TAG
This is the standard disclaimer. They don't belong to me. This story is not intended to violate any copyrights held by Paramount, UPN, or Pet Fly Productions.
Thank you once again to Spacepixell for beta-ing.
~*~*~*~
Chapter 2
The Panther Squadron was the top-ranked unit of the Olympic Territorial Police; they operated together like a fine-tuned, well-oiled machine. And this morning, the team was in high gear before the sun even hinted at casting its predawn light over Last Stop.
When on downtime, they enjoyed the easy, laid back camaraderie of ‘family’ that is derived only from years of trust and the bonds of mutual dependence. And when on a mission, each man knew his job and performed it flawlessly, each easily falling into his assigned role.
This morning they were on a mission.
Jim had slept in Blair’s room, needing the feel of his guide. He’d slept soundly, but the wee hours of the morning found him restless and anxious. He was up well before the rest of the team. He’d gone over Blair’s room with meticulous care, grabbing and packing anything he thought the youngster might need or want but had left behind in his haste to flee. He noted with a wry smile that Blair had helped himself to first aid supplies and survival rations from Jim’s pack. He made a mental note to add the pilfered items to the tally he was keeping in his head of things for which he’d happily paddle the kid’s butt when he caught up with him. As he scoured the rest of the living area, he found evidence of Blair illegally tapping into the town’s utilities for power, heat and water as well as several information systems. He decided he might have to spread the comeuppance Blair had due over several separate sessions across his knees.
An hour after Jim had risen and was ready to leave, the rest of the team was up. Jim prowled the large expanse of the old warehouse, casting impatient looks at his teammates as they ate, packed their gear and checked weapons. For the most part, the other men ignored him, having grown used to Jim’s cat-like predatory movements when psyching himself for a hunt. It was what had earned the team their nickname.
This morning their panther’s prowling was different, though. There was an underlying urgency to Jim’s pacing, punctuated by the sentinel sniffing the air and shaking his head irritably every few minutes. He repeatedly rubbed at the silver bracelet on his wrist and would close his eyes and freeze momentarily every now and then.
Jim spent a few minutes disconnecting the utility taps and double-checking there was nothing perishable left behind to rot. The area of town his guide had chosen to live in was already infested with rats and other vermin; no sense in leaving anything behind that would attract more critters.
The team worked quietly and efficiently and within fifteen minutes they were ready to roll. At Jim’s gruff nod, they left the building, stowed their gear in the hover car, climbed into their customary spots and buckled up. They each eyed Jim warily, waiting for him to say something, but the sentinel remained quiet.
Joel finally broke the tense silence. He slapped a hand on Jim’s shoulder from his position behind the driver and said, “Let’s boogie. Ain’t no little shit of a guide gonna pull a Twist on us and skedaddle.”
H let out a jubilant ‘whoop’, rubbed his hands together gleefully and settled into his seat.
Jim’s lips curled into a smirk as he put the hover-car in gear and eased the vehicle up into the air.
Joel laughed and slapped Jim again, this time adding a reassuring squeeze to the tense neck muscles.
Rafe sulked into his seat, crossed his arms sullenly, screwed his face into a sour pout and whined, “Very funny, guys. Very funny.”
~*~*~*~
Ezekiel took his time as he sauntered toward the rover, allowing his followers a good look at their leader. He seldom ventured outside the walls of the imposing fortress he lived in, usually only presenting himself to be viewed from one of the third story balconies.
But today was special. Today was a momentous occasion. The Chosen had fulfilled his duty to the Guiding Light and was coming home from the Outside. Ezekiel wanted it to be known that he, personally, was going to meet The Chosen and bring him back into the fold.
The small entourage was led by Micah, who was derisively called Ezekiel’s Wrath by many of the ‘faithful’. The safety and security of the Guiding Light was Micah’s duty, a calling he took very seriously. He was not at all pleased Ezekiel had ignored his advice concerning retrieving The Chosen. He considered it a senseless risk for Ezekiel to leave the refuge of his dwelling, much less venture beyond Glory.
Ezekiel followed a few steps behind Micah with his Right Hand, Caleb, at his right side.
The two men were startlingly different in appearance. Caleb was tall and broad shouldered, with close-cropped white-blonde hair. His skin was tanned and weathered. He walked with a slight limp, and it was apparent by his posture and mode of dress that he had a military background. Ezekiel stood a few inches shorter than Caleb. His jet black, wavy hair hung loosely, well past his collar. His skin was creamy white and smooth. He moved with a calm assurance, his hands folded serenely in front, his long saffron robe obscuring his gate, lending the impression of an effortless, floating movement across the ground.
A few feet behind Ezekiel, and to his left, walked a woman. She was of medium build, and wore a gauzy dress patterned in green and blue that fluttered in the breeze. She moved gracefully, with her head lowered, her eyes downcast, her hands clasped loosely behind her back. The morning sun touched her hair, and the red tresses blazed to life.
Ezekiel called her Hope…for she was the mother of The Chosen.
The path leading to the rover was crowded with onlookers, all anxious to get a glimpse of Ezekiel. Hushed murmurings buzzed through the throng as he passed, some expressing awe, more expressing fear. Ezekiel’s face reflected his reactions to what he heard, alternately smiling sedately or frowning bemusedly. The other voices, those only he could hear, were the only voices that really mattered, and Ezekiel let the words of his followers flow past him.
When they reached the rover, Micah tried once again to dissuade Ezekiel from the journey, but to no avail. He launched a protest over Hope accompanying the men, but Ezekiel merely smiled and laid his hand on top of Micah’s head.
“Of course Hope must accompany me, Micah,” he explained. “She is the conduit which keeps me tethered to my earthly bounds until such time I am called to the ethereal plane of everlasting Light.”
Micah puffed out an exasperated breath, shaking his head just hard enough to dislodge Ezekiel’s hand.
“Right. Whatever you say, Zeke.” He held the door open and waved his arm in a sweeping motion, ushering Ezekiel and Hope into the backseat of the rover. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He pursed his lips and gave Caleb a look of weary resignation.
Micah’d known Ezekiel since they’d been boys, growing up together in the poorest neighborhood of St. Louie, back before the Quakes, back when he was Mikey Russo and Ezekiel was Tommy Burgess, back before the Calling…when the only voices Tommy could hear that Mikey couldn’t were the voices of their mothers calling them home to supper.
They’d been best friends since he could remember. Tommy had always been a charismatic character…charming and diplomatic, always one to seek a non-violent solution to whatever confronted them in the rough and tumble neighborhood of their youth. Micah was not as clever or smart as his friend; his greatest asset was his brute strength and he took it upon himself to look after, defend and protect Tommy from the older bullies and later, vicious street gangs.
And when Tommy saw the Light and the Voices told him to leave St Louie because he was meant for greater things, Micah followed him. They’d settled at a refugee camp on the western shore of Lake Mississippi, where Ezekiel was born.
Many disillusioned souls, weary of the ravages of Nature’s recent upheavals and the resulting chaos, flocked to Ezekiel and his teachings of Peace and Unity. For months he gathered an Inner Circle of disciples with diverse knowledge and strengths. As more and more world-weary mortals gravitated to him, the voices were joined by visions and the visions led to other manifestations of his true destiny and Ezekiel transformed into The Guiding Light. He envisioned building a refuge where he could cut himself and his followers off from the Outside…a place where he, and he alone, could show his followers the True Way.
And when the government offered land grants in the West to anyone willing to reclaim and resettle the land, Ezekiel jumped at the opportunity. He staked claim to a large swath of land, backed by the wealth his followers donated to the Cause.
He led his people into the Free Zone, and they all fell headlong into the new chaos of Ezekiel’s personal madness.
Sometimes Mikey thought Tommy only acted the part of the Guiding Light, like just now, when he was able to show off in front of his ‘faithful’. As he got into the driver’s seat and steered the rover toward the outskirts of Glory, Ezekiel set him straight.
“You know how much it displeases me when you call me Zeke,” Ezekiel stated in a hurt tone.
Micah looked into the rearview mirror and his eyes met the questioning dark gray eyes of the Guiding Light. He really missed Tommy.
“Yeah, Ezekiel, I know. I’m sorry,” he responded contritely.
Ezekiel leaned back and closed his eyes. He reached out a hand and Hope clasped it gently, settling it on her lap. She sat quietly, as was expected of her, and offered a silent prayer to the deities she’d entreated long before meeting Ezekiel, asking them, as she did every day, to do the residents of the Free Zone a favor of cosmic proportions and send Ezekiel on to the next life.
~*~*~*~
The Panther team hopped out of the hover car and made their way toward the string of derelict boxcars. Jim moved with calm determination toward the third boxcar on the outside track. Its door hung precariously from the rotted, graffiti-covered frame, and it tilted downward on one end where the wheels had dislodged from the tracks.
He pointed to the boxcar and then gestured to his teammates.
The team moved in silence, following Jim’s hand signals. Joel and Rafe dropped back and circled around to the opposite side of the tracks to intercept Blair if the youngster tried to bolt from the other side. H stayed with Jim, walking backwards, scanning the area.
As they neared the boxcar Jim had indicated, the sentinel suddenly picked up his pace, breaking into a trot and uttering a curse as he jogged. H turned and sprinted to keep up.
Jim reached the car, grabbed a handhold and quickly swung himself up and in. Surveying the empty space in disbelief, he threw his hands into the air. The scent of his guide was still in the air. He stomped to one of the corners, crouched down and picked up a small ball. He held it for a minute, listening to the sound of his guide’s heartbeat. From more than twenty yards away, he’d not been able to pick up the artificial resonance of the device, especially since he hadn’t been expecting it. He fingered the band on his wrist and his ire grew as he realized his guide had used the collar’s psychic link to purposely misdirect him to this spot.
“Damn!” He swore loudly. “That little brat.”
He stood up and threw the ball against a wall. The tiny object fell to the floor and split in half, silencing the sentinel-soft thumping. Jim hung his head and shook it; his right hand clamped down on his left wrist and he started prowling the perimeter of the boxcar.
H pulled himself up and plopped down in the open doorway, his legs swinging idly as he watched Jim’s reactions. A few minutes later, Joel and Rafe appeared, worried expressions on their faces. H arched his eyebrows and nodded his head toward the simmering sentinel. They immediately took the hint and backed off while Jim paced and brooded.
Several more minutes passed before Jim finally rejoined his team. He leaned on the open doorframe and looked into the distance, squinting against the sun’s rays. Then he sat down next to H, resting his forearms on his thighs, his hands clasped tightly as he heaved an exasperated sigh.
“I think he’s headed to the Zone,” Jim stated. “I dunno,” he shook his head. “I’m not sure. The tag is supposed to help me know, I think. But that’s if the sentinel and guide are working together,” he stated sourly.
He scooted off the edge of boxcar and started walking away. H and Joel fell in step behind Jim but Rafe stayed where he was.
Jim waved the two men off as he slowed his steps. They immediately stopped and watched as Jim began reconnoitering. The sentinel studied the ground and sniffed at the air, stooping down every few feet to run his fingertips across a depression in the gravel or examine something only he could see. He returned to the boxcar a couple times, repeating the process in different directions. And then he stopped, closed his eyes and cocked his head to one side as he rubbed the bracelet. A small frown creased his brow and his jaw began twitching.
“There’s something interfering with the connection,” he said. He chuckled, but not in amusement. “I think it’s Daphne.”
“Daphne?” H asked incredulously. “How’s that possible?”
Jim looked at H and waved a finger in the general vicinity of his own left ear. “Did you notice the two earrings? Silver hoops?”
H thought about it for a minute before nodding in agreement. “Yeah? So?”
“They aren’t for looks,” Jim stated emphatically.
“No way!” H snorted. “That little shit has a neural interface? With that snarky didge-comp?”
“Yup.” Jim nodded his head and smiled at the goofy look on H’s face. “I think your twig on the Bait being smart mighta been an understatement.”
H and Joel exchanged bemused looks before breaking down and laughing. Jim relaxed a little and joined in with soft sniggering as he shook his head wearily. He looked at Rafe, who’d been quietly watching up until now. Jim winked at the younger man and shrugged. Rafe smirked and stuck his tongue out at Jim before giving in and laughing.
A minute later Jim said, “Let’s roll. Blair was here, and not all that long ago; I’d say less than an hour.”
All four men headed back to the hover car. Jim reached in and grabbed his pack. He opened a zippered side pocket and withdrew a small communicator. As he fitted the earpiece and adjusted the mouthpiece, he issued orders.
“I’m gonna stay on foot. H, you’re with me. Joel, Rafe, take the hover and head east.” He waved a hand, pointing generally in an easterly direction. “He took off that way, but he wants me to think he’s headed north, toward the transport depots. He wants me to think he’s gonna snag a flitter to another town.” He finished adjusting the communicator before checking his gear and weapon, making sure he had everything he wanted. To his right, H was doing the same. “Keep a lookout for him, as best you can; he knows the turf so he’ll be playing hide and seek. Rafe, let Joel handle the skate; I want you to check in with Simon, give him the jabber. Then linkup with central, here and back home, and see what you can snag about the Bait. I wanna know anything you can grab; birth record, relatives, addies, you know the drill. He’s under-age, so see if he’s listed with Juvie-Reg, if he’s supposed to be in somebody’s keeping.”
“Why don’t you just let him go?” Rafe asked. The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself and he kicked himself mentally at hearing the petulance in his voice.
The buzz of activity halted.
The sentinel bristled at the thought of anyone questioning his right, his need, and his duty to find and safeguard his guide. The tag hummed and sizzled with a proprietary decree to follow the tether that leashed his very being to the guide that had been programmed for him.
Jim straightened to his full height, muscles taut, angry steel blue eyes pinning Rafe with a hostile glare, his body language issuing a challenge, ready to pounce.
Rafe gulped, instantly forgetting what he had intended to say next. He took a step backward in an attempt to distance himself from Jim’s anger and stumbled. His ankle twisted awkwardly as he tried to stifle a fall and he was saved from landing on his butt by two strong hands grabbing him from behind.
Joel’s firm grip righted him and Rafe was lifted off his feet and set to one side. Then Joel placed himself between Rafe and Jim.
The sentinel snarled and tensed.
Joel just huffed and walked straight up to him. He pushed against the taller man’s chest with both hands. Jim rocked back on his heels, blinking in confusion. Then Joel slapped Jim, open handed, hard on the chest.
“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” Joel yelled in his face. “If you think we’re gonna put up with any of that feral, primal, big bad sentinel crap any time one of us questions your edicts about the kid, you just better think again.” He poked a finger at Jim, jabbing him repeatedly as he spoke.
Jim batted the insistent hand away and began rubbing at his chest. “Ow, would you stop that? What’s your problem?” he asked. A bewildered look replaced the predatory glowering of a few minutes earlier.
“You warped out on us for a minute there, like that time---,” Joel snapped his fingers irritably, “---that time what’s his name?” He looked to H for help. “That senty with the Fiddler squadron?”
“You mean Tosh?” H ventured.
“Yeah---him.” Joel’s head spun back to face Jim. “That time Eddie Toshner went all crazy protective sensitive over that skinny little guide of his.”
“I didn’t either,” Jim said defensively.
The assorted grimaces and raised eyebrows of his teammates told a different story.
Jim’s shoulders slumped and his face fell. “Crap.” He continued rubbing the tender spot just below his sternum where Joel had prodded him. “Look, I know it seems like I’m tracking a deuce---,” he stopped, searching for the right words, “---you’d think everything would be okay, all hunky-dory, now that I’ve made the tag. The tag’s been completed, the toxin’s neutralized; I should be able to just let him go off on his merry way.”
The tag thrummed, becoming insistent.
“It isn’t that simple. We’re connected, linked, whatever you want to call it, at a level I can’t identify. I’m a Five-0-0; I shouldn’t need a guide, but I do now. I need him and it’s because of the damn tag.” Jim looked contrite; he really didn’t like this at all. “I know it’s not fair, but he’s in the same boat, whether he likes it or not.”
Joel stepped back and gave Jim a hard look. He glanced at H, who gestured his understanding with a quick nod. Then he turned to Rafe and questioned the kid by arching one brow. Rafe answered with a barely perceptible shrug. Joel’s gaze pivoted back once again to Jim.
“All right,” he admonished. He pointed a finger at Jim again. “But no more sentinel-ass shenanigans. Got it?”
Jim nodded sheepishly and muttered, “Sorry.”
The tension receded and Joel once again said, “All right,” before steering Rafe into the hover-car.
Jim dejectedly ran his hand over his chest, rubbing away the last of the mild soreness. He took a deep breath and shook off the edginess of the last few minutes before refocusing on his purpose.
Signaling Joel he was ready, Jim received an acknowledging nod, and encouraging smile to boot, in return. He looked at Rafe and was relieved to see the younger man give him a warm half smile along with a ‘we’re good’ thumbs up. Jim gestured to H to head off and whapped him on the back.
The Panther team was again on the prowl.
~*~*~*~
‘I think it worked.’
‘No shit, Daf. He’s one pissed off sentinel.’
‘Should I…I…I…should I con…continue?’
‘No. You’d better switch off. You sound a little shaky. I’ll be able to hack into a power ‘let before we go into the Zone.’
‘Switching off.’
Blair took a quick look around, making sure no one on the nearly empty bus was watching him. He disconnected the neural link and made sure Daphne was still secured in her travel-pac, slipping the earpiece in next to her.
He ran the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat. He licked his dry lips and searched his backpack for one of the bottles of water he’d lifted from the sentinel’s rations. He took several gulps and his stomach gurgled. He felt a little hungry, but was too much on edge to try eating anything. Better to wait until he was into the Zone. He stuck the bottle in his pack and fidgeted as the sting in his butt was re-ignited by his movements. The residual ache had lessened, but sitting was still uncomfortable. He checked the duffle on the floor for the umpteenth time, making sure it was secure between his feet. He wrapped his arms around his backpack protectively and hugged it to his chest as he rested his head against the window.
The collar began a soft purring, vibrating softly at the base of his neck. Blair closed his eyes and an image of the sentinel flashed through his mind. Blair let his mind flit across the sentinel’s, careful not to let the other man connect with him. The little babble-ball, aided by Daphne’s misdirection, had worked. The big guy was not happy…not at all. The chances of fooling the sentinel for long, or a second time, were probably pretty slim and he wondered if the Badge had bought the flitter vibe he’d tacked on. The gentle purring suddenly changed to a low growl and he quickly pulled out of the link, hoping the subterfuge had bought him a big enough head start.
There was a lot he still didn’t understand about the tag, but he was pretty sure the sentinel knew even less. When the sentinel had given him the background on how this mess had come about, it sounded like he only knew the basics. The doofus probably hadn’t even asked the Synth for a read-out of the receipt to find out what ‘features’ his father had purchased. Blair shuddered at that thought, realizing some of the coded information must have deteriorated or been corrupted over the years or he’d be dead.
If the first threads of info the sentinel had encountered when his end of the tag was activated were that his guide was in imminent peril, then that would account for the man’s whacked-out throwback alpha male overreaction.
Blair groaned and rolled his eyes at the thought, wondering if his life could possibly get any more torqued.
He was on his way to meet up with the most demented schizoid in the USofA with a tag-crazed possessive sentinel hot on his heels.
“Oh, shit,” he grumbled softly as he slumped lower in his seat.
~*~*~*~
End Chapter 2