EMPIRES OF EARTH:
Rebellion (WIP)

By: De Engi

Librarian Note:

We have tried to reach De Engi, but her e-mail address is bouncing. This 'work in progress' has been rescued. Since LAL was already hosting her other completed stories, we assumed implied permission to host her WIPs as well. If you know how to reach the author, please ask her to contact LAL. If anyone gets inspired to finish the story, let us know... She has given permission to play in the universe in her notes so, we'll assume permission to continue where she left off until we hear otherwise :)

The Standard Disclaimer (in alphabetical order): The Magnificent Seven characters belong to Mirisch/Trilogy Productions/CBS, etc. The Sentinel was created by Danny Bilson and Paul De Meo. Twin Peaks was created by David Lynch and Mark Frost. I don't own them, I'm just borrowing them, and am making no money from this. Please don't sue me.

Author's Note: This is an original, open AU. It has lots 'o stuff I'm interested in, like medieval stuff and World War II stuff and science elements. It's also inspired by Susan Foster's GDP stories, which is a The Sentinel AU. Yes, I realize this story bears no resemblance to the GDP stuff, but that's deliberate. What I did was see what elements she had - and then go in the opposite direction. I then added The Magnificent Seven - because I thought they fit perfectly. So, technically, you can call this a Sentinel/Magnificent Seven cross-over AU. (The Twin Peaks stuff is not a major part of the Universe.)

Also, this is an alternate universe to "my" Sentinel mythology, the background of which is detailed in my series Repercussions. The point of divergence is that A). Sheriff Truman & Agent Cooper were never discovered and it was Detective Ellison and Dr. Sandburg that the government took, and B). The Organization was a completely independent entity that only one paranoid Senator knew about - and therefore, no bargain could be made to keep Sentinels & Guides in the field.

EMPIRES OF EARTH

By De Engi

It is nearly 500 years in the future. The earth lies in ruins, devastated by wars that raged in the mid-twenty-first century: Chemical, biological and nuclear. At the end of these wars, Sentinels and Guides, being stronger than ordinary humans, had survived the best - though not untouched. And Guides, being the best-educated survivors with the strongest protectors, had ended up gathering groups of surviving Ordinaries and Mutants (for slave labor) and weaker Guide/Sentinel pairs (for mutual protection), and establishing themselves as rulers.

Unfortunately, sometimes their rule tended to be ruthless, in order to guarantee any chance of survival in the harsh environment and minimal resources left to them. The result had been fiefdoms at its apex - with varying degrees of tyranny. Some were benevolent; others, despotic. Generally no one questioned the way Guides did things - it was too dangerous - only accepting that all was as it needed to be. Guides ruled, Sentinels enforced their rules however necessary (frequently acting as Brute Squads), and Ordinaries (ordinary humans)...submitted. (Oh, and mutants died, if they were smart, or were kicked around and generally abused and discriminated against if they weren't smart - at least, the ones that lived in the villages. Outside the villages, bands and individual - and often-times cannibalistic - mutants roamed freely, killing anyone unfortunate enough to encounter them.)

It was into one of the worst such tyrannies that Sentinel Second Lieutenant James Joseph Ellison #JE-2A-Alpha-19674121, direct descendent (16 generations worth) of Detective James Joseph Ellison of Cascade, Washington, had been born; living first under the abusive rule of Guide King Robert Sarris #VS-4B-Alpha-1945392, and his ruthless Warlord, Sentinel General Adrian Hilliard #RE-4A-Alpha-1956989, and then joining the military just after King Sarris's death to serve under his even more cruel niece, Queen Veronica Sarris VS-4A-Alpha-1964352, and her sadistic Sentinel, General Alexis Barnes AB-4A-Alpha-1957142. Only the fact that Jim was a Sentinel in the military gave him any chance at all of clawing his way to the top of the hierarchy, instead of being crushed beneath it like the Ordinaries. And therein lay the problem. Originally, in Ancient Times even long before the Wars of Destruction, Guides and Sentinels had been the protectors of the people: finding clean water by smell, tracking game, spotting the approach of enemies, etc. Oh, yes, there had been the occasional deviant pairing that only looked out for their own interests, but these had been few and far between, and generally driven from a tribe before they could do much damage.

However, that had changed with the breeding and cloning programs that had precipitated the devastating wars. The old United States government had kidnapped several Guide/Sentinel pairs and used them to create super-soldiers whose only motivation was to obey the orders of their superiors, instead of protecting the innocent.

And now, the descendants of those deviants far outnumbered the protectors. In fact, the "protectors" mostly lived as Raiders outside the oppressive villages. They existed in primitive tribes, many nomadic, living in the desert wildernesses. Chief among these in the Cascade area is the Tribe of the Four Corners, led by "Judge" Oren Travis, an Ordinary who'd recruited Guide Christopher Larabee CL-2A-Alpha-1959881, known as "Wolverine" (for his Spirit Animal), and his Sentinel, Vin Tanner VT-2A-Alpha-1966479, called "Hawk", to lead the Tribe's Raiders.

Constantly at war with neighboring villages and tribes, the people of Earth struggle for survival, fighting over the meager resources - and hoping for a better tomorrow.

#1 Rebellion (IN PROGRESS): The simmering anger between Cascade village and Tribe Four Corners is about to erupt with the kidnaping of a well-liked negotiator, a retaliatory attack by the Raiders of Four Corners, and the discovery of a heinous crime. And Sentinel 2^nd Lt. James Ellison will have to choose between a life-time of training - or the path to a new destiny.

EMPIRES OF EARTH:

REBELLION

By De Engi

Interlude

Journal Entry of Daryl Banks, January 12, 2027

"Dear Dad, I miss you. I know I write that every day, but even after all these years, I still do miss you.

"I know you probably are looking down on me, hating me for the terrible things I've done to get where I am, but even your disappointment is worth the files I'm holding in my hands right now. Yeah, dad, I finally did it. I finally worked my way up the CIA ladder high enough to be able to get ahold of the files that tell the real story of what happened to you and the others.

"This first one, labeled "Operation Cupholder", gives the details of the explosion in Major Crimes that killed you and the others. It even details how they got Detective Ellison and Blair and Inspector Connor out alive without anybody knowing about it.

"These next fourteen, "Operation Carpet" through "Operation Doorhinge", are about the explosions and car accidents and plane crashes - there's even some plagues in some isolated villages - that covered the kidnappings of the other known Sentinels and Guides (and the latent ones like Megan) and their immediate families - excuse me "closest genetic lineage".

"And then these twenty-three files, "Operation Ribbon" through "Operation Pneumatic" details the results of the experiments and cloning & breeding programs.

"So, even though I know you're disappointed in me, at least now I know what really happened.

"Question now is: what do I do about it all? I know you'd probably want me to stop all this, but how?

"I really miss you right now, Dad."

I

Doctor Margaret Jarski was a petite woman with a wrinkled, care-worn face and salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a long braid down her back, and further confined by the caduceus-inscribed circlet in gold that marked her as a full doctor. She was dressed in a lab coat and apron over the regular day-garb of any upper-class Lady of her day: an expensive, brightly-colored dress with embroidered trim, three-quarter-length-sleeves and a full, floor-length skirt. Seated in her sterile lab in the East Wing medical accommodations of the obviously-but-appropriately-named Nightfall Castle, which lurked just outside the stockaded village of Cascade, she placed a drop of blood on the slide, crossed her fingers, and hoped. Two new Guides had recently come of age, and blood samples had been taken in order to catalog their chemical specs. Dr. Jarski hoped one of them was compatible with the tall, muscular Sentinel sitting impatiently outside in her office. And well he should be impatient! Rarely, in this day and age, did a Sentinel go so long without being paired. Usually, a match was found no later than early twenties in either the Sentinel or Guide, but the man outside her door was thirty-two years old, and still, no match had been found. Equally peculiar was the possibility of a Guide being so much younger than the Sentinel. Usually, Guides and Sentinels were within a couple of years of each other in age. But, hopefully, not in this case. Hopefully, this Sentinel's Guide was too young until now to start producing the destructive chemicals that would make him or her dependent upon the Sentinel who produced the counter-agents, while in turn producing the natural dampers that helped a Sentinel control and focus his or her senses and minimized zone-outs.

The other possibility was that this Sentinel's Guide had perished before coming of age.

Doctor Jarski didn't want to think about that. She'd seen it happen too many times, and it wasn't pretty. Once the less-efficient artificial sensory depressant no longer worked, the Sentinel left behind eventually went insane, or zoned out and died.

'No,' Dr. Jarski thought, 'I'm not giving up yet. Somewhere out there is a Guide for this Sentinel. There has to be. With everything he's been through, everyone he's lost, it would be the ultimate cruelty if his Guide was gone, too.'

Resolutely, Dr. Jarski pushed all other thoughts aside, and stared into the ancient microscope.

'Hmm,' Dr. Jarski mused, examining the blood of the first Guide, Number RC-2A-Alpha-1976413, Dacey Connor. But no, Dr. Jarski could see immediately that Dacey didn't match - the level of tryptophanic glycodiamidine was too low. She measured and listed Dacey’s specs and switched to Guide Number KK-2A-Alpha-1976395, Lawrence Kettleman's slide. This one looked more promising. The trypo-gly was right, as was the unusually low level of trisodium deoxyamilase... But, damn, there was no trace of ketolysis monoaxidone and the ceruloplasmalysis cerebrosides was too high. Dr. Jarski sighed, not even bothering to compare the Guides’ damper chemical ratios with Ellison’s. Of course they wouldn’t match. 'Damn, I really hoped one of these was the one.' But she really wasn't surprised neither of them matched. Ellison's chemical make-up was peculiar, even for a Sentinel. She couldn't imagine a Guide needing as...unique...a combination to balance his or her system. And that was saying a lot, considering how unusual it was that even Sentinels and Guides - that anyone needed or produced - such chemicals at all! It was no wonder this Sentinel caused the worst contact dermatitis she'd ever seen in chemically incompatible Guides! But, then again, the mutations in the plague and radiation survivors had resulted in a lot of unusual effects: Not only the chemical symbiosis between Sentinels and Guides, but the natural green-bronze hair in some families, the horns on others...Dr. Jarski sighed, gave the Guides' chemical specs to a runner dressed in black and gold livery for delivery to medical technicians who would search their records for Sentinel matches, and went back to her office to tell Sentinel Ellison the news. She would also have to renew the prescription on the artificial dampers that kept his senses and zone-outs under control, but she was worried. Ellison was at the highest dosage allowed. At his present rate, a compatible Guide would have to be found within the next month. After that...no. Dr. Jarski refused to give up hope. A Guide would be found. He must be!

Interlude

From Transcript of United Nations Security Council Hearing, May 23, 2027

Ambassador Saberio de Carmelo, Chairman of United Nations Security Council:

“...So a Sentinel is someone who’s senses are enhanced many times greater than an ordinary person, is that right, doctor?”

Doctor Britta Van Der Hyden, Special Witness to the United Nations Security Council: “Yes, Sir, that’s correct. The test results I’ve seen indicate that a Sentinel can clearly read an auto’s license plate from half a kilometer away or more; can hear a conversation from approximately as far; can smell a single drop of blood in a fish tank; can taste a single grain of salt in a pitcher of water; and can tell whether a piece of ash is wood or plastic by feel.

Ambassador de Carmelo: “And Guides, doctor? What is their significance?”

Doctor Van Der Hyden: “Through means our technology is not yet capable of determining, but which we believe to be at least partially the result of a psychic connection they share with their Sentinel, they are capable of helping the Sentinel control and use their sensory abilities and prevent so-called ‘zone-outs’; in other words, black-outs caused by over-focusing on one sense to the exclusion of all else. Without a Guide, a Sentinel either overloads on the sensory input, or zones out and dies.”

II

Sentinel General Alexis Barnes #AB-4A-Alpha-19695163, marched smartly down the shadowy stone stairs. A few torches guttered in wall sconces, creating pools of light that only intermittently chased away the thick dark. The darkness didn’t matter to Alex, however, as, by adjusting her sight, the darkened staircase seemed bright as day to her.

General Barnes was warlord of the village of Cascade, and she looked the part. She was a tall, athletic woman menacingly dressed all in black as befit a paired Sentinel: trousers tucked into boots, black-stained chain-mail over black shirt, mid-thigh-length jacket with knee-length cape, leather belt and baldric holding weapons and miscellaneous other “warlord-type” items, leather gloves and black-stained circlet with gold all-seeing eye keeping braided blonde hair out of her eyes. Her hard expression revealed nothing, and her cold, blue eyes missed nothing as she came to the bottom of the stairs and proceeded straight down the short corridor to the third cell on the right. No guards stood there; none were needed. The doors were solid, well-maintained steel bars, and the cells were empty except for a toilet and a stone sleeping shelf jutting from the far wall. There were no windows, and the only light came from fish-oil lamps bolted to the walls between the cells, too high for the prisoners to reach - even if they were strong enough to do so. But they never were. The torture they were invariably subjected to pretty much saw to that.

General Barnes detached the keys from her belt and unlocked the door. She marched inside, grabbed the occupant by a hank of shoulder-length chestnut hair - the natural curls weighed down by dirt and sweat - and practically dragged him from the cell.

She pulled him towards the stairs, but instead of going up them, she turned left and proceeded down another short corridor to an open room wherein lay several menacing-looking items - many with sharp points or edges.

Alex all but threw her prisoner into a high-backed wooden chair, where the only other occupant of the room, a huge, sweating giant of a man wearing a leather mask, leather pants, and boots, secured the small prisoner by means of leather straps bolted securely to the arms and front legs of the chair.

Once secured, Alex grabbed the prisoner by the hair again, and pulled his head up.

The prisoner was a young man, no more than twenty, maybe five feet, nine inches tall, with a fine-featured face and glazed, blue eyes. He was too thin, and several bruises stood out on his fair skin. His clothes, once fine as befit his station, were now torn, dirty, and sweat-stained. The circlet denoting his station in life had been taken when he was imprisoned; one of the steps in dehumanizing him.

“Now, then, prisoner,” Alex spoke casually, coldly, further dehumanizing the young man by not using his name. “You’ve had time to think about your misdeeds. Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?”

The young man coughed, and swallowed past a dry throat.

“I don’t....don’t know...anything.” He managed to croak.

“Oh, please.” Alex pulled back, disgusted, letting his head drop. As a paired Sentinel, she would easily be able to tell if the young man was lying - under normal circumstances. However, at this point - her first session questioning the young man - he was starved, in constant pain, and frightened of her - as well he should be - and his vitals were all over the place. And besides, she just liked torturing people. The young man rolled his head back and leaned it against the chair-back.

“I swear,” he told her, “I just came to negotiate for–” He never got a chance to finish, however, because Alex gave him a stinging slap to the face. She followed up with a punch to his unprotected belly, then stepped back and nodded to Leather Mask. The giant took a cattle-prod off a nearby table, and touched it to the prisoner’s shoulder.

“AAAAAAGGGGHHHH!!” The young man screamed hoarsely, unashamedly. The cattle-prod was put to him three more times, in different places, each time eliciting a cry of pain.

Alex grabbed him once more by the hair, and pulled his head up. She got right in his face and said, “Confess you were spying, and this will stop!”

“No, no, no...” He whispered, voice hoarse from screaming.

Disgusted, Alex let his head fall, then turned and stalked towards the door.

“Keep it up until he either has no voice left, or suffers adrenalin over-load and passes out. Then take him back to his cell. You can give him water, but still no food.” And she continued on out. Her wicked chuckling could be heard til she was well up the stairs.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Doctor Nathan Jackson was just putting away the equipment he’d used to stitch up a nasty gash on the forearm of the victim of a sword-practice accident, when a commotion in the Emergency Exam Room brought him running out from behind the curtain blocking off the wooden cot.

Two women in livery were supporting a young man. The man’s head lolled forward on his neck as the women brought him in.

“Need a doctor, here!” One woman, obviously a herald by the way her voice carried loud and clear throughout the room, was yelling repeatedly.

“I’m Doctor Jackson.” The tall, dark-skinned man announced as he gestured the women into one of the curtained-off cubicles. They made their way to the low cot, and carefully put him down on it. In the meantime, Dr. Jackson went back out and grabbed the first available nurse he came to. It happened to be Nurse Cheryl Morrison, a petite, dark-haired woman. Nurse Morrison stepped into the cubical.

“What happened?” She asked the two other women as Dr. Jackson began examining the young man. The patient was about twenty-five, tall and thin with a sharp-featured face and shoulder-length, blonde hair. He wore dull, yellow scholar’s robes over a plain, light blue, loose-fitting shirt and loose black pants with leather moccasins. The gold circlet with infinity symbol marked him a paired Guide as well as a full-time scholar (as opposed to a student, who’s robes would have been brown with yellow striping).

“We were just walking down the corridor in the next wing when we spotted this young man sitting against the wall.” The herald told the nurse, hovering anxiously out of the way at the foot of the bed. The other woman stood behind her, against the white dividing curtain. “He tried to stand up when we approached him but then he collapsed pretty much in our arms, so we brought him here.”

“You have no idea who he is, or what happened?” Dr. Jackson asked, although, upon examining the young man, he began to get a fairly good idea what the problem might be, for the young man was flushed and feverish, his breath was bitter, and his body odor had a distinctly acrid scent with a sour overtone. Dr. Jackson was very experienced in Guide and Sentinel medicine, and had seen - or rather, smelled - this condition before.

“Looks like chemical shock.” Dr. Jackson muttered to the nurse.

“Chemical shock?” The young woman in livery asked. Surprised she didn’t know, Dr. Jackson glanced at the woman, really noticing her for the first time. She was extremely young - not more than fifteen years old. ‘Must be a page.’ Dr. Jackson thought absently.

“Chemical shock,” Dr. Jackson began as he took the syringe and blood collection tube from Nurse Morrison, “is what happens when either an unpaired Guide comes on-line and doesn’t realize it, or a paired Guide is separated too long from his Sentinel. The destructive chemicals built up in the system, and results, first , in flu-like symptoms–“

”Doesn’t everything?” The older woman in livery commented sarcastically.

“Sometimes, it does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Dr. Jackson said as he carefully watched the tube in his hand fill with dark blood. “Anyway, the symptoms progress to severe muscle cramping and vomiting, then to severe muscle fatigue and loss of consciousness. That takes awhile to develop, though.” He filled three tubes in all, handed them to Nurse Morrison, and said, “Check glucose levels, flu antibodies, salmonella poisoning, and chemical shock.” Nurse Morrison nodded. Obviously, Dr. Jackson wasn’t going to assume anything, and wanted tests for all the most likely candidates. She turned and quickly left for the lab down the hall.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

The tall, blond man threaded his way among the tents, shrouded as much in a cloak of anger as in the black material that was draped about his shoulders. At thirty-five years of age, Guide Christopher Larabee, CL-2A-Alpha-1959881, had seen too much death and destruction. Some he had experienced, and some he’d caused. Tonight, he and the others were going to be the cause.

As Chris (dressed all in black because he wanted to be, not because he’d been a paired military Sentinel in Cascade) made his way towards the tent where the final planning session was taking place, his flashing green eyes and edgy tension cleared a path before him. At the door to the tent, his Sentinel, brown-haired, blue-eyed Vin Tanner, VT-2A-Alpha-1976479 stood gazing out towards Nightfall castle, out beyond the ruins, past Starkville Prison and the village nestled so peaceful-looking within what once was heavy forest. But the trees had died along with so much else, leaving the desolate emptiness that allowed Vin the clear view that he had. As Chris moved past him, Vin said nothing, but merely turned away from the death and destruction he’d been contemplating - both that of the land, and that of the people - and went inside, where the others waited.

The brown-haired Sentinel, dressed in dark brown leather trousers and sleeveless, yellow leather vest laced up the front, took his place at Chris’ side at the head of the table containing the map. On his other side, a short, red-haired woman of about forty-five years dressed in a white shirt, blue vest and green split skirt for riding, stood with her taller, dark-skinned Sentinel. Guide Naomi Sandburg, BS-1A-Alpha-1955239, Negotiator, fidgeted impatiently, knowing this last-minute review of the plan of attack was necessary, but disliking it all the same. Beside her, her Sentinel, Jennifer Carruthers, KN-1A-Alpha-1959443, who wore a red leather jerkin and tight black leather pants, held herself tensely, her outward calm betrayed by flared nostrils, clenched jaws, and white-knuckled fists.

“Calm yourself, Crocodile. We’ll get your son back soon.” A powerfully-built, gray-haired man in rough brown cloth pants and a striped cloth poncho said soothingly to Naomi. Beside Guide Josiah Sanchez, JS-2A-Beta-1955124 and otherwise known as Polar Bear, his Sentinel, Ezra Standish, ES-2A-Beta-1976418 and called Shrike, a short, dark-haired man with bright green eyes and wearing fine red cloth trousers, a white shirt, and red cloth vest added,

“Fear not, dear lady. Ruthless she may be, however, Queen Veronica has never been accused of below-average intelligence. Even she dares not eliminate a Sandburg out of hand. We will effect his escape in as expeditious a manner as possible, but only as long as our plan of attack is as thorough as it is possible to make it.”

Crocodile tried to smile at their attempts to calm her. The smile consisted only of a tremulous upturn of the corners of her mouth.

“Thank you, Polar Bear, Shrike, but I just can’t rest til my boy is back safe where he belongs.”

“Then we’ll get him back as quick as we can, ma’am.” Chris said between clenched teeth. Having lost his wife, Sarah, and small son, Adam, to Queen Veronica’s ruthlessness, Chris well understood how Crocodile felt. Not that the others were ignorant of her plight, but Polar Bear’s and Shrike’s families were numbered among the members of Tribe Four Corners, and resided this night in relative safety.

“So, what do you think, Wolverine?” Polar Bear addressed Chris. Chris exchanged a look with his Sentinel, who was known as Hawk. The connection between them fairly crackled with their silent communication. They both agreed that the plan was as good as they were going to get it with the people and materiel they had to work with. However, both would have preferred a fully-equipped army for this task. Breaking into Starkville Prison wasn’t going to be easy under any circumstances.

“Well, it looks good to me.” JD Dunne said. The black-haired youth in brown leather pants and vest was always enthusiastic, and now was no exception. His older, over-protective heart-brother, tall, dark-haired Buck Wilmington shook his head at JD’s ebullience, which never ceased to amaze - and worry - the more experienced man. Buck, having no other family of his own, had taken it upon himself to mentor the younger man. It had turned out to be a full-time job, but one which Buck wouldn’t trade for the world.

They went over the plan one last time, then moved out to implement it.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Sentinel Second Lieutenant James Joseph Ellison #JE-2A-Alpha-19674121, direct descendent (16 generations worth) of Detective James Joseph Ellison of Cascade, Washington, stood before the mirror and checked the neatness of the uniform which once gave him such pride.

It was the uniform of an unpaired military Sentinel, in the same style as that of a paired Sentinel, except the shirt and trousers were grey, the jacket, gloves, and cape were midnight-blue, and he wore a blue-stained circlet with the All-Seeing-Eye symbol in silver. At first, 2^nd Lt. Ellison had, like all Sentinels, been smugly proud to wear this uniform - but no more.

Jim turned to stare out the second-floor window of the North Wing barracks, beyond the walls of the castle to the slumbering village of Cascade, and the shadowy prison that was his current duty assignment. Had he been paired and off the dampers, he could have seen all the way down the mountain to the ruins of the abandoned Old City of Cascade, even at this time of the evening.

Staring into the growing dark, Jim Ellison contemplated his life - and the turn it had taken.

He’d once worn this uniform with honor and pride, graduating top of his class in all subjects and afterward conducting himself with acclaim - his accomplishments had even brought him to the attention of General Alex Barnes. She’d been so impressed with him - and his genes - that she’d agreed to be mated to him. That union had resulted in the six-year-old daughter now being raised in another part of the castle. The child, a Sentinel rated 4A (Primal/Deviant, Heterosexual) and Alpha (Level 2 strength, in other words, capable of holding a city-sized territory) was in Alex’s sole custody to be raised as she saw fit. Jim wasn’t allowed any contact with her. Not that he wanted to see the already-cruel little brat, who was so different from his one-year-older son by another Sentinel, Alma Osorio. That child, rated 2A [Primal/Protective, Heterosexual], and also Alpha, was being raised by Jim’s brother Stephen. Soon after his daughter’s birth, he’d married Sergeant Carolyn Plummer, from a surprisingly powerful family - for an Ordinary Human.

All in all, Jim had had a promising life and career ahead of him - until the disastrous mission to the ruins of Old Cascade for supplies. The mission that was supposed to be so easy that they sent him out with a bunch of green Ordinaries and one good NCO - his wife.

Jim had been the only survivor. And, while no official blame had been cast on him due to lack of evidence, Ellison had, as soon as his injuries healed and he returned to duty, been transferred to guard duty at the old Starkville Prison, there to languish until a Guide was found. His brother, Stephen and father, William, both wealthy merchants, hoped it would be a politically powerful Guide who could redeem him. However, Jim was certain that he would instead ruin the reputation of whomever he was paired with. For this reason, Jim, instead of looking forward to his pairing, had come to dread it. Although he tried not to show it in front of Dr. Jarksi, who was concerned only for his health, the truth was that Jim didn’t want a Guide; didn’t want anyone else to bear the stigma he bore. Jim sighed. For now, he could only conduct himself with as much dignity as possible, and hope to escape the notice of anyone still disparaging of him. That was why little Matthew was with Stephen and away from military life, or he’d be subjected to who knew what torture. Thank goodness “Ellison” was a common enough name that no one connected the two.

Ellison finally turned away from the window, emotions in a turmoil, squared his shoulders, and marched resolutely out the door.

Interlude

From Transcript of United Nations Security Council Hearing, May 25, 2027

Ambassador de Carmelo: "...And so you are positive, beyond all shadow of doubt, that this young woman, referred to in the files of "Operation Mousepad" as Sentinel Number JE-2A-Alpha-4299 and otherwise known as "Jamie Ellison", is actually the clone of James Joseph Ellison, referred to in file "Operation Cupholder" as Sentinel Number JE-2A-Alpha-01?"

Doctor Van Der Hyden: "The DNA test is conclusive, Sir. Jamie Ellison's DNA is 100% James Ellison 01's. In other words, instead of getting exactly half of her DNA from each parent, as ordinary people do, Jamie Ellison's DNA is all from James Ellison. She has no other genetic parent. And, as with the other female clones of exclusively male parentage, the Y chromosome was replaced with an X chromosome from another gamete - a sperm cell, Sir - of the same parent in order to create the female."

Ambassador de Carmelo: "And why were females created in the first place, if all the super-soldiers created and trained for military service were male, Doctor?"

Doctor Van Der Hyden: "As breeders, Sir. In utero artificial insemination is faster than cloning or in vitro fertilization, and less susceptible to replication errors; in other words, defects caused by the technological processes used to create the clones. Also, at our present state of technology, the best way to gestate any living animal is still a natural womb."

Ambassador de Carmelo: "So that's why there were so many failures? Attempts to gestate in artificial environments and replication defects?”

Doctor Van Der Hyden: "That, and failed experiments in attempting to enhance ordinary people and to edit out the protective instinct in “normal” Sentinels, Sir. I'm actually surprised that so many Sentinels and Guides were successfully created."

Ambassador de Carmelo: "How many are there, Doctor?"

Doctor Van Der Hyden: "As far as we can tell, there are-"

(Commotion in the chamber)

Ambassador Zan Fai of China: "Sir, my apologies to this esteemed council for this interruption, however, I, the Ambassador of China, have an announcement to make on behalf of the governments of the Nations of China, El Salvadore, India, Iran, Iraq, Kuwait, Libya, Pakistan and South Africa.

"The governments of the aforementioned nations are often at odds - to the point where it would be impossible for us as a group to even decide upon what color to paint a room. (Chuckles from the gallery.) However, we are all in agreement upon one thing: The United States of America is our common enemy. And, although even collectively we may not be very powerful, it is known that even a lion may be brought down by a pack of hyenas working together.

"And, insofar as the United States government has engaged in Acts of War including, but not limited to: kidnapping and murder of citizens of the nations of China, England, Pakistan, South Africa, Poland, and El Salvadore; employed proscribed experiments and breeding and cloning procedures on said kidnapped citizens; and used the results of these experiments to create so-called "super-soldiers" which can be used against any nation that the government of the United States chooses, we, the governments of the Nations of China, El Salvadore, India, Iran, Iraq, Kuwait, Libya, Pakistan and South Africa do hereby demand reparations for the afore-mentioned kidnappings and murders; the supervised termination of these experiments; and the supervised destruction of the "super-soldiers". And if the United States government does not accede to these demands, the governments of the aforementioned Nations shall declare war upon the United States of America."

(Major commotion in-chambers.)

(Banging of gavel.)

Ambassador de Carmelo: "Order, order, I will have order in this gallery, or this gallery will be cleared!"

(Rapid cessation of commotion.)

Ambassador de Carmelo: "Ambassador Johnston, what is your answer to these charges against the United States government?"

Ambassador Denby Johnston of The United States: "Sir, the United States government categorically denies and will not address the charges of kidnapping, murder and the use of proscribed experimentation, and, as to the destruction of clones and engineered persons, well, Sir, by our standards, if any existed, they would be classed as people, with the same rights as any American citizen under the Constitution of the United States of America."

Ambassador Zan: "Then, Ambassador Johnston, you may inform your government that we are at war."

(Major commotion in the chamber.)

III

In the fog-shrouded dark, the prison yard was quiet, but not still. Electric spotlights tracked back and forth above the razor-wire topping the stone walls, still solid from careful tending after all these centuries; the massive steel doors kept well-oiled and free of rust and corrosion; and guards manned their posts, fighting to stay awake in these dull hours before dawn.

In fact, the guards were probably the weakest of the prison's defenses. They were mostly chemically-dampened, unpaired Sentinels, and Ordinaries dressed in their copper circlets and uniforms of light gray (Target Gray, it was jokingly called, because it was so much lighter in color and easier to target than the Sentinels’). Low men on the Totem Pole, the saying still went. The Ordinaries didn't really have a lot of chance for advancement, although a few still managed to fight their way to senior NCO positions in the military, such as Master Sergeants. The plumb assignments - and opportunities - went to the Sentinels with Guides. Especially the more powerful and highly-placed Guides. But this was just a prison, and got only the dregs. And it showed in the apathy of the guards, who patrolled the walls intermittently, if at all. Mostly, they preferred to sit inside in relative comfort (especially if the weather was bad), only occasionally coming out to take a look around.

Not that it usually mattered; the inmates of this prison generally weren't here long enough to plan an escape, anyway. Although some murderers and rapists resided here long-term (if they were powerful enough - or possibly of future use - then even Queen Veronica wouldn’t execute them), most of them were political prisoners who were pretty quickly tried and executed. In fact, all of the political prisoners were eventually executed. If you were innocent, you wouldn't have been arrested in the first place. Or so the thinking went.

But this conventional thinking had begun to niggle at Jim Ellison’s sense of justice - what little he had, considering where he’d been raised. Justice had never been highly stressed here. Instead, “survival of the fittest” was more often adhered to by most people, and in the military, it was even worse. And somehow, the “kill them all and let God sort them out” thinking that had been instilled in him from the first day of his military training seemed...overly ruthless. And the Queen’s special Gold Sentinel “brute squads” even more so. Wasn’t there some other way to keep order? He occasionally asked himself that question in the dead of night, when he had trouble sleeping. But he never came up with an answer.

For now, however, Jim patrolled the wall above the yard exactly as his duty bade him, simply biding his time until something better came along.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

“Got it, Doctor.” Nurse Morrison stated, as she handed Dr. Jackson the print-out. Nathan studied it for just a second. His eyebrows went up at what the print-out said.

“I recognize these ratios. I treated a Sentinel with these ratios who had a minor case of food poisoning just yesterday. But he was unpaired. Weird.” Nathan stared into space for a second, as he tried to puzzle it out. He’d have figured the Guide had just come on line, but for the gold of the infinity symbol on his circlet that marked him a paired Guide. Well, no time to figure it out now. The young man was in the last stages of chemical shock, and unless he got the necessary counter-chemicals from his Sentinel - and quickly - the young man would die. Without further consulting records, or the print-out in his hands, Dr. Jackson acted immediately.

“Call Sentinel Kyle Barnes.”

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

The dark-clad figures darted in groups of four from bush to tree to rocks. One group eventually ended up to the north, behind some scrub that had missed the lackadaisical clean-up crews’ attempts to keep a no-cover area around the prison walls. Another one lay hidden behind a boulder a few feet from the east wall. And another foursome was setting up explosives just inside the line of trees one hundred yards from the south wall - the one facing the ruins of Old Cascade (opposite the new village).

When the explosives were ready to go, Buck, dressed all in black leather like the other Raiders, whispered,

“All set. Counting down. Three.”

The other two groups counted among them one paired Sentinel each - Hawk at the north wall, and Shrike at the east wall. Both heard the whispered warning, and signaled their groups with three fingers held up.

“Two.”

Both Sentinels repeated the countdown with a finger folded down, leaving two, and the Sentinel’s Guides, armed with more explosives, got set to move.

“One.” The last finger down, and an explosion shook the trees. An instant later, a fireball swept upward and outward through the woods and across the cleared area towards the prison. Gunfire followed immediately from a safe distance to the right and left of the blast area.

At the same time, Wolverine, at the north wall, darted forward, placed the charges, and ran back to the brush. As gunfire erupted from the prison walls towards the tree-line, a finger depressed a switch, and a messy hole was blown in the wall. The group advanced on through.

The Guide at the east wall - Polar Bear - blew that one, too, then crawled through the hole with surprising agility for a man of his size, quickly found the generator shed right where the recently-bought blueprints said it would be, and set still another round of explosives. That group ran and sheltered behind some crates before detonating the charge. The resulting flames only added to the confusion caused when the lights went out.

Jim Ellison was on break when it all went to hell. He was sitting alone - he wasn’t the most gregarious of people even before his fall from grace, but after losing so many people as well as his reputation, he’d simply closed himself off from everybody. The other guards either shied away from him as one would a plague-carrier, to avoid being brought down with him, or considered him cold and unfriendly. Either way, they all left him alone, which was fine with Ellison.

The walls shook slightly from the force of the blasts, although they were too sheltered in the solid complex to hear anything. The alarms sounded once, then all power went out. Fortunately, very little was actually dependent upon electricity - mostly the outside spotlights and sirens. The lighting inside the buildings was fish-oil lanterns, deliberately creating cold, dank cells and dark, shadowy corridors. Unfortunately, one of the things that was on the generator was the magnetic locks on the prison cells. Cutting the power automatically caused the doors to open. Even un-enhanced senses heard the massive clang as all the doors opened at once. And everyone knew what that meant.

“The prisoners are free!” Stocky, dark Sentinel 1^st Lieutenant Paulo Osorio #JL-1B-Beta-1976441 (Alma’s cousin) announced fearfully.

Most of the guards in the break-room fled for safe shelter.

The five who remained, including both Sentinels and three Ordinaries, looked uncertainly at each other for an instant. Then Ellison rolled his eyes heavenward in annoyance at his comrades’ cowardice, drew his gun and his sword, and led the others in a charge out the door to back up whoever remained in the prison wards.

In the meantime, the “south wall group” had proceeded to their next objective: the communications shack, and blown it up. The explosion could add little to the confusion already holding sway in the prison.

One group of raiders was engaged in a fierce firefight with those few guards who hadn’t fled the walls. Muzzle flashes lit up the night, briefly spotlighting the owners of the guns. A raider with six fingers on each hand went down with a yell, cut nearly in half by a hail of bullets from a guard with a long scar down the left side of his face. Wolverine brought down that guard an instant later. The unfortunate Ordinary tumbled down into the yard below, where his fire-arm and ammo where instantly confiscated by his killer.

Elsewhere, the “tree-line group” of raiders, led by Crocodile and her Sentinel, Monkey, stalked carefully among what little cover they could find, entered through the hole in the south wall, and slunk to the prison’s main building. With much more stealth, they blew the lock on the entrance and slunk into the building.

Once inside the building, they quickly made for the Commandant’s office, along the way dodging - or, where necessary, shooting - the few guards who’d stayed to fight.

Unfortunately, they only made it half-way, according to the blue-prints, before running into Sentinel Ellison and his few men.

Monkey uttered a piercing war cry, and charged the prison guards with sword drawn. Ellison answered Monkey’s attack head-on, their swords clashing together. As the rest of Crocodile’s group engaged the prison guards, Crocodile herself slipped past unnoticed, trusting in her Sentinel to take care of her unpaired - and therefore handicapped - opponent.

She ran like one possessed, knowing she probably had very little time before a runner could get reinforcements, or a back-up generator could be brought online. Out of breath, Naomi reached the Commandant’s office, and unceremoniously shot out the lock. She slammed the door open, and shot the Commandant. Naomi was normally a peaceful person, and the thought of actually killing anyone would make her sick - but later, when this was all over, and her son was back safe where he belonged.

Naomi ran around behind the Commandant’s desk, and attacked the computer with a vengeance, frantically typing in the passwords she’d bought along with the blueprints to the prison. As the desired screen came up, Naomi scanned it quickly, looking for her son’s name and cell number.

It was with sinking heart and growing fear that she reached the end of the list without finding the sought-after information. On the verge of panic, she scanned the list again, hoping she’d simply missed it the first time. However, after her second perusal of the list failed to reveal her son’s location, Naomi stepped back from the machine a second to re-group. Then she attacked it again. Ok, so her son wasn’t in the prison. If this computer was part of the castle’s network, she might still be able to find what she wanted. Naomi quickly typed in another set of passwords, one that had come from a different source, and was originally supposed to be used only after Naomi had gotten the information on her son that she sought, and if she thought she had the time. Well, she hadn’t achieved her first objective, but maybe going after the second might yield results. Her persistence was rewarded when she succeeded in getting into the palace network. She pulled a couple of data crystals from a pouch on her belt, and quickly downloaded as much information as she thought she had time for, shut down the computer - no sense letting everyone know what she’d been up to before it could be helped - and fled the office.

In the meantime, her group had pretty much dealt with Ellison’s group, the lazy prison guards - with the exception of Ellison himself - being no match for the dedicated Raiders. Ellison, however, proved more difficult to defeat as he and Monkey traded blows.

‘This guy’s good - for an unpaired.’ Jenny thought, reluctantly impressed, seeing Ellison watch her eyes in order to anticipate her next move. So she closed her eyes, and used her other senses, instead. She lunged to her left, parried a blow to her then-unprotected right, then feinted high and lunged low. Ellison, caught off guard, moved a second too slow, and took Jenny’s sword in a solid strike to his mid-section. She twisted the blade as she pulled it free. As Ellison collapsed to the ground, Jenny heard her Guide fleeing down the corridor towards her. She opened her eyes, and waited, still in defensive crouch.

“He’s not here.” Jenny heard her Guide gasp, disheartened. “I got some other stuff, though.” But Jenny could tell by the tone of her voice - even at this distance - that Naomi was heart-sick at not finding her son. Jenny closed her eyes briefly, afraid for the exuberant young man she considered like a nephew. However, there was nothing to be done now. They could only hope the information Naomi had accessed might give them what they needed.

Jenny whispered the call to retreat, which the other Sentinels acknowledged. They ran from the prison.

IV

Jim Ellison warily scanned his surroundings, searching for any signs of raiders. Unfortunately, it was very easy to hide here, in the ruins of what had once been the city of Cascade, Washington. Although the radiation had pretty much dissipated, and the toxic chemicals long-since washed away by time and the elements, that didn’t mean no danger resided here. Besides the Raiders, there were the Mutants - usually hideous creatures with one eye or vestigial third arms or fibrous tumors from run-away cell development. And if the malicious Raiders or cannibalistic Mutants didn’t get you, the devastated buildings themselves, crumbling and unstable, could do the job of killing the unwary just as well. And so Jim proceeded cautiously, keeping his people in a strung-out diamond formation that allowed them to protect each other while still keeping far enough apart to keep a single shot from killing them all.

Jim glanced back at his wife, Master Sergeant Carolyn Plummer, a short, auburn-haired woman. She nodded an all-clear-so-far to Jim. He turned back around facing front, still carefully watching his environment, and wishing he was paired and off the dampers. It would be so much safer if he could hear the heartbeats of any intruders, or smell the booby-trap bombs that had resulted in so many deaths over the years. But he wasn’t, and so the gunfire that erupted suddenly from above and to the left took Jim and the others completely by surprise. Still, Jim had not hesitated as Private Connelly and Private Osborn fell, bleeding, to the ground.

“Under cover, now, now, now!” He’d shouted over the din of the gunfire. As they’d retreated towards a building on the right, however, several grenades had dropped into their midst, scattering them. Not quickly enough, however, as Private Russell, Private Gordon, and Private Jameson had taken the brunt of the blast. Jim looked down at them - what was left of them - in horror. His men. They’d been his men, his command, his responsibility. He’d taken his responsibilities seriously, and now his men lay bloody and broken on the cold, hard ground. Jim and Carolyn placed themselves between the green recruits and their attackers, firing everything they had, trying to cover the others’ escape.

It hadn’t worked. Two more grenades saw to that, taking down the rest of Ellison’s people in a shower of blood and body parts.

Then, Jim and Carolyn had taken several bullets. She flailed with the multiple impacts, blood spurting from several wounds. Jim had screamed, ignoring his own pain, and grabbed her, dragging her towards shelter, where he’d finally collapsed practically on top of the woman.

Not that it mattered. Carolyn had died in his arms, her life-blood flowing through his hands as he tried desperately to staunch the wounds.

“NO!” He’d screamed, the screams dissolving into a keening whimper, then sobs. The explosions had ceased, but firelight flickered unnoticed, casting shifting shadows on Jim, and on Carolyn’s broken body.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Jim awoke, screaming. Hands were on his shoulders almost immediately, pushing him back down onto the bed.

“It’s ok,” an authoritative voice told him, “you’re ok, you’re safe now.” Jim opened his eyes slowly. It took a moment to focus, but finally a dark-skinned man wearing a lab coat and gold, caduceus-inscribed circlet swam into view.

“You’re in the castle infirmary.” The doctor answered his unasked question.

“Who...?” Jim managed with difficulty.

“I’m Doctor Nathan Jackson.” The man smiled at Jim. “Do you remember what happened?”

“It was a recon mission–no.” Jim breathed. “No, that was before. Raiders. Raiders broke into the prison.” He remembered. Dr. Jackson grinned.

“Yes. Very good Lt. Ellison.” Nathan glanced down at his chart, and made some notations. “You were stabbed in the belly. Very painful, but not too serious. You’ll be here about a week.” Nathan shook his head as the injured man rolled his eyes and sighed in reluctant resignation. ‘Oh boy,’ Nathan thought, ‘somebody who hates being cooped up in the hospital. This’ll be fun.’

“Doctor Jackson!” A voice suddenly cried from across the corridor. “Come quick!” Nathan didn’t hesitate. He handed Ellison’s chart off to a nurse in the corridor as he bolted from the Sentinel’s cubicle. Ellison fought the blackness creeping into his field of vision as a crash resounded from the cubicle Nathan had rushed into.

“No!” An unfamiliar voice yelled. Suddenly, a man appeared just outside Ellison’s cubicle. “He’s not my Guide!” The short, stocky, red-haired man protested. “Not him, a woman! My Guide is supposed to be a woman! My Guide has to be a woman!” Doctor Jackson appeared beside the man and a couple of feet away, his hands raised showing them to be empty of weapons as he tried to calm the other man.

“It’s ok, Kyle.” Nathan said soothingly. “It’ll be alright. Colin is a good man, a gifted scholar. He’s on the fast-track to become a royal advisor. You’ll be in a position of power in no time.” Nathan told the agitated Sentinel. “But Colin’s dying, you have to touch him, to give him–“ But Nathan got no further.

“No!” Kyle told Nathan, starting to become angry. “No, I can’t, he’s a man! I’m a Type A! A Type A! I can’t touch him!”

“Kyle, this isn’t sex.” Nathan hastened to reassure the man. “This is only because he’s so bad off. He needs extensive contact with you to get as much of the stuff into his system as fast as possible. We’re only asking you to sit with him–“

”Yeah, sit with him.” Kyle cried hoarsely, backing away even farther. He backed into a cart full of surgical supplies, knocking it over and sending the scalpels, forceps, and bandages scattering all over the floor in a dissonant clanging clatter. Everyone ignored it, too busy with the distraught Sentinel. “Is’at what you call it? Sitting with him? That ain’t what it is! Tell the truth! You really mean we need to sit naked together!” Nathan tried not to let his exasperation show.

“No, Kyle!” Nathan tried again to explain. “Just your shirts off, just ‘cause he needs a wider area of contact with you. He needs as much of the stuff as he can get, and just your hands isn’t enough! Not in the shape he’s in now! He needs to absorb more of the stuff than your hands alone can secrete at one time. Look, it’ll only be for a couple of hours, just til his skin absorbs enough chemicals to bring him around some. Then you can use just the regular hand-to-shoulder contact if that’s what you want. But right now he needs more! He’ll die without it!”

“Then let him die!” Kyle screamed. “I’m het, damn you! I ain’t touchin’ a guy! Not nowhere! Not hands, not shoulders, not nothin’!” And suddenly, Kyle lunged at a scalpel on the floor. Thinking he meant to stab someone with it, they were all horrified when Kyle instead used it to slit his own throat.

“Het...” Kyle gurgled as Doctor Jackson and two nurses rushed the man. Kyle collapsed, blood fountaining from both severed carotid arteries. Nathan tried frantically to stem the scarlet tide, but within seconds, Kyle was dead.

“No!” Nathan cried. “Kyle, no!”

Jim Ellison closed his eyes. He knew what would come next for this “Colin” person. He was already in a coma. Soon, his body and brain would succumb to the chemical imbalances and shut down completely. Permanently. It was actually a sort of blessing that he was already past the worst of the symptoms.

Ellison was shocked and dismayed by what had happened. Shocked, because of what he’d learned. For all intents and purposes, only medical personnel nowadays knew what to do about severe chemical deprivation in a Guide. After losing a daughter and a nephew to it, Queen Veronica’s predecessor, her uncle, King Robert Sarris, had instituted a policy whereby all Sentinels learned Guide Sustenance during their apprenticeship or training, no matter what occupation they would eventually have. And since that Guide Sustenance Training invariably emphasized prevention of chemical shock, rather than treatment after the fact, few, if any, Sentinels ever learned what had to be done for a Guide in the kind of shape Colin was in now.

Moreover, Jim was dismayed by the steps that would have to be taken for a Guide in severe shock. Over the decades, what society there was had evolved a taboo against anything more than the briefest and most casual of touches between anyone except lovers and family members, much like mid-to-late twentieth century and early twenty-first century American society. Back then, the taboo had taken hold, especially for men, due to the obsession and stigma attached to homosexuality. Society was fixated on the notion that any but the most casual touch between two people - especially two men - automatically meant they were lovers (except if they were obviously closely related). And heterosexual men were, therefore, especially reluctant to engage in any touch at all.

After the Wars, however, that taboo was intensified by the fear of spreading the plagues and toxic chemicals used in the Wars. Then, as civilization broke down and the survivors fell back on any means necessary to defend themselves, touch became even more abhorred, because most people didn’t have “long-range” weapons like firearms, but could grab any sharp implement as a “close-in” weapon. Therefore, letting anyone get too close invited death by a knife in the gut.

As a result, during Guide Sustenance Training, all Sentinels were taught the necessary compromise between that touch taboo, and the need to touch their Guides in order for them both to provide the chemicals each needed - those that kept the Guide’s body chemistry in balance, and the natural dampers the Sentinel needed to remain sane - that were secreted through their sweat glands, and absorbed by the skin. Part of that compromise was the emphasis on preventative maintenance: more frequent but briefer provision prevented the need for longer, more extensive touch later on. Another part of that compromise was learning partial control over the amount of chemical secreted by controlling the muscles surrounding the tiny glands attached to the sweat glands where the chemicals were produced, thereby allowing them to secrete a higher concentration when needed. And, they were also taught to touch only “acceptable” areas such as shoulder and upper arm, back of the neck, and forehead, and to clean and vary the area of contact so as to prevent build-up of residue leading to contact dermatitis on any one area. Because of the taboo as well as the training, Sentinels certainly, and presumably Guides, too, were not even taught what to do in the case of severe chemical deprivation by either party.

It was all of these things that led to Sentinel Kyle Barnes’s (AB-3A-Beta-197655432) dilemma, and to his death, which had only the one acceptable answer in present-day society (except to the medical personnel, who’s main concern was the life of everyone involved).

As Jim floated, semi-conscious, he wondered what he’d do if he ever found himself in the same situation. For Jim was a Type A also. Could he do what his Guide needed? Could he touch a male Guide like that, if his life depended upon it - that kind of skin-to-skin contact that would allow the Guide to absorb the chemicals from a larger portion of Jim’s skin than the “innocuous” touch that he’d been trained to use? Or would he take Kyle Barnes’s way out - society’s way out? Jim finally drifted off to sleep, distressingly not having come up with an answer.

V

“...your records are wrong!”

The heated argument brought Jim partly awake only a couple of hours later.

“No, they’re not!” The voice of Dr. Jackson came from the cubicle across the corridor, where Guide Colin Doughtery (KS-3A-Beta-197654110) lay dying.

“I am his Sentinel, damn it! Check the damn database!” The female voice was not just irate, but livid.

Jim Ellison suppressed a groan as he sat up in bed, swung his feet over the edge, and - gingerly - stood up. Holding one arm protectively across his bandaged middle, Ellison swayed a second before shuffling out of his cubicle and into the corridor. Supporting himself on the curtain’s support post, Jim moved the curtain to Colin’s cubicle aside enough to see in.

A tall, muscular woman with black hair and flashing blue eyes had grabbed hold of the hand of the young man in the bed. He did not move at the touch. His skin was pale and waxy, his eyes sunken and with dark circles beneath them. The machinery that monitored his vital signs showed them to be dangerously low.

“I did check the database, after you mentioned it, but I’m telling you, Colin’s chemical ratios are the same as Kyle’s - I know because I treated him only yesterday and saw his records!”

“Then his records are wrong! I am Colin’s Sentinel, and I am taking him out of here, now!”

“Damn it, you can’t do that! Can’t you see he’s dying!” Nathan was obviously at the end of his rope if he’d admit such a thing loudly enough for anyone else to hear. The argument was loud enough, in fact, that it took a second for Nathan to register the fact that Colin had flat-lined.

He sprang into action immediately, roughly shoving the black-haired Sentinel aside while calling out the alarm.

Three nurses converged on the cubicle, none of them noticing Jim, who stood back out of the way. The four medics worked on Colin for fifteen minutes before Nathan finally had to admit defeat.

“Efforts to revive halted at...” Nathan wearily looked at a nearby clock. “At 3:57 am.”

“NO!” The raven-haired Sentinel screamed. She turned wild eyes to Nathan. “He’d be alive now if you’d checked the database and called me earlier! It’s your fault he’s dead, you son-of-a-bitch!” And she charged Nathan, managing to get her hands around his throat before the three nurses jumped her. Three more people responded to the fight by racing into the cubicle, including a handsome, well-dressed man and big, dark-skinned man who tossed aside a smoking leaf-tube as they emerged from a cubicle farther down the corridor. They grabbed the Sentinel and wrestled her out of the cubicle and down the corridor.

After she’d been taken, still struggling, out of the infirmary, Jim, still silently immersed in his own thoughts, started to turn back to his own cubicle when he paused a moment. His eye had been caught by the sight of the deceased Guide. It was still a shock to see a Guide in that condition nowadays and it cut through him with surprising force. He didn’t want a Guide, damn it! He didn’t want anyone else to suffer because of him. So why did Colin’s death hit him so hard? Jim refused to think about it; didn’t want to admit to the protective instincts, or to the empty place inside that only a Guide could make whole. Instead, he once more turned back to his cubicle - only to stop again, his conscious mind finally catching up to his subconscious. He gazed suspiciously at the young man’s hand, the one the dark-haired Sentinel had held.

The red welts of contact dermatitis showed clearly against the surrounding paleness.

Exhausted just by the little bit of activity he’d engaged in in the past few minutes, Jim wasn’t sure what those red welts implied. Surrendering to the weariness and pain, Ellison gave up and went back to bed.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

In the meantime, the big, dark-skinned man with the smoking leaf-tube approached Dr. Jackson, who was still standing at Colin’s bedside.

“What the hell was that all about?” He asked. Nathan rubbed his face tiredly.

“I dunno, Simon. Some weird mix-up with records, I guess.” Nathan replied. “She claims to have been Guide Colin Dougherty’s Sentinel, but I recognized his ratios as matching a Sentinel I treated yesterday - or, rather, the day before, now. Anyway, the other Sentinel was male, and committed suicide rather than accept the greater skin-to-skin contact Colin needed to revive him.”

“You check the database?”

“Of course.” Nathan said, irritated. “But only after Sentinel Jana Petrovich insisted she was Colin’s Sentinel. And the database said she was. Weird thing is...well, look here.” And Nathan showed the other man the red welts on Colin’s hand. Simon’s eyebrows went up. He glanced back up at Nathan.

“So the records were wrong. It happens.”

“Yeah, but how could she not know? How come she didn’t realize Colin wasn’t benefitting from her? And why isn’t she in the equivalent condition, because obviously if her ratios aren’t right for him, then his weren’t right for her, either.”

“So what are you saying?” Simon asked. Nathan exhaled loudly.

“I dunno, Simon. It’s just...even more weird than it looks on the outside.”

“Well, you want me to look into it?” Simon offered. Nathan looked hopeful.

“Can you do that? I mean, Guides and Sentinels aren’t even your jurisdiction, just the non-military Ordinaries of Cascade.”

“I know my jurisdiction, but I’m asking anyway, do you want me to look into it?”

“Yeah.” Nathan grinned. “Please do.”

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Alex Barnes once more descended the stairs into the dungeon. She had a small, wicked smile on her face as she happily grabbed the long-haired young prisoner by the collar of the shirt, once more dragged him into the Torture Chamber and allowed the Torture Master to strap him back into the chair.

She was about to question him again, but, strangely, something held her back. Puzzled, she engaged all her senses and focused them on her prisoner. Dirty, bruised and flushed, check. Heartbeat frantic, check. Breathing fast and shallow, check. Temperature up, hmm. Most likely developing a fever from his injuries; acceptable. Smells dirty and sweaty, check. Then Alex frowned. His breath was bitter, and his body odor had a distinctly acrid scent with a sour overtone.

Oh, hell.

“AAUUHH!!” Alex raged, grabbing the nearest available object and whipping it across the room.

“Damnit!!” She cried. “You’ve come online, you little shit!” Then, initial rage spent, Alex forced herself to calm. Then she grabbed up her belt-knife, took one of the young man’s hands and positioned it to expose one dirty finger. She stabbed the finger with her knife and carefully gathered a few drops of blood on the blade. Holding it steady, so as not to lose any of the precious fluid, Alex hurried away.

“Put him back in his cell, and give him some food and water!” She yelled back at the Torture Master.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

The computer was a nightmarish tangle of wires and ribbon cables and metal brackets and circuit-boards that resembled the ruins from which they’d been scavenged. It had been built over a period of six months, from a list that JD had provided to Wolverine and the rest of the Raiders. Although Shrike was better at dirty little computer programming tricks (the kind of stuff once and currently known as “hacking”), JD was the hardware expert as well as excelling at “mainstream” programming. Although Shrike had to admit, if it came to a really tough computer programming task, mainstream or hacking, JD actually won, no contest. The kid was literally a genius.

And he was proving it once more as he cracked the encryption codes used on the information Crocodile had stolen during their foray into Starkville.

“Hey, I got it!” JD yelled excitedly.

“Way ta go, Kid!” Buck cheered, pounding him hard enough on the back to nearly send JD nose-diving into the cobbled-together keyboard.

“What have ya got?” Wolverine asked soberly.

“Here, take a look.” JD answered, giving up his seat to the older man. Behind him, Vin regarded the information on the caseless screen with interest. And behind him, Crocodile, summoned by Monkey, stood out of the way, wringing her hands agitatedly.

“The palace.” Wolverine informed them grimly. “Wolf’s being held in the palace dungeon.”

“Aw, hell, Wolverine,” Buck said, disgusted. There was no place worse the young man could be. Breaking into the dungeon was, quite possibly, beyond them. Certainly they wouldn’t be raiding it as they did the prison.

“Maybe we could take a small infiltration team in?” Hawk asked, startling Buck with his answer to the other man’s thought.

“Have to.” Wolverine answered with a sigh. “No other way.”

“Well, ok.” Buck agreed reluctantly. “Let’s get it set up, then.”

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Alex Barnes paced impatiently as she waited for Dr. Margaret Jarski to finish inputting their prisoner’s specs into the database. Unfortunately, the lab wasn’t very big, and there wasn’t much room for her to travel. The fact that there were several other people also in the room didn’t help much, either. Besides herself and Dr. Jarski, there was one of Alex’s aides, a big, dark-skinned bear of a man named Joel Taggert (JT-2A-Beta-1955134) who held the rank of 2^nd Lieutenant, and his Guide, Megan Connor, MC-2A-Beta-1965143, who was a petite woman wearing a bright blue gown with long, trailing sleeves and full, trailing skirt, and a blue circlet with gold infinity symbol over her shoulder-length, curly red hair. She was one of the Queen’s Ladies-in-Waiting by title, although “runner” or “gofer” might have been better terms, as Megan’s actual job ended up being running errands for either Her Majesty or Alex, and reporting to the Queen anything Alex might need for her to know while they worked separately - jobs she was becoming heartily tired of performing, as both she and Joel agreed they were a waste of her talents and intelligence. (Megan possessed wicked hand-to-hand combat skills, as well as being excellent at sword and firearm, and had graduated at the top of her class in the military before Her Majesty had grabbed her for her own. They still couldn’t figure out why Her Majesty had had her discharged, even if it was an honorable one.) There were also two big, burly Ordinary corporals in the dull gold chain mail and gold and black livery of the palace guard, standing at the door. These four were Alex’s usual entourage. Alex never went anywhere without them - except for her forays into the dungeons, to their frustration. After all, the Corporals, at least, were supposed to be her bodyguards. In theory, anyway. In practice, she was a better warrior than they were, but the appearance had to be maintained.

Finally, Margaret looked up from her screen. She shook her head fearfully. Everyone knew of Warlord General Barnes’s temper. Many a bearer of bad tidings had been killed for it. However, Alex hadn’t gotten to be Warlord just because she was the Queen’s Sentinel. She was smart enough not to kill someone of value for little reason. Instead, she grabbed a handful of petrie dishes and flung them across the room.

“DAMN IT!” She screamed. Then, still in a rage, she swept a rack of test tubes off the table, and then kicked a chair across the room. Finally, rage spent, she calmed down.

“Perhaps,” Megan ventured only because she was a Guide, “we should have signed the treaty he carried, first.”

“WHAT?!” Alex yelled. “Are you questioning the Queen?”

“N–No...” Megan stuttered. “But at least then we would have a larger pool of Sentinels to draw from. That was the point...” But, unfortunately, she was a Guide of only minor power, and the Queen had plenty of those. Alex back-handed her across the face so hard that she fell over a chair, hit her head hard on the edge of the table, and fell, unconscious, to the floor. Joel and Margaret immediately went to her.

“We will not give our Sentinels and Guides away just because their match lives in another village or tribe! They’re ours!” Alex cried to the unconscious woman.

Just then, Queen Veronica herself entered the room. She would have been trailed by her own entourage, except there wasn’t enough space.

“Wait here.” She told them at the door. They obviously weren’t happy, but they complied.

“So?” Veronica asked. She was a small woman with pale eyes and sandy-colored hair held back by an elaborate crown of gold and precious jewels, and inscribed by the gold infinity symbol. She was also dressed in a full-skirted, metallic gold dress intricately embroidered and jewel-encrusted. All in all, she cut an ostentatious figure that served to distract from her plainness of face and body.

Alex sighed, straightening her jacket.

“No match.”

Veronica sighed. “Did you forget about the Nichols program?” Alex looked startled, then chagrined.

“I did.” She said, as she stalked to Margaret’s computer in two long strides. She typed in a code, then a password, then brought the list of specs up again. Now there was a match. Disgusted with herself for her lapse, she sighed.

“Sentinel Second Lieutenant James Ellison.” She stated contemptuously. “How appropriate. The disgraced matches the pitiful.”

“Where is he now?” Veronica asked, with equal disdain. “Still languishing at Starkville?” Alex typed more commands, then turned to her Guide and Queen.

“He’s stationed at Starkville, but is in the infirmary right now. He was wounded in the raid. Says here he’ll be there for about a week.”

“His injury is rather serious, then.” Veronica said mockingly “Poor baby.” Then she sighed. “Can our little guest wait until Ellison recovers a little?” Alex thought about it, mentally calculating his condition.

“Probably. I wouldn’t wait any more than a week, though, in his condition. After all, he’s been starved and beaten, although, as soon as I discovered his condition, I did order food for him. That should help, but still, no more than a week.” Then she smiled wickedly. “Of course, that week will only soften him up more, especially if I tell him there’s a Sentinel for him. He’s so soft-hearted, he’ll do anything to stay alive in order to save a Sentinel - even someone he doesn’t even know.”

“Excellent!” Veronica’s smile was just as malicious as her Sentinel’s. “In the mean time, do you really think he was spying?”

“No.” Alex replied with a disgusted snort. “Although, he’s still of value. After all, the treaty had been signed by King Cooper of Twin Peaks, and the Leaders of Four Corners, Sun Falcon, and Hidden Vale. So, having been there so recently, he’ll have a great deal of knowledge about their locations, resources, and defenses.”

“True.” Veronica thought about it only a moment. “Go ahead, then.” And she waltzed imperiously out, her entourage moving in to accompany her. As she left, Alex turned on Margaret, who was just helping Megan to her feet.

“Say anything to anyone about any of this, and I will happily cut out your tongue.” She glanced at Joel and the still-unsteady Megan. “Come along.” She ordered coldly. However, Margaret, while afraid of the icy blond Sentinel, was still a doctor with a patient to treat.

“I’d like to examine Guide Connor to make sure she’s all right.” To forestall protest, she added, “Head injuries severe enough to leave someone unconscious for any length of time are a cause for concern.” Margaret tried to keep the accusing tone from her voice so as not to antagonize the woman, but Alex heard it anyway. However, she only glared viciously at the woman, tersely waved her hand at Megan in a gesture to stay, and stalked out, followed by her two corporals.

Margaret examined Megan carefully, in order to ensure the red-haired woman was really ok. After she was finished, Margaret said, in a very conversational tone of voice meant to not draw attention from any nearby Sentinels - especially General Barnes, “What is the Nichols program, and why did it have to be adjusted in order to bring up a match to the Guide?” Megan glanced, puzzled, at her.

“I don’t understand.” She stated. Joel shook his head.

“It happened while you were out cold.” The big man told her. “No match came up for the Guide until Her Majesty made a reference to something called the Nichols program. She said ‘Did you forget about the Nichols program?’. Then the General typed in some commands, and the computer came back with a match for the Guide. A Second Lieutenant James Ellison.” Megan looked surprised.

“So unless this Nichols program is engaged or adjusted or whatever, something goes wrong with the Guide/Sentinel matching database?” She speculated.

“I guess.” Joel said with a shrug.

“But, I never heard of any problems that needed adjusting before.”

“So this obviously means you don’t know anything about it?” Margaret said, more a statement than a question.

“No,” Megan said thoughtfully. “But, Her Majesty and the General often have meetings we’re not privy to. Whatever this Nichols program is, could have been discussed at such a meeting.”

“The question is, why would anyone want to mess with the matching database anyway?” Joel asked.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Captain Simon Banks of the Cascade Constabulary was asking the same question.

After he’d finished his business in the Palace Infirmary with the Palace Butcher (who had been injured when his village-dwelling wife met his Palace- dwelling mistress in town, and came to the Palace with a knife of her own - a large knife), he’d left his deputy, Brian Rafe, to finish up, while Simon went on his own mission - the one he’d discussed with his old friend, Dr. Nathan Jackson. Simon and Nathan went way back. Simon’s father had been a member of the Palace Guard with Nathan’s father. Since they were friends as well as partners, the two families had socialized with each other often. And now, Simon’s 14-year-old son, Daryl, frequently watched Nathan and his wife Rain’s infant son, Clive, whenever necessary.

Later that morning, Simon went to see Dr. Karen Soong, the Palace Medical Examiner. He didn’t see her very often, as he usually dealt with Dr. Dan Wolf, the Village M.E. The few times he had seen her work, however, he’d been impressed.

He sat in the chair on the other side of her desk discussing the case.

“...Well, obviously, he died of chemical deprivation, which you don’t see much anymore, but the contact dermatitis is what’s getting to me.” The attractive, olive-skinned woman in the burgundy vest and skirt under her lab coat, said angrily.

“Yeah,” Simon agreed, “I thought with the matching database, there’s no need to find a match through trial and error anymore.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Karen stated, puzzled. Simon looked at her in confusion.

“No? Well, what did you mean?”

“I meant, the reaction welts on his genitals, not to mention the bruises.”

“Oh, my god.” Simon said, sickened. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“If you mean, does it look like an incompatible Sentinel has been sexually assaulting him, yes, that’s exactly what I mean.” Karen told him grimly. “And, what’s more, this is the third one I’ve seen like this in a month. The first two were female Guides.”

“WHAT!?”

“Obviously you haven’t seen the reports.” Karen said grimly. “I’ve sent reports to the highest sources I can about this. And I’d wondered why there’ve been no arrests. I’m starting to wonder just what is going on, anyway. ”

“Yeah,” Simon said, shoving a leaf-tube in his mouth, “This is getting weirder all the time.”

As he rode his big, brown gelding back to the two-storey stone building that housed the Constabulary, Simon thought about the situation, and he began to come to a nasty conclusion.

Fact #1: A Sentinel was claiming a Guide who was demonstrably incompatible.

Fact #2: The database backed up the claim.

Conclusion to Fact #2: There must be a dirty programmer somewhere - or a dirty doctor. Either way, somehow, someone is convincing somebody that there was a pairing when, in fact, there was not.

Fact #3: The Sentinel had evidently been raping the Guide.

Fact #4: The Sentinel also evidently didn’t care - or, at least, did nothing - about the fact that the Guide ended up dying of chemical deprivation.

Fact #5: The Sentinel evidently didn’t suffer from overloads or zone-outs.

Conclusion to Fact #5: The Sentinel must still be on artificial dampers, which meant a prescription, despite the database’s claims of a pairing, when the Sentinel should therefore be off the dampers (leading to the tentative conclusion that it was a dirty doctor that was messing with the registration of pairings, although that didn’t necessarily rule out a rotten programmer in addition).

Fact #6: This had evidently happened to two other Guides in the past month, so that this wasn’t just a fluke, or a computer glitch or a one-time deal, but some kind of on-going thing.

The question was, why? Why would anyone do something like that? Simon chewed furiously on his leaf-tube as he pondered it. One or more Sentinels who hate Guides and is raping and killing them for revenge? Possible. And the rotten doctor and/or programmer, too? Or maybe the doctor and/or programmer was doing it for money, or extortion. Or, heck, maybe the doctor and/or programmer was the instigator, and the Sentinel or Sentinels were the ones doing it for money/blackmail.

And, of course, that also left the question of who. And how high this went, since the death-by-foul-play of Guides should have triggered a relentless investigation, not to mention the arrests and probably the executions of the guilty Sentinels. No way a Sentinel should be able to get away with the rape and murder of Guides! Simon decided he needed to question Sentinel Petrovich. Only problem was, he had no jurisdiction. So how was he going to be able to legally question her? Especially since someone high up seemed to be involved in a cover-up.

Simon was still racking his brain, trying to figure something out, when a commotion behind him registered, and he turned around to see what it was - and if he needed to step in.

Twelve pairs of shiny, stiff, black boots, in two rows of six each, marched smartly down the village’s main roadway, which was a hard-packed dirt track just wide enough for two horses to pass each other going in opposite directions. Above the boots, twelve men and women, all tall, muscular, and dressed in black with metallic gold capes and shiny, gold chain mail shirts, glared balefully at the people in the streets. Most scrambled hastily out of the way, fearfully watching these warriors and trying not to be noticed. Those who didn’t manage to get out of the way fast enough were shoved roughly aside.

Everyone recognized these Sentinels. They were Queen Veronica’s dreaded Gold Sentinel Troopers. And no one wanted to be whomever they were here for.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Shrike stood in the shadows, watching the Troopers as they filed down the street. He listened carefully as they spoke in tones inaudible to Ordinaries.

“...what he looks like?” A red-haired man with a pock-marked face asked the brown-haired man with the big nose beside him.

“Big, tall, dark-skinned guy. Always smoking leaf-tubes. You’ve never seen ‘im before?”

“Nah, never associate with those inferior Ordinaries.” Pock-Mark replied with a sneer. “Why should I know what the Constable looks like?” Big Nose chuckled once, drily.

“True. Anyway, She wants him. Something about an investigation into Guide deaths.”

“He killed Guides? Son of a Bitch!”

“Yeah. He should rot in hell....”

Shrike retreated farther into the alley. They were after Constable Banks? About Guide deaths? That couldn’t be right!

Shrike had spent some time here, in Cascade, at various times over the years. Whenever the Tribe was nearby, Shrike would come here to play cards, trade for various items, and exchange gossip. And, although Shrike hadn’t had much contact with Constable Banks, he’d always heard that the man was honorable. Too honorable for Cascade, really; there were many times when a powerful Ordinary would commit a crime that would never see justice. Or an unfair law would be enacted in order to allow someone with power or money to gain more of it. And Constable Simon Banks would be forced to obey. It happened more often in Cascade than in, for instance, Twin Peaks, where Guide King Dale Cooper and his Sentinel, General Harry Truman ruled with a benevolent hand. And justice was paramount in the Tribes.

Shrike had asked Banks, once, why he stayed. Banks had told him that, even as unjust as Queen Veronica’s rule was, there were still some good laws, and, more importantly, there were good people here who deserved the best protection they could get. Shrike could not fault him for that.

Nor could he allow Banks to be taken now, for something he most certainly had nothing to do with.

Fortunately, just then, he spotted Polar Bear coming up the street. He ran out to meet him, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him towards the alley Shrike had just vacated.

“The Gold Sentinel Troopers have been authorized to arrest Constable Banks. We need to locate him and intervene.” Shrike hastily explained. Polar Bear looked startled.

“They want Banks? What for? Did he finally go and refuse to enforce an unjust law?”

“No.” Shrike replied grimly. “They’re accusing him of the termination-with-prejudice of Guides.”

“They what?!” Polar Bear blurted after he’d deciphered his Sentinel’s remark. The bigger man was rocked. Constable Banks accused of Guide murders? “No. There’s no way Banks would have anything to do with something like that.” Polar Bear insisted.

“Precisely.” Shrike agreed. “Therefore, I believe we should act to prevent him being taken. We need to effect his escape from this fair village.”

“Yeah.” Polar Bear agreed grimly. “However, he won’t go without his son, so, I’ll go get Constable Banks while you get Daryl away. Meet me at the Eastern Crossroads in an hour. If one of us doesn’t show in three, get to safety.” Shrike nodded agreement of the plan.

Polar Bear kept a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder while Shrike located Banks. He closed his eyes and smelled. Banks’s burning leaf-tubes were pretty recognizable; not many people smoked them. Fortunately, the wind was right. Ok, tune out the smell of leather from the leather goods shop they stood next to, get past the sheep smell of the parchment vendor down the street, and, of course, there were the herbs and dirt and sweat and cloth of the people in the streets and in the shops, and – there!

“Got him.” Shrike murmured. “On the next parallel street eastward and one block up. He’s moving away.”

“Ok, I’m on it.” Polar Bear assured him, and hurried away to get his horse. In the street, he turned back to Shrike. “And hey, you be careful.” He told his Sentinel worriedly. Shrike smiled warmly at his concern. Polar Bear was the only person to whom Shrike ever showed his feelings, but it wasn’t just because he was Shrike’s Guide. Polar Bear was, generally, a warm, easy-going man - when he was sober - and solicitous of Shrike, his second Sentinel, for good reason.

Shrike nodded at his Guide, looked left and right to make sure no Gold Sentinel Troopers had overheard and were coming after them, and took off for his own horse, and then to get Daryl.

Banks reluctantly turned away from the Gold Sentinel Troopers. He always pitied whomever they were after, and always wanted to protest. But, with Daryl around, he never did. He couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t go after the boy, and that he couldn’t allow. For the hundredth time, he wondered why he didn’t just give up and leave. Go somewhere else. He had skills that could be used anywhere; maybe not for law enforcement, but he could fight with sword or hand-to-hand, and he was a marksman with firearms. And, it would be better for Daryl, too. At any rate, it couldn’t be any worse.

Suddenly, a large man in poncho and homespun brown trousers coaxed his big, black gelding in front of Banks’s horse, and grabbed the animal’s reins. Banks nearly commanded his horse to rear up to break the hold on his reins before he recognized the other man.

“Polar Bear.” He said with a grin. “When did the Tribe get back? Where’s Shrike?”

“Constable, we need to get you out of here, now.”

“What?” Banks asked, startled. “What for?”

“Because the Gold Sentinel Troopers are after you.” Banks chuckled nervously.

“If this is a joke, it’s a very bad one.” He said. But Polar Bear just looked grim.

“No joke, Constable. Shrike overheard them talking about Guides’ deaths.” At that, the light dawned for Simon.

“Oh, hell. There is a high-level cover-up.” He said.

“Whatever.” Polar bear said. “It doesn’t matter right now. At the moment, we have to get you out of here. I’m going to take you someplace safe.”

“Wait!” Simon said desperately. “My son, I can’t leave him!” But Polar Bear hastened to reassure him.

“Shrike’s gone to get him. Come on, let’s go!”

Just then, there was a shout. Polar Bear and Banks turned to see the Gold Sentinel Troops at the end of the street.

“There he is!” Lt. Adigun iNyoni (SI-3A-Beta-1944762) yelled. “Constable Banks, you are under arrest by order of Her Majesty the Queen! Hold position and surrender to your fate!”

Instead, Polar Bear whirled his horse and set off at a gallop, heading out of town. Simon, cursing colorfully, wrested his own animal around, and followed on the other horse’s tail.

They were headed for the Eastern Crossroads, which was approximately two miles outside of Cascade. Five major travel routes converge at that point: The Eastern Trail (paralleling what was once I-90), leading past Twin Peaks and continuing east along what was the Canadian Border; Calif Trail which parallels the old I-5 Highway, leading directly south to Seatac, Sandig, Fransis, and Ellay; and the three southern outward routes: The Desert Trail, which goes south, down through the Mohave Desert, then turns east until it hits the Gulf of Mexico; the Plains Route, meandering diagonally south and east into the old state of Florida; and the Mid-Route, which travels more east than south, and ends up out on the East Coast. Because of how heavily traveled these roads are, Polar Bear was hoping that, if they could get outside the Gold Trooper’s range, they could mingle their traces with those of other travelers, making it impossible for even a Sentinel to pick up their trail.

But first, they had to get outside the Sentinels’ range.

Polar Bear was counting on the Troopers’ pride to aid in this; for the most part, everyone in Cascade was so intimidated by the Gold Troopers that they surrendered without a fight. Especially since “examples” were made in the past of such resistors. Anyone who did run nowadays wasn’t usually on a horse when they did so, and the Troopers, being generally in good shape, was able to run them down easily enough. Polar Bear hoped this had resulted in overconfidence on the Troopers’ parts and that they therefore wouldn’t have anyone mounted and on standby to chase down suspects on horseback.

He was not wrong; unfortunately, he was unlucky. What Polar Bear didn’t know was that Lt. Sung Keung (SL-3A-Beta-1945662) was leading a mounted unit back from a raid on the Yellow Rock Tribe. Tired as they were from the long trip, still, at Adigun’s shout, Keung inquired as to the problem. At her hasty explanation, Keung brought his horse about and took off after the fleeing fugitives. Hoofbeats pounded the hard-packed dirt as the twelve horses pursued the two fresher ones. Keung tried to cut off the two fleeing men by racing diagonally across the wasteland, unfortunately for him, they were too far behind and too close to Cascade for that, and ended up jumping a deadfall to end up several yards behind the suspects. It became a race after that - the normally faster, but tired Trooper’s mounts against the fresher but slower animals ridden by Polar Bear and Simon.

Simon’s and Polar Bear’s horses pounded down the road, all hope of reaching the cross-roads gone now. However, Polar Bear decided to risk The Ruins, instead. If they could get there, they could lose themselves amongst the echoing buildings and clusters of mutants. At the nearest trail, he turned his horse and headed for Old Cascade. Simon, hesitant but understanding the big man’s intent, followed.

Keung saw them turn towards The Ruins. Cursing, he urged his horse on faster. His unit followed suit.

Both sets of horses galloped down the trail towards The Ruins, leaving dust trails as they went. Polar Bear’s and Simon’s horses had their necks stretched out straight in front of them, nostrils flared, both to minimize wind resistance and to maximize the amount of oxygen flowing straight and into their heaving chests. Sweat flew off the horses’ flanks as they ran, both humans crouched low on their backs, also seeking to minimize wind resistance - and to present a smaller target to any firearms the Troopers might have.

Keung’s unit had no firearms, however. None of the precious and expensive guns had been deemed necessary for the “example” they were to set with the Yellow Rock Tribe. Knives had been more effective. However, it also meant Keung couldn’t bring down the two fugitives with gunfire, and Keung vowed to himself that, from now on, at least two of his people would carry firearms no matter where they went, and to hell with the expense. After all, there were mutants out here, too, and the farther away one killed them, the better.

The horses of Keung’s unit galloped after the fugitives, their ears laid back on their heads, muscles bunching and legs striding wide as they attempted to overtake the others.

Just as it seemed the fugitives would reach The Ruins and escape after all, a band of mutants erupted from the ground. They’d hidden beneath dirt-covered camouflage, hoping to ambush the unwary. They succeeded with Polar Bear and Simon. Using a rope strung across the road, the mutants tripped Polar Bear’s horse, which crashed to the ground. Too close behind to leap over, Simon’s horse tripped over the black gelding. He, too, fell.

Polar Bear had fallen with his horse, one leg trapped beneath. The horse quickly got back on his feet, but it took a moment for the stunned human to rise. Simon, on the other hand, had barely managed to kick free of his stirrups and was thrown from his horse as the animal fell. Simon was back on his own feet as quickly as his horse was. He helped Polar Bear to his feet as the mutants closed in. Fortunately for the Constable and the Guide, these particular mutants were badly handicapped by their deformities. They relied on surprise and their greater numbers to overcome their prey. Polar Bear and Simon stood back to back, knives out and slashing as the mutants converged on them.

Polar Bear thrust his knife into the throat of one of the filthy creatures, then put his foot in the mutant’s gut and pushed off, removing his knife from the thing’s throat while simultaneously using the mutant to knock down two others behind it. He didn’t stop to see the results of his handiwork, however, but immediately went after another mutant. Behind him, Simon slashed across the throat of one mutant, continuing the swing of his knife hand downward, and thrust into the belly of another of the inhuman creatures. Both mutants fell, but in the process took Simon’s blood-slippery knife down with them. Simon pulled his eating knife from his belt while lashing out at the kneecap of another mutant; that one went down with a scream. At the same time, Polar Bear grabbed another mutant by the neck of it’s filthy rags, and tossed it into the cluster of remaining mutants. Three of them in total went down.

By this time, Keung and his unit had arrived. Keung had briefly entertained the notion of letting the mutants kill the fugitives and have done with it, but discarded the idea. Adigun’s hasty explanation hadn’t given Keung enough information to let him know if death was a viable option. The fugitives might have information that Her Majesty needed. Letting them die might sign Keung’s own death warrant.

So Keung and his people quickly began dispatching the mutants from the relative safety of horseback. Seeing all their advantages gone, the remaining mutants fled.

Keung’s unit surrounded Simon and Polar Bear.

The two men glanced at each other, brown eyes meeting blue ones, both sets of eyes conveying the same message: defeat. As one, Simon and Polar Bear dropped their knives and surrendered.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Shrike crouched, hidden, in some underbrush beside the Eastern Crossroad, awaiting his Guide’s appearance with Constable Banks.

Shrike had gone to the two-storey stone building that held Daryl’s school. Daryl’s current class was on the ground floor, and Daryl’s desk was beside a window. Shrike had hidden behind a midden in the alley. ‘Reduced to this.’ He’d thought, disgusted. ‘How humiliating.’

Finally, as the tiny class as ending, Shrike had hissed loudly enough to gain the boy’s attention. Daryl’s eyes had widened as he recognized the flamboyant tribesman that he’d previously seen - and been warned about by his father - only from a distance. Shrike had primly indicated the door to the school. Daryl had been wary as to the gambler’s motives, but curiosity won out, and Daryl had obeyed the summons. Shrike had quickly explained the situation - as much as he knew of it - and had convinced the boy to leave with him. Daryl had insisted upon getting a message to Rain before going, however, to let her know he wouldn’t be there to watch Clive this afternoon, Shrike had agreed - but only because he also wanted to leave someone in the know in case something went wrong.

And now, it seemed, something had gone wrong. Shrike and Daryl had waited here for three hours now, and still no sign of either Polar Bear or Constable Banks. Shrike didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to run away...

Ezra Standish ran. The big, angry man that was chasing him yelled curses at the younger man’s retreating back. He threw an empty whiskey bottle. It shattered in the street well short of Ezra.

The young man had known he was pressing his luck by staying one more night. His mission had been the same as it was every month at this time: win enough money at cards or some game of chance to buy the artificial dampers that kept his year-old Sentinel senses from overwhelming him. And that, he’d done; as he always did. But as he’d been packing his meager belongings - consisting more of clothes than any personal mementos - he’d watched the horse-drawn coach pull in. The horses had been finely bred and well matched, and the coach was one of the expensive kind with springs, and curtains in the windows. And the people who’d emerged had worn expensive clothing, and had the air of bored, well-bred Ordinaries. And Ezra had figured they might be amenable to a game of cards.

Unfortunately, the Esterhausers had not been amenable to losing - even if it was fair and square. Ezra seldom needed to cheat; he was that good at cards. However, this set of marks had not taken too kindly to losing to a landless bastard. Thus came he to leaving the tavern rather more quickly - if more wealthy - than he’d entered it.

He’d attempted to get back to the livery the next morning to get his horse, Shakespeare, but found it had been killed in a fit of rage by Ronald Esterhauser, the eldest son. ‘Dear Lord!’ He’d thought, angry and saddened. ‘To treat good horseflesh like that! And I liked that horse, too!’ He’d sighed, retrieved his belongings - still hidden in the tack room where he’d put them the afternoon before - and started walking.

Two days later, he’d heard a moan coming from a clearing near a river. Curious, he’d followed the sound, all the while wondering why he was taking the chance. After all, this same trick had been tried before - bandits under the guise of wounded victims leading unwary travelers into ambush. However, somehow, he found himself unable to ignore the cries of pain. Perhaps because, to his mother Maude’s everlasting shame, he’d been born a Type 1 Sentinel, civilized and protective of others, despite all of Maude’s attempts to teach him otherwise. Not that that was the only disappointment she’d suffered because of him; there was also his refusal - in her eyes anyway - to pair with one of the powerful Guides she’d arranged for him to meet. The fact that he was incompatible with any of them didn’t seem to be important to her. She’d eventually become frustrated - not to mention mortally embarrassed - and washed her hands of him. Which was how he found himself traveling west, going from town to town, making his way using the gambling and hustling skills she’d taught him - because he knew nothing else.

Ezra had sighed, banishing the memories. The moan sounded again. And Ezra’s need to help others - or maybe it was just a death-wish - kicked in. Either way, into the clearing Ezra went. And, upon arriving at the spot near a half-built traveler’s shelter beside a stream, he’d been astonished to find a Guide nearly twice Ezra’s age in the final stages of chemical shock. Instinct had taken over, then, and suddenly, Ezra had his Guide - and Josiah Sanchez, banished tribesman, had a new lease on life.

Maude, when she heard, was horrified.

Ezra, Shrike, shook off the three-year-old memories. His need to get to Josiah - to Polar Bear - was strong, and he closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply, trying to control the instinctive need to protect his Guide - the other half of him. He desperately wanted to sneak back to Cascade and attempt to find out what had happened, however, a glance back at Daryl, hiding in the tall scrub with Shrike’s horse, Chaucer, gave him pause. He couldn’t, in good conscience, leave Daryl behind, nor could he take the boy with him. Shrike sighed, forcing back the inner turmoil. There was really only one course of action open to him right now.

Shrike backed out of the underbrush, mounted his horse, and gave Daryl a hand up into the saddle behind him.

Shrike stared back at Cascade one last time. He couldn’t immediately see Polar Bear, and dared not take the time to look further; he had to get Daryl to safety in case the Gold Troops sent out a search party.

Heartsick, the Sentinel turned for home.

VI

Negotiator Blair Sandburg - known in the Tribes as Wolf, sat on the cold stone floor, his back against the wall beside the sleeping shelf, staring miserably at the pages scattered on the shelf. They were copies of a dossier - a military record and a medical one - with all pertinent information about one Second Lieutenant James Joseph Ellison, Sentinel. Unpaired Sentinel. His Sentinel, if General Barnes was to be believed. Half of him wanted to believe. Wanted to believe that his Sentinel had been found so quickly. For, according to the records, this Ellison person needed to find his Guide within the next month, before the dampers became useless, condemning the man to insanity or death. But the other part of him didn’t believe. After all, Ellison was a good ten years older than Blair, something that was pretty much unheard of. And it would be to the General’s advantage to tell him they’d found his Sentinel, even if she had to lie about it.

Blair’s eyes filled with tears as his situation hit him again, full force. His already weakened condition was exacerbating the chemical deprivation that was already causing nausea and headaches. And Ellison needed his Guide quickly, too. But Barnes had told him that the only way they would be allowed to Pair was if Blair told her all he knew about the tribes and villages he’d most recently been to. And he knew exactly why she wanted to know, too. She wanted their locations and their defensive capabilities, so that she and the Queen could wipe them out - or annex them, which was worse.

Responsibilities. He’d been taught that his first responsibility was to his Sentinel, and his awakening instincts were pushing the same. And, as an Alpha Guide, he’d also been taught that he was more important than any Beta Guides, and, certainly, more important than Ordinaries. But how could he, in good conscience, doom so many to death or slavery - which is what Queen Veronica’s rule essentially boiled down to. Blair bowed his head, his dirty hair falling like a veil before his face to cover the tears falling silently to the cold stone floor.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Rain Jackson had come to the Palace to let Nathan know what had happened to Ezra and Daryl. They’d been standing nonchalantly in the corridor, knowing any secretive behavior was more likely to cause suspicion than any open assembly. And it was there, in the busy corridor that they’d watched, dismayed, as Simon and Josiah were marched through in shackles.

“Aw, hell.” Nathan had groaned.

“What do we do?” Rain had asked. Nathan, despite the situation, had smiled at proudly at her. Most people, most Ordinaries wouldn’t have even considered trying to help, but would have simply turned a blind eye. But not his Rain. Her first thought was to right the wrong she saw happening right before her eyes.

Nathan tried to think through the situation. He was trained to take command - but only in the treatment room. Medical knowledge was his forte, not military tactics or strategy. However, he know who to turn to for that.

“Go to Four Corners. Tell them what’s happened - wait–.” Nathan thought about it some more. “Come with me.”

Nathan led Rain casually through the twisting stone hallways of the castle until his came to a little-used storage room. There, Rain saw an ornately-carved wooden armoire with King Robert’s coat of arms on the door, along with several similarly-marked trunks, two dress dummies with chain mail on them, and jewel-encrusted horse-garb, among other things. Rain realized suddenly that this room held those of the late King’s personal possessions that Queen Veronica had had no use for, but which she didn’t want to get rid of. Therefore, they’d been moved here, and pretty much forgotten by most people, if the dust coating everything was any clue. Even the Queen herself evidently rarely visited here. But why were they here?

Nathan answered the question by opening a drawer of the armoire and pulling out a leather satchel. He turned to his wife.

“Here. I want you out of Cascade. Take Clive and go stay with Tribe Four Corners. Tell them what’s happened, and give them this in exchange for giving you shelter.” Rain started to protest, but Nathan immediately shushed her. “Look, it’s vital that they know what’s happened to Josiah and Simon, and I don’t want you, or, especially our son, in danger. And the Tribe will need this, too, if they decide to rescue Josiah and Simon.” He handed her the satchel. “This contains blue-prints of the castle, and the dungeons. I made copies of it not too long ago in order to sell to one of the Tribes, if they needed them.” Rain’s eyes widened at that.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” She asked, suddenly realizing. “This is where the money for the food you donated to the orphanage last week came from, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” Nathan replied with a grin. Rain answered his grin with one of her own. Then, sighing, needing to ensure the safety of her son, if nothing else, Rain acquiesced.

An hour later, carrying their most important possessions in a single pack, and armed with the satchel and memorized directions to the location of Tribe Four Corners, Rain, with Clive strapped securely to her back, rode out of Cascade for what she knew was probably the last time.

In the meantime, Nathan thought about the situation some more. He realized that Simon’s apprehension, at least, was probably tied to Colin’s death. After all, Simon had defied even orders directly from the Queen before without this kind of repercussion. Therefore, Nathan reasoned, Simon must have done or said something this afternoon in regards to Colin’s death that someone took offense at. So, what could his friend have done? The first thing he probably would have done is get the coroner’s report on Colin. Therefore, Nathan decided to pay the woman a visit.

He arrived at Dr. Karen Soong’s office unnoticed. He pushed the door to the outer office open and walked in. No one was there, however, the outer office had been ransacked. Papers and other objects had been swept off the desk and onto the floor, the drawers had been pulled out and dumped, and books had been pulled from the bookcase and strewn everywhere. As Nathan surveyed the damage, he noticed the door to the autopsy room was ajar. Moving cautiously, he went to the door, and slowly opened it. He immediately saw what had been blocking the door: a body.

Dr. Soong’s body.

To Be Continued