Date: Thu, 29 Sep 1994 02:40:30 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Hobert@AOL.COM Subject: CHOICES, Part 10 of 20 Fitz raised his hand. "Mine. The numbers are *not* good," he started, shuffling papers. "Twenty-one dead. Sixty-four injured. All emergency backups engaged on our side, but the people in the labs didn't have a prayer. Research has been moved to Sanctuary until we can reattach it. Two months, tops." He set the papers down, rubbing his eyes. "We need to set a time, soon, to inform the families that aren't here on Freedom." Richie froze, having forgotten that terrible task. He slowly nodded, returning to the safety of his notes. He looked up, dreading his next words. "Cause of the explosion, Mr. Wolenczak?" The blond scientist looked up, jerked back to the meeting. "Uh... nothing yet. We're still chasing loose pieces of the docking assembly." A flush of guilt crossed his face, or one of embarrassment. Something inside Richie twigged, not wanting to let it go at that. "That's all?" Lucas slammed his hands on the table, standing up. "Damn it, MacLeod. I'm not a magician. It's not like we didn't have a large spaceship plow right through the debris field. Try asking Dawson for miracles!" Angry, he turned away, walking away from the table, running his hands through his long hair. Richie chastised himself. "I'm sorry, Lucas," he called out, the crowd silent. "Please, come back. I shouldn't ask for things that aren't available yet." A few breaths were released as the young man returned, sitting again and examining his notes, not looking up at anyone. "How about the saboteur angle?" Gillian opened her folder, spreading papers out. "Twelve people are on board who are not Camelot employees. I recommend removing them from the station to Florida, unless Mr. Wolenczak would like the two stellar scientists relocated to Sanctuary." She continued after Lucas nodded his approval. "Of the rest, all passed original security checks at hiring, but in light of the PROMETHEUS information, a recheck is in order. If the science labs can find a timer or such, anyone here could be a suspect." No one in the room looked as if they liked that statement, some glancing right and left. "We have engaged a level two security protocol for now. That's it," she concluded, closing the folder. "Last, Connor MacLeod," Richie said, no longer looking at his notes. Duncan pushed forward. "The laundry truck angle seems to have dried up. Every other lead is cold as a frozen herring. We're still at square one." Finished, he faded back into the crowd. Taking a look at each person in the room, Richie wrapped the meeting up. "I wanted all of you here so that you know what I know. I trust each of you in this room. Keep an eye out, report anything strange to security. But remember, this is NOT A WITCH HUNT." They all were paying attention now. "Dismissed." The crowd began to file out, talking softly among themselves. Lucas grabbed his notes, pushing his chair back as he stood. "Mr. Wolenczak..." Richie called, "...stay a moment." And the scientist stood there, his back to Richie, until everyone had left. Richie got up, walking around to face Lucas. "I wanted to talk to you..." Lucas broke in, using his two inch height advantage to look down at his boss. "To thank me for keeping your precious station from becoming space junk?" The anger dripped off him like sweat, pooling at the Immortal's feet. He tried again. "No, about my son..." The scientist was not going to give the Immortal a chance. "Saving his life or taking him away?" Richie let himself get angry, barely restraining himself from throttling the mortal. "Never let it be said," he hissed, poking his finger into the blond's chest, "that I didn't try." Smartly turning, he was out the door, storming down the hall, the imaginary white flag fluttering to the ground. Lucas left a long time later. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The next day, precisely at noon, Richie entered his son's room. He smiled at Wendy, sitting on the bed with his son, barely glancing at the sleeping form of Lucas in the corner chair. Quietly moving to the bed, he sat on the opposite side of Jeremiah. "Hi..." he whispered, exuberant at seeing the life in his son's face. "How do you feel?" Jerry shrugged, unwinding his hands from Wendy's. She excused herself, claiming work, and kissed Jeremiah goodbye before she left. "Like a StarDrive plowed over me," the young man said, clutching his side as he laughed. Richie managed a smile at the good humor. "I guess you want to know what happened..." Richie nodded as his son stole a glance at the unmoving scientist. "At least seven major systems were totally wired, all set off except the ones on the airlocks. No one had a clue Sammy was planning this. Had no idea what had even happened to them until we tried to contact Scott Keller. Then we discovered the open airlock. We found their bodies outside less than an hour after the incident, but Greg was already dead..." Richie grabbed his son's hand as Jeremiah started to sniffle. "We didn't know if he'd come back, and trying to explain it to the crews, well... How do you explain Immortals? We kept him hidden on the PROMETHEUS while we finished repairs. He woke up just after we left Mars..." Tears were flowing, now. "He didn't recognize us, Dad. Kept asking for Arthur, or Gwen. We had to tie him down when he became violent, yelling we were all traitors to Camelot..." He couldn't whisper anymore, his voice failing. Richie couldn't resist any longer. Taking his son in his arms, letting him sob into his shoulder, trying to comfort him from the horror he had faced. "It's all right. Everything will be all right," he softly said, over and over, not knowing what else to say. They sat there for awhile, until the tears stopped, and Jeremiah was better. Richie got up to leave. "I'm going to go see him, now." Jeremiah nodded, wiping his cheeks, trying to smile. "Get some rest. I'll be back later." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Cabin 27, Aft Level 3 was written on the door. Richie leaned against the wall, staring at the numbers, letting the feeling of Gregor wash over him. The doctors had told him all the theories, all the guesses. The facts were Gregor was alive, and healthy. Mentally was another question. Richie rang twice, receiving no answer. Using his override code, he manually opened the door, letting his eyes adjust to the black interior. The door shut after he entered, removing what little light was available in the room. Richie had spent many hours in here, knowing precisely where everything was. Recognized the dark shapes scattered around the room. Except for the one in the window sill, blocking the stars. A human shape. "You really shouldn't be up, Augie," Richie commented moving to the portal. A face swiveled to look at him, faintly lit in the starlight. Dressed in all black, Gregor disappeared in the gloom, only his skin reflecting the little amount of light. Sitting in the alcove holding the window, one leg on the ledge, the other hanging on the side, one hand on a knee, caressing the invisible glass. The picture was eerie, a brief look back at a time Richie cared not to know about. "I could not wait below, my lord. My nerves.... Besides, what will find me here on the battlements? Death? I think not." The voice was definitely Gregor's, but the accent had long been forgotten. He who was once Lancelot graciously indicated the other half of the circular window, a request Richie wasn't about to ignore. Gregor continued to talk as he turned back to the night. "Tis a strong spell Morgana weaves, ensorceling Camelot in eternal darkness. What is your will, my lord? Shall we take the fight to her and her bastard son?" A smile crept on the dark one's face at the thought. Richie slowly let out the breath he was holding, letting his wishes and hopes fade. Carefully, he put his hand on Gregor's arm, trying to will the other back to the present. At the contact, the last knight of Camelot flinched, gazing at the hand of his king. "My lord," Gregor sternly spoke," you mayhaps recant your oath, but mine remains." Slowly, he removed his arm from Richie's grasp, deliberately pulling back. "I will fight for you. Even die if that is your wish. But I will not dishonor myself with your desires. Ask me no more, banish me if need be, but turn your attentions elsewhere." Looking up, their eyes locked, a cold, hard glint reflecting the light from the dark knight's eyes. Hate, disgust, anger; all mixed together and barely restrained. The conquered animal, daring the hunter to reach closer. Something inside Richie knotted, a primal urge to flee bubbling in his gut. He stood, retreating from the window two steps. There he paused, wanting to say something but afraid. He quickly turned back and continued across the room, reaching the door, as the soft voice spoke again. "What of Gwen, my lord? And Percival? Or the other knights? Have you bid them shun me? Solitude is no stranger, Arthur. You may chain me in your darkest dungeon before I forswear my pledge." "I have made no edict against you, friend," echoed a voice more past than present, as the future king stopped in his tracks. "They have important work to do and cannot spare even a moment. Work you would join, ere your health improves." Barely turning his head back to Gregor, the red haired Immortal paused, judging his words. "Even the mightiest warrior faces injury, and weakness. It is their duty to rest, and heal, to carry the fight another time. Now is your time to rest, and heal. We can argue later." Only a step Gregor took, accustomed to the fire called Arthur, as if trying to warm himself. "I feel no ill, my lord. Though, in truth, Merlin did say much the same to me." "Merlin was here?" The voice deepened, the tone darkened. A feeling of deja vu flittered at the edge of Richie's mind. The only people that had spoken to Gregor were the doctors and... "Aye. He bade me let his bleeders prod and poke me, in hopes of their learning a lesson he taught about our kind. He told me I have a sickness of the brain, my lord. A sickness that..." The knight faltered, his voice trailing into silence. In a flash, he was on his knees, bowing in front of Richie, head almost at the redhead's feet, the words a jumble. "I beg your forgiveness, my king. My mind is ill, and the words I carelessly bespoke are not of my heart. If your desire is..." Richie stopped him, reaching down and grabbing the hairs on the nape of Gregor's neck and pulling him up. "Augie," he began, freezing as his stood face to face with his black haired friend. "We will talk of this later. Now rest." And then he was out the door, running down the corridors of Freedom. Fleeing the vision in his mind, the feelings that overwhelmed him. He locked himself in his cabin, alone, crawling into a corner. Pulling himself into a ball. Wishing the undescribable emotions would go away. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "Begin diary entry, January 19, 2026, Richie MacLeod. I'm sitting here on the observation deck in Cylinder Two, or 'the Farm' as some of the younger crowd call it. They come here, to the acres and acres of growing, living things to get away from the cold, still life up here. Why am I here? Below are Lucas and my son, walking up and down the trails. He's better, almost well, but still weak, needing these moments of exercise. Why does the help of his friend bother me? Their closeness? Yet here I am, day after day, watching like... like a Watcher. I wonder if he hates it as much as I did? Duncan found Connor's sword, and what was left of the body outside Cairo. His katana is sitting on the table, right here in front of my face. We buried him beside his tower in Scotland... God, Dougal looked so old. But very proud of his daughter, Jeannie. We all stayed for the Games the next week, one bright spot in this dark night. " We've had two more bombs here, both found before exploding, but... Our luck won't hold for ever. The science people are gone, except Lucas, and most of the other personnel are on Earth. All that's left is a skeleton crew, fifty-seven of us. So where do I concentrate? The accidents? Morgana? My son? The Jupiter probe we're launching today? Which gets my attention, which languishes in the dust? And who am I to make that choice? Who... am I? End entry." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "The ARCHIMEDES is moving to the launch coordinates. T minus ten minutes and counting," Freddie announced to the control room. The place was crowded with everyone left on the station. Richie turned to Wendy, asking her to patch in Mel. A beep later, and Freedom was connected to the ship. Richie smiled, talking to the empty air. "Well, Captain Davis. Ready for a grand adventure?" The brunette appeared on the main viewscreen, blushing. At twenty-five, she shared all the characteristics of the Davis children; bright, competent, over-achievers, and much loved by Richie. Where as Jonathan was studious, and Maxwell athletic, Melinda was the adventuresome one. She practically murdered the competition to get this job. And kept it by not giving anyone a reason to want to replace her. "Stop it, Uncle Richie. The only reason you made me a captain is you needed someone young and pretty for this ten year trip. I still think Jeremiah should be the one going!" Mel brushed the hair out of her eyes as she called up the preflight checks again. Richie spared his son a glance, sitting at the secondary engineering station, before replying. "Now, honey, you don't expect me to let him leave just when he got back. Besides, this will keep you from complaining you have nothing to do." A few old-time station personnel got a chuckle from that exchange. Mel just glowered on the screen, a look she used to keep most of the eligible bachelors at a distance. Nothing was going to hold her back. "A three year trip to a ball of ice, four years of surveying the neighborhood, and then another three years home doesn't strike me as exciting. Unless we find little green men." With a snort, she turned back to the controls, issuing orders to the bridge crew around her. Lucas commented under his breath. "They're not little, and they sure ain't green." Jeremiah leaned over and hushed him with a grin on his face. Lucas couldn't help grinning back. "And if you think of even looking at Jupiter, I will break both of your legs." They laughed as Freddie called out. "T minus four minutes. Engines to full. Thrusters at station keeping. You are clear for vector 7-5-9." The assembly held their breath as the four minutes went by. At zero, a flash of light and the needle shaped ship moved out of orbit, heading past the moon. Comments went back and forth, all systems green. The ship had just slipped behind the moon as another bright flash occurred, the monitors and telemetry going black at the same time. It took only seconds for the technicians to find the problem. Freddie announced it to everyone present. "She... blew up. The ARCHIMEDES is... gone. Destroyed." =========================================================================