Date: Fri, 27 Oct 1995 11:26:13 EDT Reply-To: Russ McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russ McMillan Subject: Adam, Part 2 Adam, Part 2 by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu ". . . So I needed some money pretty bad," Richie said between bites of his burger, "and I decided to knock over this antique store in the Heights. It went like a charm, and I had a bag full of stuff, when another Immortal came along looking for Macleod. So he comes out of his bedroom armed to the teeth and ready for a fight. Unfortunately for me, I had just taken a sword out of a display case, and I was standing there with it in my hand." "And Macleod thought --" Pierson put in. "Yeah. So he starts talking about taking my head, and I'm getting seriously alarmed, when the other Immortal jumps in through the skylight. And then a third guy shows up with a sword -- he was hunting the second guy. They start fighting, and I just book it out of there and call the police." Richie shook his head. "That was the biggest job I ever tried to pull off, and the last." "Macleod put you on the straight and narrow?" "Yeah, he gave me a real job and a place to stay. I never understood it at the time, but I guess he knew what I was." Pierson nodded. "Sometimes you can tell beforehand. Not always. It's easiest with teenagers, for some reason." He toyed with the overcooked vegetables on his plate, then set his fork down with a sigh. "So how did you meet Mac?" "Oh, we bumped into each other in Paris a few months ago. It was when he was having that trouble with Kalas." Richie sobered at the sound of the name. "That bastard. I'm glad he finally got what he was asking for." "Macleod did us all a favor there." Pierson took a sip from his water glass. Richie froze. For a brief moment, as Pierson reached out for the glass, a tattoo had peeped out from his sleeve -- a Watcher's tattoo. The bite Richie had just swallowed seemed to stick in his throat. He thought furiously. How did an Immortal get a Watcher's tattoo? And why? Was he trying to sabotage the Watchers' organization from the inside, or use their information network to pick up easy prey? Had the breakdown been a setup to draw Richie in? Richie didn't consider himself to be exactly easy prey, but he wasn't planning just to play along until Pierson was ready to make a move. He finished the last of his cheeseburger and pushed his chair back from the table. "Excuse me, I have to, uh --" He waved wordlessly. Pierson gave him a pleasant nod and watched without apparent alarm as Richie headed for the passage leading to the restrooms -- and the exit. As soon as he was out of sight, Richie picked up his pace and hurried out to the parking lot. A group of men was just about to enter as he came out. He tried to step out of the way, but one of the men stepped in the same direction. Richie moved the other way and found his path blocked by another man. Then something sharp stabbed his neck and he turned to see a syringe plunging through his skin. "Aw, hell," was all he had time to say as his knees buckled. Before the darkness quite overtook him, he heard a step, felt the buzz, and saw Adam Pierson come up behind him. "It's about time you fellows got here," Pierson said. "What took you so long?" "No, this doesn't make any sense," Duncan insisted. "Methos -- Adam -- _has_ to be an older Immortal. He has that confidence, the -- serenity of one of the ancients." "He told _me_ he was just an ordinary guy," Joe growled. "Was he really what you expected from the oldest man on Earth?" "Not really, but a graduate student attracts less unwanted attention than Obi-Wan Kenobi. It made sense." "Wait a minute. Didn't you say you had memories of Methos, from someone whose quickening you hold? Was it the same man or not?" Duncan frowned. "It was the same man we met. Grace Chandelle encountered him once." "How long ago?" "About a hundred and eighty years -- a lot more recent than your drawing." "So he's been impersonating Methos for a while." "Maybe not. He wasn't calling himself Methos when Grace met him. I was assuming that was just natural caution, but maybe he was using his real name." Duncan considered. "I still don't get it, though. Why did he try to get me to take his head, if he wasn't really worried about how valuable his quickening would be for Kalas?" Joe shrugged. "He probably knew you wouldn't go through with it. He should have guessed as much from what I told him about you. It certainly worked to convince you that he was on your side." "But if he wasn't really on my side, why didn't he ever betray us?" Joe's fist pounded the arm of his chair. "The disk!" "What?" "The CD. Adam told me Don Salzer would never have thought of making a backup on his own -- Adam must have made it himself!" "And let it fall into Christine Salzer's hands? Why? It would hurt him just as much as us." "Not if there was no information about him in the database." Duncan's breath trickled out between parted lips. "You mean it was an incomplete copy." "Could have been. I never got that good a look at it." Joe shook his head, remembering. "He practically drove Christine into going to the papers. I thought it was just a miscalculation, when we were trying to talk her out of it. But what if that was part of his plan? Mac, we're talking about layers and layers of plots here. I mean, look -- this guy is a Watcher. I haven't told the other Watchers about him yet. He knows all about our organization. Why did he join? What's he waiting for?" "Maybe that was his plan all along -- giving an abridged database to the media, getting rid of all the Immortals except himself." "But that plan failed. Now what?" "He'll try something similar, using his connections among the Watchers." "I don't know, Mac. We don't really know what he's up to, or what he wants. We can't predict what he's going to do next, unless we know his motive. If he's as devious as he's beginning to sound . . . " Duncan rubbed his temples. "Then we're all in trouble," he finished. Richie groaned and moved his head. He was hanging from some cuffs around his wrists, and it was pretty uncomfortable. He tried to pull his feet under him. They must have been pretty sure he was Immortal, because they had used a drug dose that would kill an ordinary person. Laboriously, Richie dragged his eyelids up. He wasn't alone, but he had known that already. Pierson sat backwards on a wooden chair, watching him. They were in a bare, dusty room. The windows were boarded. Only distant traffic sounded outside. Pierson cast a quick glance at the closed door and came to stand in front of Richie. "Ryan, are you awake?" he asked in a low, urgent voice. "What do you think?" Richie mumbled. His knees wouldn't hold him. His shoulders and arms were numb. "Just play along," Pierson hissed. "I'll get you out of this if I can." Richie tilted his head to bring the other Immortal into view. "I'm supposed to trust you? After you set me up?" "I wasn't trying to set you up. I was looking for them, and I guess they were looking for you." "Why the hell are you hanging out with Hunters? How did you get a Watcher's tattoo?" Pierson glanced at the door again. "I joined the Watchers to keep them from watching me. Now I've decided to turn that around and hunt the Hunters. They're after Macleod, I know that much. Warn him, if you get a chance." "Sure! Like you really expect me to get out of here with my head. Why haven't they killed me yet?" "I'm not sure, but I'll try to keep it from coming to that." Richie chuckled bitterly. "I bet you will. If they cut my head off while you're in the room, you'll be the next one on the chopping block." "That's not --" The door opened. "He awake yet, Adam?" "I, er, I think he's just coming round," Pierson called. "Good. I'll tell the chief." Pierson turned back to Richie as the head pulled away from the door. "Just trust me, all right?" he hissed. Then the room began to fill with mortals. One of them came up to Richie and pulled his head back by the hair. He was slim and dark-haired, and younger than Richie would have expected for the leader of this group. Richie would have liked to spit in his face, but he didn't have any saliva left. "Feeling better already, are we?" said the chief. "Good. Now, we have some questions to ask you. As long as you give us the answers, we'll let you keep your head." His voice had the rhythmic intensity of a dangerous fanatic. "Go to hell," Richie said. "Wrong answer," the chief returned gravely. He held out one hand, and one of his men put a sword in it. Richie's sword. The point came around and caressed Richie's throat. This time he managed to persuade his legs to hold him up. He darted a brief glance at Pierson, who was looking alarmed -- for Richie's neck or his own? Then the chief brought the blade down and ripped into Richie's shoulder, making him cry out. "Now. First question: where is Duncan Macleod?" Richie's shoulder throbbed. "How would I know? Find him yourself." "Wrong again." The tip of the sword traced a bloody line down Richie's arm. Pierson took a step forward. "Dammit, you know where he is! Why are you asking me?" "Now that," said the chief, "is actually true, although it's not what I wanted you to say." He settled for a small nick on Richie's cheek. "Very well. If that question was too easy, we'll try another. We know Macleod has Joe Dawson on his side. Who else has he corrupted from the Watchers?" "You're the ones who are corrupt!" Richie blurted through clenched teeth. "Not only that, you're crazy!" The sword stabbed deep into his thigh, and he lost his footing again. The weight of his body tore at the half-healed wound in his shoulder and reopened it. A groan escaped his throat. "Is this really necessary?" Pierson broke in. The chief turned to him slowly. "We need this information. I haven't done any permanent damage, so far. If you're squeamish, go into the other room." "It's not that. I just don't see the point. He might not know the answers, and we can't trust what he says anyway." "Oh, he knows," the chief said positively. He pointed the reddened rapier at Richie and demanded sharply, "Who are the Watchers who are working with Macleod?" "I don't know! I haven't seen him in over a month!" Richie protested. A line of fire traced Richie's ribs. "As of a month ago, then. Who was working with him?" "I don't know!" Richie said. "I never met anybody except Dawson!" The blade passed between the bones of his wrist, and blood ran down his arm. Richie sobbed and tried to twist away. "I know Macleod confided in you," the chief crooned. "He must have mentioned other names." "I don't -- remember," Richie gasped. "All you need to do is tell us, and the pain will stop." The chief set the point of the blade against Richie's navel. "Even if I did know . . . I wouldn't tell you. Bastards." The point pressed forward. Richie pulled his body back as far as he could, until he was on tiptoe. "Look, this isn't getting us anywhere," Pierson interrupted again. The chief ignored him. "We've heard there's an Immortal among the Watchers. Working with Dawson. Helping Macleod. Who is it?" The steel began to pierce Richie's abdomen. From the corner of his darkening vision, Richie saw Pierson stiffen up. "Damn you," he gasped. "I wouldn't give you the name of my worst enemy." He threw himself forward and down, running the blade all the way through his body. Blood spilled out over his legs, bubbled up in his mouth. Then a blessed numbness spread out from his center, and the world went away. He didn't expect to see it again. =========================================================================