~*~*~*~

Chapter 1

William Ellison steepled his fingertips, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, and arched one brow as he appraised the man sitting across from him.

Mirrored sunglasses hid the other man’s eyes and he didn’t so much as flinch under William’s pointed scrutiny. He was generally non descript; medium build, clean-shaven with a waxy skin tone matching the plain suit he wore. He sat straight, shoulders squared, posture rigid.

The dimly lit back room of the seedy hotel was not the type of place William usually conducted his business dealings. But then, this was not a typical transaction.

"Shall we get down to business?" The man’s voice was flat and he tilted his head slightly, indicating the choice was William’s.

William dropped his hands onto his lap; leaned back in his chair and responded in a low, steady voice. "You’ve found one? A Nine-Six-One?"

"Yes."

William schooled his face, masking his pleasure.

His sixteen-year old son, Jimmy, had been classified an unheard of Five-0-0 at the completion of his sentinel testing ten months earlier. William had been extraordinarily pleased to learn the classification was extremely rare, virtually ensuring Jimmy’s future success. He’d immediately inquired about a guide for his son, having been told although not essential, the right guide could enhance Jimmy’s abilities even more.

He’d been referred to several of the best agencies specializing in guide employment and indenture. None of the prospects presented were good enough to suit William.

Through further inquiry and research utilizing some of his less scrupulous sources, he’d learned what would be even better would be to have a genetically tagged guide.

This posed two problems. The first was the guide would have to be an equally rare Nine-Six-One classification. The second was genetic tagging had been outlawed.

"Tell me about---him?" William inquired. His features remained placid and his voice betrayed little of his inner jubilation.

The man withdrew a small card from his breast pocket. He glanced at it and recited the information written on it in a monotone.

"Male. Age one year, three months, five days as of today. Confirmed classification Nine-Six-One. Present location sector H, Colorado territory. No siblings. One parent--the mother." The card was placed on the table and held there by two fingertips.

William frowned and shifted in his seat. The gruffness of his voice expressed his displeasure. "Damn. I was hoping for someone closer to Jimmy’s age."

"We could continue our search," the man stated flatly. "This is the first match in ten months, but we will keep looking if you wish."

William cupped his chin in his right hand, rubbing idly, as he considered his options.

The search had already cost him a considerable amount. And there was still the fee to tag the guide, procure him, and pay off or eliminate any obstacles such as parents, if necessary. A toddler would be a hassle, and not much use to Jimmy for a few years at least. But it had already taken ten months. William let his indecision show, a weakness he seldom allowed.

The man offered a suggestion in his bland voice. "We could tag him now, with a delayed marker. His classification would remain known only to us, we would see to that. And we would ensure…" The man paused to make sure William was listening carefully before continuing in a steady voice. "That the guide will be taken off the market. When you’re ready to take delivery, say in five years, ten years, whenever, the tag can be remotely triggered and tracked. The additional fee for this service is minimal, and would guarantee the acquisition would be yours, and yours alone."

William paled slightly and his jaw muscles twitched nervously as full comprehension of what the additional assurance meant dawned on him. He hesitated and the other man continued his sales pitch.

"In our experience, we have found young sentinels do quite well without a guide. You may have noticed most sentinels do not hire or indenture a guide until well into adulthood," the man continued matter-of-factly. "I am not sure you realize how difficult this order is to fill. The chances of finding another Nine-Six-One are very remote."

William took only another minute to make up his mind. He’d already spent too much time and money to risk losing this chance at providing his son with the best he could buy.

He reached into his coat pocket and took out a small envelope. He opened the flap and displayed six thin strips of a silvery-copper metal to the man. At the man’s nod of acknowledgement, William tucked the strips back into the envelope and handed it over to him.

The man slid the small card under his fingertips across the table, stopping it in front of William. He inclined his head toward the card and waited for William to place his fingertips on the opposite side of the card.

The card glowed as additional information, in an unreadable code, appeared on its surface. The card then duplicated itself and the man retrieved the original card, leaving the receipt on the table.

William wrapped his hand around the still warm card, noting it was not plastic, but one of the newer unalterable alloys. "What do I do now? How do you…?"

The other man stilled the questions by raising one hand, palm out. William noted, then, the three red dots on the underside of the man’s wrist.

The Synthetic stood up, pocketing the envelope as it rose. "It has been a pleasure doing business with you. We will be in touch." It turned and walked out the door, leaving William alone in the dingy little room.

~*~*~

Olympic Federated Territory, Northwest Quadrant, eighteen years later…

The dented blue and white hover-car squealed as it negotiated the corner, and then took off at breakneck speed down the street in pursuit of the land-hugger.

The driver, S5P Jim Ellison, belatedly and unnecessarily cautioned the other occupants of the vehicle. "Hold on." Ellison hit the lights and siren, immediately adjusting his senses to compensate for the expected backlash it would cause.

The three passengers collectively sucked in a breath and grabbed onto anything they could to assist the lap belts trying desperately to hold them in place.

Below them, the land-hugger took an unexpected sharp turn into a narrow alley. Jim stomped down on the brake and spun the wheel wildly, tilting the hover-car on its side. His eyes narrowed, adjusting to the change in lighting. His shoulder butted up against the vehicle’s frame and he tilted his head out the window. His left hand held the wheel securely as he stretched his right arm out to his side to prevent Henry Brown sliding into him. Henry re-positioned himself securely, breathed an okay, and Jim once again gripped the wheel with both hands.

In the back seat, Rafe scrambled to grab the strap swinging from the ceiling with both hands in order to keep from toppling sideways onto Joel Taggart, who was doing his own balancing act while keeping a watchful eye on the younger man’s squirming torso.

"Damnation, Ellison!" Rafe cursed loudly as he held fast to the strap, his legs braced against the door.

Brown snatched the microphone from the dashboard and shouted into it. "Dispatch. Dispatch. This is Zebra Niner Alpha. Requesting backup. We are in pursuit of red land-hugger, running rabbit in old warehouse district."

Ellison pressed a button on the dashboard and a loud pop sounded as a metal dart torpedoed out of the front of the hover-car. Hearing the ping of metal on metal as the dart embedded itself into the fleeing vehicle, Jim confirmed the hit. "Wham." The corners of his mouth curled up into a satisfied smirk.

Brown relayed the information. "Dispatch. Zebra Niner Alpha. We’ve pinged the rabbit. Acknowledge. Over."

A metallic sounding voice answered. "Zebra Niner Alpha, this is Dispatch. We copy and are tracking. Backup en route, intercept in five."

The two vehicles shot out of the end of the alley and Ellison immediately righted the hover-car along with all its occupants. Jim could hear the robot intercept a split second before it came into view. The land-hugger tried a last ditch maneuver to elude capture, careening madly through a maze of abandoned loading docks and derelict tucks.

The pursuit ended five minutes later, leaving a trail of three smashed vehicles, littered debris and the scattered denizens of the decayed remnants of the area.

~*~*~

Simon Banks didn’t need sentinel hearing to detect the voices of his best squadron as they entered the station. Shouted greetings, good-natured insults and boisterous retorts rebounded through the halls. He leaned up against the doorframe of his office, chewing on the unlit half a cigar clenched between his teeth, and watched as they made their way into the crowded common room.

Ellison entered the room flanked by Joel Taggart, the team’s demolition specialist. The two men were shaking their heads, snorting with laughter at the remarks being flung at Jim by Rafe, who entered close on their heels.

"Sweet mother of mercy, Ellison, where in the name of Henry Ford did you learn to drive?" Simon smirked as the youngest Badge belittled the sentinel’s driving prowess. "I nearly lost my lunch back there." After returning from two weeks out, the team had stopped at one of their favorite scarf-n-barf’s as soon as they’d hit Cascade’s perimeter. "Would have, too, if my stomach hadn’t already been left behind when you eyeballed that snooker and took off like a bat outta the dead zone."

Rafe was the team’s ears and was most likely more upset that Henry had snagged shotgun just prior to the recent chase, having jostled the younger man out of the spot he usually occupied while out on missions, than the nerve wracking pursuit itself.

Ellison rounded on his detractor, and Rafe froze in his tracks. The squadron leader pinned him with a mock-stern scowl and he backed off several steps, pursing his lips nervously. Satisfied his silent warning had hit its mark, Jim continued into the room.

Rafe waited until Jim turned back around and then mumbled one last protest. "We just got back from patrol, we were already logged off; we coulda just called it in."

Jim turned around again. This time his stance was relaxed. He snaked an arm out and grabbed Rafe by the nape of his neck, and rubbed it soothingly for several seconds before playfully swatting the back of Rafe’s head.

"I know, kiddo. And if it had been anyone but YoYo I would’ve. She’s gotten away too many times."

Rafe capitulated and slowly nodded in agreement.

Flesh peddling was legal in most parts of the Territory. It was regulated and monitored; but soliciting and peddling underage was a serious offense.

"You’re right Jim. Sorry." He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "I just wish we’d spotted her before we ate."

Henry Brown entered the room last, pin balling back and forth in an exaggerated swagger, clutching his stomach, mocking the younger man’s complaining.

Rafe clipped his best friend across the upper arm and a short-lived tussle ensued. Henry pinned Rafe in a headlock, his right arm securely wrapped around Rafe’s neck, hugging him up against his side. Rafe was bent awkwardly at the waist and struggled madly, both hands grappling with Henry’s forearm in a desperate attempt to wiggle free.

Joel couldn’t resist the target. He joined the fray by landing three hard, rapid swats to Rafe’s backside.

Henry released his hold and Rafe shot to a standing position, backing away from Joel to shield his butt. "What the hell was that for?" A pink blush crept across his face and he scowled questioningly at Joel.

Taggart narrowed his eyes and pointed an index finger at Rafe. "That was for that little stunt you pulled on the third day out. Your little unauthorized foray into the Free Zone?" Joel crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "You pull a hairbrain like that again and I’ll see your sorry ass suspended."

The common room grew uncomfortably quiet. Everyone knew Joel Taggart considered Rafe his family. He’d lost his entire biological family ten years earlier in the influenza epidemic that had swept through the Olympic Territory like wildfire. Six months after burying his wife and five children, Joel had literally stumbled across then fifteen-year-old Rafe in the aftermath of a turf war in Old Cascade. He’d taken in the half starved youngster and when Rafe reached the age of consent, he’d joined the Territorial Police.

"But I had a solid hit. I didn’t go that far in. I…" Rafe swallowed the rest of his remarks as Jim and Henry closed ranks with Joel, presenting a united front as each man pinned Rafe with his own menacing glare.

"All right, all right." Rafe held up his hands pleadingly as he rapidly backpedaled. "You’re right. It won’t happen again."

Simon snorted in amusement. The return of the Panther squadron was always entertaining. He snatched the cigar from between his teeth, holding it between thumb and forefinger as he pointed at the four men.

"Okay, children. Playtime’s over." He waved his other hand in a shooing motion, indicating the onlookers should find someplace else to be. "You four. In my office."

~*~*~

The Territorial Police was a peace keeping force made up of squadrons comprised of anywhere between two and seven Badges, with each squadron choosing its own members. Most had at least one sentinel with a Two-Five-Three rating or higher, some with guides. They headquartered in the Territorial seat, New Cascade. Their mission was to patrol and safeguard the Olympic Territory. The squadrons took rotating duty, spending two weeks patrolling their sector, a week at base completing paperwork and helping within the greater New Cascade area, and then they took a week of downtime before beginning the cycle again. At least that was how it was supposed to work; the routine changed if and when the need arose.

The station had its own barracks, commissary and basic amenities as well as private living quarters within its perimeters for those who qualified by virtue of rank or having families.

Most squadrons were close knit and spent almost as much of their free time together as they did when on duty.

Overseeing the entire operation for the Northwest Quadrant was CO Simon Banks.

The four men filed into the office and Simon waved at them to takes seats, dispensing with what little formality the force sporadically exercised.

"Nice work snagging Yo Yo," Simon said to the team with genuine approval in his deep voice.

Simon lowered himself onto his chair, and swung his long legs up, crossing his ankles, bringing his scuffed boots up to rest on the edge of his desk. He produced a match from somewhere and gave it a quick flick along the seam of his trousers. The flame wavered as he brought it to the tip of the cigar now securely clamped between his teeth once again. He drew several short puffs and blew the smoke out contentedly before continuing.

"What’s the jabber from your loop?" Simon’s gaze roamed around the room.

Henry was at the window to the common room, trying to catch a glimpse of the new weapons specialist the Rovers had acquired a few months back. As his own team’s peashooter, he was anxious to compare notes. The fact she was also cute had more than a little to do with his eagerness.

Rafe was already dozing quietly, his head held in his hands, propped up by his elbows resting on the small round conference table off to one side.

Joel was standing on the other side of where Rafe was seated, his back to Simon, leafing through an assortment of flyers and notices that had been strewn across the table.

Simon shook his head and turned his attention to Jim, who was seated on the edge of Simon’s desk, arms crossed, smirking at his friend.

Squadrons didn’t have ‘official’ leaders. The duty alternated at the discretion of the team, or by the needs of a mission. The Panther squadron almost invariably deferred to Jim.

"The radiation levels in Q have dropped again and the soil samples look promising. I brought some back this time for the techies." Jim yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. "The Cascade Valley settlement hasn’t had any problems. Crazy Ike sends his regards. One of his wives, Daisy I think, delivered a set of healthy twin boys week before last."

Simon snorted, slapped his thigh and let out a whoop. "That old coot! That must make, what, seventeen?"

Jim laughed along with Simon, while shaking his head. "I lost count."

He shifted position, wiggling his butt slightly to prevent it falling asleep, and leaned in toward Simon.

"Rafe picked up a possible yoo-hoo from the Free Zone, to the south."

Simon cut in with an amused chuckle, recalling the scene from a few minutes earlier. "I take it he didn’t follow procedure?"

Jim shrugged. "He really didn’t go very far, just got a little bouncy. He yanked himself back before I had to."

"Damn good thing, too." Joel mumbled just loud enough to be sure Jim heard him, never taking his eyes off the pamphlet in his hand.

The Free Zone was a deceptive name.

The people who’d settled the Free Zone named it so believing they would establish a state ‘free’ from all the bickering, fighting and politicking of the neighboring Territories and Confederations. Their leader, who called himself Ezekiel, was a charismatic man with a messianic complex. He’d soon closed the borders of the Zone and guarded them zealously with an armed militia and perimeter shielding. His followers found themselves trapped, many against their will, under the supreme rule of a madman.

An uneasy peace existed between the Free Zone and its neighbors. Ezekiel claimed to have an arsenal of nuclear weapons and threatened to use them if unbelievers dared encroach upon his domain.

Life was harsh and Zoners were far from free under Ezekiel’s oppressive regime. Many tried to flee; very few ever made it out. If they could make it to within three miles of one of the borders, a signal could be sent which had a chance of penetrating the shields.

The Territorial Police listened for signals while on patrol. Upon verification of a legitimate call for help, and authorization from Command, squadrons would be given the go ahead to facilitate an extraction if possible. It had been years since the last confirmed yoo-hoo.

Venturing more than five hundred yards into the Free Zone without following proper procedure was forbidden.

Rafe had been smuggled out of the Zone when he was thirteen years old. He was not always as cautious as protocol dictated when he thought he picked up a signal from the Zone.

"I heard it too; it was a teaser." Jim glanced over at Rafe, who was now slumped across the table, snoring softly. "I had his back. He had a clear track. I’d a yanked him fast otherwise." Jim caught Joel’s eye. "It’s what he’s gotta do."

Joel nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "Yeah, I know. It’s just---I---you know?"

"Hot damn!" Henry clapped his hands and spun around, oblivious to what had been going on. "We’re done here, right?" Not waiting for an answer, he turned back to the window and held one finger up, gesturing eagerly to someone on the other side of the glass. He craned his neck toward Simon, but his eyes never left the window.

"Get outta here." Simon waved one hand dismissively at Henry, shooing him from the room. "All of you." He looked at Jim and Joel and jerked his head toward the door. "I’ll read your complete report later." He pointed emphatically at the door. "Out."

Joel roused Rafe, and steered him out the door, followed by Jim.

Simon leaned back in his chair, leisurely stretching his long torso, and returned to the task of finishing his smoke.

~*~*~

A few hours later, the members of the Panther unit relaxed in the comfort and refuge of the barracks’ rec hall. The large room was outfitted with arcade games, pool tables, and card tables, as well as food and drink. It was the favored spot for all returning units to kick back, unwind, and catch up on news and gossip.

Henry was off in one dimly lit corner, arm draped casually over the shoulder of the Rovers’ peashooter, comparing ‘notes’.

Joel and Rafe were laughing and joking with a group of six other Badges.

Several sentinels stopped by the table where Jim and Simon sat. Those without guides often looked to Jim for advice on ways to control or improve their senses, as well as to share information and updates on recent patrol activities.

When they were finally alone, Jim ordered a couple beers and settled in to catch up with Simon. They’d just finished discussing Simon’s latest plans for Daryl’s next visit when Jim suddenly sat bolt upright. He cocked his head to the side, listened for a few seconds, then relaxed slightly and stared at the door.

A few of the other sentinels mimicked Jim’s actions, and they too eased off after a moment.

Simon followed Jim’s steady gaze, and two minutes later a man stepped into the room. As soon as he did, every Badge in the room had a gun pointed in his direction. The man froze on the spot. He was odd looking; he wore strange clothes and there was an unhealthy pallor to his skin.

The Badge nearest the stranger spoke. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"Ease off." Jim’s voice was low and forceful, commanding attention. "It’s a Synth; an old model, not rigged for self-prez. The watchdogs wouldn’t have detected it."

Weapons were warily lowered and the Badges returned to their activities as Jim waved them off reassuringly. Jim’s eyes remained on the Synthetic and his next command was directed to it.

"State your business."

The Synthetic turned its head toward the sound of Jim’s voice. The overhead lighting glinted off the mirrored sunglasses, causing Jim to squint and re-adjust his vision. A dull, lifeless sound responded to Jim’s order.

"I am looking for James Ellison."

Jim always found it somewhat disconcerting when dealing with a Synthetic. There were no telltale fluctuations in heart rate or voice patterns to give away its intentions. He looked at Simon, silently asking his friend’s opinion. Simon responded by pulling a face and shrugging his shoulders. Jim scowled his gratitude before returning his attention to their unusual visitor.

"What do you want with James Ellison?"

"I have something for him, from his father."

"Really?" Jim tensed and answered tersely. "My father died eleven years ago when South Cal dropped into the Pacific."

The Synthetic schooled its face into what must have, at one time, passed for a sympathetic look.

"That would explain why he did not respond to our efforts to contact him. And why he never arranged to take delivery."

"Delivery?" Jim asked suspiciously. "Of what?

His team had gathered around him, attracted by the Synth and eager to both hear what was going on and come to Jim’s aid if necessary.

"Your guide."

This statement drew the added attention of every sentinel in the room. A low murmur buzzed through the air as this information was quickly passed around. What little activity that had continued after the Synth’s arrival now came to an abrupt halt.

"My what?" Jim’s eyes raked the figure in front of him.

He shot confused looks at Simon and his teammates, silently asking for their confirmation of what he thought he’d just heard. It was obvious by the looks on their faces they’d heard the same thing he had.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jim’s gaze returned to the Synth, confusion evident in his voice.

The Synth held up one hand warily, poising it as if to reach into an inner pocket of its jacket. It tilted its head slightly, asking permission.

At Jim’s nod, the Synth slid its hand inside the jacket and withdrew a square flat case. It held it up, in plain sight, and cocked its head again. When Jim nodded again, the Synth approached the table slowly and deliberately. It placed the case on the table in front of Jim, backed off a few steps and waited.

The case opened at Jim’s touch, the cover sliding off smoothly, to reveal its contents. A small card along with a silver metallic, bracelet-size ring lay inside.

Jim reached out to remove the card, but stopped abruptly when the Synth spoke again.

"Please do not touch the receipt until you are ready to take delivery. Your touch will trigger the homing mechanism."

Jim let out an exasperated sigh, and rubbed a hand across his forehead. He shot a vexed look at the Synth, who didn’t move an inch under the withering glare.

Everyone else in the room flinched, immediately recognizing the signs of an imminent Ellison outburst.

"You’ve got two minutes to explain just what, exactly, is going on here before I reach down your rubberized throat and rip the memory chips out of your innards and feed them to the base comp."

Jim pushed his chair back from the table, ready to stand. Simon’s hand on his forearm stopped him.

The Synth remained still for several seconds, accessing the minute databanks stored within its obsolete framework. Then it began speaking in a dull, monotonous drone.

"Eighteen years ago, William Ellison contracted with our company to find a compatible guide for his son, James Joseph Ellison, sentinel classification Five-0-0. We were asked to acquire a classification Nine-Six-One, an extremely rare classification, for a genetic tag. We were able to do so, but due to the age difference between the Nine-Six-One and the Five-0-0, William Ellison chose the delayed marker option, contracting for a fifteen-year trigger and delivery. The necessary genetic sample was provided and the guide was tagged. Three years ago, we attempted to contact William Ellison to complete the transaction. We were unsuccessful. Terms of the contract specified no contact was to be made with James Joseph Ellison unless William Ellison was not able to complete the transaction himself. Our company prides itself on its ability to discreetly and successfully complete all transactions to the customer’s satisfaction. However, due to the decline in demand for our services, our company has decided to shut down operation. We are making a concerted effort to close all open accounts."

The Synth stopped talking and assumed a more relaxed stance.

"Holy cow," Rafe whispered. Joel and H both shot him an annoyed look and he quickly shut his mouth.

"Age difference?" Jim narrowed his eyes and glared at the Synth. "Wanna elaborate?"

The Synth once again cocked his head and the lifeless voice began again. "At the time the order was placed the Five-0-0 was aged sixteen years. The Nine-Six-One was aged one year, three months, five days, and William Ellison…"

"Shut up," Jim snapped.

Jim was barely able to contain his outrage. He trembled as he thought of his father. The man had been a controlling, manipulative son of a bitch, employing whatever means necessary to gain what he wanted. After learning of Jim’s sentinel classification, he’d tried to orchestrate his son’s life to fit the future William thought best suited his son’s abilities. Even now, eleven years after his death, he was still doing it.

Jim glared at the open case in disgust. He snorted and shook his head as he thought of all the money his father must have spent to acquire the perfect guide for his son the sentinel.

He spoke directly to the Synth through gritted teeth.

"Genetic tagging has been outlawed for decades. It’s no better than slavery." Jim touched the small case on the table again and it snapped shut. He shoved it away. "I don’t want anything to do with it."

The room had grown uncomfortably quiet. Simon took charge, waving the gaping onlookers away. "All right, people, show’s over."

Everyone but H, Rafe and Joel moved off, whispering and muttering. Within a few minutes music once again filled the air and the other occupants returned to their recreational activities.

"Does this mean you do not wish to take delivery?" The Synth once again cocked its head and Jim resisted the urge to jump to his feet and twist the head off its concealed hinges.

"I didn’t say that." Jim knew his father too well. "What happens if I don’t?"

Jim ignored the startled looks thrown his way by his friends. He knew what the answer to his question would most likely be. They didn’t.

"The genetic tag was made and the marker was activated…"

"Answer the question."

"The contract stipulated a fifteen year delay. There is always some latitude programmed in…"

Jim got to his feet and moved to within inches of the unmoving object.

"Answer the damn question."

Jim’s intimidation tactics were wasted on the slab of outdated circuitry standing rigidly in front of him. The Synth stared straight ahead as it finally told Jim what the sentinel suspected.

"William Ellison paid extra for the guarantee the Nine-Six-One would belong to James Ellison, or no one at all. It may already be too late."

Simon was on his feet now too, realizing there was something significant he was missing. He leaned in toward Jim, and grabbed his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

"What’s going on Jim? What might be too late?"

Jim gave the Synth a disgusted look and turned toward Simon. He glanced around; taking in the worried, expectant looks of his team.

"A genetic tag creates a physical, and sometimes empathic or psychic link between sentinel and guide, with the sentinel in control. That, in itself, was enough to get it outlawed. When the guide is tagged, the link needs to be established within a certain timeframe, which is coded into the guide’s genetic makeup. It can be delayed, but once the marker counts down the link has to be established or it won’t work."

Simon nodded. "Yeah, so, no problem, then, right?" The captain was having a hard time understanding why Jim seemed to be so worked up over this. "The marker counts down, the tag doesn’t work."

Jim took a deep breath and continued.

"It was meant to work as a safeguard, in case either sentinel or guide changed their mind about the whole thing. The tag pretty much joined them at the hip for life, so to speak. Which was fine if that’s what they both wanted. The tag was a last step kind of thing, a legal agreement entered into by both parties, after spending time together as sentinel and guide. The problem is, someone figured out pretty quickly that all sorts of things could be programmed when you’re talkin’ genetic coding."

Jim gave Simon and his team a penetrating look.

"My father paid extra to guarantee this guide would be mine. So, the problem is, if the link isn’t established this tag won’t work because the guide will be dead." Jim’s steely gaze returned to the Synth. "Isn’t that right?"

"Yes."

"But if this marker thing has already counted down…" Rafe’s voice cut in.

The Synth responded. "Taking into consideration the latitude in programming mentioned earlier, there is a good possibility the marker has not expired."

Jim walked back over to the table. He reached for the case. "There’s only one way to find out."

Simon held out a hand to stop him, and his voice was calm and authoritative as he spoke. "You don’t have to do this, Jim." He looked down at Jim’s hand, hovering over the case. "If this guide is still alive, there’s no turning back, is there?" He nodded toward the case.

"I do have to do this, Simon. This guide, if he’s alive, is still just a kid, barely nineteen years old."

The case once again slid open at his touch. Jim pulled the card out and felt the warm humming of the miniscule threads of data being updated. He looked at the Synthetic, who still hadn’t moved. "Now what?"

The Synthetic moved closer and removed the ring from the case. It seemed to melt into a long, liquid strip in its hand and it came apart easily at its touch. Jim didn’t protest as the Synthetic looped the strand around his left wrist. It immediately fitted itself to Jim’s wrist and hardened again.

A cool, electric feeling buzz zipped through Jim’s body. The current sped along his neural pathways, burrowing into the fiber of his senses. Jim closed his eyes, swaying awkwardly with the strange sensation. Joel and Simon grabbed him on either side, to steady him.

The room had grown quiet again, and the Panther squadron was once again the focus of everyone’s attention.

Just when Simon thought it might be a wise idea to call for a medtech, Jim’s eyes popped open and he straightened out of the men’s grasp.

"He’s alive." Jim smiled briefly, and then scowled. "But there’s not much more time. I’ve got to find him."

He grabbed the Synthetic by the front of its jacket and pulled it over to the table. He shoved it onto one of the chairs, before setting himself down heavily in another. He waited until Simon and the members of his team were all seated, and then narrowed his eyes at the Synth.

"Tell me everything I need to know."

~*~*~

Western Alliance, Col-Nev-Uta Confederation…near the southwestern border of the Free Zone, two days later…

Blair Sandburg raced along the narrow paths of the crowded marketplace, dodging skillfully in, out and around the many booths and stands.

The merchants easily recognized the youngster by his long, wild curls and outlandishly garish attire. Hurried greetings were tossed back and forth as Blair made his way quickly through the area. Stopping at the last booth, he flashed a boyish smile at the old woman sitting in the shade as he grabbed a few pieces of fruit and a small loaf of bread and stuffed them into a bag. The woman returned the smile and waggled a finger at the youngster.

"You don’t fool me with that grin of yours. Not for one minute. You’ve been up to something again, haven’t you?" Green eyes, twinkling with mischief of their own, peered at the youngster.

Blair feigned a hurt, ‘who me?’ look and grabbed the woman’s hand. He squeezed it gently and rubbed his thumb across the wrinkled skin. "I’ve told you not to worry about me, Maggie." He reached into his pocket with his other hand and extracted a small packet. He pressed it into the woman’s hand and curled her fingers over it. He cupped the hand in his, pulled it to his mouth and gave it a soft kiss. Then he released the hand, grabbed his bag and winked at her.

"Gotta go. See you tomorrow!" Blair shouted over his shoulder as he jogged away.

~*~*~

As Blair entered his living quarters, a sensuous, disembodied female voice floated across the air.

"Hello Blair."

The youngster traipsed across the large, sparsely furnished room, waving a hand in the air as he walked.

"Hi Daphne."

Blair reached the kitchen area and surveyed the countertop, looking for an empty spot to deposit his supper. Not finding one, he shrugged and swept aside what might have been the remains of last Tuesday’s lasagna.

"Was your day sufficiently productive," the voice inquired.

Blair chuckled and snorted as he placed the bag on the counter.

"No, Daphne. It’s ‘How was your day, Blair?’"

"How. Was. Your. Day. Blair." The voice repeated mechanically.

Blair shook his head in amusement as he pulled the bread and a piece of fruit out of the bag.

"It’s a question, Daphne. The words need to flow and your have to let your voice rise up about half an octave at the end. How was your day, Blair? Like that. Try again."

"How was your day, Blair?" The voice sing-songed pleasantly, the inflections a near perfect imitation of Blair’s.

Blair spun around and walked back across the room to an old, ratty looking couch. He stepped up onto the arm, pirouetted gracefully and launched himself backwards, flopping down on the musty cushions. A small puff of dust spiraled up into the air at the impact, and Blair wriggled into a comfortable position.

"My day was perfect, Daphne, thank you for asking." Blair closed his eyes as he sunk his teeth into a peach. The juice dribbled down his chin and he licked his lips hastily, trying to catch the trickle. "Did you have a good day?"

"Good implies an emotion I am not capable of feeling." The voice still held a subtle, throaty tone.

"I know," Blair whispered. "Never mind." He sighed, suddenly tired of the pretend conversation.

He finished eating the fruit, and tossed the peach pit across the room, aiming for and missing a small waste receptacle. He picked up the bread and began eating it, tearing off small bits one at a time and nibbling slowly.

He relaxed and let his mind drift back over the events of the day.

The meet had gone as expected, as usual. He’d taken the same circuitous route into the Free Zone he always took, waited the requisite amount of time to be sure he hadn’t been followed and then proceeded to the meet. The rendezvous spot was at least seven miles inside the Zone, way past the legal five hundred yard leeway.

As usual, Ezekiel himself had not come. Apparently Blair had still not been deemed worthy. It was Caleb, Ezekiel’s Right Hand, who’d been waiting for him. Blair had been glad; the Hand was much easier to deal with than Micah.

The exchange had been made with a minimum of pleasantries. The requested information Blair had gathered since the last meet, coded on the latest style data-strip, was handed over. Blair had given up wondering a long time ago about the incongruity of the leader of the Free Zone having the best modern technology while espousing a harsh, austere way of life for those under his rule. Ezekiel did not hold himself or his inner circle to the same meager living standards expected of his ‘followers.’

In return, Caleb handed over a small parcel and bestowed Ezekiel’s blessing on Blair before assuring the youngster of the well being of his mother. The usual litany followed…Naomi’s place of honor in Ezekiel’s service, Blair’s special place as the Chosen, and Ezekiel’s promise of a better Day ahead for all Zoners, thanks to those like Blair who answered Ezekiel’s call.

Blair snorted and shook his head at the thought. Like he’d any real choice in the matter of being ‘called’. He considered himself an expert at obfuscation and bullshit, but in his wildest dreams, came nowhere close to the grand deceptive nature of Ezekiel.

Blair was not a Believer; he was biding his time, buying Naomi’s freedom little by little, by fulfilling his duties as ‘Chosen’.

And as soon as Ezekiel found him worthy, Naomi and he would be reunited. Then Blair would use his knowledge of how to come and go from the Zone to take them both to freedom.

"Blair." Daphne’s voice cut into the youngster’s musings.

"Yes, Daphne?"

"The physiological abnormalities I told you about have increased again."

"I thought I asked you to quit monitoring me, Daf. I told you…"

"You did. It was a request, not a command. I chose to ignore it."

"You chose to ignore it? I didn’t know your programming allowed for that."

"Of course it does, Blair. Your exact words were, ‘Would you quit that, for cry in out loud.’ A request. The changes have been significant enough for me to decide against that course of action."

"All human males go through some major overhauls when they reach a certain age."

"I am aware of this, Blair. I have done a considerable amount of research, and the changes I have noted cannot be accounted for by the normal human male maturation process."

"All right. Thanks. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about."

"The odd thing is, there now seems to be a direct correlation between these changes and the birthmark on your…"

"I get the vid, Daf. Back off before you fry a circuit."

"Blair Sandburg!"

The seductive voice was gone, replaced by a nerve wrackingly accurate simulation of his mother’s voice.

"You will not use that tone of voice with me, young man. One of my primary functions is to monitor and assess your health. And do not think for one moment I am not aware of the re-programming you attempted in order to bypass certain logic…"

Blair jumped at the sound of Naomi’s voice and nearly fell off the couch. He fisted the heel of bread still in his hand, crushing it into crumbs.

"Great Nyloc’s Ghost! Don’t do that, Daf!" Blair hastily brushed the breadcrumbs off his chest. He shuddered as he tried to rid himself of the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach he always got when Daphne did that to him. "I swear, if you don’t erase that program I’ll disconnect your voice entirely and overwrite the avatar program I’m installing and…"

"All right, Blair." The sultry voice was back, sounding just the tiniest bit patronizing. "I just think you are not taking me seriously about the anomaly I have detected. I am concerned for you. The voice of your mother always seems to help you see things more clearly."

Blair sat up and scooted his bottom to the edge of the couch. He tossed what was left of the uneaten bread onto the upturned crate he used as a table. He pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger and massaged the area for a few minutes before running both hands through his hair.

"Not when you say things like that." Blair sighed, remembering the real sound of Naomi’s voice. "Naomi never yelled. And she didn’t care what tone of voice I used." He’d left her voice simulation programmed into Daphne’s memory because it helped to hear her voice when he was lonely or afraid.

"Do you really want me to erase it this time?"

"No, " Blair whispered hoarsely. "Don’t."

"Would you like me to tell you what I have detected about the abnormalities I have been monitoring?"

"No." Blair got up and walked toward the bathroom. "Power down, Daphne."

"It is still early, Blair."

"I know, Daf." Blair rolled his eyes. "It’s been a long day and I’m tired. I think I’ll doze."

"Very well, Blair."

Daphne ended the voice interaction simulation for the day and proceeded to run the end of day diagnostics and routines.

Blair entered the small bathroom and closed the door. He faced away from the mirror hanging on the back of the door. He hiked up the oversized multi-colored striped shirt he was wearing with one hand and hooked a finger in the waistband of his loose fitting jeans. He pulled the pants down on one side, revealing his right buttock. Then he twisted his torso and peered over his shoulder at his reflection.

A birthmark, in the shape of a cat-like paw print flanked by a crescent moon adorned his derriere. In the past few weeks, the mark had started to itch and Blair noted a change in the size, color and texture of the blemish.

The marking had been noticed during a communal purification rite all young men in Ezekiel’s following underwent before entering into their mandatory three years of service to the leader of the Free Zone.

The crazed madman had deemed it a sign that Blair was Chosen and a special purpose awaited him.

Blair scratched at the birthmark, irritated by Daphne’s insistence there was something amiss.

‘Great. Just great,’ he thought.

His computer shared the delusions of the crazy self-proclaimed spiritual Guiding Light of the Free Zone, based on revelations sent to him by some equally deluded god who saw fit to impart to Ezekiel secret messages via the freaking birthmark on Blair Sandburg’s butt.

~*~*~

"That’s him?" Joel pulled the small binoculars from his eyes and looked at Jim skeptically. "You sure?"

The sentinel continued to gaze intently out across the crowded marketplace, his eyes riveted on the bouncing figure in the rainbow-striped shirt. He squinted a little as the sun glinted off the silver hoops in the boy’s left ear and highlighted the various shades of red and gold in the curls haloing his young face.

Jim sighed as he watched the boy covertly pass a small packet to the old woman. Judging by snatches of conversation around him, and the general feel of the area, he couldn’t help but wonder if the kid led a less than honest life.

"I’m sure."

Jim fingered the band on his wrist, its soft vibrations pulsing through his veins. Once the metal had fitted itself to Jim, he’d immediately been able to home in on the whereabouts of the guide…his guide.

It was as if a psychic beacon had been switched on, and he was pulled to this spot by an imperative need to find and protect his guide by activating the tag. The kid’s life depended on it.

Even without the whole sentinel-guide thing, Jim knew it was his duty to save the kid’s life and try to put right what his father had initiated years ago. Maybe some advances had been made in the intervening years. Maybe there was a way to undo this mess.

But as soon as he laid eyes on the kid, Jim knew instantly, instinctively, he was in for way more than he’d bargained for.

The Sentinel knew.

There was no turning back. No way to ‘fix’ this.

Joel’s calm voice cut into Jim’s thoughts. "What do you want to do now?"

"Nothing. For the moment." Jim was still staring at the kid. "Let’s see what H and Rafe have snagged about him."

The sentinel’s nostrils flared, and he cocked his head to one side. He carefully, involuntarily, catalogued his guide’s scent and heartbeat.

"I don’t want to confront him here." Jim tore his gaze from the kid, knowing it wasn’t necessary to keep a bead on him; he’d be able to find him anywhere.

He turned to Joel and offered his friend a lopsided grin and a nonchalant shrug.

"This whole…" Jim waved his hand aimlessly, searching for the right words. "Genetic tag thing is panning just like the Synth said." Jim glanced over his shoulder and caught a fleeting glimpse of his guide as the youngster scurried off through the crowd. "I can feel him, Joel. I know exactly how he’s going to take this."

Joel arched his eyebrows and smirked at Jim. "Oh?"

"He is gonna be one unhappy cadet." Jim shook his head and tried rubbing some of the tension out of his neck. "Can’t say as I blame him, either."

Jim nodded his head in the direction of a small tavern, indicating he wanted to join the rest of the team. The two men walked together in silence for a few minutes; then Joel spoke.

"I know it isn’t exactly the same thing, but when I found Rafe, he was as good as dead too. If I hadn’t dragged his butt outta Old Cas, he’d a been chewed up and spit out before he reached sixteen." Joel reached over and gave Jim’s shoulder a hard squeeze. "Even so, he fought me like a tripper."

Jim snorted and laughed along with Joel. "I remember."

Joel slapped his friend on the back. "It’ll be okay, Jim. Do what you have to do. We’ll back you up, as always."

The two men entered a grimy little dive and Jim quickly dialed down his sense of smell.

"Over here!" H shouted from across the room and beckoned his teammates by a quick wave of his arm. As soon as he knew they’d spotted him, H flagged down the barmaid and signaled for four beers.

H and Rafe slid in close to the wall, making room in the booth for the two older men. Jim waited until their drinks had been delivered before beginning the in-terr.

Jim had gone into Sentinel overdrive the moment the tag was activated. He had grilled the Synth for as much information as he could about the guide and how the whole tag thing worked.

Simon quickly arranged all the necessary clearances, orders and pass-checks the team needed. And as soon as Simon had given the go-ahead, Jim and his team had set out.

With Jim driving as well as navigating, they bee-lined south across the Olympic Territory, skirting the western border of the Zone, went down into the Western Alliance, bypassing what was left of California Independence, and ended up in the hot, crowded berg known as Last Stop in the Col-Nev-Uta Confederation.

As soon as the hover-car came to a stop, Jim had jumped out. He closed his eyes, concentrating, for several minutes. Then he set out at a fast trot, with the rest of the Panther team in pursuit.

He spotted his guide a few minutes later as the youngster hopped off the back of an overcrowded bus. The kid had been on the outside of the bus in the open door well, hanging on with one hand, leaning outward. Shoulder length curly hair streamed out behind him in the breeze, a tattered backpack hung precariously from one shoulder, and a brilliant smile lit his face.

Jim suppressed an overwhelming urge to rush over to the youngster, shake him until those pearly whites rattled and lecture the little fool about the dangers of his chosen mode of transport. Visions of his guide’s hand slipping from the handhold, his guide falling under the bus, his guide being crushed by its weight, ran through the sentinel’s mind.

The team had split up then. H and Rafe were sent off to try to find out more about the kid…where he lived, what he did for a living, did he have any family. His name.

The Synth hadn’t even had a name to give Jim…just an order number, a guide classification rating, and an overdue delivery notice.

Jim and Joel had tracked the kid, catching up to him in the marketplace.

"What’d you two snag?" Jim asked has he finished swigging several gulps of beer.

"First off, his name is Blair Sandburg," H stated.

"Blair." Jim repeated softly, matching the name to the flamboyant character he’d watched a few minutes earlier.

"He showed up here in Last Stop about six months ago. No family; at least none that he ever mentions. The twig is he’s smart---real smart. And independent. He does odd jobs here and there. Lives in a warehouse down past the market area." H shrugged. "Not much else. They tend not to trust strangers around here. It smacked me that the locals look out for each other; don’t ask too many questions about each other’s pasts, that sorta thing."

"Rafe?" Jim inquired, as he gave the teams’ youngest member a questioning look. "What’d you snag?"

"Um…" Rafe started hesitantly, glancing back and forth between Joel and Jim.

"Just spit it out, Twist," Joel prompted.

Rafe screwed up his face and shot a nasty look at Joel, indicating he didn’t appreciate the older man’s use of the nickname. Joel just arched his eyebrows, ignoring Rafe’s pained look.

"Right. Well." Rafe continued. "No one knows for sure, or at least they’re not admitting that it’s a fact, but he, the kid that is, Blair? They think he grew up in the Zone." Rafe cleared his throat and took a sip of his beer. "And the scutt is…he’s working for Ezekiel."

"Well that’s just dandy," Jim grumbled between gritted teeth. He stood and gave his friends a measured look. "I haven’t even met the little shit toe to toe yet, and I just know he’s gonna be a trouble magnet with a capital ‘T’. He jerked his head toward the entrance, rubbing the silver band on his wrist thoughtfully.

"Let’s go."

Jim turned and strode purposefully toward the door. The rest of the team scrambled to finish their beers and toss some slats on the table before hurrying after the sentinel.

As the last vestiges of daylight began fading to dusk, the four men made their way through the market place. Jim let his senses steer him, following his guide’s scent, listening to the soft buzz of the empathic signal emanating through the tag.

The twists and turns of the crowded bazaar gave way to a run down, grungy sector of town lined with dilapidated buildings. Jim tuned in to the sights, sounds and smells of the rat-infested alleys as he focused on his quest, monitoring the area for any signs of danger to his team.

Joel and Rafe trailed along a few feet behind Jim, watching his back, scanning their surroundings. H brought up the rear, his gun slung up onto his shoulder and held at the ready.

The team finally came to halt in front of a drab old warehouse. The sentinel’s lips curled into a thin snarl as he focused on the heartbeat of his guide merrily thumping away on the other side of a sturdy metal door.

Jim turned and looked at his friends. Bolstered by their encouraging nods and unspoken show of support, he drew a deep, steadying breath, turned back toward the door, brought his right hand up in a tight fist, and began pounding.

~*~*~

Blair hadn’t been asleep long when Daphne’s voice, high-pitched and insistent, startled him awake.

"Blair. Blair. Blair. Blair." The name was repeated in a claxon-like fashion.

He sat up shakily, trying to wake himself.

A loud, steady pounding was reverberating across the open expanse of the living area from the other side of his bedroom door, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. He slid awkwardly off the bed, landing in a tangle of blankets.

"Ezekiel’s balls!" Blair yanked the covers off and threw them aside as he pulled himself up. "What in Hades’ shade is going on?"

Daphne’s voice returned to its normal sultry timber. "There is someone at the door. I do not think you should answer it. I detect a threat directly related to the anomaly I have been trying to tell you about."

"What?" Blair tried to clear the fuzz from his brain. The pounding became louder. "Have you frizzled your capacitors completely, Daf?"

Blair traipsed out of the bedroom and headed to the door, rubbing at his backside as he stumbled along, half asleep.

"Blair. I really think you should…"

"Zip it, Daf."

He reached the door, and ignoring all common sense regarding opening it without checking to see who was on the other side, yanked it open.

S5P James Ellison stood in the doorway, his friends flanking him. Blair took one look at the big guy, and immediately noted everything about him screamed ‘Badge’. Not waiting for introductions or explanations, he slammed the door in the man’s face, turned, and took off at a run.

Jim wasted a half second in startled amusement after the door banged shut in front of him before easily shouldering it open and charging in.

The kid was already half way across the room, heading for a ladder bolted to the wall on the far side of the room. Jim looked up at the ceiling and cursed. The ladder led to a trap door. He raced after Blair as H, Rafe and Joel streamed into the room after him.

"Stop!" Jim shouted as he started his pursuit. "Olympic Territorial Police. I only want to talk."

"That is highly unlikely, " said Daphne. "Run Blair."

Jim ignored the voice, quickly recognizing it’s non-human intonations.

"Who’s there?" H shouted as he, Rafe and Joel pulled their weapons and fanned out, surveying the room.

"Forget the voice!" Jim shouted as he sprinted after Blair, hurdling several small obstacles in his path. "It’s a didge-comp."

Blair was young, nimble and fast, but he hadn’t gotten much of a head start. Jim was a well-trained Badge, in topnotch shape and he overtook the kid with ease.

"I most certainly am not…" Daphne sounded offended.

Jim grabbed Blair around the waist and twirled him around, bringing them face-to-face. He placed his hands on Blair’s shoulders, holding him in place.

"Lemme go!" Blair shouted at Jim as he struggled to free himself. "Who the hell do you think you are?" It was like trying to hang on to a whirling dervish. Blair was all arms and legs and mouth…kicking and hitting, cursing and shouting.

"I am a Model K51 and my voice is a complex matrix of…"

Blair succeeded in twisting free of Jim’s hold by stomping down heavily on the sentinel’s right instep. Jim involuntarily loosened his grip as he hopped back and clutched at his foot.

Blair spun about, ready to take off again, but was stopped short as Jim reached out and snagged him by the scruff of the neck, while still doing a one-legged dance.

"Just hold up there, Junior," Jim hissed as the pain in his foot radiated up his leg. "We’re not going to hurt you."

"To compare my voice to an outdated, digitally…"

H and Rafe stood off to one side, in the kitchen area, waiting to see if Jim would need any help.

Joel moved a little closer to the fray. "You need any help there, boss?" he asked teasingly.

Jim continued to hang on to Blair’s shirt collar and a handful of hair in an iron grip. He gave Joel a disparaging look. "No," he answered tersely. "I’ve got to handle this myself."

Blair pulled and scratched at Jim’s hands, trying to force him to let go. Jim had had enough. He yanked hard, throwing Blair off balance; he dragged the youngster a few feet and tossed him onto the couch. Blair tried to jump back up, but Jim brought one leg up and planted a foot in the center of Blair’s chest, pushed him into the cushions and held him there.

"My programming is far more sophisticated…"

"Shut that thing up, kid." Jim’s voice and level gaze brooked no argument.

Blair’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. He drew his lips into a thin line and breathed slowly through his nostrils.

"Switch off Daphne."

Daphne’s indignant voice cut out in mid rant and silence descended on the room.

"Now." Jim held up a finger and pointed it at Blair. "I’m going to take my foot off your chest. And if you don’t keep your skinny little butt planted right where it is, I’m going to hogtie you. Got it?"

Blair huffed and gave Ellison a look that translated into something most likely very uncomplimentary regarding his mother’s virtue. He squirmed a little, testing his freedom, and then nodded grudgingly in agreement.

Jim slowly removed his foot. Blair pulled himself up into a more comfortable position, but made no attempt to get off the couch.

"You’re out of your jurisdiction, badger," Blair muttered, emphasizing the last word, making it an insult.

"I’m not here on official business." Jim relaxed his stance and tried to appear less threatening.

The kid’s heartbeat was racing. He was scared and pissed off, but putting up a good front.

Blair’s intelligent blue eyes began darting around the room, gauging his opponents, assessing his options, looking for an avenue of escape.

"Don’t even think it, kid." Jim fisted his hands on his hips and pinned Blair in place with a glare. "My threat just upgraded."

Blair shifted nervously in his seat, and he shoved strands of hair behind his ears. But he returned Jim’s glare…icicle for icicle.

Jim continued. "I’m gonna talk. You’re gonna listen. When I’m done, you can ask all the questions you want. But if you so much as open your mouth before that, or if I have to chase your scrawny ass around this…" Jim looked around, taking in the spartan, grungy living area. "…place, I’ll haul you over my knee and wallop your butt blue. Got it?"

Jim was surprised by his own words. As a Badge, he’d often threatened to do bodily harm to perps and lowlifes. Spanking had never been one of his methods of intimidation. The sentinel in him seemed to think it was the appropriate action in this case.

H and Rafe exchanged amused looks. Joel just smirked.

Blair dismissed the threat as a bluff. But he realized he was outnumbered and, for the moment, outmaneuvered. He settled back on the couch, wiggling uncomfortably as the birthmark on his rear end started to sting and itch. With a muffled curse, he crossed his arms defensively and gave a defiant nod of his head in way of signaling compliance.

Jim sat down on the wobbly crate in front of Blair, leaned forward and explained the situation. He started with his sentinel testing at the age of sixteen, continued with his father’s obsession for success at any cost, and gradually worked up to the visit from the Synth two days earlier. He took his time explaining about the genetic tag, showing Blair the receipt and the band on his wrist as proof.

Blair acted indifferent at first. But his natural inquisitiveness and interest in human behavior got the better of him and he found himself being drawn into Jim’s story. When Jim came to the part about the genetic tag and Blair’s part in the scheme of things, however, his curiosity quickly gave way to disbelief and anger.

Blair stared at Jim as if the older man was a total whackoid. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, working silently, as he waited impatiently for Jim to indicate the Q&A session was open.

Jim made note of every reaction the kid went through. It wasn’t really that hard; he didn’t need to be a sentinel to read the kid’s expressive face. He ended his discourse by stating the tag needed to be completed as soon as possible and why it was imperative. He didn’t mince words, making it clear what the outcome was for Blair if the tag wasn’t linked. He fingered the wristband idly, knowing what needed to be done, and heaved a sigh.

"I know this is outta the blue, kid, and I’m sorry. But there’s really not much choice." Jim patted Blair’s knee consolingly and braced himself. "Any questions?"

Blair blurted out his response immediately. "Are you mega-warped?" He pointed a forefinger to his temple and spun it, crossing his eyes. "Spend a little too much time out in one of the rad-zones lately?" Blair jerked his thumb toward the door. "Get the hell out!" He waved his hand toward H, Rafe and Joel. "And take your posse with you!"

Jim winced at the volume and vehemence of the kid’s voice. He tried to say something, but Blair was just getting started.

"Don’t you think I’d know it if I were a guide? Much less a Nine-Six-One? You think I’d be living like this?" Blair indicated his living quarters with a massive sweep of one arm through the air. "If I were a Nine-Six-One I’d be able to write my own ticket. And I sure as hell would never chain myself to a life of slavery with the likes of a stinkin’, son of a motherless mutant Badge like you!"

H slapped his thigh and elbowed Rafe in the ribcage. "He’s got you there, Jim!"

Jim turned and glared at H, who started chuckling uncontrollably. Rafe took a step back, removing himself from Jim’s line of sight. Jim looked to Joel for help or support or…anything. Joel furrowed his brows and thrust out his chin toward Blair, silently urging Jim to finish what he’d started.

Buoyed by Joel’s show of understanding, Jim braced himself for another shot at making Blair understand. There was still time before the marker counted down, but not much…days, maybe…at most. Jim had hoped to have some leeway, time to get to know the kid better, make him see reason. He tried to offer one last bit of evidence.

"When the tag was made, it left some sort of mark on you. A tattoo, maybe, or a scar; it’ll match the marking on the receipt." Jim looked at Blair hopefully, and showed him the receipt card. There was a green fluorescent symbol in one corner. "A large freckle or blemish? Or a birthmark?"

Blair glanced sideways at the card and recognized the shape; it matched the birthmark on his rear end, but he shook his head furiously in denial.

The sentinel made note of his guide’s increased heart rate, but attributed it to fear or trepidation, rather than deception. Jim sighed. There was no way the youngster was going to willingly agree to this. And he knew for a fact if the tag wasn’t activated now, the kid would rabbit.

Jim gave Blair a long, hard look of remorse.

"I’m sorry, Chief. I wish there was some way for me to convince you; I wish we had more time." Jim was reaching for the wristband. "But this is the way it’s gotta be."

He touched the silver band with the index finger of his right hand at a point on the underside of his wrist. The band came apart and melted once again into a liquid strip. Jim reached for Blair, and as he did, the strip of metal began to grow.

Blair had read enough about genetic tagging to recognize an ownership collar when he saw one. It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand how or why he’d been tagged and never knew it; the fact that the collar was activated and responsive and headed toward his neck was suddenly all the proof he needed.

He jumped up, batting Jim’s hand hard. The collar went flying from the sentinel’s hand and landed on the floor with a metallic sounding ‘ping’ as it hardened into its original, smaller, ring shape. Blair continued upward, springing to his feet on the couch. He braced one arm on the back of the couch and tried to vault over its back.

Jim barely had time to anticipate Blair’s move and didn’t react in time to prevent it. He swore loudly as the collar flew from his grasp. He got to his feet just as Blair started his acrobatic move to get off the couch. He managed to snag the hem of Blair’s shirt and he pulled his guide back sharply, toppling the kid onto his stomach on the couch. He leaned over Blair, bringing one knee up and onto Blair’s backside, pinning the kid in place.

"Someone grab that ring!" He shouted.

Joel had already gone after the ring and had retrieved it by the time Jim yelled.

Underneath Jim’s knee, Blair was kicking and twisting with all his might, trying whole-heartedly to dislodge the unwelcome weight. Only bits and pieces of his colorful cursing were audible as he tossed his head to and fro during his struggle to get up.

Jim slid his knee off the small backside and onto Blair’s lower back, careful not to press too hard. Then he brought his hand down in a series of hard, rapid swats to the wiggling butt. "I told you I wasn’t going to chase you, kid." He swatted the butt a few more times for good measure. "Consider this a warning."

Blair was shrieking and cursing at Jim as the swats were being meted out and he tried valiantly but unsuccessfully to shield his butt with his hands.

"Stop! You can’t do this! I don’t want you to do this, you twankin’ sentinel!"

Jim marveled at the way Blair was able to turn almost any word into a slur against his character, manhood and lineage.

Joel arrived at Jim’s side just as Jim landed the last swat. Jim held out his hand, which was still warm from the spanking, and snatched the ring from Joel.

"What do you want me to do, Jim?" Joel looked at his friend with concern.

"There’s nothing you can do. I’ve gotta do this myself," Jim answered. He was sweating and breathless from the unexpected exertions since arriving at the kid’s door.

Blair continued fighting; wild thoughts rushed through his head as he tried to comprehend how his life had so quickly spun out of control.

Jim grasped the ring tightly and slid it between thumb and forefinger until he came to the spot that activated the collar. It once again came apart and went limp in response to Jim’s touch.

Jim waited until it grew to a length that would fit Blair’s neck. He quickly shifted his weight, re-positioning himself so that Blair was still pinned to the couch but he could now reach the kid’s neck.

Blair anticipated what was going to happen next and he moved his hands to the back of his head and neck in an attempt to prevent it. He was panicking now. His voice turned soft and pleading, a desperate whisper.

"Please," he begged. "Don’t do this."

Jim closed his eyes and tried to block the kid’s voice. There was no longer any choice. Without the tag, the guide would die. And the sentinel could not let that happen.

He swept the wild mass of curls out of the way and brought the liquid strip to the back of Blair’s neck. Blair tried to slap it away, but wasn’t able. The strip snaked itself out and encircled Blair’s throat. As it came together again in the back, it closed itself with a soft snap. Jim touched the collar at the clasp point and a strand of the liquid squiggled out and looped around Jim’s wrist.

Both strips hardened.

Eighteen years after William Ellison had made his illegal deal in the backroom of a seedy hotel, the tag was complete.

~*~*~

Blair felt chilled.

A low buzzing noise filled his head, like the time when he was fifteen and he and several of the other boys in Camp Four got high on some pilfered floaters. Then he felt a sudden zap and a strange prickly sensation raced through his body.

And then he knew.

Everything the Badge said was true. He was a guide. Tagged, marked, signed, sealed and delivered to a sentinel…the Badge with the heavy hand.

Blair shook his head, trying to clear the fog and at least remember the sentinel’s name. He was sure somewhere in all the nonsense he’d been spouting, the sentinel had mentioned a name.

"Blair."

No. That wasn’t it. Blair was his name.

"Blair, come on buddy. Open your eyes." Someone was patting his cheek, gently.

The sentinel.

The touch sent a warm ripple through his neural pathways and Blair didn’t know how, exactly, but he knew that touch. It was part of him and yet it wasn’t.

Blair blinked a few times and slowly opened his eyes. The sentinel was sitting next to him on the edge of the couch. A look of relief washed over the man’s face as their eyes met.

Blair sat bolt upright and scooted away from the sentinel, away from his touch, his presence. He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them and curled into a ball at one end of the couch.

The sentinel held his hands up in front of his chest, indicating he wasn’t going to do anything. "You okay there, Chief?"

Blair scrunched up his face. That voice was part, but not part, of him too…like the weird sensation the sentinel’s touch had caused.

And then the events of the last half hour came back to him in a rush. The initial feeling of disorientation he’d experienced when he first came round suddenly vanished. Blair grabbed at his throat, tracing the feel of the collar. He stuck a finger under it and tried to rip it off. When nothing happened, he used both hands. But the collar wouldn’t give.

"You sonofabitch!" Blair yelled furiously. His eyes flashed with venomous rage.

He uncurled his legs and launched himself at Jim. He knocked the larger man over onto his back and began pounding him on the chest.

Jim realized what Blair was going to do almost as soon as the kid decided to do it. But it still took him by surprise. The psychic connection thing was going to take some getting use to.

"Whoah, there!" Jim exclaimed, chuckling a little. He managed to bring his arms up to cover his face and easily fended off the kid’s swings, twisting his torso and ducking the blows. He looked across the room through the swirling knot of arms and hair and called to his team. "Can I get a little help here, guys?"

Joel and Rafe quickly unglued their feet from the spot they’d retreated to and came to Jim’s aid. They pulled Blair up, his arms still swinging wildly, and yanked him away from Jim. The two men had their hands full trying to contain the outraged guide.

Jim got to his feet and reclaimed his guide. He grabbed hold of Blair by the upper arm, spun him around, swatted his butt, and then plunked him back down onto the couch.

"Settle down, kiddo," Jim advised tersely and pointed a finger at Blair.

"Settle down?" Blair spat out incredulously. "You expect me to settle down, you twankin’ scuzzhead?" He jumped to his feet and shoved Jim hard. "You barge into my home, wrestle me down, and slap this collar on me against my will and you tell me to settle down?"

Jim shoved back, just hard enough to re-seat Blair on the couch. He hovered over his guide, looming menacingly into the kid’s personal space.

"I don’t like this any better than you do."

"I seriously doubt that. I don’t see you wearing a collar."

"Were you listening to me at all? I did what I had to do to save your ungrateful little butt."

"Gee thanks, sentinel. But maybe I’d rather be dead than chokered to you for the rest of my life."

"It isn’t going to be like that."

"Are you thicker than you look? Is that even possible? Lucky me; saved by a big brave sentinel whose daddy arranged the whole thing in the first place. We’re talking about an illegal, black market, tag or bag mark here, sentinel."

"Jim."

"What?"

"My name is Jim."

Blair slumped into the cushions, closed his eyes and began thumping his head against the back of the couch. He spoke to the air. "I don’t give a damn what your name is, sentinel."

Jim reacted to the loathing in Blair’s voice by taking a few steps back. He heaved a sigh and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Okay, look, it’s been a long day. We’ll all get some sleep and tackle this again in the morning with clearer heads." Jim looked at Blair, who continued to ignore the sentinel in favor of head butting the couch. He turned back to his team. "H, Rafe, hoof it back to the hover and bring her around. Then grab our gear and find space in here for all of us to bunk."

"Sure, great, make yourselves comfy. Mi casa es su casa, " Blair muttered sarcastically as he waved his hand in the air. "Daf, maybe our guests would like something to drink."

"There are several bottles of juice as well as guzzle in the refrigerator, Blair."

"Guzzle?" Jim didn’t bother to hide the disapproval in his voice. "Legal age in the Western Alliance is the same as the Olympic Federated Territory, Junior. And you’re nowhere near it."

"Arrest me." Blair opened his eyes and stared at Jim. He brought his hands together at the wrists and held them out in front of him, offering them to Jim in mock surrender.

Jim drew a steadying breath. "Give it a rest, kiddo."

"Or what?" Blair asked, sounding petulant. "You’ll make me? You’ll force me to do things your way?" He laughed half-heartedly. "Oh, wait. Too late." Blair dropped his hands onto his lap and closed his eyes again.

Jim bristled a little at Blair’s belligerent attitude. He knew it should be expected, but the sentinel, now tagged to his guide, was having a hard time accepting his guide’s behavior.

Joel shooed H and Rafe out the door and called Jim aside. He clapped Jim on the back, patted his shoulder a few times, and then squeezed his friend’s upper arm.

"Take it easy, Jim," Joel advised.

"I’m trying, believe me," Jim replied. "But if he doesn’t give up the brat routine, I’m gonna roast his butt."

Joel chuckled, recalling the early days after taking in Rafe. "Oh, I hear ya. I hear ya." He steered Jim away from Blair in an attempt to alleviate the tension in the room. The two men walked over to the refrigerator and rummaged drinks for themselves.

Joel started clearing space for the team’s gear. Jim looked at the mess of scattered meal remains, dirty clothes and assorted debris and began tidying up. His face grimaced and he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the state of his guide’s living conditions. They worked in silence, each man periodically tossing a look toward the dejected youngster on the couch.

Twenty minutes later, H and Rafe came back in with the team’s gear and the four men began setting up for the night.

Blair didn’t move from the couch, eyes still closed, pointedly ignoring the activity around him.

"Let’s button down." Jim looked at Blair. "Let’s go, kiddo. You and I are sleeping in the bedroom."

That remark elicited a reaction from Blair. His eyes shot open and he turned toward Jim, a furious expression on his face. "I don’t think so, sentinel."

Jim crossed his arms and assumed a rigid stance. "Don’t even go there, Junior. You’ll sleep on the bed. I’ll be on the floor. It’s a sentinel thing. And it’s not up for debate."

Blair jumped to his feet and opened his mouth. The snide remark he was about to utter died on his lips as Jim’s combined strength as squadron leader and sentinel meshed to add clout to his next command.

"Get," Jim stated in a deceptively calm voice. He nodded toward the small room and arched one eyebrow. "Now."

The collar on Blair’s neck tingled slightly and the birthmark on his rear end started to itch.

The guide complied. He turned quickly and stomped off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Jim grabbed his pack and sleeping roll and entered the small room a few minutes later, leaving his three teammates to fend for themselves. He looked around the small room. It was almost as barren as the outer living area. A few stacks of books were piled haphazardly in the corners but there wasn’t much else in the way of personal possessions.

Blair had already buried himself under the covers, his back to the door. He’d discarded his well-worn hiking boots and shabby, frayed jeans in a heap next to the ratty mattress he was laying on. His breathing was slow and even, but Jim knew it wasn’t due to sleep. Blair was seething; trying to bring his emotions under control.

Jim pulled his boots off and set them to one side. He then stripped off his gun belt, vest and gear. He stowed his pack next to his boots, rolled out the sleeping bag and crawled into it. He placed his gun at his side, within instant reach. He took a few minutes to scan everything within a half-click perimeter of the warehouse, including his weary team.

Satisfied there was nothing threatening, he turned his attention to Blair. He monitored his guide’s heartbeat and breathing for a few minutes, allowing his senses to roam over his guide, mapping everything he could about the youngster.

"Stop that, sentinel." Blair hissed through clenched teeth. "You’re as bad as Daphne."

Jim smiled. He didn’t need his enhanced senses to discern his guide was still pissed off.

Blair was trying his best to ignore the tag. But it was nearly impossible, especially with the sentinel practically on top of him. A part of him rebelled against the utter unfairness of what had happened, while another part of him was settling into the genetic connection with ease.

And his damn birthmark was itching like nobody’s business…

"What do you mean, as bad as Daphne?" Jim asked.

"She thinks she has the right to monitor me without my permission too." Blair snapped.

Daphne’s voice joined the chat. "I am programmed to monitor your health, Blair. We have discussed this before."

Blair jumped at the sound of Daphne’s voice. He’d forgotten she’d switched back on when he’d sarcastically offered drinks to the team.

"If you had listened to me about the abnormality I detected regarding your birthmark you might have been better prepared for what transpired tonight."

Jim was on his feet the second he heard ‘birthmark’. He leaned over Blair and wrestled him onto his back.

"What birthmark?" Jim demanded. "When I asked you about a mark you said there wasn’t one."

"I never said anything, sentinel," Blair responded.

"All right. Fine. You didn’t say it. But you did deny it," Jim pointed out.

Blair just glared at him.

"Do you always lie?"

"No," Blair replied crossly. "But I do obfuscate a lot, when it suits me. Like when a crazed lunatic is after me."

Jim took a deep breath. "The mark is important. It’s part of the trigger. I need to see it."

"Forget it, sentinel. There’s no way I’m playing show and tell."

"Daphne!" Jim called out. "Where’s this birthmark?"

"It is…"

"Daphne!" Blair screeched. "Don’t you dare!"

Jim clamped one hand across Blair’s mouth. He brought one knee up onto the bed to steady himself. Blair immediately began squirming and pawed at Jim’s hand and forearm in an attempt to loosen his hold. Muffled protests and instructions for Daphne were stifled completely under the sentinel’s muzzling hold.

"Where is it, Daphne?" Jim asked sweetly.

"Blair?" Daphne questioned.

"Daphne." Jim spoke calmly and firmly, never taking his eyes off the if-looks-could-kill expression on Blair’s face. "Tell me where the birthmark is."

"I am not sure that is what Blair wishes."

Blair shook his head frantically as he continued to try to make himself heard around Jim’s hand.

"You said there was an abnormality having to do with the birthmark," Jim stated.

Blair’s eyes widened and he dug his fingernails into Jim’s forearm.

"Yes."

"And this abnormality affects Blair’s health." Another statement.

"Yes."

"How?" Jim inquired.

Blair increased his efforts to break free.

"It harbors a toxin. The mark has been changing size and shape in an attempt to release the toxin."

"I can stop it." Jim spoke to Blair.

Blair scrunched his eyes, shutting out Jim’s determined gaze. The palm of Jim’s hand was warm and moist from Blair’s continued attempts to speak to Daphne.

"I detected a correlation between your arrival and the abnormality."

"Yes, because I can stop it," Jim stated flatly.

For a few moments, the only noise in the room was Blair’s stifled protests.

Daphne’s response coincided with Blair working his mouth free just enough to sink his teeth into the fleshy part of Jim’s hand between thumb and forefinger.

"The birthmark is on Blair’s right buttock."

Jim yanked his hand away from Blair’s mouth and shook it vigorously. "Ah, damn!" He stuck the bitten area into his mouth and nursed the sting for a few seconds.

"Daphne!" Blair shouted. "No!’

"Perfect." Jim’s jaw tightened and his eyes held a small glint of satisfaction.

Jim slid his knee off the bed and pulled himself upright. He unbuttoned his cuffs and slowly began rolling up his shirtsleeves.

Blair jumped off the bed, paying no attention to Jim’s comment and deliberate movements. His hands waved wildly as he hollered at Jim and Daphne, alternately maligning Jim’s character and Daphne’s programming.

Jim ignored Blair’s tirade as he finished securing his sleeves above his elbows.

Blair finally threw his hands up in exasperation and turned toward the door. He took one step before Jim reached out and snagged him. Jim sat on the edge of the bed and yanked Blair down and over his lap. He pushed Blair’s oversized shirt out of the way, and found he didn’t have to contend with skivvies in order to find his target.

Jim brought his right hand down with a resounding smack on the unusual birthmark. He let his hand rest for a moment, feeling cells on his palms interlace with the cells of the mark.

The Synth had explained to him how a lethal mark worked and what a sentinel needed to do to counter its effects, if necessary. It was a simple matter of allowing his genetic signature to come in contact with the mark, deactivating the triggering of the toxin. Tagging his guide should have been enough to do the trick. But with the delayed marker being so long overdue, and unknown variables in the guide’s environment over the years, the tag hadn’t been enough.

"Ouch!" Blair shouted. "Lemme up! What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

Jim ignored Blair. "Daphne, any change?"

"Yes. This is quite interesting. I have never encountered anything like it. The properties of the birthmark are changing. The toxin is breaking down and is being harmlessly absorbed by Blair’s body. I estimate it will be rendered completely harmless within forty-five seconds."

Blair struggled uselessly against Jim’s hold as the remaining seconds counted down. He made good use of the time by pointing out to Jim every mental and physical deficiency he believed the sentinel possessed.

Thirty-nine seconds later Daphne spoke again. "It is safe now. The toxin has dissipated."

"Good." Jim smacked Blair’s butt again.

"Hey!" Blair cried out indignantly. "What was that for? Daf said it worked, didn’t she? No more poison right, Daf?"

"That is correct Blair."

Jim smacked Blair’s butt several more times, making sure to cover both wriggling cheeks with the swats.

"I’m just getting started here, kiddo." Jim continued to spank as he spoke. "Let me say it simply, since you’ve made it clear what you think of my intellect."

Jim spanked Blair’s bottom vigorously, ensuring he had his undivided attention.

"Me, sentinel. You, guide."

Blair was furious; he’d never been spanked like this in his life. Sure, there had been times he’d earned himself a few good smacks for sneaking out after curfew or mouthing off to one of the teachers when he lived in one of the Zone’s Camps. But that was more for show. This damn sentinel meant business.

Jim kept right on spanking, giving rein to both his senses and the tag to judge when the punishment should end. The sentinel was determined to set his guide straight on a few things.

Blair grabbed a handful of blanket and stuffed it in his mouth, determined not to cry. But his butt was beginning to seriously hurt.

The birthmark faded from a crimson color to a rosy shade, matching the present color of Blair’s backside. It shrank to its original size and the annoying itch disappeared. Of course, a fiery sting now replaced the itch.

Jim shifted his weight slightly, tipping Blair’s butt a little higher. He spanked the underside of the squirming cheeks until the entire surface of Blair’s butt was a uniform shade of pink.

Blair squeezed his eyes shut, and bit down hard on the blanket. He fisted the material tightly in his hands and resolutely continued to try to work his way off Jim’s lap.

Jim finally stopped, but not before Blair had come to the conclusion he would most likely not be able to sit for at least a week. Blair cringed and silently cursed when Jim didn’t immediately let him up.

"Here’s the blab, Bait. I’m more than willing to do what it takes to get this tag-thing deactivated, but we’re both stuck with it for now. Which means you are legally in my custody."

"Meaning you own me, sentinel," Blair snapped.

The sassy remark earned him a hard swat.

"Meaning," Jim continued stoically, "That as long as you continue to act like a stubborn, smart-mouthed brat, I will treat you like one." Jim swatted the red bottom five more times to emphasize his point before releasing his hold and allowing Blair to hop off his lap.

Blair quickly retreated to one corner of the room, rubbing his butt to try to ease the sting and chewing his bottom lip to keep the remarks on the tip of his tongue from spilling out. He couldn’t hold back the dirty look, though, and telegraphed his indignation and resentment loud and clear.

Jim decided on a withdrawal tactic of his own to allow Blair to mull over the evening’s events. He stood slowly, never taking his eyes off his guide. He gave Blair a stony-faced, cryptic look and pointed a finger at him in a sort of unclear admonishment of some kind. Then he picked up his gun, tucked it into his waistband and stepped out of the room.

~*~*~

H and Joel were right outside the door. It was obvious they’d heard the commotion and deduced what was happening. Rafe stood across the room, fidgeting. He looked up as Jim entered the living area, but quickly looked away as his eyes met Jim’s.

"You okay, Jim?" Joel asked softly.

Rafe pulled a face and snorted loudly. He chimed in before Jim had a chance to respond.

"From the sound of it, Jim’s not the one you should be askin’."

Jim held up one hand, stopping the comment Joel was about to make. He sighed and ran his fingertips through his short-cropped hair and scratched tiredly at his scalp. He looked at Rafe and thrust his chin toward the front door.

"Let’s get some air, Junior."

Rafe hesitated, studying the floor for a few seconds before looking at Jim again. He nodded his head sheepishly and the two men went out into the cool evening.

Joel and H looked at each other, then the front door, and then the bedroom door. They arched their eyebrows and shrugged before returning to their sleeping rolls.

~*~*~

As soon as Jim left, Blair rushed to the door and locked it. Then he angrily kicked Jim’s gear out of his way as he searched for a pair of pants. He found a pair of baggy soft linen trousers and pulled them on. He hissed as he pulled them up over his tender butt and swiped a sleeve across his eyes and nose. He went to a computer port that was tucked into the wall near his bed and pulled out a small earpiece. He stuck it in his ear and adjusted it so it fit snugly and aligned with the silver hoops piercing his earlobe. He waited for the soft chime telling him the direct interface between his brain and Daphne’s was active before ‘speaking’.

Blair removed a small, round silver disk from a slot on the wall and inserted it into another slot.

‘Wolf-pack’ was a sort and dump routine programmed into Daphne’s logic. As Blair hastily crammed clothes and books and a few other items into his backpack and a duffel, Daphne wiped her memory, scrambling and erasing the information Blair gathered and stored for Ezekiel.

Blair went to one of the book piles and counted down from the top. He pulled the tenth book out of the stack and opened it. The book was hollowed out and Blair removed the packet of exchange slats he kept hidden in case of emergency. He stuffed the packet into the backpack. As Blair zipped his bag shut, he scanned the room to make sure he didn’t miss anything. He spied Jim’s gear and ferreted through everything, helping himself to a few survival items that might come in handy. The message his collar was sending told him the sentinel was not going to be happy about his guide rabbiting; Blair really didn’t give a damn.

This message informed Ezekiel Blair had to relocate in a hurry and would re-establish contact as soon as he was able.

Blair reconsidered his plan. He was tired of Ezekiel’s game. Tired of being ‘Chosen’. Tired of wondering if he’d ever see Naomi again. And now he had a tag-crazed stinkin’ sentinel Badge to worry about.

Blair drew a shaky breath and exhaled slowly.

Blair removed Daphne’s disk and carefully placed it into a black case. He then put the case into a pocket concealed in the selvage of the side seam of his shirt, near his armpit. He made certain the case was strapped in tightly and secured.

Blair ran his hands over his rear end and massaged his sore cheeks. He screwed up his face and yelped softly at the burning sensation even that little action caused.

Then he snatched up his backpack and duffel and walked to the far corner of the room. He got down on his knees and toppled the pile of books stacked in the corner, revealing the opening to a passageway. Blair shoved his gear through the opening and crawled in after it. He moved quickly, pushing his stuff along in front of him. In a matter of minutes, he emerged at the far end of the building through another concealed hatch. He glanced around as he hefted his backpack onto his shoulders. The alleyway was deserted; he grabbed his bag and scurried off into the night.

~*~*~

Jim and Rafe walked toward the marketplace where Jim had first seen Blair. The place was quiet and dimly lit. Jim’s senses told him they were alone except for several merchants tidying up their stalls for the night.

Rafe shuffled along next to his friend, not sure of what it was he needed to say.

Not wanting to leave his guide to his own devices for too long, Jim finally nudged Rafe’s shoulder. "Come on, Twist, tell Unca Jim what’s eating you," he teased.

Rafe chuckled. "You and Joel are never gonna let me outgrow that nickname, are ya?"

"Nope, probably not," Jim quipped. He nudged the younger man again, a little harder, and spoke seriously. "I’m not going to mistreat him or hurt him. I spanked him. Joel’s let you have it harder than what I gave him."

"It’s not that," Rafe started hesitantly. "Okay, yes, maybe it is. A little. I mean, Ezekiel’s balls, Jim! He didn’t have any choice. His whole life’s just been yanked away from him…"

"Stop right there," Jim interrupted. "I saved his life. Even with the collar, he was still being slowly poisoned. All because of my old man." Jim stopped and drew a deep breath; letting his words sink in for both of them. "I’m going to do everything I can to undo this if it’s possible. But there is no way that little shit is gonna pull a Twist on me and get away with it."

Jim wrapped an arm around Rafe’s shoulders and gave a hearty squeeze. "I know you sympathize with the kid, and from what I’m picking up through the tag about him, he’s gonna need a friend. Because I have a feeling his butt and my hand are gonna be having a lot of long talks before this whole thing is sorted out. But when he’s earned a trip, I want you to stay out of it. Understand?"

"Yeah, but…"

"No but’s, Rafe. I mean it." Jim let his arm drape loosely across Rafe’s shoulder and he steered him back toward Blair’s building.

Rafe nodded his head and relaxed into his friend’s warmth. "Okay, Jim."

The two men quietly re-entered Blair’s place and Jim waited while Rafe found the spot where Joel had laid out his sleeping roll.

A minute later, the silence was shattered by Jim’s pounding on the bedroom door. He rattled the doorknob and yelled at the wood.

"Blair! Let me in, do you hear me?"

There were a few more moments of silence during which the Panther squad peeled out of their sleeping rolls and joined Jim at the door. The sentinel had given up his assault on the door and was now standing still and listening.

"Damn! I don’t hear him. He’s gone." Jim stated. His jaw clenched tightly and the muscles in his cheek began to twitch.

"Daphne?" He called into the air. He tried several more times and gave up.

"Help me get this door open." Jim put his shoulder to the door and began ramming it. There was only room for two of them to stand next to each other and the door, so H joined Jim’s efforts. After five or six hard butts with their combined efforts, the door gave way.

Jim scanned the room and found the escape route easily. He threw up his hands in exasperation and turned to find an assortment of amused grins on his team’s faces.

He ran his fingers over the smooth metallic strip wrapped around his wrist. There was no point in pursuing his guide tonight. It had been a long day and his team needed to rest.

Jim already knew which way the kid had headed and by morning the psychic connection would tell him more.

Jim smiled and shook his head. "Wait’ll I get my hands on you, Bait."

~*~*~

On the other side of Last Stop, Blair ran through a run down area of the town near the old train yards. He stopped, breathless and panting, when he came to an abandoned boxcar. He swung himself up and into the empty car. He picked a corner and plopped himself into it. As his rump met the floor he jumped back up to his feet and began dancing in place, cursing madly. Then he gingerly lowered himself down and onto his side. He breathed a sigh of relief when the motion didn’t cause any additional distress to his rear.

As Blair pillowed his head on his backpack, the collar hummed softly for a few seconds and then went still. He thought of Naomi and wondered how Ezekiel would view the message he’d sent.

He thought of the sentinel…Jim; his mind spit out the words and he shuddered with a confused mixture of conflicting emotions.

Blair curled up, alone in the dark, and fought back tears as he drifted off to sleep.

~*~*~

Glory…Eighty-one miles inside the Free Zone…

Ezekiel sat on his bed, propped up by soft pillows, and listened to the message from the Chosen one more time. He closed his eyes and leaned back, listening for another message. His eyes opened drowsily a few minutes later and he smiled contentedly. He reached over to the nightstand and pushed a button. The air was silent for a bit and then he heard his Right Hand’s voice.

"Yes, Ezekiel?"

"Caleb, I need to speak with you."

Five minutes later, Caleb entered the room. He offered Ezekiel a quick, respectful bow before speaking.

"What is it, Ezekiel?"

The dark gray eyes of the Guiding Light of the Free Zone sparkled with the euphoria of a revelation. Ezekiel looked at his Right Hand and issued a command.

"It is time to bring the Chosen home, Caleb."

~*~*~

End Chapter 1