Date: Mon, 14 Aug 1995 09:19:36 -0600 (MDT) Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Kellie Matthews-Simmons Subject: In The Dark part 5 of 9 - Revised This story copyright 1995 by the authors. Permission to distribute freely is given, provided you do not attempt to sell it. The X-Files is a trademark of Fox Television, characters not used by permission. Highlander is a trademark of Rysher Entertainment, characters not used by permission. Star Trek: The Next Generation is a trademark of Paramount, Inc., characters not used by permission. (Whew! That's a lot of disclaiming!) In the Dark was written during the summer of 1995, between Season 2 & 3 of The X-Files, and Seasons 3 & 4 of Highlander. Anything which occurs in future episodes of these programs may substantially impact the continuity of this story, unfortunately, there's not a thing we can do about it. HOWEVER, we are quite willing to produce scripts in order to maintain said continuity! ;-> As always, comments are welcome. NOTE: This is a story in two parts... or perhaps more properly it is two stories connected by a couple of common threads. After we finished it and ran it through our "beta test" audience, we had several comments on the difference in pacing between the two sections. We scratched our heads and thought about what the problem might be, until we realized that there was no problem, there was just a difference. The major drawback to writing crossovers isn't meshing universes, that's fairly simple. The hard part is blending styles. The X-Files, and Highlander, for example, is heavily plot- driven. TNG, on the other hand, was often completely character-driven, with plot taking a backseat. Neither is better or worse by definition, merely different. At any rate, we feel that we've succeeded in dealing with those differences and hope that you do as well. Kellie Matthews-Simmons // matthewk@colorado.edu Julia Kosatka // julia@bayou.uh.edu In The Dark, Part 5 c. 1995 Kellie Matthews-Simmons & Julia Kosatka "Guinan, Joe! Thank God! I was afraid you were dead!" Guinan looked up to find Duncan standing over her. She'd been so distracted by Scully's fussing over her arm that she hadn't realized he'd come into the warehouse with the other FBI agent. She'd known he was safe, she'd felt his presence strongly, while Dane's presence had faded and disappeared; but still she felt a rush of relief at the sight of him. She saw the same emotion echoed on Duncan's expressive face. She pulled away from Scully and wrapped one arm around Joe and the other around Duncan, ignoring the fiery protest from her wound, and just held on. She realized a moment later that she wasn't the only one who was shaking. They stood like that for several moments, then finally she let them go. "Don't you guys ever scare me like that again!" she admonished them. "Me?" Duncan said, with mock offense. "What about you? How did this happen?" She felt a blush burning her cheeks and was glad her dark skin hid that from them. "He must have followed me from the bar. He and his friend snatched me right off the sidewalk. I've been one of those `never thought it could happen to me' types. I guess it's time to take some self- defense classes." "I'd say so!" He looked at Joe with concern. "Joe, do you feel as bad as you look?" Joe chuckled. "Nah, I'm okay, but they want me to go get an x-ray to be sure." "Do it. Concussion's nothing to fool around with." Duncan's gaze returned to Guinan. "What happened to your arm?" He hadn't missed her wince as she lowered her arm, or her torn sleeve. "Don't worry about me, it's just a scratch," she chuckled, relief making her feel a bit giddy. "You know, I've always wanted to say that." "I can't say that I'm glad you got the opportunity. You should have that looked at, too." "It's nothing." "It is just a graze, but it could easily get infected. Definitely have it treated." Scully put in from the sidelines where she'd been watching them with an amused expression. Her gaze shifted to Duncan. "So, you were coming here after all." MacLeod looked at her innocently. "Me? I was just in the neighborhood. You never know when you'll find a good real estate bargain. I see you managed to find the place without following me after all." "After all?" Mulder echoed, looking interested. Scully shot him a look that should have singed his eyebrows. Guinan looked from the petite redhead to Duncan and felt the flare of interest between them. At this point it was weighted a bit toward Dana Scully's side of the scale, but that could change easily. Duncan was still wary of the agent because of the situation, but as soon as the adrenaline wore off he'd be able to see her as a woman instead of a law officer. She stifled a sigh of regret. Even if she were allowed to indulge herself, he was better off with a human woman anyway. Her longevity would be a serious obstacle to overcome. She took a step back, removing herself from their line of sight, and looked at her arm. The bleeding had stopped, and she felt the telltale itch of healing flesh beginning in the deepest layers below the surface. With any luck, she wouldn't even have a scar. She was damned lucky it hadn't been any worse. If she'd been taken to a hospital, they'd have known within minutes that she wasn't human. In fact, if the light in the warehouse had been any better, her own blood would have betrayed her. Humans didn't bleed deep maroon. She was glad her black clothing hid the color of the blood it had absorbed. "Guinan? You okay?" She turned to find Joe regarding her closely. She nodded. "Just a little shaken up, that's all. You?" "The same. I can't believe Evan would do something like this! It's insane!" "What was he trying to do, anyway? What did he think he'd gain by killing us?" Joe's gaze slid away from hers and he shook his head gingerly. "Hell if I know, Guinan. It doesn't make any sense." She stared at him, her eyes narrowed. His words held a peculiar mixture of truth and falsehood that startled her. She'd never sensed him in a lie before, at least not one that wasn't just a social lie. This time, he knew something that he wasn't telling her. "Excuse me, Mr. Dawson, would you be able to answer a few questions for me?" Joe looked up at Mulder, obviously relieved by the interruption. Guinan shot him an `I'll get you later' look, and stood by quietly as Mulder began to speak. "We've found identification on this man indicating that his name is Evan Conroy. Did you know him?" Joe nodded. "We were acquainted, though not well. I knew him in connection with a bookstore I once owned." Guinan sensed another partial lie. Mulder looked as if he did too. "A bookstore?" he queried, clearly waiting for more. Joe nodded, and then hesitated a moment, as if he suspected the other man knew more than he let on. "We're also... fraternity brothers." Mulder nodded sagely, and seemed oddly amused. "A fraternity? I see. That would account for the tattoos then?" Guinan felt Joe's anxiety levels skyrocketing. He shot a glance at Duncan where he stood speaking to Scully. "I've already spoken to Mr. MacLeod." Mulder said quietly, as if to reassure him. "I know about your... fraternity. It's an interesting one. Its been around a long time hasn't it?" "A very long time." "And you have some very old members, don't you?" Joe's eyes were narrowed with suspicion. "I suppose that depends on your definition of old, doesn't it?" Mulder nodded. "It does." His shrewd gaze swept over Joe, moved to Duncan, then to Guinan. "And some people are a lot older than they seem, aren't they?" Guinan felt a flare of apprehension. Could he know? Had her cover been penetrated? Even if it hadn't, would her falsified background stand up to an FBI investigation? "They are." Joe said flatly. "Can I talk to you privately for a moment?" Mulder's eyes lit up. "Of course." He looked at Guinan. "Will you excuse us?" She nodded, she would be able to hear them no matter what, so it didn't matter if they thought they were private or not. She pretended interest in watching the people from the coroner's office loading Conroy's body onto a stretcher. "You're a Watcher, aren't you? And so was Conroy." Mulder asked Joe. "How the hell do you know about us?" Joe demanded. "I have good sources. I know about the Watchers, but you can relax. If you want to spend your life keeping tabs on marginally human beings with unnaturally long life-spans, that's your business. It's a little strange, but it's not illegal. I do however, need to know what the hell was going on here!" Guinan stopped listening, stunned by the implications of what she'd overheard. Somehow, some way, they knew at least part of her secret! How had they figured it out? If the government knew about her, they might find out that not only was she long-lived, but she wasn't even human, and that would spell trouble. The "black" agencies who kept tabs on extraterrestrial activity were not known for their benevolence. She knew the usual fate of those who were caught. Of course, the ones they caught were usually the ones who most deserved catching, the ones whose experiments on humankind made them targets for the same sort of experimentation in return. She, however, had no intention of becoming a laboratory rat. She looked around the warehouse, determining that no one was watching her. All the various security personnel were busy collecting evidence and searching for clues. Joe was occupied with Mulder, and Duncan with Scully. It might be her only chance. She stepped away from the pool of light she'd occupied and edged her way through the shadows toward the door. She felt badly about sneaking off, but she didn't have much choice. No matter what Joe, and possibly Duncan, thought they knew about her, it was nothing compared to what they could learn. Then there was the complication of the FBI's involvement. She just couldn't risk it. Now, if only she could get out of there without being noticed. Apparently everyone was busy inside the building, as no one challenged her as she stepped out into the evening. It had gotten dark, and she stopped for a moment, listening, and heard three men conversing as they searched the cars parked around the corner from where she stood. She hesitated, wanting to avoid being seen. It would be better for her to `disappear mysteriously'. There was no one in sight or hearing behind the building, so she slipped around there and blended into the night. **** Scully rose and stood at her desk, stretching stiff muscles. Behind her, the printer began spitting out her report. As she watched the paper accumulate in the tray, Mulder walked into their office. She looked up and seeing the stress in his face, gave him a sympathetic smile. "How'd it go?" "Worse than rush-hour on the beltway, but not as bad as a trip to the dentist. He didn't much care for the fact that one of our two serial killers disappeared. I know I hit him, but there's always a chance that he survived that. Skinner'll probably like your report better than he liked mine." She grinned. "He always does." He made a face. "Go ahead and rub it in, Scully." "No thanks, just did." She picked up her report and leafed through it, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "Here, I wanted your opinion on something. Read this part." He took the report and started to read, then looked up at her, one eyebrow lifted. "You had your laundry analyzed? What, the `Spray n' Scrub' didn't work?" She chuckled and rolled her eyes. "I couldn't figure out how I got maroon stuff all over the front of my blouse when I left the warehouse. It wasn't there when I went in so it had to be something I picked up at the crime scene. Considering the fact that we went over the place with a fine- toothed comb and didn't find anything even remotely similar, yes, I had it analyzed. Keep reading." He did, and his eyebrows lifted. "`The substance appears to be hemoglobin, however the lab has been unable to identify the species from which it came,'" he quoted. "Interesting. From our so-called `Immortal', perhaps?" He thought for a moment, and shot her a sly look. "Just how close were you standing to MacLeod, Scully?" "Not that close, Mulder. Besides, he wasn't injured. I only treated Joe Dawson and our mysterious disappearing lady, Guinan El- Aurian. I guess I have to wonder if she was one too?" "I don't think so. You said her arm was wounded, right?" Scully nodded. "Yes, it wasn't terribly serious, but it was messy." "Then she wasn't an immortal. I saw MacLeod take a sword cut that should have put him in the hospital. He was laid open, shirt and skin, nearly from his `naves to his chops', as the Bard put it. It was healed within minutes. If she were an immortal, too, I don't think you would've had anything to bandage... unless there are two types of immortals out there." Scully stared at him, her eyes narrowed. "You must be mistaken. The blood must have been Dane's and the sword cut MacLeod's shirt without actually touching him." "I know what I saw, Scully, one minute he was bleeding and the next he was healed. Besides, his blood was as red as yours or mine, not maroon." Scully bristled. "Why didn't you tell me? You didn't think that was important enough to share with me? I expected resistance to infection and enhanced tissue replacement, but never considered the possibility that it might be virtually instantaneous! I wonder if the speed varies with the severity of the wound? Perhaps MacLeod would be willing to come in for a few tests. Can you imagine what we could learn from him? Studying him could revolutionize medicine!" He looked at her ironically, "Now you know why I didn't say anything to you... or to Skinner. Think about it from the other side of the microscope for a moment." Scully frowned a little as Mulder's words sank in. He continued, echoing her earlier enthusiasm. "I understand your fascination, though. What must it be like? Have you thought about how old he might be?" "I'd guess about thirty-five, but he claimed to be four hundred and three. I guess life begins at 400." "He told you that? And you didn't think it important enough to tell me?" Scully paused a moment, enjoying turning the tables on her partner for a change. "Mulder, the man was obviously either delusional or pulling my leg. In either case, it didn't seem worth wasting your time with." "What if he was serious, Scully? What if that fantastic immune system you posited were real? Wouldn't it be within the realm of possibility? Given that, is it truly so difficult to imagine that the ravages of time might be held at bay, that a body which could heal itself so quickly and so completely might be virtually immortal? Imagine what that could mean! He and the others like him are truly living history. What have they seen? What must it be like to watch civilizations rise and fall while you remain the same?" Mulder stopped, lost in his visions. Scully, caught up in Mulder's passionate imagery, shivered and replied, "Horrible. It would be horrible." She sighed, thinking, for a moment of the practical side of such a life. They'd have to move every few years to hide their nature. Friends would grow old and die in the blink of an eye. Immortality could easily become a curse. Looking into her partner's face she saw her own emotions mirrored in his eyes. "Still, I'd love to spend a week or two studying MacLeod's blood chemistry." Mulder's eyes were bright with amusement, "Here I want to talk with the man, and you just want his body." **** Joe nodded to Duncan as his friend paused in the doorway to let his eyes adjust to the relative darkness of the bar. Finishing with his customer, he pulled an envelope out of his pocket and deposited it in front of Duncan. "What's this, my tab?" Duncan picked it up and glancing at the envelope noticed that it was addressed to both Joe and himself, care of the bar. There was no return address. Intrigued, he turned it into the light to see the postmark. "San Francisco? Who do we know in San Francisco?" He pulled out the single sheet of paper out and glanced first at the signature. "It's about time," he exclaimed feeling an odd mixture of relief and irritation. He read the short message quickly and tossed the sheet down onto the bar in annoyance. "Is this all there is? Just `I'm sorry, see you later'? No explanation?" Joe shrugged, equally irritated, "That's all she wrote." Duncan winced, "Please." Joe grinned crookedly, "It's the first time I've ever seen a 'Dear John' letter addressed to two people. Got to give her an 'A' for originality." Duncan glanced at the letter again, "At least she apologized. I guess we should be grateful for that." He paused a moment, his initial irritation fading, "I'm glad to know she's okay. I was getting pretty worried." Joe set a beer down in front of Duncan and sighed. "Yeah. I just wish she'd been a little more specific about where she was going and when she might be back. I mean, couldn't she at least have given us a forwarding address?" Duncan shrugged, "I get the feeling she doesn't want to be found. I've been there a time or two myself." Joe scowled, "I guess that shows us how we rate." "Don't, Joe," Duncan commiserated with his friend, "Don't try to second guess her. We don't know what's going on in her life. And who knows? Even a mortal lifetime is long enough that you never know who you might meet again." Picking up his beer, he gestured for Joe to raise his glass as well, "To absent friends," he said. "To absent friends," Joe echoed. **** "Commander. I am picking up an automated distress signal in the Koto Barani system." Worf waited with his usual air of barely contained impatience for Riker to acknowledge the information and request additional details. Or not. "Put it on audio, Mr. Worf." "There is no audio available, sir. It is a beacon only." Riker suppressed a smile at Worf's expression. As usual, the security chief seemed to be taking the lack of an audio signal personally. As the situation sank in, Riker frowned thoughtfully. He knew they were the only Federation ship in the area at the moment, whoever was in trouble might not get another chance. He looked back at Worf. "Is there anything else you can tell me about it?" Given a chance to provide his commanding officer with something, Worf consulted his board again. "The beacon appears to be a Type IV, commonly used by small Federation trade vessels." "Mr. Data, how late would we be picking up the Captain if we detoured to Koto Barani?" "Approximately three hours, Commander." "Any ships reported missing in the area?" Data accessed the necessary records, his hands playing over the console almost too fast for the eye, the human eye, to see. "Three Federation ships equipped with Type IV emergency beacons have passed within four light years of the beacon's location. Of those three, the Sorka has reached Star Base 108, the Monroe is presumably still enroute to Devani Prime. Only the Darius is currently unaccounted for. It was scheduled to deliver agricultural equipment and a variety of biological specimens to the colony on Valhalla 5 a week ago. The Darius is a two-man cargo vessel owned by the Highlands Trading Corporation. "Mr. Data, increase speed to warp 4 and change course to rendezvous with that beacon. Mr. Worf, send word to the Captain. Let him know we're going to be a little late." **** Duncan closed the cover on the biopod's maintenance hatch. So far, the embryos were still safe in their stasis fields. He leaned back against the bulkhead behind him and slid down to sit on the deck. Tired. So tired. Since crashing on this benighted planetoid five days ago (was it only five days?) he'd given himself little time to rest. Between trying to get the ship going again, repairing the beacon and checking his perishable cargo, his days had been full. Not full enough, though, to distract him from the fact that he hadn't had food or water in those five days. He was capable of going quite a while without food and drink, but it didn't keep him from getting hungry, and thirsty. He sat there, head back, eyes closed listening to the barely audible hiss of the life support and tried not to think of the shrouded stasis unit across the cargo bay. Jeremy. He'd been the most recent in a long line of Watchers who'd been assigned to Duncan over the centuries. After he'd discovered the Watchers late in the 20th century, the group had deemed it a waste of effort to keep his assigned Watchers a secret. He'd deemed it a waste of effort to to try to avoid them. Over the years he'd even gotten to know a few of them, like Joe Dawson, Liam Anderson, and Jeremy Dikembe. Those few had been a welcome relief from the constant pretense and subterfuge that was an Immortal's usual relationship with humans, they had proven to be friends as well as Watchers. Jeremy had volunteered to help him crew this trip because of their friendship, and now he lay dead at the impossibly young age of thirty. Duncan tried to remember being thirty but found it increasingly difficult. He shifted around a little, rested his head against a storage container and felt himself drifting off to sleep. His last thought before dropping into darkness was that if no one heard his beacon, immortality could prove to be a great disadvantage. **** Wind in his hair, and sunlight hot on his skin. God, it felt good. It seemed so long since he'd felt the wind or the warmth of sun on his face. And motion. He looked down to see he was riding a silver horse. Sparks flew from her metal hooves as they raced over the rocky plain. Suddenly the land changed and he was walking through a dark, ruined city. Fire lit the sky to the east in a maniacal false dawn. Distant screams traced the path of a marauding band of the human predators who patrolled what was left of the city, one of many such groups. Duncan prowled the alleyways, searching for... something. He couldn't remember what it was but he had to keep looking. Tired, he was so tired, but he couldn't stop till he found it. He sat down on the hood of a burned out car to rest when it hit him, filling his head, freezing his heart and permeating him with an almost insane bloodlust. There was Another nearby. Sword in hand, he ran until he found himself on a rocky precipice on a world in perpetual twilight. The Presence was still with him, but he couldn't find the source. Frantically, he searched until he was ready to drop, then with the Call so loud he was on the edge of madness, someone laughed behind him and he heard the unmistakable whir of a blade through the air, and felt its edge bite into his neck as he screamed. **** Beverly Crusher crouched down before the dark-haired man who sat propped against a stasis unit. He wore the stylized compass-rose badge of a commercial pilot on the collar of his utilitarian jumpsuit, so she knew what he was. Judging from the restlessness with which he slept, he was in the throes of a nightmare. She reached out to shake him awake, then decided it might be better to get her scans done while he couldn't object. In her experience, these commercial transport pilots could be an incredibly stubborn bunch when they tried... or even when they didn't try. Opening up her tricorder, she leaned forward to bring it closer to him. Her eyes narrowed as the first, rather odd readings flashed across the readout. How strange... Suddenly, with a cry, his eyes flew open and he lunged forward, his shoulder connecting with her shoulder hard enough to throw her backwards several feet, where she skidded to a stop a few feet away, her pained yelp still echoing through the cargo bay. Wary blue eyes looked into the stranger's unfocused brown ones. Slowly, he shook off the effects of whatever nightmare he'd had and he began to realize what must have happened. Rising and extending a hand, he approached her with a contrite expression. "Are you all right? I'm very sorry, I... I..." "Not a morning person, are you?" Bev asked, using humor to diffuse the tension. Rubbing her right shoulder, she let him help her up and looked around for her tricorder. "Doctor!" Worf appeared at the hatch, phaser drawn. "I heard you cry out, are you all right?" The Klingon, as regulations dictated, did not have his phaser pointed at the stranger since he was not obviously threatening anyone, but his stance indicated that his aim could change at a moment's notice. At Worf's approach, all traces of confusion disappeared from the stranger's face. Gone was the embarrassment, in its place a flash of something-- else. He stood lightly balanced on the balls of his feet and his hand made an abortive movement as if to reach for an accustomed weapon. "It's all right, Lieutenant," Beverly said as she continued to massage her sore shoulder. "I'm afraid I startled him, and he startled me back." She smiled warmly at her `attacker,' inviting him to share the joke. The pilot relaxed a bit, still eyeing Worf warily. "I'd be grateful if you'd put the phaser away, then, Lieutenant. It does make me a bit... nervous." Beverly stared as she listened to him. That accent! Combined with the vague familiarity of his features, she knew she should know him. "Excuse me, but are you from Caldos IV?" He turned to her, eyes narrowed. "No, why?" "You seem familiar, I thought perhaps we'd met before." He studied her for a moment, and then shook his head. "I'm sure I would remember having met you before. However, my... father spent some years on Caldos IV, you might have seen him there." "Perhaps. May I ask your name?" "MacLeod, Duncan MacLeod. And yours?" "Dr. Beverly Crusher, though back on Caldos IV, it used to be Beverly Howard." He focused on her face, studying her intently. "Howard? Would you be any relation to Felisa Howard?" "She was my grandmother, why?" "My father mentioned her a time or two, said she was a grand lady. I'm honored to meet a descendant of hers!" He bowed slightly from the waist, in a courtly fashion. Bev gazed at him thoughtfully, thinking him delightfully mannered and damned fine-looking to boot. "Your father knew Nana? Hmmm... I don't recall Nana mentioning anyone named MacLeod." "How about an Ian MacGilvray?" Her mouth dropped open. "Ian MacGilvray? You're kid... no, you're not! That's why you look so familiar! You look just like the holos she had of him! But your name is MacLeod?" "It's my mother's name," he grinned "They weren't married." Bev couldn't help but return his smile. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" He chuckled. "I can't imagine." As she was about to answer, Worf cleared his throat loudly, and she caught herself. "Here I am reminiscing when there's work to be done! Let me find my tricord... oh. Damn." She picked up the tricorder from where it had fallen and studied it in dismay. The instrument had hit the wall with enough force to disable it. She sighed. "Well, I guess it's up to time-honored methods now. Does anything hurt?" He shook his head. "Good. Your arm, please?" Looking a bit puzzled, he extended one arm. She pushed up his sleeve, found his pulse, and started to count. A minute later, satisfied, she let him go. "Lean down." He looked wary. "Why?" She grinned. "I said lean down, not bend over. I just want to check your pupil response." He complied, and she saw amusement in his eyes. She noticed he had very long eyelashes, and his eyes were a rich, warm brown. Feeling a little annoyed with herself for noticing something like that at a time like this, she thumbed her search-beacon on and flashed it briefly upward. His eyes dilated equally, and she stepped back. "Well, according to primitive methods, you seem fine, but I'd like to run a full scan on you back in sickbay to make sure. Worf, how do things look?" "Commander LaForge is assessing the situation in the engine room. Lieutenant Barclay reports that only one of the biopods appears to have sustained any damage. However there is a body in one of the stasis units." Worf sounded faintly disgusted, as if he were annoyed to have to deal with such an occurrence. MacLeod sighed and some of the life seemed to go out of him. "My first officer, Jeremy Dikembe, was killed in the accident. I'll notify his family as soon as I can get to a working com unit." "What caused your vessel to crash?" Worf asked, looking a bit suspicious. Beverly was pretty sure he hadn't missed MacLeod's abortive reach for a weapon earlier. "I'm still not sure," MacLeod said. "I'm a pilot, not an engineer. Jeremy handled that end of things. One minute we were doing warp 4 on course for Valhalla, the next all hell had broken loose and we were God- only-knows-where with only our thrusters working. Jer went back to the engine room and managed to get the impulse engines on-line but they failed again as I was trying to make planetfall. I managed to guide us into the flattest place I could find, but we hit pretty hard. I was knocked unconscious, and by the time I came to..." he sighed. "There was nothing I could do." "What killed him?" Beverly asked, wondering how MacLeod had managed to come through the accident apparently unscathed. "Coolant leak. The emergency bulkheads in the engine room sealed the area off when the leak was detected, so the rest of the ship was unaffected. The automated systems vented the room, but it was too late. Jeremy was already gone." His voice sounded hollow, and his eyes closed for a moment. Bev reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you did everything you could." He took a deep breath and straightened, nodding. "Thanks. Do you think I could speak to your engineer? I'd like to know if there's any life left in the old girl." Beverly assumed he was talking about the ship. "Certainly. Worf, you said Geordi was in the engine room?" The Klingon nodded and led the way as they walked the short distance. "How long have you been stuck here?" Bev asked, looking back over her shoulder at MacLeod as they stepped into the engine room. "Five days... no, six now. Not that long in the overall scheme of things but long enough that I'm certainly glad you heard the beacon. It wouldn't have been pleasant to go much longer." "I'd say not... especially with the replicators out." Geordi said, coming out from underneath a access-panel. "You're the pilot?" MacLeod nodded, eyeing Geordi's visor curiously. "Then may I say that I'm impressed? I can't believe you managed to land this thing basically intact using nothing but thrusters!" MacLeod smiled. "Thanks, it wasn't easy. So... what's the verdict on the Darius?" LaForge looked unhappy. "You're not going to like it. The engines are beyond repair, and there's major structural damage to the hull." Duncan sighed. "I was afraid of that. I bought her used, and she's been good, but when these ships go, they go," he looked around at them ruefully. "I guess I'm going to have to bum a ride to the closest starbase and rent a salvager. What sort of ship are you from? Do you have room for a hitch-hiker?" Geordi chuckled. "I think we can spare a bunk and some cargo space for you. I'm Geordi LaForge, by the way, chief engineer aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise." The castaway looked momentarily stunned. "The Enterprise? Good God... I've been rescued by the bloody Starfleet flagship?" Bev grinned. "That you have. We'll have Barclay see to your cargo and you can beam back to sickbay with me." MacLeod stiffened, and shook his head. "I'd like to oversee the cargo transfer myself, if you don't mind. It means a lot to some people who are trusting me to bring it safe to them. I gave them my word." "Lieutenant Barclay..." "Is a fine officer, I'm sure. I would expect no less of the Enterprise, but still, 'tis my cargo, and I'd like to handle it. I'll also need to see to having my own things transferred as well. It would be better if I could do this myself, please?" Worf nodded. "That seems a reasonable request, follow me." Bev watched them go, a bit piqued, eyes narrowing. She knew a stall when she saw one, and MacLeod was definitely trying to avoid sickbay. Why? She touched her combadge. "Crusher to Barclay." "B-barclay here." "When our guest finishes overseeing the cargo transfer, make sure you bring him to sickbay if you would." "Yes ma'am. I m-mean... sir." She smiled. "Thanks, Crusher out." **** Duncan checked the readouts one last time then stretched to work the kinks out of his back. He and Lieutenant Barclay had gone over all six of the remaining biopods to make sure they hadn't sustained any hidden damage from the crash. The seventh had cracked like an egg when its supports gave way and it slammed into a bulkhead. Fortunately, it hadn't contained anything terribly important and most of its cargo was duplicated in some of the other pods. Duncan patted the number 6 pod and smiled. This one had come through all right. "I'm a-all f-finished ov-over here, sir. This one is... just f-fine." Barclay, ill at ease at the best of times, shifted from one foot to the other while his hands fluttered like wild things seeking shelter from a predator. "So's this one. Fortunately." Duncan's smile widened. Barclay hesitated, obviously curious about the contents of the pod, but uncertain if he should ask or not. Curiosity eventually won out over caution. "`F-fortunately', sir? What's in it?" "Horses." Seeing the other man's blank expression, Duncan elaborated. "Valhalla is a low-tech colony. In some areas, like medicine and communications, they use modern methods, but they grow their own food, and build their own homes from native materials, and choose to not use highly technological transportation except in extreme emergencies." "They ride h-horses? N-no ground cars or t-transporters or-or anything?" The engineer in Barclay couldn't believe he was hearing the truth, but the closet romantic in him warmed to the idea. "But, if they don't have any mechanical means of t-transport, how... how have they managed without th-these horses? I mean, don't they al-already have some?" Duncan sobered and nodded. "They did... until a few years ago. Then the horses on Valhalla developed something now called Reigert's Syndrome. Half of them died and of those that survived, two-thirds were sterile. They've had to wait until they were certain they could guard against it before bringing in replacements.. A vaccine was developed and a few months ago they contracted for these embryos." Duncan noticed that his companion had stopped listening and was lost in his own thoughts. "Lieutenant?" Barclay started and looked down at the deck, embarrassed. "I'm s-sorry, I was just wondering..." "Wondering what?" "Oh, I, well...", the shy engineer stammered a moment then took a deep breath and replied slowly," I was just w-wondering what it would be like to live in a p-place like that." He paused, as if seeking approval, "I mean, we-we use technology for everything. I-it would be very strange I think." Duncan found himself warming to the awkward young officer. "Tell you what, Lieutenant," Duncan took the datapad from Barclay's hand and laid it down on the pod next to his own, "I lived on Valhalla for a few years. I'll tell you everything I know about it and how the people live there if you'll show me where a man can get something to eat on this ship." Duncan took Barclay by the elbow and steered him toward the door. "My replicators have been down since the crash, and I'm starving!" "Uh - Sir, I'm supposed, I mean, D-Dr. Crusher said..." Duncan interrupted him as they exited into the corridor just a few yards from a turbolift. "I know, I know. Dr. Crusher said for you to bring me to sickbay after we finished here. Well, you can still take me by sickbay, but we both need a break. I don't want her to lecture me because my blood pressure's too high and my blood-sugar's too low." The lift's doors whooshed open at their approach and Duncan looked guilelessly at his companion obviously waiting for Barclay to give the command. Barclay sighed in resignation, and stepped into the lift with MacLeod right behind him. "10-Forward," he said, and surprised himself by not stuttering. Even though he knew Dr. Crusher would not be pleased he was actually looking forward to spending more time with MacLeod. He was one of the few people Barclay had ever met that didn't seem at all put off by Barclay's manner, and besides, he was curious about Valhalla. The lift doors opened and Barclay stepped out. "T-this way, sir." "Come on, Barclay, call me Mac. I'm not your superior officer! Hell, I'm not even a Fleeter!" Barclay was momentarily taken aback, but then he realized that MacLeod was extending a gesture of friendship. He nodded. "Okay, Mac." It sounded a bit awkward, but he thought he could get used to it. "In here," he said, gesturing to the elegant frosted-glass and wood doors of Ten-Forward which slid open at their approach. Mac stopped for a moment, looking around, and whistled softly. "This is some mess hall!" Barclay felt a rush of pride. "The Enterprise is some ship." he stated fondly. "We don't have a mess hall. We have Ten-Forward." "Aye, I can see that. Well, would you mind if we sat there?" He indicated an empty table near the huge viewport. "I've always had a weakness for a good view." "Anywhere you like." Mac made his way through the tables to the one he'd chosen. Barclay noticed he drew a few curious glances, mostly from women, and he had the sudden hopeful thought that maybe if he hung around with MacLeod for awhile, it might improve his image. "So, Barclay, what do you recommend here?" "Anything." "Anything? Really?" "Really. We have the best replicator programs in Starfleet." Duncan sighed. "Replicators. Oh well." "There's a good selection of hydroponics too." MacLeod's expression lightened. "That sounds better. I confess, I prefer real food when I can get it." "Is that a taste you acquired on Valhalla?" "No, I've always been that way, but it was easier to get real food there, for certain." "I guess that would be an advantage. Is real food really all that different?" He suddenly realized he hadn't stammered in three or four sentences, and decided it must have something to do with MacLeod. MacLeod looked thoughtfully off at the stars, and finally nodded. "Yes, and no. It doesn't taste all that different, but the body knows. There's earth, and air, water and sun in real food. Replicated food is missing those elements that give us life." Barclay goggled. Philosophy, from a Commercial Pilots Guildsman? Unheard of! He was fascinated. "B-But replicated food is just transformed from other substances. W-Why don't they have t-the same... elements?" Damn. Stammering again. If he hadn't noticed he was doing better, he wouldn't have started again. Mac frowned reflectively. "Perhaps they were once, but they've been transformed through mechanical means. They may nourish the body, but not the soul." "Doesn't technology--" Barclay began only to be interrupted by a hail from his combadge. "LaForge to Barclay." He tapped the device, activating it. "Barclay here." "I need you in Engineering. We're running a recrystallization routine and we're short-handed with Pfannen and Suvar both out." "Aye sir. On my way." He sighed, and looked at MacLeod. "I guess I'll have to talk with you some other time." MacLeod nodded. "Anytime, Lieutenant. I won't have much to occupy me here." Barclay smiled, pleased that Mac was willing to talk again. "I-I'll see you around," he said, as he headed for the doors. MacLeod waved and turned back to the stars. **** With Barclay gone, Duncan felt a bit at a loss. He wasn't sure where he was supposed to be, other than sickbay, and that he planned to avoid as long as possible. Medical technology had become entirely too efficient for his tastes. His physiology would drive the machines, and doctors, crazy. He flagged down a server and ordered a meal and an ale. He was more than pleased to find that the bar offered not only the popular synths' but the real thing as well. Then he leaned back in his seat and looked out at the splendor before him. No matter how many years he spent in space, he never tired of the majesty of it all. Once again, he pitied the mortals around him. Having grown up with this spectacle at their beck and call, they had lost some of the awe that he felt would remain with him always. **** Guinan adjusted her hat one last time before leaving her quarters. The odd feeling that had woken her during the night was still with her. It was familiar, but she couldn't quite place what it meant. A slight prickling at the back of her neck, a tension at the base of her spine. Whatever it was, she felt sure it would make itself known in its own good time. Greeting people as she headed toward 10-Forward, Guinan was aware of a growing sense of expectation. Whatever it was that put her on alert was getting closer. The simulated teak doors opened and she glided into her domain, nodding to one of her waiters and speaking to several people on her way to the bar. What she was feeling right now she hadn't felt in years, centuries, perhaps. She scanned the crowded room for... someone or something out of the ordinary. There, by the port in the forward corner of the room, a man with long dark hair pulled neatly back, seated alone, body half turned from the room, eyes rapt on the stars. Her pulse-rate picked up, her breath going shallow as she suddenly realized who it was. As the first flush of stunned surprise passed, a smile lit her face and she began to weave her way over to his table. Whether he was intent on the view or his own thoughts, she couldn't tell, but it was him. She knew that face well, she knew that... presence too. Impossible though it was, she knew this man, though she'd thought him centuries dead. For a moment she doubted herself. Perhaps, just perhaps the resemblance wasn't as great as it seemed. Maybe he was merely a descendant of her long-dead friend. Either way, she had to meet him. She had to know. The chair closest to her was turned slightly out from the table, as if someone had just left, or as if he were waiting for someone. Never having been one to let an opportunity slip, Guinan slid into it. The man turned, shock coloring his face as he recognized her. That told her everything she needed to know. It was him. "So, it is you. I don't know how, but it's you." She grinned, and assumed a heavy pseudo-Cuban accent. "You got some 'splaining to do, Duncan MacLeod." **** Duncan was on his feet and reaching instinctively for his sword, when for the second time that day remembered it wasn't at hand. He'd had to bring it aboard in his baggage, which had been beamed directly to his quarters, wherever that was. Seconds after that, he realized that he hadn't felt the unmistakable Presence of a fellow Immortal. He sat back down, warily, hoping he hadn't looked as odd as he suspected he had; and leaned forward, studying her face intently. She looked only a little older, but much, much wiser. He saw a world of experience in her eyes, and wondered if his own looked like that as well. "Guinan... my God! Is it really you?" "It is. I could ask the same, but the look on your face already answered that question. It's been a long time, Duncan." He shook his head, looking amazed. "Now there's an understatement if ever I've heard one! I don't understand, how can you still be alive? What are you?" "I'm an El-Aurian. I used that as my name when I knew you, but it's really the name of the world I was born on. My people have very long lifespans compared to humans. Or should I say to most humans? Now it's my turn. What are you?" He sighed, and shook his head. "Good question. Am I human? I've never been quite sure." He looked around and realized that several of those closest to them were watching them curiously, and probably trying their best to eavesdrop as well. He couldn't have that. "Guinan, can we go somewhere more private to talk? This is too... public for my needs." She eyed him narrowly. "Secrets, Duncan?" "Please, Guinan." She studied him a moment longer, then nodded. "Follow me." She stood up and began to walk toward the door. As he followed, he registered her clothing rather than her face, and frowned, a little puzzled by their rather nun-like aspect. He remembered her wearing bright, African- inspired prints that he thought had suited her well. He smiled, realizing that those `suitable' styles had been as foreign to her as a Vulcan's robes would be to him. Was her current dress haute-couture on El-Auria? Probably. She led him out of Ten-Forward and around the corner to a door where she keyed in a lock sequence. It opened onto a large stateroom, she stepped inside, and motioned him in. "Welcome to my parlor." He chuckled. "I seem to remember you saying that to me once before." "You have a good memory." "Amazingly enough, I do. I sometimes wonder how, considering how much I have to remember." "How old are you, anyway?" "I was born in 1592," he smiled wryly. "In just a little over two-hundred years, I'll be a thousand." She looked a bit stunned, and sat down abruptly. He took a seat across from her as she spoke again. "I can't believe this! You're older than I am! I'm still around because for my people, that's normal, but how can you still be alive? You owe me some answers. Are you alien? Clone? Android?" He laughed. "Android? Now there's a new one! I wonder if I could get away with that?" His smile faded, and he sighed. "You deserve the truth. I was born on Earth, and lived most of my life there. As far as I know I'm human, but my unusual physiology has allowed me to live far beyond what's normal for humankind. There are others who, like me, live very long lives, though compared to the general populace we're quite rare. We've been called Immortals by some, though that's somewhat of a misnomer. It's true that after a certain point we don't age, and we don't die under normal circumstances, but there are ways we can be killed permanently. Decapitation, certain types of energy weapon. If we're killed, temporarily, by anything less than that, we generally recover." She stared at him for a long time, then shook her head in clear amazement. She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "Here I thought I knew just about everything there was to know about Humans, and then you tell me this! I... why didn't you tell me when I knew you before?" He looked at her, one expressive eyebrow lifted. "You really have to ask that? I don't remember you telling me you were an alien, either." She smiled. "You're right. But why should you have had to hide it? You weren't an alien." "It's not something I normally tell anyone about. We have to hide what we are, we've always had to. When we've been found out in the past, we've been seen as witches, demons, aliens... whatever society fears is realized in us, though in truth most of us would rather help humankind than harm it. We represent too much of a temptation to too many people, and despite our immortality, we're too vulnerable." He sighed. "Then, too, we have to hide from our own kind." "From your own kind? Why?" "Because of the Game." "What game?" He shook his head, his expression eloquent of disgust. "It's a stupid name, for it's no game at all. It's deadly serious. There is an essence, an energy, that's released when we die. If one of us kills another, the killer gains that essence. Each gain makes us stronger, harder to kill, more... powerful. We have no legends, no lore, no real knowledge of why we are, of what or who we are. The single rule we live by says that we have to keep killing each other until there's only one of us left." She looked horrified. "Duncan! That's..." she broke off, groping for a kinder way to say what he knew she was thinking. "Insane?" He supplied. "I know. I decided that a long, long time ago. I've tried to avoid it, but sometimes, when they hunt me down, I can't." "Dane! He was one of you? That finally begins to make sense. He was an immortal, like you!" Duncan nodded, his expression bleak. "He was." "And the woman Dane tortured, your lover, the one you told me about, she was too?" He closed his eyes briefly, and nodded again. "So when you killed her, you gained this... power, from her? Oh Duncan, no wonder you felt so guilty! That's horrible!" He shuddered. "It was one of the worst things I've ever had to do, but she begged me. I couldn't refuse her." "I know. We've been through this, you know I don't fault you for it. Duncan, this explains so much that never quite made sense! The way you reacted to certain things, way you feel..." "The way I feel?" he queried, clearly curious. =========================================================================