Date: Thu, 29 Sep 1994 02:47:17 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Hobert@AOL.COM Subject: CHOICES, Part 16 of 20 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Chapter 5 ---------- There Can Be Only One. "Begin diary entry. March 29, 2026, Richard MacLeod. Mr. Wolenczak is en route from Sanctuary to update us on the explosion findings. I've taken the liberty of insisting Jonathan Davis and his family join us here on Freedom for awhile. Angie refuses, and is upset I have five guards looking out for her. Dougal and Jeannie have made their own arrangements, including an extended visit by Gillian. In short, we are locked down tighter than a drum. If I had any guts, I would leave and remove the danger from everyone here, but... I'm a coward. I don't think I could face both Duncan and Mordred." - - - - - - - - - - - - The place was dark and damp. Hardly any light, other than a torch burning on the wall, illuminated the gruesome cell. The thump of a massive door shutting quietly disturbed the peace, sending the chained, naked Immortal shivering. He knew the respite from the pain was over, that his tormentor was coming again. He tried to shift the weight off his shoulders, wrenched up and back, as he hung from the ceiling by his hands, chained behind him. He could barely reach the slimy floor with his feet, unable to relieve the strain. Looking up as the cell door opened, the movement putting additional pressure on already agonized joints, he was almost surprised to see someone other than Horton. The young man with long, dark hair entered, examining his captive. The son of Pendragon circled, taunting the Highlander. Duncan gasped as Mordred completed the circuit, his head being pulled up by the hair. Arthur's son took a moment, trying to draw whatever information he wanted straight from Duncan's soul. After an eternity, Mordred sneered, letting the Highlander's head fall limp. "HHOORRTTOONN!!" It wasn't long before the blond Hunter appeared, looking faintly nervous. He wrung his hands as Mordred pointed to the prisoner. "What have you learned from him?" The voice was powerful, evil, all that Immortals could be, warped out of recognition. "He... He's very strong... that's it, strong... I need a little more time..." Horton stuttered. "He's about ready to...." Mordred growled as he grabbed Horton by a gold necklace. Duncan, through the haze of existing, noticed a symbol on it. The sign of the Egyptian god, RA. Horton stood on his toes, trying to breathe, as Mordred glared at him. "You have found nothing!" Mordred yelled, throwing Horton to the ground. The Hunter stood, rubbing his throat. He flinched as Mordred spat, "You've failed again! We were wrong to think an idiot like you could be of any service..." Horton grew confidant, standing, taking a defiant step toward Mordred. "You need me. Yes, your mother has need of me. I know things now... You can't just get rid of me." Mordred whirled around, angry. "What good are you? I have everything I need right here." He reached out, again grabbing the necklace. "My mother made you, from that despicable shell of a body, rotting in the ground. The Black Knight, ha! You are NOTHING, mortal!" Horton struggled as Mordred pulled the necklace off his neck, holding the symbol in front of Horton's face. "Let's just say your contract has not been renewed." The Immortal grinned as he threw it behind him, the gold landing in a dirt-filled corner. Horton made a dash for it, his skin already turning to dust, his form collapsing. All that reached the corner was more dust, settling to the floor as Mordred laughed. He then turned his gaze as his prisoner. The one with information he wanted. He walked over, again lifting the Highlander's head by the hair. "Now, MacLeod. Where are the other crystals?" "What?..." was all Duncan managed to get out, the exertion filling his lungs with agony. "The crystals Gwen... Rebecca scattered. I have the one you carried. Luther was collecting them, and you hold his Quickening. So tell me, where did he hide them?" To make his point, Mordred wrenched Duncan's head higher, causing a gasp of pain. "How... am I suppose... to know?" Duncan was having trouble breathing, the useless need for oxygen still causing anguish. All he felt was pain, all he thought was how to stop it. "Ask him. Sometimes you Scots are so stupid." In disgust, Mordred let Duncan's head fall, the body shaking in pain as weight shifted on the distended shoulders. Duncan tried to speak, his voice faltering. "Ask... him?" Mordred watched from across the cell. "Yes. Oh don't tell me, MacLeod, my father never taught you that trick. My, my. You were a fool to think of him only as a student. He's a marvelous teacher, you know. Full of little secrets like that. Just as well." His anger reared once more as he marched over, grabbing the hair again. "You have that information inside you. It's just finding the right spur to get you to recall it. The *right* spur. I hope you like pain, MacLeod. I will find a way to make you remember. Eventually." With that, he stormed out of the cell, starting to shut the heavy wood door. He looked back on the broken body, adding an afterthought. "Mortals always stop just short of death, an ultimate line that all of them feel. They pull back, afraid to cross it. I'm not so understanding. I don't fear killing you. You'll die a thousand slow and painful deaths, awakening every morning to face another one. Think about that as well." Then the footsteps slowly faded, the door shutting in the distance, leaving the Immortal alone again, in agony, praying futilely for an end. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - King by birth, thief by trade, Immortal by design. Richard Ryan MacLeod, the youngest Immortal left, stared at the sword on the desk. Katana, forged millennium ago out of love and respect. Handed down through the ages; Ramirez, Connor, and now, himself. It didn't seem fair that it was his to wield, a painful reminder that Excaliber was in other hands. A balanced exchange; his symbol for his son. But it galled that the two Immortals he always thought would win the Prize were now dead, one literally, and the other figuratively. The sword gleamed in the starlight, flicking across his tear-filled eyes. For a moment, it was almost like Connor was here,... < < < < < August, 1995 < < < < < ...walking down the steps, across the wood floor, standing behind Richie as he gazed out the panoramic windows, New York spread out before him. "Well, little thief, what do you think?" Connor's accented voice asked. It reminded him of first meeting Duncan and Tessa, and how he thought he was trapped in a horrendously dubbed film. He laughed at the thought, knowing at some point he would have to explain to his new boss. "Just show me where the girls are, and I'll do just fine. I think this time the language barrier won't be such a problem." He spent the afternoon checking out the place, from the small and intimate shop on the first floor, to the wild and magical loft, all open and airy. {And the *view*. God, I'm gonna love this place!} Connor understood, laughing himself, tossing a set of keys down to the redhead. "Good. Now, change. We have work to do," the older Immortal ordered. At Richie's puzzled exclamation, Connor pulled his katana from its sheath, doffing the coat, moving to the large area in front of the memorial room. Richie soon jogged up in sweats. "Oh, man. Like, I don't have a sword anymore. And do I look like I need more training?" Connor turned around, holding what looked to be his sword in his arms. He walked up to Richie, stopping a foot away. Holding up the sword, letting Richie have a closer look. It was similar to Connor's katana, in shape and size. The hilt was different from both the MacLeods', but still a stylized dragon. Richie respectfully hefted it, gauging the weapon with his limited knowledge. "Not a bad piece of work." Connor nodded, acknowledging the compliment. "It was duplicated from my sword by a... friend. I've kept it as a spare, but.... It can serve you better." Richie was sure there was more to it, but prying secrets from Immortals was worse than pulling teeth "Mac said to become one with my sword. That it would be my only friend at times. I can picture myself with this. Thank you, Connor. Thanks a lot." Richie took a few practice swings, grinning wider each time. After the third, Connor stopped him. "Never feel like you have no other friends but a cold length of steel. You have a friend in me. Duncan is a warrior, prone to be extreme. I, however, am a poet, and hope for brighter things. And you... you can choose from any path. Remember that." Connor was intense, almost scary in his insistence. "I'll remember, Connor..." > > > > > > > > > > "...I'll always remember..." A soft knock disturbed Richie, sitting alone in Duncan's cabin. It was strange - someone using the archaic form of requesting entrance, the mechanical ping a standard practice. The Immortal keyed the door, adding an "Enter!" as it whooshed open. Out of the hall glow stepped Freddie, standing in the doorway, letting in the blasted light. Richie only growled as the technician keyed a low illumination level, enough to make his way to the desk. "I thought I'd find you here," the man said, sitting across the table. The tension in his body was evident to Richie, even under the rumpled maroon jumpsuit. Richie turned and looked out the window. "You could have paged me..." he offered, not sure how to handle the mortal. A quick glance, and both realized the other knew everything, and accepted it. With a snap, the tension faded, and they again were what they always had been. Colleagues and just a little bit friends. "I think you turned it off," the blond said, laughing at his first joke in a week. Richie smiled also, picturing the device where it lay, at the bottom of the aquarium in the recreation hall. "Lucas finished the DNA scan, Freddie continued. "We're in the Command Center, waiting on you." He stood, expecting Richie to join him. "You already know, or you wouldn't be here. What did he find?" the Immortal asked, taking a moment to size up the person across the desk. {Now that I know, he does look a little like Pete.} Freddie pulled the chair up to the desk, placing his elbows on the surface, resting his chin on his clasped hands. "Only trace was Connor's. No Duncan, no Max. But you expected that. Why am I not surprised?" Richie gave a sarcastic grimace, ending in a helpless shrug. "Actually, speaking of surprises, I have one." He dug in his jumpsuit, pulling out a data disk, handing it across the desk to the blond. "I'm turning over Freedom to you." He pointed at the disk. "That holds the command codes and ciphers." Freddie opened his mouth to speak, too shocked for words. Richie pressed on, adding "Just so you have a vote, I'm transferring Duncan's stock to you. You're now a board member." Freddie just stared at the plastic in his hand. "Gee, Richie... I don't... I don't know what to say." Richie grinned, a pleasant change. "Tell me it's better than that pay raise you've been bugging me about." "Oh, man. It is." Freddie gulped. He looked up, a little apprehensive. "Are you sure about this, about..." Richie just nodded. "Oh... wow." "Just keep it under your hat, until... later. There's still a mess to wade through... Well, you know." They sat and talked for awhile, never mentioning what had been, instead focusing on the future. Each moment Richie felt better about his decision, knowing that his son would never enjoy the burden. The peace was shattered as the alarm blared out, Freddie's pager going off at the same time. "Freddie," Wendy's voice announced. "Find Richie..." "He's right here," countered the technician, digging in his pockets for the device. "We have an unidentified object on a collision course. Imaging shows a probable missile. We are at Red... wait... it's decelerating. Confirmed. It is matching orbit and speed, two hundred feet off the port bow. Orders?" - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Richie and Freddie arrived at Bay 7-1 as Joe hobbled up from the other direction. Through the plexiglass window, they could see Jeremiah in the PIPPEN bringing the missile into the bay. Once pressurized, both Security and Lucas swept the rocket with sensors. Security declared it safe, although Lucas was unable to figure out what was in it. Richie cleared the room, opening the rocket himself. Everyone held their breath as the cargo plate swung free. A rather large statue fell out, made entirely of metal. It was fat, and heavy, bigger than a man, looking like "a gigantic Aunt Jemima syrup bottle", as Joe cryptically put it. It had a large head, a plump body, and a very wide base. Once it was righted, Lucas pointed out a plastic plate on the front, reminiscent of an old palm reader. Richie, intrigued, tried his hand first, the effort being rewarded by the statue swinging apart. As the two front halves swung out, a body fell out onto the floor. Richie turned it over, shocked to find it was Max Davis, his semi-nude body covered in dots of dried blood. They looked up as Lucas gasped, pointing to the inside of the statue. Sharp stakes jutted out from the inside wall, hundreds of them, all pointing to the middle, reddish-brown at the tips. And there on the back, impaled, soaked with Max's dried blood, was a glove. A black leather gauntlet. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "I don't care," Richie yelled outside the ICU unit. "That rocket had to come from somewhere! Now FIND IT!" And they left him alone, sitting next to the door, holding vigil as the doctors tried to save the young man. Richie sat and prayed, wondering how many more would be hurt because of him. How many people would die because he wasn't as brave, or as smart, or as vicious as Arthur would have been. How many more would die because of his choice. =========================================================================