Title: Heartfelt
Series: The Sense of Everything
Series Order: 1
Fandom: 9-1-1, The Sentinel
Genre: Family, Kid!Fic, Sentinel Fusion
Pairing: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Adult themes and language, discussion-child neglect
Author Note: Randolph Rampart is an OC created by Keira Marcos and borrowed with permission. Cast info can be found on the series page.
Timeline: Pre-series
Challenge: Big Moxie – Q2’2023 Crossover/Fusion
Word Count: ~7400
Summary: Randolph Rampart is still adjusting to his promotion to brigadier general and life in hew new command when receives a call from a judge in Pennsylvania about a baby in the custody of the Foundation. His life is about to change again.

Heartfelt

November 1991
Washington D.C.

“We don’t get you out on the East Coast nearly enough, Randolph,” General Joseph Bray, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, commented as he leaned back in his chair, feet stretched out in front of him, throwing back his third shot of the night.

Rand smiled faintly and sipped at his Scotch. As an online sentinel, alcohol affected him differently than his colleagues, and he had to consume very lightly. Still, he enjoyed the taste of good quality Scotch, so sipping it was no hardship.

“I think you’ll find, if you check your notes, that Cobb is supposed to be here. I should be back at Camp Pendleton, up to my eyes in paperwork.”

“Bah.” Bray waved him off. “That old warhorse. He hates DC more a Texas boy hates Kansas City barbecue.”

Rand snorted. “Well, I know which side of that debate you’re officially on, Joe, but I’ve seen you with—”

“Don’t even say it.” Joe pointed at him as the other two Marine Division Commanders laughed at him. “I’m sure it never happened.” Rand was the Assistant Division Commander of 1^st Marine Division, but his superior, Major General Luke Cobb, hated traveling to DC, so he’d taken the opportunity to make Rand take the trip on his behalf, despite Rand only being about six months into the position.

After another half hour or so of idle conversation, the other two Division Commanders said goodnight, leaving Rand alone with Bray in the private room of an exclusive DC club, fittingly called The Admiral.

“That departure felt engineered.”

Bray gave him a considering look. “I told them I needed a few minutes alone with you at the end of the evening, son.”

Rand cocked an eyebrow and waited patiently.

“How’s the desk job treating you?”

“No Marine has a desk job, sir. We just occasionally have work that takes place at a desk.”

Bray threw back his head and laughed. “Fair enough. You getting antsy?”

Rand shrugged. “I wasn’t anticipating being permanently stateside this early, but I’ll do the job.”

“I know you will.” Bray leaned forward. “Bluntly speaking, Randolph, you’re one of our rising stars and you have been since you finished basic. Even for a sentinel, you got your first star young, but Cobb’s looking to retire in a year or three, and he’d like to turn the 1^st MARDIV over to you. That’s part of why you’re taking all of his field trips.”

Rand’s brows shot up, but he just nodded. He’d had indications that Cobb was looking to hand over the reins.

“That said, I’m going to let Cobb have his head on this matter for a few years; I need stability in the division commands, and the men of the 1^st MARDIV adore you. Start considering who your successor will be. I figure Cobb’ll put you in for your second star in about two years and then throw division command at you like his ass was on fire.”

Rand grimaced. Two years was short.

“You’ll be fine. But don’t get comfortable. I’d like you to have your eye on Assistant Commandant within a decade—maybe twelve years. That’s going to require you here on the East Coast in about eight years.”

“Sir…”

“Unless you’re opposed to the idea of running this whole circus, I’ve already picked you to be my successor. Figured I’d loop you in on those plans now so you’d have time to acclimate yourself to the idea.” Bray was watching him closely, but Rand knew how not to give anything away. “Assistant Commandant is an easy choice to succeed the Commandant when they retire. I’m playing the long game here, making sure you’re in the right position and get the right experience.”

“This is starting to sound a lot like politics.”

“Eh. It is what it is. At some point, you reach a rank where you can’t avoid it. Let me worry about the maneuvering. Take the time, gain the experience you need, and try to figure out how not to go crazy doing your not-desk job.” Bray saluted Rand with his glass.

Rand snorted in amusement.

Bray gave him another look. “If the idea drives you crazy, you let me know, otherwise…” He trailed off and raised a brow, letting Rand know he’d commence with his plan to make Rand his successor.

Rand was absolutely not sure that this was what he wanted, but he also wasn’t going to tell the Commandant no. At least, not yet. He’d have to take some time to consider the direction he wanted his career to take; being in charge of this entire shit show had never been in his sights.

* * *

All the Division Commanders were staying at the Navy Yard Visiting Flag Quarters, which was a mere ten minute taxi drive from the club. Though it was after dinner hour, it certainly wasn’t late, but Rand was entirely done with the whole day and just wanted to kick back and read for a few hours and ignore the world—as much as his senses every allowed such a thing.

To his consternation, his aide was waiting for him, a pensive expression on her face.

“Evening, Lieutenant Carmack.” Renée Carmack had served in the Two-Five when Rand was in command of the 5^th Regiment, and she’d applied to be his aide when he’d been promoted. She was solid, hard working, and imminently competent.

“Sir. I requested a room in the business center so we can meet.”

Well, shit.

For her to request space for them to meet after hours could only mean something had gone completely FUBAR. “Very well, Lieutenant.”

As soon as the door was closed, Rand cast out his senses as much as he dared to ensure they had privacy. It was a check Carmack was accustomed to, and she waited patiently for his nod.

“Sir, while you were at dinner, there was a call for you from the Federal division of the Guide Adjudicator’s office. They indicated it was urgent, but not to a degree that it warranted interrupting the Commandant. They simply requested that you be informed this evening.”

“A civilian sentinel/guide judge called me?”

“Yes, sir.”

He’d normally assume any calls of a legal nature would be about one of his men, but anything of that sort should come through JAG, HRD, or perhaps even the Foundation offices directly. “Any chance they were misdirected?”

“No, sir. I double checked. They were looking for you personally, not your office.”

That made no sense. A federal adjudicator was one step down from the Supreme Court, but they only represented sentinel and guide matters. There was no higher judicial authority in the United States. “All right…”

She handed him a folder. “I did some research while I was waiting.”

Rand’s lips twitched. “Of course you did.”

“The Guide Adjudicator who called is judge Caroline Sandifer, age fifty-two. It’s noted that began her career in the Navy in the JAG Corps before switching to civilian life and being appointed to local Guide Adjudicator’s office in Rhode Island, I believe. She was appointed to the federal Adjudicator position ten years ago by Blair Sandburg when he took the position of head of the Council.

“Her sentinel is even more interesting in that there’s almost no information available about here. Esmeralda Carvalho, born in Brazil, age fifty-one. Her parents moved to the United States when she was seven. She joined the Army when she was eighteen, and most of her service record is redacted.”

Rand looked up from where he’d been reading some of the details Carmack was glossing over. “Redacted? Black ops?”

“I think it likely. She’s a watchman.”

Rand whistled lowly. “Okay. I assume she’s not in the field any longer if she’s bonded to an adjudicator…?”

“She bonded to Judge Sandifer twelve years ago and has functioned as Judge Sandifer’s court constable since. She’s still an active reservist.” Court Constables were a strict function of the sentinel and guide judicial system. The constables by definition had a lot more authority than a bailiff. Rand had been called as a witness in a hearing more than a decade ago where the constable had gotten fed up with someone’s behavior and put them in jail for ten days to think about their behavior. Constables were screened carefully for suitability for the position, with ongoing monitoring by the psionics center, so the Foundation tended to let the constables take whatever disciplinary actions they thought necessary to maintain order.

Rand continued looking through the information Carmack had compiled, no doubt having printed some out in the business center while having other bits faxed over. Nothing in the bios gave any indication why Rand would be hearing from them. He’d crossed paths with adjudicators before, just never this one.

“I guess we should make the call.”

“Did you want me to leave, sir?”

“No, stay. No doubt there’s going to be research, and you might as well be here when the information comes in.

She nodded and sat in the one of the chairs in the small office they’d been provided.

Rand dialed the number.

“This is Carly,” an accented voice answered casually, throwing him for a second. The greeting was too short to fully pinpoint the accent, but it was the casualness that had him off-stride. Had he just called the judge’s personal phone? Or was this a really casual assistant?

“Judge Sandifer, this is Brigadier General Randolph Rampart, 1st MARDIV, Camp Pendleton. You left an urgent message with my aide?”

“Yes, General Rampart. Apologies for the informal greeting; I gave your aide my personal number rather than that of my court clerk to hopefully make this go a little quicker.” Now that he’d heard a little more of her accent, he knew for certain that she was from Texas.

“I assume this is about a case…?”

“Yes, General.”

“I’m not sure what business I’d have with the Federal Guide Adjudicators office.”

“It’s in regard to an investigation we’ve been conducting. If you have a moment to answer a few questions, and then I can do my best to explain, hopefully to your satisfaction.”

Rand leaned back in his chair and gave Renée a wait gesture, still not sure yet if she’d be needed. “All right.”

“Can you tell me where you were in the late summer or early fall of last year?”

“I was commanding the 5^th Regiment of 1^st MARDIV. Several battalions of 1^st MARDIV were already deployed to Desert Storm, and I sailed with the Two-Five personally in December.”

“And prior to December, you were consistently stationed in California?”

“1^st MARDIV is based out of Camp Pendleton, ma’am, but we go where we’re deployed. Outside of deployment, I had ten days of leave in early October. I flew out to the East Coast, which is where I’m from, and spent my leave primarily in New England.”

“During that leave, did you spend any time in New York?”

“I spent one night in New York. Had dinner with an old friend from my basic training days who now works for the NYPD and then continued my trip to Connecticut the next morning. Why?” He wrote ‘New York. October 1990’ on his notepad, knowing that Carmack was paying attention and ready to go through his schedule.

“During the course of that night in New York, did you meet a woman named Margaret Buckley?”

Rand sat up straight in his chair and wrote the name down, passing it to Carmack to begin researching. “The name isn’t familiar, and I do tend to be good with names, so I can say with some degree of certainty that I’ve never heard it before.”

“Hmm.” There was a pause. “Blonde hair, blue eyes, approximately five-foot-four, thirty-three, though could easily pass for five years younger.”

Sentinel sense memory was very specific, and he knew exactly who she was describing. “Lilian.” He went over the memory of the few hours he’d spent with her. “Lillian Mallory.”

“Margaret Lillian Buckley née Mallory,” Judge Sandifer confirmed.

Rand added the whole name to the notepad for Carmack’s reference. “What is your question, Judge?”

“There’s no need to ask anything intrusive here, General, so I’ll just get to the point of this. Just like in a civilian court, matters before the Guide Adjudicator’s office must typically go through a process with the local and state level. There are a few exceptions, of course, and one of the notable ones is cases involving latent or online children—potentials being somewhat outside of our purview since so many people are potentials. It would require a large groups of potentials being specifically targeted to give us jurisdiction.”

“Children,” Rand echoed.

“Yes, in this case three of them.”

Rand frowned, adding to his notes.

“I’ll make this convoluted mess as straight forward as possible. Daniel Parker Buckley, age eight, is a young man in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania with juvenile leukemia. His sister—Maddie Gwendolyn—is a year older. The family has been searching for a compatible bone marrow donor. Enter a third child, born this past June 30^th, Evan Nathaniel.”

Rand could barely breathe because he could count.

“The child is presently four months old. The family had tested him shortly after birth and found he was a possible HLA match for Daniel, however, during the consultation with the oncologist, the family was informed that young Evan couldn’t be a bone marrow donor without negative latency being confirmed, as bone marrow donation of minor children with latent psionic traits is prohibited by a 1952 amendment to the original Burton Accord of 1890.”

Rand frowned. “That amendment was to prevent the experimentation that was done during several wars attempting to find triggers to bring latents online. What does that have to do with bone marrow for sick children?”

“When it comes to medical procedures, the amendment broadly classified anything medical as requiring individual informed consent, and experimental procedures, even for adults, require review by the Foundation. Anything for children must be in the individual child’s best interest, and for latent or online children, must be on file with the local psionic center offices. Certainly donating bone marrow to anotherchild is not in any child’s personal medical best interests, so it falls into this area that’s considered to be forbidden. It could certainly be challenged legally but it never has been.”

“I see. So, this family wishes to challenge the established guidelines and that’s why you’re calling me? Because I can count, Judge, and I’ve made some inferences about why you’re calling me. I’m not—”

“No. Sorry, yes, you’re correct about why you specifically are being contacted, and I’m sorry to tell you this way that you’re a father—”

The confirmation made Rand feel like the air had been punched out of him. “So, there’s no doubt?”

“The psionics center in Harrisburg ran the test more than once, and I requested that it be re-run by the office in New York. There’s no doubt. At this point, all three children are wards of the Foundation. We’re still conducting our investigation, and the final hearing is scheduled for two days from now.”

“Hearing?”

“Yes. We’ll make final custody determinations about all the children and I’ll rule if there will be any criminal penalty for the Buckleys. I realize it’s short notice, but is there any chance you’d be able to come be in Philadelphia in just about thirty-six hours?”

“I believe aided mentioned that I’m in DC for meetings with the Commandant and Chief of Naval Operations, which is close enough to Philadelphia.” General Cobb was constitutionally allergic to bureaucracy, so he had been sending Rand to every single meeting he could since Rand had had been slotted in as Assistant Division Commander just a few short months ago. He blew out a breath. “I can take a flight up tomorrow night, but,” he hesitated, “if I fly up tonight, can I meet…”

“It’s slightly irregular to allow that prior to the hearing, but as long as you permit someone from my staff to be present, I’ll arrange it.”

Rand nodded like she could see him. “Thank you, Judge Sandifer.” He forced his hands to relax. “Can you elaborate on why the children are wards of the Foundation and what will happen with custody going forward?”

He noted for Carmack to make arrangements to fly to Philadelphia tonight and let the Commandant’s office and General Cobb know he had a personal emergency that he had to attend to for several day.

“It’s a rather convoluted tale…”

“I have the time.” He’d make the time. “And I certainly think I need to hear it.”

* * *

Rand arranged a car service to take them to the airport for the last shuttle to Philadelphia. Carmack had insisted on accompanying him, even though this was well outside the bounds of her duties, insisting that he might have need of assistance and she could best provide that if she was with him.

In addition to being an exemplary Marine, she was also completely baseline on the psionic scale, which was a benefit as far as he was concerned.

The military often misunderstood the nature of sentinel and guide interactions, thinking that an unbonded sentinel would do best with a guide for an aide, when the reality was that it could create unpredictable distractions that weren’t necessarily in the best interests of himself or the guide. When he did work with a guide in the field, they were attached to his unit, but never functioning as an assistant of any sort.

In the working relationship of sentinels and guides, they were peers. If he had a guide as an aide, they could work with one another on an emergency, ad hoc basis, but never routinely. Also, one-sided expectations could inadvertently develop in a sentinel and guide partnership, and the only remedy was ever to terminate the working relationship. Such a scenario was not in the best interest of miliary efficiency and why he’d long preferred his assistants and now his aides to rank no higher than potential on the psionic scale.

Carmack reviewed the notes Rand had made of his conversation with Judge Sandifer. Her chemo signals were as calm as ever—weathering the storms of whatever life threw at her—though hints of confusion were flirting with the edges of her baseline scent.

“Questions, Lieutenant?”

“In your notes, you specified the child is deeply latent, and you underlined the word deep. What is the significance, sir?”

“Prior to definitively identifying the biomarkers that identify tendency toward psionic gifts, there were only three classifications. Online, latent, and baseline. Latency was denoted by those who had a spirit guide that could manifest prior to coming online.”

She blinked a few times. “Excuse me?”

“It’s rare to see, so latency was considered the rarest state. The spirit animals are almost like shadowy versions of their future selves, not fully able to manifest on this plane because their sentinel or guide counterpart is not online.”

“Like spirit animal ghosts?”

“Something like that, yes. And even amongst those who manifest these shadow spirits, for them to actually appear was uncommon. What was later learned was that latency is much more common and that these spiritual manifestations only occur in a small percentage of the latent population. From a blood perspective, there’s no difference between someone who is latent or deep-latent. It was also during this point in psionic research that the distinction between baseline and potential was discovered, and that a wide swath of the population are potentials.” He hesitated. “The prevailing theory amongst psionicists and shamans regarding latents is that when a latent is under threat of some sort, their spirit animal will manifest as a warning.

“In the case of government institutions and various medical licensing boards, any indication of deep latency is to be treated as if the person is under threat of some sort, and the local psionics center is called in to investigate. It’s treated with the same level of severity as a threat against an online sentinel or guide.” He paused to keep his own emotions contained. “When children are involved, it causes an immediate investigation at the federal level since abuses of the pride’s children are considered federal crimes.”

Horror was creeping into her scentpile. “He’s four months old.”

“Yes.”

“What could—” She stopped herself. “I’m sorry, sir; that’s none of my—”

“If I intended to keep all the details from you, Renée, I’d have left you in DC.” He deliberately used her first name to emphasize that this was not about work. “The oncologist for the older brother noted they’d need to run a standard SG-biomarker panel to determine if…” he paused, unsure how to refer to the child. “If the baby would require approval from the Foundation in order to give bone marrow. Latent children—and certainly the rare online child—implicitly cannot donate bone marrow under post-war amendments to the Burton Accord. However, the Foundation weighs in on cases of potentials undergoing medical procedures not considered to be for their own medical needs. I believe it’s usually allowed.”

Carmack frowned. “I think someone should be weighing in on that for baseline children as well.”

He inclined his head. “There was apparently no rush on this because even a baseline child wouldn’t be able to donate until they’re a year old, but Mrs. Buckley rushed to assure the oncologist that all of her children were baseline and she’d have the test results forwarded to the oncologist’s office.

“At which point, a white Siberian tiger appeared in the doctor’s office, sparking psionic energy everywhere.”

Her eyebrows flew up.

“The psionic energy throw off from a latent spirit manifestation is generally considered to be a sign that the person could come online anytime due to impending danger.”

Carmack blew out a sharp breath. “Well.”

“The hospital staff did the only conscionable thing considering the circumstances and they called the Foundation after they separated the Buckleys from the infant. The parents raised a fuss at first, but the civilian authorities and the local psionics center were imminently to arrive, upon hearing this, the parents left with their other two children.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

“You heard correctly. They abandoned the baby and left before authorities arrived.”

Her scent flooded with rage, but it was locked down so quickly it was almost like it had never been. Her ability to compartmentalize had always impressed him.

“Your notes indicate all three children are now wards of the Foundation?”

“A full investigation was launched, and considering children were involved, it went straight past local guide investigative services to the federal adjudicator’s office. At which time, it was assigned to Judge Sandifer—”

“And her very scary sentinel,” Renee muttered under her breath.

Rand found something to smile about.

“Honestly, sir, even her picture made me want to apologize for anything I’d ever considered doing wrong.”

“Sentinel Watchmen are like that.”

She nodded. “So what happened once the adjudicator’s office got involved?”

“They needed to determine how much authority the foundation had over the children and how much they would need to liaise with civilian authorities. As it happens, Mrs. Buckley had been lying to her children’s doctors and schools, providing false SG-blood profiles which indicated the children were all baseline, when they’re all latent. Considering the circumstances, even them being potentials would have given the Foundation potential jurisdiction, but with them all being latent, the matter was clear. They were all removed from the family home.”

“What about the sick kid?”

Rand shook his head. “I don’t know. Very much beyond my role in these matters, but I inferred that they’re looking into ensuring the best possible long-term solution for him.”

She gave him a pointed look. “Have you considered what you want to do?”

“I think there’s only one thing to do, but I’m taking the time to let my brain catch up to my heart,” he murmured, staring out the window at the passing streetlights.

“I’ll have to begin a shopping list for your staff back in California.”

He smiled faintly.

Having a staff of people who considered it a duty and privilege to help him with all matters of his rank and duty station, right down to picking up his dry cleaning, was one of the oddest adjustments to being a general, but he could see how it would be helpful right now considering that he was likely to be coming home with an unexpected addition.

* * *

Despite years of military training and combat experience teaching him to sleep when and where he could, he’d been unable to actually settle his mind enough to rest. Instead, he’d stood at the window of his hotel room and stared in the direction of the Philadelphia Level I Psionics Center, feeling like he should go.

Perhaps the issue was with his own instincts.

Federal Constable Carvalho had left a message at the hotel that she’d be available to meet him at the center any time after 0700, so at 0630, he was dressed and ready to depart, well ahead of when he needed to leave considering the center grounds were only fifteen minutes away.

Carmack had arranged to have his second set of civvies pressed sometime during the night. He considered it likely that she’d done it herself rather than somehow managing to finagle housekeeping into overnight pressing services. There had been a note to leave the other set for housekeeping to pick up for laundry. He’d only brought two sets for the whole trip, so he’d need those worn on the flight cleaned for the court appearance tomorrow.

The last thing to do was affix the small pin to his collar that denoted an active-duty, unbonded military sentinel. He had different insignia in uniform, so he only wore this pin when he was in civilian attire. The intent of the insignia pins was initially to help non SG personnel but most people who were not part of the pride couldn’t seem to be bothered to remember the small distinctions between one type of pin and another. The use could have easily fallen by the wayside, but they did help the staff at the center know certain things at a glance. Unbonded and military sentinel said a lot about his stability.

Wearing the civilian insignia was usually optional, but the value of it appealed to Rand’s disciplined mindset. Since coming online during his first deployment, he’d never spent a day in his life without whatever insignia was appropriate to his status affixed to his clothing—usually his collar.

He wasn’t exactly surprised to find Carmack waiting in the lobby. “Are you certain you don’t need me to accompany you, sir?”

“I’ll be fine, Lieutenant.”

She nodded. “They have a business center here, and I’ve arranged a private room to handle calls and faxes for a few hours. Then I’ll take any additional calls from my room. Did you want me to pass on additional information to General Cobb or General Bray?”

Rand paused and considered. “Not yet. I’ll call you as soon as I have information to pass on to them. If Cobb’s office makes contact, tell them the details of the emergency are personal, and I haven’t shared much yet.”

She nodded. “If there’s anything you need at all, sir, I can get a taxi to your location or even rent another car.” They’d rented a car at the airport last night, not considering they’d be separated all day.

Rand indicated for her to structure the day however she wished, up to getting another car and going sightseeing if she wished. Accompanying him on this trip was certainly not part of her official duties, and he was aware that her presence was a reflection of her loyalty to him personally.

“Good luck, sir,” she said in parting as she passed him a to-go cup of tea.

“Thank you, Renée.”

* * *

Rand had faced many threats in his life, to the point that nothing really hit his radar as “scary” any longer, but if her were able to see another human being as fear-inspiring it would be Esmeralda Carvalho.

She was slender and petite, easily more than a foot shorter than Rand’s 6’4, and appeared to be every inch the fifty-one years she’d spent on this earth. Sentinel Watchmen were a breed apart. Often loners—aside from their guide, assuming they ever bonded—they tended to gravitate to the fringes and remote parts of society. Military wasn’t an uncommon occupation, and within the military, black ops was also typical. Sharpshooter was by far the most common common specialty.

Rand had briefly considered walking the path of the Watchman but, like all specialty ranks of sentinels and guides, there had to be something of an innate aptitude and a draw toward that path. There was something in Rand that saw the appeal of that journey, but more of him had been drawn to the role of the Sentinel Defender—the elite warrior class sentinels. It wasn’t a designation the Foundation handed out cavalierly, and Rand had worked hard to be considered an elite tribal protector, despite his unbonded state.

Though he’d never regretted his choice, certain he was walking the right path for himself, he held a deep respect and appreciation for the path of the tribal Watchmen. He’d never met one that didn’t make most people instinctively freeze and evaluate everything they’d done wrong in their life, including any unpaid parking tickets.

Esmeralda Carvalho was like that to a degree Rand had never experienced. Every person present in the reception area of the center gave her a wide berth and actively avoided meeting her eyes. Despite being in her early-fifties, Rand was certain the only thing that could have pulled this Watchman from the field was finding the right guide.

As noble as it was to sacrifice for the tribe and pursue the path of Watchman, Rand considered it a higher calling to sacrifice for the guide. Carvalho had chosen to take the role of Federal Constable and move into the core of the tribe rather than living on its fringes where she was comfortable and had been trained to exist.

He extended his hand in greeting. “Randolph Rampart. Good morning.”

“Good morning, General Rampart. Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter. I’m Esmeralda Carvalho.”

“I’ll bet you’ve never had a problem controlling your wife’s court with a single glance, Watchman.” He pressed his palm to his chest and inclined his head in gesture of respect from one sentinel to another.

Her pleasant, if bland, smile shifted into a bit of a smirk, and she returned the gesture. “I sincerely doubt your men have ever given you much trouble either, Sentinel Defender.”

“There have been one or two stubborn ones over the years.”

She nodded in understanding. “Come. I have tea and pastry and we can talk.” Her accent was faint, but there as still a hint of something. If he didn’t already know she was born in Brazil, there wouldn’t be enough to go on.

As soon as they were set up with their tea, she gave him a serious look. “The situation continues to evolve. I fear the more you know, the less good it will be to have you in the hearing with Margaret Buckley.”

Rand’s jaw muscles flexed and he forced himself to control it. He reached for his tea. “I can control my self.”

“It’s not a matter of your control. The child is perilously close to coming online, and he’s much too young for such a thing. He bleeds empathic distress, which during the night a specialist has determined is likely due to neglect.”

Rand glanced away and battled with his reaction.

“He needs to feel loved and safe in order to stop this cascade. The shaman who is consulting indicates his spirit animal is intruding on this plane to protect this child, but he’s a baby. The fact that he’s still intruding is alarming considering that he’s quite safe now.”

“The spirit animal is still around?”

“It keeps turning up. The child does not easily accept anyone around him and yet any guide with him can feel his longing. It’s distressing.”

“His siblings?”

“Might work, but we’re reluctant to use children as a band aid to fix another child. Creating a psionic tether, even inadvertent between them, would later need to be broken later because it’s likely they’ll live in very different places and cannot maintain such a connection—which none of them have the skills to manage.”

She gave him a pointed look. “If you manage to connect with that infant, he’s going to need you, General. Are you prepared for that?”

Rand blew out a breath. “He may not.”

“The psionic plane is a mystery. The shaman thinks the child will latch onto his father.”

“Why?”

“He says the child feels, even though he’s not online, as if he’s searching.” She leaned forward. “Do you know what happens when a child actually comes online?”

Rand shook his head. It was such a rarity, and not something he had to deal with in the military. “Other than an online child should be handed over to the custody of a psionics center as soon as possible.”

“Children are not meant to carry that burden, so when they come online, their spirit animal will guard them until they are safe. There are records, from before the Foundation existed, of safety being with a local tribe leader or another family. Regardless, when the psionic plane is satisfied that the child is physically not in danger, the spirit animal will search.”

“Search?”

“Yes. Children are incapable of supporting a fully open connection to the psionic plane, which is why they need da conservator. The spirit animal will search for who that child’s protector is. That chosen protector is always a guide and will become that child’s conservator. Oft times, the duty is eventually handed off, but I’ve never heard of the spirit plane making a mistake in who it guides to protect this child.

“When the shaman evaluated this infant, they feel as if the spirit animal is on the cusp of seeking, which is how we know the child is on the cusp of coming online.”

Rand frowned. “You’re saying this child will somehow feel safe enough with me to stop this process? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Not the child, General, the spirit plane. We understand so little of our connection to the other plane of existence, but you must acknowledge some form of sentience. I think when the spirit plane is satisfied, the spirit animal will retreat. And I believe you will satisfy what the spirit plane requires.”

“I just don’t buy that no one else could make him safe. It has to know he’s safe where he is.”

“Like I said, there are mysteries. And there’s more to this than physical safety.” She sat back and pinned him with a look. “Do you intend to bring your son home?”

He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Yes, I do.”

“Good. I feel that is the right choice for him.” Her gaze sharpened. “I’m never wrong.”

Rand’s eyebrows shot up.

“I will take you to meet him when you are certain you are calm. You must be sure of yourself and forget this Buckley woman. Let Carly handle her.”

“I’m not sure it’s so easy to just let it go.”

Constable Carvalho gave a negligent wave. “Eh. They’ll go to prison; the older children will go to their uncle in Los Angeles. I’ve already sentence Margaret Buckley to thirty days in jail for being a bitch.”

Rand choked on his tea.

Carvalho shrugged. “She’s wretched. You’ll be better off not seeing her. In any case, because Daniel is actually a latent child, we’ve put his name forth through the bone marrow registry through the Foundation. The Foundation registry is not available to baselines, and Mrs. Buckley was potentially dooming her son with her fraud considering there are several matches in the registry for Daniel. The game at this point is to wait and see if any of the potentials are willing.”

Rand nodded. “In a few years, if Daniel were still alive and still sick, can the baby…?”

“No. Not unless you bring a legal petition before a federal court to get a waiver to the Burton Accord.”

“That’s what I thought; I just wanted to be sure.”

“We keep calling him ‘the baby’ because it will be up to his legal parent to name him. His birth certificate will be modified by the Foundation regardless to reflect the proper father and give him your last name. It’s up to you if he keeps any of the names he was given.” She hesitated. “I understand his siblings named him Evan. Do with that what you will; you’re under no obligation, and that was not intended manipulatively. I simply assume it’s better to know now than later. Once you have all the facts, you are his father, and unless things go poorly when you meet him, his name is your choice.” She pushed back from the table. “But I’m never wrong about these things.”

Rand couldn’t help but smile. “You have a lot of confidence, Constable Carvalho.”

“You develop a feel, General Rampart, for the workings of the universe. Even to a sentinel, it has much to say.”

“Feel free to call me Rand.”

She inclined her head. “Esme, then.”

“Esme.” The name suited her.

“Would you like to meet your son now?”

He wasn’t sure he was calm yet—numb might be a better descriptor. Knowing there would be consequences for the Buckleys helped him put them out of his mind. For now.

Esme led him down the hall and then past a security door with a sentinel guard. It was obviously a medical unit.

Randolph recognized the sentinel standing outside one of the rooms as Jim Ellison. He sucked in a breath. “When you said shaman, you didn’t mention…”

“That the heads of the Council were here?” She shrugged. “The universe provides.”

Ellison pushed off the wall and extended and hand. “Jim Ellison.” He knew Ellison had made it to the rank of captain before leaving the Army, but he far and away outranked Rand on any level. There was an air of authority about him that resonated like a bass drum.

“Randolph Rampart.”

“General.” Ellison tilted his head toward the room. “Carly and Blair are both in there.”

Esme looked to Rand. “Wait here, please.” She disappeared into the room, returning a moment later with Blair Sandburg. He was on the shorter side, with short, curly hair that was streaked with grey. Despite his unassuming appearance, his psionic presence was almost oppressive.

Sandburg nodded to Rand. “General Rampart. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Randolph or Rand is fine.” Rand nodded toward the room. “Is he okay?”

“He likes to be held, but he’s fussy about by who. He seems to get along best with Carly, but I do the best job of soothing his spirit animal when she makes her spectral appearance. I think she wants him to be safe so she can retreat, but she prepared to push him online. It’d be a defense, you know? Every sentinel for miles fighting to protect him.” His expression was briefly grieved. He jerked his head toward the room. “You can go in. I’ll be on hand if there are any issues, and we’ll be monitoring.”

Rand was keenly aware that part of the oppressive sense of the shaman was that there’d been a blunt empathic scan to ensure he was suitable to be around the child. He didn’t resent the caution or care taken on behalf of his son.

The room was just a regular medical room with what looked like some baby’s items hastily set up. He doubted the center kept rooms on reserve for babies, but they probably did keep supplies and furniture in their stores for emergencies like this.

Even though he tried not to, his sense of smell kicked into overdrive and began immediately cataloging the scent of his son, right down to the smell of his lotion and diaper cream. His breath caught a little.

The judge was seated in a rocking chair in what looked like a pink nightgown, holding the baby and rocking. She had short grey hair, sticking up all over, but he wasn’t sure if that was intentional or not.

She smiled at him. “Well, good morning, General. Seems like everyone’s up bright and early.” Her smile softened as she looked down at the baby. “Things changed a bit overnight as our investigative team continued to work and Jim and Blair did made their contributions. I don’t see the point in having you attend the hearing. It’s more important for you to get acquainted with this little guy.” Her accent was somehow even more pronounced this morning.

Sandifer got to her feet and nodded to the chair. “Take a load off.”

He huffed a laugh, feeling some of the tension ease, and sat in the rocking chair. All he could see was some tufts of blond hair sticking out of the pale green blankets wrapped around the baby.

Then the judge, in her pink gown and white fluffy slippers, was placing the baby in his arms and Rand could finally see his son’s face.

“He’s healthy but perhaps a bit underweight. We’re looking into why, but nothing to worry about at this time. You’re holding fourteen pounds of baby boy Rampart there.”

But all Rand could do was stare at his son, who was staring back with startling intensity.

There was one hand free, not confined by the blankets, and it bounced up on down on the baby’s chest in some weird tempo.

Rand was fixated, cataloging everything he could about his son. From his little fingers to the little birthmark above his eyebrow. He wanted to touch that birthmark, to see what it felt like, but before he could move, a little fist was reaching toward him.

He extended his finger and the baby immediately grabbed it, holding on tightly.

“oh,” Rand breathed, firmly imprinting on his son in a way that was forever.

The baby just stared at him, holding on to his finger, and everything shifted. Rand knew he’d found the center of his universe.

“Buchanan,” he murmured.

“Pardon?” Judge Sandifer asked.

“It’s a family name. Goes way back.”

“Ah, yes. I seem to recall reading about a four-star general named Buchanan Rampart in my military history texts.”

Rand nodded but didn’t look up. The man had been an absolute terror, but it was a good legacy. “Buchanan Evan Rampart,” he decided.

“I’ll get the paperwork started. You’ll need to be here for a few days…”

“Whatever he needs,” Rand said absently, still focused on those big blue eyes staring at him like he was everything.

“Yeah, Esme was right. You two are going to be fine.”

Rand smiled and finally reached out to touch the little red birthmark, cataloging the slight temperature elevation that indicated it was vascular. He let his fingers drift over baby-fine blond hair.

“I guess we’re gonna be a family, huh?”

The baby reached for him, making a funny little noise, so Rand pulled him to his chest and pressed a kiss to his temple. “This is pretty new for me, kid, so be patient with me, okay? I promise to try my best to do right by you.”

The baby made a little noise that sounded like contentment to Rand.

He blew out a shaky breath and closed his eyes, letting himself be immersed in the sensory experience of holding his son for the first time.

“Buck,” Randolph murmured, rubbing his hand gently over his son’s back. “It’s all gonna be okay now. Daddy’s got you.”

The End