Date: Thu, 6 Jul 1995 15:29:55 -0500 Reply-To: kellie , Julia Kosatka Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Julia Kosatka Subject: In the Dark, part 9/17 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. "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. **** End of "In the Dark" part I Subject: In the Dark 8/14 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. The following paragraph contains information that *might* *possibly* be considered a very general spoiler. As one half of the writing team is extremely anti-spoiler, we wanted to warn you. :-) This is a story in two parts. Perhaps more properly, it is *two* stories connected by a couple of common threads. After we finished the entire piece 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 when writing crossovers isn't meshing universes, that's fairly simple. The hard part is blending *styles*. X-Files, for example is heavily plot driven. TNG, on the other hand, often had totally character driven episodes where the plot itself seemed to take 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 you do, too. Kellie Matthews-Simmons // matthewk@colorado.edu Julia Kosatka // julia@bayou.uh.edu --------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the Dark, Part II by Kellie Matthews-Simmons and Julia Kosatka Stardate: "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 merely a beacon." 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 presently in the area, whoever was in trouble might not have another chance. "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 having discovered them late in the 20th century, it had seemed a waste of effort by all concerned to try and keep his assigned Watchers a secret, or for him to avoid them. With some of them Duncan had felt like a parolee checking in once a week, but others, like Joe Dawson, Liam Anderson, and Jeremy Dikembe, had been more. They'd been friends as well. Now, Jeremy 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 it's 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 it's 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 alright, 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 comunit." "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." "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 it's cargo was duplicated in some of the other pods. Duncan patted the number 6 pod and smiled. *This* one had come through alright. "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 is 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 face, 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. =========================================================================