Date: Thu, 27 Apr 1995 13:25:10 +0100 Reply-To: MB Overton Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: MB Overton Subject: "Atlantic Games" Part 2 "Atlantic Games" Part 2 by Mark Overton 20th July 1976 18:50 Andrei Ivanov opened the door of the hold and cursed fluently in his native language as he saw the fish strewn around the floor in front of the barrier. About a third of the fish supposedly contained had overspilled in the trawler's last lurch, and now it was undoubtedly going to be him who had pick the things up and throw them back over the barrier. Wondering what he had done to the gods to make himself deserve this, Ivanov stepped into the hold and picked up a few fish, then tossed them across the barrier. With a heavy sigh, he bent down again and began to gather some more fish. Two bare feet stepped into his vision. "Hello," the Magician said politely. Ivanov gaped. With a yell, he flinched backwards, throwing the fish in the air, sliding on top of several to fetch up against the far wall of the hold. Hands trembling, he tried to push himself back from the dead blonde woman in the white dress, who was smiling at him so contemptuously. "Keep - keep back!" he managed in English. "How inhospitable," the Magician said, advancing upon him. As she got within two feet, Ivanov scrambled to his feet and made a rush for the door of the hold. The Magician stepped sideways, anticipating the movement, and her arm locked around his neck, her knee digging into the small of his back. Ivanov's knees gave way and he dropped to the deck, already beginning to cough and choke as the Magician tightened her grip. He scrabbled desperately at her arm, his nails drawing blood and a grunt of pain from the woman, but her skin was slick and slippery from the water and fish grease, and he couldn't get a grip strong enugh to pull her away. "Please..." he choked, his vision beginning to go red. "Sorry," the Magician said. "At least it's nothing personal." Andrei went limp. His last conscious thought was of his wife Natalya and their daughter Masha. The Magician released the unconscious sailor and he dropped to the deck with a thud. She thought for a moment, then sighed resignedly and kneeled on his chest. Pressing her thumb behind his ear, she pushed deeply and held on, counting the seconds she was depriving his brain of oxygen. At seven seconds, Ivanov would have fallen unconscious if he hadn't been already; at ten seconds, he was dead. The body continued to breathe for a few more beats before the chest stopped rising and falling. Relaxing, the Magician got off the body and started for the hold exit. Then she hesitated and turned back, lifting the dead sailor to a sitting position. She pulled his jumper over his head and put it on herself, then turned her attention to his trousers. When she was properly clothed, and could feel a bit of warmth filtering back into her chilled body, she dragged the corpse over to the screened-off section of the hold and hoisted the dead weight into the fishy section. Covering the dead man with fish took a few minutes, at the end of which she started back across the hold towards the corridor. As she stepped into the narrow cramped walkway, the ship lurched violently once more. The Magician guessed there was a storm gathering. "So now I have to put up with wind and rain as well," she muttered to herself tiredly. "Life can be hell sometimes." "See that five and raise it five." A crumpled ten-pound note drifted lazily through the smoky air above the poker table and settled on top of the coins and notes already gathered in the centre. The trawler's navigator, Mandy Dallas, grinned over the top of her cards at Myles' uncertain expression. A red-haired woman in her early thirties, she had a somewhat weatherbeaten face which nonetheless held a kind of lively beauty in it. She scratched the tip of her nose with one finger and rested her chin on her palm. "You're bluffing," Myles said tentatively. Dallas' grin grew wider. "Call me and find out." "Go on, captain," urged Penner, sitting to Dallas' left. "She's bluffing alright." "And how would you know, Andrew?" the navigator asked, her composure not ruffled in the slightest. "She's guessing. We're all guessing." The voice of Victoria Richardson, the other female of the crew, was a soft contrast to the huskiness of Dallas. The former had raven-black hair pulled back in a ponytail, accentuating the high bones of her face; Myles suspected she had aristocratic blood somewhere. It contrasted with the comfortable scruffiness of her jumper and jeans as she considered the pile of notes and coins in the betting pool. "And how confident are you?" Dallas asked. Sitting opposite Victoria, she scrutinised her fellow woman with an unsettling gaze she had developed over years of playing poker. It worked. "Not confident enough," Victoria said ruefully, putting her cards face-down. "I fold." Dallas' smile stretched an extra two millimetres. "Andrew?" Penner wordlessly tossed a tenner into the pile, and Dallas raised one eyebrow for a second before letting it drop and turning to the captain. "And how about you, captain?" Myles looked at her thoughtfully. "I suppose you could be bluffing." "Absolutely." "But you might not be." With a sigh, he folded. Dallas looked across at Penner. "You and me, Andrew. You matched last, you show first." Penner nodded confidently and laid his cards down face-up. "Three queens." Dallas' face fell. "Ah." With a laugh, Penner reached for the money. "Wait," Dallas said reprovingly, and laid down her cards. "Three kings. One higher than yours, so I win." It was Penner's turn to look depressed as Dallas scooped the money up in her hands and pulled it back to her side of the square table. Myles and Victoria both laughed at Penner's expression, which resembled a puppy that had just been kicked. "Never mind, Andrew." Victoria nudged him comfortingly. "We've all been taken in by Mandy at one point or another." Dallas shrugged self-deprecatingly. "Just luck." The Magician opened the upper door and was almost knocked off her feet by the thunderous gust of wind that rushed into the passageway. Rain spattered the deckplates by her feet and she had difficulty in closing the door once it had been opened. When she was able to finally push it closed, she leaned against it, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. "This is going to be fun," she muttered. Turning back to the door, she pulled it partway open and stepped out onto the deck of the trawler, closing the door behind her. Carefully holding onto various pieces of wood that stuck out, she made her way towards the wheel- house. The wind howled viciously around her, doing its best to send her flying, while the rain lashed down and plastered her hair over her forehead and her eyes, obscuring her sight. The sea on either side of the trawler was an unhealthy grey-green, choppy and uneven, making the ship buck and lurch like a drunkard. The sky was dark, and not just because it was approaching night; the storm had blotted out all signs of the sun, moon, or stars. The Magician ignored the weather - when you've been around nine hundred years, one storm is very much like another - and battled steadily through the storm until she reached the wheel-house. She yanked open the door and stepped inside. "Hi." The sailor standing at the wheel whirled, his jaw dropped, and he backed away as the Magician smiled at him, smoothing down the jumper she had taken from the dead Russian seaman. "You're dead!" he gasped, fetching up against the other side of the wheel-house. The Magician shrugged. "The rumours of my death..." she said. "Stay back!" The seaman made faint pushing motions with his hands. "Please!" "Who said I was going to do anything?" the Magician complained, with a moue of distaste. "Just because I've returned from the dead...all I want is some information." "I - Information?" "Information. What ship is this and where is it going?" "I - er, this is the Blue Ribbon. A trawler, operating out of Plymouth. We're fishing the Atlantic." "And the year?" "The year?" The seaman lost his panic for a moment, and frowned. "You don't know the year." "Answer the question," the Magician said with quiet menace. "Uh...1976." 1976. That explained the feeling she had of being dead for a long time. Nine years had passed since her fight on the Eiffel Tower with Macleod and Marsden. The Magician wondered what had taken place in the world at large in her absence. 23rd July 1976 12:56 The Blue Ribbon was drifting listlessly in the water as the vastly bigger Empress bore down on her and slowed to a stop sixty feet away. Some passengers on the deck of the cruise liner looked over the railings at the apparently derelict trawler in curiosity, wondering what they were doing stopping for a down-at-heel fishing vessel. Those same passengers also saw the lifeboat as it was lowered down from the side of the Empress and despatched across the blue-green waters of the Atlantic towards the trawler. Standing on the bridge, Trenchard lowered the binoculars he had been using to study the ship and turned to Myles, standing beside him. "That's her alright." Myles nodded, though Trenchard's comment had been a statement, not a question. "Yes. Did you tell your men to be careful?" "Of course," Trenchard said brusquely. He didn't believe Myles' story about a dead woman coming back to life, but he believed some kind of psychopath had somehow got onboard the Blue Ribbon and murdered all the crew except the captain. So he had naturally told his men to be careful; Myles thinking that he hadn't grated on the captain's sensibilities. "Are we still in contact with Devis?" he demanded of his R/T operator on the bridge. "Aye captain," was the answer. "Nothing to report so far." Trenchard raised the binoculars to his eyes again. Devis, the leader of the boarding party, was just climbing the ladder affixed to the hull of the trawler. Myles shivered involuntarily, and Trenchard pitied the man. "Devis to Empress bridge." The seaman held the R/T in one hand and a torch in the other, which he was using to illuminate the walkway leading into the depths of the trawler. "Nothing on upper deck. We're moving down below now." "Acknowledged," the R/T crackled. Devis moved inside. 20th July 1976 19:10 The Magician looked down at the dead body of the seaman in the wheel- house, Trenton, thoughtfully. She was reluctant to throw him overboard - it was too reminiscent of how she had spent the last nine years for her to be comfortable with the action - but she didn't really have much choice. Opening the door of the wheel-house, she took Trenton by the heels and dragged him out onto the deck, across to the railing which was all that stood between her and the choppy grey sea. The Magician hoisted Trenton onto the railing and, with an effort, tipped him over the edge. He barely made a splash as he hit the water, and quickly vanished from her sight in the rain and mist which was building up. Lighting crackled through the air, lighting up the deck like day for an instant, and the Magician retreated inside the wheel-house. If her guess was right Trenton was on night watch and wouldn't be relieved for a while yet. She had a comfortably warm place in which to rest and gather her energy for what lay ahead; she would, of course, have to kill the trawler's entire crew. Without her tricks, this would be a difficult proposition. Closing the door of the wheel-house, the Magician made sure the trawler was stable, and retreated to a comfortable corner. She sat down and closed her eyes to rest. It was going to be a busy night. ..to be continued.. =========================================================================