Date: Thu, 29 Sep 1994 03:32:49 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Hobert@AOL.COM Subject: CHOICES, Part 05 of 20 Duncan turned to look out the front, barely making out the small spider web of silver against the black backdrop. Slowly the object grew closer, resolving into large compartments joined with gossamer threads. Three squat cylinders stood up and down, lined up in a row like ducks. >From each, two cylinders sprouted right and left, three times the length of the center ones, like wings, all connected by girders and tubes. It was huge, each cylinder longer than a football field. Here and there, little gnats of metal scurried over the structure, moving something here and working there. Fitz deftly swung the craft sideways, giving Duncan a view from the side as they flew over the right cylinders. High atop the middle center cylinder, a row of windows stretched all the way around, people scurrying inside. {Was that a flash of red hair? Richie?} They completed their flyby and stopped ahead of the station, rotating until they faced it again. Duncan could make out the words 'Freedom' and 'Station' on the leading side cylinders, the center up and down one displaying numerous openings. Fitz headed toward one, '9-0' painted on the side, expertly maneuvering into the hole. The craft settled to the floor, the light blazing on the far wall disappearing as the bay door shut behind them. Duncan sat in amazement, his brain still trying to take it all in, the reality dwarfing the image he had made so long ago from drawings and plans. Plans laid out on a table like... < < < < < September, 2005 < < < < < ... blankets on the hillside. Duncan watched Angie, Grace, and Gregor unloading the baskets, the sounds of children coming from behind. He was tackled by two small masses, the bright faces of Johnny and Simon Davis crowded his face. "Come on, Uncle Mac. Play football with us! Please." He was about to reply when little Jeremiah piled on top, followed by the less than dainty Melinda Davis, knocking all the wind from his lungs. He submitted quickly, agreeing before the little ragamuffins could tickle him. They all tried to help him up, tangling up each other and him until they all fell down again. Fitz and Richie came over, both lifting a child in each arm, carrying them off to the pylon bounded football field. Connor and Amanda had already flipped the coin, Gregor being drafted to even up the teams. Joe Dawson limped out, handing the ball to Amanda before slipping a whistle around his neck, a shrill blow staring the organized mayhem. From the sidelines, Grace and the very pregnant Angela cheered both teams, switching sides on a whimsy, sitting among the picnic food, protecting it from player and ball alike. The exertion, the children, the excitement reminded Duncan of a time long ago, a place where he still had a mother and father. A time before the curse of Immortality swallowed him whole. Any sadness he felt was swept away as Gregor blind sided him, the ball in his hand sliding away as they plowed into the grass. From under the lithe Immortal, the Highlander watched young Johnny capture the tumbling pigskin, running in the other direction, toward his goal. Amanda made a grab for the little scoundrel, failing as Connor swept her off her feet, carrying her off the field. The other way, Richie also lay on the ground, hand holding up his head, his other firmly clutched around the ankle of a squirming little lass, trying vainly to wiggle away. Johnny ran straight toward Fitz, passing the ball sideways to Jeremiah as he flung himself into the grownup's torso, barreling the Englishman over. That left Jerry alone with Simon as the two sprinted the final few yards to the goal. Even at five and seven, respectively, the two had become fast friends, competition submerged by companionship. It didn't matter where the tackle occurred, only that the two friends tumbled to the ground, rolling to a stop, the ball held high in one of their tiny little hands. Richie jogged down the field, sweeping Jeremiah into the air, father and adopted son. Simon picked himself up, dusting the grass from his shorts as his father snuck up behind him from the parking lot, swinging him around in the air also. A call came from the blankets, sending the players scurrying toward the food. David and Richie walked slowly, conversing quietly and watching their sons scamper ahead of them. Melinda flew to them, screaming that she had felt her new little brother kicking. David picked her up, threatening to use her as a volleyball. She screamed even louder, begging to be tossed in the air. Paper plates were filled, drink boxes handed around, and everyone sat and watched the NASA/Space Command complex stretched out in the distance. The tall, upright shuttle platform moved on giant treads, inching toward the launch tower. A check of the time showed only two hours until liftoff. One hundred, twenty minutes until Freedom was born. Everyone excitedly talked as they ate, letting David Davis update the situation at Mission Control for them. Duncan was surprised at how chummy Amanda and Angie were becoming. The plates were gathered and stowed as the final ten minutes counted down. The sun obliged by sinking below the horizon as the faintly heard countdown wafted toward the small hill. At zero, the shuttle belched fire, sending the first pieces of salvation skyward. The first components of Freedom Station. But the true moment, as always, was elsewhere. On the hillside, the oranges, reds, and purples of sunset behind them, a small group of people stood, watching the fiery liftoff. Immortal, mortal, young, old, pregnant, crippled, each a part of a larger whole, each a player in this hand of the Game. Watching as their future was born. Connor with Melinda on his shoulders, Jeremiah wiggling in Richie's grasp, Gregor bending down to Simon's level, Amanda enveloped by Duncan's arms, Angie and David quietly holding hands, Dawson and Fitz and little Johnny. Camelot of old wasn't about castles, or glory, or even the eternal fight between good and evil. It was about people, striving together toward a common goal, the struggle to raise humanity to a higher place. Arthur's Camelot had failed. Richie's Camelot soared. The future king had rightfully claimed his throne. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Chapter 2 ---------- The Long, Dark Night "Supplemental entry, September 22, 2025, Richie MacLeod. Forty minutes ago we lost our communications link with the Mars Orbital Satellite. Nothing we didn't plan for, but with yesterday's supposed shuttle accident, I'm worried. Yes, they can take care of themselves, and even now we're trying to get a signal to the PROMETHEUS, but still I worry. My son is out there, where I cannot protect him. Word that Mac just docked doesn't help a bit, either. I'm getting exactly what I want from him..., but why am I so scared? End entry." Richard Ryan MacLeod sat at an abandoned terminal, wearing a neatly starched maroon jumpsuit, watching the frenzy of activity around him. The circular room housed several such terminals, the large, clear windows broken only by the one main viewscreen. Now it showed static, where as moments before it was filled with the face of his son as he calmly read status reports of the Mars mission. The sound of white noise still filled the room, people clustered around the communications technicians, offering advice and experience. Richie just sat and watched, useless. The static sounded so very much like the sea... < < < < < July, 2023 < < < < < ...as it crashed on the black rocks of Hawaii. Richie walked with the other people as they entered the UEO Navel Yard at Pearl Harbor. Today was a special day, the end of the SeaQuest's sixth tour. Even now, the submarine... ...vehicle was speeding toward port, ready to disembark her crew. Richie didn't think Jeremiah knew he was coming, the invitation passed on by Connor. Richie imagined what two years under the ocean had done to his son. Adopted son. The son of friends who died the same night Jeremiah Russell was born into this world. The sound of the band blared into the air, the long, flowing shape surfacing to rest on the clear, blue water. A gangway mechanically moved to a hatch, the crowd cheering and band playing. To waving flags and thrown confetti, the crew came ashore, grins and laughter at meeting family and friends. Several men Richie momentarily mistook for Jeremiah, everyone in matching tan outfits and most wearing short, dark hair. And then he was there, at the hatch, not bothering to scan the crowd as he walked up the ramp. Richie moved to intercept him as the young man pushed through the crowd. The redhead got behind his son, stabbing one finger into his back. "Don't lose your head..." he joked, ready for anything Jeremiah tried. His son turned, a fleeting emotion crossing his eyes, then nothing. "Hi, Dad... Didn't expect you." Richie was taken aback. He could have faced anger, hate, joy, anything but the nothing Jerry threw up. His hand dropped to his side as he thought of something to say. "Well, surprise. How long will you be topside this time?" Something akin to guilt reflected from Jerry's hazel eyes. He dropped his duffel bag to the ground, ducking his head. "I guess I need to talk to you about that." The soft voice didn't sound like the usual baritone Richie expected. "How about we take a walk on the beach..." An older black man bumped into the pair, hastily apologizing. Jeremiah stiffened as the gentleman held out his hand. "Lieutenant Russell, I forgot to give you my congratulations," he said as Jerry shook it. "And I wanted to add how much a pleasure it has been to serve with you. I'm sorry to see you go." "Thank you, sir," Jerry said, his voice more the normal pitch. "The pleasure was all mine." He indicated Richie to the gentleman, "I'd like to introduce you to my... ah, brother. Captain Jonathan Ford, Richie MacLeod." The black man vigorously shook Richie's proffered hand. "Have we met before?" Captain Ford asked, analyzing Richie's face. Jeremiah's eyes widened behind the Captain's back. His mouth opened and shut as he tried think of a way to divert the possibly disastrous situation. The Captain had met his father before, a long time ago. A very *long* time ago. "I don't think so, sir," Richie replied, trying to think like a twenty year old. He also remembered meeting Captain Ford, when Camelot was recruiting for the Freedom Project. The military was the first logical choice, and they had met the cream of the crops. "You may be thinking of my father, sir. Richard MacLeod, Sr. Everyone says I'm the spitting image of him." Satisfactorily answered, Ford's eyes returned to their pleasant state. "That's right. About fifteen years ago. I'm a big fan of his work. And what he's managed to do for the planet... even if it was in outer space." With an exchange of goodbyes, the Captain left, leaving father and son alone again. In minutes they were along the shore, Richie rolling up his slacks, Jerry leaving his coat and pants with his bag, walking in white shorts and T-shirt. Jerry kicked the sand, collecting his thoughts. "I don't know how to tell you... I've joined the crew the PROMETHEUS. Uncle Greg's taken me on as second officer, and Aunt Angie's signed off on it. I'm going. And there's nothing you can do to stop me." In that moment all the hesitation, the uncertainty, the rebelliousness Jerry had always displayed with his father vanished, replaced by a calm peace and strength, daring the Immortal to say no. {My son has become a man. And just the other day he was five, begging to ride on my shoulders. Where did my little boy go?} They walked in silence as the waves rolled up the sand, wetting the feet of the two. "A long time ago, I asked your namesake if I yelled, would he stay. He went. So will you. Why would I want to stop you?" Richie had stopped and turned, gazing up into his son's face. Jerry still couldn't look at him. "I'm not going to die," he assured his father, knowing the story and the results. He waited, not knowing what else to say. "Of course you are. We all are." Richie took a deep breath, trying to be the father he thought he should be. "Your life is your's to live. Go live it. Explore the galaxy, travel to the bottom of the ocean, find your path. Don't worry about pleasing me. Just be happy. Nothing else matters." A small voice came from the seaman. "You matter, Dad. And I am happy. I just... I hope I have your blessing..." He finally faced his father, looking down into the eyes that never changed, the face that never grew older. "You have it always, my son," Richie replied, wanting so badly to open his arms and embrace his child. But decorum still ruled, and instead Richie turned and started walking again, leaving the young man to look at the ocean, the reunion over. The Immortal never looked back as his son stripped off his shirt, taking one last swim in the ocean he loved so much, the gulls crying as the waves crashed, the shock of the cold water as it washed over Richie's feet... > > > > > > > > > > ...jerking him awake. Fred Cummings yelled at him again from across the room, "We're getting a carrier wave!!". Richie jumped up and ran over to the console, ignoring the twin buzzes that approached. Elbowing several people in his haste, he planted himself over the monitor, wishing desire alone could span the distance. "Anything, Freddie?" he asked breathlessly, willing himself not to punch buttons also. The blond haired man in the chair slowly shook his head, handing the Immortal a spare headset. "All we're getting is a positive diagnostic from the orbital relay satellite, Rich. Nothing from the PROMETHEUS. Either their internal com is down, their antenna could be damaged, or no one is alive to re..." Richie didn't let the man finish before he grabbed him by the jumpsuit and pulled him to his feet. Hate flashed across his face, his right hand moving instinctively for a nonexistent sword. It took a moment for the technician's fear to penetrate the Immortal's anger filled brain, Richie's eyes clearing as if another person looked out of them. The pain drained from his face, the clenched hand loosening. Richie quietly offered a word of apology, turning away from the crowd as Freddie regained his seat. Alone, he walked to a window, resting his arm and head against the cold glass, crying. Fitz left Duncan in an empty seat, moving around the room to Richie. Gently placing his hand on the sobbing Immortal's shoulder, he softly asked, "I take it things aren't getting any better?" Richie took a moment, feeding off the Englishman's sympathetic touch, before turning and wiping his face. "We... We just lost contact with Mars. Add the shuttle explosion, and President Robinson's assassination, now this... I'm scared." "What? The mighty King Richie is..." "Stop it, Fitz. I'm not joking." Richie looked up at him, anger again in his eyes. "They all can't be accidents. Not in so short a time span." Fitz watched the stars go by as the station rotated, a glowing crown above the red hair. "You know they're not accidents. Something's been going on since you found that Watcher, dead on your floor. You just won't admit it." "That was twenty-five years ago! What do you want me to admit?" Richie asked, pulling away. "Not having perfect luck? There's been no proof. No proof...." An exclamation from the monitors again drew both to the crowd. Freddie babbled something about a picture as Richie forced his way closer. On the monitor, distorted by static, was a frame. If you looked just right, you could make out the command console, two, maybe three people crouched around it. The screen changed, another form suddenly appeared up close, working at the station just below the camera. "Enhance that, Wendy!" Richie yelled across the room. The screen cleared slowly from top to bottom as the computer network electronically enhanced the still image. There, just below the camera, the features of Jeremiah Russell came into focus. "He alive!" Richie managed to screech before the picture changed, people again in different positions. =========================================================================