My Soul To Keep
part two...

~~~

"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."

~~~

Part three...