Date: Sat, 27 May 1995 21:34:30 -0400 Reply-To: mikester@BIX.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Mike Breen Subject: TO FORGIVE IS DIVINE - Part 3 SOMEWHERE IN THE MAINE WOODS, UNITED STATES, MAY 1995 "Personally," Nancy said as they hiked back to their campsite, "I don't see what his problem is." "Neither do I," Patrick said, "But we'll find out." "How?" "I had Rebecca ask Bernard about him. We're going back to the town tomorrow and call her." "What do _you_ think he's up to?" "I think it's his game. I seriously doubt he's been a recluse for two hundred years. I think he pretends to be the exact _opposite_ of what you _are_ yet similar to what you _were_." "Were you ever a barbarian like he said?" Patrick didn't miss a beat. He said, "Of course I was. I was born in the 1100's. Very few people in Europe were civilized back then. Very few people were civilized,by _our_ standards today, until the Renaissance. Back then, the small villages, the endless petty bickering wars, the Inquisitions, that was _our_ civilization. We didn't know about Greek or Roman civilization. Hell, I couldn't read until I was a century and a half." He laughed and said, "Ramirez once told me I had manners like a mule." Nancy laughed and was silent for a time. Then she said, "Was he right?" "Who Ramirez? I'm _still_ stubborn as all hell, but I'd like to think I'm a bit better behaved." "No. Nabbis." "I hope not. But I fear he's right." "Why?" "Because you've seen my temper. And when Michelle and I were together and Highsmith had come after me... I got angry with her and treated her as if she was some village wench. I'd like to think that my 'squeaky-clean cityfied outside' would be a bit more difficult to wipe away than all that." BOSTON MASS, UNITED STATES, MAY 1995 Rebecca approached Bernard's bench that afternoon. She had her raincoat on and sword hidden. So long as Rightman was in Boston, she wouldn't let her sword out of her sight. "Afternoon, Bernard," she said. "Afternoon, Rebecca," he said. She wondered how she was going to broach the subject. She decided the direct method would be the best. "Patrick needs a favor," she said. "Oh? What?" "He... he needs information on an Immortal named Joshua Nabbis." "Nabbis? Never heard of him. Is he after him?" "That's what he's wondering." "When does he need the information by?" "He's calling tomorrow at noon-ish." "Come to my office at eight," Bernard said, handing her a scrap of paper with an address scrawled on it. "We'll look him up." "Thanks, Bernard." She got up and headed back to the house. As she crossed Beacon Street, she felt it again. Rightman was near. "Show yourself," she whispered. Then the feeling was gone. She was right on time, and Bernard was as good as his word. She rang the bell of the small Central Square office building. He buzzed her in, and she headed upstairs into the tiny office. She knocked on the door and Bernard answered it. "Come on in," Bernard said. Rebecca entered the small room, decorated posters of Jazz and Blues horn players and jammed with dozens of books a computer, and a small, cluttered desk. "Sit," he said. Rebecca did, removing her coat. "What was his name again?" "Nabbis. Joshua Nabbis." Bernard had his computer booted up. He turned his modem on and clicked on an icon that resembled the Watcher symbol. He entered a password, and the modem dialed a number. The carrier responded, Bernard entered another password, and he was in the Watcher mainframe. The screen re-drew itself, then asked him, "Enter Function. 1) Immortal Profile, 2) Immortal Location, 3) Detailed Biographies, 4) Other" Bernard entered "1" and the computer began re-drawing, the modem flashing the "RD" and "SD" lights. "I _have_ to learn how to use these damn things," Rebecca said. "Patrick knows computers, and has offered to teach me, but I really _don't_ know what I'm doing. To tell you the truth, they scare the shit out of me." Bernard laughed and said, "They don't bite. Hell, _I_ didn't want to have anything to do with them when I was told that the Watcher mainframe was coming on-line and we'd _have_ to store our data. Once it did, though, our data processing was that much more organized. Except you have to key _all_ the old data in. I _still_ have several volumes of the O'Brien chronicle to input into the mainframe. Now... let's hope that Nabbis' Watcher has been a bit more ambitious about keying in his information than I have about O'Brien." The computer was asking him, "Name?" Bernard typed "NABBIS, JOSHUA" and sat back while the modem lights flashed. Then the computer screen redrew and offered the information. "It's not much," Bernard said. "He's elusive." The computer's screen said, "JOSHUA NABBIS considers himself a loner and an outdoorsman. He rarely encounters other Immortals, but is a highly powerful, if unskilled, swordsman. He has fancied himself uncivilized and lawless. He has sought out Immortals born in the immediate post-Roman and Dark Age eras, apparently out of a hatred of what they represent to him, the coming of civilization to lawless people. He attempts to anger them into making fatal mistakes and taking their heads. He is skillful at eluding even the most dedicated Watcher, and has disappeared completely on more than one occasion. Enter 1 for detailed biographical information, 2 for encounters, 3 for present location, 4, for other information, or 5 to return to the main menu." Bernard entered "3." The computer redrew before answering "Present location JOSHUA NABBIS... UNKNOWN. Last known location... Alaska, 1951." "You mean to tell me that no one's seen this guy since 1951?" Rebecca said. "Apparently," Bernard said. "But don't forget that Patrick dropped off of the face of the earth for an entire century." "That was different," Rebecca said. "He had constructed a new identity. Then she sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Thanks, Bernard. It's not much, but I hope it's enough. I know you did your best." As she walked towards her car, she felt it again. Rightman's presence. _This_ time he was closer. She followed his pull towards an alleyway. She removed her sword from her coat and said, "Show yourself, you cowardly son of a bitch!" She looked up, and several floors above her stood the Immortal. He was in the shadows, and she couldn't see his face, but she knew. "Seth Rightman," he said. "Rebecca DeJeniere," she said. "Are you going to fight me, or are you going to keep hiding from me." "Oh, I'll fight you," he said, "when _I_ decide. He turned and climbed into the building. "Damn!" Rebecca said. She turned and ran towards the front of the building that he had ducked into. She tried the door. It was locked, and there was no bell. Only a keycard lock. "Shit!" she said, and not for the first time, wished her old friend Amanda were with her. SOMEWHERE IN THE MAINE WOODS, UNITED STATES, MAY 1995 "He's a ruthless and elusive son of a bitch," came Rebecca's voice over the telephone the next day. "How so?" Patrick said. "He hates what you represent to him." "And that is..?" "Civilization. You're a barbarian who made good. He'll attempt to use that in order to make you make fatal mistakes." "That's always pleasant. I guess I was wrong then. How does he do this?" "Bernard didn't know. You be careful," she said. "You too. How are things on your end?" "The same. He keeps hiding from me, but within Buzz range so I can _feel_ him, but not _see_ him. But I saw him last night, and I think I can trace him. I'm going after him. I don't want to play by his rules." "You be careful too." The next day as Patrick and Nancy were fishing, they felt Nabbis' presence again. "Shit," Patrick said. "Ho, Irelander," Nabbis said. "I was hopin' I'd find you." "You were," Patrick said. "Aye. I wanted to apologies for the other day. I was outta line." "Yeah, you were," Patrick said. "Hey now, I'm tryin' t' bury the hatchet. Don' get all high 'n fallooty on me." "Fine, the hatchet's buried." The three were silent for a while. Nabbis broke it by saying, "Where you live, Irelander?" "I told you, I live in Boston." "Bet you have a nice, pretty house in the suburbs. White picket fence... a dog even. I can see you riding along on your power mower..." "I live in town, actually. Why are you obsessed with my lifestyle?" "Oh, you live _in_ town! All cosmopolitan, ain'cha?" Patrick handed Nancy his rod and said, "I told you in the bar, if you want to challenge me, _challenge_ me. I'll meet you fair and square, one Immortal to another. I'll even let you make the time and place." But Nabbis looked insulted. "_Challenge_ you?" he said. "Hell, all I was trying to do was make conversation and be friendly-like." "Well take it somewhere else, Nabbis. I don't like how you get 'friendly-like.' Let's go, Nancy." BOSTON MASS, UNITED STATES, MAY 1995 The sign in the lobby told Rebecca that the building was the offices of "RFW Consulting: Research, Testing, Marketing." Adjusting her coat, she went over to the security guard in the lobby. He looked up at her, unenthusiastically. "Hi," she said. "I thought I saw someone breaking into here last night." "You call the police?" "Um... no, because I wasn't sure." "Terrific. Where'd you _think_ you saw this guy." "Well... I was in the alleyway beside the building... I was looking for someplace to toss my soda can..." "Why not in the street like everyone else?" Rebecca let that slide and pressed on. She said, "...and I saw this man on the fire escape. I think he was on the fifth or sixth floor." "Name?" "Hmm? Oh, _my_ name," and she said the first name that came to her mind, "Sarah O'Brien." "Address?" "157 Beacon Street, Brookline," she lied. "Phone?" "555-8745. Look, maybe I was wrong, and maybe someone was working last night, but I'd like to know one way or the other. It'd _really_ make me feel better." Rebecca was beginning to tire of this "dumb female" routine, and just wished the security guard would get _on_ with verifying if anyone was in last night. "I suppose I can check the logs. About what time was this?" "Eight-thirty, nine o'clock, I think." "Allright. This may take a while." He leaned over and brought out a loose-leaf binder and began thumbing through it. Rebecca used that time to put her Amanda-taught talents to work. She discovered the security system, motion detectors, cameras... it had been decades since she broke into a building on a regular basis, and the last time had been a rare occasion five years ago to help a friend in need, but she suspected it was like hiding a sword. Like riding a bike. She also found the office directory and saw that the personnel office was on the forth floor. She filed that away with the other information for future use. Then she realized what she was contemplating, and nearly laughed out loud. "Here we go," the guard said. "Mr. Rightman was here until nine-thirty. If you want, I can page him and see if he was out on the fire escape." "No, thanks. That's fine. I'm sure it was him then. Thanks again, that makes me feel _much_ better." She turned to leave. As she exited, she noticed the fine-print underneath "RFW Consulting" stated "Rightman, Freed, and Wallingford." "What do you actually _know_ about Seth Rightman, Bernard?" Rebecca said later that afternoon. "Not much," Bernard said. "He's a shrewd money maker. Is the CEO of more than one medium-to-large-sized corporation, and that he's a pretty vicious fighter." "How late do you usually stay in your office?" "'Till about nine or ten, why?" Rebecca chose her next words carefully. She didn't know how far Bernard's "assistance" would go. She said, "Bernard, I know you're not supposed to interfere, but I don't know who else to turn to. I don't know many mortals in this city, and those who I _do_ know _don't_ know I'm an Immortal, obviously." She sighed, but pressed on. "I need you to help me break into RFW Consulting's offices tomorrow night." "WHAT?!" "I need you to..." "I heard you, but I can't believe what I'm hearing... _why_? I thought you gave that up _years_ ago." "I did. But Rightman is the 'R' in RFW Consulting." She stared at Bernard's face, expecting to see an entire range of emotions, _except_ for the one she saw. He laughed. "You... expect _me_... to break into an Immortal's office??!!" he laughed some more. "Rebecca, I'm almost seventy years old, and not exactly in my prime!" "Look... all I want you to do is watch an Immortal. You're good at that. I want you to watch his building for him to come out. Your office is right across Mass Ave from his. You have a good view." "And when he leaves... then what?" "You call my carphone. Look, Bernard _I_ can't watch his building, 'cause he'll only feel me when he comes out, and then the game's over. All I wanna know is where he lives, and what he does." "You could follow him home... no, he'd probably feel you then, too." "Exactly! You see what I'm up against? The Buzz is both an amazing advantage and an incredible handicap. _None_ of us can _really_ hide from one another." Bernard smiled again and said, "He lives in DC. No, really..." This time it was Rebecca's turn to laugh. When she stopped, Bernard said, "I'm probably _really_ gonna regret this..." "You'll do it?" "I'll do it." "Thank you!" she leaned over and hugged him. "Now this is my cell phone number. I'll be parked several blocks away, probably near MIT. It shouldn't take me more than ten minutes to get there and find a parking space." "You're breaking and entering, DeJeniere. I'd think that a parking ticket would be the _least_ of your worries." They both laughed again. SOMEWHERE IN THE MAINE WOODS, UNITED STATES, MAY 1995 Nancy awoke to the unmistakable sound of whetstone on steel. She emerged from her sleeping bag and saw Patrick sharpening his katana. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and said, "You're going after him, aren't you?" "Yup." He tossed a mug in her direction and said, "Have some coffee." She poured a mug and took a gulp. "Can't you leave it alone?" she said. "You don't live to be 800 years old," Patrick said, "if you don't learn to read the signs. This is as much a lesson for you as any physical training. Nabbis is gonna come for me weather we're here or in Boston. It may not be now, it may not even be soon, but _eventually_, months, years, or even centuries from now, he'll come for me." "And... you'll kill him?" "If you've learned nothing else about me this past month, Nancy, I think you've learned the answer to that question." Nancy nodded and said, "You'll kill him if you have to, but you'll try your damndest not to." "Ramirez once said that a head spared is a head on your side. Each time you win and spare a life, you have a potential ally." "Do you have many allies that you've one this way?" "Uh huh. Connor for one. Remember how I told you that I challenged him after I found out that Ramirez had died? How I assumed, because he carried Ramirez's sword when I met him, that he had taken his head? Although we never came to blows, I could have easily beaten him then. He's been one of my closest friends ever since. "Nancy," he continued, "I want you to go to town, call Rebecca, tell her where we are, and then get to Holy Ground and _stay_ there. I'll be along as quick as I can. If Rebecca gets there before I do, go back to Boston with her. I'll follow behind." "It sounds like you're not sure that you can beat him." "When you meet an Immortal for the first time in combat, you're _never_ sure if you can beat them. That's another lesson for you." GLENFINNIN - SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS, 1229 "You know combat," Ramirez said, "now 'tis time you learned the more subtle rules of the Game. The first is simply, every head spared is a head on your side." The two Immortals rode through the peaceful afternoon. The beauty of the Highlands made Patrick's heart cry out for his native Ireland. But there was little time for that. Ramirez was teaching him again. "I thought that there can be only One. But you're saying that I have to have allies," Patrick said. "Aye. Allies are important, Brother. Remember what I told you of the Kurgan? All for the game without any _real_ friends." "But the Kurgan is the strongest of us." "Yes... but that will not last. One of the reasons I sought you out is because Aoife and I... _knew_ that the one who would defeat the Kurgan would be one of the Celtic peoples. So far I have met Cierdwyn and taught you. Both of you have tremendous potential." "Are you saying that _I_ have to face the Kurgan?" "Perhaps. While you _do_ have potential, I haven't sensed anything definite from your Quickening, aside from the fact that one day you will be among the best of us. However, there are other Immortals emerging from these islands. That is one of the reasons I am here, in this place, _now_." "Is there an Immortal here?" Patrick said. "I haven't felt one." "I'm afraid not," Ramirez said, "But there is something about the clan MacLeod. Something that tells me that there will be at least one powerful Immortal to emerge from here. Possibly more." "More? Brother, I don't pretend to know much about how we're made, but I've never heard of more than one Immortal coming from one place. You're Egyptian, I'm Irish, Rebecca... is French..." Ramirez laughed and said, "Do you think you're the only Immortal Irelander? Remember Aoife?" Patrick blushed and said, "Of course." "And there are and will be others who come from your homeland, Brother. While you may have adopted the designation 'Irelander,' there are others who will have just as much right to that name. Just as there will be more than one Immortal from this place with the right to the name 'Highlander,' or even MacLeod." Patrick nodded and said, "'Twas foolish and egotistical of me to think I was the only Irelander." "No," Ramirez said, "It wasn't. It was normal." "Brother," Patrick said bring his horse to a halt, "there's something I have to tell you." Ramirez reigned in his own horse and turned to look at his Student. "I forgive you," Patrick said. Ramirez smiled and said, "Thank you. Live, Irelander. Grow stronger. Fight another day." Then he let his horse trot off again and began singing a song in a language that Patrick didn't understand. Patrick watched his Teacher and smiled. He knew that Ramirez was once again taking his leave of him. But he also knew that he would see him again, when, he did not know. But he would, as surely as the sun comes up in the morning and goes down in the evening. They needed no words of goodbye, Immortals hardly ever did. He turned his horse in the opposite direction and headed back to Glenfinnin. He contemplated the words Ramirez had said. It was what he had told him when he first took leave of he and Rebecca over forty years ago. Live. Grow stronger. Ramirez had told him he originally heard that wish from an Immortal who was even older than he was. Methos. A legend. Patrick hardly believed in an Immortal who was so old he didn't even remember when he was born. But he had met two or three Immortals (and even faced some) who had thought that Ramirez _himself_ was a legend who did not exist. Patrick laughed and turned towards the direction of the singing. A legend. Patrick knew that he had been found by one of, if not the, greatest men in all history, mortal or Immortal. He knew how lucky he was. And he would face the Kurgan if it came to that. He would live, grow stronger, and fight another day. <<>> (c) 1995 Mabnesswords As usual, e-mail mikester@bix.com or mikeb@usa1.com with comments! =========================================================================