Date: Fri, 17 Nov 1995 14:23:04 -0600 Reply-To: Julia Kosatka Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Julia Kosatka Subject: In the Dark, 10/21 (REPOST) ADULT 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 and Wash' 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 cut and bleeding, 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. 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, tell him 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. His body was capable of pulling moisture directly from the air, and he could go quite a while without food, but it didn't keep him from being 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 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 darkened, ruined city. Fire lit the sky to the east in a maniacal false dawn. Distant screams traced the path of a marauding band of vigilantes 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 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 =========================================================================