Chapter Three

The sky was sparkling clear when they left the restaurant. There was a crescent moon way up high and the sky was full of stars.

"Oh, God." Blair's voice was filled with wonder. "I've been here two years. I don't think I've ever seen a sky that beautiful in all that time."

Jim nodded. "I grew up here. My dad still lives here...it's a rare thing."

"You mind if I drive a little way out of town? Just to get out of these lights?" Blair turned to him, the streetlights reflected in his eyes. They danced in the lights. "I guess I could drop you off first, but, prof, with your eyesight..."

Jim glanced at his watch. It was barely ten o'clock. "Sounds cool to me, Chief." Somehow, he wasn't worried about getting lost in the stars, as he so often did back in Virginia. Often enough that he stopped looking at the sky entirely.

The restaurant was on the edges of town as it was. It didn't take long to find someplace out of the city glow - a stretch of unlit highway near some open fields. Blair found a blanket in his trunk and handed it to Jim. When they found a good spot, Jim spread it out and Blair promptly and surprisingly gracefully sat down on it, stretching his prosthesis in front of him as he lay down. His eyes were hidden by the eyeglasses he'd put on as soon as he took the wheel of his car. And he smiled and patted the blanket next to him.

Jim joined him, lying so close he could feel Blair's heartbeat. He took a deep breath and looked up, staring at the stars, but not letting himself really look at them.

"What do you see, prof?"

Jim shrugged awkwardly. "Stars. The moon. Couple of fireflies, I guess."

"Hell, I see that." Jim felt a hand touch his shoulder. "Oh, man, you are *so* tense. Just relax, go with it. Nothing's going to happen here."

He reached up and took that hand. It was the same strong, calloused one he'd held so briefly that evening, the one that fit his like it was made to. For once, Jim didn't suppress those thoughts. 'Maybe soon...'

"Good, Jim. Hold my hand. I'm here, you're safe." Blair's coffee voice took on a rhythm that soothed and stimulated him at the same time. "Reach out with all of your senses. Let your eyes follow the stars; let your ears hear the silence..."

"It's not silent. There are...buzzes and chirps and I can hear some cars and the wind is blowing towards the bay..." Even to his own ears, his voice sounded lazy and relaxed.

"Good, good. What else, Jim? What else do you sense?"

"The stars. What we're here for. They...the longer I look, the more there are, and they're in all colors and they fill the sky. It's...the most glorious thing. They feel so close, as close as you are, I can almost touch them." He picked up his other hand to demonstrate. "If I let myself, I could be there...never have to come back here."

Blair grasped his hand more tightly. "Oh, no, you don't. Stay here, Jim. There's plenty here...what do you feel?"

"You. Your hand in mine - or is my hand in yours? Your heartbeat; your....warmth. Your presence. I don't feel anything else." Jim fell into silence. How could he say so much?

"It's okay. Whatever you feel is cool." Now Blair was stroking his hand with his thumb, making his arm, his body tingle. Jim could not repress a sigh. He should let go. He should stand up and ask, no demand, to be taken home. He should find the highway and hitch a ride back, and then out of Cascade, as far from this man as possible. He should do all the things that had worked in the past.

He turned, instead, to look at Blair. He could see him clearly in the starlight - his long hippy-hair spread out around his head, his odd earrings, his full lips smiling softly, his huge eyes staring at him, meeting his own. Blair licked his lips. Jim shivered. He pulled his hand away, and was about to stand when Blair took it again and held him down.

"Please. Don't run away. It's okay. It's all okay. Whatever you want, it's cool."

"Even if...even if I want..." He couldn't say the words. He'd never been able to say the words.

"Yeah. Because I want what you want. It's just loving." Blair closed his eyes against some memory. Jim could see lines of pain on his face, intensifying his beauty. Beauty. Yes, the man was beautiful and he was hurting and he had lips that looked soft and inviting and Jim leaned forward and touched those lips with his own.

They were soft. And warm. And they moved against his, and somehow, there was Blair's tongue and he tasted like wine and bad coffee and something indescribable that could only be him and Jim's whole body was throbbing from that single point of contact and he found himself falling deeper and deeper into the kiss, into Blair and he knew he didn't want to crawl out...

"Jim? Jim? Where are you, man? Jim? Come on. Stop tripping." Blair was leaning over him, his hair brushing Jim's face.

"Did I fugue again?" Everything was just slightly dull, which usually meant he'd disappeared for a long time.

"Oh, yeah. One minute, we were kissing, and the next you were, like, gone, man. Like you were tripping on my lips or something."

Jim struggled to sit up. The coarse blanket felt almost silky under his hands. "I was, I think. The feel of them..." The memory itself was overpowering. He forced it down. "It was beautiful."

Blair, his eyes still worried, grinned a little. "I've been told I'm good."

Jim could feel a blush coming on, and was grateful it was night. "I...I wouldn't know, Chief."

He waited for Blair to answer, waited for him to laugh or tease or something. Instead, he shook his head. "Oh, God. That's heavy. If I'd have known..."

"What? What would you have done?" He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice.

"I don't know. Taken it slower. Oh, God, I'm sorry. No one has ever even kissed you before? You've only been with guys who don't kiss or something?"

Jim sat all the way up and looked away from Blair. "Don't make me say this. Please don't make me say this."

"Oh. Oh, God. Oh, damn. I'm sorry. Oh, this is wild. You never... What kind of idiots have you been..."

"It wasn't them. Not entirely. You were in the army, Sandburg. You understand."

"I guess things were different stateside. Incountry...sometimes you took what comfort you could find - girls, boys, your...your first sergeant...drugs. Whatever." Blair was somewhere else again.

"Yeah, I suppose. In the Point, it was the honor code. In VMI, it was my *job*. I didn't have a choice."

"What? Sorry. I kinda tripped out myself. This...are you okay with this, then? Did I move too fast?"

Jim turned towards Blair. He reached out a hand, and touched his shoulder. Again, he was struck by how...right it felt. The jacket felt harsh under his fingers, and the stars were gloriously back, so the after effects of his...trip...were gone. "I...don't know. It felt good, I'll tell you that. But if it bothers you that I'm...that I never...."

He chuckled. "I'm a little freaked, I'll tell you that much."

"Oh." He let go of Blair's shoulder. "Maybe you should just take me back to my room." He began to stand up. Blair caught his hand.

"Oh, no, no, you don't. I...what ever happens or doesn't happen tonight is cool. If you really want me to take you back, I will. If we end up screwing each other's brains out...fine..." Jim tried to pull his hand back. "And if we just hold each other and talk for a while, that's cool, too. I like you. Tonight has been an experience and where ever it goes, it goes. You dig?"

"I don't know, Chief. I don't know anything right now...except you..." Jim stopped. He'd just kissed the man, he'd just confessed two of his deepest secrets to him...three, maybe, since no one knew about his damned senses. He should be able to say this. He took a deep breath. "You...you have a point." Coward.

"Whatever. Look, let me take you to my place. I scored some good weed - straight from Mexico. Or...who knows. We might find a way for you to sleep without it...I think you'd like that." God, that smile was beautiful. Coward.

"Sounds good...what was that?"

"What was what?"

"Voices. Over in...that direction. You stay here." He ran towards a hill.

"Jim! Jim! Help me...damn..." He could hear Blair complaining as he struggled to get upright. He felt a faint twinge of relief that the man *couldn't* follow easily, and a fainter twinge of guilt at the relief.

Then he listened for the voices. It wasn't easy - they were near enough, but there was too much else going on - the brilliant sky, the scents of night flowers, the sounds of nocturnal animals, even the wind. Plus, he found himself listening for Blair, who was moving surprisingly quickly. Damn.

He caught the words "house" and "works", and something that sounded like "kill him", but he wasn't sure. Blair was moving closer. He could hear his odd footsteps - a normal pace followed by the thump of the cane and a lift-drag - even on the grass, and getting louder.

It became all he could hear - if it weren't for the stars, he might have fugued again. Then the footsteps stopped and Blair was next to him.

"Jim, what is it?" There was that coffee voice again, and his hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know...I can't..."

Blair was still panting. "It's okay." He was silent for a moment. "Ignore everything. Ignore the stars, ignore the crickets - just concentrate on the voices. That's it."

Jim leaned into his voice, into his touch and, using them as anchors, concentrated on the sounds on the other side of the hill.

"...not going to kill him, Bob." There was the sound of a can being opened.

"Why not? Guy's dangerous, man. Get him before he gets *us*." "Bob" drank something.

"You don't know that."

"You saw what he did. He just busted that guy's neck like it was nothing. And he wasn't even high then. Damn. This beer's warm."

"He had to. Guy just wandered onto our property. What was he supposed to do? Call the pigs?"

Both men started laughing. "You got a point. Oh, damn. We gotta get back to the house. Look, just don't let me be alone with him, okay? One of us has *got* to stay straight tonight."

"*You* do it. You're the one getting all paranoid." There was one last gulp and the sound of two cans hitting other cans on the ground, and then the two men headed off. Jim followed the sound with his eyes. There was an old farmhouse with a dim light in one window, too dim to be electric. Two men in faded jeans and old army shirts came into view. They stumbled along a thin path.

"Jim?"

"There's something going on there. I'm not sure what, but it's not good. They're saying one of them killed someone else. What the hell are we going to do?"

"You sure about that?"

"I'm not going to make that up, Chief. There's a murderer in that house over there. We have to do something."

"Look, think logically. How many are there?"

"Three of them, I think. Those two drunks and someone else."

"You think they're armed?" Blair's voice was calm, measured, and he gripped Jim's arm as if for stability.

"I don't know."

"How did they say the murder happened?"

"I think it was bare hands."

"Damn."

"Yeah. That tells us nothing. So we don't know what's there."

"What are we doing? It's not our job to do anything. We should go back to town, find a phone and call the police, or something."

Jim knew he was right. The closest thing either had to a weapon was Blair's cane, and anyway, it *wasn't* his job.

Except...he *had* to do something. These guys were...were poisoning Cascade. *His* city.

"What do you mean, 'your city?' Jim?"

Had he said that out loud? "I...I don't know. I was born here...but I haven't been back since...since I got my doctorate."

"No, no, it makes sense. This is your home, isn't it? Where you grew up...do you have family here at all?"

"My dad's still here, and maybe my brother Stephen. I don't know. We've completely lost touch."

"Still..." Blair was practically bouncing. "It's just like Burton said. Oh, this is wild. Look, you're this Sentinel thing - your job is to protect your tribe. Only we don't have tribes today, except maybe gangs. We have cities. And this is your city, Jim. So, of course you protect it. And these guys - they're hurting it somehow and you can't let that happen."

"This is just...mumbo-jumbo. Are you saying I have some sort of...mystic connection to this place?"

Blair half-shrugged. "I don't know. It makes sense. And you are acting just like Burton says you would. This is still stupid, you know."

Blair was right. The man was right about a lot of things. If he had any intelligence, he'd do that logical, reasonable thing. But that would mean leaving this wound to fester, and he couldn't make himself do that.

"You can leave. Drive to town, find that phone, get help. I'll stay here, wait for you." There, that would work.

"Nothing doing, man. God only knows what you'll do if I leave you alone. You're operating on instinct here. Someone's gotta keep you centered. I mean, even Burton mentions the Sentinels having someone...guide them. Help them. Work as a team."

"That's...there is nothing you can do. You have to know that."

"I'm not leaving. Not without you. If you can be stupid and stubborn, so can I. And don't look at me like that. I know what I can and cannot do. I've lived with this long enough."

Jim stared at him. His voice sounded perfectly reasonable. His eyes flashed in the starlight, but they looked sane enough. He wanted to argue. He wanted to make sure Blair was safe. "That means we're both staying." He grinned, rubbing his hand through his hair. "You know, they are pretty well high. Maybe I can just...I don't know."

Blair took a deep breath. "I do." Jim frowned. His voice was different. "We'll do this the right way. That means we need information. How silently can you move?"

"I stay in condition. And who put you in charge?"

"Then go. Use all your senses - you should be able to see in the window without them seeing you, and maybe smell whatever chemicals they have around. Find out exactly how many we're dealing with and what...find out as much as you can. Then report back."

"I repeat. Who put you in charge?"

Blair looked at him. "You want to do something about these guys? That's how to do it."

Jim stared at him. This was neither the easy-going guy at dinner nor the bitter man in the morning's lecture.

Those bright eyes had become stern and his face had hardened. Any further argument died in his throat. He nodded at Blair and began to make his way down to the house, using what he could remember of long ago exercises.

Chapter Four

Blair watched Jim move gracefully down the hill, keeping low and out of the line of site of the window. He shrugged his shoulders. They itched. There should have been a rifle there, with ammo cartridges strung along his chest. Better yet, he should be on his belly, ready to provide cover fire. He'd been good at that.

He'd been good at a lot of those things. He'd expected to be bad at them. He remembered the first time they'd given him a gun. They'd tossed it at him his first day...first time he'd ever even touched a firearm.

And he'd caught it. Cradled it in his arms. Held it just as the drill sergeant said he should. It was heavy, but it fit there.

He shot well, did all exercises well, emerged as a leader despite his size and political inclinations.

Blair dragged himself back to the present. He peered through the darkness, looking for Jim. He could barely make out a darker shape moving against the fields. For Jim, it was probably as bright as day.
He was still unarmed and out of practice. Ten years out of practice, and he'd never done anything for real. Hell, there hadn't really even been a war when he was in the service.

He could get hurt so easily out there, and there was nothing Blair could do. 'Stop worrying. He'll be fine.'

Yeah, Ellison would be fine. Just like those boys were fine that first mission.

It had been dark, then, too. And hot and wet and Blair had never thought he'd be bothered by heat.

"Lt. Sandburg, sir?" His first sergeant motioned to him. "We just got orders from HQ."

"Thanks...Anderson." He'd only been assigned his unit that day. All of these men were new to him. Just like he was the latest in the long line of sacrificial second lieutenants. They were waiting to see if he could do the job. So was he. He hoped the big blond guy was up to training him.

Anderson handed him the orders. He scanned them. "Night reconnaissance? What kind of nonsense is this? Do they want to get you guys killed?"

"There are gooks in that jungle, sir. We need to find them. Of course, be good if we could see them." Time wasn't so long ago that Blair would have argued with anyone using such a degrading term as "gook", but that was before OCS.

"Don't we have nightscopes?"

"Sir? Are you joking?" Somehow, Anderson made the question sound reasonable, with neither a hint of dullness nor sarcasm.

"Damn. I want to ignore these orders. I want to just pretend I never got them."

"I'm sorry, sir. No can do. HQ knows we have them."

"We have to send our guys blundering around the jungle at night so that, what? The VC can get them tonight instead of in the morning?"

Anderson was silent. Blair ran his hand over his head. Between the overheated air, the humidity and his own green nerves, he felt like he was melting.

"Okay, okay. We have the orders. We have to follow them. Sergeant, we are going to minimize the dangers here as much as possible. The orders don't seem to have a time limit - we are going in for *one hour*. We are all going in so we can cover as much territory as possible in that hour. We are going to go in pairs. No one is going anywhere alone, and that is final."

"Yes, sir." Anderson's face and voice betrayed neither approval nor disapproval.

"Get the men divided up now."

"Yes, sir. Any special way, sir?"

Blair stared. "However you think best, Sergeant. You know the men better than I do."

"Yes, sir. You don't know the men, sir."

He thought about that for a moment. "Sergeant, I believe I'll supervise your division of the men. Just to make sure you're doing it correctly."

"Yes, sir!"

Anderson managed to chat with every man in the unit as Blair stood back and listened. The men would stop what they were doing - mending socks, cleaning their weapons, playing cards - and chat back.

"Hey, sarge."

"Don't miss anything there, Bruno. This is Lt. Sandburg. New old man."

"Sir!"

"Don't get up, private. You don't want to lose the rhythm, or it'll never...work." Bruno smiled and went on polishing the barrel of his gun.

"You and Miller still haven't killed each other?"

"Nah, sarge. Him and me, we've been okay. He has his stuff, I have mine, and we're getting along. DeMarr's over there, fixing his socks or something." Bruno waved to a wiry black man, who grinned back before picking up his needle again.

"Good job, Petey." Anderson slapped Bruno on the back and walked to the next group.

By the time they'd finished, Blair had some idea of who everyone was and who would work with whom and who would be a bad combination. He sat down with Anderson and together they worked out the teams.

"Not Bruno and Miller, sergeant."

"Why not? They're getting along."

"Yes, but there's still tension. I don't know what's going on between them."

Anderson nodded. "I think you're right, sir. Maybe Miller with Mike Watts and Bruno with Jack Delacroix?"

Blair frowned. "Isn't Delacroix a little...small...no...I see what you mean. That's it, then. Go pair the men up. I need to look at the map."

"Yes, sir!"

The map wasn't very good - there were blank areas and places he knew were different just from the jeep ride in - but it was the best they had. This was going to be hell.

A private came around with some rations. Blair blinked and looked at his watch. It was indeed supper time, and it would be getting dark soon and quickly. No twilight this close to the equator.

He bolted down his food without tasting it - there wasn't much point in tasting it - and walked back to where the platoon was gathered. He noticed they were already sitting in the right pairs and checking their equipment, remnants of the meal next to them.

He thought about giving them a pep talk, but they all looked jaded, old. Older than he did, and he knew that a good half were teenagers. He felt like a kid talking to them, instead of his great age of 21 years and his exalted rank of second lieutenant.

They looked at him. What the hell was he supposed to say? This wasn't like the student teaching he'd did way back when he was sane and trying to keep his draft deferred.

He coughed. "Okay, men. The idea is that we're going to go in, look around and get out before any VC actually know we're there. Stick close to your partner, know where he is. If you *happen* to see any of the enemy, remember where you saw him, and get back to base as soon as possible. And keep an eye on the time. One hour, no more."

The men looked at him blankly for a bit, then nodded and went back to their preparations. The sun was sinking fast; they'd be in the trees soon enough.

Go to Part Three.