Disclaimer: Pet Fly and Paramount own the copyright to The Sentinel and its characters. This piece of fan fiction was written solely for the love of the characters and to share freely with other fans. No profit is being made from the posting of this story.
Acknowledgments: I wish to thank "B" and Romanse, who both gave me great suggestions for padding out scenes, and to Lyn and Annie for their wonderful beta work. Thanks, gals!
Author's Notes: This is an AU where sentinels and guides are known to exist. I spoke with Susan Foster (author of the popular "GDP" series) before writing this tale, as I knew that some of the conventions and concepts I wanted to use were very similar to themes she has created for her series. She kindly consented to let me use what I needed to tell this story. While there may be some similarities, this story is not a spin-off of the GDP universe, but is an AU of my own creation. This story is slash.
Rating: NC-17 for sexual situations; B/m (90.5 KB)
Warnings: Non-con bonding -- B/another sentinel; torture and abuse in the course of "training." No comfort.
Summary: Dr. Blair Sandburg, a professor of Sentinel Studies at Rainier University's Anthropology Department suddenly finds himself a part of the very world he has studied for most of his life. Stripped of his former life, the new guide struggles against the system, ultimately failing and finding himself being sold into virtual slavery. Meanwhile, a reluctant sentinel makes his way to the Guide Market in search of a soul mate.
Comments welcome and appreciated!
Christine Huang stretched and sat up in bed, pulling the sheet up modestly as she turned to smile down on her sleepy companion.
"You don't have to go," said Blair, reaching out to grasp his lover's arm. "It's early. Stay for coffee, at least."
"No, Blair." Christine shook off the gentle hold and got out of bed, padding across the room to where she'd left her dress draped over a chair the night before. "I need to get home, have a shower--"
"Shower here." Blair sat up, the covers falling away from his bare shoulders, his long, chestnut curls rumpled from sleep.
Christine turned and walked around to Blair's side of the bed, leaning down to press a kiss against the pouting lips. "I need to get a change of clothes. It wouldn't do for me to go back to class in the same thing I wore yesterday; the students would notice."
"The students couldn't care less," Blair countered. "Look, there's nothing wrong with two professors having a relationship. We don't have anything to hide. I don't know why you have to make every night feel like a clandestine tryst."
"I'm just not ready for us to go public yet," Christine said, gathering her things and slipping into her high-heeled shoes. She came back for one more kiss. "Love you."
"Love you, too," said Blair, watching as Christine made her way out of the bedroom and toward the apartment's door. "See you in the student lounge after the ten o'clock seminar?"
"I'll order you a double mocha latte," she promised, passing through the door.
+++++
Christine was waiting with the promised coffee as Blair dragged himself into the student lounge and plunked wearily into a chair.
"You look terrible," said Christine, pushing the beverage across the table. Blair reached out and took the latte, downing a long draught before setting the cup back on the table and rubbing his forehead. "Headache again?"
"Yeah," Blair murmured. "They're getting to be more frequent. Just stress, I guess. I've got my tenure evaluation at two this afternoon."
Christine reached across the table to take Blair's hand and give it a squeeze. "You shouldn't be nervous about that, you earned it. You're the youngest Ph.D. on campus and you've been teaching here for three years. The evaluation is just a formality. Stop worrying. Have you gone to the on-campus clinic to get anything to help?"
Blair pulled a bottle out of his jacket pocket and handed it to his girlfriend. She looked at the label, frowning.
"Valium? That's supposed to help the headaches?"
"They think I'm a little high strung," Blair admitted. "They figure that if I can calm down a little, the headaches will go away."
"You're not taking that stuff, are you?"
"Are you kidding? You know how I feel about putting anything artificial into my body," Blair answered. "I think I'll try going to the herbalist in Chinatown and see if he has anything that can help."
"Anything's better than the campus clinic," Christine agreed. "If you can't find something there that helps, I'll refer you to my doctor."
Blair sipped at his coffee, holding the Styrofoam cup with both hands to help warm them, and nodded. "Thanks. I thought I could handle a little headache, but they're getting worse. I hope I'm not developing migraines."
"I think you need a little vacation," Christine suggested. "Get away from the stress for a while."
"Can't do that," Blair said, shaking his head. "There's too much going on this semester. Maybe over winter break, if I can stand to wait that long."
Christine pushed back her chair and stood. Coming around the table, she leaned down to kiss Blair's temple. He turned, lifting his face for a full-mouth kiss. When they parted, Christine carded her fingers through his thick hair. "You have to do something. Take care, Blair." With a warm pat to the cheek, she turned to leave. "I'll be at your place around eight, all right?"
"Bring a change of clothes," Blair suggested, watching Christine walk off.
+++++
"Congratulations, Dr. Sandburg." Chancellor Edwards stretched out her hand to shake Blair's. "The committee has decided to grant you tenure with the university. Welcome to the permanent staff."
Blair shook the Chancellor's hand and smiled. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. You won't be sorry, I promise." He made the rounds of the room, shaking hands with all the committee members and thanking them all. It had been a grueling two hours of interrogation and inspection of his academic record, and Blair was relieved to be walking out of the office with his tenure secure.
Having tenure meant an automatic pay raise and that his status among the university staff went up a notch. It wasn't enough that he had received his doctorate in Sentinel Studies at the tender age of twenty-four. He'd always had to prove himself to these people. He was too young, too unorthodox looking, too liberal for the conservative "old guard." But he'd finally broken through all the barriers to become a full professor.
He met Christine in front of the admin building. "Congratulations, Professor." She leaned in to press a chaste kiss against Blair's lips. "How about we celebrate with a late lunch? I'll bet you haven't eaten anything since this morning."
"You'd guess right," Blair said, grinning. "I was too damned nervous to eat before I went in there."
"Well, it's over and you have your tenure," said Christine, taking Blair's hand and leading him across the grassy quad. "Lunch is my treat."
"How can I pass on an offer like that?" Blair said with a chuckle.
As they walked, a sentinel with his guide approached the couple. Christine wrinkled her nose in revulsion. "I don't care how many times I see that, I just can't get used to it," she murmured. "Men, naked and leashed like animals..." She shuddered her distaste.
"Guides are people, too," Blair reminded her.
"Were," Christine corrected. "Once someone becomes a guide, they change. I watched a good friend of mine go from a smart, sassy law student to a docile, submissive guide who never spoke. It's disgusting."
"It's sad," said Blair with a sigh. "They've lost all their rights, all their possessions. They're sold into slavery to the sentinels." Passing the pair, a wave of nausea caused Blair to stumble.
Christine grabbed his arm to help hold him up. "Are you all right?" she asked, bending over to look into Blair's pale face.
Blair braced his hands against his knees, his head down, sucking in deep breaths to stem the sudden sickness. Eventually, the thundering in his head and roiling in his stomach eased. "I'm okay," he replied softly. "I'll be fine." He looked up at his girlfriend. "If you don't mind, I think I'll pass on lunch. I need to lie down."
"Okay, sure," Christine said, still fussing over him. "Are you certain you can drive?"
"I'm fine, really." Blair straightened and kissed Christine on the cheek. "Rain check on the lunch?"
Christine nodded. "You take care. I'll see you this evening." She stood and watched as Blair finished his walk to the parking lot and slipped behind the wheel of the Corvair.
Turning out of the lot onto the busy street, Blair made a beeline for Chinatown and what he hoped would be relief from the crippling headaches.
+++++
Three weeks had passed, and the headaches were becoming more severe. He'd finally broken down and gone to see Christine's doctor. Dr. Tompkins had diagnosed migraines and prescribed Midrin for relief of the most disturbing symptoms. Blair sat on his couch, looking at the bottle of pills. The headaches had gotten severe enough that he'd finally given in and tried the medication, but to no avail. The drug didn't even faze the headaches. Blair found himself calling in sick more and more often as he was unable to be around other people when the headaches struck.
As he was pondering the possible causes and solutions, his mind drifted back to the day he'd received his tenure and had passed the sentinel on his way to his car. His reaction to that close encounter had been unusual, to say the least. Standing, he made his way across the room to his bookcase and stood studying the volumes neatly arranged by category and title. He finally pulled down a tome entitled Guides Among Us, A Study of Human Telempathy.
As a student of sentinels, Blair had a passing knowledge of guides as well, but it had been a long time since he'd studied about the emergence of the guide Talent. Opening the book, he began to read. As his eyes scanned down the pages, he felt a chill and began to tremble. Oh God, this can't be happening. This can't be me, he thought.
Blair read the paragraphs over and over, his blood running cold as realization dawned. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he moved on to the next paragraph.
"Yeah, right," Blair muttered. With the culmination of his dream to become a tenured professor, Blair had all he'd ever wanted: his job, good pay, a comfortable home, and not of least importance, a beautiful girlfriend. He took a black velvet box from his pocket and opened it. Inside glittered a diamond solitaire ring. Now, if he only could get up the nerve to pop the question to Christine and she accepted, his world would be complete.
But he stood to lose everything if his secret was ever found out.
+++++
The night was perfect. A chamber orchestra played soft music in the background as Blair and Christine shared a romantic meal at Cascade's ritziest restaurant. The meal would set him back a paycheck, but it was worth it. This was going to be the night. When Christine excused herself to powder her nose, Blair slipped the velvet box from his pocket and dropped the ring in her flute of champagne.
"That's better," Christine said, returning from the ladies' room. Blair rose and held her chair, waiting until she was seated to sit down himself.
Picking up his champagne glass, Blair prepared to make a toast. Christine smiled and touched her glass to his. "To my beautiful Christine: May you always be as lovely as you are tonight."
They clinked the glasses softly and then sipped the champagne. Christine's eyes widened as she heard an extra tinkle in her own glass. Downing the champagne carefully, she fished the ring from the flute.
Blair slipped from his chair and went down on one knee, taking the ring and Christine's hand, poising the ring at the tip of her finger. "Christine Huang, will you give me the ultimate pleasure of becoming my wife?" He slipped the ring onto her finger and stared up into her beautiful, dark-brown eyes, waiting.
Christine stared at the ring for a moment before meeting the earnest blue eyes of her lover. "Yes," she whispered, swallowing to regain her voice. "Oh, yes!"
Blair gathered her into his arms and kissed her. "You just made me the happiest man in the world."
+++++
The next morning, Christine rolled over in bed, laying her left hand on Blair's chest to admire the diamond adorning it. She was grinning contentedly as Blair opened sleepy eyes to greet her.
"I can't believe it," she whispered.
"Believe it." Blair leaned over to capture her lips in a tender kiss. "I was thinking... hoping that maybe... maybe you'd bring your stuff over here and move in? It would make life so much easier."
"Oh, baby," Christine crooned, stroking Blair's cheek. "Don't you think we should wait? I mean, this is all very sudden--"
Blair frowned, distinctly unhappy with his fiancée's hesitance. "You've already been spending every night here for the past six months. I don't think it's rushing things."
"But we haven't even set a date," argued Christine.
"December 15th," Blair said, pulling a date from thin air.
"Too close to Christmas."
"Valentine's Day."
"Too far away."
Blair sighed. "We don't have to decide now. How about some breakfast first?"
Christine leaned over to give Blair another kiss. "Can't. I have to run. I have a meeting with my TA at eight."
"Dinner tonight? Here?" Blair asked, resigned to leaving the conversation until another day.
"I'll cook," Christine promised. "Sorry, love. See you tonight." She slipped out of bed and into her clothes, disappearing before Blair could get up and follow.
+++++
"Professor Sandburg?" Kathy Hamilton ran up the walk to catch Blair as he was leaving Hargrove Hall.
"Oh, hi, Kathy. How's the research coming?" Blair asked, falling into step with the grad student.
"I just about finished my paper, but there's one book I can't find in the library." She handed Blair a crumpled piece of paper with the name and author of the text for which she was searching.
"I have a copy in my office," Blair said, recognizing the volume: The Sentinels of Paraguay by Sir Richard Burton. "It's a rare book. I think I have the only copy in the Northwest. Want to come with me and have a look?"
"Could I?" Kathy's eyes lit up with excitement. "That would be wonderful. It's the last bit I need to finish my Master's thesis."
"I don't let the book out of my office," Blair explained, "but if you don't mind doing your research there, you're welcome to use it."
Kathy shook her head, smiling. "I don't mind at all. Thank you so much!"
They continued around the building to the basement steps where Blair continued to keep his office. He'd been offered better quarters over a year ago, but he'd grown attached to the ex-artifact room. The small area was cluttered, but he knew where every last paper or book was stashed.
"You'll have to be quiet," Blair said, handing Kathy the book and settling at his desk. "I have papers to grade."
"Don't worry. I won't be a problem for you," Kathy assured her benefactor.
She had been quietly studying and taking notes for nearly an hour when she heard a quiet moan.
Blair dropped his head into his hands as another migraine threatened to overwhelm him. He'd been headache-free for nearly a week and had hoped that the cause of the debilitating pain had finally been overcome. Reaching into the top drawer of his desk, he pulled out the bottle of prescription medication and stared at the label before throwing the whole thing into the trash.
"Is something the matter?" Kathy asked, looking up from her studies.
"It's nothing... Just a headache," Blair muttered.
Kathy walked over and fished the pill bottle from the trash. After reading the label, she looked up at her professor. "This is for migraines. Why did you throw it out?"
"Doesn't work," Blair said succinctly, trying to keep the conversation to a minimum.
"How long have you been having the headaches?"
"A month, maybe two," Blair admitted.
Kathy stood next to Blair's desk chewing her lip. Finally, she spoke softly. "I may know someone who could help you." She grabbed a notepad and jotted down a name and phone number. "Just tell him that I referred you." Turning back to the table where she'd been studying, Kathy gathered her books, putting Blair's Burton tome back on its display stand. "Thank you for the loan, it helped a lot. I'd better be going."
"Bye," Blair mumbled without lifting his head from the desk. Five minutes later, he finally opened his eyes again and glanced at the note Kathy had left. Desperate for relief, he picked up the phone and dialed. "Ronnie? This is Blair Sandburg. Kathy told me to call--"
+++++
Ronald Burgman was tall and lanky, his blond hair long and loose. He ushered Blair into his apartment and shut the door. "Kathy says you need something for migraines."
Blair shrugged. "What the doctor gave me isn't working."
"Just how often do you have the headaches? And does anything in particular set them off or make them worse?" Ronnie asked, settling in a chair and motioning for Blair to take a seat on the couch.
Sinking into the soft cushions, Blair gave the question some thought. "I don't get them all that often, but the frequency is increasing. They seem to happen most when I've been around a crowd of people; like when I'm teaching a class or go to the local pub for dinner."
Ronnie nodded and reached into his pocket. "I think I have something that might help," he said, dropping a small baggie with a single, white pill into Blair's hand. "Take this the next time you get one of your migraines. If it helps, give me a call and I'll set you up with more."
"What is it?" Blair asked, looking skeptically at the tablet.
"Best you don't know until you find out if it works."
"Is it illegal?" Blair tried to pass the pill back to Ronnie, but the dealer curled Blair's fingers over it and pushed his hand away.
"Just try it."
Going against his inner voice that told him to be wary of the drug he'd been given, Blair nodded and stood, pocketing the tablet for later use. "Thanks." He held out his hand to shake Ronnie's, and then took his leave.
+++++
Five days later, as he was leaving a three-hour seminar on sentinels in the Amazonian jungles, Blair was hit by a massive migraine. The suddenness of the assault caused him to stagger, and he leaned against the wall for support. Nothing he'd experienced in the past felt quite like this. Desperate, he dug in his pocket for the tiny zip-lock baggie that held the pill he'd gotten from Ronnie. He located a drinking fountain and downed the pill, fighting a wave of dizziness to get to his office before he collapsed.
Dropping into his chair, Blair rested his head on the desk, waiting for the pill to take effect. He didn't have to wait long. Within fifteen minutes, he felt better. His vision was still a bit fuzzy, and he felt a strange disconnection from his body, but the headache was gone as though it had never existed. Picking up the phone, he dialed Ronnie. "This is Sandburg," he said when the dealer answered the phone. "It worked. How can I get more?"
"Not over the phone," Ronnie cautioned. "Meet me at my apartment tonight at seven."
Blair heard the click of the phone being hung up and he did the same. Seven o'clock. He'd be there.
+++++
"So, you said you'd tell me what this drug was if it worked," said Blair, taking possession of a bottle of the small pills and handing over a hundred dollar bill.
"You haven't figured it out yet, Professor?" Ronnie asked. When Blair gave him a questioning look, Burgman shrugged. "It's a psi suppressor. The kind of drug used by the government on guides," he explained.
"Guides?" Blair suddenly went pale.
"Yeah. You really didn't know?" Ronnie looked sympathetic. Blair shook his head, and sank onto the couch. "Aren't you a doctor of Sentinel Studies?"
Blair nodded. "Yes, sentinel studies, not guides. I know about guides, of course, one has to when you study sentinels, but I only studied them as they pertain to their masters."
"Ah, well..." said Ronnie, settling into a chair next to his guest. "Then let me educate you further. As you probably know, the guide Talent usually emerges at puberty, as opposed to sentinels, whose Talent is apparent from birth. But nearly a quarter of all guides find their empathy as young adults.
"You need a beer or something?" Ronnie interrupted himself.
"No. No, thanks." Blair waved off the offer.
"Okay. Well, guides whose empathy begins to emerge in their twenties seem to be subject to something we've dubbed 'empathy sickness'. It takes the form of migraine-like headaches, nausea, dizziness, and sometimes even vomiting. Once a guide is bonded to a sentinel, the sickness the ends." Ronnie gave Blair a good once over look, noting how the young professor had gone suddenly very pale. "But no empath I know wants to be a guide. That being case, the only thing that keeps the empathy sickness at bay is the psi suppressing drug."
"B-But how do you get a hold of it?" Blair asked, swallowing the lump in his throat. "It's illegal except in licensed hospitals and the Guide Training Facility. It's a strictly controlled substance. You can't even get a prescription for it."
Ronnie leaned forward and whispered, "I know someone who works in the infirmary of the Training Facility. They use mass doses of the stuff there, and don't keep real good records. You're not the only empath looking for relief. Just don't get caught. If anyone, anyone finds out that you have the drug, you're a goner, and so are a lot of other people who depend on our supply to continue living their lives."
"There are others?" Blair had leaned forward, too, as the two conspirators talked. "Where? I thought I was the only one--"
"There's an empath underground," Ronnie explained. "We meet in a different member's home each week. You've got no idea how good it feels to have a network of friends. You can't tell anyone about your empathy, or you risk being dragged off by the Wardens. But at the meetings, you can be yourself, voice your fears, without censure or endangerment."
"I have a fiancée. We just got engaged a short time ago," said Blair.
"Not even her. Do not tell her! It's for your own safety."
"But Christine wouldn't--"
"Don't tell her," Ronnie stated firmly. He reached over to the coffee table and scribbled down an address on a notepad, tearing the sheet off and handing it to Blair. This is our next meeting place. Thursday at 9:00 p.m.; got it?"
Blair nodded. "Yeah, thanks." He folded the paper and slipped it into a pocket, standing and extending his hand. "Nice doing business with you, Ronnie. I appreciate the help."
Ronnie rose and shook Blair's hand. "See you next Thursday, then?"
"I'll think about it," Blair promised.
+++++
"My parents are flying in this afternoon from Pittsburgh," Christine said, bustling around the apartment the next morning. "Are the reservations all set?"
"Dinner for four at the Starlight Lounge," Blair confirmed. "Eight o'clock."
"Nervous?" Christine straightened Blair's tie and gave him a coquettish grin.
"Are you kidding? I'm about to meet your parents for the first time, and we're going to tell them that we're engaged. What have I got to be nervous about?" said Blair, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Not a thing." Christine leaned in to give Blair a peck on the cheek.
"Is that all I get?" he complained, watching as Christine made her way to the door.
"You'll get more tonight, after dinner," she promised, blowing another kiss in Blair's direction.
+++++
The Starlight Lounge was the most posh restaurant in Cascade. High atop one of the city's tallest buildings, its floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on the harbor and lights of the city. Blair had needed to call in a few favors to get reservations on such short notice.
The maitre d' led them to a table with a view. After they had been settled and the drink orders taken, Blair cleared his throat. "It's very nice that you could both make the trip out here," he began nervously. Mr. and Mrs. Huang appeared to be a conservative Chinese couple, with Mr. Huang dominating his smaller, more timid wife.
"Christine said there was some important news," said Mr. Huang.
"Can it wait until after dinner, Daddy?" Christine asked, smiling to take away the tension at the table. "We should use this time for you and Mom to get to know Blair. He just received tenure at Rainier University."
Mr. Huang nodded. "What do you teach?"
"Sentinel Studies," Blair replied. "It's a branch of Anthropology."
"Sentinels are the devil's work," growled Christine's father, frowning at Blair.
"Daddy!" Christine protested, but Blair cut in, in his own defense.
"Actually, sentinels are a product of natural selection," he began. "Back when we were all hunters and gatherers, the tribes needed watchmen. They chose men whose sight was clearer, whose hearing was more acute. Eventually, the traits were bred into the population, becoming more pronounced with each new generation."
"It goes against nature that anyone should have such heightened senses," Mr. Huang insisted. "And the guides are even worse. Men who can read your mind--"
"That's not entirely accurate," Blair jumped in again. "Empaths can sense emotions and they seem to be able to channel a sentinel's abilities, allowing the sentinel to enhance his senses even more. Police work, in particular, has greatly benefited from the sentinel/guide pairs. It's true, that a bonded sentinel has a form of mindspeak with his guide, but it is only between the two of them. Guides cannot read the minds of others."
Mr. Huang snorted his disagreement. Fortunately, the conversation was interrupted when the waiter came to take their orders. Afterward, another uncomfortable silence settled around the table.
Desperate to help her fiancé make a good impression, Christine turned to her mother. "So, Mom, tell us about your garden this year." She turned to Blair. "Mom is a horticulturalist. When she married Dad, she quit work, but her yard and garden were always the envy of the neighborhood."
Mrs. Huang quietly began her tale. As they talked, keeping the conversation light and away from politics, religion, or sentinels, their dinner arrived. After a quiet meal, Christine reached over to grasp Blair's hand and give it a squeeze. The plates were cleared away and dessert brought as she cleared her throat to make the big announcement.
"Mom, Dad... the reason I asked you to fly out here and meet Blair was because he proposed to me last week, and I accepted." She held out her hand to show off the diamond solitaire.
"Oh, baby, I'm so happy for you," Mrs. Huang said, taking her daughter's hand and smiling. "When is the wedding?"
Christine gave her brooding father an expectant look as Blair spoke up. "We haven't set a date yet, but it will probably be before February."
"Daddy?"
"I haven't decided yet," Mr. Huang said gruffly.
"It's not for you to decide," said Christine. "I'm all grown up now, and I make my own decisions. I love Blair, Daddy. We're going to get married."
"Would you like to come by the university while you're here?" asked Blair. "I'd be happy to give you a tour of the campus. Christine and I both enjoy working there. It's a beautiful place." When the dour Huang didn't reply, Blair rushed on. "It would give us time to get to know one another better. How about it? I don't have any classes tomorrow morning."
"Hmmm..." Mr. Huang nodded. "All right. Since Christine is determined to make this mistake, I will take the time to get to know the enemy."
"That's the spirit," Blair said with a smile, while his stomach churned with doubt.
As they sat eating their dessert, a sentinel entered the restaurant with his naked male guide on a leash. They were led to a seat two tables away from Blair's party. The guide squatted down next to his sentinel's chair like a trained animal.
Christine wrinkled her nose. "That's disgusting," she whispered, leaning toward Blair. "They shouldn't allow guides into a restaurant like this."
"Guides are people, too," Blair reminded her.
"He's naked," Christine hissed. "It's obscene."
"You see them around campus all the time," said Blair. "What's so different about here?"
"You expect things like that at a university," she explained. "Especially one that has a Center for Sentinel Studies. But they don't belong at the Starlight."
"I agree," said Mr. Huang, standing to shield his wife from the sight of the naked man. "We should go."
Blair quickly stood, helping Mrs. Huang and then Christine with their chairs. He fished a hundred dollar bill from his wallet and left it on the table as they hurried out of the restaurant.
After dropping Christine's parents off at their hotel, the couple proceeded back to Blair's apartment.
"God, what an awful way to end the evening!" said Christine, shedding her coat as she walked into the living room.
"I don't understand the problem." Blair followed behind, picking up the coat and hanging it on the rack by the door. "Sentinels have just as much right to a classy restaurant as you or I."
"Sentinels, yes, but why did he have to bring his guide?" Christine practically spat the word. "Dirty, disgusting creatures... They don't belong in an upscale place like that."
"Christine...?" Blair approached his fiancée cautiously. "I've never seen you this worked up about guides before. What's the matter?" He gently clasped her shoulders and looked into warm, brown eyes turned cold and hard.
"It hasn't been an issue before," Christine said. "But now we're getting married. Thank god you're not a sentinel and won't be bringing one of those disgusting things into our home!"
"But I'm a doctor of Sentinel Studies," he reminded her. "I work with sentinels and their guides on a regular basis."
"Just so long as you don't force me to attend banquets where sentinels and guides will be present." She broke out of Blair's light grasp and folded her arms across her chest, turning her back on her fiancé. "It's always made me uncomfortable being around naked men, especially in public." She turned back around, gesturing toward Blair's crotch. "Their penises hang there for all the world to see, like they're flaunting their sexuality."
"It's not like that," Blair said, steering Christine to the couch. "Guides are slaves. Their nudity isn't a choice; it's forced on them to keep them quiescent. Before their empathy surfaced, they were people just like you or me. They had families, friends, school or jobs, a home... All that got taken away when they were taken to training. They are stripped literally and symbolically. Guides have nothing to call their own.
"Don't you know, Christine?" Blair shook her gently, trying to get through to his stubborn fiancée. "Don't you understand?"
Christine twisted out of Blair's hold. "No, I don't understand, and I don't care. Maybe Daddy was right." She began twisting off the engagement ring, handing it to a shocked Blair. "Maybe I was making a mistake agreeing to marry you. I can see now that my life would be filled with those disgusting creatures, and I can't deal with that."
"Christine..." Blair pleaded, but was interrupted.
"I can't ask you to give up your life's work. You're a full professor now, and you love your work; I know that you do. And I love you... but I can't stand the thought of being around guides for the rest of my life."
"Won't you at least think about it?" asked Blair.
Christine stood up and headed for the door, grabbing her coat from the rack. "It's better this way, Blair," she said. "See you on campus."
The door closed as Blair's heart shattered.
+++++
"Maybe it was for the best," Blair said to the group of empaths huddled in the cramped living room of the small apartment the following Thursday. "I had no idea she held such a hatred for guides. God, I can only imagine what she would have thought if she knew..."
"We've all been through something like that, at one time or another," said Ronnie. "That's how this group got started. None of us can tell anyone -- not even those closest to us. But it's a heavy secret to carry. It helps to have someone you can come and talk with about it."
"I just thought I knew her better than that," Blair said, sighing.
There was a knock at the door. Amy, who was hosting the group that week, got up to answer it. She peeped through a crack in the door before opening it wide. "Terrance is here!" she announced with a grin.
"Terrance is our supplier," Ronnie explained. "He works at the Guide Training Facility in the infirmary." He stood and shook hands with the newcomer. "Terrance, I'd like you to meet our newest member, Blair Sandburg. He's a doctor of Sentinel Studies at Rainier."
"Nice to meet you, Dr. Sandburg."
"Blair," he quickly corrected. "It's nice to meet you too, Terrance."
"Because we have a number of relative newcomers to our group, I've asked Terrance to come and tell you a little bit about life at the Training Facility. Trust me, if this doesn't scare you into silence, nothing will."
Terrance stood over by the fireplace and cleared his throat. "Well, as most of you know, I work at the Guide Training Facility. Every day I see new guides brought in. In the infirmary, we not only care for the sick and injured, but also do cognitive measuring to find an empath's 'E' rating. Trust me, the procedure is not pleasant." He shifted his feet, his hands moving nervously as he spoke.
"When a new guide is brought in, they are first stripped and then given a full body cavity search. The procedure is invasive and unpleasant, to say the least. There's no medical reason for it; it's simply done to show the new guides they have no control over their lives anymore -- not even their own bodies.
"They are then leashed and assigned a training sentinel. From that moment on, for the rest of their lives, most guides never wear another piece of clothing. A few sentinels care enough to give their guides wraps and shoes during cold weather, but many regard guides as expendable and simply replace them if one dies of exposure.
"The training begins with bonding." Terrance stopped to clear his throat and take a sip of the water offered to him. "Sentinels need sexual intercourse to create the mental bond with their guide, so the first course of business is a rape -- both physical and mental. Once the bond is established, training begins."
Blair raised his hand and interrupted. "What if a new guide refuses to bond?"
"Few refuse," said Terrance. "It's mostly out of fear. Nudity makes you feel vulnerable, and most will do whatever they have to in order to feel protected. Those few who fight have an unpleasant time. Punishment can range from a whipping to stun guns. I once saw a training sentinel so incensed with a guide's misbehavior, that he shoved a cattle prod up the guide's ass and let him have it. We gave the poor creature a stimulant to keep him on his feet and the sentinel took him back to continue with the training.
"Most training lasts about two weeks. After that, the guides are taken to the Guide Market where they are put on public display outdoors and sold like prize animals to the sentinel willing to offer the most for their 'services'.
"Guides are people, not animals. All of them, like you, have family, had jobs, hobbies, things they liked and disliked. They had lives and people who cared for them. But once they were stripped and consigned to the Guide Service, they lost everyone and everything they ever cared about. They became slaves to the system, a mute tool to enhance their owner's senses and to satisfy the sentinel's heightened sex drive. Guides go from someone with a name to a thing with a number. They are treated like dogs -- worse than dogs. Don't become one of the statistics." Terrance sat down with an audible sigh.
"And this is why," Ronnie explained, "we can never tell -- anyone -- about our Talent. Not even those closest to us. As Blair found out, even those we think we know can turn on us. He was lucky; he found out his fiancée's feelings before he had a chance to tell her anything."
"Is there any way that the Wardens can tell we're taking the psi suppressing drugs?" Richard, a student Blair recognized from his one of his classes, asked.
"That depends on the Warden," Terrance explained. "A few are Mundanes, but most are Talents -- sentinels. The sentinels at the Facility are quite aware of the effects of the psi suppressing drugs. I'm sure you've all experienced them: a feeling of detachment from your body, grogginess, occasionally nausea or dizziness. But if you do not pass too closely, it's unlikely they will find out on their own. While guides are sensitive and can recognize a sentinel when he or she passes by, that is one sense where the sentinel is blind. The vast majority of guides are outed by friends or family."
"Are there any other questions?" Ronnie asked. "If not, I think we should get to dispensing of the drugs and then disperse before people become suspicious."
Blair paid for his supply of the psi suppressor and quietly slipped out of the meeting. He knew in detail how sentinels used their guides, but now he also knew the horror of their training, and he vowed he would hold his secret close to his heart, telling no one.
+++++
Two months later:
Blair looked out over the freshman anthropology class, glad that the lecture time was ending. "That will be all for today. Read Chapter 14 and write a short essay on the influence of sentinels in the Mayan culture."
A student raised her hand and spoke out, "How long does the paper need to be, Professor?"
"Two to five pages," said Blair, stepping down from the lecture podium and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
The headaches were getting worse, coming several times daily. He watched as the students filed out, and then picked up his briefcase and headed into the hall. He'd have to make contact with Ronnie again soon. He needed more of the psi-suppressing drug the dealer could obtain for him.
It had been nearly three months since his empathy had surfaced. Although the guide gene ran in the Sandburg family, he had hoped it had skipped a generation. At twenty-seven, he was far beyond the average age when the trait normally emerged. He had only recently received tenure at the university, and he intended to stay and teach. Anthropology was his life, but if his Talent was discovered, he'd lose everything, and that just wasn't an option.
His mind drifted back to the early days of his empathy, when the mysterious headaches had begun disrupting his life. During one particularly debilitating episode, Blair remembered passing a sentinel out on the quad the day he'd received tenure. His own senses had spiked off the map, leaving him blinded and dizzy.
Becoming a guide meant losing your freedom, your family, everything you'd ever known. Terrified of the possibility, Blair had kept his secret, trusting no one with his suffering, not even his former fiancée. A grad student had been the one to recognize his symptoms and steer him toward help. He'd sought out the dealer she'd recommended, desperate to control his pain so that he could continue his work. Feeling isolated and in constant fear, Blair had continued to act out his life as if nothing had changed.
Only, everything had changed.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small prescription bottle and tipped two of the tiny white pills into his hand. Psi suppressing drugs were illegal -- except when used by the government or designated medical facilities. If he was caught using them, his fate would be far worse than a mere jail sentence, but the drug was the only thing that stemmed the onslaught of the incapacitating headaches. Tossing the pills into his mouth, he swallowed them dry.
Keeping the secret had been difficult, especially with the constant presence of the Wardens on campus -- sentinels from the Training Facility who were on the lookout for new guides. Through his dealer, he learned of an underground network of empaths who were hiding their Talent in the hope of maintaining a normal life. As a student and teacher of Sentinel Studies, Blair knew all too well of the stigma with which his empathy had branded him.
The group had become his only friends as he slowly isolated himself from anyone who might not understand, or who might give away his secret. The past two months he'd been living on a razor's edge, balancing his current life and his emerging Talent, all the while trying not to fall into the abyss.
As the drug took effect and his headache eased, Blair sighed. Straightening his tie and coat jacket, he walked to the end of the hall, pushing open the door to the crisp autumn air. As he started down the Hargrove Hall steps, he brushed past two Wardens. The hackles on the back of his neck rose as he wondered if he'd finally been found out. The two sentinels gave him a curious look, but continued on into the building. Blair released the breath he'd been holding. He'd been so very careful to keep his secret, but even one slip-up -- the tiniest mistake -- could mean his undoing. He hurried down the stairs and on to the library to do some more research.
+++++
The following week had Blair's nerves on edge. The two Wardens continued to be a presence on campus, particularly around Hargrove Hall, and he had the uncanny feeling he was being watched. He found himself looking over his shoulder constantly and starting at any unexpected noise.
He was headed out of Hargrove Hall at the end of the day, hoping for a quiet evening at home. As he made his way down the steps, he heard a noise behind him and turned... His stomach plummeted and his heart rate rocketed as he recognized the two Wardens approaching.
"Are you Blair Sandburg?" asked one of the men.
"Doctor Sandburg," Blair corrected. "May I help you?" he asked, trying to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He knew the game was over.
The two men came closer, reaching out to grab Blair's arms to restrain him. "You're coming with us."
"Wait just a damn minute!" Blair blustered. "You can't do this! I'm a free citizen! Let me go, now!" He continued to struggle, breaking free and landing an elbow to the face of one of the Wardens.
"Damn you little cunt-ass guide!" The man stumbled back, cursing, his hands flying up to cradle his broken nose. His partner whipped out a stun gun and delivered a paralyzing jolt to the back of Blair's neck. Grabbing the arms of the unconscious man, the two Wardens dragged the new guide down the stairs and across the lawn to a waiting van. A crowd had gathered, students and teachers chattering softly, wondering what was going on. Blair was shoved inside the vehicle and the van sped off.
+++++
At the Guide Training Facility, Blair was led into the infirmary, occupied by the doctor, an aide, and four sentinels, including the two who had brought him in. One of the men had bandage strips across his swollen nose Blair noted with some satisfaction.
The doctor glanced at him briefly and then ordered, "Strip."
"I will not!" Blair stated emphatically. "I'm a free citizen and I demand that you let me go!"
"Be quiet, Guide, and strip... now," Chief Warden Cervinski commanded.
"No!" Blair struggled against his captors. "My name is Blair Sandburg, and I'm a Doctor of Anthropology at Rainier University. If you don't let me go, I'll call my lawyer. I've got rights!"
"You've got nothing," Cervinski stated coldly. "From now on, your designation will be 'Guide 427'. Strip!" When Blair continued to refuse, the Chief Warden waved a hand at the men holding him. "Take his clothes off."
Blair's struggle became more frenzied. "No, I won't let you! I'm a free man!"
With another gesture, the Chief Warden directed the doctor to take action. Approaching the captive, the doctor plunged a syringe full of a golden liquid into Blair's neck and emptied it into his bloodstream.
Blair could feel his limbs go heavy. He was still aware, could still stand and move, but he was unable to fight the hands that removed his clothes, leaving him standing naked and exposed in front of the board of sentinels.
Cervinski stood and came to circle Blair, his hands gliding over bare skin, cupping and weighing the new guide's balls, tugging on his penis and bringing out a measuring tape to determine size. "You no longer have rights. Once your empathy surfaced, you became a guide, a ward of the state until such time as you are trained and sold to a registered sentinel. You will not speak, and you will obey all commands given to you. Spread your legs."
Blair trembled, suddenly terrified. His nightmare was just beginning; the day he had dreaded and had tried to avoid. Despite the lethargy in his limbs, his mind was still sharp, and he refused to budge at the Warden's command. Without warning, he felt his legs kicked apart and the Warden reached between his legs to insert a finger into Blair's ass. The new guide stiffened, a groan of pain erupting from his throat.
"All right, begin the exam," Cervinski ordered.
Blair found himself lifted onto an exam table and pressed down onto his back. Restraints were placed across his waist, wrists, and ankles. The head end of the table was raised to a forty-five degree angle as the doctor approached with a flexible scope.
The assisting technician forced Blair's jaw open and the doctor began to thread the scope down his throat. Blair choked, gagging on the invasive instrument and struggling against his restraints. Terrance leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "I'm sorry, Blair. This will be easier if you cooperate. Try to swallow the scope, it will go down easier." He gently brushed damp strands of hair from Blair's forehead and gave the new guide a sympathetic look.
Tears streamed down Blair's cheeks as he tried to follow instructions, swallowing and gagging as the scope slipped down his throat on its way to his stomach. The doctor and team of sentinels watched the scope's progress on a small monitor.
"All clear," Dr. Weaver proclaimed, pulling the scope out.
Blair's gag reflex kicked in full force as the scope came back up. Once he was free of the device, he vomited. Terrance quickly got an emesis bowl beneath his chin as Blair lost his stomach contents. A damp cloth was used to wipe away the vomit that had landed on his chest, but he was not given any water to wash away the foul taste.
Next, Blair felt his penis being lifted and the discomfort of a catheter being inserted into his urethra. He groaned and tossed his head, finding his voice weak as he tried to protest. "...nooooo..." His urine drained into a collection cup that was handed off to a lab tech for analysis.
"Now the fun begins," Weaver said, removing the restraints and lowering the table flat.
Blair felt many hands turning him onto his side. An enema tube was inserted into his ass and he felt himself fill up with icy cold water. "...god..." he moaned as his gut knotted with cramps. "...help me..."
Weaver chuckled. "This is nothing, 427. Be silent now," he commanded.
As the tubing was removed and the water gushed out filled with fecal particles, Blair moaned with relief. His respite was short lived, however. Another scope was fed into his ass, snaking its way a full three feet up his colon.
"Nononononono..." Blair groaned as the discomfort grew with each inch the scope intruded further into his body. Terrance stood at the head of the table, gently massaging Blair's shoulder and whispering quieting words to the terrified man. Blair appreciated the gesture, even if it didn't mitigate his pain and humiliation. There was some comfort knowing that at least one person cared.
The invasive exam took upward of a half an hour before the scope was finally removed. Blair breathed a sigh of relief as the doctor walked away from the exam table to join the Warden and the sentinels, leaving Blair alone with Terrance. The med tech continued to gently stroke Blair's arm, rubbing his shoulder soothingly.
"It's almost over. Just one more collection and we'll be through," Terrance whispered.
Blair closed his eyes, squeezing out the tears, and sniffled. He nodded and tried to give his friend a brave smile.
Terrance moved away from his head and Blair felt his penis lifted once more and guided into the long neck of a collection bottle. "Just relax," Terrance whispered. "This one hurts, but the more you relax, the quicker it will be over."
Blair grunted in surprise and pain as something large was shoved into his ass. He grit his teeth against the discomfort, wondering what could be the possible explanation for his current predicament. "Hold still," he heard Terrance warn him just before a mega-jolt of electricity shot through him from the cattle prod causing an involuntary ejaculation into the collection jar.
On the gray edges of unconsciousness, Blair could hear the commotion as his sperm sample was capped and taken away. Gentle hands rolled him onto his back and smelling salts brought him back to his hell of reality.
"Sentinel Bartel," Cervinski said, turning to the man with the broken nose. "Guide 427 is yours to train." He pulled a collar from his pocket and locked the training device around Blair's neck, pushing him toward the sentinel. Blair stumbled, his knees weak from the electric shock and the strong psi suppressor still running through his system. Rough hands dragged him back to his feet as he heard a bark of cruel laughter.
Bartel's eyes glinted with ruthless satisfaction as he snapped a leash to the collar and gave it a tug. "Yes, sir, Warden Cervinski." Turning to Blair, he glared. "Come on, 427. It's time for your training to begin."
+++++
Terrance excused himself from the infirmary after Blair was taken away. Locking himself into the men’s room, he slammed his fist into the wall with frustration. Eyes misting, he remembered the bright, talkative college professor from Ronnie’s underground meetings. He hated seeing any of the fugitive empaths captured, but this one resonated more than most. He had seen first hand the effect this electric young man had on people, and imagined what it must be like to be a student in one of his classes. With a doctoral degree and his whole life ahead of him, Blair had had a lot to offer to the world at large. But now his candle had been extinguished. Now he would go naked and silent into a hard life and an early grave, and there was nothing that Terrance or anyone else could do to stop it. Sometimes life sucked, and this time more than most. He hit the wall one more time, bruising the side of his hand but not caring. Compared to what Blair was about to go through, this was nothing.
Gathering his anger and frustration inside once more, Terrance straightened and took a deep breath, schooling his features back to neutral before returning to his job.
+++++
Nothing in Blair's studies of sentinels and guides even remotely matched the brutality of the reality he was now forced to live. He followed along behind Bartel down a maze of corridors, trying to keep up so that the collar wouldn't strangle him. They passed a number of doors before Bartel stopped in front of one and slipped a key card through the locking mechanism. A quiet click indicated the lock had disengaged, and Blair found himself shoved through the door and down onto a bed.
"You're too doped up with psi suppressors now to be any good," Bartel sneered. "But your training will start as soon as they wear off."
Next to the bed was a heavy-gauge wire cage, two feet square and five feet long, with a thin pad covering the bottom. Bartel opened the door at the end of the cage and gestured to Blair. "Get in."
Blair looked at the cramped guide cage and shook his head. He'd already been demeaned enough for one day.
"I'm not offering you a choice," Bartel growled. He pulled a stun gun from his pocket and pressed the cold metal against Blair's balls. "Get in now, or you'll find out how it feels to disobey."
Naked, drugged, and helpless, Blair slipped off the bed and crawled into the small cage. There wasn't enough room to sit, and he had to curl up in order to fit the length. The cage was to be his home when he wasn't in active training. His studies had taught him about the cruelty of the cage, but he hadn't realized the full extent of the discomfort and humiliation until now. Trembling with suppressed fear, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
+++++
"Up and at 'em, 427."
Blair felt a billy club rap the bottoms of his feet, jarring him from a fitful rest. He backed out of the cramped cage and found himself hauled up and thrown onto the bed.
"In order for us to work together, we have to bond," Bartel informed him. "This is my favorite part of training." The sentinel towered over the stunned guide and opened his fly, pulling out an enormous cock. "On your elbows and knees," Bartel commanded.
The color drained from Blair's face and the reality of his situation began to finally sink in. Drawing in a shaky breath, he refused, "No." He backed away from the bed only to find himself pinned against the door. "I won't be your guide or anyone else's."
"We'll see about that," said Bartel. "All right, if you're going to be stubborn, then I guess you'll have to be taught a lesson." He clipped the leash to Blair's collar and began to tug. When the stubborn guide refused to move, he took his stun gun from his pocket and pressed it against Blair's balls once more. "You ready for a hundred thousand volts to your rocks? I can tell you right now, it ain't pleasant." Reluctantly, Blair took a step forward, following Bartel from the room.
They walked through the corridors to a large, central room that served as a training center and gymnasium. Near the middle of the room was a tall post with a pair of manacles dangling from the top. Bartel dragged Blair over to the post and proceeded to chain him to the stanchion.
Blair's arms were pulled over his head, stretching him so that only his toes were in contact with the floor. Rough hands turned him to face the post, exposing his back. A crowd began to gather; sentinels with their guides in training, to view the public punishment.
A cry ripped from Blair's throat as the first whiplash scored his flesh leaving a burning, bleeding gash on his back. Another and another followed, each tearing another guttural scream from the guide. Blair's vision blurred and he lost count of the number of lashes, giving himself over to the incredible pain. As the final lash scored low on his back, the whip's tip curled around his body and bit into the tender flesh of his cock. A gurgled cry escaped his ravaged throat and he lost his bladder control, a steady stream of urine splashing at his feet.
The crowd began to dissipate and Blair was left alone, still secured to the whipping post. Hours passed and sentinels with their guides came and went, some stopping to view the destruction of Blair's back, others ignoring the guide entirely.
The windows darkened and finally Bartel returned. "From now on, you do as I say or there won't be anything left of you to train," he growled, attaching the leash and unlocking the manacles.
Blair managed to shuffle behind the training sentinel back to their room. It was with a sense of relief that he crawled into the cramped cage to rest. At least his rape was put off until tomorrow. The lashes on his back ached with a deep, burning sensation; the pain keeping him awake most of the night.
+++++
The next morning, Blair was taken to the infirmary. Instead of treating the festering wounds on his back, he was pressed down onto an exam table and strapped in place. There were restraints across his chest and hips, as well as his wrists and ankles. Lastly, his head was fastened into a vise-like device, the chinstrap tight enough to force Blair's mouth shut, effectively gagging him. He listened with growing terror as the doctor and Bartel discussed his fate.
+++++
Dr. Weaver filled a syringe. "This radioactive dye will help us track Guide 427's brainwaves with the PET scanner," he explained. "By stimulating the brain, I will be able to track his responses and calculate his empathic rating."
"How soon before I know what I have to work with?" Bartel asked.
"It will take me at least a week to study the results and calculate his rating," Weaver answered, locating a large vein in Blair's arm and injecting the dye. He pressed a button and the gurney slid into the machine, where the first, baseline, reading was taken.
+++++
The dye entering his system burned like liquid fire, and Blair wondered what other tortures awaited him in this godforsaken place. He soon found out. A metal clip was attached to his earlobe and a jolt of electric current caused him to jerk in his restraints.
"Mm-hm," Dr. Weaver muttered, watching the results on his screen. "Very good."
As the doctor moved the clip to Blair's left nipple, Bartel spoke. "How does this work, anyway?"
"Quite simply, really," Weaver explained. "The pain stimulates the guide's survival response and his empathy center spikes. By delivering measured doses of electric current to various body parts, I can map the strength of his response. After running the numbers through the computer, I come up with his 'E' rating. This one looks to be a strong guide." He applied the electric current to the reddened nipple and watched the guide's body seize and then tremble.
+++++
An inarticulate cry strangled in Blair's throat as the agony of the shock tore through the sensitive flesh of his nipple. He mumbled and pleaded, his attempts going unnoticed because of the chinstrap. The clip was next fastened to his right index finger and the jolt, while unpleasant, was at least bearable. He shuddered as the clip was moved to his navel, fighting against the straps in a fruitless attempt to stop the torture. As the electricity coursed through his body, he came near to passing out.
+++++
"This is the last," Dr. Weaver informed the training sentinel as he exchanged the one, small clip for a larger, double set. The first clip engulfed the guide's scrotum, clamping down on the tender skin just above the testicles. The second clip encompassed the head of the penis. "For this final test, we will increase the voltage. There is no danger to the guide, but the pain will be excruciating -- enough for us to get the maximum reading."
+++++
Blair tensed, wanting to scream as the clamps were positioned on his genitals. The cruel devices were painful enough themselves, without the promised electrical current. His heart was beating so fast, he feared it would explode inside his chest. His breathing, restricted to nostrils filling with mucus, was labored. He tensed, waiting for the doctor to flip the switch. When the current came, it was like nothing he had ever experienced before in his life. Even the exquisite pain in his ravaged back couldn't touch the overwhelming agony. The pain seemed to go on forever, and as it did, the edges of his vision blurred, fading to black.
He was roused back to his pain by smelling salts. The clamps were removed and the restraints unbuckled, leaving his head for last. Not-so-gentle hands helped push him to a sitting position, and he listened as the doctor and sentinel spoke.
+++++
"The raw data looks very promising," Dr. Weaver told Bartel. "I'd make an estimate of an E8 or higher. I'll have the final rating to you in about a week."
Bartel clipped the leash onto Blair's collar and smiled. "Good. It'll be nice to have a strong Talent to train for a change. If only I can break him of his stubbornness."
"He doesn't look so stubborn now," Weaver commented, making concerned clucking noises as he glanced at the destruction of Blair's back. "You'd better let me treat this, or he could end up too sick to train."
Bartel sighed. "Go ahead, but make it quick. I want to get him back to my room to bond."
"He should be quite cooperative," Weaver agreed. "I don't think he has the ability to fight you right now. Once the bond has been formed, he will be yours."
The doctor went about treating the infection, finishing by rubbing an antibiotic salve into the wounds. "I want you to apply this to the guide's back twice a day until the wounds start to scab over," he instructed.
Bartel took the tube of salve and stuffed it in his pocket. "Thanks, Doc." He tugged on the leash and Blair slipped off the gurney, his knees nearly buckling as his feet touched the floor. Bartel grabbed his guide's arm and pulled him back up. "On your feet, 427! I'm not carrying you back."
+++++
Somehow, Blair managed to shuffle back to the sentinel's quarters where he collapsed like a rag doll onto the bed. Rough hands hauled his ass into the air and he felt a sharp pain as the huge cock entered him. His outcry of agony was abruptly silenced as a foreign thought entered his mind.
/ bond, guide! /
Pain and terror struggled for supremacy in his mind. A virgin to male sex, the hard cock felt like a ramrod piercing through to his gut. It was even hard to remember to breathe. Dragging in a gasping breath, Blair struggled for control, fighting to maintain his sanity in a world gone insane.
/ noooooo / you will bond with me, guide / y-you may claim my body, but you will not have my mind! /
"We'll see about that," Bartel growled. He pulled out of Blair's ass, still hard and aching. Without the mind bond, there was no release for the sentinel.
Blair felt himself lifted from the bed and dropped to the floor. The creak of the hinge on the cage was his cue to crawl inside. Curling up around his injuries, he squeezed his eyes shut, but sleep was elusive. His mind was a swirled jumble -- thoughts flickering too quickly to be recognized, but fear lancing through them all. His ass burned with a fiery pain, a constant reminder of his new status and all that he had lost. There was no going back, no respite, no hope of rescue from his personal hell. His heart thundered in his chest, his breathing labored as he realized the full extent of his situation.
He was no longer merely an empath; he was a guide.
+++++
"Come in." Warden Cervinski looked up from his paperwork to see Training Sentinel Bartel standing in the doorway. "How is 427's training coming along?"
"That's why I'm here, sir," Bartel answered. "I have not been able to establish a bond with 427."
Cervinski studied the training sentinel and frowned. "How is that possible? I assume you've given him adequate incentive."
"He got the whip yesterday," Bartel explained. "And today he was tested for his 'E' rating. By the time I got him back to my room, I didn't anticipate any resistance, but he was still able to block my mental advance."
"I see." Cervinski rubbed his forehead in thought. "Did the good doctor give you a guesstimate as to the 'E' rating?"
"He thinks 427 may rate higher than an E8," Bartel reported.
The Warden nodded. "A strong empath. Well, he'll have to be broken." He reached for the button on his intercom. "This is Warden Cervinski. Sentinels Travers and Mishka, report to my office immediately." Releasing the button, he turned to Bartel. "Have a seat, Sentinel Bartel."
Bartel sat and waited for the other two sentinels to arrive. Within five minutes, there was a crisp knock at the door.
"Come."
"Sentinel Mishka reporting, sir."
"And Sentinel Travers, sir."
"Very good. Come in and have a seat." Cervinski waited until his underlings were settled. "Sentinel Bartel is training a particularly stubborn and strong-willed guide," he began. "The best way to break such a spirit, I've found, is around-the-clock bonding. You three will take eight-hour shifts with 427. He is to remain awake at all times and is to be given nothing but a single cup of water at each shift -- no more. There will be no eating and no rest until he submits to the bond."
"Aye, sir," the three men answered in unison.
"Travers, you'll take the first shift; Mishka the next. Bartel, you have sixteen hours to rest and write your reports. That will be all, gentlemen." The Warden turned his attention back to his paperwork, summarily dismissing his men.
+++++
"So, what's he like?" Travers asked as the three sentinels made their way back to Bartel's quarters.
"He's a looker," Bartel admitted. "Has a sweet ass, too, but he's strong-willed. I suspect that we're in for a long haul."
"I give him twenty-four hours, tops," said Mishka. "I know I can fuck him at least three or four times during my shift. No food, no rest... He won't be able to keep up his shields against us for very long."
Bartel slipped his key card through the lock and opened the door. Travers and Mishka got their first look at the guide, curled in the cage next to Bartel's bed.
"He doesn't look like much," Travers commented as Bartel opened the cage door and rapped his billy club against the soles of Blair's feet. The sentinel watched as the guide slowly emerged and was dragged up to stand before them. "He does have a nice cock, though." He reached out to finger the limp penis and felt the guide tense at his touch. "Touchy little whore, isn't he?" Travers chuckled. He took the leash Bartel handed him and gave it a light jerk. "You're coming with me, 427."
+++++
For the second time in as many hours, Blair heard the distinct sound of a zipper as Travers prepared himself to bond. The sentinel pulled out his cock and began to stroke it to fullness, his eyes fixed on Blair's naked body.
"This is going to be fun," said Travers with a chuckle. "It's been a long time since I had to break a guide. Most just give in willingly. On your back, 427." He pushed Blair onto the bed and raised Blair's legs, pushing them up toward his head, exposing the tight pucker of his hole.
Weak from the morning's testing and one rape already, Blair didn't have the physical strength to resist the assault on his body. He grunted as his legs came up, his knees pressed into his chest. Once again, the sharp pain of penetration exploded behind his eyes in a blinding flash of white light. The pounding cock was soon joined by a forceful mind surge.
/ you will bond with me, guide! / . . . / bond, 427! /
Blair grunted again as the thrusts of the hard cock shook his body, demanding the release of the bond.
/ go to hell... / damn you, whore! bond! / I will not /
Fingers dug into his flesh and Blair cried out. The cock continued its relentless battering, feeling to the bruised guide as though it had penetrated into his gut.
Finally, the punishment ceased and Travers withdrew, hauling Blair up off the bed. "Well, if you're not ready to bond yet, maybe you're ready for a workout." He grabbed the leash and hauled Blair to his feet, leading him out of the room and through the compound to the exercise area.
Shortening the leash to keep the guide close, Travers led the way to the track and began to jog. Exhausted already, Blair stumbled but was kept on his feet by an abrupt yank on his collar. The sharp gravel cut his feet, but the sentinel continued to run, dragging Blair along with him.
After only five laps, Blair stumbled and fell, lying face down on the crushed rock. He barely registered his hips being lifted until the hard cock entered him again.
/ you will submit, guide / nooooo... / bond, and this will all be over -- no more pain, no more punishment / . . . /
Blair's world went dark as he allowed unconsciousness to claim him. The sharp tang of smelling salts roused him moments later, and Blair realized the hard cock still filled him.
"No sleeping on the job, guide," Travers sneered. "We're not done here yet."
Blair moaned as his body was pressed against the sharp rocks and the thrusting resumed.
/ you are mine, guide; bond with me / I belong to no man; you cannot claim what I refuse to give / you will submit, eventually /
With that promise, Travers withdrew and rolled Blair over, pulling the guide to his knees. "But I refuse to go inside until I'm satisfied." He pried Blair's jaw open and thrust his cock into the guide's mouth. "So you'll suck me off -- now."
Blair gagged as the cock filled his mouth, the head touching the back of his throat.
"Suck me!" Travers commanded.
Reluctantly, Blair followed orders. He was weak and needed to choose his battles carefully if he wished to retain enough strength to fight off the repeated assaults on his mind. With robotic precision, his tongue lapped the hard shaft, his lips curling around the glans to suckle. When it appeared that Travers was getting anxious, Blair took more of the cock into his mouth and increased the suction. Blood pulsed in the hard organ and Blair opened his throat to take in the seed as Travers' orgasm claimed him. Moments later, he was hauled to his feet and taken inside.
+++++
Travers headed for the lunchroom, keeping the guide close as he went through the cafeteria line, choosing his noon meal. Instead of dropping Blair off at the guides' table, he made Blair kneel on the floor next to his seat at the sentinels' table.
"How's the training coming?" Bartel asked with a knowing grin.
"He's a stubborn whore, all right," admitted Travers, "but I think we'll break him."
Mishka rubbed his hands in anticipation. "I can't wait for my turn. It looks like you've got him softened up nicely, Travers. He'll be easy pickings for me."
Travers reached out to push against Mishka's shoulder. "Hands off the merchandise, Mish. I'm not done with him yet."
"Hehehehe..." the Russian sentinel chuckled. "I'll get my chance."
"Care to wager?" Travers challenged. "Twenty says he'll be broken and bonded before my shift ends."
"Deal," Mishka said, shaking hands.
"I'd like to get in on that one," Bartel said. "I'll wager twenty that neither of you can break him, and I'll have him back in another twelve hours."
"Easy money." Travers chuckled, shaking on the deal with both men.
Twenty hours later, the bets had risen to fifty dollars and the three sentinels were all the more determined to break the stubborn guide.
+++++
"I can keep this up a long time," Mishka told the guide as he thrust into the tight ass. "It is how we kept warm during the winter in the old country."
"Fuck you," Blair retorted, earning himself three lashes of the whip for speaking out.
It had been nearly three days since the last time he'd eaten or slept, and Blair wasn't sure how much longer he could keep going. He knew the abuse wouldn't end until he submitted, but at this point, he would rather die than bond with any of his torturers.
The cock continued its merciless pounding into his exhausted body, while Mishka's mind pressed against Blair's dwindling reserves.
/ bond and you can rest / not with you; not ever / bond, guide, and your misery will end / I'll see you in hell first /
Blair felt the cock withdraw before he was yanked to his feet and shaken.
"You will break, you little cocksucking whore!" Mishka spat. "No guide defies me." He pulled a stun gun from his pocket and pressed it against Blair's balls, releasing a megawatt jolt of electricity through the guide's body.
A strangled cry escaped Blair's lips as he sank to the floor, cradling his burned testicles in his palms.
"No rest for you, 427," said Mishka, pulling Blair back to his feet. "You will work to stay alert, and then we will bond again."
+++++
On the third cycle of his fifth day without food or sleep, Blair was nearly dead on his feet. He greedily drank his water ration before Bartel led him out to the practice range.
The range was set up with false walls and obstacles from which cardboard cutouts of civilians and perps randomly appeared. Bartel was armed with a gun and live ammo, prepared to train his guide to work with law enforcement.
"Guide me," Bartel commanded.
Blair reached out and placed a hand on the sentinel's bare bicep, standing a bit behind and close to Bartel. As the cutouts began to appear, Blair could feel the pull as the sentinel drew on his guide's strength to increase the acuity of his senses. The loud report as the gun was fired made Blair wince. Over and over, the sentinel fired until Blair's ears were ringing and he felt lightheaded and dizzy.
As he began a slow spiral to the ground, he felt himself being lifted and carried inside. Smelling salts brought him completely around and he watched as Bartel extracted his cock from his slacks. For the first time since his arrival at the Guide Training Facility, Blair felt hopeless. Weak and exhausted, his meager reserves fled as his body and mind were entered.
/ guide, bond with me / sentinel / yes! my guide; bond / yours, sentinel /
His mind was filled with the foreign presence as the exhausted and beaten guide finally succumbed.
#-#-#-#-#
"Do you smell that?" Jim Ellison asked his partner, Henri Brown.
Detective Brown looked around curiously. "Smell what?"
"That cologne, or aftershave... whatever it is," Jim clarified. "The crime scene reeked of it."
"I don't smell anything. Are you sure you aren't hallucinating?" Henri whispered back.
"No," Jim answered curtly, then swung an arm out to block Henri's advance. "Shhh! Footsteps... our perp is coming."
"Jim, you're crazy. I don't hear anyth--" His statement was cut short as the distinct tap of footsteps on the concrete finally came to his ears. "Well, I'll be--"
"Shhh!" Jim hushed his partner again. Quietly, he checked his gun, snapping off the safety before standing and aiming at the suspect. "Cascade Police! Stop and put your hands behind your head!"
The figure paused, startled, and then a gunshot rang out from close range. Henri watched as Jim froze in place like a statue, and then began a slow motion sideways topple. A second shot rang out, clipping Brown in the shoulder. He was able to get off two shots, but both perps fled unharmed. Unable to give chase, he slumped down beside his fallen partner, trying to assess if Jim had also been shot. Getting on the radio, he squawked his request. "Get an ambulance to the corner of Hawthorne and McGilcrest. Officer down!"
+++++
Jim sat in the open ambulance bay fidgeting as the paramedic looked him over. "I told you, there's nothing wrong with me. I didn't get shot," he complained. "How's my partner? H?" he called, waiting for a response.
"Your partner is going to be fine," the paramedic informed Jim. "He lost a lot of blood and needs to go to the hospital, but he should be out in less than twenty-four hours."
"Can I talk with him first?"
"I'm sorry. We've given him a sedative for the ride. If you want to follow the ambulance, you can check on him at the hospital." The paramedic finished her exam of the detective and smiled. "Well, you seem to be telling the truth. I couldn't find a thing wrong with you," she said. "But you should make an appointment with your doctor to find out the reason for your blackouts."
"Blackouts? I didn't black out," Jim argued.
"Before we gave your partner the sedative, he told us that you did," the paramedic stated. "Just promise that you'll get yourself checked out. It's routine."
Jim nodded, willing to give the woman the answer she wanted to hear in order to be released. Once she signed off, he headed straight to his pickup truck to follow the ambulance to the hospital.
+++++
A knock on his door gave Captain Simon Banks a much-needed respite from his budget review. "Come." Jim Ellison poked his head through the partially open door. "Come on in, Jim. How's Henri doing?"
"He's fine, Simon." Jim sighed and sank into a chair in front of his captain's desk. "It was a through-and-through shot. He lost some blood, but the doctor says he can go home later this afternoon."
"Good. I'm glad to hear it," Simon said with a satisfied sigh. "Now, what can I do for you?"
"I need a leave of absence, sir."
Simon paused and blinked, digesting what his detective had just said. "A leave of absence? For what reason?"
"I don't know, exactly, and that's the problem," Jim began. "My senses have been all over the map recently. Henri told the paramedic that I blacked out, but I don't remember anything about it. Simon, whatever's happening to me could have gotten my partner and me killed. It scares the shit out of me."
"Your senses are out of whack?" Simon's eyebrows rose. "Didn't you tell me that something like that happened to you while you were in Peru five years ago?"
Jim nodded. "Yeah, everything got stronger, more pronounced."
"Like a sentinel?"
Jim's head came up suddenly. "I'm no sentinel, sir."
"How do you know?" Simon asked. "It sounds as though you have classic symptoms."
"There aren't any sentinels in my family," Jim replied stubbornly.
"That you know about," Simon countered. "Look, go to the Center for Sentinel Studies and get yourself checked out." When Jim looked like he might protest, Banks added, "I don't want to have to make that an order, but I will, if you force me."
Jim pushed himself up out of his chair with a sigh. "All right, Simon. Whatever you say."
"And don't come back without a definitive diagnosis."
+++++
"Ah, crap." Jim sighed. This was not the news he wanted to take back to his captain. "You're certain? There's no margin for error?"
"None, whatsoever," the doctor assured him. "Our tests conclude that you are most definitely an emerging sentinel."
"I'm too old for this nonsense," Jim grumbled. "Can't you just fix it?"
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Ellison," Dr. McKay said. "Do you perhaps remember any time as a child when you may have experienced enhanced senses?"
Jim grimaced. He remembered all too well how his father called him a freak and how he worked to suppress his errant senses. The doctor nodded.
"I thought as much," said McKay. "You've got a strong personality and have been able to repress your senses for many years, but they are now beginning to emerge again and this time, there's nothing more you can do to stop them."
"So what am I supposed to do?" Jim asked.
"Get a guide," the doctor told him.
+++++
"If the doctor said 'get a guide,' then you need to get a guide," Simon argued. "I can't have you out on the street and zoning on me without trained backup."
"I don't want a guide, Simon," Jim protested. "Don't you know how they're treated? Guides are men and women with families, friends, and jobs. They are stolen from their lives, stripped, tortured, and sold so that sentinels can treat them worse than the family dog. These people have lost all their rights, all their belongings. I won't be party to legalized slavery."
"I know exactly how they're treated, and it doesn't make me happy, either. But if you won't get yourself a guide, then I'll have to assign you to your desk," said Simon with a sigh. "I hate to do that with one of my best detectives, but I can't afford to lose you, either. It's your choice, Jim: desk or guide?"
"I'll have to think about it," Jim mumbled. He pushed himself up and approached the door to the captain's office. "I guess I'll get started on that stack of reports I've been putting off."
"Jim... please don't dismiss the idea out of hand," Simon pleaded. "There are several sentinel and guide pairs in the department, and they do a helluva job. You deserve to be the best you can be."
Jim nodded. "I promise I'll think about it."
Simon watched with dismay as Ellison left, closing the door softly behind him.
+++++
Had it only been a week? Jim chewed on a pencil before flinging it onto his desk to join the other ruined writing implements. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take this torture. The fluorescent lights hurt his eyes, the constant chatter assaulted his ears, perfumes and aftershaves clogged his sinuses, and the paperwork... the paperwork seemed to never end. After he finished all of his own reports, Simon started assigning other detectives' red tape to his desk.
Donald Sheffield approached with his usual arrogant saunter. "You really ought to consider the Guide Market," he commented. "It's a waste of good Talent to leave a sentinel chained to his desk. I'm going before lunch. Want to come with me?"
"No," said Jim, waving the man off. "Thanks anyway." Sheffield had also been recently diagnosed as a sentinel. Always a bit of a hard-ass son-of-a-bitch, Sheffield couldn't get enough of bragging over his new status. Once he acquired a guide, he'd be unbearable.
Jim went back to his reports, but he couldn't concentrate. Getting up, he grabbed his coat and headed out for lunch. Maybe he could get his head straight over a Wonder Burger.
Arriving at his favorite burger joint, Jim ordered a combination meal and took it over to a table near the windows.
"Need some company?"
Jim looked up to see Henri standing at his table. Smiling, he waved his partner to a seat. "Help yourself. I don't know how good of company I'm going to be, though."
"Something on your mind?" Henri asked agreeably.
"Yeah. It's these damned senses of mine."
"You should be excited, man!" Henri exclaimed, surprised at his friend's apparent lack of enthusiasm. "This is a great thing! Being diagnosed as a sentinel usually means a promotion. You're a lucky son-of-a-bitch. All you need to do is get yourself a guide, and you're set."
"That's just it," said Jim. "I don't want a guide. I don't want to become a slave owner. Those poor men and women... Their spirits are broken by the time they're trained. They're needy, dependent, and think of themselves as less than human. It disgusts me."
"Since when?" Henri's mouth twisted into a quizzical grin and he shrugged. "It never seemed to bother you before."
"I never had to contemplate owning a guide before. I've seen them on the streets with their sentinels, and they're almost invisible. Once you get over the shock of seeing naked men and women in public, it's like they're not even there. They're just an extension of their sentinel. It's sickening."
"Jim, once you have a guide, you can treat him however you please," Henri reminded him. "There's no law that says you can't dress your guide, feed him properly, and treat him like a human being. Admittedly, you'd get some strange looks, but you're used to that anyway." He chuckled when Jim turned to scowl at the remark. "Think about it." Henri pushed back his chair and stood. "I'd better get going. Since Simon teamed me up with Rafe, Mr. GQ has me working my butt off."
The comment made Jim smile. "Good luck, H. See you later."
"Bye, Jimbo."
Left alone with nothing but his own thoughts once more, Jim pondered what Henri had told him. Picking up his cell phone, he dialed the station. "Simon? Ellison here. I won't be coming back in this afternoon. I'm headed to the Guide Market."
#-#-#-#-#
Blair's training continued at a rapid pace. His strength was slowly returning with three meals a day and ample rest, as was his will to be free. A little more than two weeks had passed since his abduction and conscription into the Guide Service. The painful rap of the billy club against his soles woke Blair from a sound sleep.
"Up and at 'em, 427. I've got a surprise for you today." Bartel snapped the leash onto Blair's collar and led him out to the cafeteria for breakfast. When they had finished eating, the sentinel produced a black hood from his pocket and placed it over Blair's head, securing it with a light cinching, then locking it to the collar. "Mishka, Travers, you guys coming?" Bartel called across the room.
His colleagues joined the sentinel, and Blair was led through the complex and outside. He felt the cool morning breeze on his skin and shivered. As he was pushed into the back seat of a vehicle, his heart began to race. This was the first time he'd been taken outside the compound. While he'd become resigned to his nudity within the confines of the training facility, this would be his first time fully naked in public. He wondered where he was being taken for this lesson in humility.
The car stopped and Blair was helped out, the leash snapped in place almost instantly. Still blindfolded, he was led up a concrete walk for several minutes. Finally, they stopped and the hood was removed.
Behind him, a fountain tinkled softly, while in front -- Blair gasped as he realized where he was -- rose the steps to Hargrove Hall. Students and teachers were busy entering the anthropology hall for morning classes.
"Y-You can't do this!" Blair heard himself say. "People know me here! My students, my fellow professors--" He looked around in anguish as a small crowd began to gather. He could hear the murmurs of recognition, along with comments both derisive and sympathetic. He was so tuned into the growing crowd that he didn't notice the stun gun until the device was pressed into his penis and a low-voltage shock caused his body to tremble.
"Be quiet," came the sharp command. Bartel jerked the leash, dragging Blair closer to the onlookers, and then walked him down the sidewalk lined with people.
A familiar face appeared in the crowd. Kathy Hamilton stood along the sidewalk with tears in her eyes. "Professor Sandburg?" She reached out to touch his shoulder as he walked by. "Be strong."
Blair turned his head away, unable to meet Kathy's eyes. He couldn't imagine how things could possibly get any worse, but he was soon to find out.
Further down the walk, a man slapped Blair's ass cheek with a chuckle. "Always knew you had a fine fuck-ass, Sandburg."
Blair stopped and turned toward his abuser, pulling Bartel off balance with the motion. "Fuck you, Purcell. You always were a racist pig."
Purcell laughed out loud, reaching out to grab the flaccid penis and pull. "Look who's talking... guide. Now you'll finally get your comeuppance, smartass."
Rage flared in Blair's gut, and he lunged at his ex-colleague, coming up short when Bartel tugged on the leash. "Enough, dammit! Travers, Mishka, a little help here, please."
The three men dragged Blair to the nearest lamppost. Mishka held the guide's wrists together, while Travers bound them high over his head with duct tape.
While Blair was being bound, his eyes briefly connected with Christine's. His former fiancée was standing in the middle of the gathering crowd, her eyes hooded as she watched the unfolding spectacle. Blair's heart thundered in his chest and he longed to call out to her, but humiliation closed his throat. As he continued to look, his eyes pleading with her to still love him, Christine turned her back and walked away, leaving Blair to face his punishment alone.
Bartel unfurled the crop he had secured to his belt and began the whipping. The lash bit repeatedly into the scarred back, opening old wounds and creating new ones. The punishment drew the crowd like a magnet, with some cheering on the sentinels, while others wept at the cruel abuse. Blair's cries turned to whimpers as he sagged against the post, his back a bloody pulp.
Mishka reached up to slash the tape and free Blair's wrists, while Travers and Bartel caught the falling guide. Smelling salts brought him around once more, and the docile man was led out to the quad where he was pushed to his knees.
"You will learn your place once and for all," Bartel growled, unzipping his pants and entering Blair with a quick plunge.
/ you are my guide, and I will not have you embarrassing me in public; you know your place / yes, sentinel / you will be quiet, or I will have your vocal cords removed without anesthetic / yes, sentinel / Blair trembled, knowing Bartel didn't bluff. / bond, guide / yes, my sentinel; yours / mine! /
Blair felt his body filled with the hot seed of his trainer and knew that his fate was sealed.
+++++
Bartel stood before Warden Cervinski at full attention.
"Yes, Sentinel Bartel?"
"Sir! I have trained Guide 427 to the best of my ability, and while he still has some rough edges, I believe he is ready to go to market."
"At ease, Sentinel," said the Warden. He looked up from his paperwork. "It took longer than usual for Dr. Weaver to rate your guide's empathy. He said he couldn't believe the readings and had to run the numbers several times."
"Sir?"
Cervinski grinned. "He's off the chart. The ratings only go to E10, but 427's ability exceeds that by nearly tenfold. It's no wonder he was able to resist you for so long. Good work, Bartel; this one should bring a handsome sum at the Guide Market."
"Thank you, sir!"
"I wish to inspect Guide 427 one last time, and then I will release him for sale. Have him ready in thirty minutes."
"Yes, sir." Bartel waited to be dismissed, and then turned on his heel and walked out of the office.
+++++
Warden Cervinski circled the naked guide, running his fingers over the half-healed welts on Blair's back and inspecting the stun gun burns to his testicles and penis. Nodding, he turned to Bartel. "This one took more punishment than most. The scars may bring down his price."
"But at an E10+ rating, the sentinels shouldn't care," Bartel pointed out. "And we spared his face." He grasped Blair's jaw in a tight hold, turning his head from side to side so the Warden could see.
"Very good. First thing in the morning, then," Cervinski said with a pat to Bartel's shoulder. "Good work."
+++++
It was still dark when Blair was pulled from his cage. He was led through the building to the waiting car and driven across town to the Guide Market.
The cold morning air puckered Blair's nipples and pulled his balls up close to his body. He shivered uncontrollably, partly from the cold and partly from fear. He listened as a man with an Arabic accent spoke to Bartel.
"What have you brought to me today, Sentinel?" Sadiq Al-Kamil looked over his prospective merchandise in the light of a hanging Coleman lantern. "He is very pretty, but the scars are recent."
"It was difficult to make him obey," Bartel explained. "He's been trained, but he's still able to resist bonding when he's feeling willful."
"But he has bonded with you?" asked Al-Kamil, letting his fingers ghost over the pale skin as he continued his inspection of the guide. "He has an excellent cock and his sac is heavy. He will draw a good price despite his temperament."
"He has bonded," Bartel affirmed. "If a sentinel wants a little fight, Guide 427 is the one to give it to him; and you can tell them he's an E10-plus, to sweeten the bargain."
"Same deal?" Al-Kamil looked up at the sentinel with a glint of greed in his eyes.
"Of course. You keep twenty percent of the sale," agreed Bartel. "Just get me a good price."
"I will; I will..." the merchant promised, nodding his head.
"He's all yours, then," said Bartel, unbuckling the standard training collar and removing the hood.
Sadiq led the shivering guide to a display pole in front of his colorfully striped tent. Blair's wrists were shackled high above his head, leaving him open and vulnerable.
In the pale light of the lamps, he could see other naked men and women -- guides -- being brought out and shackled to poles along the open market street. His heart hammered in his chest as dawn began to tint the sky with bright swaths of orange and red.
With great trepidation, Blair awaited the coming of the sentinels.
Continued in "Moira's Blessing"...