Date: Fri, 1 Dec 1995 11:34:51 EST Reply-To: Russ McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russ McMillan Subject: King for a Day, Part 3/6 King for a Day, Part 3 by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu Joe entered the dojo to find Duncan in his office. "MacLeod," he said as he approached, "I've been thinking about this whole business -- " "Oh, good," Duncan said, looking up from the desk. "I forgot to warn you to wear loose clothes." Joe glanced down at himself; he had on a sweater and some worn jeans. "Anyway," he continued, "I was thinking, you know, trying to reconstruct what happened last night, and I think I got some ideas." "Here." Duncan handed Joe a polished piece of wood and encouraged him out of the office. "What's this?" "It's a practice sword, called a bokken." Duncan took an identical spar down from the wall and smiled. "Never use live steel when you practice with mortals." "Mac, I am not here to --" Joe broke off as Duncan swung at him. He blocked the blow automatically but awkwardly and backed up a few steps. "Gotta know how to defend yourself, Joe." Grinning, Duncan went into a crouch and started to circle. "No, I don't. This is ridiculous!" Joe ignored Duncan's next move and flinched as the wooden blade thumped his ribs. "Things are not going to stay this way for long." "But while they are this way, you need to be ready," Duncan insisted. "Now, here's how you grip the hilt. You're left-handed?" "Yeah, I write with my right hand, but -- Mac, this isn't going to work!" "Sure it will. Hold the blade lightly but firmly. Let it flow." Duncan guided Joe's arm back and forth. "You know if I get in a fight, I'm just going to get knocked on my ass," Joe grumbled. With one quick move, Duncan swept Joe's legs out from under him. "Then you learn to fight from the ground," he said, and swung downward. "Good," when Joe blocked him. "With the right training, it might even give you an advantage. Most people aren't used to fighting in this position. They'll overbalance when striking down, like this. Cut at my legs --" Joe parried with the bokken and thumped Duncan solidly on the kneecap with his cane. "Ow! Good. Very good." Duncan backed up. Glaring balefully, Joe climbed to his feet. "Mac, can we just talk about this?" Duncan sighed and lowered his sword. "I can't let this go on, Mac! Aside from the chance of losing my head, if we don't get this fixed soon, it'll ruin my career! How long do you think I can keep this from the other Watchers?" Duncan frowned. "I would think it would just make you more valuable to them." "Yeah, well, think again. They already think I'm too involved. What are they going to say if I end up a player in the Game?" "Think of it as a learning experience, Joe." "It's going to be a very short learning experience, if I have anything to say about it. There's no point in all this stuff." He waved the practice blade expressively. "Joe, this could last a while. You have to be ready for anything." "You're still hoping it will stay this way, aren't you? After four hundred years, all you can think of is your great chance to be mortal again!" Duncan was silent. "You feel a little bit guilty because you got the best of the bargain, so you're going to teach me to use a sword to make yourself feel better." "I'll teach you to keep you alive! If you don't like that, so be it." Duncan stomped away and stood with his back to Joe. Joe sighed and ducked his head. "All right. Tell you what, I'll work with you on this -- for now -- if you'll give me the answer to one simple question." "What's that?" Duncan asked warily. "How _do_ you guys hide your swords? The Watchers have been trying to figure that out for centuries!" Duncan hesitated. "After all, if I'm going to be Immortal, I'll need to know, won't I?" "Actually, I was thinking you might do best with a sword stick. Hide it in plain sight, so to speak." "Then what do I lean on when I'm fighting? No good, MacLeod. You want me to learn to use a sword, I need to know how to conceal it too." "All right," Duncan said. "Fine. I'll tell you the basics, but you'll need Richie to show you how it really works. But first let's talk about strategy. Whenever you can choose your ground, it'll be to your advantage to fight in close quarters. That slows your enemy down and gives you more options for keeping your balance . . . " Duncan perched on the end of his kitchen counter and stared at the phone on the wall. "Hi, Anne," he muttered uneasily. "It's Duncan MacLeod. Remember me? No, that's no good." He took a breath. "Anne, it's Duncan. There's been a development that I think you should know about. No. There've been some changes in my life, and I thought you deserved to know. Anne, it's Duncan. How've you been doing? Look, there's something important I should tell you about. Could we get together and talk, sometime? Aaargh." He dropped his head and ran his hands through his hair. "All right. Here goes nothing." He pushed himself off the counter. Shifting his weight nervously from side to side, he picked up the phone and dialed. Finally, he leaned on his arm against the wall and waited for an answer. A machine answered. Duncan closed his eyes and waited for the end of the message, opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and hung up. "Maybe I should just wait a little bit and get used to it first," he reasoned, staring at the bandage on his wrist. "Aw, hell." He pulled out a telephone book and flipped through the yellow pages, then dialed a new number. "Um, hi," he said diffidently. "I'm calling about -- I was wondering . . . where could I get some information about, um, fertility tests?" Joe drew a line across the paper with a broad flourish, sat back in his chair, and compared the two columns of figures. They didn't agree; he had made another error in simple arithmetic somewhere. Cursing, he started to do it over again, punching the numbers into his calculator with unnecessary violence. After one more iteration, the numbers were still off. He was just too distracted to work properly. Irritated, he pushed the ledger away and shifted around in his desk chair. He couldn't seem to get comfortable lately; even standing, he had the fidgets. He hadn't had this much phantom pain from his legs in years. And, what was even more frustrating, his legs kept itching in places that were impossible to scratch. He couldn't think why this would be happening now, after -- Joe paused in mid-thought, realizing suddenly what had changed in the last few days. With a frown, he pulled a chronicle from the bookcase behind his chair and flipped through it. Not finding what he wanted, he turned on his computer and tried a search through the database. The computer stubbornly refused to give him the information, and he couldn't tell if it was because he was searching for the wrong keywords, or there was nothing there. Tapping his pencil impatiently on the desk, Joe reached for the phone. "Hello?" "Hi, Maureen, it's Joe Dawson. You got a minute?" "Sure. What's up?" "Well, I've been, ah, doing some research, and I couldn't find what I wanted. You were Watching Xavier for a year or so after MacLeod cut off his hand, right?" "Yeah." "Did you ever figure out whether it was growing back or not? I couldn't tell from your notes." "That's because I wasn't really sure. At first I thought it wouldn't grow back at all. Then I noticed that he was getting fitted for a new prosthesis every few months, and I got suspicious. I managed to get hold of a couple of the doctors' records and compare them -- there might have been a little growth, but of course he went to a different doctor each time, so maybe they just measured it differently." "I see." "I was really starting to get interested. It's too bad he didn't live a little longer, then maybe we could have gotten some solid data." "Right." Joe forbore to point out that St. Cloud had been collaborating with Hunters and cheating in the Game. Maureen knew that; it was just easy to get lost in the research sometimes. "Did you ever . . . check up on similar cases?" "Oh, yeah, I read everything I could. Unfortunately, as you might guess, most Immortals who lose a limb get killed immediately afterward. The only thing I found was a garbled account of an old legend that Marcus Constantine had had his left hand cut off some time around 300 A.D. By the time we had Watchers assigned to him regularly in the Middle Ages, he was fine." "That's interesting. His hand grew back perfectly, then?" "Maybe. The identification of Constantine with the legend was never really positive." "What about anyone who lost a limb before they became Immortal?" "They usually didn't live too long either. But there was Thackeray -- remember, he had a pinky finger missing since before we identified him." "Oh, yes. So just like scars acquired before the first death, it doesn't heal?" "That's what it looks like. I wish I could be more sure. What's this research you're doing, anyway? Somebody lose a hand?" "Not that I know. I was just interested. Thanks a lot, Maureen." "Sure thing, Joe. 'Bye." Joe hung up and glared at the phone. Unable to sit still any longer, he got up and reached for his guitar. A few slow licks kept his fingers busy while he thought about what he had learned. It seemed that being Immortal would make no difference to his legs. But that didn't explain why they itched and tingled so fiercely. Something seemed to be going on there. Perhaps the rules didn't apply in the same way; after all, he wasn't _really_ Immortal, and he had never died even once. At least, he didn't think he had died when the lightning had struck. Probably MacLeod would have awakened first if that had been the case. But even if his legs could grow back, it would take years. Would they itch this much the entire time? He would have to get new prostheses every so often, which would mean different doctors, different identities, a change of life on a regular schedule. At least he wouldn't be any older by the time the process was finished. But could he survive that long? It wouldn't do him any good to have working legs if he lost his head. Joe finished on a D chord and let the tones ring through the bar, fading faster than a mortal lifetime. =========================================================================