Date: Thu, 29 Sep 1994 02:30:05 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Hobert@AOL.COM Subject: CHOICES, Part 04 of 20 < < < < < < < < < < < < < < He was standing by a black charger, Fitz remaining astride a dappled gray. "Go on," the Englishman said, nodding his head toward the castle. "I'll wait for ye. But just a fare-thee-well kiss, my friend. The Prince's men won't give us much longer. Especially here." They were dressed in a style not worn during Duncan's long lifetime. {Maybe middle ages? A prince? What is going on?} Duncan found himself running across the drawbridge, heading for the inner gate. His heart jumped at sight of a woman, running across the courtyard toward him. {Rebecca?} It was Amanda's fiery haired teacher, flying toward him, skirts in hand. They met, passion igniting as they embraced. "Gwen..." he began, his mouth working from an unseen script. "Hush," she said, laying her exquisite finger against his lips. "We swore not to use those names anymore. The memories..." And again they embraced. He was thoroughly occupied when the other Immortal came at a run, the betraying buzz signaling the arrival. Amanda almost knocked him over, Rebecca wisely releasing him. Once more, a lovely female Immortal did her best to suck out his tongue, an unacknowledged restraint keeping them from ripping off their clothes. The clearing of a throat broke the spell, Duncan turning to see Fitz slumping in his saddle, holding the reins of the black, impatiently waiting. "I must away, my dears. It's not wise for us to be caught on the wrong side of the Channel," Duncan's voice exclaimed as he jumped into the saddle, the men turning their horses and spurring them into action. Across the moat the two sped, flying like the wind through the forest. Duncan turned to look at his friend as they raced down the road, again chased by soldiers. Laughing, Fitzcairn looked at him, mouthing his name. It was confusing, not what the Highlander expected. {He said...} > > > > > > > > > > > > > > "...Duncan." Fitz was gently shaking him, snapping him from his revere. It took a moment for the memory to fade, the name sticking to the tip of Duncan's tongue. Gillian was still absorbed by her terminal, the car speeding through the dark tunnel. {He said...Richard.} "How well did you know Richard the Lionheart?" Duncan surprisingly asked. By his reaction Fitz was surprised as well. A guarded look appeared in his eyes as he took a puff of his pipe. "Somewhat. I met him once or twice." "You were good friends," Duncan retorted, not letting Fitz off the hook. "...Yes." Another puff. "And I will not discuss him with you." "He thought the world of you," Duncan said with a sigh, leaning back into the upholstery. {Like I do, you old windbag!} "And how would you know?" The wild hair and steely gaze made Fitzcairn the image of a lunatic. The pipe smoked forgotten in his hand, limp by his side. Duncan smiled and just pointed to his head, indicating his brain. Comprehension dawned. "Oh." The Englishman looked ahead in the dark, not even focusing on Gillian. Duncan still looked at him. Unnerved, Fitz swung his head around. "What?" Duncan cocked his head. "Something is bothering you." It was Fitz's turn to snort. He brought up his pipe again, mindless chewing on the stem. "Tell me something that's new." Bitterness tinged his voice. "Talk to me. What's the matter?" Duncan pleaded. "Oh, you're just dying to help an old friend, aren't you." The sarcasm was something Duncan had never heard from Fitzcairn. "I needed your help years ago, and you're off hiding your head in the sand. Just like you always do. And leave the rest of us to muddle through." His voice grew louder in the small confines of the car with each sentence. Duncan just sat there, wondering where this was coming from. "Since when has twenty years made a difference between us...?" Duncan weakly began. Fitz savagely cut him off. "It's the time of the Gathering, you idiot! The Game didn't waiting for you to come back, and neither did we. God, if you'd been around, we might not have lost Grace, or David..." "Grace is dead?" Duncan asked, shocked. Fitz continued, ignoring him. "...and we wouldn't have been blown up, dropped half a mile into the sea, and almost become shark bait. And now you decide to bless us with your presence. Well, forget it. You aren't the long lost son, and we're not feasting your return. You can just crawl back into the hole you came from and leave us the HELL ALONE!" He was yelling, drawing even Gillian from her work. She looked at him, showing neither pity or curiosity, just a level gaze. Duncan didn't know what to say. He turned in his seat, looking away from the man next to him and concentrated on the walls outside as they flew past. {Just like the last twenty years.} - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The car stopped in another room, one steel door leading away. As they exited, Duncan ventured a question. "Does everyone feel this way?" he asked, stopping Fitz from following Gillian. The Englishman looked as if he had a sharp answer on his tongue, but something gave, his eyes loosing their fire. "I'm sorry Duncan. It's been a terrible few days, and you were easy to blame. You know you're always welcome at my fire..." Fitz swung his arms wide, an invitation. Duncan took it, moving into an embrace of old, close friends. "It's fine. Everything you said is true. I let you down," Duncan was embarrassed to say, warm at the touch of another living being. {I've stayed away too long. Mourned too long. Like always.} "No one could guess what the Gathering would be like. We all heard the words, knew the maxims, but... It's terrible, Duncan. Everywhere you turn, people are dying, mortal and Immortal. No place is safe, trust is gone. It's like we've all gone mad." Pent up emotions boiled forth, thoughts unvoiced until now. Fitz was shaking in Duncan's arms. "And Grace?" Duncan quietly asked. A soft sob escaped. "They... they were living in the Andes. At the Foundation. It was attacked by a band of Immortals. Two security people pulled him out of there. Grace was already dead, beheaded. Only the three survived..." Duncan could tell Fitz was reliving it all, painfully. But he had to ask. "Him? They?" Fitz froze. "You don't know... Grace and Richie were married about fifteen years ago. They raised Jeremiah together, until he ran off to Hawaii and joined the UEO. They weren't real thrilled, but he was of age, and they couldn't do a thing." "UEO? That's twice I've heard the term. What is it?" Duncan felt like Rip Van Winkle, everything topsy-turvy. {Richie and Grace? Do I even want to know?} Breaking the embrace, Fitz wiped his eyes with his coat sleeve. "I'm such a ninny. It stands for United Earth Oceans Organization. Sort of a world navy. Little Jerry just ran away from home and joined up, with some help from Connor." The memory brought a ghost of a smile to the Englishman's lips. Duncan smiled also. "Just like his parents. Serves Richie right for having such head strong friends." {He took their loss pretty hard. So much death, we can't talk about anything else.} "I never knew the Russells..." Fitz began, leading Duncan to the steel door. Gillian patiently waited like a guard, letting them pass through first as she brought up the rear. "But Richie thinks he's just like Marla, and Greg swears he has Steven's humor. So in a way, I guess I do know them." Duncan leaned his head toward Fitz, pitching his voice low. "So what's the deal with Miss Frosty behind us. One of your security guards?" he asked as they walked down yet another hallway. A turn in the corridor, and they were at a staffed desk guarding yet another metal door, another microscope looking device mounted to it. Fitz stuck his face to it first, waving Duncan to follow. As the ruby light invaded the Highlander's eye, Fitz spoke to the guard, "Warn them to have Johnny ready for uplift in ten." They walked through another door, Gillian giving more instructions to the guard herself. As they turned another corner, Fitz whispered back. "I'm supposed to be dead, Duncan. Gillian is now head of security and I'm just a crusty old bastard that won't go away." Duncan mentally rubbed several sore spots. "She get's my vote. Worked me over pretty good." He didn't remember meeting such an aggressive woman since.... {Nefertiri. I wonder if Marcus is still alive?} Fitz nudged him in the ribs. "That was nothing. She had orders to go easy on you." And off the two friends went, the Englishman giving Duncan the five minute tour. Stairs led to the lobby, a massive rotunda with a monstrous spinning globe hanging in the air, level with the second story balcony. Lights were dim, highlighting the revolving Earth. Their steps on the tile were absorbed in the cavernous room as Fitz guided Duncan across the way. "Pretentious little bastards, aren't you?" Duncan commented, remembering this from the artists' renderings before... {Before Amanda died and I ran away.} They quickly moved down more halls, Fitz giving brief explanations as they passed glass windows. Two turns and a checkpoint later, they made their way into a hanger sized room, huge doors at the end. In the center sat a small craft, no wheels or wings. The design looked vaguely familiar, a white curvy body resting on two pylons. Stenciled on the side were 'JONATHAN LIVINGSTON SEAGULL' and the stylized 'C' of Camelot Industries. {Where have I seen this before?} He stopped, trying to place the scampering memory. Fitz stopped also, noticing the distracted look. "Our developing and engineering departments are big fans of 'Star Trek', and they get away with it anytime they can. Just another case of life imitating art." His palm print opened the side hatch as Gillian appeared from across the hanger. They entered, Fitz waving Duncan into a front seat. The Englishman sat in the other, pressing buttons, as Gillian sealed the door behind them. Duncan spent a few minutes struggling with the restraining belts, until he got a little help from his friend, locking them tight. Fitz keyed another button and spoke into the air. "Freedom Control, this is JLS-9 requesting uplift in sixty seconds. Destination is Freedom 9-0." "SEAGULL, this is Freedom Control. You are cleared for 9-0, ETA thirty minutes. You want this manual or automatic, Hugh?" The female voice pleasantly echoed in the cabin from an unknown source. Duncan just sat and watched in wonder, marveling in the difference such a short time could make with the world. Fitz spoke again. "Manual, Wendy. VIP on board, I may want to give him a spin around when I get up there..." Duncan was momentarily distracted as the large bay doors across the room began to pull apart. Past them, a short runway led toward the ocean, the similarity to the one from the news footage unsettling the centuries old Immortal. The ghostly female voice giggled. "I'll clear traffic out for you. This wouldn't happen to be Richie's mysterious guest, would it?" "What makes you think that? And wouldn't that be his secret to tell?" Fitz chided, another couple of buttons and the shuttle slowly rose in the air. With a faint hum, the SEAGULL crept out the hanger, slowly gaining speed and altitude. "You know the only thing faster than a Wolenczak StarDrive is Camelot gossip. And Master MacLeod has clamped up tighter than... You are cleared for 9-0, Mr. Fitzcairn... He's pacing around up here like a trapped tiger. Don't spare the juice. I'll clear the halls by the time you dock. And, Hugh? We're all sorry about Donnelly. He was a good man." "Thank you, Miss Mitchum. I read you loud and clear. ETA now twenty minutes. SEAGULL out." Fitz pulled the yoke as the shuttle gained speed, the runway and ocean disappearing from the windows, replaced by clear, blue sky. In moments, the color thinned, the blue turning royal, then black. And then somehow a turn, and the Earth loomed in the window, looking so small against the blackness. When the shock and the sight wore off, Duncan asked, "Shouldn't we be floating, or something? And who is Donnelly? I thought you said that was you in the shuttle?" Too many questions, not enough answers that made sense. {I've been absent too long.} Fitz still played with the controls as he replied. "Artificial gravity. How do you think flying cars were possible? We can keep gravity from affecting the shuttle even while we have internal gravity to keep us in our seats. Don't ask, 'cause I don't understand it myself. And I wouldn't ask anyone in the science division unless you've earned a physics degree. I tried once, and left with a headache and more questions. Donnelly was the name I was using when I played Security Chief. He 'died' in the explosion with Old Man MacLeod and Connor, so I had to switched hats. Now I'm just Hugh Fitzcairn, hotshot pilot. Anything else?" Duncan was getting more concerned by the minute. "Since you asked, yes. Why did it look like your headquarters was virtually deserted? Or are those people just for show?" When Fitz started to answer, Gillian coughed from her seat. "I don't think it would be wise to..." she began. Fitz stopped playing with the controls, swiveling to stare levelly at the woman. "If you have a problem with Duncan, I suggest you take it up with Richie. Until he orders me to keep quiet, I'll tell this man anything I damn well please..." Duncan reached over and placed his hand on Fitz's arm. "Fitz, it's fine. Things will keep. Right now I just want to get used to all of this." He gestured helplessly at all the technology. "You're right," Fitz acknowledged, turning the chair forward. "It's just been Hell these past two days..." His voice faded into silence, his hands limp in his lap. Duncan was about to say more when a small alarm went off, the beeping silenced by Fitz's deft fingers. The Englishman brightened as he once again pressed buttons. "And now, for your viewing pleasure..." =========================================================================