quips custodian ipso customs? Who shall guard the guardians themselves? By K. Ryn The repetitive "whump" of heavy rotor blades and the whine of an overtaxed engine on low-level approach reached the Sentinel's ears, mixing with the furtive sounds of the searching men. He gripped the slender shoulders of his Guide even tighter, staring down into the terrified eyes, feeling every shudder that racked the younger man's body. "Blair, I know you're scared. I know you'd like nothing better than to have a few weeks to process all this in that multi- tasking head of yours, but there's no time." The blue eyes meeting his grew even wider. "I wish I could tell you that nothing will change....but I can't. I don't know what will happen. I only know that you have to do this. Accept the truth. Accept Incacha's presence." "How?" The question was a breath of sound, filled with the pain of an anguished soul. 'What do I tell him? How do I help him?' Jim wondered. *You know his strengths and his fears. Use what has held you together from the beginning...* The words of his Spirit Guide echoed in the Sentinel's mind. 'And what has held us together? Need? Friendship? No, more than that....trust.' The Sentinel loosened his hold, no longer fearful that his Guide would try to flee. "You didn't know Incacha, but I did," he murmured. "He was my friend. I trusted him. I know that he never meant to hurt you. He understood how important you are to me--he had to have sensed that the moment the two of you met. I think he took one look deep into your soul and found a kindred spirit. That's why he picked you...." A sharp, derisive laugh burst from the younger man. "Let's face it Jim," Blair whispered bitterly. "There weren't a whole lot of candidates available when he checked out. He picked me because there was no one else." Jim cupped Blair's chin in one hand, tipping his Guide's head back, forcing the younger man to meet his gaze. "I don't believe that. This was too important to him. He would never have tried to give you his powers if he hadn't found you worthy. I think, had he never come to Cascade, that you would have followed his teachings and his path sooner or later, anyway. Incacha was a very powerful Shaman. He saw in a single glance what I see in you every day--strength, compassion, loyalty, and a gentle, generous heart." "Jim...." "Believe me, Blair. Nothing he could do would change those things. He wouldn't have wanted that. And there's nothing that he could do, alive or dead, that would shake the trust I have in you. You are my Guide. My Shaman. No matter what happens that will never change." The sounds of the hunters rang sharply in the Sentinel's ears. "Blair, my Spirit Guide promised that you'd be safe, if you allowed Incacha to help you...." "And what about you?" Blair's eyes blazed with fear--fear for his Sentinel, not himself. "What about the attacks today? Was Incacha responsible for those, too? Could he see into the future? Am I...am I going to lose you?" Before Jim could answer, the quiet of the forest was broken by the thundering roar of the helicopter, hovering almost overhead. Blair's eyes jerked up to search the darkness and then slid back to the older man's face. Jim swung his partner around, shifting the backpack to his Guide's shoulder and pulling out his own gun in one smooth motion. "North is that way," he hissed, pointing into the darkness. "You were right...Anders isn't expecting us to head toward the mountains. It's the only path he hasn't blocked. I want you to head straight in that direction and don't stop until you find a place to try that cell. Now get going. I'm going to try to buy some time." He gave his partner a push and the younger man staggered forward a few steps before the words sunk in. Blair spun around, and took a step back toward Jim. "I'm not leaving you here! I can't...." "You have to. One of us has to find help and that phone of yours is our best chance. Maybe our only chance." "Then you take it! Damn it, Jim, you'd have a better chance of making it into those mountains than I do. Give me your gun and I'll try to hold them off," Blair pleaded. "Blair, you wouldn't stand a chance against them. Even if you didn't get yourself killed in the process, they'd have you. Remember what you said? That Anders would use you to control me? You're right. I'd do almost anything he wanted in order to guarantee your safety. I'd have no choice. Please, you promised me you'd follow my orders. I want you to run and don't look back, no matter what you see or hear....Now go. GO!" Blair stood his ground for a moment longer, then with a groan of despair he turned and bolted into the darkness. ****************************** Still tracking his Guide's fleeing presence, the Sentinel turned to face their enemies. Seeking a more defensible position, he faded into the trees, merging with the shadows. The urge to attack those who threatened his Guide clashed with the instincts of a cop and former soldier who needed to protect his partner. One cried out for vengeance, the other faced the grim reality of needing to fight a holding battle with no hope of winning the war. He heard them, all around him now. Closing in. A savage gleam filled his eyes when he caught his first glimpse of them. He still had an edge over his opponents--he was not blind in the dark, as they were, he could sense them coming before they could see him. He could attack, and still delay. Both sides of his soul satisfied with the compromise, he dove to his right, prowling silently toward his first target, downing the man before he could make a sound. He claimed the man's weapon and moved toward his next adversary, sliding a knife into the man's ribs with a killing stroke he'd learned in some distant memory. He moved within the shadows, striking without warning, taking down the hunters without remorse. Four of them would never stalk again. Would never threaten his Guide. The Sentinel shifted to the cover of a jumbled pile of boulders, lying in wait for the man he could sense moving in his direction. He watched as the hunter materialized out of the darkness, only a few feet a way. He flowed to his feet, focused on sight, intent on taking the man out. Suddenly the darkness turned to blinding daylight and screamed with excruciatingly painful sound--he'd forgotten about the danger from above. Bathed in the chopper's spotlight, the Sentinel froze and his enemy saw him. Out of reflex, Jim fired into the air, hoping to shoot out the light and rolled to his left, scrambling for cover. But they had his position and shots rang out, the deadly missiles forcing him away from the relative safety of the rocks. He returned fire, filling the air with the explosions of his own discharging weapon. The scream of the chopper and the wash wind from the blades drove him stumbling, out into the open. He fired again in a desperate attempt to take out the helicopter, but the spotlight swung around, its beam transfixing him. Struggling with senses that suddenly surged out of control, he heard the click of a trigger and knew that they had him. He tried to send his hearing beyond the chaos, seeking the heartbeat of his Guide, desperate to know that he, at least, was still safe, but the sharp burning projectile that buried itself in his chest carried him to oblivion, his ears ringing with the fading echoes of an angry, ebony scream. ************** Blair heard the sharp retort of gunfire and skidded to a sliding stop, trembling, torn between the need to obey his partner's orders and the instincts that told him he belonged at his Sentinel's side. Another volley erupted through the darkness, and then there were shouts--indecipherable, but filled with elation. With a moan, he dropped to his knees, digging frantically in the backpack for the headset that he'd stuffed inside earlier. Pulling it out he switched it on, not caring that its use would pinpoint his location. There was a burst of static and then he heard the words he'd been dreading. "Ellison's down..." And the attack struck....just like before, but even more terrifying, because now he knew what it meant....there was only one thing in the world that could hurt this badly...it was real....Jim was dead.... *The wave of terror and despair hit him so hard it tore the air from his lungs. At that moment everything around him ceased to exist; he could see nothing but blackness, feel nothing except the raging fear and overwhelming sorrow that threatened to engulf him, hear nothing except his own voice screaming Jim's name.* With a sob he threw himself forward, branches whipping his face. Surrounded by blackness, he stepped out into nothingness and fell forward... ...to land on his feet, splashing through a small creek. Ignoring the slippery rocks under foot he ran, driven by the desire to leave the impossible reality of his Sentinel's death far behind. Lungs straining for air, he lost even the ability to scream his anguish to the night. He turned, following the serpentine windings of the stream as it led south, drenched with the tears streaming down his face and the spray kicked up by his pounding feet. He fled into the darkness, not caring where he was going, hoping to leave the agony that had invaded his heart far behind. Instead, his mind filled with images that made the pain even worse. Memories of Jim--at the station, at the loft, in the truck, sitting by his side in the hospital--flooded through him, tearing a wrenching cry from his throat. He stumbled and fell, physical pain from his injured ribs burst like a flare, ripping him apart from the inside. The water washed over him like a ritual cleansing. Sputtering, he lifting his head clear and gazed, mesmerized, at the dancing motes of water that shimmered in suddenly unleashed shafts of moonlight. He forced himself to his knees, and then to his feet, the icy bath wiping all thoughts from his mind, but one. He charged out of the stream, headed north once more. Bursting through the trees, he staggered out into a clearing and stared up toward the rocky crags. They beckoned to him, one in particular, shaping itself out of the shadows like an ancient dragon of myth. He headed toward it, fixing his eyes on that destination, his mind dropping its barriers in the face of his driving need. A burst of dizzying energy exploded through his body as another presence, another spirit joined his and fought for recognition. For the space of a heartbeat, he struggled against the invasion, battled against losing himself and he stumbled. Fear of another kind shrieked through his mind--if he fell again, he wasn't sure he'd ever get to his feet . And if he didn't, he wouldn't make it up the mountain, he wouldn't be able to call for help. He'd dishonor his Sentinel's last wishes. *No! I've already lost him...I can't fail him in this, too...please, help me!* With a shudder, he surrendered his soul. **************************** The spirit that had once borne the name Incacha glided through the forest, an almost ethereal figure, dappled in moonlight and shadow. He allowed himself a moment to revel in the sensations that accompanied his return to physical form, before turning his vision upward, staring through the trees at the starry firmament that shimmered through wreaths of windswept clouds. That was where his next journey lay, not within the body of the young one that he was sworn to guard. He felt a stirring deep within, the object of his thoughts demanding to be heard. Memories and experiences from his own life--and hundreds of others--awakened to the Guardian's need. The ancient soul brushed the younger one with a reassuring caress, seeking to soothe the raging river of fear into a pool of tranquil stillness. He met an unbending will that would not be denied. There was a promise to be kept--a pledge made by the Guide to his Sentinel. The Guardian resisted-if the Sentinel was dead, as the young one believed, then it was his duty to watch over the untrained Shaman, not place him in further danger. The Guide insisted, anger and grief fueling his desire, and finally the Guardian yielded to the need to honor that obligation. Satisfied for the moment, the younger man's weary, sorrowful spirit retreated into silence. The Guardian paused in the cover of the treeline. Before him stretched a rocky slope and beyond that, the mountain. He eyed the steep cliffs, letting himself adjust to the familiar, yet disconcertingly different feel of the younger mans body.... He pushed long, wind blown strands of hair back from his face, the gesture automatic, yet the silky feel of the curling locks was different than the coarseness that he remembered.... Stiff leather enclosed feet that were accustomed to the intimate touch of bare sole to earth, or the comfort of sandals.... Eyes that had witnessed the moon's endless cycle of birth and death for countless years, stared across the softly illuminated landscape through irises of blue that had once been brown, and before that, black as the night.... His skin chafed at the restriction of layers of cold sodden clothing, he who had known the freedom of skin bared to the heat and humidity of the rain forest.... And, deep within, untapped potential and strength. There was power there, waiting to be awakened... If he'd known how much, he would have never attempted his desperate, dying act. What he'd done was dangerous--forbidden unless the need was dire. He'd never understood why, until now, inhabiting a strong young body once again, he felt the enticing temptation to remain, to take that power that he sensed and add it to his own... To live again.... *NO!* The terrified mental scream staggered the Guardian. He fell to his knees and bowed his head. "Do not fear, young one," he murmured. "That is not my desire." He raised his eyes to the sky. "My destiny lies there, yours here. I am sorry I frightened you. It will not happen again. I give you my word. What is mine will be yours, and a promise as well, for I too, honor Enqueri's soul." "We will go, flying ahead of the hunters. And when your duty is finished, we will seek justice for our Sentinel...." "That, and my knowledge, are the gifts I make to you...." ******************************* Updated 1-16-98 ************ Sensory awareness returned first, along with a primal warning of danger. He remained motionless, obeying the message imprinted on his genes--the same instinct that all injured or hunted creatures depended on for survival--wait, watch, listen for the enemy. The ice-cold metal fire surrounding his wrists, trapping them behind him; the sandpaper roughness of the coarse canvas tarp under his cheek; and the thundering of each red blood cell racing through his veins, convinced the Sentinel to yield to that instinct, even though it warred with another-- the need to find and protect his Guide. As the paralyzing, drug-induced haze began to clear, other survival skills, those honed by years of training and experience, kicked in. They carried their own warnings and behavioral patternings; identify the enemy, determine his objective, and then--when you can operate from a position of strength, not weakness--counter his plans. Locking his terror over his young friend's safety deep within his heart, Jim forced his muddled thoughts into a more rational, less emotional direction. The painful, magnified input he was receiving from his senses made him vulnerable, and until he could regain some degree of control, he would be no use to anyone. *I could use your help, right now, Chief.* He let a comforting memory float to the surface, hearing his Guide's soothing voice in his mind. "Control, Jim. That's what it's all about. Your senses are a part of you, like the muscles in your body. When you learned to walk as a child, you learned to control those muscles through practice. You can deal with your hyper senses the same way. Now, humor me for a minute, okay? Remember the dials we talked about? Each represents a different sense. It's a matter of turning them up or down to increase or decrease the sensory input. Your head's in control here, man. Get the picture?" *Yeah, Chief, I got it,* Jim thought grimly. *Understanding's not the problem. It's this damn drug.* A quiet chuckle rippled through his mind and his Guide's voice was back with a gentle reprimand. "Hey, man, it's not going to happen all at once. You have to work at it a little at a time...." The Sentinel almost smiled, then remembered the danger and hid his amusement to himself. *Even when you're not here, you're "here", aren't you, Chief? Thanks for the suggestion.* Turning his attention inward, the Sentinel contemplated the dials again. He'd been trying to wrench them down to normal, one at a time. Now he fiddled with each one in sequence, making minor adjustments instead of pushing for total control. At first, they resisted his efforts, but little by little he managed to nudge them all into line--set higher than he wanted, but at least in some kind of balance. He opened his eyes and reached outward with his senses, sending grasping tendrils into the darkness. Drenched with sweat, he struggled to hold onto the tentative level of control he'd achieved. He managed to explore the boundaries of his environment before the dials shifted out of sync. Almost growling in frustration, he worked to align them again, while his mind assessed the details he'd gathered. His prison was a medium-sized tent--large enough to stand upright in. The only discernable opening was to his left, the entry masked by a simple flap that obscurred his view of the outside. The pallet he lay on and a small folding wooden camp chair were the only items in the otherwise empty space. Even the ground had been cleared of rocks, leaving nothing for him to use as a weapon. The Sentinel felt the dials click back into balance and pushed outward again, trying to focus beyond the canvas walls, hoping to scan the encampment for some sign of his Guide. But it was as if an invisible barrier had been strung around the tent. Prod and poke as he might, he couldn't find a way to send his senses past it. For a few desperate moments he wondered if Anders had come up with something like the white noise generators that Lee Brackett had used against him. He pushed harder and felt a "give" to the restraining field, and let himself relax, deciding that the drug was responsible for his inability. Driven by the need to locate his Guide, the Sentinel continued to struggle against the barrier. He lost track of time--nothing existed except the continual push outward and the fight to hold his control. Suddenly the dials spun out of alignment and he recoiled at the painful surge of sensations. With a frustrated hiss, he rolled to his side and levered himself into a sitting position, no longer caring if anyone heard him or not. He was still struggling to regain his equilibrium when the tent flap was thrust aside. The Sentinel's head snapped up and his eyes flashed with rage when he identified the man who stepped forward. Anders responded with a sneering smile. "Back with us, Captain Ellison?" Setting down a small lantern the older man started to move closer, but the force of the Sentinel's angry gaze stopped him. Jim enjoyed a moment's satisfaction at the brief flicker of fear in Anders' eyes and started to flow to his feet. The agent quickly raised a small dart gun and gestured warningly as he retreated a step. Jim settled back onto the tarp, his eyes never leaving his captor's face. "Where's my partner?" Jim demanded, his voice cold and hard even to his own ears. "He'll join us shortly," Anders answered smoothly. "Until then, you and I have some things to discuss." Jim's eyes narrowed as he studied the older man. Under the intensity of the Sentinel's stare, Anders' eyes shifted away for a fraction of a second-long enough to tell the detective what he needed to know. "Unless it has to do with releasing me, or the long list of charges you're going to be facing, you and I have nothing to discuss," Jim said in the same flat tone. "You don't have any leverage, Anders. I know he's not here." The Sentinel let a ghost of a smile lift his own lips. "He got away from you, didn't he?" One eyebrow lifted in surprise, then Anders' brow furrowed in barely controlled anger. The flash of satisfaction Jim felt was washed away at the man's whispered response. "One day...soon...you'll tell me exactly how you knew that. It will be interesting to see just how strong this connection the two of you have really is." Jim felt a thrust of panic at the threat and struggled to channel the fear into something more useful. Pale blue eyes darkened and glittered in the soft light, locking with cold gray ones in a silent battle of wills. The tension in the tent thickened until it was almost a physical force, shifting back and forth between the two men. Anders was the first to blink, shrugging his shoulders almost absently. Without taking his eyes off his prisoner, he snagged the chair. Turning it with a deft twist of the wrist, he planted it just out of the Sentinel's reach. Straddling the seat, he draped his crossed arms over the back, the dart gun hanging casually between the two adversaries as a subtle reminder. "I won't insult your abilities, or your intelligence by lying to you," Anders continued, his quiet, conversational tone a stark departure from the implied menace of the whispered threat. "Your partner did manage to escape during the confusion you created. I'd thought we'd have found him by now, but he's managed to elude us so far. He's quite resourceful, isn't he? It would appear that I underestimated him." "You're not the first to make that mistake," Jim said quietly. The smug feeling of pride that he felt for his young friend warmed his heart, although it never touched the icy coldness of his eyes. "It's not an error I plan to repeat, I assure you," Anders promised softly. "It would appear that you've trained him well. But he's not quite as clever as you. He made a mistake and used the headset a few minutes after you were taken down. That gave us his position and with only one option open to him, we know which way he was headed. You may have managed to reduce my assets a bit, but I still have more than enough men to track him. He will be joining us soon...I guarantee it...unless, of course, he manages to break his neck, stumbling around in the dark before we find him." Recalling the terrain and the course he'd set for his Guide, the Sentinel knew that the fate Anders' described was all too real a possibility. The thought of his exhausted young friend, running for his life from this man's private army was nearly enough to bring him to his feet in attack. Only his overriding need to maintain his control in front of his captor held him motionless. Jim's eyes narrowed even further and he poured every ounce of his hatred into his gaze. A gaze that once again, made Anders flinch. The Sentinel caught the involuntary shudder and smiled, a feral gleam lighting his eyes. "Very good, Captain," Anders finally murmured. "Just the way you were trained. Give no quarter. Don't let the enemy see your weakness, eh? You are good....and it might have even worked on me, if I hadn't seen the two of you in action with my own eyes." Anders leaned into the chair back, looming over Jim, his eyes growing even colder, no evidence of fear in his demeanor. "But I know...I know how important he is to you. He's your focus, isn't he? Your control." The hungry anticipation in the man's face and voice was the same look that Jim had seen earlier when he'd caught Anders watching Blair back in the clearing. His stomach clenched and he fought back the gut-twisting need to retch and clear the bile that rose in his throat at the threat to his Guide. "Game's over, Anders. What do you want?" Eyebrows cocked upward in mock surprise and the older man settled back, his expression thoughtful. "The truth? Vindication." Seeing the surprised look on Jim's face, Anders chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, of course, I have hopes for more than that. But after all this time, I'd settle for being right. For rubbing their noses in it." Anders words did nothing to alleviate the confusion in Jim's mind. "You set all of this up, murdered two people...for what? Some bizarre sense of personal satisfaction?" he asked in disbelief. The amusement washed from the older man's face and he leaned forward again, his body tense. "Revenge can be extremely satisfying, Captain," he hissed. "Detective," Jim corrected him. "Yes....of course." Anders' eyes lost some of their focus as he began to speak in a soft murmur. "James Ellison. Ex-ranger. Special forces and one of the best and brightest that Covert Ops ever had. Listed as missing in action for 18 months after that unfortunate mission in Peru. Left the military with an Honorable Discharge shortly after you returned. Graduated from the police academy with glowing commendations. Moved to Major Crimes after a stint in Vice. Lost one partner, and operated as a loner until surprisingly, almost three years ago, you suddenly teamed up with a civilian Observer who's a graduate student in anthropology. Recently, Officer of the Year, with a reputation for solving the most difficult cases with a bare minimum of evidence. Whispers of something unusual about him...and his partner...but no one's asking questions, because the arrest and prosecution record is so impressive." The gray eyes flashed in amusement and Anders stared down at Jim almost fondly, possessively. "You see, you've been my own personal research project for nearly eight years." Anders murmured. "I know all about you, 'detective'. Or should I say, Sentinel?" Jim had known it was coming, so he didn't blink an eye. Despite his enhanced senses, he'd missed the obvious and led both himself and his Guide right into the waiting trap. Blair had foreseen it--the threat--as part of his premonition, and although they'd managed to escape once, by that time it was too late to do anything other than fight for damage control and try to keep out of this madman's hands. At least he'd succeeded in getting his Guide out of reach--for the time being at any rate. So Anders knew about Sentinels and he wanted to know more. Was determined to go to any lengths, including kidnapping and murder, to extend that knowledge. The only reassuring point was that he seemed sketchy on the topic of Guides--and Jim was determined to keep it that way. Especially since his Guide was also a Shaman, with some unusual, dangerous issues of his own still unresolved. ************ Determined not to play into Anders' game, Jim kept his response to a nonchalant shrug, using the casual movement to mask the rolling of his shoulders as he sought to ease the tension that his cramped position had caused. "Not a flinch...very good....still the perfect soldier, eh, Captain?" Anders' tone was sarcastic, his smile a caustic sneer. "Still not playing, Anders." Jim shifted his gaze away from his captor, pointedly dismissing him. "Oh, but you will...you both will..." Jim's eyes flashed back to Anders' face. The threat had been a bare whisper, tuned to a level that only a Sentinel could have heard. "It's really too bad that Bailey isn't here," the older man laughed softly. "He never did believe half of what I told him about your abilities. And even with the truth staring him in the face, he was convinced that your young friend was just extraneous baggage." Anders leaned forward again, studying Jim intently. "But we know better, don't we. He's the reason you've been able to use your enhanced senses for the last few years without going stark raving mad. Blair Sandburg appears to be an amazing young man. I must admit, my file on him is sadly lacking in details. Highly intelligent, articulate and obviously very sensitive, perhaps even empathic. He seems to be quite respected by his colleagues and his students. Most importantly, he's the only living authority on Sentinels--his thesis was quite illuminating. It's a shame he hasn't published anything on the topic recently. I find myself with far too many unanswered questions, particularly regarding the Sentinel's companion. Mr. Sandburg's references to that person and their role in relation to the...what was the other term he used...ah, yes...Watchman...were rather vague at the time he wrote his paper, although I'm sure he has much more to say on the topic now. I'm looking forward to interviewing him at great length about it." "Leave him out of this, Anders," Jim snapped. "So...it would seem you do have your limits." Berating himself for rising to the bait, Jim glared back at the older man. "You want to experiment on a Sentinel, fine. My partner's off limits." "But that's not how it works, Captain. It's only by observing the two of you interacting that I can learn what I need to know." "If you think we're going to cooperate in any more little tests like today, you're sadly mistaken." "It's been my experience, that given the right...motivation...that a man can be persuaded to do almost anything. Once we've retrieved your young friend, we'll move to a location that's more conducive to the kind of research I have in mind. " "It won't happen," Jim responded confidently. "My Captain knows where we are, and when we don't check in, he's going to come looking. Simon Banks is not a man to let a puzzle like that go." "I'm not worried about some third-rate police captain. He won't be a problem. There won't be any 'pieces' to find." "What do you plan to do? Snap your fingers and make us disappear?" Jim barked angrily. "Exactly." The flat, dead certainty in the man's voice chilled Jim like nothing he had said before. Jim's eyes narrowed dangerously, all of his instincts--Sentinel's, cop's and soldier's--screaming for him to lunge forward and take the man out before this could go any further. Anders was either insane to think he could get away with abducting them, or he truly believed that he would succeed. And if the latter was true, that meant.... "Who do you work for?" Jim asked softly, already suspecting that he knew the answers. Anders stared down at him for a few moments, a strange smile playing on his face. "I work for myself, Captain. And for a few select clients, who fortunately have more than ample resources to place at my disposal." "A mercenary." "I rather dislike that term. Always have. I prefer to think of myself as an opportunist." Jim drew in a slow, deep breath, forcing away the cold fear that pulsed through him as the cryptic comments and minute clues that Anders had been giving away finally clicked together, forming a picture that the Sentinel had seen only in his worst nightmares. "You were Special Forces. Covert Ops," Jim said tersely. "The blackest of the black," Anders replied. "I was once the fair-haired boy of the group. But there were some, shall we say, unforseeable mistakes during a few missions." Anders reached up and stroked the scars by his eye absently. "By the time you were returned from Peru, I was low man on the totem pole. They were preparing to force me out, but I'd seen it coming. I was, and am, an expert at ferreting out secrets. I'd learned from the best, after all." The older man's face hardened and his voice droned on disdainfully. "They tried to keep 'you' a secret. You and your abilities, but I knew everything about you from the moment the reports started to come back from the search team. I had my own little network that they knew nothing about, you see. Insurance. It cost me a bit to maintain, and on a Colonel's salary...well, I was fortunate to already have a few things in the works that allowed me to pay top dollar for what I wanted." "I already knew that your superiors were foolish men. Truly unimaginative at best. Still, I couldn't believe it when I found that they were ready to cut you loose. Let you take your discharge and just walk out. I'd read all the transcripts of your debriefing. Talked to members of the retrieval team. It was obvious that something unusual had happened to you, was perhaps still happening, but they refused to see it. They were blind to the fact that an incredible weapon had been delivered into their hands. I tried to convince them, of course, but that action only assured my censure. They became suspicious, and I had to back off, biding my time." Anders shook his head, frowning at the memory. His gaze locked on Jim's with sudden intensity, eyes glittering with feverish brilliance. "That's when you became my obsession, Captain. I watched you, or rather my network watched you. I left the service not long after you did--a little subterfuge and a fatal 'accident' took care of cutting the cord quite effectively--and pursued the 'interests' that I had been cultivating on the side. My new clients required a bit more of my time than I'd originally planned to devote to them, but my attention to the details of your life and activities never faltered." The older man rose from the chair abruptly, and dragged it aside, clearing space as he began to pace. Even with his senses still swinging in and out of control, the Sentinel heard the increased beating of the man's heart; smelled the sour odor of sweat that beaded the mercenary's brow; saw the fanatical gleam in the gaze that never left his prisoner's face. "You disappointed me at first, returning to your life as if nothing had happened, burying your abilities. But I'd learned patience at the feet of masters. I knew that it was only a matter of time before your gifs resurfaced. So I watched, and waited, building up a small, very loyal private army of my own in the interim. And then, there was the Switchman case and everything changed. A difficult assignment, very high profile, with you as the main attraction. My sources informed me the second you made the appointment for tests at the hospital, and I knew the waiting was over. I was ready to step in then and gather you up, but fate intervened in the form of a certain young anthropologist." Anders' pacing ceased, and the Sentinel stiffened at the excited heat that poured off of the man. "To think...if I had acted then, before the two of you connected...how much I would have lost. I was impressed by your young friend from the moment he stole that lab coat and brazenly stepped into your exam room, pretending to be a doctor. I had a copy of his records and his thesis on my desk before he made it back to the University. His research, such as it was, was brilliant, and I knew that sooner or later, you would approach him. After all, he held the answers you needed. You did surprise me, seeking him out as quickly as you did, so I wasn't prepared for a more inventive initial testing--the little incident with the garbage truck was quite frankly an impulsive move, although I was certain that you'd both pass the trial with flying colors." The Sentinel somehow resisted the impulse to shudder. If, what Anders was saying was true, he and his Guide had been living under a microscope from the very beginning, and they'd never known. "Why now?" Jim asked abruptly. "If you've been watching us all this time, why choose now to make your move?" "Actually, I've been tempted to acquire you on several occasions, but each time, just as I was about to act, you'd intrigue me with yet another tantalizing glimpse of your capabilities. I decided to leave the two of you to your own...'training'. The controls were in place, and I was quite content to watch and wait. As your partner would certainly agree if he were here, there is nothing more exciting than watching an experiment run it's course--particularly when it's achieving the outcome that you anticipated." Anders began to pace again, his forehead creasing with a puzzled frown. "Mr. Sandburg was another reason for the delay. The more I observed of your partnership, the more puzzled I became. It was apparent that the two of you were mismatched--long haired flower child and ramrod stiff ex-military type; free-associating scientist and by-the-book cop. Not a conventional pairing by any means. No common ground. Not at first glance at any rate. Yet you bonded together into an extraordinary team from the outset. You even allowed him to move into your home. The more involved Sandburg became in your life, the more it became obvious that he was essential to your well being, even though I couldn't understand exactly what role he was playing. It became clearer when David Lash abducted him...." Rage poured through the Sentinel and he lurched to his feet. Still under the influence of the drug, the violent movement made him stagger dizzily. Anders took a quick step forward and pushed Jim backward, knocking him to the ground. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he stared up at the mercenary in profound disbelief. "You knew Lash had Blair...you knew what he planned to do... and yet you did nothing to stop him?" Anders shrugged. "It was risky, letting that...creature...get his hands on him, but it pushed you in the direction I wanted. While you were so desperately searching for your young friend, you were on the verge of losing control. Once you rescued him, your focus returned. That episode convinced me that the connection between the two of you had to exist because of your Sentinel abilities. I realized then, that he was decidedly more important than his innocuous appearance had first led me to believe." "You're more insane than Lash was," Jim snarled, pushing himself into a sitting position once more. "Not insane, Captain. Just driven. As I admitted before....obsessed. I needed to know that I was right about you. That the others were wrong." "Vindication." The Sentinel spat out the word as if it were poison on his tongue. "You would have let him die, just to prove your own twisted, self-serving theories?" "For that...and to hone the weapon." "You still haven't answered my question," Jim hissed, Anders' words only confirming an intent that the Sentinel had already calculated. "Why now?" "Something...unusual...happened several months ago when the Medicine Man died," Anders answered softly, his voice edged in dangerous curiosity. "Whatever happened between the Indian and your young friend, it changed him--altered some of his standing patterns. The old man introduced a new variable, and it doesn't play right. Sandburg was becoming even more unpredictable and I realized that until I corrected the aberration, it was only a matter of time before it began to affect your connection with him. I couldn't afford to let that happen." "Couldn't let the edge on the blade be ruined?" The Sentinel's disgust and rage cut through the air like the weapon he was describing. "Precisely. You see I have..." "Colonel?" One of Anders men thrust his way into the tent, and the Sentinel shifted into motion, eager to take advantage of the distraction. The mercenary reacted immediately, raising the dart gun and pointing it directly at Jim's chest, stopping him once more. "What is it, Private?" Anders responded in annoyance. The man hesitated, eyeing both Jim and his superior warily, sensing the almost palpable hostility in the small space. "You wanted to be notified...when there were any developments, Sir." "And?" "We've picked up a signal, Colonel. Electronic. Signature suggests a low frequency pulse consistent with an active cell." Jim saw Anders' eyes flash with a mixture of anger and excitement that mirrored his own response. He tensed, preparing himself for a final desperate act, realizing that both he and his Guide had just run out of time. "Clever...but not clever enough," the mercenary murmured, a satisfied smile forming on his face. "You have the location locked?" "Yes, Sir. Teams have been advised and they're awaiting your instructions." "Tell them to contain the target, but to wait for my arrival before attempting the retrieval. I want no mistakes this time," Anders ordered tersely. "I'm warning you, Anders. Leave him alone," Jim snarled, surging to his feet and launching himself toward his adversary. Slowed by the drugs in his system, he was still fast enough to make contact with the older man, his momentum sending both of them crashing to the ground. Rolling free of the hands that tried to contain him, the Sentinel managed to raise his throbbing head just before the world exploded in a burst of agonizing pain. ************ Updated 1-17-98 ************ The wind swept across the mountainside, tumbling small pebbles into deep crevices, caressing the few stubborn strands of grass, keening a soft music attuned to the stars that sparkled overhead. It was the time of hunters-those in flight, those who tread the earth--seeking prey that hid in the sheltering darkness. Wings spread wide, a great hawk soared on the currents, sharp eyes watching the shifting shapes of the two-legged predators that had invaded his hunting grounds. The hawk creeled in protest, joining his song to that of the wind, and glided on into the darkness, leaving the intruders far behind. In the false stillness of the predawn day, moonlight glittered off quartz imbedded walls of stone, dancing to a rhythm as old as time itself. The wind rippled through the forest depths, sending soft sighs and scents of pine floating upward. The harsh beauty of the night was lost on the young man who huddled miserably against the cliff. *It is time, young one....* Blair shuddered and wrapped his arms even tighter around his aching body. The pressure helped soothe the throbbing bruises along his side and he found himself wishing that he could relieve the desperate pain in his soul as easily. "No..." The flat denial to the presence in his mind was no more than a whisper of sound passing through chattering teeth. *You are cold...* The grief-stricken Guide shivered and hugged himself even tighter "As cold as my dead Sentinel...." he murmured in anguish. *Yet you still live....your heart beats, your lungs draw breath, you still feel...* "Feel what?" Blair demanded. "Pain?....That's all I can feel...that's all they've left me!" *There is always a balance, young one. Good and evil. Life and death. Pain and joy....* "No....not for me...not anymore... his death ended everything...there's nothing left..." *There is duty....* Blair glanced at the cell phone that lay beside him. The low battery light glowed softly in the darkness, mocking him. "I've failed him even in that...." he answered quietly. "There isn't enough power to last for more than a half hour. Besides, even if help did come, it's too late to make any difference now...." Closing his eyes, Blair leaned back into the cliff face, feeling the chill that emanated from the rocks creeping through the thin layers of still damp clothing. He would just sit here, he decided, absorbing the cold until it froze even the pain. But random images flashed against his eyelids, and he shifted uneasily. He didn't recall exactly how he'd gotten up the mountain. He knew he'd been running blind in the darkness--his wet clothing proved that he'd fallen into water...a stream...and the vision of the towering peaks still lingered in his mind. He remembered the fear of falling and never rising again...screaming desperately for help...the warmth of recognition and trust, and then surrender as another spirit joined his...of letting go.... After that, everything was a blur of surreal sensations and visions overlaid with ancient instincts and knowledge. The presence that he'd finally acknowledged had brought him safely through the darkness to this ledge, high above the forest. Blair trembled, remembering the exact moment that Incacha's spirit had relinquished its control: the pain and sorrow of his own returning memories had knifed through his body, driving him to his knees; the force of the screams that had been torn from his soul scraping his throat raw. It was only the driving need to carry out the orders of his Sentinel that had kept him moving--just long enough to pull out the cell phone and punch in three numbers. The call had gone out, but there was no way of knowing whether anyone was listening. "My duty is finished..." Blair whispered, resting his head on his knees. *To your Sentinel, perhaps...your responsibilities to the tribe remain...* The specter of Simon's worried face popped into Blair's mind, followed by those of Joel, Daryl, Brown and Rafe. "I have no tribe... not without him...." he groaned, shaking his head to chase the visions away. *A Shaman serves the tribe, with or without a Sentinel. If he is indeed gone, they will need the strength of your heart to guide them....* "The tribe needed its Sentinel!" Blair spat back, eyes flashing open as he struggled to his feet and screamed his anger out into the night. The wind drove his words back at him and he cringed against the boulders, shaking. "The tribe is unprotected because I failed to do what was required. Because I refused to accept what was happening...refused to listen. If I had...If I'd been strong enough to deal with my fears, I would have understood the premonition....he would be safe...alive...." *You are so certain he is not?* The soft question immobilized the grieving Guide. Hope flared for a moment, but it was no match for his despair. "I know what I heard," he whispered bitterly. "I know what I felt." *You heard the voice of the enemy, felt the razor-sharp edge of a sliver of time....but what did you see?* Blair trembled and long, dark lashes swept down, shuttering the pain and exhaustion- dulled blue eyes, sending rivers of hot tears coursing down his cheeks. "Nothing....I wasn't there....he sent me away....." *To protect you.* "Yes...." *And to protect himself." "Yes..." *And when you look into your heart, you are certain...beyond life itself, that he is dead?* Scrubbing angrily at his face, Blair brushed away the tears. "I've told you how I feel. Why are you asking me this? What more do you want from me?" *Beyond and before duty, there is honor. If you truly honored your Sentinel, then you must return and see justice done.* "Justice?" Blair's voice and body shook with rage. "In a just world, it would be Anders laying dead, not Jim." *Vengeance holds no honor, young one. A Shaman seeks truth above all.* "I'm not a Shaman. I am....I was a Guide....now...now I have no one to guide...no path to follow...." *Four paths shape the way of the Shaman. Two you have already journeyed. Two remain. That which lies before you will lead you to a place and time where you will lose your fear and face death.* Blair pushed himself away from the cliff and stalked to the edge of the ledge, staring down into the ebony shadows that cloaked the mountainside. His eyes tracked to the right, instinctively seeking the place where he had left his Sentinel. "And the final path?" he whispered. *A new beginning as is the coming of each day.* Blair's gaze swung left, seeking the horizon. In the east, the night was losing its hold. Day was indeed coming. He swiveled his head to the west again, drawing in a deep breath. Anders would be there. And Jim...Incacha's spirit had raised questions to which he had no certain answers. If there were any chance that his friend was still alive, then he had to find him, or at least die trying. And if he was dead, the answer was the same. A Guide's place was at his Sentinel's side. "I would know the truth." *Then let us hunt, young one.* *************************************** Jim crouched in the darkness of the tent, struggling to get his wildly fluctuating senses under control. The pain that strobed across the back of his skull and the drug that still lingered in his system, ate away at the little control that he'd established earlier. He'd tried the breathing exercises that Blair had coached him through in the past, but they weren't having much effect. He tugged at the handcuffs again, testing the links. He'd managed to get his hands in front of him at least. That would give him a better chance to take out the guard when they came in to check on him. The Sentinel's eyes glittered in the dark as the feral thoughts of exacting revenge on Anders and his men filled his mind. Once he took out the guard he'd have a weapon, and then nothing would stop him from finding his Guide. Nothing.... His head snapped up. He'd heard a noise in the compound. He closed his eyes, concentrating only on hearing, but his control flickered in and out, distorting the sounds and making him almost sick to his stomach. Another sound, this one closer, and there was a movement at the tent flap. Tensed and ready to spring, Jim waited silently as the intruder entered. Before the flap fell back into place, the momentary illumination from outside gave him a chance to size up his visitor--several inches taller and maybe twenty pounds heavier. Before the man could adjust to the darker interior, Jim leaped forward. His unexpected charge spun the taller man around. Swiftly, Jim slipped his cuffed hands over the attacker's head, using his own body-weight to pull the man backward. Jim jerked and felt the metal links of the handcuffs choking off the man's air. At that moment he didn't care that he'd be committing murder. These men had taken something precious from him and he intended to get it back. He shifted his hold, preparing to make the killing stroke. "Jim...it's me...." Startled by the unexpectedness of the familiar voice, Jim loosened his hold for just an instant. It was all his captive needed to twist free. "Take it easy...it's Simon." A flashlight beam cut the darkness and Jim winced, blinking away the flashing spots that danced under his eyelids. Dazed, he found himself staring at his captain. Sounds from beyond the tent beckoned to him again and he tried to focus on them, but his senses were still surging in and out. He wavered on his feet and immediately felt strong hands wrap around his upper arms, supporting him. "Easy...." "How?" "I called the Mayor's office, prepared to give her a piece of my mind about loaning out my people without clearing it with me first. Imagine my surprise when she didn't know anything about it. After that I made a few more phone calls." There was a pause, and Simon's voice became apologetic. "It took a while to cut through all the inter-agency red tape, otherwise we would have been here sooner." "Who else?" Jim struggled to form the words, his mind still in shock. He'd written off any form of rescue, and now here it was, living and breathing right in front of him. "Most of the department, for starters," Simon responded. He brought the flashlight beam up just high enough to take a good look at his friend. "God, Jim, you look like hell. Are you all right?" "Yeah...Anders took me down with some kind of drug...It put me out for a while, and it's still playing havoc with my senses." "What about Sandburg? Where is he?" "Out there...somewhere..." Jim wondered if the despair he was feeling was obvious in his voice. "He managed to get away, but Anders has men searching for him...he wants to test him... us... That's what this was all about, Simon. It was all an experiment to see how we'd react...what we could do...The bastard said he wanted to see what the connection between us was all about. And when he was done with his tests, he planned to make us a part of this private little army he's put together." "He knows you're a Sentinel?" Jim could hear the horrified realization in Simon's voice. "And he knows Blair is my Guide," Jim answered in the same tone. "Simon, Anders is insane, obsessed....and he knows...everything...things that no one could know or has a right to know. We've got to get to Sandburg before he does...." Jim felt the grip on his arm tighten in sympathetic reassurance. "We will. Come on, let's get you out of those restraints." He let Simon guide him out of the tent. With his senses still swinging out of control like an erratic pendulum, the sights and sounds in the camp were like a physical assault. Taking a deep breath he tried to manipulate the dials again. Slowly, the world came back into focus and the noise abated to a tolerable level. Scanning the campsite, he caught sight of familiar faces in the early morning light and the looming form of Joel Taggert headed their way. "Joel, see if you can find the keys to these cuffs," Simon called out, still maintaining his hold on Jim. Taggert spun around and barked an order to one of the uniformed cops. Jim watched as the man approached a group of figures, huddled on the ground. Recognizing them as some of Anders' men, Jim snarled and started to take a step forward. "Take it easy, Jim," Simon pleaded, holding him back. "I know how you feel, but that's not going to help Sandburg." It took a moment for the rational part of Jim's brain to accept Simon's words and acknowledge the truth in them. He forced himself to take another breath, pushing back the rage with a promise that retribution would come. The Sentinel closed his eyes and tried to work the dials again. He would need all of his senses back on-line if was going to be able to help his Guide. That was the important thing now, he reminded himself. Concentrate. Get control. Find Blair. Slowly, the sensations assailing him settled into manageable levels. He opened his eyes, surprised to find himself sitting on a folding camp stool in front of one of the tents. The handcuffs had been removed, and Simon was packing away a first aid kit, staring up at him in concern. "Welcome back," Simon murmured softly, handing him a thermos cup filled with coffee. "Thanks," Jim's voice sounded strained and shaky even to himself. He took a sip and felt an immediate rush of warmth. He shook himself and rose to his feet, Simon moving with him, a restraining hand on his arm. "Jim...." "I'm all right, Simon. Not quite 100 percent, but close enough." He took a quick look around the camp and his eyes settled on the group of Anders' men once more. "They'll pay for this, Jim. I promise you that," Simon murmured softly. "They were the only one's here when we hit the camp. How many more men did Anders have?" "At least a dozen," Jim replied grimly. "Well, between our guys, the FBI and the Rangers, we have them outnumbered at least." Jim glanced up at him in surprise. "FBI flew us in," Simon explained, handing Jim a gun and watching closely as the detective checked it and slid it into the holster at his back. "The Rangers provided some special equipment and we managed to track a cell transmission coming out of the mountains just east of here. When we picked up trace signals coming out of this camp we split up, dropping half of our forces here. The other half headed for the source of the call." "A cell transmission?" Jim asked eagerly, swinging around toward the mountains where he'd sent his Guide. Their dark, rugged silhouettes were shrouded in the early morning fog. "Simon, that's got to be Blair. He had his cell phone with him. The plan was to try to get up high enough to get a signal out. He did it. Half dead with exhaustion, scared of heights and all, he did it." "If we picked up the feed, then Anders probably did too." "He did," Jim nodded. "That's why he's not here. He went out to handle the retrieval himself. He was going to bring Sandburg back and try out some more fun and games on the two of us." "What kind of 'games'?" "I don't know, Simon. He was Special Forces. Anders' idea of a 'game' could mean anything short of outright killing the participants." "Was is the operative word, Jim. The agency is as eager to get their hands on him as we are." "No. They're not," Jim whispered, his voice ice cold. Rage burned through him again, but this time he focused it toward the man who deserved it. ************ Last updated 1-20-98 ************ "Taggert, get on the link and warn the others to keep a lookout for Sandburg," Simon barked. "The FBI and the Special Forces Rangers seemed a little too eager to catch Anders," he explained quickly to Jim. "Rafe and Brown went with them to make sure that they remembered that finding you and the kid was the first priority." "Thanks, Simon, I..." Jim's eyes widened and his body jerked suddenly. "Jim...?" Before the Sentinel could respond, the faint explosions of gunfire echoed in the crisp morning air. "Damn!" Simon spun around and found Joel lumbering toward them. "All hell's breaking loose up there, Simon," the big man gasped. "The FBI agents stumbled upon a group of Anders' men. They had to return fire." "What about Sandburg? Any sign of him?" "Rafe says they found the cell. High up in the cliffs. No trace of the kid, though." "He's coming here." The half-whispered comment made Simon turn back to Jim. The Sentinel stood motionless, his gaze locked on the forest. "Simon, Brown says Anders' men are falling back," Taggert reported, one hand held to the headset, his expansive brow furrowed in a frown. "Chances are they're headed this way." "Jim, if Anders intended to meet them, you know where that puts Sandburg, don't you?" "Right where he always is, Simon," the detective answered grimly. "In the middle of trouble." A coal black shape suddenly materialized on the edge of the woods, turned it's baleful yellow eyes on the Sentinel and then abruptly melted into the trees. Jim sprinted forward, leaving Simon and Joel gaping in surprise. "Where the hell is he going?" Joel gasped. "To find Sandburg," Simon answered. *To find the other half of his soul.* With a shake of his head, Simon called out for some of the men to join them and took off at a run himself, plunging into the forest in pursuit of his detective. ******************************* Blair tripped on a half-hidden branch and grabbed at the trunk of the nearest tree to keep from falling. Chest heaving, he struggled to push back the terror that had claimed him. He could still hear the sounds of the firefight behind him. *Tread carefully, young one. The third path is before you....* There was an uneasiness in the voice that Blair had never heard before. Closing his eyes, he made himself breathe deeply, searching for calm, letting the image of Incacha's face fill his inner vision. "Why are you troubled?" he asked. *You must walk this path alone....* "Why?" Blair demanded desperately. "You claimed me...and I accepted my fate...Why are you deserting me now? You promised to help me find justice for my Sentinel." *It is as it must be. At the end, should all prove successful, I will leave you to your destiny and seek mine.* Realizing that a cusp had been reached, Blair trembled, then nodded. "May you reach the stars, Guardian," he murmured, voicing the ancient ritual words that came unbidden to his tongue. "The tribe will be guided...for as long as I live." *Peace, young one. Seek your way with my blessings....* Incacha's voice fell silent and Blair opened his eyes, scanning the thick foliage that surrounded him. Seeing a narrow opening in the trees, he started forward, moving as quietly as he could. ************************************* Within minutes, he came to a small clearing. He angled to the right, choosing to bypass the open space in favor of remaining protected by the denser shelter of the trees. His foot struck something in the thick grass. He reached down and extracted a handgun. Turning the weapon in his hands thoughtfully, he glanced up, caught sight of a flash of red, and gingerly parted the bushes, drawing in a sharp breath when he saw the body hidden there. One glimpse was all he need to realize that it was one of Anders' men. A knife protruded from the man's ribs, and Blair instinctively knew that Jim had taken this man out--possibly during the frantic attempt to buy his Guide the precious time to escape. The overpowering sensations that the premonition had held threatened to swamp him again, but Blair shook them off angrily. That was the past and there was no changing it. What honor required, belonged to the future. Blair's head snapped up at the sudden sound of approaching footsteps. He tightened his grip on the gun and scrambled for cover. A few seconds later, Anders emerged from the trees with two of his men just steps behind him. All thoughts but one were burned from Blair's mind when he recognized the mercenary. He charged forward, the gun raised threateningly. "Don't move," he snarled, planting himself in front of Anders and taking aim at the man's chest. The mercenary pulled to a halt, one eyebrow raising in surprise. The two men with him reached for their weapons, but Blair stayed focused on Anders. "Tell them to put them down and move back, or you're dead," he demanded, his voice cold and seething with anger. With a quick gesture, the older man signaled them to do as Blair had ordered. Two distinctive thuds announced the contact of the guns with the ground, and the men backed off several paces, waiting. "Now, yours," Blair commanded. "And the headsets...toss them out of reach." The mercenary stared at him measuringly and Blair brought his other hand up to grip the gun, steadying it. Anders' eyes narrowed as he considered the threat. He remained motionless for a few more seconds before withdrawing his own weapon and slinging it off into the brush. The headset followed. "You would appear to have the advantage, Mr. Sandburg..." "Get rid of your assassins. Now!" Blair hissed through clenched teeth, jerking his head to indicate the two men. "They stay away from us, or you're dead." Blair tightened his finger on the trigger as one of the men started to take a step forward in protest. Anders' reacted immediately, raising his hand in a restraining gesture. "Go," he ordered tersely, his gaze never straying from Blair. The two gunmen exchanged a quick look and then melted back into the forest. "Still your play," Anders murmured. "I should kill you right now," Blair whispered. "But that won't get you what you want." "Where is he? What did you do with him after....?" Blair choked on the words, unable to voice the rest of his demand. "My camp is just over the last rise," Anders answered calmly. Blair motioned with the gun and the mercenary turned and moved into the trees, walking at a steady pace, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. With the gun trained on Anders' back, Blair stayed close enough to guarantee that if he did have to shoot, he wouldn't miss his target. They walked in silence. Oblivious to the rapidly brightening day, Blair's world had narrowed to the mercenary, the gun in his hand, and the driving need to reach his partner. To at least recover his Sentinel's body, so that Anders couldn't hurt him any further. "I have to compliment you on your survival skills," Anders said abruptly. "You've led us quite a chase." "Just keep moving," Blair snapped. "I'd be interested in knowing how you got through my men," Anders continued, glancing back over his shoulder as he walked. "We picked up the transmission, you know. Not that your low power signal is going to carry far...but it was really a very inventive move. You surprised me by coming back though." "Shut up and keep moving, I said!" Blair took a quick step forward and shoved the gun into Anders' back. The older man stumbled forward and dropped to one knee. "Get up or I'll shoot you right here!" Blair shouted, clenching the gun in his trembling hands. "No, you won't," Anders said softly. Still crouched on the ground, the mercenary eyed the distraught Guide with contempt. "I know you...you don't have it in you to kill..." "Congratulate yourself, then. You've given me the incentive," Blair retorted angrily. "No one's ever killed my partner before." Anders' eyes widened in surprise. "Ellison's not dead." Blair's sharp intake of breath was all he could manage as he stared down into the mercenary's eyes. The hope that had awakened at Incacha's questions surged to the surface. "Did you really think I'd go to all this trouble and let him get killed?" An infuriating smirk played at the corner of Anders' mouth. Blair's anger flared again. "I heard the shots. I picked up the exchange over the com link. One of your men said he was 'down'." "Not gunfire....dart guns. Loaded with a simple, but quite effective tranquilizer." Blair's heart thundered in his ears. "Tranquilizer? What kind...how much did you give him?" "Enough to stop him in his tracks," Anders answered smugly. "Damn you! I said how much? What dosage?" Filled with terrifying visions of what that kind of drug could do to his partner, Blair took a step forward without thinking, the gun dropping slightly. Without warning, Anders moved. Blair tried to retreat and raise the weapon, but the older man was quicker. He struck out-- swinging a broken length of branch, not at the gun, but at Blair's left knee. The younger man screamed when the blow connected and lurched sideways, legs buckling under him. The ground reached up to meet him, driving the air from aching lungs and making his next scream a choked gasp. His vision filled with black spots that danced chaotically in time to his pounding pulse. Blair fought off the dizziness, craning his neck to search for the gun that had fallen from his grasp. He reached out for it, but Anders was suddenly at his side, trapping his right wrist with a booted foot and pinning it painfully to the ground. Desperately, Blair struck out at the man's ankle with his free hand. Anders caught the awkwardly thrown blow easily, pushing the younger man's wrist down against his chest. Blair tried to squirm away, but the mercenary just laughed and with his other hand leaned his weight on the injured knee. A white-hot stab of pain spiraled from the point of contact, straight up Blair's spine, exploding into bursts of fire in his head, tearing another scream from his throat. *********************************** A half mile away, Jim stopped abruptly, his head whipping around to catch a fading trace of sound. "Jim...what is it?" Simon asked urgently, skidding to a stop at the detective's side. "Blair...that way..." the Sentinel stammered, his face reflecting the anguish that he'd heard in his Guide's cry. Without a backward glance at the others, Jim started to run. *********************************** Taking advantage of his captive's distress, Anders quickly snapped handcuffs around Blair's wrists and pressed them back against his chest once more, using the weight of his body to hold the younger man in place. The mercenary took a deep breath and gave an odd, piercing whistle which was answered in seconds by another, not too far off. Anders stared down at Blair, grinning into the dazed, pain- filled eyes. When the younger man tried to move again, the mercenary pushed down on the injured knee and agonizing pain shot through the anthropologist once more, stilling his struggles. "That's going cure your running away, my young friend," Anders whispered menacingly. Shuddering, Blair watched in horror as Anders' men suddenly appeared. "We've got trouble, Colonel," one of them reported. "The retrieval teams on the mountain ran into FBI and what appear to be Special Forces Rangers." "What about the camp?" Anders demanded. "Can't raise them." The news was music to Blair's ears. He managed a lopsided grin. "Guess the game's really over now, 'Colonel'." Anders rewarded his sarcasm by giving his knee another painful squeeze. As the pain arced through him, Blair clenched his teeth, determined not to cry out. "It's not over until I say it is," Anders hissed, his eyes glittering with rage. Sadistically, he pressed down on the knee again until the younger man writhed and moaned helplessly. With a satisfied sneer, Anders released his hold and stood up, turning his attention to his men and holstering the gun he'd retrieved from the ground. "It's time to scram this mission. If they've taken the camp, Ellison's free. He'll be hunting for the kid. We can use that. Contact air support and have them meet us at the delta rendezvous point. That's only a few minutes away." "You wanted to see your Sentinel again?" Anders asked mockingly as he shifted his gaze back to Blair. "Well, now you will. You'll help deliver him back into my hands.... Bring him," the mercenary ordered his men. Dragged to his feet, a despairing groan escaped Blair's lips. Help had arrived, Jim was not only alive, but free, and yet what he'd most feared was about to come to pass. "NO!" he whispered, defiantly as they dragged him away. No matter what it took, he was not going to let Anders get near his Sentinel, ever again. *********************************** Hearing extended to it's limits, the Sentinel targeted on the faint vibration of his Guide's heartbeat, and raced through the forest. He flinched at every skip of that familiar rhythm-- staggered at every gasp of pain that carried across the distance that still separated them. He felt another vibration intruding on his concentration and lengthened his stride, leaving Simon and the others to follow as quickly as they could. Splitting his concentration between the tenuous contact he had with Blair and the sound of the incoming chopper, he altered his course slightly, headed toward where the helicopter was likely to touch down. His own exhausted muscles screamed at him, begging for relief, but he ignored them, focused solely on the need to reach his Guide and free him before it was too late. *********************************** Anders led them to the edge of a deep ravine and followed it almost to the top of the next hill. With a glance toward the still obscured crest, he stopped and waved the men dragging Blair between them, forward. "Leave him with me. Go and meet the chopper," Anders ordered. Grabbing at the links between the handcuffs, he pulled the younger man to him. Blair took a staggering step and felt his knee give out. He collapsed on the ground at the mercenary's feet, shaking with pain and fatigue. Anders' cruel laugh reverberated in his head and he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain silent. He nearly lost his control when the mercenary grabbed a handful of hair and pulled his head backward. He shuddered at the mad gleam in the man's eyes as Anders loomed over him. "Call him," Anders demanded. "No...." The older man shifted his stance and kicked out, connecting with Blair's knee. A strangled moan broke from the younger man. "Call him!" the mercenary hissed, wrenching Blair's head and kicking the injured joint savagely. The choked cry was louder, but it still didn't satisfy Anders. He jerked the younger man closer and stepped down with his full weight, pinning Blair's leg to the rocky ground. This time there was no stopping the scream that erupted from the tortured Guide. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Dully, Blair managed to turn his head just enough to find the source of the outraged shout. His vision blurred with pain and tears, the young Guide's eyes found his Sentinel's. "Jim...." Trust, horror, joy and rage burned through the air in that whispered gasp. With a rough jerk, Anders pulled Blair to his feet, wrapping an arm around his chest to hold him upright. Anguished blue eyes sought the Sentinel's gaze again as the cold muzzle of a gun stabbed against the soft skin of his neck, just under his right ear. "I have what you want, Ellison." Blair winced at the words and at Anders' breath that brushed hot and revolting against his bruised cheek. "Let him go, Anders," Jim growled as he moved closer, his gun raised, ready to fire at the first opportunity he saw . "Drop the gun or I'll finish him here," the mercenary threatened. "You won't kill him, Anders...you need him for your little tests, remember?" Jim drew another step closer. "Maybe it's time to change the direction of the experiment," the older man said softly. "It might be interesting to see how a Sentinel survives the death of his control. Or to see how long it takes you to bond with a new focus. I'm confident we could reconstruct what it is that Mr. Sandburg here does for you, from his notes. He's been a very thorough observer. I'm sure there's la great deal of material to work from." The Sentinel hesitated. Up to now, he'd been convinced that Anders wouldn't kill Blair, but the conviction in the man's words terrified him. Looking into those cold eyes, Jim realized that the mercenary was capable of carrying out his threat. The gun in the detective's hand dropped a few inches. "Jim...don't!" Blair had seen the flicker of fear in his partner's eyes. He knew what was coming. "Put the gun down, now," Anders commanded, tightening his hold on his prisoner and cocking his own weapon. Slowly, Jim lowered his gun to the ground, his gaze locked on his young partner. "No, man...don't do this!" Blair shook his head emphatically, panic filling the wide blue eyes. Anders answered Blair's desperate plea with a triumphant, barking laugh. "He doesn't have any choice." The air around them shuddered with the sound of the incoming helicopter, and the mercenary's smile grew. "It appears that our transportation has arrived. Time to take this game to the next level." The older man pulled the gun away from Blair's neck and gestured with it, indicating that Jim should preceed them. The second the weapon shifted, Blair breathed a whispered apology--"Watch your back, Jim..."--and let his knees buckle. The sudden shift in weight pulled Anders off balance for a fraction of a second. The younger man pushed backward with all of his remaining strength, the moment his knees hit the ground. The violent movement carried them both to the edge of the crevice. Jim was rolling to his knees, the gun he'd retrieved in a frantic dive already rising, Sentinel sight seeking a target. As he scrabbled for a foothold on the crumbling rocks, Anders' startled expression changed to blind fury. Blair's unexpected lunge had dislodged his hold on the younger man, but his grasping fingers locked in the anthropologist's hair. Still too far away to reach them in time, the Sentinel watched in panic as his Guide and his captor teetered in a swaying bid for balance at the edge. His horror grew as he realized that Blair was trying to shift them backward-ready to end his own life if that's what it took to send Anders to his death. The roar of denial that ripped from his soul merged with another, much more primal scream of rage. A black wind streaked across the Sentinel's vision, morphing into the sinuous, deadly shape of the panther. The Spirit Guide shrieked it's own battle cry, thrusting itself between Anders and his Guide, knocking the younger man forward. The air exploded in sound as three weapons discharged their deadly missles. Anders body jerked with the impact of each bullet, and seemed to hang for a split second, suspended in thin air. The panther leaped toward the enemy and the mercenary plummeted into the ravine. Barely conscious of Simon and Joel running toward them, Jim stumbled to Blair's side. Dropping to his knees he pulled the shuddering body of his Guide into a fierce embrace. The Sentinel stayed in that position, sheltering the younger man from the chaos that followed as Simon directed the pursuit of the men still with the helicopter. He whispered soft words of encouragement each time Blair flinched in response to the sharp retort of discharging weapons from the top of the hill. Finally, the chatter of gunfire ceased and the stillness of the forest wrapped itself around them in a blanket of peaceful silence. Jim eased his hold enough for Blair to raise his head. Fingers latched in a white-knuckled hold on the detective's shirt and deep, ocean blue eyes begged the question that a frightened mind couldn't form. A ghostly, triumphant scream rose from the depths of the ravine and the Sentinel drew in a deep breath, knowing that the nightmare was finally over. Abruptly aware of Simon's presence at his back--standing sentry over them until they were ready to move--the Sentinel nodded, smiling as the fear left his young Guide's eyes. End Chapter Three