(Once upon a time Susan Foster created a Sentinel sub-universe, in which civilization recognized and relied upon Guides and Sentinels . . . with very different results to the status of each. It is a terrifying universe, but very readable. And i couldn't help wondering . . . how would other characters adapt to that universe? I have Foster-sama's permission to explore the GDP universe, but this is in no wise authentic or recognized as part of it!
UNCLE is not mine, The Sentinel is not mine, Susan Foster's GDP Universe is not mine; little in all this shabby orb is mine.)
The Stray Guide Affair, Prologue, by DarkBeta
Napoleon glimpsed a pale stray skulking in the airport parking lot, and spent nearly an hour trying to herd the dog to safety. By the time he decided it had run off, he'd lost the chance to hook up with Tiffany and her fellow stews at the Park Club.
For once he faced being dateless with equanimity. A week in a jungle prison, and another three days trekking to the coast, followed by a fourteen-hour flight with a three-hour layover in Cascade, made a solitary bed only slightly less attractive than a shared one. If he took a cab past headquarters and dropped off the preliminary report, he'd have a couple days before Waverly's secretary began hounding him for the final report and expenses.
Explaining why UNCLE owed the Indonesian navy a helicopter would be easier after a couple days in bed. Surely.
He had the cab drop him at an all-night drugstore and stepped into a curtained photo booth. A swift translocation and an echoing concrete passage took him to the main desk for his ID badge and obligatory flirtation.
The flirtation was briefer than usual. Napoleon had begun to feel some urgency. Not all of the Thrush rogue scientists were accounted for. He needed to put the report in Waverly's hands as soon as possible, and let Research start tracing them.
In an empty corridor he found himself actually running, and forced himself back to a brisk walk. Seeing an agent run alarmed the secretaries, and they reached for their guns. The last time April Dancer was late for a date, UNCLE almost lost the mailroom guy.
Waverly was in his office, of course. The secretary tried to intercept Napoleon.
"He's in conference . . . !"
Napoleon waved the report at her.
"I'll just drop this in his in-box. They won't notice I was there."
He pulled the door open, and froze. His mouth opened. Inhaling, he tasted the history of the room. The taint of Waverly's special tobacco. (Did the Section Head smoke that blend to confound a sentinel's nose?) The reassuring consistency of Waverly himself. Papers, files, dust. A stranger who stood with military stiffness facing Waverly's desk.
The unconscious urgency made sense now. Napoleon shut the office door behind him. He smiled dangerously at his boss and at the stranger's back.
"It looks like my performance bonus is early this year."