Date: Wed, 17 Aug 1994 08:46:36 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "(Nancy Cleveland)" Subject: Aloha Chapter 2 (p 25-30) "Congratulations." Jonathan mustered his wits. <400 years? My god. I wasn't even close. That means he was born in 1590. What was going on in Scotland in 1590? Did they even speak English there? > "How does it feel, to watch everyone you know, die? To bury all your friends, acquaintances, enemies, time and time again?" MacLeod's face tightened. "It hurts. Just as much. Every time. It's not one of the great attractions of our... condition." MacLeod shook his head, looking inside, looking back. Jonathan felt like an intruder at a funeral. Funerals. "I would have been dust, myself, long ago, if I didn't keep reaching out for and finding love, companionship, friends. We may not be fully human," MacLeod shot Jonathan a quick glance, "But we need to give and receive love and to have friends to share our sorrows and our joys with, just as much as any of the mortals around us do, to have a reason to survive. Those who don't, die early, even if they are Immortals. "The game, the endless pursuit of the prize, the battle to be the final one....to be honest, I've never wanted it, for itself." He stared at Jonathan, as if challenging him to say it was a lie. " I only fight to protect myself when attacked, or those around me, those I love. Lovers die, and it hurts, but you have to go on, find love again. Knowing that the possibility is there is all that keeps me going, sometimes." MacLeod paused for a long moment, a faint smile lightening his face, as he remembered some pleasant past interlude. Jonathan waited, silently. "Ultimately, all that really matters is love. That's what this struggle is about, between those of us who love, and those of us who hate and want to control and rule people because they cannot love, or be loved." MacLeod leaned toward Jonathan, aiming his words at him like tiny arrows, testing him, assessing his response. "You have to decide which kind of player you will be, in this game. I can teach you about *us, * but you control your own destiny, make your own choices. You can seek revenge for what has been done to you and those around you, or you can move on." Jonathan opened his mouth to answer, then bit off the words as the stewardess leaned over their seats, offering drinks. He waved her away, impatiently, but MacLeod ordered two fruit juices, smiling and joking with the woman, and then insisted that Jonathan take one. "Once we leave the plane, you have no idea when you'll eat or sleep again. We don't *need* food to survive, but it helps. Its another thing that keeps me going. That's one reason I lived in Paris the past few years." MacLeod grinned at him, his mood lighter from the quick bantering flirtation he'd engaged in with the pretty redhead. His eyes followed her as she moved down the aisle. Jonathan wondered if MacLeod had always been such a prowling tomcat. Jonathan thought back to his plan. It might work. There was a slim chance, at least. If the Immortal was willing to help. "MacLeod, I have a bounty on my head. The Agency is offering a million dollars to anyone who delivers me to them, alive. Half a million, dead." MacLeod's face didn't change, he didn't seem at all surprised, to Jonathan questioning gaze. He plunged ahead. " When we land, if they're waiting for me, if they capture me, you can claim it, claim you were on your way to them, with me. They're going to check you out anyhow, just for being on the same plane with me. I hope your cover is solid enough to stand up to some investigation." MacLeod frowned at that. "You'd at least get something for your trouble, this way." "Why, exactly, are these people so hot to reel you in, Raven?" MacLeod leaned forward, his eyes searching Jonathan's, as if trying to pull the truth directly from them. Jonathan thought, framing his words carefully. "I was an agent. I left. I know about some things they'd rather not have made public." "Know about? Or did yourself?" "Both. Does it matter?" MacLeod looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "As a matter of fact, it does matter, to me. If you want me to help you, I need to know that you're worth helping. Why did you take those contracts? Why did you work for these people?" Jonathan looked away, out the foggy window at the pink dawn spreading below. The ocean was a rippled pink cloth, tipped with silver and white as the tiny waves rolled beneath them, miles down. "I'm not sure, anymore." He turned away from the window, and met MacLeod's eyes, flinching a bit in the heat of their stare. "It's not something I'm proud of. I don't think I was entirely sane, at the time. "I had just destroyed the Black Dragons, revenged myself for the deaths of my parents. My *on,* my ancestral debt, was paid to them, the honor of my family, restored. My whole life had been dedicated to that cause." He spoke slowly, reliving the feelings, revisiting the scenes of blood and death that had surrounded him, then. "I had trained for that, existed for that, dedicated my life to that and nothing more. I had nothing else, no purpose, no goals. I needed something, some cause, some ideals,somethign outside myself, to give me a reason to keep on living, or I would have died, then or soon after, by my own hand, or another's..." He licked his lips, remembering the wild chances he'd taken, taunting, daring, seeking someone to kill him....to save him.... "Someone found me....I think I was fighting on the streets, for money, looking for someone to take away the burden of my life...They saw something worth saving, in me...saw skills they could use, and in exchange, they gave me a cause, a purpose to live for." He closed his eyes, seeking refuge for a moment from the burning glare of MacLeod's dark stare. "It was a crazy mix of patriotism and self-interest, glory, honor, and lies. I clung to the myth, to the belief that it was right, was good, until I couldn't fool myself any longer. I saw what I had become. A hired killer. A murderer. An assassin. Everything I had trained to be, with the Black Dragons, everything that represented evil, to me...I was. He ground to a halt, drained, unable to continue...to seek this stranger's forgiveness. His pride surged in his heart, hot and angry. "So." MacLeod spoke the single word. Waited. Jonathan fought again, renewed the constant battle, with his pride, his anger. And won. For the moment. Swallowed the frozen lump of rage that blocked his throat. Strangled his speech. "So I left. Quit. Ran away. Tried to put it all behind me, build a new life for myself. One not centered around killing. Or revenge." "But you cannot leave that life behind. It follows you." MacLeod stated the fact, simply. "Yes. But I no longer seek it. I only fight when the fight comes to me, in self defense, or in defense of those I love. As you do." Jonathan threw down the words like a challenge. "I see." MacLeod's lips twitched. Jonathan hesitated, unsure of how to ask this. " Maybe, after we land, if you have the chance, you could also see your way to getting me back, getting my ...body....out, once they're done with me." "That way, they'd be sure I was dead, call off the dogs, shut down the search. Like you said, it would be easier to disappear, after." Or disappear forever, somewhere in the basement of the Agency's bland looking concrete and steel offices. " Buying a new identity can be expensive. " MacLeod looked as if he knew from personal experience. "I don't need your bounty money. If I get it, I'll get it back to you. I t would be something for your trouble. " He smiled, gentle mockery in his eyes. Jonathan considered. The money would help, but it wasn't essential. < They think they're stripped me of my assets. But I still have my body and my mind, my experience, my training. My Immortality. And an ally. It's more than enough. I hope.> MacLeod was nodding, agreeing with the plan. "It sounds plausible. Let's play it by ear when we get on the ground, see what develops. If I have to, I'll be your bounty hunter." "Maybe you should carry the computer, too. Just in case. If you need to access the primary database, here's the password." Jonathan typed rapidly, encrypting all the loose files, clearing all traces of his ownership from the superficially accessible levels. He set up an automatic reformat command to dump and wipe the hard drive if the third level was penetrated without the proper tertiary access codes. Someone could get in by brute force, break the primary and secondary security, but to start to work the files, another code had to be entered, not one preventing entry, just one preserving all the data. He linked up with one of his most secure and intricately untraceable Internet accounts, and dumped duplicate copies of the most valuable and hard won files into the mail. Even if the computer went, the data would still be there. It was something he could take with him to his new life. Some of it, marketed carefully through fourth and fifth parties, could recoup a part of his lost fortunes. The stewardess was back, bringing breakfast this time. Jonathan smiled at her, experimentally. She smiled back. He considered the possibilities, bleakly. < What in the world is there to talk about, after the first hundred years? Do you remember the early Mozart hits? Like asking someone about the Beatles in 2090. I wonder if there are any women Immortals.> Jonathan listened while MacLeod explained the rules of the game, holy ground, renegade immortals, and the Watchers to him. There were clearly some extra hazards associated with air travel that Jonathan had never contended with, before. And these...Watchers. It sounded like a religious cult of some sort. Or like the Black Dragons. Jonathan was familiar with how devoted men could be to a fanatical cause. He had been, himself. He wouldn't underestimate the Watchers. The stewardess came back twice, while the two men talked, offering more beverages, then a lunch/dinner combination. It was almost time. Jonathan could feel the tension growing in him. He closed his eyes and sought refuge for a few moments in meditation. He'd studied the discipline, but he wasn't sure he'd really mastered it. It was hard to judge the accuracy of a thought, the effectiveness of a moments respite, the same way a kick or a kill could be evaluated. And he knew he had not yet attained the inner peace that the masters had. That much, he knew too well. Maybe he never would find the balance, the peace he supposed he sought. < Maybe I'm not looking for peace, now, or ever. Maybe rage is all that keeps me going. > The seat belt light came back on, and the plane tilted down towards the fog shrouded city below. * * * * * Duncan followed Raven out the passenger gate, as they'd agreed, watching the faces in the crowd at the reception area ahead, searching for patterns of movement, for any reaction to Raven's presence. He was glad he'd dumped all his extra I.D. into the mail at Hilo. Even if they were both picked up, nothing remained to show he was anything but the upright Mr. Cartwright. He forced himself to concentrate, fighting the dizziness and sudden changes of perspective that kept threatening to overwhelm him. < Damn that bastard Immortal.> It was simply too much, to absorb all these new personalities in such a short time. He needed to be alone, to focus on himself, to relax and to rebuild his inner barriers. Instead, he was in the middle of another fight for his life. And his new charge's. And he needed all his wits and strength , for this one. Duncan saw Raven's smooth stride break, hesitate for the barest moment, as he approached the clustered group of people, waving and hugging their partners and children and friends. There. Two pairs of men, at each side of the narrow passageway. Hard. Competent. Killers, by their looks. Professionals. By the way they stood, casually tracking Raven's progress as he walked closer, the expression of easy confidence on their faces and in their bearing, they probably had several pairs of backups along the corridor behind them. Raven was obviously important to them. As he moved forward, Duncan thought rapidly, using all his experience and intuition to assess the flow of crowd, the possibilities for Raven to escape this rapidly closing net. < It didn't look good.> *He's a Black Dragon. A traitor, but still a Dragon. You'll see. * The crowd's pace slowed to a shuffle, as a large family met and mingled exuberantly in the hall. The four men moved forward, their easy smiles vanished, their eyes intent on their prey, forming a sort of mobile box that centered on Raven. Duncan hesitated.