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Blair looked around himself in amazement. They were finally here!

The city, which had been creeping up on them slowly for the better half of the morning, was finally standing tall in front of him. Multitudes of skyscrapers towered over the city, shining in the midday sun, the blue sky reflecting off the panes of glass and further brightening the already colorful city. Roofs of red, blue and green slate were visible over the wall surrounding the huge city, and many flags could also be seen flapping in the breeze wafting off the bay, which Jim had told him bordered the opposite side of Owz. Seagulls and ernes flew in graceful circles through the sky, sometimes alighting on the tops of the houses to preen, sometimes simply screeching and diving down quickly, ostensibly on a hunt for dinner.

A memory of seagulls skimmed across his brain, their familiar sounds seeming to complement much of his everyday life. He decided he probably lived near the water back in Cascade.

Simon and Joel seemed unaffected by the grandiose view. Blair imagined they had seen it enough times that the impressive city failed to rate a reaction. Larry, perched in his accustomed place on Simon's shoulder, chittered excitedly as they walked. After the unfortunate claw incident upon their meeting Taggert, Simon had given the little ape a tongue-lashing that had the other men flinching in sympathy. Larry had moped for remainder of the night and into the next day, his mournful little whines audible to all as he trailed despondently after his favorite new friend Simon. Larry sat near the tall man at each break in their travel, pinning him with a soulful gaze and even sighing occasionally. At supper the next night, Simon had finally given in to the simian's attempts to apologize and made a peace offering of some of his dinner. The ape and captain had been practically inseparable ever since. Simon had attempted to feign exasperation at Larry's obvious devotion, but the others had caught him slipping the ape treats and talking quietly to him as they walked. They all decided against teasing him, though. It was enough that *they* knew Simon was a big softy, no need to clue the man in himself.

The group had remained at their campsite by the meadow for a full day, allowing Blair the time he needed to recover fully from the warlock's attack. Despite the trick he had played on his friends, his turn at cooking detail had not abated, but he had received a reprieve from cooking duties due to the lingering effects of the trichloroethanol, and was practically starving as a result. His high hopes that Joel would be a better cook than Jim or Simon had been dashed when their virtually inedible lunch had been served. Jim had allowed Blair to supervise dinner preparations, but somehow Simon had destroyed that meal as well. Breakfast had been leftovers, and Blair had somehow managed to avoid Sentinel vision and bury the meal amid the ashes from the fire. He imagined that Jim's meal had probably met a similar fate. Lunch had been skipped in favor of their arriving in the city as soon as possible, and Blair heard his stomach growl at the thought of lunch that did not consist of fish, beans or stew. He thought longingly of the magnificent meal they had shared at Joel's house, and hoped they would find something halfway as good in the city. He glanced over to see if Jim had heard the tell-tale rumbling, and smiled at the sight his friend presented.

Unlike Simon and Joel, Jim was scanning the city greedily, his eyes darting from place to place. Blair moved closer to him, not quite touching him, but making sure his presence was felt. The Sentinel was clearly using his gifts to reacquaint himself with his home, cataloguing the thousands of sights and sounds and smells that he had never been able to detect before his abilities were under control. Blair made a mental note to stay close to Jim throughout the day. If he was this eager outside the city walls, the chaos that likely awaited inside the city would surely overload his friend if they weren't careful.

Shouldering his packs more firmly, he followed Jim and the two captains to the huge entry way to the city. Despite it being the middle of the day, they were the only ones in line when they got to the gatekeeper's desk. All that was visible when Blair peered over the partition into the office was a head of extremely curly red hair. The owner of the hair was crouched down and tinkering with something under the control panel which was visible on the top of the desk. Several red lights on the console were blinking rapidly, while others shone a steady amber. Still more flashed green and blue. Soft curses could be heard coming from the woman as she worked.

The men looked at each other dubiously as they waited to be acknowledged by the gatekeeper. If the gates were broken, it would be a long walk to the next entryway into the city. Simon cleared his throat noisily, and the red haired woman jerked up from her position on the floor, gaping the four men who stood in front of her and gasping for breath. Before Blair could open his mouth and apologize for their startling her, she spun around quickly and fumbled for something in her pocket. The sound of an inhaler being used was followed by several deep breaths. Blair watched as she straightened her clothes and ran her hands through her hair before turning to face them once again. She had recovered from her startlement and now offered them an alluring smile as she drew her shoulders back and tossed her hair. The woman was in full simpering mode.

Blair gasped then shut his mouth firmly as she gave him a lengthy once-over before scanning the others in an equally feral way. The woman didn't know it yet, but she had managed in the few minutes her back was turned to streak dark globs of grease from her dirty hands all over her face and clothes. One streak coated her upper lip, giving her the appearance of a thick mustache. Others began at her cheeks and radiated up into the hair at her temples. The effect was both comical and horrifying at the same time.

"Just running a quick test on my failsafe security system, gentlemen," she spoke breathily. "There's been so many breaches of security here I figured I would soup up the detectors a bit. I wouldn't want four handsome travelers like you to worry about crime in the City of Owz now, would I?" She leaned forward slightly and batted her lashes at them. Blair covered his mouth with both hands and stepped behind Joel to try and calm himself down before he burst out laughing. The pained expressions on the other men's faces were obvious as they, too, fought to keep their smiles from turning into guffaws.

The gatekeeper, oblivious to their true demeanors, took their too-wide smiles and brightly shining eyes as obvious flirtations. She preened a bit, managing to add enough grease to the left side of her hair to make it stand straight out from her head. Simon started choking and Jim thumped him hard on the back, coughing noisily to cover the chuckles which escaped him. Joel was the only one who seemed able to control himself, but only marginally. Keeping the hyperventilating Blair behind him, he quickly wrote their names down in her book, then ushered the distressed men into the small chamber situated between the inner and outer walls.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, they all burst out into uncontrolled laughter. They wiped tears from their eyes as they whooped in amusement over the poor gatekeeper's obliviousness.

Carefully blocking out the booming laughter, Jim sent his hearing back into the woman's office, pleased to note she had no apparent means of listening in to their merriment. She was, however, cursing the controls. It seemed they were stuck. The devices fastened to the walls and ceiling of the tiny room were meant to scan the occupants, but the lights attached to the equipment remained dark, clearly malfunctioning. Jim heard her curse repeatedly now as her 'failsafe security system' repeatedly failed. Her attempts to unlock the opposite door were also failing. The Sentinel let out a sigh. It looked like they would be in here for a while.

As they waited, Joel and Simon recounted every moment of the farcical scene they had just enjoyed, doubling over with renewed laughter at the woman's attempts to appear sexy. They wondered aloud how she would react the next time she passed a mirror and the laughter began again. Jim chuckled along with them, surprised that Blair remained quiet. He glanced over to him and saw him regarding the room with a wide-eyed stare.

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"Oh, man," muttered Blair, his heartrate rocketing.

Another memory had assaulted him. The dimensions of the chamber reminded him strongly of an elevator, and the terror that those memories invoked were nearly overwhelming. He moved closer to Jim, pressing tightly against his friend's side in an attempted to regain control of his raging emotions. He scanned the floor of the room and saw only the familiar traveling gear that had accompanied them on their journey. There were no abandoned briefcases in sight.

An arm wrapped around his shoulders and he looked up into Jim's concerned blue eyes.

"You've got to get me out of here, Jim," he whispered frantically.

"What's the matter, Sandburg? Another memory?" He knew Jim was used to the infrequent stabs of remembrance that plagued him. They had joked that it seemed all of his good memories remained hidden while every bad experience he had ever had popped up when he least expected it.

A quick nod was all the response he could give Jim. His friend's hold on him tightened a bit, for which he was thankful. He really didn't want to lose it in front of the others. Being dosed with a drug and losing control of your muscles was one thing. Shrieking in terror because of some half-remembered memory was entirely another.

"Breathe in and out, buddy," Jim said softly, not wanting to attract Joel and Simon's notice. "Come on, you've been yammering at me for the past three weeks to breathe, you can at least show me that the teacher knows his stuff here."

"I don't yammer," complained Blair through tightly clenched teeth.

"Like hell you don't. I have heard yammerers, and you, my friend are a first class one at that."

"Jim, there's no such thing as a 'yammerer'"

"Why not? I think someone ought to make up a name for someone as verbally talented as you are. I'll bet you could talk a dog right out of a butcher's shop." Jim smiled at his friend, noting the slight easing of his muscles, but still concerned at his too-pale face and clenched jaw.

"Okay, so you don’t like the work 'yammer', is that it? Too negative?" A slight nod. "Well then, how about chatty? Gifted with gab? Verbose?" Blair shook his head throughout Jim's attempts, but a small smile had appeared on his face.

"Fine then," Jim continued with a chuckle. "Shall we leave it as talkative, with a slight trace of a yammer now and then?" Blair blew out the breath he had been holding and rolled his eyes at Jim. As he opened his mouth to defend himself from further teasing, the door leading in to the city opened with a piercing metal on metal squeal. Jim pulled his arm from Blair's shoulders and covered both ears with his hands, flinching violently from the assault on his sensitive hearing.

"It's okay Jim, it's okay," Blair spoke quickly. "It was just the one sound. Dial it back, man. You remember how much we practiced this. You should be able to do it in your sleep by now. I know you were concentrating on helping me and I appreciate that, man, I really do. Just breathe in and out and let the pain go away. There's nothing that can hurt your ears now so let them go. That's it, give me your hands. Good, good. Open your eyes. Is everything okay now? Is everything back to normal? Talk to me, Jim. You're all right now, aren’t you?"

"Sandburg, what are you yammering about?" came Simon's voice from several feet away. He and Joel had exited the chamber while Blair was helping the Sentinel. The 'I told you so' look on Jim's face was priceless, as was the scowl on Blair's as, fears forgotten, he strode from the small room. Jim's teasing, and his overreaction to the squeaking hinges had done the trick.

"I do *not* yammer!" he called out indignantly.

His only reply was laughter.

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As they wandered the city looking for a suitable place to stay, Blair clearly heard Simon's declaration that he would see about demoting the inept gatekeeper as soon as he returned to his old job. The anthropologist kept his comments to himself, but was unable to stop a wide smile from spreading across his face. This was the first time any of the men had actually discussed returning to their former positions. Joel needed some more time to recover his nerve, so would likely remain a civilian for a while. Jim was, in Blair's opinion, just as ready to go back to work as Simon, maybe even more so, but the Sentinel remained tight-lipped about any plans beyond getting Blair in to see the infamous sorceress of Owz.

After they had emerged from the malfunctioning scanning chamber, they had moved to the office where all administrative appointments were made, hoping to find a place to schedule a meeting with the enchantress. Their inquiries led them to a special booth which bore the sign: the 'Great & Powerful, All-Knowing, Highly Intelligent, Multi-Talented and Simply Gorgeous Owz'.

Blair appreciated the restraint Simon showed in not openly mocking that title while they made their appointment, although the look on his face was evidence enough of his feelings. All of them found themselves shaking their heads and wondering what they were in for as they exited the office. Their appointment had been scheduled for the next day.

After finding a hotel, checking in and luxuriating in the shower for twenty minutes each, the men headed off to find a place to eat dinner. The question of what to do with Larry was solved when the innkeeper's children had instantly fallen in love with the little ape. They begged Simon to let him stay with them, and promised to care for him throughout the duration of their stay. After a quick conference with Blair, Simon agreed. He did, however, carefully explain to the children what Larry's favorite snacks were, and showed them all the places where the simian loved to be scratched. Jim, Joel and Blair waited patiently throughout Simon's instructions with stomachs rumbling, unwilling to pass up seeing Simon displaying his paternal side so openly. With a last scratch behind his little friend's ears, the captain finally left Larry with his new caregivers and strode from the hotel lobby. Seeing the devilish looks directed his way by the others, he steadfastly refused to say a word, instead pasting a bland expression on his face and ignoring the chuckles that caused.

Their search for a restaurant went much more quickly than the hunt for their hotel had gone. Not half a block from where they were staying was an establishment whose sign declared it as the best new restaurant in town. As one, the men headed towards the tantalizing scents wafting from the building.

They were met inside the door by a smiling black man dressed in brightly-patterned, loose-fitting clothes. He had a bass guitar slung across his hip, and the men were about to bypass this obvious member of some visiting band when he waved them over. A baseball cap emblazoned with the name of the restaurant was perched in his head.

"Welcome, welcome! Don't just stand in the doorway, come on in. Welcome to 'The Funky GQ'. My name is Henri, and this here's my partner, Rafe. We are the proprietors of this fine establishment and would like to commend your excellent choice in restaurants." The beaming man gestured to his left at the handsome, sharply-dressed man who stood holding an arm full of menus.

"Rafe's the 'GQ' in this operation, and I, my brothers, am the 'Funky'. All the music you'll hear in the restaurant tonight was written and performed by yours truly, and discs are available for sale in our gift shop. All proceeds from the sale of the music go to charity, now, so don’t be shy about picking a few up. You can also find the classiest duds in all of Owz in the shop. Rafe himself does the buying, and you can see how good that boy looks. You're guaranteed to turn some heads after getting your very own GQ make-over."

Joel made a show of admiring Rafe's excellent clothes, asking about the fabric and murmuring that a trip to the gift shop might be in order for him, at least. The others, though, were too hungry to make the effort at small talk. Jim's stomach rumbled loudly, halting Joel's chatter and vaulting Henri back into action.

"Enough, Rafe, enough. You can dress up these boys after we fill their bellies." He turned to face Jim and the others. "Now, if you will be so kind as to follow the exceptionally well-dressed gentleman, he will lead you to your table. Enjoy your meal and the tunes!"

Within minutes they were seated in the center of the restaurant, directly beneath a speaker from which came the music Henri had promised. The song was bluesy and filled with excellent guitar riffs, to Blair's delight. He thought he remembered owning a guitar, a white one with an inscription on it, but the memory remained dim. As they perused their menus, a glass of ice water was set in front of each of them.

Abandoning his menu, Blair picked up his water glass and drained it with a long swallow. Allowing several cubes of ice to fall into his mouth, he crunched them noisily, hoping to stave off his severe hunger pangs until their food arrived. The effect on his fellow diners was instantaneous.

"Sandburg!" All three men cried out in unison.

"What? I’m hungry," he replied petulantly. The fleeting thought that this particular habit was never very well received solidified in his head.

"We’re *all* hungry, kid, but you don't see us aggravating the hell out of the other diners," Simon said with a grunt of frustration.

Blair glanced around, expecting to see the restaurant at a stand-still, all eyes on him. But not one person had even noticed him. The anthropologist sighed. Simon was just being Simon, it seemed. He got grouchy when he was hungry. Well, more grouchy than usual. Sure, progress had been made, but the guy would probably always be more irritable than most.

Before Blair could open his mouth to defend himself, their waiter hustled over to the table. The short man was dressed in black pants and white shirt, a white apron wrapped about his waist. He held a small writing pad at the ready and gifted the table with a wide smile before speaking.

"Good evening, gentlemen, and welcome to The Funky GQ. My name is Charlie and I'll be your waiter for the evening." The man retained his smile while acknowledging the nods of greeting directed at him. Blair was taken aback by the man's piercing blue eyes, and struck with the notion that he knew him. Dismissing the feeling of déjà vu, as he had so many other times while in Owz, he smiled back at Charlie.

"Any specials tonight?" he asked.

"Just one," Charlie replied. "Our chef is very fond of Eastern delicacies, and is a master at creating exciting and original dishes. Tonight we have pufferfish, served in a white wine sauce with seasonal vegetables and rice pilaf. The pufferfish itself is quite poisonous, but when it is prepared properly, the diner only senses a slight tingling on his lips when eating it, reminding him that prepared with anything less than our chef's level of expertise, he might die a sudden and horrible death. It's really quite exhilarating. Quite a few of our patrons have ordered it, but I'll bet there are at least four left. Would any of you fine gentlemen care to try it?"

His benevolent grin faltered a bit when all four men shook their heads violently. They all pretended not to notice the warding off gesture made by Simon, a gesture which had the small man's eyes nearly bugging out of his head. Jim cleared his throat noisily to attract the waiter's attention, and declared that he would like the biggest steak The Funky GQ had to offer. The others quickly agreed with the Sentinel's choice, Blair adding orders of salads and vegetables for all of them, and Joel chiming in with his choice for a bottle of red wine to accompany their meal. A bus boy dropped off some hot rolls and a plate of butter at the table shortly after Charlie had headed for the kitchens, and the men dug in heartily.

The salads were excellent, and the steaks cooked to perfection. Joel's choice in wine was the perfect complement to the meal, and two bottles quickly followed the first into their glasses and down their throats. After their initial frenzied spate of eating, the pace of the meal slowed down, and conversation began again. All four mused about the identity of the oddly multi-titled Sorceress they were to meet the next day, and their encounter with the gatekeeper was once again rehashed, the hilarity of the scene at her desk still potent, as heads turned at their loud guffaws. By the time the plates were cleared away and coffee was served, three of the four were sated and at peace with the world.

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Throughout the meal, when not waiting worriedly for one of his fellow diners to collapse and die after eating the pufferfish, Blair noted that the waiter was eyeing him curiously. He did look a bit out of place with the other three men, but not so much so to arouse this level of scrutiny. The man was friendly enough whenever he came to the table, but the constant staring from across the room was starting to creep him out. He drank his first cup of after-dinner coffee quickly, enjoying the rich, dark brew, but mostly using the sips as an excuse to distract the others from his growing discomfiture. He caught Jim glancing his way several times, but he planted a smile on his face each time the Sentinel turned to look at him. Joel and Simon were exclaiming over the selection of cigars the restaurant provided when the waiter came to refill their coffee cups and to deposit their bill on the table.

Blair held his cup out, indicating his desire for a refill. Charlie complied, but as their hands brushed during the exchange, a light shock ran up the grad student's arm, startling him into placing the cup quickly back onto the table. The waiter must have felt it, too, because he instantly set the coffee urn down onto the table and clutched at Blair's arm, his grip too tight for Blair to shake free. All four diners watched as Charlie's eyes rolled up into his head, and his mouth opened up to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. Mere moments later, he released his hold on the anthropologist and backed away a few steps. His face was alight with excitement.

"I just got a hit on you!" he announced delightedly, practically bouncing in place.

"You don't 'gotta' do *anything*, man, I don't go that way!" replied Blair vehemently, his fear forgotten as the reason for the man's scrutiny became obvious. He really had to get out of this place. First, he was mistaken for a warlock, now everyone seemed to think he was gay. He didn't want to think about what might be next.

Simon and Joel roared with laughter as Charlie stepped back a few feet, his hands waving frantically in front of him.

"No, no, that's not what I meant. You see, I have this gift. I get "hits" -- sort of a psychic slap inside my brain. I wait tables to pay the bills, but my real profession is a Seer, and I just got an incredible reading from you!"

"Well keep it to yourself, pal," came Jim's authoritative voice. He had witnessed Blair's nervous reaction to the strange man, and was hoping to allay any further worries before they began. "In fact, just leave the check. We'll pay on our way out."

"Aw, don't spoil the fun, Ellison," Simon intoned. "The kid might find out his future wife's name, or how many kids he's gonna have." Both he and Joel were laughing heartily at the stern expression on Jim's face and the shell-shocked one that remained on Blair's. They were familiar with Seers and their antics, and this guy's technique, while unique, was not very good. The anthropologist recovered quickly, though, and found he was intrigued by the prospect of this man -- charlatan or not -- getting a psychic bead on him.

"It's okay, Jim," he spoke softly to the Sentinel, patting his friend's arm to emphasize his point. Jim's countenance remained stony, but he shrugged and went back to sipping his coffee. Blair turned to face the now-timid waiter and gave him a friendly smile.

"Sorry about the overreaction there," Blair said. "I had no idea what a 'hit' was. It's been a rough couple of weeks, and I'm just a little on edge."

"Apology accepted," replied Charlie. Jim snorted a bit at that, but was ignored by the others, who waited eagerly to hear what Charlie had to say.

"What did you see?" asked Blair.

Realizing he now had a captive audience, the Seer's demeanor changed abruptly. He stood up straighter, puffed out his chest and fixed the anthropologist with his penetrating gaze.

"You walk a fine line between two worlds. Despite your opinion of yourself, you are the least ordinary man in this kingdom, as well as in the other. A great test awaits you, one that will try your heart and your soul. Strengthen yourself for this test, for the impossible *is* within your reach. Don't be afraid to accept it when it comes."

The Seer finished with a deep exhalation and a satisfied nod. He glanced at the men around the table, as though expecting applause. When the recipient of his reading and the others simply blinked at him, he grabbed the remaining dessert dishes and strode towards the kitchen, muttering about the likelihood if his just blowing a good tip.

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"Well that was spooky," said Joel, breaking the silence that had reigned at their table for the past several minutes.

"Yeah," agreed Simon. "I was expecting something a bit more mundane. Those guys usually stick to prophesies about money and your love life."

"I got told once that I would have fourteen children with three different wives. I never paid much attention to those guys after that," Joel added with a smile. "You didn't believe anything he said, did you Blair?" he asked the anthropologist, whose concentration was fixed on the crumbs on the table in front of him.

"Huh? I'm sorry, what did you say?" Blair looked up at his friends, the shocked expression fading slowly from his face. His mother had raised him with a healthy fascination and respect for all sorts of off-center beliefs. She had taught him to see things with an open mind, and to explore the unexplainable without letting pessimism color his views. Naomi would have loved this guy. She would probably have moved them in with him and immersed herself in his eccentric gifts until the next exciting thing came along. He considered his own disposition a bit less trusting than hers, but he still found it uncanny that the man had made such sense with his vision. Walking between worlds, a great test awaiting him, his being less than ordinary here and in Cascade. . . he couldn't discount the vision, and it's seeming accuracy disturbed him.

"We were all agreeing that that guy is a crackpot," declared Jim, pushing his chair back and standing up. He tossed his napkin down on the table. "If he thinks that little show is going to get him a few extra dollars, he's wrong."

"But did you hear what he said?" asked Blair, rising from his seat. "We're going to see the Sorceress tomorrow, and I'll bet you anything she asks us for something when we ask her to help get me home. That could be the test he was talking about."

"Yeah, and you could have a midterm waiting for you back in Cascade for all we know," Jim replied gruffly.

"And that line about walking between worlds, how the hell could he possibly know that I don't belong here?"

"Stop it, Sandburg," Jim said loudly, ending the questions that remained on the tip of Blair's tongue. "The man probably overheard us talking about Cascade and made a good guess. I saw how he was gawking at you throughout dinner. Don’t let him ruin the rest of the night like he ruined your dinner. Now come on. Let's pay the bill and go get some rest." He stalked off towards the front of the restaurant, Simon and Joel following silently, although the bomb expert shot Blair a sympathetic glance. The anthropologist followed resignedly, understanding Jim's intense dislike of things beyond his ken, and accepting that his friend would not talk about it unless strongly pressed.

With the Seer's words still echoing in his head, he moved to catch up with his friends.

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Blair grinned at the long-suffering look on Jim's face as the older man once again re-entered the hotel room they were sharing.

"Have they passed out yet?" he asked the Sentinel, who had traveled down to the lobby lounge three times now to quiet down their other companions at the request of the hotel security staff. After dinner, Simon and Joel had lingered at the table and traded stories with the proprietors of The Funky GQ. After discovering they were also ex-military, and shared a love of cigars and brandy, the foursome had headed for the small bar in the hotel and happily over-indulged. The sight of the four drunken, yet still menacing men had spooked the two young security guards, and Jim's aid had been enlisted to calm the men before they disturbed the other hotel guests.

"Not yet, kid, but I'm betting they won't last too much longer. I told the barkeep to start giving them the *really* strong stuff. If that doesn't send them down for the count, I may have to tie them up and gag them."

Blair laughed at Jim's grave expression, knowing that deep down, the Sentinel was happy to see his friend Simon so happy. They both liked Joel, and Rafe and Brown seemed to be good guys, too. Jim and Blair had cut their evening short after one snifter of the excellent liquor. The cigars which Henri Brown had produced bothered Jim's senses, and promised to make Blair quite ill, if he correctly recalled his one other attempt at smoking a stogie.

"Did you find anything interesting while I was gone?" Jim asked as he came over to stand behind Blair, who was seated in front of a computer in the suite's office area. The room given to them was made up of two large bedrooms and a living area, part of which was partitioned off to provide a working space for the business traveler. Jim had shown the anthropologist how to sign on the Owz CompuGrid, which Blair noted delightedly was comparable to the World Wide Web of his own world. After showing Blair the basics, Jim had gone to shower, hoping to remove the stink of the cigars from his hair and skin. Before he could join his friend at the computer, another plaintive call had come from the security staff, begging Jim to come and settle the latest argument between the revelers below. From the way his nose was wrinkling now, Blair imagined he'd have another go at the shower before they went to bed. Grinning up at the peace officer, he gestured with his hand at the screen.

"I managed to find a link to the Owz Central Precinct grid site. I looked you up, man. Someone seems to think you're pretty special."

"What the. . ."

Jim pulled Blair up from the chair and sat down in it himself, grabbing the screen control pointer and scanning through the page which featured his stats and achievements. He stared, dumbfounded, at the screen, all the time aware of the chuckles that were emanating from behind him.

"So who's your secret admirer, Jim?"

Jim scrolled to the bottom of the screen and found the information both he and Blair were looking for.

"Rhonda," he breathed, pleased that the loyal, dedicated woman was still working with Jack Pendergrast, while at the same time promising to have a few strong words with his favorite Executive Assistant.

"Rhonda?" Blair questioned, a heavy dose of innuendo in his voice.

"Married," he stated firmly, and watched happily as the leer faded from Blair's face. "Two kids, maybe three. Hell of a nice lady. She works for my former boss, and it seems she has developed a new skill in grid design."

"It looks to me like you left out a whole lot of information when you were telling me what you've done," Blair stated, his arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows raised.

Frowning, Jim backed up the screen display and read over what Rhonda had written about him. He was amazed to see a breakdown of most of his major cases listed, written in a prose style, and sounding much more dramatic than the events had seemed at the time. No wonder Blair thought he had an admirer.

"She just likes to exaggerate, Sandburg. These were just cases, not world accomplishments."

"Oh, okay, right," the younger man stated, not sounding at all convinced. "So it wasn't you who went undercover at a prison to break up a ring of crooked guards? Or managed to recover a stolen missile before it was fired on a peaceful demonstration? Or maybe it was some other Jim Ellison who broke the case of the diamond smugglers who transported the jewels inside corpses? You were the subject of an in-depth news show and were cited for bravery on five separate occasions. I don’t think Rhonda made this stuff up."

"Yeah, so?" Jim countered, his face reddening under Blair's intense stare. "I also released a known felon into the hands of his cronies who were disguised as Municipal Agents, and watched a whole underground city filled with historical artifacts get buried when I failed to catch the perp who was excavating them illegally."

"God, Jim, who do you think you are? Superman?" At the Sentinel's confused look, Blair went on quickly. "You are a damn good peace officer, not a miracle worker. I happen to have read that you saved three innocent lives from that underground city before it collapsed, and that Pendergrast was actually the man who turned over Alcante to the wrong guys."

"Blair. . ." Jim sighed.

"No, Jim. I know what you're going to tell me, and I won't believe you."

"And what did you think I was going to say?"

"That you are just a boring old cop who just did his job, and that no one will miss you if you never return to the station."

It was on the tip of Jim's tongue to question Blair's calling him a 'cop' when the rest of his words sank in. The kid had struck the proverbial nail on the head. He *was* uncomfortable with the idea of seeing his former colleagues again. Rhonda still held him in high regard, but what about the people he relied on to watch his back day after day? And what about his boss? Could the man who so casually tossed him aside months ago really want to see him back? He glanced up and Blair, and noted that the hard stare was gone, replaced by a look of compassion. Not pity, though. He would have verbally lashed out at the young man if he had seen pity. But only a desire to understand shone from Blair's eyes. Jim looked down at the floor.

"Jim, you have helped hundreds of Owz citizens, saved countless lives, and performed your job with distinction and bravery. You told me yourself that being a peace officer is what makes you happy. Even if Rhonda did obfuscate a little bit, the facts speak for themselves. I think you owe it to yourself to at least *think* about returning to the force."

"Blair," Jim began slowly, as though speaking to a child. "I understand that you think it's best that I jump right back in and try and recapture my old life, but it has been ten months since I left. Actually, ten months since I was pushed out the door by a man I thought was my friend as well as my boss." The bitterness of that last statement was audible to both men.

"Jim, I think there's something else you need to read."

The anthropologist calmly reached past Jim and directed the computer to the page he had marked earlier that evening. He stood back and waited while Jim read about what had become of Jack Pendergrast since he had seen him last. Hearing the peace officer's harshly indrawn breath, Blair placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder.

Jack Pendergrast was currently interred at Connover, a mental facility on the outskirts of the city of Owz. The Commissioner had looked into the rapidly growing list of fired or suspended peace officers from Jim's former division, and after a psychological evaluation had revealed the police captain as suffering from the onset of dementia, the man had been removed from his position and admitted. The suspended officers were back at work, and investigations were under way to determine the locations of the officers Pendergrast had fired.

A second more recent article, linked to the first, listed the former captain's condition as being a genetic, degenerative disorder of the brain, as yet unnamed, which had likely affected his decisions as far back as two years. A majority of the officers he had let go had returned to work, but the menace of the Warlock Lash had interrupted the attempts to contact the rest.

"All this time, and I thought I was tossed out like trash," Jim mused sadly, once he had finished reading. Quite a few things had become clear in his head, but the deep pain of those first few weeks at the remote farm were hard to dismiss.

"He was sick, Jim," Blair gently explained, the hand on Jim's shoulder tightening a bit. "Granted, you had some unusual things going on with your senses, but his influence over your life, and your grief after you lost Danny made for a bad combination. You were an awesome cop, Jim, and you'll be one again. You just have to be willing to take the chance and go back." Blair paused for a moment before continuing. "If it means anything, I think you're one of the best men I've ever known, peace officer or otherwise. They would be stupid not to welcome you back with open arms, man."

The Sentinel reached up and covered Blair's hand with his own, squeezing once quickly before releasing it. He hoped his gesture spoke of the gratitude he felt. Blair was one extraordinary man, and if he believed so strongly in the peace officer, how could Jim not do the same? Both men cleared their throats, and let the moment pass. Their bond of friendship had grown stronger after Lash's attack on Blair, but any further emotional digging would have been uncomfortable to both men. Blair reached over Jim again and clicked onto yet another grid page. Jim silently wondered at his friend's ability to read so quickly. Must be a graduate school thing, he decided as a new page popped onto the screen.

"I found another page that gives an update on what's been happening at the precinct lately. I'm going to take a shower myself now. I can still smell the cigar smoke in my hair," he muttered disgustedly.

Jim just smiled as he heard the anthropologist move into the bathroom. His attention was already on the words in front of him.

Lash's presence in the city did nothing to hinder lesser criminals, and Jim eagerly pored through the reports, curious to know what might await him if he decided to return. A group of burglars were breaking into seemingly inaccessible buildings, and one astute officer had surmised that they were walking on tight ropes from nearby buildings. A warrant had been issued for an escaped felon named Quinn, who Jim recalled having helped put away several years ago. One other listing caught his attention, that of a suspected murderess by the name of Alicia Bannister, who was rumored to be as beautiful as she was deadly.

Jim skimmed through the list of active officers, smiling as he recognized most of the names, and looking up information on those who were not familiar to him. Before long, Blair had emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and was sitting cross-legged on the couch, busily combing out his wet hair. They sat in companionable silence for an hour, while Jim read and Blair meditated. Just as Jim was about to announce his plans for sleep, a tentative knock sounded at the door and a familiar voice called out for Jim.

"Not again," he moaned as he stood and stretched. "Friends or not, I'm going to wring their damned necks. That'll shut them up!" he complained as he pulled on his shoes and headed out the door again, the sound of Blair's laughter echoing behind him.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

The end for now. . .