Date: Thu, 29 Sep 1994 02:40:41 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Hobert@AOL.COM Subject: CHOICES, Part 11 of 20 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "Begin diary entry, March 9, 20... Wendy, not now! Tell them to wait. Begin diary... What does Dougal want?... Oh my... NO! GO TO RED ALERT! Freddie, get Duncan, Fitz,... and Joe. Have them meet me at the DARIUS and tell them to bring their swords.................." Bay 2-2 was little bigger than the supply shuttle DARIUS, not much room between the corridor and the ship. Richie burst through the hatch with his sword, surprised that someone had beaten him here. It took him a second to realize it was his son, wearing fatigues, with sheathed sword in hand, moving to the pilot's chair. "Now just a damn minute..." he began until he was pushed from behind by Duncan entering the craft, almost knocking Excaliber from his hands. Jeremiah took that moment to turn his head back, talking as he fastened his safety belts. "If you want to land as soon as possible, you need the best. I'm the best." Then he was busy at the controls, the sound of servos and machines coming online. Another person pushed past him, catching the last of the statement. "He's right," Fitz admitted, stopping. "He's the best. Do you want to waste time and argue?" Richie looked at Fitz before turning to look at his son again, both Immortals being shoved apart by a blond, racing for the other front chair. Lucas Wolenczak. "Not on your life..." Jeremiah said when he noticed his co-pilot. "At least stay in the shuttle, Lucky." Lucas just locked his belts and began activating the auxiliary controls. He flashed a quick grin at the pilot and then turned back to the panels, ignoring everyone. Richie resigned himself to the fact that no one was listening to anything he said, instead watching Fitz help Duncan with the safety harness. Jeremiah's voice came from the front, going down the flight list. Each item received a confirmation from Lucas as they waited for Joe. "Gravity Plates. Gyros. Engines to standby." Joe rushed by, Richie keying the hatch closed. Both raced for seats as Richie announced their readiness. "Screw it," Jeremiah yelled over the whine as he keyed the outside door to blow. The explosion was barely heard over the shuttle noise, the only change was the sudden blackness out the portholes. Looking out the front windows, the Earth rose from below, the engines kicking in, pressing everyone into their seats as they shot out of the bay. "Available power to heat shields. Going to full throttle," Jeremiah announced. "Roger, internal gravity to standby, augmenting shields. Engines at 110 of max," Lucas replied. Sitting back, enjoying the roller coaster ride, Richie grudgingly admitted the compatibility of the two young men, at least in this instance. The rush of adrenaline hit with the acceleration as they dove for the planet, Richie reflecting on the call that provoked all t his mayhem. "Encountering turbulence. Activate defensive grid." "Grid activated. Engines at 140 of max. Shields holding. Height, eight clicks and closing." Dougal MacLeod, present chief of Clan MacLeod, had called on an emergency channel, asking for help at Dunvegan Castle, on the Isle of Skye. Before being cut off, Dougal had started to report an attack by forces unknown. And swords. All other details were lost as the signal faded. Richie guessed it was an attempt to draw him away from Freedom. One he couldn't ignore. "Four clicks and closing fast. Jerry, now would be a good time to pull up..." It wouldn't be too hard to figure out Richie and Dougal were good friends, especially the last ten years. The Scot was one of the few people left on Earth that Richie would protect at all costs. But something nagged the Immortal's thoughts, something about Dunvegan... "Height, one click and steady. ETA Scotland, two minutes. Local radar indicates heavy thunderstorms, possibly severe. All hands, prepare for maneuvers." Dunvegan Castle, ancestral home of Clan MacLeod. Dougal's home. And Jeannie's. An important place, of sorts. Isle of Skye. Home of Clan MacLeod. [PROTECT THE FLAG!] Richie flinched with a start, turning to Fitz sitting in the next seat. "What about the flag?" the redhead asked. The Englishman turned toward him, a funny look on his face. "I don't know anything about a flag, Richard," Fitz replied, puzzled. He made a grab for his sword as the shuttle hit turbulence. Richie looked around, trying to guess who the comment had come from. No one looked as if they had spoken to him. A voice with no owner. No internal answer came. The voices rarely had spoken in decades, the novelty wearing off, the knowledge not worth the insanity. He had been cruel, and petty, even rude, until the voices finally stopped. Only the memories sometimes intruded, unbidden. But those could be tolerated. The voices, however... < < < < < August, 2007 < < < < < "An' here is the pride an' joy of Clan MacLeod, American!" Dougal gushed to Richie, pointing at a frame on the castle wall. Inside, the tattered remains of cloth lay, faded and unraveling. Richie looked for anything special, seeing only an old scrap that probably should be thrown away. "So?" Richie asked, not one for subtlety. He realized he had made a dreadful mistake when he saw Dougal's look of pained astonishment. The rest of the tour group had left, following the guide. Only the two MacLeod's were still in the room, one of Dunvegan's libraries. "Dinna tell me no one has told you of the Fairy Flag? Auch, the bleedin..." Dougal cursed, shaking his head as he guided Richie to a bench in the hall. "Where ta' begin, lad. A long time ago, there was a lass, a fairy lass." "You mean an Immortal," Richie dryly commented, forever trying to translate Dougal's stories into a reality he understood. The Scotsman looked upset at the interruption, a common occurrence between the two. "Aye, an Immortal. But you're MacLeod, Richie. They're called *fairy*. Now as I was sayin', this lass fell in love with a clan chief, an' they lived together for a year. But fairykind found her, an' took her back. She left the chief her shawl, claimin' a MacLeod could use it to call for help three times. Twice, a chief of the clan has unfurled it. Connor came the last time, back in the 1600's." Dougal stopped, lost in memories of his youth. Richie sat and watched, not wanting to interrupt, knowing what memories could be like. /It was Merlin's cloak, you know./ /Of course. How many Immortal women would scandalize themselves with a mortal, even a good looking one like Ian MacLeod? Don't answer that. Nowadays it's very common, but back then.../ /Didn't I just say that? Anyway, Arthur was so furious, he came and dragged me back. I told him I wouldn't stay. And I eventually found a way to leave even he couldn't stop.> "What?" Richie asked, forgetting to not vocalize his thoughts. Dougal snapped out of his trance, thinking Richie spoke to him. "Anyway, legend has it that the flag also possess magical powers, an' if someone other than a MacLeod touches it, well... It's no' a very pleasant thought." Dougal stood up, smacking his lips. "Care for a spot o' ale, lad? All this informin' tends to get a might tedious without a drink." "Huh?" Richie was trying hard to handle the two conversations at once. But a long time ago, he learned the voices only spoke when they wanted, and lately, they didn't want very much. He let Dougal lead him to the car, and off to the pub, a vision of Esmerelda clad in Merlin's cloak on a windy cliff floating in his mind. Driving, Dougal turned in the car and spoke to him, saying... > > > > > > > > > > "Thirty seconds to landing. I'm aiming for the parking lot. Throttle to half. In five... four..." With a bump, they were down, the sound of the wild storm thundering around them, invading inside the shuttle. Belts unfastened, swords draw. They were ready. Even before the hatch had fully opened, they leapt out, military style. Fitz and Richie taking point, Gillian and Joe next, unarmed, Jeremiah, katana drawn, bringing up the rear. Lucas hurried to a trapped Duncan, helping with the catches, as the other five moved away from the shuttle, rain already soaking their clothes. They cautiously made their way across the asphalt to the hulking construction barely visible in the downpour. The area was briefly lit by a sudden flash of light, the thunder deafening only a second later. A black mass was revealed against the gray stone, another group making their way from the gate. Richie pointed to Fitz, and they were off across the flat surface at a dead run. The familiar warning hit as they approached, the genetic alarm informing them the other group had at least one Immortal as a member. Behind them, the others separated, preparing to flank the terrorists. A shout over the weather came to them, their targets splitting up. Richie headed toward the buzz, hoping to engage the other Immortal. The shapes resolved into people, Richie heading for one holding a hostage. Another lightning flash, and the features of Dougal appeared, an arm in black around his neck. His captor flung him to the ground, drawing three feet of steel, waiting for the attack. Richie deftly jumped over Dougal's sprawled body as a female scream pierced the air. Ignoring it, he thrust at the bald Immortal. Blocked, he ran by, trying a turn and slice from behind. It was anticipated and neatly countered. He watched as two more enemies approached, a prayer for reinforcements on his lips. His attention was forced back to the other Immortal just as Jeremiah dove for the duo's feet, knocking them over. And then Richie was busy with the wildcat he faced, hoping his son would survive. Fitz ran toward a group of three, two people in black herding the issuer of the scream. She was holding something, a package, as they hustled her in the direction of a troop transport, running lights blazing in the downpour. Never one to ignore a damsel in distress, he drew his sword, charging. They released her, scattering apart. She fell, the package slipping from her wet fingers, flying across the parking lot. It landed with a crunch of glass. Fitzcairn barely slowed, keeping both at bay. Smiling, he neatly dispatched one of the men in black, the other deciding against a confrontation as he ran toward the transport, leaving the Immortal unopposed. Moving away from his father, Jeremiah kicked one of the fallen terrorists in the face, leaving himself open for a punch from the second. As the three fought, the battle slowly turned in favor of the duo. Jerry doubled his efforts, handicapped by his reluctance to draw his sword. Hand to hand he was no match for the experts facing him. It wasn't until one pulled an automatic weapon that he was forced to get serious, drawing his father's old katana. There he stood, in the rain, facing death with just a thin blade of steel. Odds he was getting use to. They stood as a blinding flash of light, tinged in orange, lit the sky. They expected a crash that never came, instead, the anguished wail of a man cut the night air from across the parking lot. Fitz was down, surrounded by orange tendrils of energy, writhing on the pavement. Behind him, leaving the shelter of the troop transport, a hooded figure advanced, hands forward, walking slowly to the downed Immortal. Dougal ran across the parking lot, looking for Jeannie. Finding her unhurt, he glanced around, judging if Richie or Jeremiah needed his help more. Another scream pierced the storm, the hooded figure shooting orange lighting at the writhing Fitzcairn. The clan chief was rising, planning to attack the mysterious person himself, when a ball of blue light shot between them, drawing their attention to Joe Dawson, patiently waiting. The figure cackled, abandoning the helpless Immortal and Scot, heading instead for the Watcher. Weapon fire rang out over the storm, Jeremiah performing a bizarre dance as one of his opponents took a shot at him. He was thankful the thug was being careful not to hit his buddy currently engaged in hand to hand. It was the only thing keeping Jeremiah from being gunned down. Mysteriously, the man lowered the automatic, running away, heading toward Dougal. Faced with only one unarmed opponent, Jeremiah moved closer to his fallen sword, laying on the ground near the castle wall where it had been kicked. He managed to keep hold of the guy long enough to ram him head first into the stone, knocking him unconscious. Leaving the unmoving man behind, he scurried to his sword, blinded by the driving rain, bending to pick it up. The sharp click of a revolver in his ear, and the barrel appearing in his face stopped him. He slowly stood, sword still on the ground, standing face to face with the blond man in a trench coat, hidden in the shadow of the wall. The mortal looking down the barrel of a gun, aimed at his head. The blond man smiled. Dougal lay grasping his daughter Jeannie, arms protecting her head from stray gunfire. Nearby, Fitz moaned, still in torment. His daughter pointed weakly where the flag had fallen. They both watched, helpless, as a terrorist ran toward it, his automatic weapon glinting in the lightning. Dougal cried out as the stranger reached for it, picking it off the ground, soaked cloth dripping in his hand. Suddenly, the man eerily glowed, brightening to a level that was painful to look at. With a crash, the light vanished, leaving only an outline of dust, scattered by the wind before it could fall to the ground. The orange flag fluttered gently to the wet grass, unaffected by the squall around it. Richie had managed to knock the Immortal to the ground, stunned. Another cry of anguish rose above the thunder, drawing his attention momentarily. He had barely turned when he noticed his son at Dunvegan's wall, a gun in his face. Rage flashed as the trench-coated figure took aim. "Noooooooo...." Not really thinking, Richie grabbed Excaliber's hilt backwards. Taking two running steps, he hurled the massive sword like a javelin, straight at the man threatening his son. It flew through the air, straight and true, lit by a marvelous display of lightning between the clouds overhead. It sliced into the man's wrist as the gun went off, bullet grazing Jeremiah's head, knocking him to the ground. The sword continued on, burying itself into the castle wall, pinning the wrist. The man shrieked, pulling at Excaliber, as the Immortal Richie battled grabbed him from behind. =========================================================================