Bought

Protectorate Captain Michael Rathe stood beside the podium in front of the television cameras. His Admiral stood at the podium, every bit as large as the Captain, but significantly older, and far more irritable.



The Admiral was not in a good mood. He'd made a career of the Protectorate and considered Cascades current form his own special baby. He hated when people thought they could mess with it. Especially to do their own dirty work like the asshole who had called this particular complaint in. It didn't do anything to salve his temper to have the whole thing turn into a media circus either.



Paul Bellingham had been running the SGP for the last seven years. He gripped the edges of the specially built podium with his big paws and glared out over the crowd of reporters. A hardy lot, only half physically cringed from the glare. His iron grey hair was cut military short, his wide mouth turned into a perpetual, glowering frown. His teeth showed between lips drawn thin with anger. He began without preamble or introduction.



"On Tuesday we received a call from an anonymous tipster, phoned in to the switchboard at the Sentinel/Guide Protectorate. The call reported that an unapproved/undocumented Guide House was being run at an address in downtown Cascade. Further the complaint accused that one of the Guides in the House was not being managed per the Sentinel Laws of this city. The Guide being a victim of both neglect and abuse." His stare raked them all, eyes blazing like twin silver lasers. "We take these reports seriously."



A silence descended on the crowd, and the huge man looked from face to face. He growled into the microphone, everyone in hearing distance, except the man at his side, jumped, swallowing hard. It was an immense relief to all when he began to speak again. Sweat was wiped from a number of brows, and there were many wishing fervently for a good stiff drink, just a little liquid courage would not go amiss.



"Captain Michael Rathe was immediately dispatched to check out the report and to secure the safety of the Guides in question." Another fiery glare. "He found four Guides at the address. One Adult Guide recently delivered of three pups. All were confiscated and placed in the Sheehan Guide House pending further investigation."



His hands flexed, and the groan of the tough wood came through the microphones clearly, the popping of wood and nails as his grip tightened. But nothing burst apart before the briefing picked up again.



"The claims were investigated. Our own Veterinarian examined all four of the Guides while they were at the Guide House. They were all in good health, none showing signs of abuse or of neglect. They were well fed, active, and alert. Adequately hydrated. There were no bruises, no welts, no lacerations either old or new."



"The Adult Guide in question was deemed a fertile Guide with it's own Veterinarian. It was 36 days past delivery of it's pups, and not yet re-breeding. Old Sentinel Laws state that the Guide should have been contracted to a Guide House or to an independent breeder for re-breeding within a period of thirty days, said breeding to commence within two months of delivery, pending medical exams. However, recent medical reports argue the time period is too short, and that the law is obsolete." Paul Bellingham drew in a great breath; it came though the mic as an echoing hiss. Eyes widened even further all around the room.



"We at the Protectorate exist for the protection and benefit of Guides. We will, despite the laws on the books, do what is best for the Guides of this city. After conversing with a number of specialists and reviewing the literature, we have decided there is no case to be made for abuse, and no case to be made for neglect. The Guides in question will be returned to their Sentinel owner." Bellingham reared up and away from the microphone, stretching to his full height. Then he bent down again, resembling nothing more than a striking snake.



"It is clear to me that someone has chosen to use MY agency to further their own political needs. And..." he reared up, his voice a bellow, not requiring a microphone to shake the walls. "...I will not tolerate anymore of this horseshit! Do I make myself clear?" His fist came down on the podium and it collapsed into three pieces. He didn't seem to notice. Or the piercing feedback as the sound system hit the floor. He glared out at everyone occupying a chair in the audience.



"The Protectorate will make it a priority one to find the individual who perpetrated this outrage and ....." His raised fist made it perfectly clear without words what would happen to the hapless creature once found. Several minutes ticked by. Captain Rathe, hands clasped behind his back stood at attention next to his fuming superior. Most of the rest of the room's occupants were under their chairs.



A deep sigh, not a pleasant sound, more like the tortured grating of a rusty gate than a sound from any human throat, and in an eerily calm voice the man spoke again. Heads peeked out from under the chairs.



"Captain Rathe will be available to answer your questions for as long as he deems necessary. Good Day." Bellingham glared out over them witheringly, and strode off of the stage. The silence that descended was absolute for about ten seconds, long enough for him to disappear, then the audience of reporters, made of stern stuff, scrambled back into their seats and burst into shouted questions as Rathe stepped up to the shattered podium.



He lifted a hand. Gradually the shouts tapered off.



"My name, for those of you who didn't catch it, is Michael Rathe. My title is Protectorate Captain. I will answer questions under the following conditions. You will speak one at a time, when I point to you. You will not shout. NO questions will be repeated. You will listen to my full reply. If you don't know my name, ask the reporter next to you to spell it for you. Most of you already know me. Those who don't, ask someone later, don't waste my time now."



"Very well. First Question. You." He pointed. A small woman stood up. Her voice shook. She cleared her throat.



"Admiral Bellingham did not address the issue of if the housing of four Guides is legally a Guide House."



Rathe looked at her. "Three of the Guides were pups, being nursed by their mother. That does not meet the criteria of running a Guide House in the view of the Protectorate. Next Question." He indicated a man far in the back.



"Is it true that the party accused of abuse was the heir of Cascade?" There was a distinct waver in the reedy voice. Rathe could see why the man pursued a career in print news, not broadcast news.



"Yes." The Captain replied. The man was startled to receive a one-word answer, but thought better of insisting on more.



Rathe pointed, to the left this time. A leggy blonde stood, batting artificially long lashes at him. He stared stonily back at her, unmoved.



"Captain Rathe, is there any truth to the rumor that the basis of the complaint was an organized effort to derail the new reforms that are being implemented by Ruler Ellison?" Her honeyed voice inquired.



"All tips regarding the abuse and safety of Guides will be thoroughly investigated. The truth of the allegations will not be decided prior to a full investigation of each and every complaint. That being said, if a complaint is maliciously instigated, the Protectorate will not stop in its efforts to bring the perpetrator or perpetrators to justice." His glare was a close rival to that of his supervisor, the reporters were suitably impressed. "Our official position on that subject has been adequately expressed by Admiral Bellingham."



"What will happen to the pups? Are they going to stay at the Guide House?" The next person piped up when he pointed at her chest.



"No, they will be returned with their mother who is still nursing them." He looked over the group, seeing a young, rather attractive young man. Hmmm. He pointed. The man smiled, almost flirtatiously on being selected. Pretty, Rathe decided, and going to ask something stupid.



"Will you answer a question about something else, sir?" The reporter asked, and at his slight shrug, barreled on. "There have been...hints for decades that there is a new kind of Sentinel, and that you yourself are one of these kind. Is there any truth...." The questioner petered out. Michael Rathe was walking away from the remains of the podium without looking back.



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Dr. Miller was seated on one of the couches in the upstairs suite where Blair was occupied on the bed with his waking babies bundled up all around him. Jim was seated across from her. William, Christopher, Steven, Andrei, and Dahl were also in the room. Dahl had immediately gravitated towards Blair and the babies, the fascination on his face impossible to miss. Dahl's movement towards the babies had gotten Rafe out of his chair and over to Blair in a flash.



Blair, initially wary had finally, cautiously, allowed the young man to touch the babies under his direct supervision. Dahl had taken to it like a duck to water. Steven stared at his Guide as he watched diapers being changed, infants being fed, burped....Dahl had never shown the least interest in children before. With difficulty Steven turned his attention back to the discussion at hand.



Jim had headed off the attempt by Andrei, "call me Andy", to examine the infants in Dahl's wake. Multiple attempts had been thwarted, the last one resulting in a blow, not pulled in any way, that knocked out the muscular Companion for several minutes. Recognizing that his older brother was at the absolute end of his patience Steven now sat with one arm locked around his frustrated Companion, who watched jealously as Rafe and Dahl cared for the infants alongside Blair.



Steven understood his Companion's frustration. One of the main functions of a Companion was Guide care. That, in the most fortunate of instances, included shared care of any infants. Andy wanted to take care of Blair's babies. Jim wasn't going to stand for it. Dahl was a Guide. That, if Blair allowed it was fine. However, a Companion not Jim's own coming close to Blair, that was not.



Christopher, showing far more discipline than Andy, still gave off longing vibes, even as he kept his seat, making no moves in the Guides' direction. Steven sighed. Sometimes it was tough, having such independent mates. But, honestly he wouldn't change them for the world.



"It is a mutation, a variant that was first documented more than fourteen hundred years ago. There's no evidence to show it's passed on genetically, which is a good thing, because the Sentinels with the mutation are exclusively, aggressively homosexual. While artificial insemination now makes that a moot point, in the past it was not." Dr. Miller progressed along in her mini lecture on just what kind of Sentinel Captain Rathe was. "It is theorized this propensity for such extremely focused homosexuality kept these particular Sentinels from attempting to mate with or bond to the Guides who are, of course, hermaphroditic. That in turn allowed other Sentinels to accept their care of all the Guide for a tribe."



"So...Rathe...why didn't he answer any of the questions? What is wrong with people knowing about it?" Andrei blurted out, crossly. Pouting at Steven, and when that wasn't effective, sulking while he burrowed next to his young Senior Sentinel. Steven fought to keep his expression neutral as he listened to the lecture. Andy was adorable when he pouted. But it certainly wasn't going to do Steven any good to let him know that.



"Like all things, it isn't looked up on as good to be different in modern time. Other institutions have been created, Guide Houses for example to focus on the care of the Guides. Just like there is objection to Blair being a Guide and intelligent enough to get a degree, there is a strong prejudice against a Sentinel who doesn't need a Guide. Who will never need one. There is a feeling that the Sentinel is somehow unnatural. Perverted." She looked around. "And face it, despite the sexual nature of the Claiming between many Senior Sentinels and their chosen Companion Sentinels, homosexuality is frowned on by the majority of Sentinels."



"Why? That makes no sense." Andrei said, his puzzlement clear. "In fact given the number of Guides and the number of Sentinels needing Guides, it sounds like a good thing. The gay Sentinels are just that much less in the way of competition."



"You would think." Jim said, his eyes fixed on Blair, who had handed off one well-fed baby to Rafe and was feeding the second. Jim was watching the other Sentinels; pleased to see Christopher studiously concentrating on the doctor, not even sending a single glance in Blair's direction, Steven was being equally circumspect.



Jim couldn't do anything about his father who occasionally glanced over to check on the group clustered on the bed, but he wasn't about to tolerate Andrei's continued interest. Blue eyes peered over Steven's arm at Blair, eyes locking onto the exposed breast; the tiny mouth locked over one rosy nipple.



Jim let out a low warning growl. Andrei jumped, guiltily. Then he growled back, scowling.



"What? I'm just lookin' fer Christ's sake. Look, no touching!" He held up his hands, waggling the fingers." Jeez, ya can't blame a guy for looking."



Jim though, could, and wholeheartedly did, he was on his feet and standing over the Companion who tried to get up and face him, every bone bristling with aggression of his own. Steven held onto his stronger companion grimly. Christopher looked at William and got to his feet.



"Sit down." William's voice cut through the action. "Jim, Andrei. Both of you. Your Guide is safe, Jim. Leave it at that. Andrei, stop baiting him. It isn't wise. He is a Senior Sentinel, he will take you down as if you were a blade of grass."



Having Blair back wasn't relieving all of the anxiety that had been stirred up by having him taken. William understood Jim's predilection to violence at this time. Progress on tracking down the elusive Vet who had started the whole thing was frustratingly slow. There was contact through an attorney, demands for a negotiated settlement before the man came in to tell his story. Jim had rejected that offer loudly, vociferously.



He didn't care at all if the story was ever told; the man who had tried to use the Protectorate to steal his Guide was going to die. Preferably by his own hand. He wouldn't tolerate anything less. Blair's voice startled the doctor and the other Sentinels. Jim stalked over to him, legs stiff. Blair made room on the bed, then leaned on the agitated Sentinel, letting his nearness soothe the big man.



"The possessors of the variant are of normal weight at birth," Blair said, "but they grow at an accelerated rate from that point on. It usually isn't noticeable until after puberty when they often exceed classmates in size by up to 25%. They are taller, stronger, faster. Some say they are a throwback to the Primal Predatory Sentinel found in the fossil record. That the variant may have only been noticed fourteen hundred years ago or so, but it has been around for a much longer time."



Blair was sitting up; Jim got to his feet and went to help his Guide. Blair rubbed at his eyes. "In primitive cultures it isn't unusual for one Sentinel, always a very big male, to sleep with and guard exclusively, a tribes' Guides. Other Sentinels come to that Sentinel with any requests to pair with the Guides, not to the Guides themselves. The same physical arrangement is noted in the fossil record, evidence of multiple Guides living with one Sentinel, or two at the most in a dwelling in the center of the settlement. With the other Sentinels living in a group, without Guides intermixed with them. Cultural anthropologists have argued about what this means for years. We anthropologists can't agree on anything, not even if the sky is really blue. The accepted, the politically correct theory, is that a king, or a ruler of sorts kept a harem of Guides for his own use. I think it is pretty clear that is a load of crap."



Rafe blinked, his mouth falling open at the speech. Then he took the baby Blair handed to him, passing it on to Jim, who put the infant over his shoulder and proceeded to do a very creditable job of burping it. Taking the last of the infants that had yet to nurse, Blair put the infant to his breast waiting for the nursing to begin before turning back to look at the startled group.



Dr. Miller, recovered first, she nodded. "I read something to that effect in one of the articles you published a few years ago. It pushed me along on the theory that there are different kinds of Guides and that fertility didn't necessarily depend on breeding the most feminine of the Guides to the exclusion of the more male dominated."



"Hmmm. I'm not sure I can see the connection." Blair murmured, settling himself more comfortably, visually checking to see the other two babies were fine before stroking his fingers over the baby he held, cupping the delicate skull in his palm.



"You see, I think it is probably more a case of evolutionary adaptive behavior, the Guides needing to share infant care, one Guide can't care for three or four infants, and Sentinels in that time didn't have the luxury of free time in the same way as they do today. There was no maternity leave then, not for fathers. The Primal Sentinel, the big guy, kept the Guides safe; the other Sentinels provided for the tribe, food, shelter, clothing, defense, and other survival needs while the Guides, as a group, would raise the infants. That also explains the tendency for Guides to have a low fertility rate. If all the Guides of a tribe were pregnant and caring for their own infants at the same time the system would break down. Guides in proximity have a lower fertility rate in general. The system we use now, the one that puts fertile Guides all in one place in a Guide House or on a breeding farm, is actually lowering their fertility. I don't know if it is pheromones or what but something makes it harder for Guides in one location to all get pregnant at the same time."



"Blair." Dr. Miller breathed the name. "My god...I never noticed it...I thought..." She got to her feet. "Excuse me. I have to go. I have to look into this..." She rushed from the room.