Date: Thu, 29 Sep 1994 02:34:32 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Hobert@AOL.COM Subject: CHOICES, Part 07 of 20 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Duncan had changed into pull-on pants, preparing for bed by practicing a long unused kata. Several minor bobbles appeared the first time through, smoothed out by the second. Sweat had barely covered his torso when the door chime sounded, a quiet noise above the sound of his breathing. Finishing the last two forms, he keyed the door open, light from the hallway spilling into the darkened room. Silhouetted in the door was a body, curly haired, leaning against the frame. One hand held an obvious bottle, the other a duo of suspiciously shaped glasses. {The only thing missing is a leather jacket.} "May I come in?" the voice of the adopted MacLeod asked. Out of breath, wiping the sweat with a towel, Duncan wheezed an affirmative. Richie keyed the lights on low as he entered, the door shutting once he was past. The soft glow gave a ghostly sheen to the plastic furniture in the room, as bright as when Duncan lit his candles for a quiet evening in. "We really didn't get to talk much since you arrived, and I wanted to share this with a friend. Do you mind?" He sloshed the liquid in the bottle. Duncan gestured to the sofa, taking the side chair for himself. "I spent most of the time getting here trying to think of exactly what I wanted to say to you," Duncan began, watching Richie open the bottle and start to pour, "but once I arrived, I couldn't think of a thing to say." He leaned forward, taking the glass Richie offered, clinking it to the one Richie still held. They both sat back, enjoying the liquor. "Don't you hate that. You spend days, years, getting all emotional and angry, and then that first sight, and *BAM*, nothing really matters but the fact that you're finally together." Richie smiled, taking another sip. "I'm glad you came, Mac." Duncan put his empty glass on the table. "Since I am here, what's next? I can guess what you want *now*, but why did you come in the first place?" The man who sat across from him finished his glass as well, taking the moment of silence before answering. "I came with a big speech of how I needed you to help change everything over to the kids, since the Gathering is almost over, but truthfully?" He waited until Duncan nodded for him to go on. "I was scared. Scared that someone would get to you, all alone out there. That's a silly reason, don't you think?" He nervously tried to make a joke out of it, but the sincerity slipped through. "Not at all," Duncan assured him, touched. "You forget, I built on Holy Ground. I was safe." He mentally pictured the writing of the Old Ones, carved on a rock wall, proclaiming the holiness of spirit place Duncan had lived upon. Richie shook his head, the concern surfacing again. "You don't know who's survived. Nothing is sacred, no trick too cheap. They used your voice to trap Marcus, and they ganged up on me and Grace..." The tenor voice faded in the gloom, draining off into the silence. Duncan gave his friend a moment. "Want to talk about it?" Richie silently shook his head 'no', eying his empty glass. Looking anyplace but at Duncan. "Maybe...later. I didn't come here to tell you more of my troubles. I came because I want to know how you are. How do you feel?" Richie busied himself by refilling his glass, skittish in this unfamiliar territory. "I mean... are you ready to get back into the Game? Have you... mourned enough?" "One of the lessons I learned a long time ago was a man who decides it's time to fight when the sword is at his neck usually loses his head." Duncan leaned back, head resting on the chair, looking at the ceiling. "I didn't realize how far the Gathering had progressed," he added, letting the tension drain into the upholstery, relaxing knotted muscles. "I'm ashamed that I took so long." Richie finally looked up, catching Duncan's eye. "There's nothing to feel bad about. God, if I could just get away for awhile myself... But there's no rest this side of death since I picked up my particular cross to bear." He laughed, taking another swig. "Or in this case, a particular sword." Duncan chuckled also, not breaking the spell by replying, just closing his eyes. Some time later, he heard Richie quietly ask, "Mac, could you sing something?" And the Highlander complied, sharing his experiences of fireside moments, idle snowbound pastimes, rain-sheltering caves, in times long past. "The minstrel boy to the war was gone, in the ranks of Death you will find him. His father's sword he has girded on, and his wild harp slung behind him..." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The door shut, followed by the fading of the uncontrollable warning of Immortals. It wasn't until now Duncan realized how much he had missed Richie's presence in his day-to-day life. The weight of news he had received today deluged him, from deaths and plagues to unknown enemies. {I can't believe Johnny didn't tell me. I'll call him tomorrow. God, the Black Plague.} Duncan reached for the light switch, stretching up from the bunk, reaching... < < < < < May, 1820 < < < < < ...for his trunk on top of the coach. He strained on his toes as he felt the buzz, stuck balancing his baggage. A voice from behind startled him, almost sending him tumbling with his belongings. "Aye, and what 'ave we here, lads. A dandy little fop about to make an ass of 'imself." The voice was joined by several gruff laughs at the jest. No one helped Duncan as he let the trunk slide to the ground, landing with an awkward *CRUNCH*. He turned to the voices, unsurprised at what awaited him. Several rough sailors had gathered, watching his misfortune. And in their midst, an unwashed lout of a man stood, beard ragged, clothes tattered. His was the voice that had spoken, mixed of a thousand accents, gathered from around the world. For Duncan, it would always stand for family. Taking a sniff and fanning himself with his handkerchief, Duncan tightened his throat, sending his voice high and small. "If I have the honor of addressing the good Captain MacLeod, I should think you would take better care of your wealthier relations." A discreet cough completed the act, Duncan enjoying the theatrics as much as his kinsman. Connor MacLeod swaggered up, nose to nose with Duncan. "Well, sir. You do have the honor of addressing Captain MacLeod," he said, before turning to his crew again. "Lads, head on back and start with the mast while I inform my cousin here of our unfortunate situation." They grumbled at missing the sport they perceived their captain was heading toward, not wanting to forgo the enjoyment. But they were an obedient lot, milling down the docks to the ship. Connor turned back to Duncan, talking low. "We've had a turn of bad luck, Duncan. She won't be able to carry you to America." Duncan's eyes grew wide, the only sign of his distress. He turned back to the coach, addressing someone in the interior. His voice again squeaked out as a high, effeminate tenor. "Darling, my cousin has informed me of rather distressing news. Perhaps you and Justin had best return to the inn while I make other arrangements." He gave a small wave of his hanky to the driver, signaling for the coach's departure. After it turned a far corner, Duncan dropped all pretenses, concerned. "What happened?" he asked, knowing the world, for all its civility, was still a dangerous place, even for Immortals. "I ran into Pierre DuBoise just out of Calais." Connor guided Duncan to a deserted part of the wharf, hiding in a short alley, the noise of the carriages and wagons masking their conversation. "He never got aboard, but I was hulled for my trouble. His parting cannon shot took the main mast as well." "DuBoise, the pirate? Why would he attack you? I'd have thought he would have shied away from one of the King's favorite." Duncan had heard the stories being spread about the dreaded villain, terror of the Atlantic these days. None were very pleasant. "He's an Immortal, Duncan. And a vicious one." Connor knew no more than that, just the local gossip and what the few brief moments in battle told him. "I'm sorry, lad. We'll be in dry dock for months. Unless you want to wait..." Duncan shook his head, no wanting to risk spending another day near Paris. "A part of me wants to run back to Darius even now, but I can't. I can't stay here anymore. I have to find another way across." He moved to leave, Connor stopping him. "I can be of service in that area. Come join me in a drink, and I'll see what I can scuttle up for you." Connor placed his arm over Duncan shoulders, dragging him to the Spilling Cup. "Now tell me all about that lady in the carriage, kinsman." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - A fortnight later found Duncan on the high seas, aboard the Lucky Lass, bound for Boston. Julia, his current paramour took ill moments after setting sail. Her son, Justin, had the run of the ship while Duncan spent his time tending her in their small cabin. Twenty days out of France, and Julia was dead, given to the sea for burial. Duncan had spent no time above deck, only noticing after the ceremony the large number of sick crewmen, including young Justin. The Highlander watched them die, slowly, one by one, finally succumbing to the disease himself. When he awoke, the crew and passengers were dead, the ship drifting in the currents. Slowly, in a daze, he performed last rites for them, wrapping the bodies in cloth, commending their spirits to God as he lugged them overboard. Nights found him alone, talking to the ghost of Julia, or Justin, sometimes playing dice with imagined crew. Time passed. He didn't care how long, his mind wandering in empty and lonely places. He steered west, ever west, rarely leaving the wheel, not caring to eat or drink. A dull ache had overtaken his body, a gnawing pain Duncan welcomed, proof he was alive on this ship of the Damned. Day, then night, then day again, sleeping as he stood, dreaming not at all. He was thrown head first over the wheel as the ship ran aground, floundering in the darkness of night. What was left of the rational MacLeod prodded his body to move, his simple understanding of diseases screaming the need to destroy the carrier of the plague. With cleansing fire, the ship burned, the wood and rope eager food for the flames. He stood on the beach, torch held high, watching the ship burn, seeing the dying in the light, seeing his lover fade into embers. Holding the torch aloft... < < < < < < < < < < ...as they rode through the forest. Around him, the baying and yapping of hounds drew him forward, the press of horses and riders surrounding him. {This is not my memory... This is the Dream.} The hunt had cornered a stag, a gift of feasting from Hern, blessed by the Goddess. "Well done, my lord!" came a voice beside him, the glowing red locks of Rebecca framing the delicate mouth he ached to kiss. With a sure hand, Gregor placed his arrows in the beast, swiftly killing it, as the squires prepared to carry it back to the castle. {I know this castle...} Out of the forest they rode, the massive white construction greeting them. Towers of light thrust boldly into the night skies, the flames of a thousand torches lighting the area. The drawbridge was open and inviting, the gate raised into the ceiling. With a yelp, he and the other Immortals rode for home. Rode for Camelot. The lively mood carried over as they dismounted, many people of both sexes congratulating him on the chase. Slung over three boy's backs, the great white stag was carried to the kitchens, the mass of people dragging Duncan to the main hall. Across the courtyard they strode, laughter and merrymaking their advanced scouts. In the center of the open area, Duncan looked left, seeing an old man and a young woman walking in the other direction. In years past, the man remained the same, rarely changing. {Although sometimes he looks like Dawson with his peppered beard.} The woman was constantly changing over his lifetime, sometimes Grace, then Amanda, Carmen, even Linda once, but most recently Tessa. This time she had raven black hair, and eyes of fire. {Ruby red lips... I know this woman...} *Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz* > > > > > > > > > > Duncan flailed his arms in the dark, trying to reach the flashlight he always kept on the nightstand in his cabin. Hitting strange walls, he lay back down, remembering he was elsewhere now. Rubbing his face with his hands, he reached up and keyed the flashing button next to the light controls. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. MacLeod, but we have word a package for you arrived in Florida. The return address is an accounting firm in Washington state. Shall I have them uplift it?" the ghostly male voice asked into the darkness. Suppressing a groan, Duncan cleared his throat. "Ah... yes, please. By the way, what time is it?" "Freedom time, it's close to ten in the morning. It's noon in Florida, and..." "Thank you," Duncan said, switching off the com. {Ten in the morning? I didn't think we stayed up that late.} With a sigh, Duncan turned over, wishing himself back to the white castle, and the mysterious woman from the airplane, who appeared so suddenly in his dreams, his dreams of love, sex, battle, and glory. Just as he faded from consciousness, a small part of him heard laughter, and wondered if it was here and now, or back then. A smaller part wondered if there was a difference. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Chapter 3 ---------- The Coldness of Space "Diary entry, October 15, 2025, Richie MacLeod. Long range sensors confirm the PROMETHEUS is on its way to Earth. Still no luck trying to raise them. At present speeds they have a little over a month before they reach us. Unrepairable damage to the StarDrive, I guess. The Mars TF station reports our shipment has arrived intact, nothing broken except for a side thruster package. The new antenna array works perfectly, and the additional air should see them through till they get out from behind the sun. I wish things here at home would work out as easily. Minor problems are still cropping up, and we don't know if Connor is alive or dead. God, I wish we had something to go on. This waiting will kill me yet. End entry." =========================================================================