Date: Thu, 29 Sep 1994 02:48:33 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Hobert@AOL.COM Subject: CHOICES, Part 17 of 20 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "Begin diary entry, April 15, 2026, Richard MacLeod. Fighting is my life, my existence. I am *PING* Damn. My son is right on time. Why couldn't he be late for once? Eras...*PING* Let me grab my sword..." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The sound of metal striking metal echoed in the cargo bay, the exclusive training grounds of Immortals. One Immortal, now. Slowly the redhead weaved his way around the stacks of medical supplies, sparing with a black haired man, younger and older. Richie enjoyed the way the hilt of Connor's katana rested lightly in his hand, responsive to the barest hint of movement. A remarkable weapon, wielded by a remarkable... "If you... really... want... you can... ouch! have... your old..." Jeremiah struggled to say. Richie got a kick out of watching his son try to talk and parry at the same time. Using the distraction to disarm him, Richie sent his old sword flying across the crates, both fighters standing and watching it spin lazily in the air. It landed somewhere with a clattering of metal. They turned to each other. "Uh... If I somehow don't survive, you're gonna need *all* the help you can get. Including the sword you've grown up with." The joke didn't come out a funny as Richie hoped, the raw truth exposed. Jeremiah looked guilty, trying to find something to do with his empty hands. Breaking the tension, Richie grabbed the mortal by the scruff of his neck, pulling his head close. "And it always helps to keep hold of your sword. Unless that's the stunning move Dun... you were telling me about. Now find that sword," he said, sending his son among the crates. "And watch your right foot," Richie yelled, "you're telegraphing!" Again the two fought, weaving to and fro. The workout was exactly what the Immortal needed, a chance to work with a new sword, a chance to be with his son, and a chance to use the energy that was building. He had been surprised when his son had suggested it, the lingering thought that Dawson had arranged the whole thing. It was something Connor would have done... "*Ouch*" Jeremiah yelped as his shirt was sliced, a thin line of blood appearing on his stomach. Richie cursed himself for letting the anger distract him. Shaken, but assured it was only a minor flesh wound, they continued. "So is he?" Jeremiah asked when he managed to trap his father's blade momentarily. Richie kicked out, careful of the wound. "Is he what?" Jeremiah dodged, reached out with a hand and forcing Richie's leg higher. "Arthur's son." "Yes," Richie grunted, turning it into a backflip, disengaging from his son. They froze. "How could that be? You said Immortals are sterile." The urge to fight was momentarily abated. Richie grimaced. "They are. Merlin knew a... trick. He used it on Uther to conceive Arthur." He held out his hand as his son offered a water bottle. Gulping the liquid, he handed it back. "Morgana stole it, and used it to bear Arthur a son, Mordred." "And they were Immortal, too? Arthur and Mordred, I mean." Jeremiah tossed the empty bottle next to their bags by the door. "Yes." Richie circled, preparing to start again. Jeremiah took the hint, bringing his sword up. "What happened to the secret?" They touched blades, more of a handshake than an attack. "Merlin took it with him..." Jeremiah blinked. "Do you think Joe knows?" he asked, cocking his head. *CLANG* They stood face to face, their swords together in front of them, looking eye to eye. Richie grinned, raising an eyebrow. "You feel like asking him?" With an elongated swish of metal sliding against metal, they stepped apart. Just as quickly, they were fighting again, the sweat beginning to show. On they fought, neither really trying to get an upper hand. Jeremiah mischievously tried the trick Duncan had shown him. A feint, and Richie's sword was trapped, point to the ground. Jeremiah spun around, a neat slice toward the neck. Unconsciously, Richie stepped back, using the counter to Annie Devon's special move. The swords connected, Richie quickly disarming his son, Connor's katana buried a millimeter into Jeremiah's neck before Richie stopped it. The Immortal's eyes grew wide as a thin trail of blood dripped down the skin. "Mother of..." he cursed, turning away from the shock in his son's eyes. A son he almost killed. "It's all right, Dad," Jeremiah said right behind his father as he walked to the wall, leaning against it, resting his head in his arm. "Just a scratch. I'm o.k.!" He felt his son shaking him, grabbing his shoulder, but all he could picture was the sight of Jeremiah's head being neatly severed from his body, falling to the cargo bay floor. "Go to the medical unit and get it seen to," he managed to say, adding another "GO!" when his son didn't move. He stayed there until the sound of the door closing echoed through the room. The he collapsed to the floor, trembling. Scared of what he almost did. And what he wanted to do to others. Mordred... and Duncan. - - - - - - - - - - - - Joe and Richie walked slowly down the corridor, each step taking them closer to the Command Center. The Watcher knew better than to press the Immortal about what was bothering him, instead working his way around the issue until it lay exposed, like a rock in the dirt. "Maxey's getting better. Dr. Mitchum is pleased with his response to the experimental healing gel." Richie only grunted in reply. Unfortunately, their walk ended before anything revealed itself, most of the command crew standing around a new piece of furniture, a table. It was large, planted right in the middle of the circular room. Stools slid into cutouts beneath it. Lucas waved his arms as he talked to Wendy across the table, Freddie and Guillermo listening from one end. As Richie and Joe approached the table, conversation ceased. "You paged me, make it good," Richie stated as Joe hooked his cane on the table lip. Lucas nodded, poking the pressure sensitive table. "We found it, " he announced, grinning. The lights around the group faded as Jeremiah rushed up, breathing hard from the run. His neck was bandaged, and he looked a little upset, but nothing was said as he pushed his way between Wendy and Freddie. "May I present, New York City..." A picture formed on the table surface, a duplicate of the Earth from space. Quickly the image expanded, making one feel they were rushing for the planet. The detail was excellent as the Eastern seaboard materialized, the image growing until the remains of the metropolitan city grew distinct. As the terrain grew closer, the buildings and features took on a three dimensional aspect, almost leaping off the table. Microchips cut in, lasers ignited, and the skyline of New York rose from the table, a ghostly city sitting on the surface. Amazed gasps came from all around, Richie catching Lucas' smile of triumph before Jeremiah reached over and tweaked the scientist's nose. Joe uttered, "Amazing," under his breath, as the blond manipulated the picture until Central Park was centered. "We tried everything; radar, sonar, x-rays, you name it. But what gave it away was heat." The model grew reddish, a large glowing blob appearing next to the lake. "There is no conceivable reason for that much heat unless..." He let the moment lengthen before continuing. "Unless there's something there." The blob shifted, details appearing, solidifying in a shape at least one person recognized. "Camelot." Richie said under his breath. The sound cut through the silence, washing across everyone. Lucas looked around. "Don't ask me how, but it's there. Smack dab in the only place a mortal can't run over it." "The lay lines..." Joe breathed beside Richie. Turning to face the Immortal, he explained. "The circle. He's living over one of the most powerful places on the planet." Richie nodded once, catching Lucas' gaze. "Begin Operation Transfer," he said, the scientist losing all excitement. The blond stepped away from the table, moving to the empty engineering station behind him. Turning to Freddie, he added, "Plot me a course." Jeremiah perked up, realizing what his father was up to. He moved around the table, planting himself in front of Richie. "You're not planning..." Jeremiah began, the silence confirmation enough. "Don't you dare," he said grabbing his father's jumpsuit. "Run away, let him wait. I'm not going to let you walk out of my life..." A hint of hysteria surfaced. "We've just gotten to know each other." He started shaking his father, his voice rising an octave. "You can't..." Joe Dawson had wondered why Richie insisted he bring an emergency medical kit, but as he injected Jeremiah with a powerful sedative, he understood. Richie caught his son as he went limp, slowly lowering him to the floor. Lucas came back, shocked at the sight, stuttering, "It's be... begun. All stocks, money, and properties are being moved." He looked down, then up. "He's o.k., isn't he?" Joe smiled, holding up the syringe. "He's fine. Take him to his cabin... He'll be out for awhile." Lucas nodded, carefully lifting the heavy load. The scientist struggled to the door as Richie looked around. "Would everyone leave? Just for a bit?" They passed by him, each offering a kind word or smile. Soon he was alone, the lights keyed off, just the panoramic view of the stars. He sat at the medical station, the moon slowly rotating into view. He mused for a long time, trying to find the courage to finish the Game. And the strength to leave them all behind. *BEEP* went the console as the man pressed a button. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "I thought you'd come by," Freddie said, leaning against the corridor wall a good hundred feet from Jeremiah's room. Richie stopped, smiling. The technician straightened, moving toward the Immortal. "May the light always guide your way. Good luck, my friend." He held out his hand. Richie reached out, clasping it. The grip was firm, the contact warm, the feelings genuine. "I liked Pete. A lot. If things had been different..." Freddie shrugged. "If things were different, I wouldn't be here. And I'm glad I was." "Steady as she goes," Richie said, breaking the contact, moving on down the corridor. As he walked, he heard Freddie's footsteps fading into the distance. He arrived at his son's room, surprised that the door was unlocked, opening as he approached. Lucas was pacing, Jeremiah was laid out on the bunk. The blond scientist looked up as Richie cleared his throat. "I'll be outside," was all Lucas said as he moved around the redhead, leaving. The Immortal watched his departure, finally turning again and looking at his son. he thought, sitting on the side of the bed, running his hand through his son's hair. It had been a long time since he had the pleasure of watching his son sleep. Grace had been with him, as they gazed at the sleeping boy for minutes, sometimes hours. He leaned down, planting a kiss on the sleeper's forehead. He left while he still could, his resolve wavering. He turned at the door, one last look back. One last look. Lucas was waiting for him outside, the anger dulled in the quiet corridor. As Richie walked by, he asked, "You hate me, don't you." The Immortal turned, not sure what to say. "Answer one of mine." "Sure," Lucas replied, shrugging. There was nothing left to lose. "Are you sleeping with my son?" Richie asked point blank. That brought the anger to a boil. "That's none of your business!" Lucas spat. Richie shrugged, turning and walking up the corridor. "Wait..." Lucas called. The Immoral stopped for the young man to catch up, the anger fading. "No, we're not. All we want is to be friends. Close, but not in that way. Is it too much to ask?" Richie smiled. "Not at all. Take care of him. And make sure he's happy. That both of you are happy." Lucas smiled back, nodding. "I can do that..." Then Richie left, leaving the scientist alone. "It's still none of your business..." floated from behind him, his sights set on Bay 0-0, and a task. =========================================================================