Date: Thu, 14 Apr 1994 17:16:57 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: bjroth@AOL.COM Subject: Surge of Power 2/2 SURGE OF POWER A Highlander Story by B. Janis Roth ----------------------------------------- part 2 of 2 ----------------------------------------- "Duncan, you need to get up now." Joe shook the other man's shoulder. "Come on, Mac. I could only get us an hour." "Mr. MacLeod, we need to get you to the warehouse now." Duncan could feel the smooth leather of their protective gloves pushing against his skin, but he seemed incapable of responding to their pleas. "Damn it, Mac, we're not going to carry you. Open your eyes! On your feet!" Duncan's eyes opened, then closed. "Mac, I swear, I've respected your wishes in this, but if you don't get up now I'm calling Richie to come help." The threat worked. Duncan forced his eyes open. "I want the katana." "Mr. MacLeod. . . ." "Get it Mark. Bring his coat too." "Yes, sir." Duncan studied the young man as he walked off. Eighteen, maybe nineteen years old, not quite six feet, hair. . .somewhere between red and blonde. He'd be eminently forgettable in a crowd. Joe wedged his cane between the wall and the nightstand and leaned down to slide his arm under MacLeod's shoulders. "You'd better move when I say, because if I lose my balance, I'm taking the Hepplewhite with me." Duncan managed a weak grin. "Count three." "All right." Joe could feel the unnatural heat of Duncan's body even through his clothes and the gloves. "One," Duncan draped his arm across the back of Joe's neck. "Two," Martin put the sword and the trench coat on the bed and grasped Duncan's free hand. "Three!" Joe concentrated on maintaining his balance, and let Martin pull Duncan to his feet. The Immortal staggered a little, but seemed able to stand. He let Martin help him into the coat, then held out his hand for the sword. Martin glance,d uncertainly at his Trainer, who shrugged. "If he thinks he can hold it, let him have it. We need to go." There was nothing magical about the weapon. Duncan fought equally well with half a dozen other styles, and he trained hard to ensure that he was comfortable with almost any sort of knife. But Shin Gunto was his weapon of choice and he felt better with it in his palm. The twenty-nine inch, slightly curved blade was an extension of his arm; the carved ivory handle was part of his flesh. Sharp enough to cleave bone, it weighed less than 5 pounds. "Okay. Let's go." Martin opened his mouth to comment that the sun had been up for a few hours and maybe the Immortal needed more than jockeys and a sword to go out, but the expression on his Trainer's face stopped him. "Let me hold him, sir. You can operate the elevator." After all, he thought, switching places with Dawson, they were hoping to avoid meeting other people. Who cared if the Immortal exposed himself. ***** They were halfway to the dock when Duncan leaned forward to tap Martin on the shoulder. "You've been at the dojo. Sparring with Richie, right?" Martin drew an audible breath. Joe replied, "Leave it alone, Mac." "Are you assigned to Richie?" "He's my apprentice, MacLeod." "Let the boy answer, Dawson. I want to know." Martin twisted around in his seat. "I'm still in Training. I haven't been assigned to anyone." "But you have been at the gym." Martin glanced at his Trainer. There was no response. "Yes. I've been at the gym. I've worked out with your apprentice." "He's not my apprentice. Let me see your wrist." "Why?" "Show him, Mark. He wants to see your tattoo." "Yes, sir." Martin peeled off his left glove and pushed up his jacket's sleeve. There in blue was the circle and the stylized dove, but no lettering. "Your's is different. Why?" "I told you: I'm still in Training." Martin pulled down his sleeve. "Seen enough?" Joe said something in a language Duncan didn't recognize, to which Martin responded with another of his interminable, "Yes sir"s. Duncan thought it was followed by a muttered, "My apologies, Mr. MacLeod." But the conversation had exhausted him, and he couldn't be sure. One way or another, this would be over soon. Joe maneuvered the car through a gap in the police barrier and down the dock to warehouse 11-A. His connections had done their work well, and there wasn't so much as a squad car in sight. A glance at his watch showed that they had less than half an hour left. He hoped that would be enough time. If Duncan passed out again. . . . Joe left the thought unfinished. He had stayed with Duncan far longer than most Watchers kept an assignment. He'd be sorry to lose him. Martin hopped out of the car as soon as his Trainer turned off the ignition. He opened the back door, and offered his arm to the Immortal. "Come Mr. MacLeod. I'll take you in." No. Duncan grasped the youth's hand and suffered himself to be helped out of the car. "I go in alone." "Mac, you can't. You don't have the strength." "Then I'll have to find it. A Quickening is personal, Joe. It's like. . .," he stopped himself from saying sex. That was too base. "It's like birth. Watch if you must, but I'll not ask you in." "Nineteen minutes, sir." "All right, Mac. We'll wait for you here." Duncan nodded and took his first unsteady steps to the building. They'd follow, of course, but he was glad for the lie. His palms were starting to sweat and he adjusted his hold on the katana. Hair fell across is forehead and into his eyes. He should have remembered to bring a clip. The open door of the warehouse beckoned to him, and a pounding wave of adrenalin merged with his bloodstream. This was right. Somehow, there was more to this Quickening. Electrical tongues licked at him as soon as he crossed the threshold. The currents in his own body responded and he walked deeper into the building, fascinated by the blue lights dancing around him. There were no whispers threatening and cajoling as memories fused and became one. No stormy winds buffeting his body to lift it off the ground or force him to his knees. There was only power. His power. Shrugging off the coat, he raised Shin Gunto and swung it in a slow arc over his head. Blue streamers followed the blade, then twined their way down his arm. A second set of beams sprang from the floor and traveled up his legs to fuse with the others, snaring him in a web of warm light. He watched the angry line of scar tissue across his body finally fade and disappear. Cartilage and tendons softened into their proper places. He stepped forward with his left leg and brought his arm down, slashing the air. Two back-steps, a twist of the wrist, and he completed the first Tyko-kilgon form, followed by the Pagysomgon for good measure. He laughed. The weakness was gone. For sheer joy, he ran across the floor and did a back flip. The glow followed him. Joe. And Mark. He turned around. There. Just inside the doorway. But no. Not Mark. He tossed the katana into his other hand and wove the blade into a complex pattern around his torso. The aura dissipated into individual strands that winked out of existence. He was left whole. Duncan could feel the Watchers' surprise as he scooped up the coat and approached them. "Joe. Martin. You both have my thanks, but maybe we should leave before the police return. I believe that we have less than ten minutes." Joe forced his mouth closed, then said, "What was it, Mac? It wasn't a Quickening." They don't know everything. Duncan remembered Connor having him run with the wild horses as Ramirez had done for Connor. Maybe he and Richie should have found a herd. There was supposed to be some Mustangs left in Nevada. "You're wrong, Joe. It was a Quickening. It was my Quickening." ----------------------------------------- Comments/Criticisms/Questions welcome at BJRoth@AOL.COM ----------------------------------------- =========================================================================