FAITH SHINES EQUAL
© November 2002 by Charlotte Frost

 
 

PART ONE

Jim Ellison drew a breath as he crested the hill.  Stretched out before him was a great expanse of lush green meadow, dotted with daffodils that blew gently in the breeze.

He tried to tell himself that, yes, this was what he'd hoped for when he'd chosen this direction.  But the flatness of the view was unsettling, if only because he was more accustomed to forests and ugly multi-story buildings.

A tiny flicker of movement to the right caught his attention.  His eyesight zeroed in on the motion.  A person.  A man.  Walking with his head down toward the bottom of another hill.  Suddenly, the man looked up, squinting at the setting sun.  The breeze caught him just then, and Jim saw the long hair flowing out from behind his head.  The man smiled and closed his eyes.  He appeared to be savoring something.  The breeze or the sunlight? Jim wondered.

The man carried some sort of knapsack, attached to a stick propped over his shoulder.  He was dressed in jeans and an open, waist-length coat, which covered a cotton shirt.

Jim frowned.  Of the eighty thousand acres that made up Sanctuary, and the forty-seven people making use of the wilderness at the present time, what were the chances of running into another person within three hours after entering from the south gate?

At least there was plenty of open space in which to disappear.  Jim shifted his backpack and started down the hill.  In the distance was a forest and that's where he was headed.  Never mind that he had no particular reason to think the forest would offer him any more answers than the colorful meadow, or the arid region he'd spent his first two hours walking through.   But then, this was only the beginning of his journey -- a journey that had only a vague goal; of which he had no idea how to obtain.

At least he was free, for the next two months, of stares and suspicions.

In walking down the hill, he once again spotted the young man who was descending the hill to the right.  He saw the man looking toward his direction, but he wasn't sure if the other could make out his form.  Jim allowed himself a moment to ponder the man's purpose.

The heel of his boot suddenly slipped and Jim flailed his arms for balance.  It was in vain, for the backpack's weight dragged him down into a sitting position as his sliding foot shot out in front of him.  Just as his rear made contact with the ground, he felt a sharp pain at the underside of his thigh, inches from his knee.  He gasped in surprise, and then staggered backwards on his hands as he watched a large brown snake slither away into the grass.

Instinctively, his eyes followed it, working frantically to identify its head before it got too far away.

No venom pits.

Thank goodness.  The snake wasn't poisonous.

Gingerly, he got to his feet, then examined the back of his cotton trousers.  They weren't torn, but the snake had gotten a good hold of his flesh through the fabric. He could feel throbbing just beneath the skin of his tender thigh.  He took a hesitant step forward and was relieved that it didn't cause any additional pain.  He should be able to keep walking and would attend to the superficial wound when he camped for the night.  At least, he hoped his immediate plans would be that simple.  What if the pain from the bite would flair like his other recent wound had?  

Just as he started back down the hill, the incident shoved aside, he spotted the young man again, who was now rushing toward him and waving.

Jim had the feeling the wave was meant to be a reassurance.

He grimaced.  He didn't need help.

If the young man was in Sanctuary alone, surely he valued isolation as much as Jim.  Maybe it wouldn't take much to send him on his way.

Jim reached the bottom of the hill just as the man came within speaking distance.  He was younger than Jim had first thought.  Probably early twenties. Twenty-five, tops.

"Are you all right?"

The man had the largest eyes.  They reflected such concern.

"Yes," Jim said with less sharpness than he'd intended.  He instinctively reached to the back of his leg.  "I slid on top of a snake.  It wasn't poisonous.  It's nothing." Just throbs an awful lot.

"Oh, good, I wasn't sure what happened when I saw you fall.  Didn't know if you'd twisted an ankle or something."

"No, nothing like that," Jim assured, wondering what they were supposed to say to each other from here.

The other man held out his hand.  "Blair Sandburg."  His smile was full of youth and friendliness.

Feeling awkward at the unexpected exchange of politeness, Jim shook it.  "Jim Ellison."

When their hands parted, they stood looking at each other.

How do I get rid of him? Jim wondered.  Perhaps I should just say, "I'll be on my way."

"Are you headed anywhere in particular?" Sandburg asked.

Jim silently snorted, feeling the bitterness of his amusement.  No.  I'm going nowhere.  He gazed at the man more closely, having to admire him for asking it that way.  Where is he going?  Why is he in Sanctuary?  Sandburg's phrasing of the question suggested that he wasn't going anywhere 'in particular' either.  But Jim would never ask Blair about his intentions so directly. He believed in minding his own business.

He replied, "I was headed toward the forest to camp for the night."

Sandburg nodded with a grin.  "All this open space can get to a person.  Beautiful though, isn't it?"

The kid was serious.  Jim muttered something to satisfy Sandburg of his agreement, though he wasn't sure if a big open meadow of daffodils could be considered beautiful.

Maybe he's one of those free-spirited youngsters who wants to find beauty in everything, he thought. Wait until you've seen what I've seen, kid.  You'll lose those rose-colored glasses in a hurry.  Right after your best friend's body gets ripped apart by shrapnel, and he spends his final moments with his intestines hanging out, begging for death.

Sandburg was squinting into the sunlight, which was right in his eyes.  "Would you like company?  Just say no if you don't."

Jim hadn't expected that kind of honesty.  He shrugged, turning northwest.  "Sure," he muttered.

Jim's legs were longer than those of his new companion.  He was glad to be able to stay far enough in front to prevent conversation, but after some twenty minutes of listening to Sandburg's footsteps fall farther and farther behind, Jim started to feel guilty.  He slowed down.

It was dusk when they reached the forest.  They found a clearing just a few minutes later.  Jim could hear a stream nearby.

As he went about the motions of making a fire, he developed renewed awareness of the pain from the snake bite.  Okay, so now he was in Sanctuary, trying to deal with this... problem.  What was he supposed to do about the excessive pain?

"The wound is bothering you, isn't it?" Sandburg asked.   "Maybe I should examine it.  I'm not a doctor, but I am a scientist.  I've studied at Temmock University."

Jim knew that Temmock was one of the finest universities in the Empire.  Even though it was located in the Northern Territory, where the citizens were often looked down upon for their extreme liberal ideas, the graduates of Temmock were eagerly sought by the army.  They were easy to lure into military life because the army had the most advanced technology for the brilliant young minds to work with.

The kid sat near the fire, rummaging through his knapsack.  Other than collecting wood for the fire, he'd seemed unconcerned about setting up camp.  

Jim sat with his right leg out in front of him.  He felt the area of the bite.  "The wound is superficial.  I suspect it's just a bruise. But the pain is out of proportion to it." He watched the young man look up.  He couldn't bring himself to find Sandburg threatening.  "That's why I'm here," he admitted.

"What do you mean?" Sandburg asked, drawing a notebook into his lap.

Jim couldn't conceive of somebody needing writing supplies in Sanctuary.  "I'm in the military.  The doctors can't find anything wrong with me."  They suspect I am a coward.  "I feel pain more intensely than can be attributed to the degree of injury.  So, it's a psychological problem.  I was given the choice of spending time in a facility for the unstable to see if they could help me, or to come to Sanctuary for two months and find my own answers."  He sighed wearily.  "I chose Sanctuary, of course, though I have no idea how to heal myself.  I just entered this morning, from the south gate."

He wondered, since he had revealed so much, if Sandburg would do the same.

But the young man appeared deep in thought.  Then he asked, "Have you always been this way?"

"No.  I don't understand it.  It seems to have come on in the past few months.  I was nicked in the side by a bullet a few weeks ago.  The pain was so bad that I was... incapacitated."  Cried worse than a baby.  The shame of it....  "It got better, but they couldn't give a physical explanation." Superiors who used to honor me now feel disgust toward me.

Sandburg had wrapped his arms around his drawn-up knees as he listened, one hand still holding the notebook.  He looked quite serious.  "Jim, do you mind if I look at the wound?  I think I might be able to help you, but I would like to see it first, just to satisfy myself that it's minor."

Jim almost felt amused.  He couldn't conceive of how Sandburg could possibly help, but he had nothing else to entertain himself with for the evening. He spent a moment removing his trousers.   Then he shifted closer to the fire, stretching out his leg and turning it.  While Sandburg came closer, his own fingers ran along it, feeling the laxity of the skin there.  There was a redness to indicate the size of the snake's mouth, but none of those marks had penetrated through his flesh.  

"See?" he said as Sandburg looked closely.  "It's only bruising.  Yet, beneath the skin, it feels like fire.  I was able to mostly ignore it while we walked. Not anymore," he said tightly.  He realized just then that he was breathing heavier and sweat was soaking his armpits.

Sandburg's gaze shifted to his face, and he held up a hand in a soothing gesture.  "If you would like me to help you, listen to me."

Jim shrugged.  What did he have to lose?  "All right."

"Close your eyes."

Jim did, completely puzzled.

"Take a deep, relaxing breath."

Jim did.

"Now let it out slowly."

This is bullshit.  Jim exhaled a long, slow breath.

"Good.  Now, picture the wound in your mind.  Imagine the pain as something you can see.  Say, a big red, throbbing blotch over the wound."  Pause. "Nod when you see it in your mind."

Jim nodded.

"Now, slowly, imagine the red area starting to shrink.  It gets smaller... and smaller.  The throb is going away."

Jim focused on the image.

"Keep shrinking it until it's the size of a pin.  Allow a little pain to remain, as a reminder that there's an injury there and you should keep from hurting it further."

Jim watched the redness slowly disappear.

"Tell me when it's at the size of a pinhead."

"Now."

"Okay, open your eyes."

Jim did, waiting to see what was next.

Sandburg was watching him carefully.  "The pain is less?"

"It's - " Incredible.  "It's almost nothing.  Like a pin prick."  Suddenly, it flared back and Jim grimaced.

Sandburg squeezed his arm.  "It's all right that it's back.   You just lost your command over it for a moment there.  Let's go through it again."

Jim followed Sandburg's step-by-step instructions until the pain became so minimal it was hardly noticeable.

"Don't be afraid of it coming back," Sandburg told him.  He sat between Jim and the fire, watching Jim with a penetrating gaze.  "It doesn't matter, because you can shrink it again.  The lesson here, Jim, is that you're in control of your body.  Most people think that we're slaves to our bodies."  He shook his head.  "No.  Our bodies are under the command of our souls."

Jim could do without the soul talk, but he smiled.  "Thank you.  How did you know how to do that?"

Sandburg smiled back.  "My life's work has been in visualization."

Visualization?  That sounds like some youth rebel concept.  He almost snorted at the idea of Sandburg referring to it as his "life's work".  How can someone that young speak in reference to his entire life?

Politely, Jim asked, "What is visualization, exactly?"  He was genuinely interested, at least to a degree.

"It's what we just did.  It's taking something intangible -- like your pain -- and making it into something tangible.  When we can visualize it, we can control the way we view it.  By controlling the way we view it, we can manipulate it."

"The point being...," Jim prompted.  Then he clarified, "Give me another example."

An expression crossed Sandburg's face that Jim didn't understand.  Almost... regretful, or perplexed.  But the moment passed and Sandburg looked merely thoughtful.

"Okay," he held up a finger, "you're a soldier.  So, say you get lost from your unit, and you don't know which way is home.  You can visualize home -- making it something real and solid within your mind -- and then you can tell your body to follow the path there.  If you hold firm to your belief in the concept of home, your body will go in the right direction.  You'll instinctively know which way it is."

Jim snorted.  "Sounds like make-believe."

"It is, but it works.  Imagination is only immaterial until we decide it's real.  Take an example from a fellow scientist of mine.  His home had a beehive under the roof.  For five days, he spent an hour a day visualizing the bees moving away from his house.  On the sixth day, the bees were gone.  They'd abandoned the hive."

"Coincidence," Jim said automatically.  "Maybe it was a change of season."

"Explain it to yourself anyway you want," Sandburg said mildly.  "It works.  I know it does.  You do, too.  I just proved it to you with your wound."

Jim had to smile amiably at that.  "So you did.  Thank you."

Sandburg scooted back to his knapsack.  He took out some wire-framed glasses, put them on, and then produced a pen and started writing in the notebook.

Jim watched him.  "We should have killed our dinner before nightfall."  He realized he was making conversation for its own sake.

Sandburg didn't look up.  "I have some supplies for a few more meals.  But I'll need to go to the nearest Supply Center soon."

Jim also had a fair share of nonperishable food in his backpack.  But he was more interested in asking his next question, which now seemed natural and unobtrusive in light of the information Sandburg had offered.  "How long have you been in Sanctuary?"

"Two weeks."  The young man continued to write.

The lack of eye contact hinted that further questions would be unwelcome.  Jim began unloading his backpack with what he needed for the night. While opening his rations -- dried seeds and nuts and a sweet bar -- he was startled to realize he was still partially undressed.  Then he remembered the wound.  The pain flared as soon as he thought of it.  He just managed to swallow down his gasp of surprise.  His back was to Sandburg, and he closed his eyes and repeated the process to himself -- imagining the pain as a throbbing red blotch -- which he commanded to become smaller and smaller.

Is it really that simple? He wondered when the pain was once again under control.   If I'd known of this technique when the bullet nicked me, could I have so easily rid myself of the agony?

Am I now cured, and can I return?

But would he want to leave Sanctuary so quickly?  He had two months leave.  Would he want to return early to the old, dirty city streets, the horse manure, and the crowds that packed the ugly tenement buildings?  Be sent back to his unit to witness more death?

Comparatively, Sanctuary was beautiful.  And peaceful.

Sandburg pushed his notebook into his knapsack.  He shifted around and then folded his legs toward his body.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  Then, abruptly, he looked at Jim, as though he'd forgotten something.  "Jim," he said patiently, "I don't know if you know anything about meditation, but I just thought I'd warn you that I'm going into a trance to do my own visualization.  It'll probably take about an hour.  So, don't worry if I don't move for a while."

Jim blinked, trying to absorb everything the young man said.  Finally, with disapproval, he asked, "Don't you want to eat first?"  Hell, the kid looked rather scrawny beneath his simple clothing.

Sandburg shook his head.  "I will afterwards.  When the body's energy is focused on digestion, it takes away its ability to use that energy elsewhere.  I need all my energy for the visualization."  With that, he closed his eyes again, took a deep breath, and went still.

What the hell does Sandburg need to visualize? Jim wondered.  Is he in pain, too?

No, that couldn't be possible.  Jim was sure he would know, would somehow be able to sense it.

Well, it was none of his concern.

He heard something in the forest and his eyes focused toward the noise, his night vision kicking in.  A rabbit was chewing on some vegetation.  Good. I'll find him or a friend of his tomorrow for breakfast.  

It was a little strange, eating his own dinner while Sandburg sat there so still.  Jim knew only vaguely what meditation was.  Nobody in the army did anything like that. Hell, the act of merely closing your eyes was an invitation for death, unless you were closely surrounded by comrades.

Jim unfurled his bedroll, removed the rest of his clothing, and crawled between the layers.  He laid his coat out on top of the bedroll for extra warmth. His clothing became a pillow.

He was still awake when Sandburg came out of his trance.  With his eyes closed, he listened while the kid unwrapped something and chewed on it, then took sips of water from a canteen.  Later, he relieved himself, then lay down.

Jim let his eyes crack open to gaze across the fire.  Sandburg had no bedroll.  Should have realized that from how small his knapsack is.  His back was turned, being warmed by the fire, while he draped his own tattered coat over his body for cover.  He slept in his clothes, with nothing but his hands for a pillow.   It was still the warm season, but the night breezes could be cold.

Jim fell asleep, hoping the fire would burn slowly, so his young companion would keep warm during his rest.

---

The early morning air was nippy, but Jim took no time for clothing as his belly insisted upon a filling breakfast.  While Sandburg slept, Jim took his largest knife into the forest and made quick work of uncovering a young rabbit and slicing its throat.  It wasn't until he returned to their campsite, and Sandburg looked him up and down with mouth agape, that it occurred to him that a young civilian might be a little rattled by a companion, barely more than a stranger, running around the forest naked.

We're in the middle of nowhere, for goodness sakes, Jim defended silently.

He quietly went about the task of making another fire, refusing to dress until the rabbit's carcass was roasting on a stick propped up by a couple of rocks.  By then, Sandburg seemed long past his shyness.  He even offered to fill Jim's canteen when he made a trip to the steam nearby.

When he returned, Sandburg pulled another ration out of his knapsack.

Jim nodded toward the rabbit.  "I killed this with the intention of sharing it."

Sandburg shrugged.  "I don't like eating the animals of the forest.  I don't even have any weapons to kill them with.  There's plenty of food at the Supply Center."

A bleeding-heart sentimentalist to boot.   Jim restrained a sigh.  He remembered hearing that those in the Northern Territory only slaughtered animals that were sick, dying, or otherwise of no use.  "It's already dead, Sandburg.  It'll give you more protein than anything available at the Supply Center."  You look like you need it.  He was about to add that he had no intention of going to the Supply Center any time soon, then stopped himself in time.  He had no idea what Sandburg's plans were from here on out.

Jim didn't know how to ask Sandburg directly about his plans.  So, he said, "If you'd like to travel with me, to 'no where in particular', you're welcome to."  Until you get to be a bother.  "But the Supply Center isn't a place I intend to visit until it's absolutely necessary."

Sandburg nodded noncommittally.

When the rabbit was cooked, Jim spent some time cutting the meat into small portions, using a tin that served as a plate.  Finally, the cutting was done, and he held out the plate.

Sandburg slowly moved closer.  Then he took some of the meat chunks, which had cooled, into his hand.  "Thank you."  He moved back.

Jim relaxed.  At least Sandburg was somebody who could see logic, even if it went against his principles or beliefs or whatever the hell it was that made him not want to kill animals while roughing it in Sanctuary.  Sleeping in his clothes.  Probably hasn't washed them in two weeks.  No wonder he smells.  He just now realized that the peculiar odor, noticeable from the moment he'd met the man, was somewhat unpleasant.

As Jim focused on eating, he said, "If you want to accompany me, you need to wash your clothes.  They stink."

Sandburg was quiet for a long moment, but his contemplative expression didn't suggest insult.  Finally, the rabbit meat gone, he looked up.  "Jim?  I think I would like to accompany you, but there's something I need to tell you first."

Here it comes.  What, kid?  Are you prison bait?  Or worse?

Jim chewed the last of his rabbit.  Then he gave Sandburg his full attention.

Sandburg swallowed.  "I have Keetan's Disease."

Oh.  Keetan's Disease.  Fatal.  Of course.  That's why he's allowed in Sanctuary.  The Empress's guilt consolation for those suffering from incurable diseases, assuming they want to come here and are strong enough to.

Jim was comforted that the kid seemed so calm about it.  Damn though.  How rotten to get it at such a young age.  Or does it normally affect people that young?  He didn't really know.   "How long do you have?" he finally asked.

"Two months, tops."  Sandburg pushed back his hair.  "Well, actually, I guess less than that since I've already used up two weeks."  He brightened.  "I feel okay, though.  I've noticed just the past few days that I seem to be weaker.  But it's a subtle thing." Short laugh.  "Maybe I'm even imagining it."

Damn, and I walked way ahead of him yesterday while he struggled to keep up.  "What will happen to you when it gets worse?"  I hope it won't be agonizing for him.  I doubt he has killed.  At least let him go as peacefully as the rabbit I just slaughtered.

He wondered if Sandburg's death sentence had something to do with his resistance to taking an animal's life.

Sandburg chuckled.  "Now that's the funny thing."  His arms were wrapped around his bent knees.  His eyes shone with amusement.  "When the doctor told me I had tested positive for Keetan's Disease, my first impulse was to find out everything I could about it.  See, I'm a scientist, and that means I like to know things, to understand things.  But I found myself unable to proceed with my search.  I didn't want to know the details.  I didn't want to be braced for it -- you know, every time I coughed, wondering if that meant the end was upon me."

Jim nodded slowly.  He understood.

"What I do know," Sandburg said, more subdued, "is that my muscles will start to weaken.  Eventually, it'll get so bad that my lungs and my diaphragm will no longer be able to push air through my body.  That's when I'll die."

Jim continued to nod.  That didn't sound so bad, assuming there wasn't some horrible symptom that Sandburg didn't know about.  Jim had witnessed far worse deaths.  Still, he felt compelled to ask, "There's nothing doctors would be able to do to ease your discomfort?"

"They told me they could, toward the end," Sandburg admitted.  "But I didn't want my mother to see me deteriorate.  That's why I decided to come to Sanctuary.  It was very difficult leaving her and our village."  He looked off to the side for a long moment.  "But I felt it was best for me and for her. And my research."

Research?  Oh, yes, Sandburg's meditation last night.  "The visualization you were doing...," Jim hesitated, unsure if Sandburg was now willing to talk to him about it.

Sandburg nodded.  "I do it every night.  I record my impressions."

Jim suddenly realized, "You're visualizing the disease leaving your body."

"Yes, in a manner of speaking.  Actually, I visualize an army of heroes marching through my body and destroying the disease."

Hopefully, Jim said, "Then maybe you aren't going to die.  Maybe you've cured yourself."

A wry smile lit Sandburg's mouth.  He looked very wise right then.  Gently, almost chastising, he said, "There's a lot more to life and death than visualization.  Our great god Bree has a plan for me.  If that plan is for me to die young, then I have faith that it's for the best."

Damn.  He's a fucking religious freak.  Of course, finding out in your twenties that you've got a few months to live would probably turn just about anybody into a religious freak.

"Then why the visualizations?" Jim asked.  "If you don't think they'll succeed?"

"It's my life's work," Sandburg explained patiently.  "My record of what I've visualized and any changes I've noticed in my body...  someday it might be important to somebody."

Jim tilted his head.  "Were you planning on spending your remaining time here alone?  Before you met me?"

"Yes."

"Then how would anyone know of your writing?"

"Some day, somebody would find my notebook here in Sanctuary.  I have faith that it would be found when it's possible for it to do the most good."

Faith.  Something Jim Ellison was incapable of understanding.  More gently, he asked -- almost pleaded -- "How do you know your visualization isn't curing you?"

Another tender smile from Sandburg.  "I feel the difference.  It's a very difficult thing to explain.  But I know I'm not cured."

"Then why continue with visualizations?"  Jim pressed.  Sitting motionless for an hour seemed awfully uncomfortable, especially when the goal of a disease-free body wouldn't be achieved.

"Like anything else," Sandburg said easily, "one understands something better the more they practice it.  My knowledge helped you, didn't it?"  Another wise smile.

Well, damn.  The snakebite.  Jim had forgotten all about it.  He felt the back of his thigh through his clothing.  A tender bruise there.  That was all.  No flaring pain.

Jim gathered up his backpack.  "Are you coming with me?" he asked, forcing nonchalance into his tone.

Since he wouldn't look at Sandburg, he heard him say, "I'll bathe in the stream when the sun is high in the sky."

---

They followed the stream until they were sweating from their exertions.  They stopped when they found a place where the water was deep enough to bathe in. Sandburg proved to be not at all shy about divesting his clothing and wading in.  He looked pitiful though, body hunched over from the cold, but he appeared to warm up as he dutifully went about scrubbing his clothing against the rocks.  Jim took the opportunity to do the same.

He couldn't help but study Sandburg and imagine the disease that was inside such a youthful body.  Funny, he had never contemplated death before. He had entered the army as soon as he was of age, and death was always so present that one never had to stop and contemplate it from a philosophical standpoint -- the reality of it was all around.

They sat side-by-side on their coats, waiting for the sun to dry them and their clothing, which was laid out along rocks.  After watching Sandburg shiver, Jim took his bedroll from his backpack and draped it over the hunched shoulders.

"Thanks," Sandburg said as Jim resumed his place beside him.  "I've always been prone to cold.  It's not the sickness."

Jim looked up at the sky.  "The sun will warm you before long."  He took a bag of nuts from his supplies and poured some into Sandburg's hand. "We'll stay by the stream and have fish for dinner tonight."

Sandburg nodded, then focused on eating.

Jim smiled when a breeze blew into his face.  It was beautiful here.  Even with no sense of purpose, he decided he wasn't going to leave Sanctuary until his two months were up.

His snack consumed, Jim leaned back on his hands and stretched his legs out in front of him.  "So tell me, Sandburg.  Speaking from a strictly philosophical, impersonal standpoint, don't you find it a little odd that it's mostly the undesirables of society who get to enjoy Sanctuary?"

"Undesirables?"  Sandburg chuckled.  "I guess that's one way of looking at it."

Jim shrugged.  "I'm a head case.  You're dying.  Presumably, neither of us is very useful to the future of the Empire.  Wouldn't it make more sense for time in Sanctuary to be a reward of some kind for those who serve the Empire well?  It seems every man who has served in combat, at least, should be allowed to take leave here."

"I agree with you, Jim.  But man fears what he doesn't understand.  People instinctively know that Sanctuary is good.  But they don't understand why. Therefore, the 'desirables' of society avoid it.  Though I have heard of the wealthy who support its upkeep visiting it regularly."

Jim had heard that, too.  "Do you really think it's good?" he wondered.  "Or is that just wishful thinking?"

A serene expression took over the young man's face.  "It's good.  Out here, with nature, it is easier to be closer to Bree.  He's in the trees, the streams, the air, the animals.  In the cities, we've blocked ourselves off from Bree by taking refuge in our buildings, our busyness, our self-importance; our desire to overtake and rule others."

Jim shook his head at his companion's naivety.  "I'm not a believer, Sandburg.  If there's a god, he's a cruel and punishing one, and I don't see any reason to worship him.  I've been to war.  If he were compassionate, he wouldn't allow men to slaughter each other like that."

Sandburg turned to look at him, the bedroll falling from his shoulders, indicating he was being warmed by the sun.  "The horrors that men commit upon one another have nothing to do with Bree.  He created us with free will.  He doesn't tell us what to do."

Jim had learned a long time ago that it was pointless to get involved in religious arguments -- especially with friends.  However, he couldn't refrain from pointing out the obvious.  "How can you speak fondly of Bree when He has poisoned your body with Keetan's Disease?"  Sadly, Jim said, "You're so young."

"Lots of men die young."

Jim found that rationale hard to fathom.  "Aren't you the least bit angry that your life is being taken from you, when others will get to live so much longer?"

"No, not angry.  I trust in Bree's plan and my place in it."  Sandburg picked up a stick and drew idle patterns in the dirt.  "I admit that I'm puzzled as to why I've been through so much schooling, and I've had so little time to apply what I've learned."  He looked up at Jim.  "But I know Bree has a reason for that, too."

Jim realized there would be no getting through a skull that thick.  In an odd way, he was comforted by Sandburg's faith.  He supposed it was preferable to the terror he himself had felt numerous times, when he was certain he was going to die as a result of shrapnel and bullets blazing all around him.

Why do I get to live and he's going to die?  It made no sense.

Bree, if You exist... I hate You.

---

In the evening, Jim stood in a swirling pool at the base of a small waterfall created by the stream.  He'd crafted a spear from wood and stood in the water to watch the fish swim by.  He missed the first time when the setting sun glinted off a rock, but two additional efforts provided a fish for each of them.

As the fish cooked over the fire, darkness gradually fell.  Sandburg said, "I wouldn't have thought the army would have given you much practice in fishing."

"It didn't," Jim said simply.

"I can't imagine how you got those two fish so quickly."

Jim poked at the fire with a stick. "I see them coming beneath the water.  I aim, I spear them."  As soon as he stopped talking, he realized that there might be something odd about how he did it.

"What is it?" Sandburg asked.

Damn, the kid had keen observation.
    
Jim shrugged.  "Nothing.  I was just thinking that, recently, I've developed something of a unique skill for catching dinner.  My aim is true.  I am good at stalking.  I can hear animals from far away, before they know I'm there."

Sandburg nodded thoughtfully as he gazed into the fire.  "I've noticed that you seem to hear things that I can't hear."  He paused a long moment, then his eyes darted to Jim.  "Did you develop these skills at the same time pain started becoming exaggerated for you?"

Jim furrowed his brow, amazed that Sandburg had come up with that question.  It never would have occurred to him.  But... yes.   

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.  How dare his brilliance die with him.

"Did you mention this... greater awareness... to the doctors?"

Jim shook his head.  "It wouldn't have occurred to me.  I wasn't certain if it was really that different from other people.  Perhaps because it came on so gradually. And...," he swallowed thickly, "once it became apparent that they found my pain sensitivity... unsettling... I didn't want to give them further reason to condemn me."

With his stick, Jim pulled the tin with the fish from the fire.

"Jim."  Sandburg's voice was very gentle.  It was a long moment before Jim would meet his eye.  "You aren't condemned.  You're gifted."

Jim snorted, though he felt an inner craving -- to be known, to be understood -- and for Sandburg to explain his own self to him.  He wanted to believe that all that he'd accomplished in his thirty-six years wasn't doomed to be swallowed up by a reputation as a coward and an incurable mental case.

"What makes you say that?" he finally asked, still working with the fish.

"The proof of my very eyes," Sandburg replied with enthusiasm.  "How can there be something wrong with your ability to be so adept at catching our dinner?  How can it be wrong for you to hear the stream's water when I can't?  How can it be wrong for you to be able to find a safe clearing for us in near darkness?  The only negative that I can see is your extreme sensitivity to pain, and you now know that you can control it."

Jim was thoughtful as he handed Sandburg his plate.  He decided that there was no harm in revealing personal secrets to a dying man.  "Sometimes, on occasion, I've had... flare-ups, I guess you can call them.  I'll hear a bird screech, and it'll seem unbearably loud.  Or I'll be trying to listen to something far away, and I don't seem to be aware of anything close to me."  He looked away from his meal.  "That's not a desirable thing when in enemy territory."

"But now you can control it because you're aware of it," Sandburg said, his mouth and fingers full of fish.

Jim wished it were that easy.  But he was skeptical.  Still, what a relief it was to be able to talk to someone about this.

They focused on their food for a few minutes.  Then Sandburg smiled and asked, "Do you have a girl waiting for you?"

Jim shook his head.  "I intend to stay in the army, if they'll have me.  Being a career soldier doesn't seem to be very fair to a mate who's left behind to wait."

Sandburg nodded his understanding.

"You?" Jim asked, realizing he was genuinely curious.  Then it hit him how cruel the question was.  He quickly amended, voice soft, "Did you have to leave a young lady behind?"

Sandburg didn't seem bothered.  He grinned.  "Many young ladies."

Oh, the bragging of the young, Jim thought lightheartedly.  He grinned back.

Sandburg's expression was pleasantly thoughtful.  "I remember, a few years back, telling a friend of mine that if I ever knew I was dying, I would try to make love every moment of every day." He laughed softly.  "For a while there, after I did find out I was dying, it was big decision whether to spend my remaining days in my bedroom, inviting in anyone of the female persuasion who would see me; or to come and see Sanctuary."  Sandburg looked around at the trees.  "I'm grateful to say that Sanctuary won out, though I don't think spending one's final days making love would be such a bad thing."

No, probably not, if you're young and handsome and the women flock to you.

Eventually, Sandburg folded in on himself and went into his meditation.  Jim felt sad again, imagining his young friend visualizing an army of "heroes" marching through his body and eliminating the poison of his disease.

Jim wished, so much, that he could command that army.  He would eliminate the bastards in no time.

Yet, he could not pity Sandburg.  The man was admirably calm and brave about facing his own demise.

Instead, Jim pitied himself.

---

Jim watched with satisfaction the next morning as Sandburg burrowed a little more deeply into his covering.  Jim had talked Sandburg into removing his clothing and covering himself with Jim's coat and his own blanket, and sleeping with his clothing warmed inside the cocoon of his bedding. Sandburg had only hesitated a moment before agreeing, assured that Jim was plenty warm with only his bedroll.

Sandburg didn't stir until Jim returned with a pan full of berries.  He thought it would make for a better variety than another animal for now.  

Still swaddled in his bedding, Sandburg pulled on his clothes.

"There," Jim said.  "Don't they feel so much warmer this morning without you having slept in them?"

Sandburg nodded.  "Thanks, Jim."  Now fully clothed, he rushed off into the woods to relieve himself.

Jim wondered at times at the younger man's lack of preparedness for the wilderness.  But then, he supposed a dying man wouldn't have too much concern about surviving comfortably.

Jim pulled out a map of Sanctuary after breakfast.  He took satisfaction in Sandburg's watching over his shoulder with his glasses on.

"Where to now?" the younger man asked.

Jim pointed at the map.  "If we continue to follow the stream, we'll come to a Supply Center within a couple of days.  I'd like to avoid that, if possible, and stay secluded."  He glanced back at Sandburg to catch his reaction.

"All right with me, as long as you keep providing the meals."

He's so amazingly honest.   Jim said, "We'll cross the stream and head north.  We can stay around the perimeter of the daffodil meadow, and still be in the shelter of the woods.  In about a week, we'll be near the north gate, and we can visit the Supply Center there, if we need to."

"I came in through the north gate," Sandburg said conversationally.

Jim glanced back at him.  "Is there anything you left there?"  For your return, in case your visualization worked?

Sandburg laughed shortly.  "No.  This was a one-way trip, man."

After eating their fill of berries, they broke camp and began moving north.

---

"I'm glad you like the woods," Sandburg said a couple of days later, when they stopped for a mid-morning break.  "So do I."

"They're peaceful when you can trust that they're friendly," Jim admitted.  "Most of the woods I've been in have had the enemy lurking about.  They're very treacherous then."

"I can imagine," Sandburg said.  

Jim had heard Sandburg struggling for breath a few times during the morning.  "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Sandburg nodded.  "Fine.  I feel fine."  He patted his chest.  "Just a bit weaker than I've been."

"Maybe we should make an early camp."

Sandburg considered that for a long moment.  Then he looked up at Jim and said, "I don't want to do anything to try to halt the progress of this disease.  When I start feeling strongly affected, I hope I go fast.  Pampering my body isn't going to delay the inevitable, and it may only prolong whatever discomfort I'll be feeling.  I'd like to keep moving -- see as much of Sanctuary as I can in the time I have left."

Jim couldn't argue with Sandburg's logic.

---

The next day, Jim paused at the crest of a hill to study how they could negotiate the way down.  His eyes picked out the best pathway through the rocks and trees.

Suddenly, a loud shriek hurt his eardrums, and he jerked into a crouch, hands over his ears.

"What -"  Sandburg started to say.  Then he grabbed Jim's arm as a hawk flew high overhead.  "Imagine the sound as something you can see.  Like a bullhorn.  In your mind, start shrinking it."

Grimacing, Jim nodded.  It wasn't until he made an effort to listen to Sandburg's methodical, compassionate voice, that he could follow his directions.  

The hawk screeched again and it sounded distant.  Normal.

"Thank you," Jim whispered as he straightened.

Sandburg's hand was still on his arm.  It squeezed.  "The minute something like that happens," he instructed gently, "you have to realize you're in control.  All you have to do is imagine the offensive noise, or whatever it is, as something tangible that you can manipulate."

"Yes, I understand," Jim said.  He started forward again.

---

After they made a campfire that night, Blair spent some time writing in his notebook.

From where he sat by the fire, Jim said, "I can deliver your notebook to somebody -- perhaps a colleague -- if you'd like.  There's no reason for it to have to stay in Sanctuary, waiting for somebody to discover it."  After you're gone.

Blair looked up, his eyes smiling gratefully behind his glasses.  "Yes, I'd like that.  I have to believe that Bree meant for us to meet up, so that you could do that for me.  I appreciate it very much.  I'll leave a name and address inside the front cover of the book."  He went back to writing.

It took a long time before Jim was able to ask the next question that came to mind.  "Blair?"

Blair looked up sharply, and Jim realized it was the first time he'd called him by his first name.  He was surprised that he even remembered what it was.

Jim swallowed thickly.  "What would you like me to do... with you?  After...?"

The corner of Blair's mouth twitched.  "It doesn't matter," he replied calmly.  "It's just a carcass that my soul will leave behind.  You can bury it.  Or leave it for the animals.  Or burn it.  I won't mind."

The kid was sincere.  Jim felt his heart twist.  Despite all the grisly corpses he'd seen in his time -- their wide-eyed stillness making it obvious their prior owners had no further use of them -- he couldn't fathom feeling so nonchalant about the disposing of one's own remains.

Sandburg seemed to sense Jim's discomfort.  He put the notebook aside and looked down at himself.  Lightly, he said, "It's a body that's served me fairly well." Tight grin.  "I just always wished I would have been taller."

Taller makes you a larger target, Jim thought.  Shorter guys seemed to live longer in the army.

But not Blair.

He didn't know what else to say, how to make conversation.

But Blair did.  He asked, "What do you think will happen when you leave Sanctuary?  Do you think your unit will take you back?  You should be able to prove to them that you can control your condition.  Maybe even convince them that it's a gift."  He grumbled wryly, "Though I don't think you believe that yourself."

"I guess I don't," Jim admitted.  Then he added, "But I'm trying to be open-minded."

Blair returned to his notebook for a couple of minutes.  Then he put it aside and sat back against a tree with his hands in his lap.  He sighed wearily. "Jim?"

Jim's gaze flicked from the fire to his companion.

Sandburg's large eyes reflected trepidation.  "I know you've already seen a lot of death in your time.  Far more than your share.  I came to Sanctuary content to die alone.  I can leave you my notebook and we can separate.  I know watching me die isn't what you signed onto Sanctuary for."

No, it isn't what I signed on for.  

Did Blair think he was getting close to death?  Jim had noticed he was getting weaker, but not to such a degree that it slowed them down very much.

I don't want him to die.  Jim forced down the unexpected emotion that welled up.

Blair shifted away from the tree and put his notebook away in his knapsack.  His back was to Jim, his hair falling over his shoulders as he worked with the small bundle that held his meager belongings.

He is so innocent.  He is so amazingly intelligent.  

He understands me.  The only one who does.

How can he possibly deserve this fate?

To combat his sorrow, Jim moved closer.  Reaching out, he put his hand on Blair's shoulder.  He felt the tremors there... not of weakness, he didn't think.

Such noble words Blair had spoken, being willing to go alone to his death.  But the tone underlying his voice clearly indicated he hadn't wanted to.

"You know," Jim said quietly, wondering if he would ever have the courage to say these words to someone who wasn't dying, "there's nothing wrong with needing somebody."

Maybe someday you'll take your own advice, Ellison.

Sandburg had just lowered his glasses to their case.  He went still.

"I want to stay with you until the end," Jim said, squeezing Blair's shoulder again.  "I want to help make your passing as comfortable as possible.  It doesn't frighten me."  It's losing you -- not having you here -- that frightens me.

Jim smelled salt as Blair remained still, his face shielded by his hair.

Then, suddenly, Blair turned and pressed against Jim, his arms circling around him, clutching his coat.

Jim returned the embrace, his arms squeezing just as desperately, while the rest of his body seemed to melt from within.

"I'm not afraid of dying," Blair said in a quavering voice against Jim's neck.

"I know," Jim assured.  Blair's naked emotion wasn't from fear.  His hands stroked up and down Blair's back.  How wonderful it feels to hold him.

How long had it been since he had held anyone in his arms?

Only in Sanctuary could this happen, he decided, giving himself permission to experience as much of it as possible.

"I'm not afraid of dying alone," Blair went on in a strained voice.  His fingers gripped Jim's coat tighter. "But I'm so glad you're here."

Jim squeezed him back, equally hard.  

Why hadn't anyone ever told him how very special it was for one's sheer presence to matter so much to another?

In the army, you were merely another body, adding to the might thrust upon the enemy.

Before the army... well, his father had never been very pleased with him.  

He'd been nothing.

Now he was something.  Because Blair needed him in his final weeks.  

And Blair thought he was gifted.

He couldn't soil his memories of Blair by denying this gift, even if he didn't fully understand what his condition was.

Finally, Blair relaxed against him, his head on Jim's shoulder, now content to loosely hold onto the front of Jim's coat.

Jim brushed at the dampness beneath Blair's eyes.  He is always so open about what he's feeling.  He just now realized that such ability came from courage, rather than cowardice.

To enforce his self-determined mission, Jim squeezed Blair closer and said, "Your safety and comfort, until Bree takes you, is my first, most important task."  How good it felt to want to protect someone, instead of the Empire's impersonal holdings.

Blair closed his eyes and rubbed his face against Jim's shoulder.  "Thank you for being strong.  I felt so guilty about leaving my mother behind, forcing her to watch me for the last time as I rode away from our village.  I didn't give her time to adjust to the idea of losing me.  But I couldn't bear the thought of her grief, day in and day out, as the end drew near."

Jim said, "Especially if you were filling your final days with young maidens in your bed."

Blair laughed softly.

They sat like that for many minutes, until Jim couldn't ignore the rumble in his belly.  "Time for your meditation.  I'll catch something for dinner."  He started to shift, but Blair was dead weight against him.

Blair said, "Maybe I don't need to do the visualizing anymore.  Now that I know you'll be with me until the end... it doesn't feel like it's necessary to keep at it.  I don't know what more I'll be able to add to my notebook that's useful."

Jim sensed Blair's weariness, but encouraged, "Please don't stop now."  Don't give up.  "There's a reason why Bree hasn't taken your life yet."  Do it for me, if not for yourself.

Blair grinned at him.  "You can be pretty persuasive for a non-believer."  He sobered.  "But you're right. I still have a purpose as long as I'm still breathing."  He finally moved out of Jim's embrace.

Jim couldn't get the feel of their shared warmth out of his mind while he went looking for their meal.  It took him an unusually long time to snare a small rodent and a snake.

There was a peaceful silence about them as they ate, sitting closer together than they normally did.

The waning of summer could be felt in the sharp coolness of the mornings and evenings.  When Jim was stripped down for the night, he couldn't conceive of leaving Blair to his isolated cocoon of dubious warmth.  "Sandburg?"

Blair was removing his clothing beneath Jim's coat and his old tattered blanket.  He looked up.

Jim held his bedroll open.  "Please.  Sleep between me and the fire and be warm."

Blair blinked.  Then he grabbed his things, shivering in his nudity, and scurried over to Jim.

"I'll leave the bedroll unzipped," Jim said, "so you'll have plenty of room. Sleep with your back against me, and use the coat and blanket for your front side."

As Blair slid in front of Jim's bedroll, their limbs brushed together.  Jim considered what Blair had said about contemplating spending his final days making love.  Jim had never lain with a man, but he didn't doubt his ability to please Blair.  Still, he was afraid Blair would think it was out of pity -- if he was agreeable in the first place -- and he didn't want that between them.

Decision made, he waited until Blair stopped wriggling around.  Then he hoisted himself up on his elbow and spent some time spreading the coat and blanket out better.  Blair's clothes were wadded up and shoved between their bodies to keep them warm for the morning.

He noticed that Blair's body odor had become particularly strong, though it was somehow different than what he was used to from being in close quarters with fellow soldiers.

Jim relaxed, enjoying the closeness of another body along his front side, and placed a protective arm over Blair's haired chest.  "You're safe," he whispered, indicating his lack of intention, though he doubted Blair needed the reassurance.  If he woke up with an erection poking against Blair's backside, hopefully his young charge would remember Jim's promise.

Blair relaxed and went still.  After a few moments, he made an "Mmm" noise of contentment.

Jim turned and lay on his back, hoping he wouldn't have to say anything to explain why he'd shifted.  Eventually, Blair got the message and moved to face him, laying his head on Jim's shoulder.

Jim no longer had the fire to warm him, for Blair's body blocked its heat.  His arm went around Blair.  As he took a moment to gaze up at the stars, he considered that he didn't need the fire, for he was already experiencing the greatest warmth of all.

---

There was a change in them after that.  Jim discovered that protecting Blair was something he enjoyed doing on a moment-by-moment basis. Whereas, previously, Blair had sometimes traveled a few feet behind Jim, he now was never more than a few inches behind.  Jim found that he wanted to touch him often, guiding him around potential danger, or anchoring him back, such as when Blair was perched precariously to reach into a stream to refill their canteens.

For his part, Blair seemed to watch Jim closely, looking for further signs of his gift.  Sometimes, he would tell Jim to watch or listen for something, and then break into a big smile when Jim verified that he could see or hear something that Blair couldn't.

One afternoon, Jim said, "A storm is coming."  It wasn't until he'd spoken that he realized the sky was completely clear.  Blair was joyful when a cold, windy rain was upon them within a couple of hours.

Even if they hadn't been sleeping together before, they would have that night.  They made what shelter they could of branches, built a small fire, and snuggled up together, shivering, as they reclaimed their warmth.  Jim did not admonish Blair for neglecting his visualizing that night.

---

The cold rains passed quickly, and they were sweating from their exertions the following day as they climbed hills that led up into the higher mountains.

At one point, Jim paused and put a hand to Blair's chest.  "Shh," he admonished when Blair started to ask why he'd stopped.  He listened a long moment, then grinned.  "I hear a waterfall.  Let's go."

They found it an hour later.  It was high and narrow, filling into a large pool below.

"Wow," Blair said with wonder.  "It's magnificent."

"It's bath time," Jim announced as he began to undress.

Blair looked at him hesitantly.  "It's pretty cold this high up.  The water is probably freezing."

"Probably," Jim admitted.  "But all the more reason to make it fast.  You stink."  For himself, he was looking forward to ridding himself of the itch that seemed to be with him constantly.

He found a boulder about four feet high and dived in.  The water was cold, but so refreshing.  He began swimming briskly toward the falls, while keeping an eye on Blair, who was undressing slowly, obviously not too keen on the idea of immersing himself.

"We were washed by the rain," Blair protested, though he continued to strip.

"Not hardly," Jim called to him, from where he was doing a backstroke.  "You're the one who says I have a gift.  Trust me.  You smell."  Then, more gently, "Swim around as soon as you get into the water.  You'll warm up faster."

Blair looked pitiful as he waded out into the pool, his shoulders hunched and his arms wrapped around himself.  He muttered swear words beneath his breath, but boldly continued into the deeper parts.

Jim moved beneath one end of the falls, where the stream was gentle enough to not force him under.  He took great joy in feeling the cleansing water rush over his head.

He was relieved to see Blair, the water up to his chest, finally dive beneath the surface.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Jim called, when Blair emerged.

"It's cold," Blair complained, but he looked happy.

"Keep swimming around," Jim ordered.  "Give the water a chance to clean you thoroughly."  He glanced toward the sun, which was deep in the western portion of the sky.  "Then make fast work of washing your clothes.  We don't have much time for them to dry before the sun goes down."

Jim swam around for a while, then pulled himself up to the bank to get his clothes.  He started scrubbing them along a boulder near the edge.

Blair came out, shivering and sputtering, and grabbed his own clothing.  He moved near Jim.

Instinctively, Jim drew a deep breath as Blair approached, enjoying the clean smell of his companion.  He did it again.  And again.

His brow furrowed.  Something was different.

He moved closer to Blair and sniffed at his neck.

"What?" Blair asked.

"You smell different," Jim said.  He continued to sniff around Blair's neck.

Uneasy chuckle.  "Of course, I do.  I just bathed."

"No.  I mean, you smell clean."

"I know.  I just bathed."  Blair was starting to sound worried.  Then he chuckled again, as Jim now sniffed his chest.  "Easy, big guy, or I'm going to start wondering about your intentions."

Jim grabbed Blair's wrists and raised his left arm into the air.  He sniffed the pit, still finding the clean smell.  He raised Blair's other arm and did the same.  

A suspicion growing in the back of his mind, he released Blair's hands and stepped down to the rocks where Blair's clothing was waiting to be washed.  He picked up the shirt and sniffed.  And sniffed some more.

The old Blair smell.  Secretions of poison.

He sniffed yet again, to be sure.

Cautiously, his expression full of puzzlement and worry, Blair joined him.  "Jim... come on, give me a clue here.  What's going on?"

Fear.  For the first time since they met, Blair was experiencing fear.  Because of him.

Jim looked into Blair's eyes.  "How do you feel?"  He held the clothes away from his face, breathing in the clean Blair scent.

Blair blinked, shaking his head at his lack of understanding.  "Fine.  No worse."  Then, more forcefully, "I'm fine, Jim.  Why?"

What if I'm wrong?    "We have to get you to a doctor."

The fear returned full force.  "Why, Jim?  Like I said, I feel fine.  What's wrong?  What are you smelling?"

Jim held the clothes in his hand.  "This smells like you've smelled since we first met.  Even after you washed, you still smelled like this, only less intense. Now... you smell cleaner.  Like...."  How could he bear it if I give him hope and I'm wrong?  How can Ibear it?

"Like what?" Blair whispered, the wariness in his tone showing he was still afraid of what Jim was thinking.

Jim swallowed thickly.  He held up the clothes again.  "You've had an odor about you.  I thought it was part of your natural scent.  But now an element of that odor is gone."  Blair seemed to consider that.  Jim pressed, "I didn't notice it before, because the prior odor has clung to your clothes. But sometime between today and when you last bathed...,"  forgive me, "I think you cured yourself."

Blair took a step backwards, the fear blazing full force in his eyes.  "No."

Frustrated, Jim said, "You yourself just said you feel fine.  Better."

"Not better," Blair insisted, shaking his head.  "Just not worse."

"Why then?" Jim insisted.  "Why would you not be worse, if you're supposed to be deteriorating?  Are you so anxious to die that you won't consider the possibility?"

Now hurt flared in Blair's eyes.

"I'm sorry."  Jim reached out and took Blair's trembling shoulder.  The man was freezing.  "We have to get you to a doctor.  To find out for certain. You have to know.  I have to know."

With a stunned expression, Blair looked around him.  "Leave Sanctuary?" he whispered.

Jim wasn't looking forward to it, either.  But, "What if, even if you aren't cured, you have more time left than you thought?  Do you want to stay in Sanctuary, waiting for death?  A death that may not come for a long time?"

Blair slowly pushed his hair back, as he stared at the ground.  "Keetan's Disease... it's not one of those illnesses that goes through phases of getting better and worse.  The doctors told me that the afflicted person is born with it.  The disease lies dormant until sometime between the age of twenty and thirty, when it strikes and takes the person's life.  It never recedes.  There's never been a case of it having been cured or overcome."

Jim squeezed his arm.  Gently, he said, "Doctors don't know everything."

Blair looked up at him, his expression calmer -- and full of hope.  "Maybe not.  But it's a simple blood test that wasn't developed until recently.  The Keetan's infection is either in the blood or it isn't."

Jim felt tenderness as he ducked his head to look up into Blair's face.  "Maybe your imaginary army destroyed it."

Blair's eyes watered.  "I've been visualizing you leading the army."

Jim gulped.  Somehow, it now seemed all the worse if Blair wasn't cured.

He stepped closer to Blair, dropping the clothes and sliding his arm along the younger man's back.  "I'm not eager to leave Sanctuary, either.  But if it's such a simple thing to determine if the disease is still in your body, how can it not be worth it to find out?"

Blair nodded, his arms tightening around himself.

Jim stepped away and found his coat.  He took Blair's blanket out of his knapsack and laid it on the nearest boulder.  He then draped his coat around Blair's body and beckoned him to sit on top of the blanket.  "Warm yourself.  I'll see to the laundry."

---

After exiting the pool a final time, Jim started a fire to speed the drying process.  The sun was setting quickly and the mountain breeze was all the more chilly.  Still naked, he sat at Sandburg's feet, near the fire, leaning back against his companion's body for greater warmth.  Blair covered Jim's shoulders with the lower section of the coat.

"We're a day and a half from the south gate," Jim said, "if we travel faster and for longer tomorrow.  My horse is waiting for me there, as is a little money, my weapons, and few other belongings I left to the gate's keeping before entering Sanctuary.  There's an army outpost near the city of Wambaka.   We probably won't reach it until the following day after we leave the gate.  I can have one of the army's doctors look at you.  They have the best equipment."

Blair had become quiet and reflective the past hour.  It was a long time before he spoke, and it was a subject Jim hadn't expected.  

"I've heard that the army travels in machines," Blair said.

"That's true to a degree," Jim admitted.  "The army has incredible inventors.  They come up with more and more machines to help the army move faster and kill quicker, more effectively.  Of course, so do our enemies.  Spies are everywhere."

"Yet, you came here on horseback," Blair said.

Jim smiled.  "Most of us still use horses most of the time.  There aren't enough traveling machines for many men.  The machines are mainly for destruction.  Which is too bad," he noted, surprised at himself for sharing such intensely personal thoughts.  "If the public had access to the technology, our society would operate much more efficiently.  It would take us mere hours to get you to a doctor, instead of days."

"All of man's brilliance is used to destroy other men," Blair mused.  "The quest for power and the ownership of others is ceaseless.  It doesn't make sense."

"I never thought about it," Jim realized.  "Or, rather, I've always felt the senselessness.  But it never seemed any more pointless than my life has been in general."

He felt Blair's hand squeeze his shoulder.  "Tell me about your youth."

As darkness fell, Jim told Blair about his mother leaving when he was a young child, and about his father's continued disappointment in him.  Though his family was reasonably well off, Jim had no interest in the pursuit of money, and there seemed little in life that interested him.  He had joined the army to give him a day-to-day purpose... up until the time he was killed.  He had never expected to live into his mid-thirties.

Now, he reflected silently, he was glad that he had.

Later, Blair folded himself into position for his meditation.  He came out of his trance after only twenty minutes.  

"I can't concentrate," he admitted.  "It feels as though my work with my visualization is done."

Don't let him be kidding himself, Jim thought.  I can't bear what it would do to him if I've been wrong.

Blair sighed with frustration.  "If it's true that I've somehow held the Keetan's Disease at bay, I don't understand why I wouldn't have realized that within myself."

Jim was glad to have a ready answer.  "Maybe because you've been so focused on me and my 'gift', instead of yourself."  And instead of your devotion to Bree.

Blair fell into silent contemplation once again.

---

That night, when they prepared for sleep, Jim was sure he could feel a slight hint of body fat along Blair's ribs.  Further proof that he was better.

He considered making love to him.  But he knew the time still wasn't right, even if Blair agreed.  Despite the fear they each had of thinking very far into the future, it seemed that their thoughts tonight were distant and contemplative.

---

They got an early start the next morning and traveled until near darkness.  Their stops were brief and they said little; instead focusing their energy on traveling as quickly as possible.  There was one time when Jim felt a stab of horror when Blair stumbled while going down the mountainside and almost fell.  But then Blair grinned up at him, assuring him that the fall was caused by his own clumsiness rather than by weakness.

It was noon the next day when they stood on a hilltop that looked out on the arid barrenness that led to the south gate of Sanctuary, which was still an hour away by foot.

Jim put his arm around Blair and drew him close.  "Please forgive me if I'm wrong about this."

Blair smiled up at him.  "No matter what happens, you're already forgiven.  You've been a beacon.  I don't have any regrets."  Blair's smile faded as his eyes deepened.  "But know this, Jim Ellison:  I believe in your gift."

Jim hugged him and then led the way down the hill.

---

A guard, a member of the Civilian Enforcement Authority, manned the gate.  "I remember you," he said to Jim.  He glanced at Blair.  "I do not know him."

"He entered from the north gate," Jim said, "with no intention of returning from Sanctuary.  However, an urgent matter has come up, and we both must leave at once."

The man wrote down the notations.  Jim knew that the non-military means of communication meant it would be days before the man would be able to match up Sandburg's exit at the south gate with his entrance from the north gate.  Nevertheless, there was a lot more interest in policing who entered Sanctuary, rather than who exited.  There was little reason for the guard to want to halt their departure.

When the guard was satisfied, Jim was given the few possessions he'd left at the gate.  There were more supplies to fortify his return to Wambaka; plus, his uniform, his pistol and rifle, his meager pocket money.  His horse.

Jim asked the guard, "Do you have another horse that you could loan me, on my word as an officer of the Empress's army?"

The guard shook his head.  "None available."

Jim sighed as he looked at Blair.  "We'll have to ride double and that will slow our progress."

---

The ride to the city of Wambaka was hard and dry.  When they rode double, Jim had Blair in front of him, for he felt better being able to hold him with a steadying arm.  Blair had already confessed that he hadn't had much practice at riding since he was a young child, and he tired easily from the jarring motion of traveling on horseback.

Often, they would walk to rest the horse.  Their sleep was less comfortable than it had been in Sanctuary, but their exhaustion allowed them to rest.

---

Finally, they reached the city.  Peasants milled about the outskirts; merchants, travelers, and the general population, most on horseback, were active within.  The buildings were mostly three and four stories, crude and white.  The streets stunk of horse manure.  Crowds of people lined the sidewalks, going about their business.

The first thing Jim insisted upon was a visit to the bathhouse, so that the doctor wouldn't find his patient offensive.  Once clean and dry, and after another stop to purchase new clothing -- all at Jim's expense, since Blair hadn't brought any money to Sanctuary -- they were finally ready to find the military compound.

Just before they came to the last block of the city limits, with the compound a half mile away, Jim paused.

Blair was leading their horse and he stopped beside him.  "What is it?"  When there wasn't an immediate answer, he laughed nervously.  "Jim, the diagnosis can't be any worse than the one the village doctors gave me."

Jim had been trying to avoid thinking about the verdict they had come for.  "No, it's not that."

Blair looked sharply at him.  "Then what?"

Jim shuffled his feet.  "Look, Sandburg, I'm supposed to be on leave at Sanctuary.  The military's office machines have the capability of finding out information on a soldier in a matter of minutes -- even information from many cities away."  He watched Blair's eyes widen in wonder.  "Because this isn't a major outpost, I think my ID showing me as an officer will prevent them from having any suspicions and feeling a need to check up on me."

"And me?" Blair asked, clearly following Jim's train of thought.

"The military will allow family members full use of all its facilities.  Friends don't usually count unless you're of higher rank than my Major. Therefore...."

"What?" Sandburg pressed.  "I'm your nephew?  Brother?  Cousin?"

Amused despite himself, Jim looked at Blair and shook his head at the suggestion, a smile tugging at his mouth.  "Right.  I'm sure no one will be suspicious at the lack of resemblance."

"Oh."  Blair looked down at himself, then up at Jim.

Blair's hair was now halfway down his back.  His skin, even after the time in Sanctuary, seemed very pale.  Exotic.  Which could only be a liability, if any high-ranking officer took a liking to him.

Jim's idea might fix that, too.  "Look, Sandburg, I think the best way for me to enter the compound as a military officer away from my unit, and not draw suspicion for having a civilian accompanying me... well," Jim lowered his gaze again, "I think I need to make you my prisoner."

"Prisoner?"  Blair blanched.

"Yes.  If I say that you're an important prisoner being taken to Klazam for questioning, then that's probably the easiest way to explain your presence -- as well as insure your safety."

"Safety?" Blair asked suspiciously.

"Yes.  For one thing, the military doctors are the best.  But I'm afraid they tend to process men like livestock.  If you're a prisoner who is not to be harmed, they'll treat you better.  Also, your value will allow me to remain with you at all times."  That was the most important thing.

They were silent a moment, then Blair worriedly noted, "You said for one thing, Jim.  Why else would I need to be a prisoner to insure my safety?"

Damn, sometimes he wished the kid weren't so smart and inquisitive.  He didn't want to say anything to make Blair feel in any way self-conscious.  But he didn't want to be dishonest, either.  

Matter-of-factly, Jim replied, "Sometimes the men get weary of the whorehouses.  The higher-ranking officers tend to get overlooked when it comes to the 'man shall not lie with another man' rule.  A civilian from parts unknown... there's nothing to stop them from snaring you for the night, once you're in the compound.  If you were simply my friend, the brutish ones might even pull rank and demand I allow you to go with them for the night.  I would lose everything, including my life, before I'd let that happen.  But you being a valuable prisoner eliminates these problems before they start."

Blair's cheerfulness had faded with Jim's explanation.  He nodded and swallowed as he looked up at him.  "What do we have to do to make me like a prisoner?"

I love you, Jim thought.  I love your bravery and practicality.  Your intelligence and good sense.

May I never betray your trust.

Jim couldn't keep the discomfort out of his voice.  "I need to restrain you, bind your hands behind your back.  I'll need to put a rope around your waist to lead you forward, so that you can't get away from me."

"Okay," Blair agreed, though he obviously wasn't happy about it.

Jim's mouth felt dry as he stepped closer to Blair.  "When the doctor examines you, he'll probably want me to free your bindings.  In that case, I will probably need to hold my gun on you."

Blair laughed nervously.  "As long as it doesn't go off."

"Believe me, it won't," Jim said.  Especially with the safety on.  Jim placed his hand on Blair's shoulder and looked into his eyes.  "If I seem uncaring or harsh, know that it is only part of the ruse."

Blair forced a smile and patted Jim's arm.  "It'll be okay, Jim.  Let's do this.  But first I need to have a drink of water and to piss before you take away my freedom."

---

When Jim was finally satisfied that the leather strap around Blair's wrists was tight enough to bind his hands together, but loose enough to not cause him unnecessary discomfort, he squeezed Blair's shoulder and murmured,  "Thank you for trusting me."  He wasn't sure he could have submitted to the restraints, had their roles been reversed.

"The cause is just," Blair replied good-naturedly.

Jim had already tied a rope around his companion's waist, and he now picked it up in his right hand, holding his horse's reins in his left.  They started toward the army camp.

Jim dropped the reins when they came to the gate.  He pulled his army ID from his pocket and presented it to the guard.  "Major Jim Ellison.  I have a valuable prisoner that I am taking to Klazam to be questioned by the Empress's staff.  He needs to be checked out by a doctor."

The puzzled guard looked Blair up and down.  "He seems healthy enough."

Making his tone an impatient one of talking to an imbecile, Jim said, "Not all illnesses are visible to the naked eye."

"True enough," the guard relented, glancing away in embarrassment.  "The medical clinic is the second building on the right."

"Thank you," Jim muttered, then led his horse and prisoner forward.

It was a white, one-story building made of clay, like many of the buildings in the area.  He tied the horse to the post outside, then led Blair into the clinic.

The office that greeted them had a large waiting room and a staff that seemed very busy.  White-clothed nurses manned machines on the desks and worked with various documents.  The men waiting were all dressed in uniform and looked very bored.  Jim was relieved to see that they were all of lower rank than he.

He shoved Blair forward to the authoritative woman who was behind the counter nearest to the door.  "Major Jim Ellison.  I am enroute to Klazam and need the doctor to test the blood of my prisoner.   My prisoner says that he has Keetan's Disease.  I need to find out if he's lying."

She looked at Blair, her eyes a mixture of surprise at his appearance and sympathy for his possible diagnosis.  "Keetan's Disease is incurable."

As if Blair needed reminding.  "I know that.  And so does he.  He has knowledge extremely valuable to the Empire, and he might be trying to weasel out of his long-term interrogation by claiming his life is short.  I need proof that he is lying."

Blair added, "The doctors at my village said I had it.  They've given me only weeks to live."

She gave him an appraising look.  "Even if they are correct, I think you have more than weeks.  You would look more emaciated."

Yes!  But Jim remained outwardly calm.  

He didn't want to subject Blair to stares while they waited.  "We need to get on our way.  Please have the doctor see us as quickly as possible."

"You're the ranking officer," she said, glancing at the others waiting their turn.  "It'll be just a moment.  In the meantime, Arisha," she glanced at a woman at the next desk over, "will take the information on your prisoner."

"Thank you."

While answering the questions about Blair's name and age and other basic information, Jim watched his young charge take in all the machinery.  Even as a student at a highly-ranked University, Blair had probably never seen anything like the information processing equipment that was on every desk.

The woman returned.  "Follow the nurse," she gestured to a petite young woman who held a curtain aside.

Jim tried to jerk on Blair's rope, but his 'prisoner' was already following him eagerly.

She is attractive, Jim consoled himself.

He was relieved that they bypassed various examination tables, most in use, that were separated only by thin curtains.  The nurse opened the door to a small room. "We will keep this locked from the outside.  You need to remove his restraints and have him strip down and sit on the table.  Please have your weapon ready if you expect trouble from him."

Jim nodded, finding her coldness far more noticeable than her good looks.  After he and Blair were inside the room, she said, "The doctor will be with you shortly."  She closed the door, leaving them alone.

Jim stepped behind Blair and began untying the strap.  "Let's get you out of this."

"Wow," Blair said while Jim worked, "can you believe all that stuff in the office?  What do they call those things on their desks?"

"Computers."

"Oh, right.   Computers.  I've heard about them.  I think even some of our highest ranking University professors had them.  But I've never seen one."

The things I could show you, Jim thought.  But to see those fabulous things in the possession of the army would mean Blair would also have to know the horror of the army.

When the bindings were free, Jim said, "Off with the clothes, Junior."

"I don't know why I have to be naked," Blair muttered while pulling off his shirt, "if they're just going to draw blood."

"You know doctors," Jim sympathized.  "They like to exercise their authority by taking charge of your body.  Besides," he considered, "I think they have a protocol they're supposed to follow, no matter who the patient is or what their particular complaint is."

Shirtless, Blair worked with his trousers.  "Old Dr. Hillary at our village, he was a nice doctor.  He also said funny things to make you laugh so you weren't so nervous. He could examine you without making you feel like he was trying to 'exercise his authority' over you."

Jim heard footsteps.  "Here they come."

Blair stepped out of his underwear as the lock rattled on the door.  A moment later, the door opened.

A white-haired man entered, his expression as efficient-looking as that of the nurse, who followed him with a cart full of various instruments.  

Jim was standing back with his arms crossed, looking stern while he watched over his charge.  He had deftly shifted his coat to display the pistol strapped at his waist.

"On the table," the doctor ordered.  As Blair hopped up, he said, "Don't bother being uncooperative; it will only make things difficult for you."

Jim thought it best to intervene right now.  "He is extremely valuable, Doctor.  If he arrives at Klazam harmed in any way, the Empress will have my head."  Jim paused significantly.  "And I'll have yours."

The doctor glanced at him.  "At ease, Major.  I don't injure my patients.  I only help them, unless they won't let me."

Jim fell silent.

The doctor turned to the cart.  "We may as well get the most urgent matter out of the way."  He and the nurse worked with instruments on the tray, which Blair eyed warily.  

The doctor returned to his patient while the preparation continued.  "I've never seen anybody who looks like you.  Where are you from?"

Blair looked uneasily at Jim, as though to ask how much he should give away.

"Cooperate with the doctor," Jim said as an order.

Blair replied, "My village is in the Northern Territory."

"Do they all look like you?" the doctor asked conversationally.

"What do you mean?"  Blair seemed genuinely confused.

"Long curly hair on the men.  Pale skin.  Short."

Blair swallowed with a discomfort that Jim didn't understand.  The doctor was a jerk, but not cruelly so.  

Blair replied, "Some are all of those things.  Some are none of those things."

The doctor shook his head, as though amused, as he took a large syringe in hand.  "I've never in my sixty-two years seen a man with hair as long as yours.  Do you sleep with other men?"

Blair glanced at Jim again, while the nurse put a tourniquet around his arm.  Then he looked away and swallowed.  "No."

Jim wasn't sure what Blair wanted from him.  The doctor was at least as kind as any the army had.  Also, he didn't know if he was glad or disappointed with Blair's answer.

The tourniquet was in place and the doctor pointed the needle.  "Easy enough to find out if you're lying about that, too."

Jim stepped forward as Blair's face lost what little color it had.  "What do you mean?  His pleasures are of no interest to the Empress.  Such an examination is unnecessary."  He wondered at the feeling of protectiveness that arose in him.

The doctor's attention shifted from the hovering needle to Jim.  "You have a long journey ahead of you.  He could have tears and lacerations from his activities.  Infection would be serious."

Jim shook his head.  "He has been with me for weeks.  There has been no such activity."  His voice hardened.  "Take his blood test and be done with him."

Jim's hearing caught his companion's exhalation of relief.

The doctor turned his attention to Blair.  "I'm sure you're familiar with this process, young man.  Hold still and it'll be less painful."

Blair closed his eyes and turned his head away.

Jim watched as the needle penetrated Blair's flesh, and then the vein.

"Thank you," he heard Blair whisper beneath his breath.

Jim looked up sharply, realizing he had almost gone into a trance while watching the blood being drawn. His companion's eyes were still closed, and his expression looked far away, as though he was trying to distance himself from what was happening.  Jim wasn't sure if Blair was trying to escape the pain of the needle, the doctor's prodding eyes, or the fear that the blood test would reveal that death would still visit soon.

The needle was pulled away and the filled syringe was handed to the nurse.  She capped it and left the room.

The doctor put a cotton pad over the tiny wound and said to Blair, "Hold this and the bleeding will stop in a moment."

Blair did as he was told.

The doctor looked at Jim with impatience.  "Will you allow me to do a cursory exam while we're waiting for the results?"

Jim was glad to have the physician effectively cowed.  "You may examine him in any manner that he is agreeable to."

The doctor's eyes darted up.  "You allow your prisoner much leeway."

Jim's jaw firmed.  "He has proven to be cooperative when he is treated with a degree of dignity."

The doctor looked perplexed, but he shifted his gaze to Blair.  "Will you allow me to do a simple exam of your upper respiratory tract?"

"Yes," Blair replied, seeming much calmer.

The doctor took an instrument from the tray.  Conversationally, he said, "You might not be so cooperative if you realized what is in store for you at Klazam."  He looked into Blair's right ear.  "I used to be a physician for the prisoners many years ago."  He turned Blair's head to look in the left.  "It's amazing what can be done to a human body, and the body still survive."  He shook his head in disbelief and traded that instrument for another. Amused snort.  "I never knew of any prisoner they couldn't break."

Jim watched Blair gulp.  He'd had enough of this.  "Stick to your task, doctor."  He decided to support his discomfort by extending the ruse.  "He has probably been hoping the Keetan's Disease would take his life before we ever reached Klazam."    

"No doubt," the physician said as he took another instrument.  "Tilt your head back."

Blair did and the doctor looked into his nose.  A moment later, he produced a tongue depressor and had Blair open his mouth and cough.  Next, he took out a stethoscope and listened to Blair breathe.

Afterwards, he probed the glands at Blair's neck while he glanced over his shoulder at Jim.  "He seems quite a healthy young man, other than being a little underweight.  But that is to be expected for a prisoner who has been traveling."

Jim nodded and had to work at keeping his expression solemn.  It's impossible that he can be so healthy and still be ill.  He wanted to rejoice.

The doctor asked Blair, "Will you allow me to probe your genitals for abnormalities?"

"No," Blair told him with a firm jaw.  "They have always been healthy and they've never caused me any problem."

The doctor sighed at this rejection.  "What about your rectum?  It is difficult to stay clean while traveling.  We can spot any infections from bacteria or parasites."

Jim knew that was even less likely to get an affirmative.  "I've made him bathe frequently," he put in.  "He has only been fed what I eat myself, and I cook fresh food thoroughly."

The doctor didn't react, but glared at Blair.  "What about it, young man?  Or is there something abnormal about you people from the Northern Territory that you need to hide?"

Blair's jaw tightened as he leaned forward so that his face was only inches from the doctor's.  "We both know that the only reason you want to see me back there is so you can find out if others have had what you yourself want."  He didn't blink.

The physician's eyes widened indignantly as he pulled his head back. An angry red hue crawled up his neck. Then his fist clenched as he kept his eyes on Blair. "You allow him to speak like that to a superior?" he demanded of Jim.

Jim was almost bursting with pride.  He'd never seen Blair angry before.  He seemed too kind and gentle-hearted.  "You are not his superior," he replied simply.  "He is a prisoner wanted only for his information.  He is not suspected of any offense against the Empire.  You deserved his words."

The doctor's face was beet red and Jim had little doubt that he'd struck patients before, if they didn't bow to his will.

The lock rattled, and they all watched the nurse enter.  She handed the doctor a clipboard.

The doctor perused the top sheet, then aggressively flipped it up to read the one beneath.  He grinned wickedly at Blair.  "Either your village doctors are incompetents, or you were lying to save yourself from torture.  It won't help.  I take great pleasure in knowing what the Empress's guards will do to you to extract information."

With forced casualness, Jim asked, "He doesn't have Keetan's Disease?"

"No," the doctor said, still flushed red.  "Get him dressed and get out."

Jim shifted.  "I want written proof that he doesn't have the disease to take with me."

"It'll be waiting for you at the front desk."  The doctor joined the nurse at the door.  "Knock when you have him in restraints and the nurse will let you out."  He and the nurse exited.

The door locked.

Blair glanced up at Jim, his face still pale.  "No man who behaved like that would ever be allowed to be a doctor in our village.  Compassion is a requirement."

"Sorry," Jim said softly.  "I've been in the army so long, it's easy to forget how harsh our way of life can seem to others."  He was about to say more, but noticed that Blair didn't seem to be listening, as he sat hunched on the table and staring to one side.

Blair whispered, "I'm not dying."

Jim felt his heart swell.  "No.  You cured yourself."

Blair looked at him with teary eyes.  "If it hadn't been for you, I would still be in Sanctuary, waiting to die."

"And if it hadn't been for you," Jim said, "I wouldn't have believed that I could have smelled the difference about you."  His voice softened.  "Nor would I have understood my 'gift'."

Blair smiled hugely.

Jim stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Blair.  He held him a moment, wanting to feel that warm closeness forever, but forced himself to say, "Come on. Get dressed, so we can get out of here.  We'll go to the barracks where we'll at least have a private room for the night to rest, and be provided with all the food we want."  

He had never been so grateful to be an officer and privy to the benefits of his rank.

---

Jim tied his horse to the post in front of the large barracks building.  He was anxious to get a room and get Blair out of his restraints.  It had been a quarter-mile walk from the clinic, and he'd hated Blair being exposed to so many stares from the men milling about.  A few had even made catcalls, and Jim was grateful that his young charge ignored them.

He knew he should start thinking about tomorrow.  But he was reluctant to think past the coming night.  He wanted to get them safely into some private quarters, free Blair's bindings, and then....

Jim sighed as he entered the barracks' lobby with Blair in tow in one hand, and his backpack -- which also contained Blair's belongings -- in the other. 

Perhaps he was truly mental.  Blair now had his life back.  He was twenty-five years old and had his entire adult life to look forward to.  Who knew what he wanted to do with his future.

Jim presented his ID at the desk.  "Major Ellison.  I need quarters for the night."

The heavy-set desk sergeant asked, "Will your prisoner be staying with you?  All quarters only have one bunk and the stockade has plenty of room for the likes of him."  He looked at Blair with a mean-spirited leer.

"He is in my charge twenty-four hours a day," Jim said.  He hadn't expected there to be more than one bed.  Even officers' quarters were extremely small, with only the bare necessities.  "He'll be staying with me, but I assure you that I won't let him be any trouble."

"Very well."  The officer wrote down some information in his log, then asked, "Would you like food brought to you?"

"Not at the moment.  I'll let you know when I'm hungry."  Actually, food would be a good idea, but Jim wanted Blair's restraints off, and that meant he couldn't let others see into their room unless he was very careful.

"Hot water for a bath?"

"Unnecessary," Jim replied, grateful that he still felt clean, and Blair smelled clean.

"What about your horses?"

"I have one horse," Jim told him.  "Please see that he is bedded down in the stables for the night and have the blacksmith fit him with new shoes."

"Yes, sir."  

"Also, inquire at the stables if there are any horses available for my prisoner to ride.  Our journey to Klazam will be extra long and difficult with just one horse."

"Will do, Major.  But I already know that horses are a scarce commodity."

Of course.  That was usually the case, because so many were lost in war.  "Do what you can, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir.  Here is your key."  The clerk placed it on the desk.  "It's number 222 on the second floor, at the end of the hall."

"Thank you, Sergeant."  Jim pocketed the key.

He sensed Blair's discomfort from his restraints as they went up the stairs.  Jim pasted a grim expression on his face, successfully dissuading the one officer they passed from asking questions.  Thankfully, it was in the middle of the afternoon and the barracks were relatively empty, since the men were at their various duty stations.

He found their room at the end of the hall.  He unlocked the door and ushered Blair in.

"Wow," Blair said, "it's really small."

Jim locked the door and went to work on Blair's bindings.  "It beats the accommodations for the infantrymen.  They have to settle for a bunk in a large communal area, and the only place they can store their belongs is underneath their bunks."  Jim glanced around the room as he worked.  "At least we have a bed instead of a cot, a sink, and a toilet closet."

Blair's hands were free and both worked with the waist rope.  The younger man said, "I've never seen a toilet closet."

"The waste is dropped to a pipe in the ground," Jim explained, "which flushes it to a disposal site that runs into the latrines."

The bindings were done.  Jim straightened and took Blair by the shoulders.  He wasn't sure how to say what he wanted -- what he hoped for -- so he looked into Blair's eyes, willing that the young man would sense his meaning.  "I think," he said softly, "that the rest of tonight should be devoted to celebration.  Of life."

Blair's eyes grew bigger as he gazed back at Jim.  His face broke into a huge smile.  "Yes."

With that permission, a wave of passion rushed through Jim's body.  He grabbed Blair by the arms and pushed him onto the bed.  Blair fell back with his legs spread, and Jim saw the desire tenting his jeans.

He knelt on the mattress beside Blair and claimed his mouth.  Sweet, sweet, sweet.  His hand went down to the thick mound at Blair's crotch and rubbed back and forth across it, and his nose caught a whiff of pre-ejaculate.

Blair whimpered and thrust against Jim's hand.

Jim rubbed in a wider circle and felt the closure.  He undid it, and then slid his hand inside to the most wonderful stout flesh.  He exposed it to the air. He pressed down on Blair's lips as he felt the tremors of delight that raced through the hardness he held.

More whimpers.  Blair's shaft moved in his grasp.

Jim's body ached with need that was painful.  He could stand it no more.  He used all his will power to release Blair.  "Get undressed," he gasped, grateful for the awareness that their current clothes were all the decent trappings they had.

Blair jumped up and was naked within a minute.  He laid back crossway on the mattress, his mouth falling open as Jim finally managed to push his pants down.  Jim supposed his erection looked large and intimidating.  But he saw Blair lick his lips, and he wondered if it had been intentional or unconscious.

Naked, he knelt before Blair and pushed his legs apart.  Despite his own need, his desire to taste Blair was even stronger.  He took himself in hand and leaned forward to take Blair's hardness in his mouth.

Mmm.  It was so firm, yet with the softest skin, the powerful flavor of human seed at the tip.  His tongue and lips were registering the nerves running below the surface.  He sucked, knowing just where to plant his undulating tongue.

Blair bucked and cried out.  His body quivered as his seed erupted.  One firm stroke of his own hand, and Jim felt a release that matched Blair's in its desperation. He pointed it to the floor.

"Oh, Bree!" Blair cried, collapsing back on the bed.  "Oh, Bree.  Oh, dear Bree."

Jim caught the sound of voices.  As the peak of the pleasure receded from his loins, he tilted his head to listen.  He found the voices and concentrated so that he could hear them.

"He has a prisoner in the room with him," he heard the desk sergeant say.  "No doubt, the prisoner is being unruly and needs disciplining."

A gruff voice replied, "Hopefully, the Major will be quick about it and not still be at it at nightfall."

"Jim?"

Jim glanced up to see Blair looking at him, still lying back on the bed.  His hand had a grip on Jim's shoulder.

Jim smiled at Blair.  He felt his heart swell as he crawled onto the bed next to him, taking the sated form into his arms.  "They heard your cries at the desk.  They think you are being subjected to discipline."

Blair gazed into his eyes.  "If this is your idea of discipline, I'll be as naughty as I can to get more of it."

Jim kissed him sweetly, knowing it would be a rare chance to not let passion rule, since his maleness was already wanting more of Blair.  He whispered, "I wanted to love you back in Sanctuary.  But I was afraid you would think it out of pity."

"I wanted you to love me," Blair said, laying his head on Jim's shoulder.  "But I knew you would be afraid that I would think that."

"We have the rest of the afternoon and all of tonight to make up for it," Jim vowed.

Blair's large eyes gazed up at him.  "I have never known pleasure like that.  It was even better than my fantasies."

Yes, Blair's oral experiences were likely only in fantasy.  Village maidens probably weren't as knowledgeable as the army whores.

Blair asked, "You had pleasure?"

Jim grinned bashfully.  "The evidence is on the floor."

"I wish you would have let me do to you what you did to me."

I love this man.  Jim brushed his fingers across Blair's generous lips.  "I couldn't wait.  But there'll be other opportunities."

Large eyes gazed at him.  "Will you enter me?"

Jim wanted nothing more.  His cock was already in love with the idea.  He glanced at the small sink.  Soap wouldn't work.  In a low voice, he said, "We don't have anything to ease the way, except spit."

"Use all the spit you can," Blair said.

Jim snuggled Blair close and kissed his nose.  "It will probably be very painful."  

Blair placed a hand on Jim's chest.  "I know this might sound strange, but I want the pain, Jim.  It'll remind me how alive I truly am."

Jim felt he did understand.  He kissed Blair's left cheek, then his right.  "We'll see about that later."  He rolled on top of Blair and claimed his mouth.

---

Jim felt the sweat drying on his chest as his organ shrank inside of Blair, despite both their wishes that they remain joined.  He rose up on his arms, giving Blair some relief from his weight.  This was the second time he had entered Blair, and he had lost track of how many times either of them had come tonight.  Darkness had long since fallen, and the only light in their small room was provided by the moon that shone through the window over the bed.

His shriveled phallus slipped out of its haven.  Once again, Jim felt the tears and swelling caused by his abuse of Blair's tight passage.  Blair had bit into the pillow to stifle his cries of pain.  Yet, there was no mistaking his wanting Jim.  Prior to the first penetration, he had bit into his pillow from pleasure, for Jim had tongued Blair's most secret place and enjoyed that new experience in a way he had never expected.

Jim shifted the short distance necessary to collapse beside Blair on the narrow bed, both of them on their sides.  Blair was already drifting from exhaustion.

Jim's lower regions were completely numb.  He'd also experienced pain, for Blair had entered him once, though it went easier for him than it had for Blair.   

Every time he had thought his urges might be sated with Blair, the desire would surge again.  The fascinating thing was that after the desire had momentarily receded, he still wanted very much to have physical contact with Blair.  With any other encounter he could remember, he was eager to leave the bed as soon as it was polite to do so.  With the army whores, no politeness was necessary, and he usually put the empty experience out of his mind as quickly as possible.  And then he'd pretend that he'd never do it again.

This was so different.  Blair was the first person in a very long time who actually desired him.  Him.  The man he was.  He supposed he should be uneasy that Blair probably knew him better than anyone else, despite their friendship being only a few weeks old.  Yet, knowing Blair was the one who held so much knowledge of Jim's inner self only made Jim feel protective.

That wasn't the only reason he felt protective.  He looked at Blair now, who was half asleep while gazing at the far wall, as though not really seeing it. Jim studied the features of his young companion -- now lover -- and reminded himself how exotic those features were to the people in these parts. Granted, Blair would be less of an oddity in larger cities where more people were accustomed to seeing individuals from different regions of the Empire.  

Because of Blair, Jim's heart had come out of hiding.  He had discovered that he was capable of feeling concern, affection, caring... and love.  

That would all be lost if he and Blair ever separated.

Decision made, Jim got up on an elbow.  "Blair?" he said, as Blair's head turned to look at him sleepily.

His own heart pounding with importance, Jim placed his right hand over Blair's heart.  He waited until Blair's eyes focused on his own.  Jim swallowed to clear his throat.  His voice came out soft and sure.

"I, Jim Ellison, pledge myself to be the keeper of your safety, for as long as we both shall live."  He watched those large eyes widen, then fill.  "I will lose my life before I will allow yours to be taken.  My first, greatest loyalty is to you."  He wondered if he should say something else.  He thought that was enough to cover his intent.

Blair swallowed with difficulty.  Then he pushed at Jim until Jim lay back so Blair could roll partially on top of him.  

Blair placed his hand over Jim's heart.  With his other hand, he took Jim's hand and placed it over his own heart.  

Jim felt his eyes water.

"I, Blair Sandburg, pledge myself to be the keeper of your gift.  I will protect you from all who would mock it, and I vow to help you to use it to the best of your ability, and to help you in preventing it from being painful or a burden.  My first, greatest loyalty is to you."

Jim closed his eyes as he placed his free hand on top of the hand Blair had over his heart.  

They were bound.  

He hadn't expected this.  Some of the moisture leaked from his eyes.

Blair leaned over him, his hair falling over Jim's face and shoulders, and kissed his tears.  

With wonder, Blair said, "In this strange little room, in this strange compound, in this strange place... I have known love.  Having now known it, I will never forsake it."

Jim vowed, "I will never forsake our love."

Blair's eyes were big and bleary in the light from the window.  "I love you, Jim Ellison."

Jim swallowed with difficulty.  He had never said the words before, and had never thought he would ever have reason to.  "I love you, Blair Sandburg."

Blair kissed him.  And then kissed him again.

---

When Jim cracked his eyes open to look out the sun-filled window late the following morning, he thought he now knew what was meant by the phrase, "The sleep of the dead."  He and Blair had finally exhausted themselves with pleasure, and not even the early morning sounds of the camp coming to life had roused them.

Blair was sleeping on his side, with his head on Jim's shoulder -- about the only position available in the narrow bed.  His arm was slung across Jim's stomach.  When he shifted a little, Jim said, "Hey, sleepyhead."

Slowly, Blair's eyes opened.  Then squinted.  "Is it morning?"

"Probably going on noon."

"Mmm."  Blair closed his eyes, though his respiration indicated he was still awake.

Now, it was time to think of the future.  "Blair?"

"Hmm?"

"Is there a place for you at the University?"

Blair's eyes opened and he got up on an elbow.  "I'm sure they'll let me back in, now that I'm not dying," he said with a snort.  His expression pulled into a frown, and he leaned over Jim.  "I'm not sure I want to go back," he said with puzzlement.  "After what I've experienced the past few weeks, somehow going back to the University would seem... small.  Too confining.  Does that make any sense?"

Jim encouraged Blair to get more on top of him, and he wrapped his arms around Blair's waist.  Thankfully, desire didn't flair.  They needed to focus on other things. "Yes, it does."

Thoughtfully, Blair said, "I'd like to visit some of the places I've heard about.  Not just learn about them in books or from the classroom lectures of others."  He gnawed his lower lip.  "But I definitely need to see my mother, let her know I'm okay."  His face brightened.  "She'll be so happy."

"As an officer of the army," Jim offered, "I can have a message sent to her.  I take it they don't have telephones out that way."

Blair snorted.  "You kidding?  Only at the University."

"At least we can have a telegram sent to the nearest town with a station, and then a postman can deliver the message."

Blair shook his head.  "She'd never believe something originating from the army.  She's very suspicious that way.  She detests the Empire -- most of the people out that way do.  She needs to see me in the flesh."  Blair skimmed his fingers along Jim's breastbone.  "What about you?  Now that you have control of your gift, will they let you back in the army?"

Jim looked Blair in the eye.  "Not when I tell them I take pleasure in lying with another man."  He was surprised at how little distress that realization caused him. Nearly twenty years of service to the Empire would now mean nothing.  

Nor was army life any place for Blair.

Blair snorted.  "Like men lying with other men isn't taking place right under their noses."

Jim continued to be amazed at Blair's grasp of situations for one so young and from the Northern Territory.  "It's part of the hypocrisy of humanity. But at least, for us, the rule will work in our favor.  They'll be forced to release me from service when I tell them the truth.  In the meantime, I intend to take advantage of the food and shelter available during our travels, as we have little money.  I think we should travel to Klazam."

Blair's eyes widened.  "Why?"

"Because the Empress is staying there this year.  It's also near where my unit is located."   Jim gave words to the idea brewing in the back of his mind. "I think we should see the Empress.  We should make ourselves available for her services.  With my gift and your intelligence, we might be useful for special missions that the army is inappropriate for."

"You mean... like spies?"  Blair seemed amused.  And intrigued.

"Possibly.  Whatever she wishes, as long as we're clear that we will only work together.  That way, we would have supplies provided to us.  We might be able to travel far and wide.  See many things.  In the army, we saw interesting places, but could only focus on the fighting and often had to destroy those areas.  Still, there are rumors at times of regions -- wonderful places -- that even I have never been to."  Jim hugged Blair closer.  "Perhaps, some day, if we find any of those areas, we can settle there and make a life for ourselves -- away from the Empire and all the killing."

"I'm game," Blair said.  "But are you sure it's safe for us to be near the Empress?  After what the stupid doctor was saying about the torture...."

Jim reached up and stroked Blair's cheek.  "They have no reason to harm us.  We have done nothing wrong.  We are both 'cured' of the reasons we went to Sanctuary.  On the contrary, we can be valuable to the Empress."

Blair nodded.  "Okay.  To Klazam it is.  Or should we see my mother first?"

Jim had looked at enough maps in his time that he said, "Klazam is mostly in the direction of the Northern Territory.  If we visit your mother afterwards, we will only have to backtrack west a half day before turning north.  I would like to get to Klazam first and solidify our situation.  That way, we can keep to a minimum our ruse of you being my prisoner, and our need for supplies from the army camps."

Another nod.  "How long will it take?"

"Ten days by foot.  Six or seven if the stable master can find a horse for you."

A loud rumbling intruded.  Blair slipped off of Jim and put a hand to his stomach.

"We're both hungry," Jim noted tenderly.  "Let's get out of bed and I will get us some food."

---

After Jim was dressed, he left Blair locked in their room and went down to the mess tent.  He could have had food delivered, but he didn't want their privacy interrupted.  He wanted to select the best foods for them himself -- especially while aware of the abuse he'd done to Blair's lower tract.  In light of the latter, he also got some supplies from the first aid kit at the front desk.

When he returned to their room, Blair was sitting in the doorless toilet closest.  While Jim worked with their supplies -- not wanting to eat until Blair was ready to join him -- he listened to his companion's periodic grunts of pain.  

"Make sure you wipe good," he called over his shoulder.

Long silence.  Then, "I was properly potty-trained at a young age, Ellison."

Jim grinned.  "I'm not questioning that.  But it'll make things easier when I do a little doctoring."

That brought another silence.

When Blair left the closet, Jim said, "Don't get dressed yet.  I need to take care of you."  He indicated the ointment in his hand.  Then he gestured to the wall by the sink.  "Lean against there and spread your legs."

Blair sighed.  As he complied, he said, "Not that I would ever go back to that jerk so-called doctor if my life depended on it, but do you know what you're doing?"

Jim applied soap to a warm, wet washcloth.  "A few years back, most of our medical unit was wiped out by a single bomb.  I was one of those instantly designated to stand-in as a medic until we received reinforcements.  I learned a lot in a hurry."

He gentled his voice as he moved behind Blair.  "Try to relax.  I know you're tender and swollen and this is going to hurt somewhat."

He cleaned Blair as thoroughly as he could.  The cloth had streaks of blood, but none that looked serious.  He rinsed Blair a few times, and then applied ointment from the first aid kit.  Blair was cooperative and steadfast, despite his gasps and flinches.

"All done," Jim said, washing his hands in the sink.  "We'll need to be extra careful about keeping you clean for a while."

Blair pushed away from the wall.  "Thanks."

After a quick drying, Jim stepped behind Blair just as he reached for his clothes.  Jim wrapped his arms around him, causing Blair to straighten.  "I won't enter you again," he whispered, "until you're healed and we have something for lubricant."

Blair turned in his arms and smiled warmly at him.  "At least, in the meantime, we'll have the memories."

"Yes," Jim smiled back.  Then he reminded, "And you can top."

Blair furrowed his brow.  "How come it was easier for you?  I'm not that much smaller than you."

Jim hesitated about how to answer.  Then he realized that trying to keep any truths from Blair would be a lost cause.  "I have experience with relaxing my muscles when I need to."

"I don't understand."

Jim was afraid of that.  He released a breath.  "A long time ago, I was captured by the enemy and I was tortured.  I learned to mentally separate myself from the pain, so it was less difficult to tolerate.  I think it might have saved my own sanity."

Blair gulped, looking concerned.  "You mean... they raped you?"  Now guilt dominated his features.

"No," Jim assured quickly.  "At least, not in the way you think.  They... electrocuted me...," he swallowed at the memory he hadn't allowed to surface for a long time. "All over my body.  And inside."

Blair's eyes filled with compassion.  

Jim went on, "I realized that bracing for the next jolt only made the pain of the jolt worse.  So... I learned to escape somewhere inside my mind."  He assured, "But not so deep that I couldn't come back when the torture was over."

Blair looked like he didn't know what to say.

Jim laid a hand on his shoulder.  "It's all right," he said softly. "It was a long time ago.  But I still remember how to distance myself from pain that I know is coming and relax my whole body, such as when you...," he trailed off.  And then wondered if Blair thought that meant he hadn't fully participated in their lovemaking.  So, he smiled, letting the love show in his expression.  "As soon as the worst of the pain is past, I 'come back'."  He was rewarded when Blair smiled warmly at him.    

A moment later Blair turned contemplative.  "But that didn't work when you were more recently nicked by the bullet, and the pain was so unbearable that they sent you to Sanctuary?"

Jim shook his head.  "I know it doesn't make any sense.  But these past few months, things in my body have been different than they've been before. When you entered me last night, I simply relaxed and accepted it, because I'd distanced myself from the pain it caused.  I didn't need to visualize making the pain smaller.  But, at other times, the visualization you taught me has been my only freedom from any type of pain exaggerated by my 'gifted' senses."

Blair looked thoughtful another moment, then he brightened.  "Sentinel."

"What?"  Jim wondered if Blair had changed the subject.

"I've been trying to remember the word I once came across that would describe your gift.  You're a sentinel.  A scout.  A watchman.  Your five senses are heightened.  That's the nature of your gift.  I knew there was a word for it, and I didn't remember it until now."

"Sentinel," Jim repeated the word.  "Does that mean there are others like me?" he wondered.

"I don't know.  I just know that there used to be.  Centuries ago."  Blair frowned.  "I just don't know why sometimes your pain is unbearable, and other times you are able to be indifferent to it."

Jim didn't know either, but they were unlikely to figure it out now.  He'd applied the ointment to himself before returning to their room, as he had suffered much less than Blair from their activities.  For himself, that was the end of the matter.

Jim put his arms around Blair and hugged him.  Blair hugged back.  So amazing to think that he could have this warmth from Blair whenever he wanted or needed it.

They stayed like that a long moment, then Jim released him.  "Get dressed and let's eat."

---

Once they had eaten, Jim was all the more eager to leave the compound.  With his backpack on his back, he reluctantly led Blair, as his prisoner, past various buildings to the stables.  He greeted the head sergeant by saying, "I'm Major Ellison and I've come for my horse."

"Oh, yes, the bay who was shod last night."

"Yes.  Also, the sergeant at the barracks should have inquired as to a horse for my prisoner."

The man gestured to the nearest corral, which had a few horses.  "The only one available is that skinny paint at the back.  He's old and we can't keep weight on him anymore.  We were thinking it's about time to shoot him, but you're welcome to have him."  The man grunted.  "At least if your prisoner gets away, you know you can run him down easily."

The boney black and white paint would have to do.  "All right.  Will you be able to provide a saddle?"

"We've got an old one that we can spare."

---

It was another half hour before they were ready.  Jim had commanded Blair onto the paint and tied his hands to small metal rings at the front of the saddle.  At least Blair would have better balance with his hands tied in front.  Jim burdened his own mount with his backpack, and then climbed into the saddle.  

Leading the sad paint, Jim started the way out of the compound.  He studied the hills around them, planning the first spot where they'd be obscured from camp. Then he could release Blair from his bindings and give him control of his horse.
    
They left the front gate at a walk and began their journey to Klazam.

 

END PART ONE

PART TWO