Date: Thu, 6 Jul 1995 16:01:51 -0500 Reply-To: kellie , Julia Kosatka Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Julia Kosatka Subject: In the Dark, part 14/17 "I fight only when necessary. I fight to save my life, or someone else's," he looked at Guinan. She nodded acknowledgement. "You fight with a sword?" Data asked. At Duncan's nod, he continued. "Fascinatingly anachronistic." Duncan laughed drily. "You don't know the half of it. Suffice it to say our battles are rather... traditional." "Ah, ritual combat!" Worf said approvingly. "Exactly," Duncan agreed. "We have some pretty strict rules." "Would sabotaging a ship fall within those rules?" LaForge asked suddenly. Duncan turned sharply to look at the engineer, noticing that everyone else had done the same thing. "Sabotage?" Duncan asked. "What are you talking about?" "I'm talking about the Darius. I just confirmed my suspicions today. Your crash was no accident caused by an aging ship. Someone deliberately rigged those systems to cut out. You're lucky you weren't killed outright." He stopped, and looked a bit sheepish. "I mean, well, you know what I meant." Duncan stared at him. "Deliberate? Someone deliberately caused those malfunctions?" Cold fury suffused him. "That's murder! Someone murdered Jeremy, damn it! Why? What would be the point? Piracy seems unlikely, as what I carried would be of no value to anyone outside of Valhalla. There's no reason for anyone to do such a thing!" "What about you? Could someone have wanted to harm you?" Deanna asked. "It makes no sense. The only people who might want to harm me also know that I would survive a crash, no matter what." Guinan leaned forward intently. "Maybe that's it. If someone knew you'd survive the crash no matter what, they might have planned it that way, to isolate you. I know from experience that some of your kind are more expedient than honorable." She had a point. It could well be another Immortal, looking to take easy prey. The deliberate disabling of the replicator pointed to that, since after days without food or water would leave him weakened and less able to fight. But who could it be? He'd been out of circulation for a long time, he didn't think anyone knew where he was, not even his friends. "It could have been," he said finally. "I won't say I have no enemies, and you're right about expediency. Some of us don't follow the rules. Unfortunately, if they know I was aboard the Darius, they also know my destination. Whoever it is may be waiting for me on Valhalla." Picard looked at Data. "Commander, how far off-schedule would a detour to Valhalla put us?" "It will take an additional sixteen hours and twenty eight minutes, sir. I could give you the seconds if you..." "No, thank you Data." Picard said hastily. "We don't have to be at Ursa Prime for a week," Riker put in. "In light of the sabotage to the Darius resulting in the death of your first officer, a Federation citizen, I believe it might not be a bad idea to give you a `lift' to Valhalla, since it will not compromise our schedule. Besides," he smiled. "They have riding stables on Valhalla, do they not?" Duncan looked at him, puzzled not only by his question, but by this unlooked-for aid. He'd expected them to revile him, not offer to help! "They do, why?" A ripple of laughter circled the room. Deanna Troi grinned and took pity on his obvious confusion. "The captain has a saddle he'd like to get out of storage." Picard grinned. "Perhaps this time I'll get to use it for *riding*." The captain was obviously a horseman. That explained part of it, but not all of it. Before he could ask, Picard spoke again. "I think we're finished here for now. Everyone back to stations. Mr. MacLeod, perhaps you would like to work with Mr. Worf to see if you can untangle the mystery of who might have sabotaged your vessel?" "I would, thank you sir." Picard nodded and the group began to disperse. As he stood, Duncan leaned toward Guinan. "I don't understand," he said softly, so only she could hear. "Why are they helping me? I thought I was in for the inquisition, not..." he spread his hands, unable to come up with an appropriate description, "...this." She smiled. "They're good people, Duncan; *fair* people. They've been through things you can't even imagine, and to be honest, compared to a lot of what they've experienced, you barely even raise a flicker on the odd- meter. They will judge you on your actions, no more, no less. If you're honest with them and treat them with respect, they'll do the same for you." He snorted. "Honest and respectful? What am I, a boy scout?" She laughed. "I've heard almost those exact words from Jean-Luc on more than one occasion. You two are a lot alike. It wouldn't hurt either of you to loosen up now and then." "What? In public?" Duncan asked in mock-dismay, then spoiled it by smiling. "I still can't believe this." "Mr. MacLeod?" Picard said, drawing his attention. Duncan looked up to find the Captain watching him intently. "Yes?" "I will expect a few more answers over dinner." Duncan nodded somberly. "You'll have them." Picard nodded back. "Good." **** "Now, *that* is what I call *dinner*." Duncan drank the last of his wine and sighed, "I can almost imagine being back in Paris, just around the same time I met you, Guinan." He smiled at his host, "A few months before she and I met, I'd been living on a barge across from Notre Dame. A friend of mine ran a little restaurant not far from there and he would have killed for this recipe, Captain. Thank you, for helping bring back a few good memories." "I'm glad you enjoyed it." Picard picked up the wine bottle and refilled Duncan's glass at his guest's nod. "Guinan?" "No, thank you, *I* think I've had enough for one night." Both men smiled and Picard continued, "It is one of many recipes that have been in my family for generations and it's always something of an adventure to see what the replicators will do to them." Guinan put down her fork and leaned back in her chair, satisfied, "This time, it seems the recipe came away unscathed. I applaud your ancestors, not only for creating it in the first place, but for having the good sense to hang onto it." "It's a relief to have someone else who appreciates real food to try them on. I fear that most people's palates have been ruined by years of eating synthetics." Picard pushed his chair back and gestured toward the living area, "Shall we?" Picard stepped aside to let Guinan and Duncan precede him into the living room portion of his quarters. He rarely entertained strangers in his sanctuary but MacLeod was different. Guinan's red and gold finery was testament to just *how* different. In all the years he'd known her he'd never seen her so seemingly carefree and happy. It's as if encountering MacLeod again stripped away the centuries and she'd begun to resemble the young woman he'd met in 19th century San Francisco. Picard hung back a moment, ostensibly to clear the dinner table, but it also gave the two of them an opportunity to speak privately. Dinner conversation had centered on Duncan. He'd touched on many of the high points of his more than eight hundred years, speaking of the personal side of historic events and where he was when momentous things happened. Picard still had difficulty accepting that the man admiring his small art collection had *seen* live broadcasts of Neil Armstrong walking on the moon. He wished he had years to talk with this man, but he really had only this evening and couldn't afford to indulge his historic curiosity much more. There were other topics to be covered. The relaxed atmosphere could not be allowed to interfere with the purpose of the gathering. Picard had questions that only MacLeod could answer. "Captain?" MacLeod gestured to the shelves before him. "This is a most impressive collection." Reaching out to lightly touch the shelf near one piece, Duncan continued, "Ixmaili, isn't it? Third cycle?" "Fourth, actually. You are interested in archeology?" Picard joined his guests at the shelves. "You might say I have a vested interest in antiquities." Guinan rolled her eyes at his comment and shaking her head, moved over to sit on the sofa. Duncan smiled at her reaction. "I used to deal in art and antiques. I've found that it's an interest that has stayed with me." His eyes fell on a small bronze statue of a nude human male human. "This is Taylor's 'Prospero' isn't it? I remember attending one of her shows." "You knew Rena Taylor?" Picard began to wonder if the human woman had been born whom MacLeod *didn't* know. "No, unfortunately, we never met, but it wasn't from lack of trying on my part." Picard smiled at Duncan's expression, "I... discovered her work a few years ago. The original of this statue is in the North American Museum on Earth." Gesturing to include many of the pieces in his quarters he continued, "Replicators many not always do justice to fine food, but they *do* have their uses." "How true, and buying stock in MMS Enterprises is one of the smartest things I ever did." MacLeod drifted over to where Guinan was sitting. Picard nodded, his face taking on a more serious expression, "I can see where virtual immortality would have its advantages." He paused to sip his wine, "Wealth, property... power, all would be fairly easy to acquire for someone who could make plans in terms of centuries instead of decades." Picard sat down opposite MacLeod and Guinan. "It must provide quite a temptation." MacLeod's eyes flashed for a moment and Picard realized he'd hit a nerve. "*Not* to me, it isn't," he said flatly. "Come, Mr. MacLeod," Picard said, leaning back in his chair, "do you expect me to believe that you've never sought to acquire wealth and power? What of your investment in MMS Enterprises? Surely you didn't invest in replicator technology expecting to *lose* money?" Guinan settled into her seat reminding Picard of someone watching a play, or a fencing match. "Of course not, that would be ridiculous, but not to the extent you imply! Captain, think of what you're suggesting." MacLeod rose and began to pace. "Wealth of the type you're implying attracts attention and that's the one thing that we can't afford. There was a time when all one of us had to do was move on to another village, another continent and start over." MacLeod stood looking out at the passing stars, seeming to speak only to them. "Technology began making that harder and harder. You have to plan decades in advance. You need three or four identities to fall back on and all the time watching your... your back." MacLeod turned back to face Picard, his eyes dark and brooding, "As for power it comes in many guises. You can't understand the kind of power we deal in." He looked into the dregs of his wine and continued more to himself than to the others in the room, "I'm not even sure I understand it." Picard used all of his training to retain his outward calm. He didn't need to be an empath to see that his guest was deeply troubled. In his fascination with the man as living history he'd nearly forgotten the human element, and he was beginning to believe that no matter what *else* MacLeod was, he was *very* human. Still, he mustn't let the man's obvious pain distract him. He needed answers and he needed them now. "Have you spoken with Admiral Dawson yet?" MacLeod asked as he sat back down next to Guinan, seeming to drawn some measure of strength from her. "I spoke with her, and she confirmed that *you* are no threat to my ship or the Federation. That is, however, *all* she said." Picard let a little of his irritation at that non-productive conversation show. Mysteries between the pages of a book were all well and good, but he despised them on his ship. "Captain, you have the assurances of Guinan, whom you trust and of a Starfleet admiral. What more can I add? Isn't that enough?" MacLeod seemed to have lost much of his earlier animation, his dark eyes seemed to look out from a much darker place, but his words sparked the fury Picard had not felt able to show to the Admiral when she, too had thwarted his quest for knowledge. "No, sir! It is *not* good enough!" All but slamming his glass down on the side table, Picard radiated the anger and indignation that his youthful temper had evolved into. "What can you add? How about when did your people first appear? How many are you? What of those who *don't* have the trust of Starfleet admirals? What of those of you who *don't* have any compunction against plotting for power? I need *answers*!" "Alright!" MacLeod was on his feet again, anger in every line of his body, "Some of us *are* power-hungry and vicious! But you know what? We're *no* worse than you mortals! Maybe we're *better*! Has that occurred to you? Caligula, Hitler, Khan Singh *they* were *mortals*! At least most of *us* limit our depravities to ourselves!" Picard could almost see the tension run out of the man as he spent his anger and again, that all encompassing sadness began to creep back in. MacLeod sighed and continued quietly as he resumed his seat, "Captain, for the main, we are not builders or makers. That is *your* gift. You are the empire builders, the artists, the thinkers. We create nothing." He closed his eyes for a moment, "Some of us *are* evil, but they merely serve to concentrate it in themselves. Can you tell me there are no evil humans?" Silence settled between them for a moment as Picard considered MacLeod's words. He'd often thought that if only he could live long enough that he could finally find that spark of talent that would let him paint masterworks, or finally get the time to write all the poetry he felt he had in him. What an incredible irony that those who *had* the time didn't have the ability, or at least didn't think they did. Light laughter roused Picard from his reverie. Both he and MacLeod turned to Guinan, "Well? Would you care to let us in on the joke, Guinan?" Picard found himself somewhat relieved that the mood had been broken. "I was just thinking how much alike you two are. I do seem to always gravitate to type."Picard *just* managed to keep his jaw from dropping, but he felt warmth creep into his face and fervently hoped he wasn't blushing. Guinan's absurd comment had what he supposed was the desired effect on MacLeod as well since his brooding expression had been replaced by a small, but genuine smile. "Gentlemen, shall we cut to the chase?" Apparently, Guinan intended to make the most of the current change in atmosphere. "I suspect, Jean-Luc, that no immortal can answer many of your questions. Even they don't know their origins, or numbers." At MacLeod's nod she continued, "*If* someone *does* decide to investigate those matters, and it's during your lifetime, I doubt that anyone would object to you being informed of them. After all, you already know of Immortals and the Watchers and *you* are also a trustworthy person." Picard watched MacLeod's face carefully and the change there did more to convince him than anything that had been said throughout the evening. MacLeod really *couldn't* answer and looked interested in being able to someday provide the information. "Captain, I can give you a promise." MacLeod leaned forward earnestly. "If I *ever* have reason to believe that one of us poses a threat to any Federation ship, colony or personnel, I'll notify someone immediately. Either a local Federation official, Admiral Dawson or you. I have no desire to see innocents hurt." Picard nodded, more to himself than to MacLeod, "Alright. I will accept that, if I must... and it seems that I must. I'm still not entirely satisfied with this matter, but I can see that I need to take it up again with Admiral Dawson." MacLeod rose, and offered his hand to Guinan. "It's late, Captain, and perhaps we should end this evening before we find ourselves at each other's throats again." His quiet smile echoed some of Picard's feelings as well. He had no desire to alienate the man before him. Indeed, he wished he had more time to spend with him, to talk with him about all the things that they had in common. Here was a man he could easily call friend, and he hated what he'd felt compelled to do this evening. "You're quite right, Mr. MacLeod, it is late. Perhaps we can get together again before we leave." Picard's smile widened as MacLeod's eyes narrowed obviously not relishing another grilling, "Just to talk, Mr. MacLeod, just to talk." After a few more comments about getting together again and exchanging goodnights, MacLeod and Guinan left. Picard picked up his wine glass and poured the last of the bottle into it. Sitting alone in his quarters he let his mind roam over the evening and finished his wine. With a sigh, he rose and collected his guests glasses. After finishing at the processor, he headed for his bedroom. The statue of Prospero that had caught the Immortal's eye sat as always on its shelf and he wondered idly what would have happened *had* MacLeod ever managed to meet Rena Taylor. He rather suspected his Prospero might have a matching Prince of Denmark. The thought brought a smile to his face and with that he continued his way to bed, touching the light panel on his way out, plunging the room into starlight. **** Subject: In the Dark 13/14 --------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Can I walk you back to your quarters?" Duncan asked as they left Picard's stateroom. Guinan looked at him thoughtfully, then shook her head. "No, I have a better idea. Come with me." "I'm not really up for a crowd," he told her honestly, thinking she planned to take him to Ten-Forward to the party she had mentioned earlier. "Good, neither am I. Come on, I think you'll like it." Intrigued, he followed her as she led him to the turbolift and down two decks. "Where are we going?" he asked, finally. "You'll see," she said cryptically. He let her keep her secret, and she led him to what he recognized as a holodeck, and stopped outside. "Don't look," she said as she began to key in her request on the access padd. He stared obligingly at the ceiling until she was finished. "Okay, now close your eyes." "Is that different from not looking?" he asked, amused, complying. "Quite," her voice sounded amused too. He felt her fingers lace through his. "Come on." The holodeck door slid open noisily, but as she led him inside he used other senses to gather information about what she was up to. He heard the low murmur of voices, and the clink of glassware. He smelled alcohol and... cigarettes? It took him a moment to identify it, since it had been so many years since he'd smelled that scent. No one smoked anymore. Some of these holo programs were amazingly detailed. She steered him through the room in a chaotic pattern, and finally put her hands on his hips and guided him down. "Sit here, and watch your knees, there's a table." He sat. The chair felt like a wooden one, no cushion, dowel-backed. He reached out and felt the irregular surface of a wooden table under his fingers. "Guinan... what?" "Shhh, just wait. I'll be right back" He waited, resisting the temptation to open his eyes. A moment later she returned and closed his fingers around a glass. He lifted it and sniffed, smelling the familiar smoky tang of a good single-malt. He grinned. "You know me." "What else would you drink?" He laughed and took a sip. It was good, very good... and very recognizable. "This is my Laphroaig, isn't it?" "Guilty, I got it from your cabin." "Thief," he said, good-naturedly. "It helps the atmosphere, though." "What atmosphere? Can I look?" "In a minute." A noise louder than the others began, the blurred tones of an amplified guitar. Someone was tuning up. He waited, and the first notes of a blues riff sounded, clear and dazzlingly familiar. "Guinan... that's..." The singer started, a man's voice, husky and soulful. He couldn't stand it any more. He opened his eyes, and confirmed his suspicion. "Joe!" Her hands closed on his shoulders, massaging lightly. "This is where I come when *I* want to get away." "You programmed this?" "Years ago. I love this place." "Am I here?" "Of course you are. It wouldn't be Joe's without you." He was disconcerted, and flattered. "This is weird." She laughed. "What's the matter? Don't you like being a fantasy?" "Umm.... you know, that *really* sounds like Joe." She smiled, letting him know she'd noticed his change of subject. "That's because it is. I had some tapes of his I brought back with me. Danny gave 'em to me, back before I even met you guys. I didn't realize who it was until later. I've transferred these songs to every media you can possibly imagine. It's one of the few things I've kept." He gazed at her, troubled. "You know, that's been bothering me since I came aboard. Why *don't* you have more things? I'm a certifiable packrat... Picard's the same, and he's only a few decades old. Most immortals are like me, tons of stuff, stored in various places. But not you, you have nothing. It's as if your past doesn't exist." She stared over his head toward the figure playing alone on the stage, a single spotlight picking out the silver streaks in his hair, highlighting the smooth curve of bicep and forearm where they moved over the guitar. "Maybe thats what I wanted." He waited for her to elaborate, but when she spoke it was on a different topic. "You said he married? What was she like?" He grinned. "Delphia? Like I said, she was like you. A *lot* like you. I never mentioned it to her, I figured that was Joe's business. They were an interesting couple. Very passionate, about everything. Half the time they fought like cats and dogs, the rest of the time you couldn't separate them with a stick. They had three kids. Tamar Dawson is his great-great- great-great granddaughter. Strong character runs in the family. She's the third Star Fleet officer in the bunch." "I'd believe that. Joe wasn't exactly a slouch in that department himself. I'm glad things worked out, I always hoped he was happy. I always felt guilty about the way I left." "Why did you leave that way?" She sat down next to him, picked up his glass and downed the remaining liquor before she turned to face him fully. "I was afraid." "Of us?" Duncan was taken aback. She laughed. "Maybe a little... of what I might do if I didn't get out of there. But mostly I was afraid they'd find out what I was. You have no idea what Earth goverments of the time were doing to people like me." He laughed humorlessly. "Oh yes I do, believe me. I was damned lucky that Mulder didn't turn me in. I still don't quite know why he didn't. He knew what I was. I even think he *believed* what I am." "What about her?" "Her?" he asked, puzzled. "The woman... Scully. She was interested in you." He snorted. "Oh, right. Like I was going to start seeing an FBI agent? Besides... I'd sworn off doctors. At that point in my life I wouldn't have touched her with a ten-foot pole." Guinan smiled oddly. "It's funny, as I was leaving that night, I remember thinking that you'd be better off with her, because her lifespan was more like your own." He laughed, shaking his head. "`Lord what fools..." "...we immortals be?'" she finished with a chuckle. "Willie would be rolling in his grave." "No, he wouldn't. He'd love it." Her eyebrows went up. "Shakespeare?" He grinned. "I'm not telling. Hush now, let's listen. I haven't heard really good blues in a *long* time." They sat quietly until `Joe' finished his set and went back to the bar. Duncan watched him, his thoughts fixed in the past. After a moment, he looked up at Guinan again. "Thanks for this, it's a wonderful gift. I wish I had something for you." "You've already given me a gift, Duncan. That's why I wanted to do this." She was quiet for a moment, then spoke again. "I'll miss you when you go." He studied her, hearing what was unsaid as well as what was said. "You have to stay here, don't you?" She nodded. "I do. For now, anyway. And you have to go, don't you?" He nodded. "You know I do. But I'll make sure you can find me. If I can, I'll stay on Valhalla awhile longer. I like it there. I'd like to show it to you." "Then do. I'd like to see it through your eyes, and we should have time." "I would, but what about our saboteur?" "What about him?" "If he shows up, you could be in danger." "Life's dangerous, Duncan. I can't spend mine afraid to do anything. I want to do this. Let me. I want to see where you live, I want to meet your friends, I want to see your world." He considered it a minute, then nodded. "All right then, tomorrow I'll show you around my home. Better bring a cloak, it's chilly this time of year." "We can find ways to keep warm," she said suggestively. He grinned. "We might just, at that." **** They stood on the hillside overlooking Glenfinnan, it was perhaps a mile down the hill to the village. It was chill and windy, and Duncan noticed Guinan drawing her heavy cloak tighter around herself. His own cloak was open, furling in the wind, his hair blowing wild around his face. She shivered "How do you stand it?" "Stand what?" "The wind under your kilt." He grinned. "I'm a Celt. We're hot-blooded." She laughed, and turned, surveying the landscape. He loved this world. It suited him. He *fit* here, like a part of the landscape. Duncan looked down at the cluster of buildings below, and smiled. "They've done a good job. If I didn't know better, I'd think I was back home, in the Highlands, five or six hundred years ago. It looks just as I remember it." "It's beautiful." She didn't lie. Valhalla was beautiful, in a worn, weathered, harsh kind of way. "Isn't it hard for you to be here?" =========================================================================