Title : A Fresh Start
Date : 10-30-1997
Series : Upgrade #01

Summary: This is an Alternate Universe, The Sentinel set in the future where artificial Sentinels protect the public and a real Sentinel emerges from their ranks.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters nor do I make a claim on them. These characters are the property of Pet Fly Productions and UPN. Original characters are the sole property of the author.

Upgrade # 01
A Fresh Start
By YS McCool

Lieutenant James Ellison spun the squeeze-guard cylinder of his pistol and, briefly, considered using it on himself. The ultimate symbol of his office seemed cold and heavy in his hand. Meant only for him, fit to his hand, and useable by no one else; it would have to be destroyed now. Jim wouldn't be able to take it into his life as a civilian. More than his badge, his pistol told Jim who he was. 'Was'.

He'd held himself together for as long as he could, but now he had to admit defeat. He routed his current assignment to the next available officer and forced himself to his feet. With a heavy sigh, Ellison walked to the door of his captain's office and knocked.

"Come in," the gruff voice of Simon Banks called.

"Sir, I need to talk to you," Jim announced as he closed the door behind him.

Captain Banks looked up from his report and regarded his best Retrieval Officer. He had noted the slide in Jim's performance evaluations and had put the request for a formal leave for Ellison in the pipeline.

"Sit down, Jim," Simon said as positively as he could.

Ellison seemed surprised, but then Banks had never called him Jim in the office before. Perhaps until that moment the other man hadn't been sure his commanding officer even knew his first name was not Lieutenant while they were in the office.

"Sir, I have to report that my implant is no longer working," Jim pronounced like a death sentence.

Simon sat back in his chair, stunned. 'No longer working?' "Could it be fatigue?" he asked hopefully, while trying not to grip the edge of his desk.

"No, Sir," Jim admitted. "I have no access to my data implant. When my last assignment came up on the screen, I couldn't download it at all."

Simon was shaken. Without the data chip implant that enhanced his senses, stored data, and provided instant access to encrypted data streams, Jim Ellison could no longer be a Retrieval Officer. "How long has this been going on?" Simon asked, his mouth dry.

"Four months," Jim reported. The man stood ramrod straight, almost at attention. Simon used to think it was his officer's military training showing through, but now he could see it was a coping mechanism.

"Four months!" Simon shouted. "How have you been able to function, man?"

Banks stood up and for the first time really noticed how much smaller Ellison was than himself. Simon started out 6' 5" and his boots added two entirely unnecessary extra inches. Jim was just a hair under 6' 2" tall and massed about thirty pounds less than Simon's 225.

Ellison was losing weight. His eyes looked haunted and pinched. The man was sweating and it was a bit acrid. James Ellison was falling apart before Simon's very eyes and he hadn't noticed how bad it had become. How could Simon Banks call himself a Retrieval Officer, let alone a friend, and not have noticed these things?

"On instinct, falling back on my training, whatever it took," Jim answered, snapping Simon's attention back to the question he'd asked. "Until this morning, I could still store data, but my sensory enhancement has only been working part of the time. I've been able to cover, but my retrieval times have been slipping. I can't hide it anymore, Sir, and I've come to resign my commission."

Simon couldn't afford to lose Ellison. Even at half-speed, he was better than most of his force. Then there was the man himself. Ellison was born to be a Retrieval Officer. What would he do after he left? Private security? Collections? Perhaps a high priced bodyguard? Would he go, hat in hand, to his brother for an executive position?

Jim was smart and adaptive. This didn't have to be the end of his life, just a different path. Simon looked at the defeated man in front of him. Everything in his body language said that it was the end of things for Ellison.

Jim Ellison no longer on the force. It was hard to imagine. The criminal element would be dancing in the streets once word got out. There had to be another way, and Simon would find it.

Simon moved from behind his desk and put his arms around the smaller man. Jim was shaking slightly, his heart rate was elevated, and his panic and fear continued to give off a slightly acrid scent. Simon patted his back, the same way he would physically comfort his son, Daryl. "Look, Ellison, I want you to go home and try to rest. Don't formally tender your resignation until I can check out some things for you. Okay?"

"I don't know--" Jim began.

"Give me two days, Jim," Simon pleaded for the sake of them both. "That's all I'm asking. Two days. Can you give me that?"

"Yes, Sir. I can give you that." There was hope in the man's voice. Jim had pinned all of his hopes on his superior's ability to make things right. It was Simon's duty not to let his friend down.

Banks hugged the smaller man; not exactly part of the supervisor's handbook of 'Dealing with Your Junior Officers', but Simon had never had a chip rejection among his people before. It was time to throw out the old book.

Simon was totally unsettled as he watched Ellison walk out of his office. He sat back down at his desk and opened a data channel. It was time to call in some favors.

Banks activated his chip, laid in his highest security protocols, and linked into the Great Net. What he needed was an expert on chip rejection. He needed the best. Ellison deserved no less.

====<><><><>===<><><><>====

Three hours, four minutes later.

Simon was usually quite nervous around academics. He had gone to college and had graduated with honors, but he had never been a super brain. He was a man of action. He was seeking Doctor Blair Sandburg--a medical doctor, three times a Ph.D., and a member of just about every Super Brain Trust in the Human Sphere. That was just too much school for Simon's comfort.

His unease only increased when he arrived at the Rainier Institute. The Institute was one of the best educational and research facilities on the planet, and that was saying a lot. Sandburg was the top dog in the Anthropology department, and one *very* busy man. Banks had neither the profile nor the bucks to get the attention of such a man, but he had determination. He would do a lot for one of his people; for Jim, he would do even more. Simon had begged, pleaded, and crawled to get an appointment with the illustrious researcher on the same day they had spoken.

Doctor Sandburg agreed to meet with him during his lunch hour, the only time the man didn't have a previous appointment. Since he couldn't say that Jim's life was in jeopardy, Simon would have normally had to wait weeks for an appointment, but his begging skills were obviously top notch.

Simon was admitted to the office by someone he had immediately catalogued as a bouncy young grad student. The man was about 5' 10, 160 pounds of defined but not bulky musculature, with flowing dark brown curls kept at a rich man's length. That much hair took time and money to care for. And Simon's close inspection of the man's silky tresses, which smelled like ripe fall apples, said they were well and expensively cared for.

"Captain Banks?" the green-eyed, bronze-complexioned man inquired.

"Yes," Simon said as he automatically displayed his badge. Displaying his gun would probably make the young man faint, and that would piss the man's boss off. "Is Doctor Sandburg still available?" Simon had automatically scanned the area and heard only his and this young man's heartbeats.

"I'm Doctor Sandburg," the young man announced as he held out his smooth, long-fingered hand. Simon noted the short, serviceable nails and recent manicure.

"You?!?" Simon was shocked. The data file did not carry Doctor Sandburg's photo, nor his age, race, or sex--that was illegal--but Simon had created a mental picture of the man, and this *wasn't* it. The man in the report had to be at least sixty to have achieved all that he had, but this guy was far from even thirty. "How old are you?"

Simon could have kicked himself. Here he was, asking for the man's help, and the first thing out of his mouth was 'I think you are too young for your job'.

Sandburg smiled. "I get that a lot. I'm 28."

Banks shook himself. His son Daryl was 16 going on 40, just 12 years younger than Sandburg. "I'm sorry, I was just surprised. I expected someone a great deal older."

"It's all right, Captain," Sandburg soothed. "I may be young, but I'm fully qualified for my position."

"I never thought you weren't qualified, Sir. I was just surprised," Simon explained.

Sandburg pointed toward a couch. In front of the couch was a table loaded with a very nice spread of food. Even someone as energized as Sandburg couldn't eat all of that by himself. Banks prayed his stomach wouldn't growl. If he'd been wearing his armor, that would have muffled the sound to anyone but another Retrieval Officer, but Banks had arrived in his "street casual" Kevlar-impregnated uniform and stomach growls carried. Daryl referred to it as Simon's Chic Storm Trooper look. Whatever that was supposed to mean. His son said a lot of strange things.

"Have a seat, Captain, and tell me about your man." Sandburg sat down first and began loading up two plates. Obviously Blair thought that Simon's stomach was proportional to his size, and he was right, because Banks seriously doubted Sandburg could lift the plate he was loading for him. "You'll love this," the doctor promised. "I have it delivered from Jesse's Place."

Jesse's Place could charge just for the privilege of walking under its famous gold and white awnings. His commander, Joel Taggart, had taken Simon there when he was promoted to Captain. The meal had been delicious and very, very expensive.

"It looks wonderful." Simon sat down and accepted his plate from the young doctor. "Jim Ellison is a former Space Ranger and joined the force after leaving for classified reasons. He is simply the best Retrieval Officer I have and it would be a great disservice to the people if I don't do everything I can to keep him on the force."

"Go on," Sandburg prompted between mouthfuls.

"He told me that starting four months ago, he started having trouble with his chip," Simon reported. "The thing is, his retrieval times hadn't started to slip until two *weeks* ago. The man has been able to mimic a fully effective chip for over three months." Simon stabbed one of his shrimp with his fork. "That shouldn't have been possible. For an ordinary person, it should have taken an act of God."

"What skills did he say he lost first?" Sandburg asked as he opened a bottle of water. Local water had to be filtered so intensely that it tasted flat and unappealing. Bottled water came from as close as Canada, the best place on Earth to get clean water, and as far away as the planet Paradisia, which represented the very edge of the Human Sphere.

"He said the final blow was not being able to download his assignment today, which tells me the chip had to have been working somewhat. How else could he track people without his enhanced senses?" Simon asked. He sipped the water, enjoyed it, and noted the label. It was off-world and probably more expensive than he wanted to know.

"How indeed," Sandburg murmured. "Captain Banks, I will need unrestricted access to his work files, both before and after his chip failure. I'll literally need to crawl into his skin."

While his face said 'Young Pup', Sandburg's voice, commanding manner, and attitude told Simon that he had come to the right person after all.

====<><><><>===<><><><>====

Jim had spent the rest of the day after leaving Simon's office working on his resume. "Highly decorated Retrieval Officer looking for position in private security firm. No job too dangerous."

He'd be hired in an instant, and since he would no longer be doing what he loved, he hoped he'd be dead in a week. The morning had brought neither instant solutions nor a reestablishment of his link with his data chip.

What kind of cop would he be without that edge? Nothing, he would be nothing--his lifelong dream snatched away from him at the peak of his game.

He didn't know why, especially since his chip wasn't working, but he knew that Simon was at his door before the big man rang the bell. He also knew that the man was not alone. Jim opened the door to his commander and a stranger.

"Jim, this is Doctor Blair Sandburg," Banks announced. "May we come in?"

Jim realized that he was staring at the men instead of letting them in. "Sorry, please come in." He held the door open and allowed the men to enter the main room of his apartment.

Doctor Sandburg seemed to consist of tightly coiled springs. He was of average height, about four inches shorter than Jim. He had long, dark, curly hair that was currently pulled back and tied with an expensive leather thong. He wore old-fashioned eyesight correction devices called glasses that made his green eyes seem worldly wise. Jim found himself smiling at the man despite his misery.

"Jim, Doctor Sandburg is a specialist in chip rejection," Simon explained.

"Actually, Captain Banks, I'm an expert in a lot of things, but currently, I'm here as an expert in the human dominance of the chip."

"Whatever," Banks mumbled as he made the sign of warding off a superior brain type. Big thinkers were always trying to *improve* Retrieval, all without having an idea what the job was really like. Jim almost chuckled.

Sandburg upended his copious bag onto the couch and began sorting through it. "Ellison, how many blue items do you see that came from my bag?"

"Eight," Jim answered without thinking.

Sandburg grinned. "Good. Now, how many are threatening?"

"None," Ellison responded instantly.

"Good," Sandburg said. He held up a tiny medical kit. Jim had seen them before from his street intelligence reports, because some of the best burglars were using them to get around people's security systems. "I need your permission to disable your chip."

Jim gasped. 'Just like that?' "I can't!" he protested.

"Lieutenant Ellison, I believe that the chip is actually inhibiting your abilities," Sandburg explained. "These things were designed to mimic the enhanced senses, and endemic memories that some people are born with."

"We learned that at the academy," Simon interrupted. "The chips evolved from the research of an anthropologist from the late 20th century."

"He was an ancestor of mine. His main subject was a real cop who had enhanced senses and an incredible arrest and conviction rate," Blair continued. "The chips provide a cop with enhanced senses and act as a guide in using those senses. But the chips are not perfect for one big reason--they are unnatural."

"Retrieval Officers have been using them quite effectively for decades now," Simon countered.

"The brain still picks and chooses what it will accept from the chips," Sandburg explained. "Every year they redesign the chip to overcome that flaw, but despite all that, your brain will continue to prefer natural input."

"What's the solution?" Simon asked.

"Genetic engineering. Literally breeding people for the job of Retrieval Officer, and I know that neither of you want that." Blair looked grim. "Jim's brain wants natural input. It will fight the chip to get it. I can help him. If I'm wrong, we turn it back on. But if I'm right, we can save your career."

With his beloved profession as bait, how could Jim resist? He took off his shirt to keep blood from getting on it and sat down in a chair. Doctor Sandburg had a light, sure touch. Jim only felt the slightest pressure as his chip was disconnected. There was no blood and no pain.

Suddenly, Jim felt panicked. Without his chip he would be an ordinary man. Stripped of power, he would walk along with the crowd, instead of above it. It was arrogant, but it was also true. He was a Retrieval Officer. The cream of the crop of law enforcement officers. He only went after the most dangerous criminals. And he had yet to fail.

The criminal elite in five countries and on two other planets had placed a large price on his head. It was the way Jim liked to live.

One by one, his senses dropped to normal levels.

"Lieutenant Ellison, how many red objects are on the couch?" Sandburg asked.

"I don't know," Jim replied without even looking.

"Look and count," Doctor Sandburg commanded.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Jim said, still not looking. He didn't want to be ordinary. He couldn't live as ordinary.

"Lieutenant Ellison, how many red objects are on the couch?" Sandburg repeated.

Jim glanced at the couch. "Fifteen, counting the red candle partially hidden under the pack."

Sandburg smiled. It was a beautiful smile, full of wonder and joy. "Excellent."

"Was he right?" Banks asked, as Sandburg was standing between him and a direct view of the couch.

"Right on the button," Sandburg said. "You're running on instinct, Lieutenant Ellison, but I can help you become better than you were with the chip."

"How can you do that? How can I do this?" Jim was confused. The chip allowed him to count, colorize, and categorize objects for testimony in trials. Without his chip, he shouldn't have known the number of red objects so quickly, but he did.

Sandburg turned his back on Jim and began repacking his bag. "You were born to be superior to the chip, and I'm going to help you get there."

"How can you do that?" Jim asked. "No man can be superior to the chip."

Sandburg turned and rewarded him with another smile. "Because, Lieutenant Ellison, that's what *I* do best."

Banks looked confused. "How did you hear that, Jim? He was speaking at sublevel 2. That's well below the threshold of human hearing."

"Captain Banks, Jim doesn't need the chip to hear me," Sandburg announced. "His body can do as well or better without it."

"How is that possible?" Simon asked.

"Genetics. Some people, and they are still very rare, have senses that are beyond those of normal human beings. The ancients called them Sentinels."

"Why me and why now?" Jim asked.

"Why you? Because you were born that way," Sandburg answered. "Why now? I don't know. It could be anything. A virus that reduced the effectiveness of your chip/brain interface, chip degradation, or an improperly installed update. Whatever it was, your chip was less effective and your natural abilities tried to take over. Your body and the chip have been fighting ever since."

Jim thought back to when this had first started. He'd just had an update to his chip programming, an anti-jamming protocol to counter the latest nasty trick from the criminal elite. 'Perhaps the chip wasn't properly reinitialized?' But Jim had already had his chip checked out. It was working fine. He was the broken link.

"This started right after my last update," Jim reported. "It was the first time since it was installed that I had a full reinitialization."

"It probably began during the three day down time," Blair suggested. "Your brain will *prefer* natural input from your senses and override what the chip is telling it. You'll need to master this old way of receiving data to counteract your years of dependence upon the chip."

Simon could finally see some light at the end of the tunnel--Doctor Sandburg could help Jim. But there was a big problem. Doctor Sandburg's services would not be covered by city, state, or federal contract. It would have to come directly from Simon's departmental budget. That would seriously limit Jim's access to the doctor. A professional with Sandburg's credentials could charge top dollar rates and no one would blame him.

Simon was ready to beg. "How much time can you give Lieutenant Ellison?" he asked. "I know that the Institute donates a certain amount of time to the city for taxes." It was a stretch to categorize Jim as a taxable donation, but Simon would fill out the forms, in his sleep if he had to, to get this "Sentinel" project designated that way.

Sandburg looked annoyed. "Captain Banks, people like Jim are extremely rare. I will donate my services and work on my own time if I have to, in order to return him to full strength."

Banks felt slightly ashamed. He had automatically assumed that money was the key to Sandburg. He was wrong. There was a strong streak of humanity in this person, his scary academic credentials aside, Simon made a mental note to try and get to know this person better.

Jim was stunned. He had been prepared to spend all his savings and even to tap into his retirement account to pay for Doctor Sandburg's services, now the man was saying that he was just going to give his time free of charge to Jim.

"Thank you," Ellison said. He was grateful, *very* grateful. He had been given a second chance.

====<><><><>===<><><><>====

Jim had expected Doctor Sandburg to live well. He was a medical doctor who had his own clinic, research center, and was the Anthropology department chair at the Rainier Institute of Washington State after all. But he must have had private funds also, because he lived in the best part of town in one of the nicest homes there.

Ellison's badge had not been enough to get him into the gated community without an appointment. "No warrant, no entry," the guard announced tersely.

Ellison was about to show the woman the error of her ways when he remembered that Doctor Sandburg was giving up his free time for him. "James Ellison, Blair Sandburg is expecting me." Luckily, Doctor Sandburg had left word to expect Jim. He was waved through after the guard checked the list.

"I could have taken her," he assured himself as he walked along the road. The gate had carts to send guests from the gate to the homes they were visiting, but Jim preferred to walk. It helped him relax and let him get a feel for the neighborhood where he would be spending a great deal of time.

Doctor Sandburg lived in a three story fully restored, red Victorian with a wraparound porch. Sitting in the side driveway, underneath a protective shield bubble, was an ancient Volvo that probably ran on gas, though Jim had no idea where the man would find any.

A butler let him in. "Welcome, Lieutenant Ellison. I am Hawthorne." Hawthorne was an older gentleman with a dark complexion, and despite his years, a hard, firm body, which stated that he was still in very, very good shape.

"Hello, is Doctor Sandburg ready to see me?" Jim asked, not quite sure what the protocols were for his situation. Did he wait at the door, sit on the mini-couch thing in the foyer, or kneel and bow?

"This way to the doctor's study," Hawthorne said as he opened the double doors to the left. The double doors to the right were mostly glass, some of it colored and depicting a phoenix rising from the ashes, leading to what looked like a formal dining room. Jim had once crashed through a formal dining room, upended the table, and smashed most of the china in the cabinet while taking a rocket gun from a nutcase intent on blowing up the governor of Hawaii with it. He cringed now that he could see what a room like that looked like before nutcase criminals and Retrieval Officers went smashing through.

The double doors to Sandburg's study had two slender panels of glass in them and seemed both thick and heavy as Hawthorne opened them outward. They stepped through.

"Welcome, Jim," Sandburg said. "Thank you, Hawthorne. That will be all."

"Very good, Sir," Hawthorne replied as he exited and closed the doors.

"Are we alone in the room?" Sandburg asked once the butler, Hawthorne, had left.

"No, there is a cat underneath your desk," Jim answered.

Sandburg smiled. "Very good. One day, you'll be able to tell me what color the cat is."

"It's sitting in the dark. It looks gray," Jim replied.

Blair smiled. "Try again. What color is the cat?"

"Dark brown with cream-colored highlights, and one of the longest tails I've ever seen." As Jim spoke, the cat flicked his bushy tail and peered out from under the desk. The cat was big at about twenty solid pounds, which meant some of the cat's ancestors had gone to another planet and grown larger than they could have on Earth, with high fox-like ears and an intelligent face. Having looked Jim over, the cat slipped back under the desk.

"Good. Have a seat, Jim," Blair ordered. "We have a lot of work to do."

They worked until dinner. Jim felt exhausted and wasn't looking forward to queuing up at a rapid food dispenser for a meal. At this time of the night, the lines would be long and slow moving.

His efficiency apartment had only a small refrigerator and no food preparation appliances. At every meal, Jim queued up at one of hundreds of rapid food dispensers in the city. The food was tasty, there were a wide variety of choices, and unlike the old fast food restaurants that they were modeled on, the food was good for you.

Jim enjoyed eating at "the queues". You never knew who you would see there--someone living in government provided housing who received the food for free to someone like his brother who would pay full price and who had homes in several different cities on different worlds. Jim also received his meal for free. The perk was part and parcel of his salary compensation, along with his apartment.

Then Doctor... no, call him Blair. Blair invited him to stay for dinner. Jim thought that he would have nothing in common with such a well-traveled, and well-read individual. He was wrong. Blair had many diverse interests and truly enjoyed being with people, which surprised Jim because he'd always thought that academics stayed in school to avoid people.

"Would you like a tour of the house?" Blair asked as he pushed back from the table. The man could seriously put away the food, but after weeks of barely eating, Jim had easily out eaten him.

"That would be great," Jim said enthusiastically. "I need to walk off that fine meal."

"Grab your dishes," Blair commanded as he rose from the table. In the foyer was a little cart that Hawthorne had rolled up to deliver their meal. The two men placed their dirty dishes on it and rolled them and the cat Sebastian back to the kitchen. "He likes to ride, so you should always check when you're rolling something to see if he's climbed on."

"Okay," Jim agreed. "Wow," he said once they'd arrived in the kitchen. Naturally, a house this big needed a big kitchen. "Your wife must love this room," he declared. Jim couldn't believe all the wood. Not plasti-wood, or plant fiber pseudo-wood, but the real McCoy. Cabinets, tables, chairs, and even the floor were all made with wood. He had to touch one of the cabinet doors to feel the grain beneath his fingertips.

"I don't have a wife, but the time is rapidly approaching," Sandburg reported. "I finally feel settled enough to put a serious effort into finding a wife."

"If you put half the effort into finding a wife as you have put in with me this evening, then I suspect we'll all be reading about the festivities in the society papers before a year has passed," Jim said confidently.

"From your lips," Blair responded. "I purchased this house and fixed it up all with the goal of filling it with my family." He opened one of the lower cabinets and it turned out to be a dishwashing machine.

According to the advertisements, this model could clean every dish you had with two gallons of water, which it would then filter. Jim took that claim with more than a grain of salt. He helped his teacher to load the machine in the most efficient manner possible.

Once the task was complete, the tour officially began. Sebastian realized he wasn't going to be rolled anymore and began trotting along with Jim and Sandburg.

The kitchen had a breakfast room, which had a beautiful view of the conservatory which stretched back well over sixty feet and led to a cozy area Sandburg called the den. The den had darker hardwood floors than the kitchen and breakfast rooms and a fireplace, which burned natural gas not wood. Over the fireplace was a painting of boats with sails on the water. It was very restful, especially when combined with the oversized and casual furniture in the room. The den had a view to the porch, which surrounded the house on three sides.

The family room was next to the breakfast room and had an enormous fireplace, which was flanked by bookshelves that took up the rest of the wall and went all the way to the twelve-foot ceiling. Two french doors, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows, opened up to the conservatory. All the well cared for furniture looked as if it had been lovingly passed from generation to generation. There was no definitive style, but it all looked good together. Jim didn't dwell on their expense, since the one thing he was dying to see was right in front of him.

The planet Earth was still fighting its way back from the brink of death by poisoning of its water and air. People crowded together these days not from over-population, but because there was a limited amount of good land to till and people needed to occupy what could not be farmed. Year after year, more people left Earth for better places, yet the cities remained crowded and resources were carefully managed lest they snap and the Food Riots, the Water Wars, or even the Electricity Madness be repeated.

Those who could afford it, raised their own food. Even the poorest family might carefully tend a planter or two of herbs or vegetables. As Jim stepped into the conservatory, he felt as if his heart might stop from the sensual bliss of so many plants scenting the air.

"Don't just smell, Jim," Blair warned. "Listen for the sound of the breeze going through the branches. Can you hear the water fountains? Do you see the Vanilla Orchids? Have you ever seen a cherry tree? I have some fish, too. Almost everything in here is edible. It's taken me over ten years to accumulate all the specimens you see."

"What's your air rating?" Jim asked. In some circles, asking that was right up there with asking a man to drop his pants so you could measure, but Blair didn't seem the type to be insulted.

"Alpha, A-1," Blair reported with the expected amount of pride. In other words, the air inside Blair's conservatory was approximately two hundred times cleaner than the air at the old airport where temperature, air purity, and rainfall were still measured for the city.

Besides the plants, the water, and the fish ponds, there were trees, full-sized trees growing inside someone's home. It was amazing.

More amazing still was that Sandburg had placed furniture groups all around this huge space. Yes, it was large, but to dedicate such expensive space to seating was just mind-boggling.

"You can open the house up to the conservatory," Blair explained. "Many of the bedrooms and all the major gathering areas back up to the conservatory."

Ellison looked back at the house proper and saw that the second and third floors had large balconies that jutted out into the space. Plants grew up the side of the house and decorated the columns and railings of the balcony. It was like a fairy tale where the wizard granted the family clean air as their fondest wish. And the guy lived here alone? Many women would marry him for his conservatory. The exotic good looks, money, education, and obviously excellent breeding would only be bonuses. Jim had a sudden urge to punish the unknown woman who would treat this man that way. 'Where did that come from?'

Blair led him outside. "Over there is the greenhouse, the compost, and the garden shed," he said pointing to the structures, "but the best things in the yard, besides the flowers, are the gazebos. You can sit in them and watch the water."

The entire neighborhood occupied an isthmus of land that projected into the Sound, giving most of the houses water views, but no beach. It was a dizzying drop down to the water and the shoreline was mostly steep cliffs, breakers, and the occasional put upon seal or otter, both protected species. The two men had a seat in the larger gazebo, and watched the sunset in total silence. Free show over, the two of them headed back inside to continue the tour.

To the left of the family room was a guest suite, complete with private bath and access to the conservatory. Next to it was a massive suite that Jim was convinced would be Blair's, since it had an enormous bathing room and a sitting room with fireplace, but Sandburg said it was for long-term guests who needed extra room. The man was just too generous.

The last room they toured on the first floor was the library. It was located to the right of the dining room with an extra door that went into the laundry room and the half-bath there. The room was easily twice the size of Jim's apartment and the view out of its wall of windows into the side yard and porch made Jim's apartment's view of other buildings and the empty streets seem like mental torture.

The floors were a deep rich wood about the color of good molasses. The back wall was entirely composed of wooden shelves stuffed with books. Five freestanding units, all aligned at a ninety-degree angle with the back wall, held books front and back. The bookcases were all just a little taller than himself, but that still left plenty of clearance to the ceiling, which was even higher in this room because there was a step down into it.

Curiosity overcame Jim and he removed one of the volumes from a shelf and read the title. He was expecting something so highbrow that just reading the title would cause a brain hemorrhage. "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance."

"You can borrow that if you like," Blair offered.

"It's a real book," Jim replied as if that simple fact would explain why he, a virtual stranger, could not possibly take the valuable volume off the premises.

Blair thwacked him on the arm lightly. "If I can't trust a Retrieval Officer to take care of that book, who can I trust?" he asked.

Jim smiled and pressed the book against himself as if it were a small child. "I'll take good care of it," he promised. He continued his surveillance of the big room.

At the far end of the room, which faced the street, was a piano, violin, and flute, all laid out as if Sandburg expected someone to come and play them at any moment.

He nodded toward the musical instruments. "Do you have musicians come and play for you?" he asked. He'd heard that very rich people did that kind of thing.

"Sometimes. Especially for fundraisers. But I play the violin, my mother plays the piano, and my father plays the flute."

Jim was so impressed. His parents were both military and the only thing they could play were whistles. His younger brother Steve studied the piano for a while and later kicked himself for not sticking with it. Jim had played the drums until they were lost during a move. He turned the insurance check into his first flycycle and never looked back.

"Why is there a step down into this room?" he asked. "It doesn't seem to match the rest of the floor."

"I know you'll find this hard to believe, but this room was added to the house in 1825 as a ballroom. In 1969 it was converted into a garage," Blair announced. He waited for Jim's reaction. He didn't have to wait long.

"They repaired things in their house?" he asked, not understanding.

"No, Jim. They had this enormous room to put their personal vehicles in." Blair pointed to the wall of windows. "There used to be three big doors there that rolled up into the roof, which allowed them to park their vehicles inside."

"They lived in the house with their cars?" Jim asked, astounded. "Was this common?"

"Very common," Blair answered. "A house this size would have garages for as many as six vehicles."

Ellison should have paid more attention in school. He remembered that the United States used to have a car culture, but he hadn't realized that it had reached the point where people cohabited with their vehicles. It sounded very creepy. "Was it still a garage when you bought the house?"

"The last owners converted the room back into a ballroom for dances and parties," Blair explained. "I turned it into a library."

"Going to books was a good move on your part." He followed Blair out of the library and toward the stairs. "How long have you lived here?" he asked when they arrived on the second floor.

"I've owned the house for eleven years, but I've only lived here five years. "The last owners had let the place run down and it needed to be repaired. I had structural steel beams put in place over the library to better take the weight of the second and third floors. I've also updated the power and communication systems, replaced the walk-in freezer unit in the basement, restored the wine cellar, and replaced the entire roof. I've been working on the plants in the conservatory since I purchased the place."

"I didn't see a door or stairway to the basement," Jim noted as he looked around the staircase.

"You might have thought it was a closet. It's the door underneath the staircase. That takes you straight down to the basement," Blair said as he led the way to a room, which was the same size as the family room on the first floor, but lost some space to the staircase, which led to the third floor. "This is the Sunset Parlor. It got its name because you get the best view of the sun setting over the water from here."

Jim took a look out the windows. You could see the balcony, the grounds, and most of the conservatory. You could also feast on the water. Too bad it wasn't as clean as it looked. Ellison stepped out onto the balcony and breathed in the fresh, plant-scented air. Marvelous. Jim could pitch a tent right here and be happy.

"Come on," Blair prompted excitedly. Sandburg took Jim's hand and led him through the door, which was to the left of the fireplace of the parlor. "This is my room."

"Yes, it is," Jim agreed. How could he have thought that pretty room downstairs was Blair's? This was the bedroom of the man he was getting to know. There was a big fancy bed some ancestor must have dragged across the country on a mule. A wall of bookcases by the door was loaded down with leather-bound volumes. A beautiful oversized chair and ottoman dominated the sitting room, which had its own fireplace flanked by bookcases and doors which opened onto the balcony. Those doors were open, allowing the air to be freshened.

"Do you sleep with those doors open?" Jim had to ask, knowing that if this were his room, those doors would be open most of the time.

"Almost always," Blair reported. "I keep them closed during storms because those are real glass panes and do nothing to insulate the sound. It actually seems to increase the racket, but that might just be my overactive imagination."

"Maybe, maybe not," Jim responded as he shamelessly toured the huge bathroom. This was luxury on a grand scale.

The rest of the floor was taken up by five large and beautifully decorated bedrooms, all with private baths and bookcases, and a game room with a card table and an Immersion Game System that kept begging Jim to roll up his sleeves and play.

The third floor had eight bedrooms, all with private bathrooms and all without a stick of furniture in them, another parlor, this one called the Starlight Parlor according to Blair, and another room which was the same size as the game room on the second floor that could be used as an office. It was empty, too.

The views from the Starlight Parlor went over the tops of the trees in the conservatory out to the water and the night sky. He suspected it was called the Starlight Parlor for its unblocked view of the sky and the large telescope set up on the balcony.

"Do you use this floor at all?" Jim asked.

"Just the parlor," Blair answered. "I've never had enough guests to put any furniture in the bedrooms up here and the floor is closed up except for airing out."

Jim nodded. What did a bachelor, whose household consisted of a butler and a large cat, need with all these other bedrooms? It was a good thing Hawthorne had six robo-maids to help him keep the place clean.

"Did you want to see the wine cellar?" Blair offered.

Jim checked the time and cringed. "I've already taken up far more of your time than we'd allotted. I don't want to wear out my welcome."

"Not a chance," Sandburg assured him.

Blair patted him on the back, and Jim could feel the echo of heat on his skin each time Blair lifted his hand. It was almost as if the action was happening with time stops, which allowed Jim's hyped up natural senses to process the information. 'Take that Chip!' he thought, feeling fully confident for the first time in months. It was the first thing he'd experienced which the chip could not duplicate. He debated sharing the moment with Blair, but in the end decided to keep it to himself for now.

"I wear out my welcome quite quickly, Blair. I've had more than one person tell me that." Jim headed toward the circular stairs that would take him all the way down to the first floor.

"Jim, you and I will need to be doing a lot more than three hours an evening could ever achieve. At the end of the week, I will be able to set aside some private research and devote my full attention to you," Blair said as they descended the stairs.

"You don't have to do that," Jim protested weakly, when in his heart he was rejoicing that this Sentinel thing was as important to the only man who could help as it was to him.

"Yes, it is," Blair insisted. "Get some clothes together and move in while we train."

"Here?" Jim asked looking around, half expecting huge price tags to be suddenly hanging from everything in the place, including Hawthorne and Sebastian.

"It's where I live, Jim, and you need to be where I am," Blair explained. "Now, no more protests out of you. It's not like you have someone waiting at home. Simon says that you're playing the field with a vengeance."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Simon can hardly talk. That man makes women weak and foolish. They send him flowers and candy while plotting to kill their rivals with nail files." Jim shook his head sadly. "It's not pretty."

Blair crossed his arms and looked at Jim suspiciously. "And that never happens to you?"

Jim gave the other man his best innocent look. "I never get flowers."

Blair laughed. "See you tomorrow. I'll let the gate know that you'll be staying here for a while." He made a note in his little electronic address book. "Which bedroom would you like?"

It was on the tip of his tongue for Jim to say he wanted to stay in Blair's room in case he suddenly lost himself, but held that back. "How about the room on the opposite side from your bedroom?" he asked. It was the furthest away he thought he could manage.

"No problem. We'll have it ready for you," Blair promised. The two men shook hands and Jim left the mansion almost whistling with joy. He arrived home and had his first full night's sleep in weeks.

====<><><><>===<><><><>====

Captain Banks had been able to get Jim three months official leave with pay for retraining, which meant he never missed a paycheck. Jim's new natural senses were expensive as he developed a taste for all-natural everything. The phrase All-Natural was code for 'very, very expensive'.

During his training, Jim rarely left Blair's house or the other man's side. It was a good thing that the younger man had put aside his own ongoing research to work with him, otherwise Jim would have never been able to come so far so fast. At the end of the three months Jim was feeling almost his old self, but he had a new problem. Without the chip to stimulate his brain when he concentrated too hard on one sense, he could over focus and "zone out" on that sense.

"It's just a matter of training," Blair would say, over and over, ad nauseam.

But Jim was still worried.

Slipping back into his uniform was strange after being out of it so long. The black shirt seemed more dangerous. The crossed belts seemed more menacing. The 25th generation Kevlar-impregnated fibers seemed heavier. The job seemed more dangerous.

When Ellison arrived at his desk, he could hardly find the surface for all the presents and cards on it. He was swarmed by his friends and co-workers asking after his health. Captain Banks had asked them not to interrupt Jim's training, since Doctor Sandburg's time was so valuable. Now they were expending three months of worry and frustration in one huge outburst. The captain indulged the breakdown in protocol and joined them. He had also not allowed himself to visit. For such a normally controlled bunch, they turned out to be very emotional. Instead of being horrified, Jim found comfort in his friends' heartfelt greetings. He had been missed.

Jim pulled up his terminal and checked his messages. 'Good grief, I'll be here all morning answering these.' All his work related messages had been routed to other desks, along with his assignments. He shook himself, realizing that without Simon's determination, and Blair's help, he would have been replaced.

Ellison knew Blair had entered the office without having to look up. "Hello, Blair," he said before raising his head.

"Very good," Blair said proudly. "What gave me away?" Sandburg was dressed in his Consulting Physician duds today, dark-colored slacks, light-colored shirt, dark expensive jacket, and black custom-made shoes he acquired from a little old lady in Pasadena who thought he was hot, but never said a word to him about it. Sentinel senses, chip-augmented or not, sometimes uncovered secrets you wish you could forget.

"You're the only person I know who uses natural botanicals on everything," Jim reported before filling his lungs with the nice aromas. He noted that several of his fellow agents were doing the same thing. After smelling the streets, Sandburg was like a bouquet.

"Basis of the family fortune. If I don't wear it, how can I ask you to?" Blair asked.

"You can't. Especially at those prices." The two men laughed. Blair sat down on Jim's desk. "I have chairs, Blair."

"If I sit in a chair, I'll get comfortable. If I'm comfortable, I'll stay too long. If I stay too long, you won't get any work done because I am so darn fascinating." He batted his lashes and gave Jim one of his high-powered smiles.

Jim laughed. "You might want to run for it. Once the ladies hear that you're single, you'll have a target on your butt."

"Any nice Jewish girls?" Blair asked. "That would please my mother."

"Jewish, yes. Nice, are you kidding?" Jim asked in mock horror. "This is Retrieval, Blair. Nice girls don't get out of the academy or they end up in Public Relations."

Blair chuckled. "How are you feeling today?"

"A little nervous. I feel like a rookie again," Jim admitted.

"Any problems with your senses?" Blair asked, seriously.

"Just my hearing," Jim reported.

Blair whipped out his datapad. "What kind of problem?" he asked.

Jim was moved by the other man's obvious concern and decided to let him off the hook. "I can barely hear anything over the beating of my own heart."

Blair whapped Jim with his datapad. Jim was laughing and dramatically fending off the dreaded datapad when his terminal signaled an assignment. The particulars flashed on the screen and, for the first time ever, Jim had to print it out. He could no longer store the information in his chip, another downside to it no longer working for him.

As he headed out the door, Jim found Blair was hot on his heels. "Is there something wrong, Blair?"

"I'm coming with you," Sandburg explained.

Jim managed not to gasp or even laugh. "This isn't someone with an unpaid library account, Sir," Ellison said in his best 'explain it to the citizen' voice. "This is a dangerous criminal who is wanted for murder, arson, and escape."

"I'm coming to help you, Jim. I'm your guide." Sandburg walked on as if the issue was settled.

Jim kept waiting for the man to change his mind. Most people were frightened by the mere appearance of a pursuit vehicle. Blair hopped in as if he were climbing onto a bicycle. The doctor even knew how to secure the security belts.

"Passenger secure," Blair reported. Jim checked him over anyway. He couldn't have the man bouncing around loose in the cabin. 'He does know what he is doing.' Jim wanted to hear the story of when Blair learned to secure a safety harness. Jim blasted off with a lot more climb than he needed.

Blair let out a whoop. "Nutty," he said when they leveled off. "Next time, let me bring a date so I'll have someone to kiss."

Jim was trying to affect his serious and dangerous persona, but Blair was going to make him bust a gut. "This ain't no joy ride, Chief," Jim said as he fed navigational data into the computer. Satellites picked up their man's location within two minutes of Jim taking to the air. The Retrieval vehicle's greater speed and all traffic clearance had them behind their escapee less than five minutes later.

Jim automatically tapped in the codes that would allow him access to the fleeing car's computer. Four code links later--twelve seconds in human terms--the escapee, Matthew Blout, was landing against his will.

"Stay in the car," Jim said.

"How can I help you from the car?" Blair asked Jim's back.

Jim hated residential pursuits, but if he had waited any longer Blout would have been over the water. There was too much noise in the area. The air was choked with the smells of outdoor cooking. Jim had totally forgotten about the holiday.

There were sparklers, mini rockets, and firecrackers. Kids were running around under lawn sprinklers. A local band was playing outside. Jim was confused. His chip would have automatically filtered this out for him, but now he was on his own. "Damn, how can I do this without my chip?" he asked no one in particular.

"You don't need your chip," Blair said.

"I told you to stay in the car," Jim growled.

"I 'never' listen. Ask my mother. It's all she kvetches about," Blair replied, while looking around for their suspect. "That, and my tragic unmarried state."

"I'd laugh, Chief, but I just lost a dangerous criminal in a residential area," Jim responded as coolly as he could.

"How would you normally find him?" Blair asked.

"With my chip!" Jim said harshly.

"Your chip was just a crutch," Sandburg insisted. "You're a trained officer who doesn't need that techno bullshit in his body. Now, I ask you again, how would you find him?"

"I don't have a visual lock on him, just a description."

"He was in that car. My guess is that he lost control of his bladder the moment you took over his vehicle. Go smell the car," Blair ordered.

"This is what my life has come down to, smelling urine-covered seats," Jim mumbled. But Blair was right. The man had sweated, bled, and urinated in the car. It was a distinct mixture that Jim could trail.

Jim was off like a hound. He crossed lawns, jumped fences, and frightened residents. He came to a stop and was stunned to find that Blair was still with him. Breathing like a beached whale, but still with him.

"Gonna die," Blair huffed. "Gonna die right here."

"You're out of shape, Doctor," Jim teased.

"For an anthropologist, I'm Mr. Universe," Blair declared haughtily.

"Ssshhh, he's close," Jim whispered. "Stay here."

"Why do you keep saying that when you know I'm not going to listen?" Blair asked, vexed.

Jim was about to say something impossibly rude to the man, when he heard Blout set the arming mechanism for a stun grenade. Jim threw himself on top of Blair and took the brunt of the blast. Jim rolled off Sandburg with a groan. His uniform had absorbed the blast, but his muscles still were compressed.

"I'm going to sue that man," Blair said as he helped Jim to his feet.

"Whatever," Jim said as he took off after Blout.

Blout headed down the street, trying to lose himself in the crowd, but, Jim had a visual target now and he couldn't be shaken. He didn't hear Blair with him anymore, but guessed the good doctor was calling one of his advocates to start a legal action against Blout.

Most of the revelers had assumed the loud pop was part of the holiday celebrations and only became alarmed when they saw a Retrieval Officer running down their street.

"Federal Agent in RETRIEVAL!!!" Jim shouted.

The citizens dropped to the ground as they had been taught since they were in first grade. He now had a clear line of sight to Blout, but the man was out of range of his weapon. Ellison kept running.

He noticed that they were circling back toward the vehicles and BLAIR. 'No, no, no.' That's all he would need--for Blout to hurt, kill, or kidnap Sandburg.

Jim heard the impact of Blout and Sandburg. When he came around the corner, Blout was on the ground. Doctor Sandburg had banged Blout over the head with a large cooking pot from someone's picnic.

"Blair, are you all right?" Ellison asked, truly worried.

Sandburg looked up and the fire in his normally kind green eyes made Jim take a step back. "Take me with him... I don't think so." Blair continued to menace the unconscious Blout with the large pot.

The picnickers gazed on slightly afraid. A small child asked, "Can we have our pot back, Mister? Grandpa is supposed to cook fish in it."

"Sorry," Blair said. He handed the dented pot back to the mother.

She noted the blood on it and gave it back. "No, no. You keep it." She shooed her family back into the house and locked the doors.

"Congratulations, Blair. You've frightened the citizens." Jim smirked.

"Oh, dear." Blair looked distressed.

"You'll get used to it," Jim said as he cuffed the unconscious man. "You swing a mean pot."

Blair laughed wickedly. "You should see me with a skillet."

--The End --