe. Or built domed cities. Besides, Jim had said there were only a few hot spots of radiation in some of the unsettled zones. So there had to be another explanation. He'd have to ask Jim.

At the thought of Jim, Blair was reminded of the connection and this new awareness of it. He judiciously avoided thinking specifically about it, afraid it would flare to life again and his captor would know. What exactly had this Sentinel felt, Blair wondered, remembering the man's earlier reaction. Whatever it was, it had been enough to enrage him, and Blair didn't want to risk the consequences again -- at least not until he had a chance to figure out what was going on.

~~~

Jim was glaring at Porch, challenging the man to continue. Daniel thought swiftly. He had to present his case quickly, but in a way which would convince the Sentinel of his sincerity. He decided on the unvarnished truth. "Jim, Seth and I are convinced you are Blair's only chance. There's more to this…connection…than even Arledge is aware." He waited for either a denial or confirmation of his statement, but was granted neither. The Sentinel merely crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay, we'll assume, then, I'm correct."

"Jim," Gilliam picked up the story, "I've been observing you."

Porch didn't miss the way the Sentinel's eyes darted toward the corner where the camera was hidden.

"I can see you're stressed, agitated--"

"My Guide is missing!"

"It's more than that, Jim, and I know it. You knew Blair wasn't in the center before you were told, and you knew Yagudin had taken him."

Jim remained stubbornly silent.

Porch sighed, running his hands through his rapidly graying hair. At this rate, he would be totally white headed by the end of the day. "You're right, Seth, he is a mule-headed bastard."

Jim's veneer cracked, one corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. It gave Porch the impetus to try again. "Jim, Blair's in trouble." He had the Sentinel's attention now. "He hasn't had the mandatory vaccinations." Porch saw the exact moment the impact of his statement hit. Jim's eyes widened, and his arms dropped to his side.

"Damn!"

"Right! We don't have a lot of time. Between the routine immunizations and the natural defenses we've built up over the decades, the residual contamination isn't a problem for us, but for Blair, especially in his weakened condition, it could be deadly."

Ellison ran his hands over his face. "This just keeps getting better and better. Why wasn't Blair inoculated?"

Porch winced guiltily. "There's no danger of contamination here, because we're underground and the air is filtered, and there was no plan to take him topside in the immediate future. He would've been inoculated before then. In hindsight, I can see it was a mistake, but his immune system had been taxed enough, I didn't want to throw anything unnecessary into the mix."

"Do Arledge and Rouse know about this?"

"No. We haven't told anyone about the contamination. It won't make a difference in their search, and frankly, I'm tired of supplying them information they can twist around and use to further their own agenda, whatever it may be."

Jim pinned Porch with an icy glare. "I have to get out of here."

"That's why we're here, Jim. We have a plan."

Jim switched his glare to Gilliam, for which Daniel was grateful. "You know what you're risking by helping me escape. Why?"

"The circumstances warrant the risks."

Jim studied both men for several tense minutes. Finally, he nodded. "I have no choice but to trust you. You betray me, however, and you won't have to worry about Arledge."

Porch had no trouble believing the man meant every word of his threat.

"One thing…" Jim continued, his gaze hardening further. "Once I find Blair, we're not coming back here. We won't be used by Arledge. I won't let them exploit Blair for their own purposes."

"Where will you go?" Gilliam asked. "You can't hide from--" The doctor broke off, realization dawning. "The unsettled zones? Jim, you can't--"

"I'll do whatever I have to do to protect my Guide." The Sentinel's tone left no room for argument.

"Let's concentrate on finding Blair first," Porch suggested. "Once he's safe, we'll go from there."

~~~

It was too dark to see much in the room, but then again, there wasn't really much in the room to see. Blair eased to his side, careful not to disturb the sleeping Sentinel on the other side of the same bed.

They had driven for a few hours after the sun rose, then pulled into another cheap motel. Blair's captor had helped him into the lone king-sized bed, pulled the heavy curtains against the daylight, then laid down on top of the blankets on the other side of the mattress. Soon the man was snoring heavily.

Blair wasn't deceived, though. He had already tried to get out of the bed twice, both times, the Sentinel was instantly awake and watching him. Escape, for now, was out of the question.

So was sleep, apparently, but then he had slept most of the night while his captor drove. Blair sighed quietly in the darkness, hoping he wouldn't have to lay here for hours, staring at the blank wall he faced.

In an attempt to occupy his mind, Blair mulled over his predicament again. He didn't have many facts, but he was beginning to piece a few educated guesses into the puzzle. For one, he knew they were traveling south. The President had mentioned the Sentinel Research Center was in what Blair knew as central Canada. Not knowing exactly where he had been when he had awoke yesterday in the first motel, Blair could only guess at his current location, but he figured it to be somewhere around the central United States…or what he had known as the U.S.

What was their destination? Mexico? Further south? Maybe somewhere warm, Blair hoped, snuggling deeper into the blankets. It must be the dead of winter judging by the unbearable cold. The sun had been out and bright, but there was no warmth in the air at all. Never one to enjoy cold weather, Blair was miserable. Obviously, the Sentinel was not affected by the temperatures. He hadn't even turned the heater on in the car. The sweats his captor had provided for him to wear did little to keep him warm. He made a note to ask for a jacket -- if the man was in "sane mode" when he awoke.

His thoughts drifted back to his situation. Was anyone looking for him? Did being a Guide make him valuable enough to make a search worth the effort? Blair wanted to think so. At least to Jim, he hoped. Blair had thought there was a friendship between the two of them, but with the knowledge of Jim's "lottery win" Blair suspected said friendship might be one-sided. Surely, the Sentinel would pursue his Guide, if nothing else.

Bored, freezing, and both physically and emotionally miserable, Blair closed his eyes and attempted once more to sleep. He was just beginning to doze lightly when he felt the connection waver slightly, nudging him awake again. He glanced cautiously over his shoulder at the sleeping Sentinel, wondering how safe it would be to explore this phenomenon. He decided it was worth the risk.

Guardedly, gingerly, Blair focused on the flicker of movement in his mind. It was remarkable how similar to Jim's presence it felt. It was surprisingly warm…and eerily familiar. How long had this connection been in place? From the start? His first meeting with Jim? Did it mean he had no choice in the path of his life?

Blair almost laughed aloud at the thought. What choice had he ever had in the path of his life? From the moment he had first come to the attention of the doctors at the labs, choice had become an alien concept to him. He had been given no choice in going to live in the labs, no choice in seeing his mom, no choice in being frozen for a century…and now, apparently, no choice in whether or not to become Jim Ellison's Guide. Maybe it was destiny, or fate, or divine intervention. Maybe it had been decided long before he was born. Maybe no one had a choice about the path of his or her life. How sad to think everything was already mapped out, and no matter what he wanted for himself, it was secondary to the way it was "supposed" to be.

The saddest part was, Blair realized as he let his eyes drift closed again, given the choice, he would probably have picked Jim anyway.

~~~

"I'll get you to the surface," Porch said. "From there, you'll be on your own. We figure you'll have about twenty minutes head start before they discover you're missing. Make your way out of the building and to the rendezvous point as quickly as possible. Seth will be waiting for you, and I'll join you as soon as I can."

Jim nodded. He wasn't thrilled with the plan, but it was better than anything he could come up with on his own. Jim's biggest concern was having to trust so many unknowns, but he could think of no alternative. If Porch and his people could get him off this heavily guarded floor, he could handle the rest.

"Give me about ten minutes to take care of the guards. You'll hear a click once the locks disengage. That'll be your cue. Good luck, Jim." With that, the doctor slipped out the door.

When the locks disengaged, Jim was ready. In one motion he was out the door. A quick glance revealed no guards in sight. He made his way down the hall to the first intersection and pressed himself against the wall. Footsteps rapidly approached, and Jim tensed. The smell of a woman's perfume drifted around the corner to him. If the plan was going according to schedule, this would be Porch's assistant, Myra Damaron. Jim didn't allow himself to relax, however, until the petite, older woman rounded the corner.

"Follow me," she said, never breaking stride. "We don't have long." She led him down a series of corridors, stopping before a single elevator and pushing the call button. "There's a security camera on the elevator. Daniel should have it disabled by now. You'll only have a few minutes, at most, but it should be long enough. Go up to the third floor, and then make your way down the stairs from there. Once on the ground floor, you'll be on the back side of the building. The closest exit will be to your right and out the back. It opens onto Marshall Avenue. You know your way from there?" Jim nodded.

The elevator arrived with a loud ding. Jim glanced over his shoulder, but the hallway was still empty. He slid through the still opening doors and hit the button for the third floor.

"Lieutenant…"

Jim glanced at Ms. Damaron questioningly.

"Good luck," she offered with a smile, "and take good care of Blair."

Jim returned the smile. "You can count on it, ma'am. Thank you for your help."

The doors slid shut. Jim held his breath as the lift began to slowly ascend. He counted off the seconds in his head, wondering if it would be enough time. The car seemed to be crawling. An anxious eternity later, the elevator lurched to a stop. Jim squeezed through the doors as soon as they were far enough apart to allow him access. It had taken a long time -- too long? He would find out soon enough.

The hallway on the third floor was as deserted as the one he had just left. Jim glanced both ways, looking for the stairs. He spotted the sign to his left and hurried toward it. Once in the stairwell, he picked up his pace, tempted to survey the area with his hearing, but too afraid to risk it. Now would be the worst possible time for a zone.

When he reached the ground floor, Jim cautiously cracked the door, peering into the hallway. It was far busier than the floor he had just left, but everyone seemed to be calmly going about their business. Jim waited for a lull in the traffic, then pushed the door open. Remembering the woman's instructions, he turned to his right and forced his stride to a virtual crawl, not wanting to draw attention. No one seemed to give him a second thought, but Jim didn't allow himself to relax until he found the exit and pushed through the door to the fresh air.

Picking up his pace again, Jim stepped into the crowd of fast moving afternoon commuters.

~~~

Blair finished his business in the bathroom and moved to the sink, freezing when he caught sight of himself in the dirty mirror. His hand came up to trace over his features, confirming what his eyes were telling him. He was…older! Not a hundred years older, well not in appearance, anyway, but still, he no longer looked like he remembered, like he was supposed to look. There was a dusting of a two day old beard, his face was painfully thin, and there were fresh bruises below his left eye from where his captor had taken offense at being puked on, but beneath that, he could see changes -- nothing drastic, but more of a maturing of his features…and of course there was the longer hair…

Maybe he had been in a coma after they took him out of the cryogenic chamber. Could that explain it? But it would've had to have been for years, if his eyes were telling him the truth, and Porch had said they had found him only a few months ago, so that couldn't be right. Yet, the evidence was before him and undeniable.

His mind could come up with no logical explanation. What else had been kept from him?

The bathroom door opened, and his captor -- Mikal Yagudin, Blair had learned from the registration in the car's glove box when the man had stopped for gas -- stuck his head in the room.

"Let's go! Now!"

Blair swallowed a sigh of resignation and made his way slowly into the outer room. Mikal grabbed his arm when he stumbled and helped him through the outer door and into the nearby car. Blair wanted to shrug off the help, but was smart enough to admit he needed it. His strength was not returning. If anything, he was weaker now than he'd been in the hospital. The ever present nausea was worse, too.

The Sentinel got in on the driver's side and started the car, sparing a glance for Blair. "You don't look so good, Guide."

"Not feeling so good, either," Blair informed the man. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and hunched down in the seat miserably.

Mikal reached over and placed a hand on Blair's forehead. "You've got a fever," he said with a frown.

Blair pulled away from the touch. "Cut it out, man." Mikal seemed to be in one of his saner moods for the moment, but it was subject to change with no notice. However, Blair wasn't in the mood to deal with the man's personality shifts. He was cold, and he was sick on his stomach, and all he wanted to do was go home…wherever the hell home was anymore.

Unfortunately, the Sentinel had other plans. Without another word, Mikal pulled the car out of the motel parking lot and back onto the highway. Blair closed his eyes, not even attempting to follow the scenery. It was nearly dark anyhow, not much to see in the dim light.

"How did you know about me?" Blair asked, trying to initiate a conversation in an attempt to get his mind off his misery. He was surprised when Mikal actually answered him.

"We've met."

Blair glanced over at the man, surprised by the information. "We have? I don't remember."

Mikal nodded. "They took me to see you when you were sick. You were sleeping."

Terrific! Another lottery contender, Blair realized, his heart sinking impossibly further. Guess this one wasn't "compatible."

The Sentinel took his eyes from the road long enough to spare Blair a quick glance. "I knew the minute I entered the room you were meant to be mine. I felt it. I'm sure you do, too, now that you're awake. You feel it, don't you?"

Blair hesitated, knowing the truth would probably push Mikal back into his crazy persona, something he wasn't willing to risk. "I feel something…" he hedged.

Nodding again, Mikal said, "That's the connection. It's small now, but it'll grow."

Blair kept his disagreement to himself. He had felt the connection with Jim. He knew how it felt. What he felt from Mikal was not even in the same ballpark. It was foul, vile, and it did nothing but frighten Blair, truth be told.

"We met another time, too," Mikal said. "In a vision. That's when the connection truly began."

"A vision?" The man had Blair's full attention now.

"You were there. I'm sure you remember it."

Blair had no clue what the man was referring to, but he nodded anyway, hoping Mikal wouldn't push it. Time for a change of subject. Hopefully, one which wouldn't drive the Sentinel over the edge again. Blair tentative tested the air, but felt no tension radiating from Mikal. Maybe it was safe enough to try and get a few answers. He cleared his throat, bolstering his courage. "Where are we going, Sentinel?"

Mikal glanced at him, seemingly pleased to hear Blair call him by his chosen name. "Away. Far away, where they can't follow."

Where they can't follow… A ball of unease began spinning in Blair's stomach, adding to his nausea. He swallowed hard, trying to settle both. "The unsettled zones?" Blair hoped he was guessing wrong.

Mikal didn't confirm the guess, but neither did he deny it. He kept his eyes glued to the road ahead.

Blair hunched down in his seat as far as the seat belt would let him and closed his eyes. Jim had said the zones were dangerous, inhabited by criminals. Plus he had said something about hot spots of radiation. All in all, it didn't sound like a place Blair wanted to be.

Please, please, please, God, let Jim be looking for me!

~~~

A car slowed and pulled to the curb. Jim remained in the shadows of the alleyway, risking his senses to search the car. Satisfied at what he found, he moved quickly forward, opened the passenger's side door and slid in.

Gilliam gave him a relieved smile and pulled the car back into traffic. "We've got a problem," the doctor stated with a quick glance at Jim. "Daniel was…detained."

Jim's jaw clenched tightly. "I assume that means they know I'm gone."

"Oh, yeah. They definitely know. Daniel couldn't get out before the center was locked down. They are detaining everyone for questioning. It won't be long before they notice I'm not there."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Gilliam said. "I made this choice freely, and I don't regret it."

Jim nodded. "I need to make some calls."

Gilliam pointed to the console. "My phone is in there. I doubt they've had time to put a trace on it-- Hell, what am I saying? This is the government. They've probably had a trace on it from day one. Just wait, we'll stop once we're out of town and find a phone."

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into a gas station on the edge of town. Jim headed for the phone, while the doctor fueled the car.

It took only a few moments for his call to be answered.

"Banks."

"Simon? It's Jim."

"Jim?! Thank God!" Jim heard both panic and relief in his friend's voice. "I've been trying for over a week to get in touch with you."

"What's wrong, Simon?"

"What's wrong?!" Jim could hear exasperation seeping through the line. "What's wrong is I got to work Friday morning to find your resignation on my desk, effective immediately, that's what in the hell is wrong! I've spent every day since then trying to track you down to find out what's going on. I've called in every marker I have, pulled every string I can. No one anywhere will talk to me." Quieter, more serious, Simon asked, "What's going on, Jim?"

Jim closed his eyes. Seemed Arledge had been quite busy. "I'm in trouble, Simon. Evidently more than I knew. I need your help."

There was no hesitation in the man's voice. "Tell me where to meet you, Jim."

~~~

Gilliam stood in the kitchen, attempting to give the two men in the next room a bit of privacy. Jim's friend, a tall, dark-skinned PSF captain from Cascade, had arrived about an hour previous, and the Sentinel was attempting to explain the situation to the man. Despite the distance, Gilliam could easily hear the conversation.

"My God, Jim…what you're saying…it's…"

"Fantastic?" Jim suggested.

"I was thinking farfetched," Simon Banks corrected, "but fantastic will do."

Jim nodded. "I know, believe me. I've been through all the same emotions you're going through right now. It's hard to believe, but it's true."

The captain shook his head, still not quite able to process the story. Gilliam sympathized. If he hadn't lived through most of it himself, he didn't know how readily he would have believed the tale.

"How safe are you here?" Banks asked.

Gilliam moved back into the living room to answer the question. "Very. This house belongs to my ex-wife's new brother-in-law. Took a lot of swallowed pride to get it, but it can't be easily traced to me. We'll be safe here for a few days."

"I don't want to be here that long," Jim said, standing and beginning to pace. "We don't have a lot of time…Blair doesn't have a lot of time. If what Porch said is true, he's probably already beginning to feel the effects of the Q Fever." Jim stopped his pacing and pinned Gilliam with a look. "What are we going to do if they don't let Porch go?"

"I may not be Blair's doctor, Jim, but I'll be able to handle the situation. Don't worry about it. You concentrate on finding him. I'll cover the rest."

Jim seemed to accept the reassurances. He resumed his pacing, talking as he moved. "I need your help, Simon. I'm convinced Yagudin will head for the zones. If he makes it, I'll have a hell of a time tracking him."

"You need to find him before he gets there," Banks concluded.

"Ideally," Jim agreed.

"Okay," the captain said, sitting forward on the couch and resting his elbows on his knees. "How mobile is Sandburg?"

"Not very," Jim said. "He can walk, but not without assistance."

"That will limit Yagudin's choices. My guess is that he'll ignore public transportation. The kid would draw too much attention."

"Which leaves private transportation," Gilliam put in. "Would he be stupid enough to use his own car?"

"It's hard to say," Jim answered. "Depends on how sane he is."

"Sane?" Simon asked. "The man's not sane?"

Jim shook his head. "There's no way of knowing, Simon." He stopped his pacing and dropped his head forward. "If it had been me, if I had lost…I don't think I could've held onto my sanity."

Gilliam watched the Sentinel quietly, both curious and surprised at the confession. It was the first time Jim had mentioned this fear.

"You don't know what it's like to live your life with your senses suppressed so low you can't even smell a flower, taste a beer…Hell, I didn't know what it was like, what I was missing until I had it given back to me. The time right after I came off of the Pycs was hell, but then…then I met Blair and everything changed. My senses fell into place. Even before he started working with me, before he taught me how to use them, I knew. I knew I could never go back. How can you accept blindness again after seeing a rainbow? I can't! My sanity wouldn't have survived."

Jim looked up, meeting first Simon's eyes, then Gilliam's. "I don't know what it was like for Yagudin, but if he tasted it, if he had that, even for an instant, I don't think his sanity could have survived either."

All three men were silent for a long time. Finally, Banks cleared his throat. "Okay, we'll assume, then, he's not entirely sane."

Gilliam marveled at how accepting Simon Banks was of Jim's statements, of this whole situation. Their friendship must be a strong one, he realized.

"Given that, where do we start?"

Jim turned to his captain, and Gilliam could see by the Sentinel's expression another bombshell was about to drop on his friend. "We start with the connection."

~~~

Blair had no idea where they were, or even how long they had been driving. He spent much of the traveling time sleeping. His energy levels were steadily dropping, despite the prolonged rest.

Blair was beginning to really worry there might be something seriously wrong with him. He was dizzy and weak, his vision was blurry, he couldn't keep anything in his stomach, and he suspected he was running a significant fever.

He lifted his head, squinting at the passing landscape. Though it was daylight, he could make out little. He did know it was getting warmer, and earlier he had noticed an increase in plant life as they moved further south. The trees were taller, fuller, and the undergrowth was thicker, growing right to the edge of the road in some places. Cities had grown further and further apart, but Blair had seen an increase in abandoned, dilapidated houses. Once -- was it yesterday? -- they had driven through an entire city which was empty. Buildings stood, empty and crumbling, as silent testimony to the new world in which he found himself. Which city had it been, he wondered. One he knew? Maybe one he had visited on his many travels with Naomi.

Based on Jim's descriptions, Blair concluded they were drawing closer to the unsettled zones. He had hoped Jim would've found him long before now. Maybe the Sentinel was not looking for him. Maybe no one was. The thought was depressing. Blair let his head fall back against the seat and closed his eyes.

Mikal had given up traveling solely at night, and now drove almost continuously, stopping only occasionally for food and gas when they could be found, or a few hours sleep.

Every once in a while, the connection sputtered in the back of Blair's mind. Each time it did, Mikal threw a glare his way. So far, Blair was successfully keeping it doused, but as he grew weaker, he questioned his ability to continue. Was it Jim? Was the Sentinel searching along the connection for him? He wanted to test it, needing proof someone cared about what happened to him, but was too afraid of Mikal's reaction to attempt it. The only times the man lost his temper was when the connection flared. The rest of the time, amazingly enough, he seemed concerned, almost worried about Blair.

The alternating personalities were still emotionally taxing, but at least now Blair had an idea what was setting Mikal off and could avoid it.

The connection hiccupped again, and Blair ruthlessly ignored it, knowing it would go away. He didn't bother to open his eyes. He knew Mikal had sensed it. He could tell by the sharpening of the atmosphere in the automobile. He also knew the Sentinel would settle down in a few minutes if the connection didn't come to life.

With a sigh of utter misery, Blair quit fighting the sleep which pulled at him, drifting into it with the hope of a warm dream to pass the time.

~~~

Mikal split his attention between the road and his Guide. After a few minutes, the boy's breath evened out in sleep. Mikal listened for a minute more, trying to force his hearing to focus in on the sleeping man's heartbeat. In frustration, he gave up. It was no use. He didn't understand why his senses hadn't yet returned. He had given up the Pycs, he had his Guide. What else was required? It had been enough before.

He glanced over once more at his Guide. The boy was sick. Maybe that had something to do with it. He had to find out what was wrong with him and get the boy well again. His senses would return then; Mikal was sure of it.

Sleep was the best he could offer the kid at the moment, which was why he'd been adding a sedative to his Guide's water. Hopefully, the extra rest would help. Maybe by the time they reached the zones, the kid would be feeling better.

The Sentinel momentarily allowed himself to consider the possibility something might be seriously wrong with his Guide. Maybe sleep alone wouldn't be enough. Maybe he needed to consider an alternative. Mikal reviewed his plans. He would soon have to leave the car behind. Roads hadn't been maintained beyond the edge of the zones and the car would no longer be practical. They would have to advance on foot. He doubted his Guide's ability to travel far that way, however.

Mikal frowned. He would have to get his Guide well first, which meant finding a doctor -- not an easy feat this close to the zones. It would cause a delay in Mikal's plans, but it couldn't be helped.

The Sentinel turned off the main highway, onto a smaller, less maintained road. He followed it for several miles, pulling off the road at the first empty house he passed which looked like it might be securable. The jungle had nearly overtaken the dwelling, growing right up to the walls, but with a little work, Mikal was able to clear a path from the car to the door. He searched the interior of the crumbling building. It was far from perfect, but it would do.

He returned to the car and roused his sleeping Guide. The boy blinked sleepily at him, and Mikal was struck again by the overwhelming urge to care for his Guide, protect him, defend him. He half-lead, half-carried the boy into the house, and helped settle him on a pallet of blankets he had prepared. The boy closed his eyes and was instantly asleep again.

Mikal took a minute to crush a couple of sleeping pills and mix them into his canteen of water. He awoke his Guide once more, urging him to drink. Satisfied the boy had gotten enough of the drugs to keep him sleeping for a long while, Mikal stood, double checked the security of the area, and headed back to his car.

It wasn't too far back to the last town they'd come through. If he was lucky, they would have a doctor.

~~~

It was the chills which disturbed Blair's dream. He hated to leave the warmth of his fantasies, but was drawn, nevertheless, toward wakefulness. He no longer felt the motion of the car, he realized. Maybe they had stopped for gas. No, he was laying down, so that meant he was out of the car. A motel, maybe? The surface beneath him was too hard to be a bed. Felt more like the floor. It wasn't worth opening his eyes to find out. Mikal had probably settled Blair on the floor before claiming the bed for himself.

He was miserable. His whole body ached, and he was cold -- freezing, in fact. He wanted to return to his dreams where he was warm and nothing hurt. He was drifting back to sleep, when he felt a warm puff of air hit his face. Curious, Blair forced his eyes open. A large dog -- no, a wolf, stood before him. The animal gently nuzzled Blair's face, whining softly in the back of its throat. The creature was beautiful. Blair wanted to reach up and pet him, but was afraid of disturbing this new dream.

The wolf nuzzled him again, then turned a slow circle, settling on the floor next to Blair. Pleased, Blair curled on his side, wrapping himself around the creature. It was soft and warm, and Blair felt safe, even if it was merely a dream. He burrowed his face into the silky fur, and let sleep claim him once more.

~~~

Frustration knotted Jim's stomach. No matter how he tried, he couldn't get the connection online. A few times, he had managed to find the slender thread of energy, felt it spark and crackle as it attempted to ignite, but each time it burnt out before flaming to life. Something was blocking him, and he had a sinking feeling he knew what it was.

Blair.

The Guide was rebuffing Jim's attempts to connect, turning him away in defeat. Why? Jim had to have the connection to find him. Did Blair not understand that? Or perhaps Blair did understand but didn't want to be found. Jim's heart sank with the thought. He knew Blair had been hurt and confused at their last meeting, and probably more than a little frightened by Arledge's plans for his future. What if Blair would rather be with Yagudin than return to the center? The kid had no way of knowing Jim wasn't going to take him back, and he might not have realized Yagudin was unstable. He might not know the danger the other Sentinel posed.

Jim wouldn't give up. The connection was his best bet for finding Blair, and he would keep at it. Eventually, the kid's barricade would crack, and he'd let Jim in.

In the meantime, Jim would have to rely on good, old-fashioned detective work.

~~~

The old doctor Mikal found took only a few minutes to confirm the Sentinel's worse fears. Lifting his eyes from his brief examination of the Guide, the doctor announced, "It's Q-fever. I don't understand. He should've had the vaccine when he was born."

Mikal's heart dropped. "Are you sure? You can't be mistaken?"

"No doubt about it. It's Q-fever."

"What can you do for him?"

The old man shook his head. "It's too advanced for my medicines. He needs to be in a hospital, preferably in one of the big cities up north. They have medicines and treatments which aren't available down here. Without treatment, the boy will die."

Rage filled Mikal's heart at the words. "No! I won't lose my Guide after all I've gone through to get him! I won't!" he grabbed the doctor roughly, pulled him closer and yelled into his face, "Do something! Give him something, goddammit! I won't lose him!"

Fear filled the old man's eyes. "There's nothing I can do. I have medicines which can make him more comfortable, but I can't cure him."

The idiot was useless, Mikal realized angrily. He didn't realize his intention until he saw the old man's eyes widen in pain and fear. Mikal looked down, surprised to see his knife embedded deeply in the doctor's stomach. Disgusted, he slung the now lifeless body away.

"Son-of-a-bitch! I wont' lose my Guide now, not after all we've been through to be together."

He turned toward his Guide, who was curled on his side, a small smile on his sleeping face. No, Mikal decided stubbornly, the boy would not die. They would resume their journey. The answer lay in the jungle. It was where they had first met, and it was where they would now live. Once they were in the jungle, everything would be all right.

Mikal picked up his Guide and headed for the car, kicking the old man's lifeless body as he passed. What did this old fool know? If he was a decent doctor, he would've been up north practicing real medicine. Mikal should never have bothered bringing him here in the first place. The old fool wasn't even worthy to touch his Guide.

~~~

"Why did you do it?"

Porch considered the question. He knew his reasons, but he doubted the man who asked would understand. "Ellison is the boy's best hope for survival."

Anger flashed in Arledge's eyes. "It wasn't your decision to make."

"Someone had to put Sandburg's best interest first, and it obviously wasn't going to be you."

The President's jaw clenched as he glared at the doctor. Porch returned the stare calmly, refusing to be intimidated.

"You have opposed me at every turn from day one," Arledge said. "I don't know why I allowed you to remain on this project."

"Because I was the best choice."

"You were unpredictable, and therefore a poor choice."

"Uncontrollable, you mean."

Arledge's glare hardened. "I think you've been looking for a way to get the Sentinel and Guide out of here for weeks."

"I'm sorry for what has happened. I'm especially sorry that Blair's life is apparently in danger. However, I am not sorry he and Ellison are out of your clutches. If there is a God, Ellison will find Blair, safe and well, and the two of them will find a way to stay lost from you, permanently."

Furious, Arledge stood and motioned to the nearby guard. To Porch, he said, "Was it worth losing everything? Was it worth your career? Your freedom?"

Porch took his time getting to his own feet, facing the irate man. He let a smile lift the corners of his mouth as he answered truthfully. "As a matter of fact, sir, it was."

~~~

Blair lay huddled miserably on his side, panting slightly in an attempt to control the nausea roiling through his guts. He knew they were in the jungle, Mikal had said as much, but he didn't remember how they'd gotten there. He suspected he had slept through much of it. They were no longer traveling by car, but rather by foot. At least, Mikal was. Blair was mostly traveling slung over the older man's shoulder. It was painful and humiliating, but there was no choice. Mikal insisted on staying on the move, and Blair was incapable much of the time of walking.

They had stopped for the night a short while ago. A fire raged nearby, but Blair absorbed none of its warmth. He curled into a tighter ball, shivering uncontrollably.

Blair pried open gummy eyelids, but was unable to see much more than a blur of light and dark. His vision had been getting progressively worse, leaving him practically blind. Whatever was wrong with him wasn't getting any better, and Blair had the nasty suspicion it would not. How ironic, he thought, to have survive a hundred years to die like this.

"Try this, Guide."

Blair blinked hard at the blur of movement before him. He felt Mikal's hands lift his head and shoulders from the hard ground, supporting him as something hard was pressed to his lips.

"Drink."

Blair's stomach rebelled, but he obediently sipped at the liquid, grimacing at the bitterness.

"More," the Sentinel commanded. "It'll make you feel better."

Blair tried, but a churning in his stomach warned him it was a bad idea. He turned his head and weakly expelled the few sips he had managed. The strong hands held him through the spasms, then helped him lay back on the ground.

"We'll try again later," Mikal promised. "Rest, Guide. We'll be moving out come morning." There was a long pause, then, "We're close. I can feel it."

It wasn't the first time the Sentinel had made the cryptic remark. Blair wanted to ask what they were close to, but couldn't muster the strength to form the question. It didn't much matter anyway, he figured. He would go when Mikal said to go, stop when told to stop. He was given no choice.

~~~

"What do you feel, Jim?"

Jim glanced over his shoulder at Gilliam.

"You're feeling something, am I right?"

Jim didn't bother to deny it. The man had not only dedicated his life to studying Sentinels, but was himself a borderline Sentinel. Jim returned his gaze to the thick underbrush beyond the doorway in which he stood silent guard. "We were lucky to get this far, but if I can't use the connection, it may all be for nothing. This could be a dead end."

"Lucky, hell," Gilliam snorted. "It was Banks' string pulling and your military contacts. I had no idea you were in the military, Jim. It's not in your records."

"It was another lifetime, and it's not something I can talk about. Rouse knows, and Arledge, I'm sure."

"Thank God for it, all the same."

Jim nodded. They wouldn't be here if not for those contacts. Arledge's people had managed to track Yagudin to the edge of the zones before losing him. Learning that, Jim, Simon and Gilliam had followed, finding a secure location. It was an abandoned farmhouse, too close to the edge of the zones to really be safe, but further away than Jim would have settled for had he been alone. Here, they would stay until they could figure out their next step.

Jim was acutely aware of the ticking clock. Were they already too late? Was that the reason he couldn't utilize the connection with Blair?

"Why do you think Blair is blocking the connection?" Gilliam asked, seemingly reading Jim's thoughts.

"I don't know…he's sick…could that have something to do with it?"

Gilliam shrugged. "Maybe, I can't say. So little is know about this connection. Hell, most experts don't even believe it exists. It's not like they could prove it one way or another without a Guide. Don't give up, Jim. Keep trying. You'll get through eventually, I'm sure of it." The doctor turned to go back inside. "Don't stand here all night, Jim. You need your rest, too. Tomorrow is going to be another long day."

Jim nodded, but made no move to follow the man. Jim wouldn't sleep until his Guide was safe. He had no intention of giving up. Once more, he felt for the tiny spark of connection still flickering in the back of his mind.

~~~

His Guide should have been better by now, but he wasn't. Mikal shifted the dead weight of the unconscious man and regained his balance. It wasn't easy traveling like this, but there was no choice. The boy was no longer able to walk on his own. The Guide was getting worse.

Exhausted, Mikal stopped, letting his Guide down gently. He had thought everything would be all right once they were in the jungle where they belonged. He had thought his senses would come back and the boy would get well, but neither had happened. Maybe they weren't in the right place. Mikal looked around. It was similar, but still not the same as his vision.

No, this wasn't the right place. He had to find the right place, or the Guide would be lost.

Mikal stood, lifting the boy to his shoulder once more. Once he found the right place, everything would be all right.

~~~

Blair was vaguely aware he was hanging upside down. The sensation made him ill. He couldn't decide whether to barf or go back to sleep. Something nudged gently at the back of Blair's mind, drawing his attention away from his misery.

Someone's knocking at my brain, Blair thought. He vaguely recalled he was supposed to ignore it, but couldn't remember why. His thoughts were muddled, and he was too miserable to try to recall right now. Maybe later.

The nudging became more insistent.

Come in…he answered feverishly.

~~~

Jim's eyes snapped open. He had it! Not only confirmation Blair was still alive, but a direction. He quickly scrambled to his feet. More importantly, Jim had a renewed sense of urgency. His Guide was sick. Very sick.

Jim moved silently through the darkened house to the one room which was still intact. He adjusted his vision to the dim lighting, spotting his friend in the nearest bedroll on the floor.

Bending over Simon Banks, Jim shook the man's shoulder and whispered, "Simon…wake up!"

The older man stirred, and after a moment, his eyes opened, blinking in the darkness. "Jim?"

"Simon, listen. I know where Blair is. I have to go. I'll be back in two days…three at the most. Tell Gilliam to be ready."

Simon sat up, reaching for his glasses on the floor beside him. "Wait…what? Where are you going?"

"I told you, I know where Blair is. I have to hurry. He's sick, and his time is running out. Make sure Gilliam has everything he needs and is ready. I'll -- we'll be back."

Before the man could wake enough to argue, Jim was on his feet. He was almost out the door when a call stopped him.

"Jim, wait…you'll need this!"

He turned to see Gilliam holding out a syringe.

"Give Blair this when you find him. It'll buy you some time."

Jim clenched his jaw, nodded once and took the syringe. "Thanks." He turned again for the door and was gone before there could be any more delays.

~~~

"You bastard!" Mikal screamed, letting Blair drop heavily to the ground. He turned to kick the prone man hard in the side.

Blair couldn't see the blows coming. He could only curl around the pain, wrapping his arms around his head to protect it from the man's rage.

"You goddamn bastard! You've led him to us!" Mikal continued to rave wildly as he landed blow after blow on Blair's unprotected back and sides.

After too many minutes, both the blows and the raving slowed, then stopped. Blair remained in his protective position, however, not knowing if it would start again. He searched his confused mind for a reason for the attack.

The connection…

Jim had been there…in his mind…for only the briefest of moments, but he had been there, Blair remembered.

Mikal had felt it, too. Blair remembered now why he'd been avoiding the connection.

But now he knew…Jim was searching for him, and the Sentinel -- his Sentinel -- was close. Despite his pain, Blair was elated. Jim was coming. He was coming for Blair…his Guide. His! Not this lunatic Sentinel who had claimed him and was slowly killing him.

Blair tentatively reached for the connection again…it flickered, then blazed brightly to life, filling him with a warmth which drowned out the pain of Mikal's abuse. Mikal would feel it, Blair reasoned, but he didn't care. He was dying anyhow, so what did it matter? At least he would die as Jim's Guide…by Blair's own choice.

The atmosphere around Blair blazed with a fury so strong it threatened Blair's hold on the connection, but he fought back, pushing the fury away and latching onto the thread of connection with all the energy he had left.

Sharp pain lanced through Blair. He scarcely paid it heed. There would be more to follow, he knew, as the Sentinel vented his frustration and rage on the man he would have claimed as Guide. Ignoring it, Blair dove headlong into the blaze of connection.

~~~

Mikal's fury left him panting hard. He stood over the now unconscious Guide. The pain was gone now, but it had blazed brightly only moments before, blinding Mikal to all but an unquenchable rage.

He backed away from the bloody body at his feet, dropping to the ground and pulling his knees up to rest his head on. It was the bastard's own fault, he reasoned. He had warned the kid, had given him fair warning, over and over.

Ellison was on to them now. The son of a bitch would find them.

Unless…

Mikal lifted his head, letting his gaze fall on the injured and bleeding Guide. Ellison would find them because he was in the boy's head. Mikal had to remove the other Sentinel from the Guide's mind. Purge whatever influence the bastard had established.

Then the Guide would have no choice but to connect with Mikal.

~~~

Jim had never felt so alive…or so panicked. His senses were at their zenith, singing in perfect harmony. The closer he got to Blair, the stronger they became. Until a few moments ago, the connection had hummed along with his senses, strong and vibrant between Sentinel and Guide. Until a few moments ago.

The connection had wavered, shuddering briefly before fading completely out. No matter how he tried, Jim couldn't re-light it. He abandoned his efforts. It no longer mattered. He knew where to find his Guide without the connection.

Ahead, he heard a wolf howl and pressed on with a renewed sense of urgency.

~~~

Simon watched the doctor check and recheck his supplies in the makeshift hospital room he had set up.

"We should've gone with Jim."

Gilliam looked up from his work. "We would've slowed him down. Besides, he doesn't need our help."

"If this other Sentinel is as crazy as you and Jim say--"

"He is," Gilliam stated adamantly.

"Then Jim sure as hell will need our help."

The doctor shook his head. "This has to be between the two of them. Jim is more than a match for Mikal, and he has his wits about him, which is an added advantage. You have to understand, Banks, this is no longer Jim Ellison fighting to rescue Blair Sandburg. This is a Sentinel fighting for his Guide. Totally different dynamics."

Simon sighed. He gave up. It was out of their hands anyhow. They'd never find Jim on their own. Their only option was to wait for the man to return, and pray for his success.

~~~

Blair couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not. Truth be told, he wasn't sure if he was awake or not. Awake, he suspected. Surely unconsciousness didn't hurt like this.

A rough hand clamped on the back of Blair's neck, lifting his head and forcing his mouth open. Bitter water slid down his throat, making him cough and spit. More replaced it. The hand released its hold, and Blair's head hit the ground hard, causing him to see stars.

Blair wished for his eyesight. It was frightening, the not knowing. Not knowing where he was, what was happening…what was about to happen.

The hands returned, grabbing Blair's arms and dragging him across the ground. The movement ignited a multitude of pains in a multitude of places. Soft groaning filled the air. Blair had feeling it was his own voice he was hearing.

The movement stopped after a few minutes, and his arms were dropped to the ground. His hands were pulled together, and something coarse was looped around them, biting painfully into the flesh.

Blair's confused mind could make no sense of the sensations. After a few minutes, he became aware of soft mutterings. He strained to hear them over the loud ringing in his ears. He felt if he could hear the words, maybe he'd learn what was happening to him.

"…get him out…your head…Ellison's influence…"

The ramblings were disjointed, and concentrating on them only made Blair's head hurt worse. Something tugged hard on Blair's wrists, then he felt himself being lifted, his arms pulled over his head. Blair was frightened by the movements he couldn't identify. The strain on his arms increased to an almost unbearable level. Panic set in, as his weight was sifted to his arms, tightening his chest and making it difficult to breath.

"…purge his influence…my senses will return…"

Blair groaned aloud, unable to bear the pain in his arms any longer in silence.

"…almost over…"

Please, God, let it be almost over!

~~~

The connection was nothing more than a glowing ember, but it was still there. Jim took heart from the knowledge it hadn't gone completely out. Blair was still alive.

Jim picked up his pace, certain his destination was close. He could hear soft mutterings in the distance and focused his hearing on them. After a few seconds, the words became discernible.

"…purge his influences…" Mikal, Jim instantly recognized. "…my senses return…"

The man's senses were gone? Jim smiled to himself. Good to know. It would give him the upper hand.

"…almost over…"

Jim could hear something else over the nearly incoherent mumblings. Breathing, strained and harsh. Blair…and something was very wrong! Jim attempted to pinpoint his Guide's heartbeat, but couldn't slow his own enough to successfully locate it.

The pair came into view as Jim broke into a small clearing and froze.

Dear God…

Jim ignored the other Sentinel, whose back was to him, focusing solely on his Guide. Blair was hanging by his wrists from a tree. His eyes were closed, and he was so still panic filled Jim's heart. Only the harsh breathing indicated he was still alive. His face was swollen and bloody, his shirt torn to reveal darkening flesh beneath.

A deep, burning rage flared within Jim for the bastard who had abused his Guide so badly. He turned his attention to the Sentinel, noticing for the first time what the man was doing, and his heart stopped.

Still muttering insensibly to himself, Mikal was piling wood beneath Blair's dangling feet. "…burn him out of your head, Guide…make room…a new connection…we'll start over…"

Jesus! The son of a bitch was going to burn Blair alive! The mutterings begin to make sense to Jim. The bastard thought he could kill their connection, Jim and Blair's, and replace it with his own.

Jim's own sanity left him, and he had only one thought in mind: kill the bastard. Jim raced forward on pure instinct. He launched himself at the crazy man, taking them both to the ground. Mikal rolled to his feet, but Jim was already up and waiting. Without giving Mikal a chance to clear his head, he landed a ram-like fist into the other man's mouth, putting him on his back once more. Jim lunged again, but in his haste slipped, and his chin encountered a lifting knee. He fell back, staggering as he fought to regain his balance.

Mikal was on him in an instant. It was a rough and tumble flurry of fists and kicks for long moments, then both men fell back, panting hard. Jim wiped his sleeve across his forehead. Something moist was dripping down the side of his face, but he didn't know if it was sweat or blood, nor did he care. His only thought was to stop this man who would dare harm his Guide.

"You are too late, Ellison," the other Sentinel said, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "I will replace you in his head, and then he will be mine. Soon, he won't even remember you."

Jim circled to his right, trying to move Mikal away from Blair. "You're wrong, Yagudin. You can't remove the connection, and even if you could, you can't force Blair to connect with you."

The other man growled, low in his throat, circling with Jim.

"If you were a true Sentinel, you'd die rather than hurt your Guide. You don't deserve a Guide. You don't deserve Blair. Look at him! Look what you've done to him! Is this the way a Sentinel treats his Guide?"

The man's eyes darted quickly to where Blair hung from the tree, unaware of the fight taking place for his life. There was a flicker of something, some emotion in Mikal's eyes, and Jim was hit with the sudden realization that the Sentinel didn't really know he was hurting Blair. Yagudin didn't understand he was killing the Guide in an attempt to claim him.

Jim kept speaking, pushing in hopes he could break through the insanity. "A Sentinel who could hurt a Guide is not a true Sentinel."

Mikal took another step to the right. His eyes were darting between Jim and Blair now, and he seemed to be listening to Jim. Jim could only hope Mikal understood what he was saying. "Blair is sick. He needs help. A true Sentinel would want to help his Guide, no matter the cost. The Guide comes first. His safety, his health is the most important consideration to a Sentinel, a true Sentinel."

The man's eyes softened as they rested on Blair's battered form, and Jim's heart gave a leap of hope. He was still in there somewhere, and Jim was beginning to reach him.

He could almost feel sorry for Mikal, if the circumstances weren't been so dire. If it had been him, if Jim hadn't been the chosen Sentinel, would he have become as desperate as Mikal? Jim wanted to think he'd never have harmed Blair, no matter how insane he might have become, but one thing he knew for certain: if Blair hadn't connected with him, Jim would never have kept his sanity.

A sudden understanding snuck into Jim's thoughts. It hadn't been Arledge… nor Rouse, Gilliam, or Porch. The choice had never been theirs to make.

"It was never anyone's choice but mine and Blair's," he mused, not realizing he was speaking aloud. "Maybe not even ours. Maybe it was out of everyone's hands. Maybe it was destiny…"

Jim realized his mistake when the other Sentinel gave a roar of unmitigated fury, launching himself at Jim with a new determination. He braced himself to meet the attack with a resolve of his own. He would protect his Guide at all cost, because to fail would mean both their deaths.

As the Sentinels clashed, the connection flamed to life.

~~~

A new sound encroached on Blair's misery, even as the connection rekindled in his head. Loud growls, like the cry of a wildcat, filled his ears, but Blair wasn't afraid. Panic had fled with the restoration of the connection.

The air filled with an electrical charge. Blair felt the tension pull at the connection. He tuned out the sounds around him, drawing his attention inward. He focused on the bright flicker of the connection, pouring all of the strength he could manage into it. The ember flared into blinding brilliance.

Suddenly, Blair was aware of hands on his. The weight on his arms was lifted, then he was being lowered to the ground. Soft words were spoken in his ears, but he didn't understand them, nor did he try to. He was safe. Nothing else was important.

~~~

Jim continued to speak soft assurances to his Guide, long after his senses told him the young man had fallen asleep. Only when he was certain there was no chance the kid would pick up on his emotions, did Jim allow his rage to burn.

He had never been so frightened in his life as he had been when he had burst into the clearing to find Blair hanging by his wrists from a tree. Jim's blood boiled thinking about what the other Sentinel had been attempting to do.

If Jim had been just a few minutes later…Dear God…Jim closed his eyes as relief washed over him, so profound it left him lightheaded.

Opening his eyes again, he let his gaze drift over his Guide. The kid was battered and bloody, but a beautiful sight to his Sentinel. Jim took a moment to run his senses over Blair, frowning at what he found. Fever raged through the battered, too-thin body. Beneath the darkening bruises, blood and grime, his skin was much too pale. Was it too late? Had he found Blair, only to lose him now because the Q-fever had been allowed to ravage his Guide unchecked for too long?

Jim scrambled for his pack, lost in the fight. He found it, its contents scattered around the clearing. It took another minute to locate the syringe. It had been stepped on by one or the other of the Sentinels, but was luckily still whole. Jim quickly uncapped the needle, and administered the precious medication, praying he wasn't too late.

He spent the next few minutes making a soft bed for Blair and moving him, then he poured a small amount of water from his canteen onto a scrap of his shirt and begin to wash his Guide.

Jim's fury blazed nearly out of control as he uncovered more and more evidence of the abuse the kid had suffered with each layer of blood and grime he rinsed away.

Finally, satisfied he had done all he could for his Guide, Jim sat back and waited.

~~~

Something was different. Blair didn't have to open his eyes to know it. The air was different. Gone was the crackle of static he had come to associate with Mikal. Did that mean the Sentinel was gone as well? Blair was afraid to hope.

Gingerly, he cracked his eyelids, or at least one of them. The other was held together by glue he couldn't break. Not that it would apparently matter. He still couldn't make out much more than bright and dark shapes around him.

One of the shapes began to move, and Blair felt his heart speed up with momentary fear. Almost instantly, the fear faded, replaced by a security and peace he hadn't known in a very long time.

Jim.

The Sentinel confirmed it. "Morning, Chief."

Blair rolled his head cautiously toward the voice, wishing he could see the man's face. "Jim…" God, his voice sounded weak. He wasn't sure even a Sentinel could have heard it.

"Relax, and lay still."

"You…found me," Blair managed.

"Did you doubt I would?" Jim's voice smiled.

Blair tried to smile back, but it pulled painfully at his split lower lip. He settled for a small shake of the head, hoping it wouldn't fall off with the movement. "Never," he lied. Okay, he had doubted, but that was before he had given in and accepted the connection. From the moment it had blazed into full life, Blair had known Jim would come. He just hadn't known if it would be in time. "Sick…"

"Yeah, Chief, I know. I gave you something last night to help. Your vital signs are stronger already, but you need the full treatment soon. Doctor Gilliam is waiting for us with more. You're going to be fine, kid. Just as soon as you're up to it, we'll get the hell out of here."

"Jim…Mikal?" Blair hoped Jim would understand the question.

There was a long pause, and Blair was afraid the man hadn't heard him. He opened his mouth to repeat the question, but Jim beat him to it.

"He's gone."

Blair waited, but Jim did not seem inclined to elaborate. Blair decided not to push. Jim was here. Mikal was not. It was enough.

~~~

Simon swatted impatiently at a fly which seemed determined to land on his neck, his attention remaining on the jungle around him. Jim had said two to three days. It had been two and a half. Simon was getting restless, imagining all kinds of scenarios, none of them good.

A rustling in the bushes drew Simon from his thoughts. Cautiously, he drew his gun. Twice before he had been alerted to movement, only to discover it was merely small animals, looking for a meal. Still, it didn't pay to become too complacent. They'd been lucky so far, but Simon was well aware of how dangerous the border zones were.

Simon stepped toward the sound just as Jim broke through the bushes into the clearing, nearly giving the older man a heart attack on the spot. The Sentinel half-led, half-carried a young man Simon assumed to be the missing Guide.

"Jim!" Simon put away his gun, running toward his friend, relief lending him speed. "Gilliam! Jim's back!"

Simon reached the two men, immediately taking the young Guide's free arm and wrapping it around his own shoulders.

"Thanks, Simon," Jim offered wearily. "Blair, our savior here is Simon Banks, friend, boss, and all around good guy. Simon, meet Blair Sandburg. My Guide."

"It's a pleasure…Mr. Banks…" the boy replied, not bothering to lift his head from where it lolled against his chest. "My apologies for…not standing up to…meet you."

"You are standing, Chief," Jim said with a tired smile.

"Oh." The kid took a few more steps. "Then, my apologies…for stinking."

Jim laughed. "That you do, kid."

"Sure would like…a hot bath…"

"I'll see what I can do," Jim promised. "Might take a few more days, though."

"Settle for a bed…"

Exhaustion thickened the kid's voice, and it was no wonder. He looked terrible. Come to think of it, Simon realized, lifting his eyes to his friend, Jim didn't look much better. Cuts and scratches covered the arms and face of the Sentinel. If Simon didn't know better, he'd swear Jim had gone ten rounds with a wildcat.

"A bed, I can do," Jim assured his Guide. "And all the sleep you can stand. You've earned it."

Looking at the boy, Simon was inclined to agree.

~~~

Jim was bone weary after their two day hike through the jungle, but sleep was the last thing on his mind. He wasn't yet ready to relinquish his watch over his Guide. Blair slept peacefully, life-saving medicines dripping into his veins from an IV bag.

Gilliam had done all he could for Blair. Time would have to do the rest. Jim wished he dared take the young man north to a reputable hospital, but he knew it wouldn't make a difference. They could do no more for his Guide than Gilliam. Besides, he couldn't take the risk Arledge would find them. They were safe where they were, at least until Blair was strong enough to travel. Then…

God! Jim rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. Then…what? What would they do? Where would they go? Jim had threatened to disappear into the unsettled zones, and if it became necessary, he would, but it was no kind of life. The kid had been through so much. He deserved better.

"How's he doing?"

Jim turned, spotting Simon in the doorway. "Better, I think. His vital signs are stronger. He was restless earlier, but he's settled down now."

Simon moved to Jim's side. "Good. Tough one, isn't he?"

Jim smiled down at his Guide. "You don't know the half of it, Simon."

"No, I guess, I don't, but I hope to find out."

The two men were quiet for a long moment, each lost in his own thoughts. Simon broke the silence. "I can't believe he's over a hundred years old. My God, Jim…it just doesn't seem real."

Jim's jaw tightened. He didn't blame Simon, but his was the attitude Jim feared. He didn't want Blair to feel more like a freak than he already did. The kid had enough to deal with as it was. "It's real, Simon. He's real. He's just a kid, for all practical purposes. A frightened kid."

"I understand, Jim. I know he's got a lot to work through. He's not alone, though. I'll do what I can to help you help him."

Jim spared a smile of thanks for his friend.

"How old is he?" Simon asked. "I mean…not technically, but really? No, that's not what I mean, either…hell…"

Jim chuckled. "I know what you mean, Simon. He's twenty-four, going on seventeen." At Simon's confused look, Jim explained. "He was seventeen when they froze him, but it didn't work right. He kept aging for another six years, so technically, he's twenty-four--"

"'splains it…"

Jim barely heard the soft whisper. He turned to find one blue eye cracked open, the other still swollen shut. "What's that, Chief?"

"'splains it…"

"Explains what?" Jim was confused.

Blair swallowed before answering. "What I saw…in the mirror…older…"

Jim frowned. One more thing for the kid to deal with. Damn it! Where did it stop?

"…guess I can buy beer now…"

The humor caught Jim by surprise. "Guess so, old man." He laughed.

"Jim…"

"What is it, Chief?" Jim asked, leaning closer to his Guide.

"I can…" Blair stopped, licking dry lips. "I…can choose…"

"Choose?" Jim's heart stopped, wondering if this was going where he suspected. "Yeah, Blair, you can. The choice has always been yours. Whatever you decide, we'll work it out. I'll support you no matter what--"

"Jim!" The one open eye blinked slowly. "My choice…and I choose…you."

~~~

Gilliam snatched his arm out of his "escort's" hold and made a show of straightening his shirt as the man across the desk from him not-so-silently fumed.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you thrown in a cell next to your accomplice! One reason!"

"Because I can save your ass," Gilliam stated bluntly. His days of being intimidated by Arledge and his power were over. Gilliam was the one wielding the power now, and he was about to see how the President liked being on the wrong side of it for a change.

Without waiting for an invitation which would probably never come, Gilliam sat down. "Make yourself comfortable, Mr. President. I think you'll be wanting to sit down for this."

Arledge stood for several long moments, ignoring the doctor's advice. Finally, still fuming, he lowered himself to his chair. "You had better make this good, Gilliam, and you had better make this fast, because I am quickly losing patience with you. Where in the hell are my Sentinel and Guide?"

"None of your business…sir. They are safe. From Yagudin, and from you. I'm here as their emissary. They have…demands. I'm here to lay them out for you, and to take your answer back to them."

"What makes you think you'll be walking out of here? I have my choice of more than a dozen charges I can bring against you, not the least of which is treason."

Gilliam laughed out loud. "Treason? Respectfully, sir," his tone anything but, "you are stretching." Gilliam leaned forward, resting his hands on the huge oak desk. "Now, Ellison and Sandburg have a few demands. First, Porch will be released and all charges against him dropped. He will be reinstated in his position…if he so desires. Frankly, I can't see Daniel ever wanting to work for you again, but it's his choice. Secondly, and a bit selfishly, you won't bring any charges against me. You will, however accept my resignation. I'll be pursuing a career in the private sector."

The large, throbbing vein on the President's forehead was not a sign of good health, Gilliam decided with some amusement. "Thirdly -- and this is the part you really need to listen carefully to -- Ellison and Sandburg will be left alone to live a normal life. The key word here, sir, is 'normal', as in typical, ordinary, average, run of the mill…well, I think you get the picture. Your people will not approach them, harass them, or even so much as look sideways at them."

"Are you quite finished?" Arledge asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Gilliam leaned back. "No, not quite. In exchange for these…accommodations…Ellison and Sandburg, as well as myself and Doctor Porch will agree not to hang you out by your--" He paused, collecting himself and putting a lid on his anger for the moment. "We'll agree not to inform the world of exactly what you've been up to for the past few months."

"You're bluffing," Arledge accused. "You have as much to lose as I do if this becomes public knowledge."

"Maybe so, sir, but it's a risk we're willing to take."

Arledge was quiet for a long time. Gilliam sat patiently, an annoying smile gracing his face as he waited. Finally, the President stabbed angrily at the intercom button on his desk. "Have Doctor Porch brought up here. Now."

Gilliam gave a silent cheer. He hadn't been entirely convinced he wouldn't be ending this day in a jail cell. Careful to keep his face impassive, he waited until the President returned his attention to him. "One more thing -- we have taken precautions to assure there are no unfortunate 'accidents'. Not only have we left detailed documents in various safe locations, but we have also informed a few key people, worldwide, of your…secret. Should any of us meet with an accident, come up missing, or simply feel threatened, these documents will be publicly released. If I were you, sir, I would pray really hard neither Jim Ellison nor Blair Sandburg are ever in a car wreck."

Arledge's dark eyes flashed. "Get out."

Gilliam suppressed a grin. He stood, giving the President a mock salute. "Yes, sir." He turned for the door. "Oh, and, sir?" He waited until Arledge looked up. "You might want to get that vein over your left eye checked out. It really shouldn't throb like that." Sensing an eminent explosion, Gilliam opened the door and left.

~~~

"Are you sure I can't change your mind?"

Daniel spared a quick glance for General Rouse, but didn't slow his pace. "Do you honestly think I would continue working for you after everything that's happened?"

"Despite our differences--"

Daniel snorted loudly.

"We were working toward the same goal," the general finished, ignoring the derisive noise.

They reached the exit door and stopped. Daniel looked at Rouse, wondering if the man truly believed what he was saying. "Our goals, General, were worlds apart. My interest in this project was the safe revival of Blair Sandburg."

It was Rouse's turn to snort. "You sound very sanctimonious, Doctor, but I think we both know better. Your interest was a functioning Guide--"

"I think our definition of 'functioning' is where we differ."

"Possibly," Rouse conceded. "However, the end result is no different."

"Except in your scenario, Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg would be captive pawns of the military for the rest of their lives."

"You could get hurt jumping to conclusions."

"Are you trying to tell me that wasn't Arledge's plan?"

"Arledge is full of himself," Rouse replied. "Fortunately, he doesn't wield the power he thinks he does."

Daniel narrowed his eyes. "And your intention…?"

"To protect Blair Sandburg and Jim Ellison, of course."

"Of course," Daniel replied sarcastically. "As prisoners of the government, they'd be very safe, I'm sure."

"You can't be as naïve as you pretend, Doctor Porch. Do you honestly believe they can live a 'normal' life? How long do you honestly think they'll be able to hide what they are? Eventually, they're going to draw the wrong kind of attention, and then how safe will they be? At least in our custody, they would've been protected."

"Freedom often comes with a price. We happen to think it's worth the risks."

Rouse sighed. "For their sake, I hope you're right."

Daniel silently echoed the hope. He moved toward the door and his own freedom. "Forgive me, General, if I'm not anxious to hang around and chat."

"Doctor…"

Porch stopped and glanced over his shoulder. Rouse was holding out a slip of paper. After a slight hesitation, Daniel accepted it. Scrawled across it was a series of phone numbers. He looked at Rouse questioningly.

"Just in case you're wrong," the general said.

"What makes you think I would ever trust the government for help?" Porch asked in disbelief.

"Those aren't government numbers."

Porch shook his head. "I'm not wrong." Nevertheless, he folded the paper and slipped it into his shirt pocket.

Rouse extended his hand. "I regret we can't part under better circumstances, Doctor."

Daniel studied the man's face and found nothing but sincerity. "Likewise, General," he said, accepting the hand.

"I pray you never need those numbers, Daniel."

"That makes two of us, sir." Daniel turned and pushed through the door. "That makes two of us."

~~~

Jim hung up the phone and went in search of Blair. He found the young man sitting in the darkness on the deck, gazing up at a cloudless night sky. The Sentinel took a moment to study his Guide.

Blair was still far too thin to satisfy Jim. He'd have to work on fattening the kid up. Blair tired easily, and spent a great deal of time sleeping, but Gilliam had assured them it was part of the body's natural healing process. Some of the bruises had healed, others were just coming into their full color, making the kid look like a living rainbow.

"Are you going to stand there and watch me all night, Jim?"

Jim smiled. Busted. "Just checking, Chief."

"You're 'checking' every ten minutes. I'm fine, man, let it go."

"You're not fine, Blair…but you will be. Until then, let me check. What does it hurt?" Jim crossed the wooden deck and sat in the chair beside Blair. "What were you thinking about?"

Blair shrugged, returning his gaze to the star-filled sky. "Dunno…life…death…old age. Still trying to wrap my mind around the fact I'm twenty-four."

"Going on seventeen," Jim reminded him with a chuckle.

"Yeah, but I can buy beer, man." The blue eyes twinkled with mischief.

Jim wasn't fooled by the good humor. He knew this would be something the young man would have to work through over time, but he had no doubt Blair would eventually come to grips with it. "I have good news."

Blair dropped his gaze, meeting Jim's with curiosity. "Oh?"

"I just talked to Gilliam."

Blair sat up. "He had good news? They bought it?"

Jim grinned. "Yep. Seems Arledge is willing to deal to keep this out of the headlines. He can't risk the wrong people finding he has a working cryogenic chamber. Well, semi-working. I have my doubts they'll figure it out in this lifetime, especially since Porch destroyed his notes."

"And Doctor Porch?"

"On a plane as we speak, heading for Cascade."

Blair closed his eyes, relief pouring off of him. "Thank God!" He opened his eyes, settling back in his chair. "Those two are good people, Jim."

Jim nodded, knowing who Blair was referring to. "Yeah, Chief, they are. They risked a lot for us."

"I know, and believe me, I'm grateful. And what they're planning to do now…Jim, it's fantastic! Think of what this will mean for Sentinels, man. If Gilliam can take what he's learned from us and find a way to apply it to other Sentinels, man…"

"No one knows better than me, Chief." Jim wasn't sure how much could be done for other Sentinels without a Guide, but he wanted to believe there was hope. There had to be an alternative other than drugs or insanity. If anyone could find it, Jim was convinced it would be Gilliam.

"And hey, how cool is it that Doctor Porch will be in Cascade? Someone who is familiar with my weird medical history…just in case."

"There will be no 'just in case', Chief," Jim stated adamantly. "But yeah, it will be 'cool' to have him there." He watched Blair for a minute, nervous about approaching his next subject. "Are you okay with this, Blair? About going back to Cascade with me, I mean? You're not just doing this because you feel you don't have any other alternatives, are you? Because if that's the case--"

Blair held up a hand, stopping Jim. "Hey, man, I told you, I chose you, remember? I meant that."

Jim nodded. He remembered. He just needed to be sure.

"What am I going to do though, Jim? I mean, I don't exactly have any experience at anything other than being a lab rat, and I don't think I can turn that into a viable occupation. And where am I going to live until I can find a job?"

"With me," Jim said. "That is, if you want to. My loft is plenty big enough. There's a spare room we could easily turn into a bedroom for you. As for what you can do, I've been thinking about it. What about going back to school? With your brains, you would have no trouble getting into college. There's a really good one in Cascade, Rainier University. I have some friends there I could talk to, if you're interested." Jim didn't miss the way Blair's eyes lit up.

"Are you serious, man? Really? I could go to college? That would be--"

It was Jim's turn to hold up a hand. "I know…'way cool, man!'" Both men laughed. Once they had sobered, Jim asked, "Have any idea what you might like to study?"

"Oh, definitely!" Blair answered, enthusiastically. "Archeology and anthropology! I've always had an interest in those areas. It's what I wanted to do before my life got screwed with. Now…" he paused, his excitement visibly evaporating. "Now, I guess I have an "in". I lived it, man."

Jim nodded, understanding.

"I need to know what happened, Jim. To my mom, and to my world. I need to find out, if I can."

"I think it's a good choice, Blair."

They grew quiet, contemplative. After a few minutes of the companionable silence, Jim asked, "So, how about we head home tomorrow? Get started on this new life?"

"Home." Blair grinned broadly. "I like the sound of that, man." His grin faded. "But…would it be all right if we stayed here a couple of more days? I know you're probably anxious to get back and pick up your life, but…"

"Sure, Blair, we can do that."

"I just don't really feel like I've got my legs under me yet, you know? It's still a little…I don't know…new. And it's so peaceful here. So quiet. I can almost believe I'm back in my own time. I know I have to face reality eventually, Jim. I'm just not ready yet."

"I understand," Jim assured his friend. "Take all the time you need. We have a lifetime."

~~~

Blair made a conscious effort to stop fidgeting. He knew by Jim's furtive glances he was failing. A few deep breaths helped…for a few minutes, then he was back to fidgeting.

"You're going to wear a hole in the seat if you don't sit still, Chief, and you have no idea how hard they are to replace."

A small grin tugged at the corners of Blair's mouth, despite his anxiety. "I can well imagine how hard it would be, Jim. This being such an antique, and all."

"Watch what you say about Sweetheart, kid," Jim warned with a laugh. "I'll have you know this truck is a classic. The year they built her was a very good year."

Blair raised both hands in a placating gesture. "Oh, yeah, man. It's the year I was born. But at least I had a nice long rest to preserve the working parts, if you know what I mean."

Jim cast a mock scowl in Blair's direction. "I've spent a small fortune to restore her. She's in better shape now than when she was built."

Blair chuckled. Jim was probably right. The truck looked great, and seemed to run perfectly. Besides, this old truck was like a slice of home. Maybe Blair could find an old relic of his own and restore it. A Mustang, maybe…or a Volvo. That would be nice. Naomi had driven a Volvo.

Of course, he'd have to find a job to be able to afford it. Blair sighed, not missing the worried glance Jim threw his way.

"Almost home, Blair," Jim assured.

"Great." Blair forced a smile, wishing that had sounded a bit more enthusiastic. He was going home. Jim's home. And while the Sentinel was quick to assure Blair it would be his home too, Blair couldn't help feeling like an interloper.

Attempting to distract himself from his thoughts, Blair concentrated on the passing scenery. There were so many people. He hadn't seen this many people in…forever. At the labs, there had been only the doctors, a few technicians and a teacher or two to help Blair keep up with school work. Here, there were hundreds of people, driving, walking, hurrying about their lives. It was amazing…and wonderful! He wanted to get out of the truck and go talk to each and every one of them. Interview them, learn about their lives. How similar would their lives be to people from Blair's time? In what ways would they be different? Anthropology was definitely a good study choice, Blair realized happily.

They rounded a corner into a parking lot and stopped. They were home…only it wouldn't be "home" in the true sense of the word. Blair sighed again. Naomi had always maintained it took more than a brick and mortar building to make a home. She had said home was where the people most important to you in the world were, be that a tent, a house, or even a car.

Blair glanced over at Jim. The Sentinel -- his Sentinel, he noted with a sense of pride -- was the only person in this world important to him. He tried not to remind himself tht Jim was one of the few people he even knew in this world. So if Naomi's definition was accurate, Blair figured Jim's loft would be home.

So why did he feel depressed?

He knew the answer, even as he asked the question. It was because he had nothing, not one thing which was his. All of his "things" -- his mementoes, his pictures, his books -- had presumably been lost or destroyed decades ago. Blair had never been one to value material stuff, thanks to Naomi's influence, but in the labs, it had been a comfort to have his things around him, and now…he had nothing. Even the clothes on his back he owed to Jim's mercy.

"Chief?"

Blair pulled himself from the depressing thoughts, to find Jim looking at him questioningly.

"You gonna stay out here the rest of the day?"

"This it?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound as nervous as he felt.

"This is it." Jim climbed out of the truck, and after a few seconds hesitation, Blair followed.

The two men entered the building and Blair let Jim lead the way up the stairs to the third floor. Jim fished a key from his pocket and opened the door, then stood back to let Blair enter ahead of him.

Blair stepped into his new home and looked around. "Wow…you weren't kidding, Jim. It's big." He stepped further into the main room. "And nice. Very nice. You rent or own, man?" Realizing how rude the question was, he hurried to add, "Oh, sorry, none of my business."

Jim chuckled. "No big deal, Chief. It's mine. Bought it with some back pay I got from the military. Long story. I'll tell you about it someday."

Blair nodded, making a mental note to remind Jim. He had a feeling it'd be an interesting story.

"My room is at the top of the stairs," Jim pointed out. "The bathroom is right over there…and your room…" He moved to a set of double French doors off the main room and opened them. "…is right here."

Blair followed, stopping in the doorway. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. He had expected…not this. Jim had said he used the spare room as a storeroom, and Blair had figured they'd have to convert it over the next few days. Only this room was already set up as a bedroom.

"Jim?" He glanced behind him to find Jim grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"Simon took care of it," Jim explained. "And some of the guys from the station."

"Wow…" Words left Blair as he took in the furnishings of the room…his room.

There was a bed, dresser, bookshelf, desk…basic furniture, but it was the other stuff which left Blair speechless.

He wandered around the room, taking in the various accessories. On the top of the bookshelf was a stereo, complete with a good size stack of CDs. Blair leaned over, reading their titles. Metallica, Creed, Rolling Stone…not exactly Blair's choice of music, but it was like a blast from the past. He glanced over his shoulder at Jim. The man was watching him carefully from the doorway.

Blair reserved his comments, still taking in the furnishings. He let his gaze sweep briefly over the books on the shelves. He was surprised to realize many of the titles were favorites of his, until he remembered a conversation he and Jim had had a week or so ago. He looked up. "So this is why you've been prying stories out me about my past."

Jim moved into the room. "I just wanted it to feel like home. I know you must feel like you have nothing, but it's not true." He let his hand sweep over the room. "You have this, and we'll get anything else you want. You name it, and if it can be had, we'll get it."

Blair blinked at the man, stunned. "Jim…I…I don't know what to say, man. This is…" He let his gaze sweep the room again. It was filled with stuff from Blair's time…even the pictures on the wall. Blair's eyes came to rest on one picture in particular, and he laughed before he could catch himself. "Britney Spears, Jim?"

"I read somewhere that all teenage boys in your time had a poster of her in their bedrooms. Personally, I don't see the attraction." He paused, studying the picture. "Well, okay, I can see the attraction to a teenage hormone machine…"

Blair didn't know whether to be insulted or touched. He settled for indignant. "Jim! I'm not thirteen, man! Besides, I never was the 'Britney Spears' type. I was more…more the 'Madonna' type."

Jim's expression questioned the comment. "Okay, I'm going to assume you aren't talking about the Virgin Mother. No problem, we can get rid of this…lady." He moved toward the picture of Britney, but Blair grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"Nah, man, that's okay," Blair said, waggling his eyebrows. "She can stay…for now. Seriously, though, man, how did you manage all this?" "I gave Simon a list, he doled it out to the guys. It's their job, remember, to track down elusive people and items. Some of it is just reproductions…some of it came from antique stores."

"Jim…" Blair searched for words to express his feelings. "I can't believe you went to so much trouble to just make me feel more comfortable. I…I just don't know what to say."

"Does it?" Jim asked, looking uncharacteristically nervous. "Help make you feel more comfortable, I mean?"

Blair smiled, a real smile, from the heart, hoping Jim would catch the sincerity. "It's not the things, Jim, though they're great. It's the idea you'd do this, that you even thought to do this. Man, it means so much to me. You have no idea."

Relief poured off of the Sentinel as he returned Blair's smile. "I want it to feel like home."

Blair nodded. Home. Namoi was right. Home was more than a brick and mortar structure. It was where the people most important in the world to you were. He smiled at his Sentinel.

He was home.

~~~

Epilogue…

"They all know? Every one of them?" The thought of so many people staring at him, wondering about the "hundred year old freak" made Blair want to run back to Jim's loft and hide.

"Not all of them, Chief," Jim assured. "Just the ones I'd trust with my life, with your life. They're my friends, and they'll be yours, too, in time. Trust me, on this, Blair. The more people who know our secret, within reason, the safer we'll be."

Blair nodded. Though he understood the reasons, the idea made him more than a little nervous. "Okay, man, lead on. Let's get this over with." Blair took a deep breath and pulled his new glasses out of his pocket, sliding them on. He really only needed them for reading, but right now he needed the illusion of a mask to hide behind.

It couldn't be as bad as the day he had started classes at the university, he reasoned. Blair had been a wreck. Not only was he new man on campus with no idea where to go or how he would fit in, but he'd been out of the classroom environment for so long he wasn't sure he could remember how it all worked. Yet, he had survived, and had, in fact, made several new friends -- friends who didn't have a clue who or what he was, and had simply accepted him just for himself. Remembering his recent success gave Blair the courage to follow Jim through the doors into the squad room.

The room was bustling with activity. Jim led the way through the thick of it, Blair tagging as close behind him as he could get without actually stepping on the back of the man's shoes. Jim stopped at an office in the back of the room, knocked on the door, and opened it without waiting for an answer.

Inside, Jim stepped to one side, forcing Blair to come around him. The young man looked up, finding himself staring at four men, counting Simon Banks, and a woman, all of whom where looking at him as though he had grown a third eye. He resisted the urge to turn tail and run, resistance which was greatly aided by Jim closing the door behind them.

"Good to see you again, Sandburg."

Blair offered Captain Banks a nervous smile. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"Gentlemen…and lady…" Jim said, putting a supporting hand on Blair's shoulder, "I'd like you to meet Blair Sandburg."

The woman stepped forward, offering her hand. "Nice to meet you, Blair," she said in a strongly accented voice. "I'm Megan Connor. Glad to have you aboard."

"Same here," a large, dark-skinned man said. "Joel Taggart. You've got your hands full, Blair, keeping Jim in line. I don't envy you." The big man's hand engulfed Blair's, shaking it enthusiastically.

"Henri Brown," the tallest of the two remaining men introduced. "You need any help with Jim, look me up -- or with anyone around here. I've got the dirt on everyone."

"Which means he's nosy and a gossip," the last man said, stepping forward. "Rafe."

Blair lifted an eyebrow.

"Just Rafe," the young man assured him.

"That's because he has such an interesting first name," Brown said, with a wink at Blair.

Rafe's expression made Blair chuckle. The man turned a very interesting shade of pink. "You open your mouth, H, and you're dead."

Blair could tell it was an old joke, revived for his sake. He appreciated the effort, and was grateful to realize it was working. He felt much less nervous.

"I guess you guys are my safety net," Blair said, feeling uncharacteristically shy.

"You can trust us, Sandy," Megan said. "We're pretty good at keeping secrets."

Blair raised an eyebrow at the nickname. "I do…trust you, that is. Jim says you guys are cool, and I'm down with that."

"You'll get used to the weird talk," Jim informed his friends, a note of fond amusement in his voice as he walked over to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. Blair watched as Joel and Simon lifted their eyebrows in surprise. Jim took a big swallow and grinned in contentment, as if he hadn't had coffee in years.

"Until then," Jim continued, "I can be your translator. He says he's okay with you guys being in on his secret because I approved you."

Blair blushed at the chuckles directed his way. He didn't talk weird, he reasoned, it was just that no one here was up on hip slang. He could correct that, given time.

"Sandburg…"

Blair looked up at the captain.

"I understand it's necessary for you to work with Jim on the job."

"Well, yeah, he's new at this Sentinel stuff, and his senses aren't completely under control yet, so he'll have to have help when he's using them in the course of his work, you know, for a while, and that doesn't even cover the zone outs, man -- until he gets used to anchoring himself with a second sense while he focuses on one, he's going to be susceptible to zones and even spikes, but that's what I'm here for, so as long as he--"

"Hold it!" Simon held up a hand. "Slow down, and take a breath, kid."

Blair dipped his head in embarrassment. He always had tended to ramble when he was nervous. "Sorry. Yes, sir, it's necessary for me to work with Jim on the job." He looked up in time to catch the amused smile on the captain's face.

"I've pulled a few strings, got you a ride along position as an observer." He handed Blair an ID badge. "But understand this, kid, this is a dangerous job. You follow the rules, and you listen to Jim." To Jim he added, "I'm holding you personally responsible for the kid's safety, Jim."

"Yes, sir. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Now," Simon addressed the entire room, "don't you ladies have something to do…elsewhere?"

Blair followed Jim from the office, relieved and pleased at how well it had gone. He was a good judge of people, and he liked Jim's friends, a lot. They were good people, like Jim had said.

Jim led the way to a desk near one of the side doors. "This is my desk, Chief. This is where you'll be doing my reports."

"Hey, hang on, man." Blair argued, not missing the twinkle of amusement in his Sentinel's eyes. "Captain said I'd be an observer, which means I watch. Pure and simple."

Jim pulled a chair up for Blair, then took a seat behind the desk. "You're all heart, Sandburg."

"Hey, what can I say? I have an ageless wisdom."

"That supposed to be amusing?"

"Not working, huh?"

"Not at all." Jim pulled open his top desk drawer and removed a small box, handing it to Blair.

Blair took the box, lifting an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"Open it and see," Jim suggested.

Curious, Blair pulled the lid back and peered inside. Breath left him as he saw what the box held. He felt the too familiar sting of tears and blinked hard to drive them away.

"It's a copy," Jim explained. "I had it laminated so it'd look and feel like the real thing."

Blair reached into the box, gently removing the copy of a California driver's license, issued almost one hundred years ago to one Naomi Ruth Sandburg, complete with a small photo of his mother. So she really had moved to California. Before or after, he wondered. He'd probably never know.

He ran his fingertips reverently across the image. She looked very much like she had the last time he'd seen her. A few more lines around the eyes, maybe…a little graying at the temples. He smiled warmly, pleased to know she had lived at least a few more years after he'd been frozen.

"It's the only thing we could find in the archives, Chief. I'm sorry.

Blair swallowed hard. "I…I don't know what to say, man." He looked up, surprised to see a suspicious dampness in Jim's eyes to match his own. "Thanks, man. I mean it. This means more to me than you know."

"I'm not giving up. I hope one day I can give you more."

Unable to speak around the lump in his throat, Blair merely nodded. He lovingly placed the card back into the box and closed the lid.

"Hey, what do you say we take an early lunch?" Jim suggested, lightening the moment.

"Simon won't care?"

"Nah, not if we invite him along."

"Seafood. Your treat. You still owe me. Don't think I've forgotten. I drank those crappy shakes, and you never gave me my shrimp. As a matter of fact, I'm thinking lobster."

"Don't push your luck, old man."

Blair groaned. He had a feeling he had just picked up a new nickname, but it was okay. Nicknames were for friends, after all.

~~~

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