Date:         Thu, 22 Dec 1994 12:47:13 -0500
Reply-To:     Rene Gibson <gibson@ALPHATECH.COM>
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         Rene Gibson <gibson@ALPHATECH.COM>
Organization: ALPHATECH, INC.
Subject:      The Decision (A Highlander/Doctor Who Story) (1/1)

Hi.

This is presented for enjoyment--both yours and *mine*.  I know
it's no literary masterpiece.  It's just for fun, so please keep
any comments positive and polite.

Please note that this story hasn't been run by my reviewers
yet (all 0 of them), so there may be spelling, grammar, and/or
factual/history errors.  (The encyclopedia was helpful only to
a point.)  Just grin and bear it...

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                          The Decision
                         --------------

   Strolling down the street, full and satisfied after dinner at
the Chinese restaurant he and Charlie used to frequent, Duncan
thought about his former dojo manager.  Richie was holding down
the fort just fine, but Duncan simply missed Charlie.  He was a
good friend and someone to practice martial arts with who was
almost as good as he.  Too bad Duncan could never bring himself
to tell Charlie about Immortals.
   Walking past an alley, he glanced in and stopped abruptly when
something unusual caught his eye.  A police box?  Going over to
the strange object, he wondered what something out of 1960's
England was doing in the 1990's American northwest.  It looked
authentic enough, but what was it doing here?
   Curious, he opened the door and stepped inside...
   ...and froze.
   After a brief assessment of the size of the room, Duncan went
back outside to confirm his suspicions.  He walked around the
box, tapping on it lightly as he went, surveying the exterior,
before stepping back inside.  Wandering around the room, he
examined the walls, the doors, and the thing in the center of the
room, touching things gently as he went to assure himself they
were real.
   It was definitely bigger on the inside.
   But how?  He would be certain someone was playing a joke on
him, if only he could figure out how they were doing it.
   Opposite the doors to the outside was a single door that
looked tempting.  Although he had been able to open the outside
doors easily from the outside, he had discovered in his
examination of them that they were not so easily closed from the
inside.  At least *he* could not close them.  So much the better,
he thought.  That way he would not be locked in.
   With that thought and curiosity in hand, he opened the single
door cautiously and stepped inside.

   He was lost.
   This thing--whatever it was, it was *not* a normal police box-
-was somewhat larger than he had originally assumed.  The rooms
he had seen in his wanderings were bizarre and incongruous:
bedrooms, courtyards, laboratories, cloakrooms, and some that he
could not even imagine what their use was.  The hallway where he
now stood was many meters wide with stone blocks for seats and
plants scattered around for decoration.
   Suddenly, he heard some low mumbling and quickly hid behind a
stone pillar.  As the sounds got closer, he glanced out and saw a
tall man with curly hair, a long coat, and a longer scarf talking
to himself as he walked by deep in thought.
   "Ancient Rome," the man mumbled.  "I'm sure to find it there."
   Duncan debated getting the man's attention, but decided
against it until he learned more.  As the stranger continued
along the hallway, Duncan followed discreetly.

   He was lost again.
   Following the stranger had been more difficult than he had
planned.  Possibly the man was the owner of this police box, for
he seemed to know it well.  Or maybe the man was as lost as he
was, but had been here long enough to know certain areas better.
In any case, Duncan had been lost again in minutes.  There were
areas he swore he had been past before, but the rooms were in a
different order the next time through.  Wondering if he would
ever get out of here, he decided to talk to the stranger--if he
ever came by again--whatever the consequences.  Duncan might live
a long time, but he did not plan on doing it all here.

   Eventually, he came across some rooms that reminded him of
those he had first seen.  Hoping against hope, he hurried down
the hallway to the door at the end and flung it open.
   Finally!  He was back in the room that led to the outside.  At
least he assumed it still did; the room changes inside still
mystified him.  Gratefully, he noticed the outside doors were
still open and he ran to them quickly, expecting them to close at
any moment, locking him inside.  When they did not, he stepped
through, relieved to be back where he belonged...
   ...and halted.  Not again.
   Turning, he saw he was indeed exiting the police box, possibly
the same one he had entered hours ago, but when he looked around
at the rest of the world, he knew he had made a mistake somewhere
along the way.  He was in an alley, all right, but definitely not
the one he had left.  Resigned to this insanity, he closed the
door behind him and faced the impossible, determined to figure it
out.

   Ancient Rome.  This really was Ancient Rome around the time of
Christ's birth, give or take a hundred years or so.
   It was absurd, of course.  It had to be a dream.  Or a
hallucination.  Or hypnotism.
   But the gravel crunched under his feet as blacktop never did.
It was warm here while it had been snowing at home.  Before the
sun had set, he had seen ruins too well preserved to be thousands
of years old.  On the ground, he spotted a coin which he picked
up and examined closely before dropping it in his pocket.  It all
seemed so real--everything he touched here felt as solid enough,
but it had to be impossible.
   Just in case, he avoided people, something easier to do now
that it was dark.  But how had he gotten here?  Did the stranger
from the police box have something to do with this?
   Familiar noises interrupted his thoughts.  A swordfight.
Orienting on the direction, he moved towards the sounds, curious
to see what he might find.  As he was about to turn the last
corner, he suddenly sensed another Immortal.  Peering around the
corner cautiously, he saw two men fighting intensely, ignoring
his presence.  From the sparks caused by their clashing swords,
he knew they were both Immortal, which would explain why they
would ignore him until they were done.  He had only seen the face
of one man so far and had not recognized him.  As they maneuvered
for position, they changed places and allowed him to finally see
the face of the other man.
   The Kurgan!
   He *was* in the past, far enough back that the Kurgan, killed
by Connor in 1985, was still alive.  And if this were truly
Ancient Rome...
   Duncan drew his sword silently as the thoughts flooded into
his mind.  The Kurgan would win this fight; he had to in order to
be alive later.  As soon as he got the Quickening, however,
Duncan would sneak up and kill him before he had a chance to
recover.  If the Kurgan were to die now, so many things would be
different.
   Connor would not be mortally wounded in 1536 in the battle
against the Frazers and would not be driven from his village.
   Ramirez would not be killed 5 years later.
   Connor's wife Heather would not be brutalized.
   Connor would not have to face the Kurgan again in 1985.
   So many others who had lived and died over the years--mortal
and Immortal--would not suffer at the Kurgan's hand.
   A smile formed on Duncan's face as he considered the results
of what he was about to do.  Whatever had brought him here had
had a purpose and now he knew what it was: to save thousands of
years of history from the Kurgan's presence.
   While he watched, the Kurgan finally won and the transference
of Quickening began.  Patiently waiting, Duncan continued to
think about how different their lives would be if the Kurgan were
killed now.  He wondered what Immortals would still be alive and
relished the possibility of finally meeting Ramirez.  Maybe he
would still be alive in 1994; anything was possible.
   But who else would be alive that might have been dead except
for the Kurgan?  Not only good Immortals, surely.  The Kurgan was
not choosy about who he killed; there were bound to be evil
Immortals who survived in the Kurgan's absence.
   And what other changes might there be?  Connor became Immortal
in 1536 because of the Kurgan.  If not for him, Connor might have
become Immortal much later, too much past his prime to be able to
fight well enough to survive the Game.  Or perhaps an Immortal
who should have been killed by the Kurgan might have succeeded in
beheading Connor on the battlefield where the Kurgan had failed.
   And Connor would be dead.
   But he could not die; he was alive in 1994.  But Duncan's
proposed actions might change that.  If Connor had died on the
battlefield in 1536, he would never have found the recently
Immortal Duncan to train and teach the rules of the Game.  Duncan
himself might have fallen prey to an evil Immortal and lost his
head before he understood what was happening.
   He could be dead long before 1994, when he had stepped into
the strange police box in the alley and started on this
impossible journey.
   It did not make sense.  Or did it?  Maybe it meant changing
time was so unpredictable that leaving things as they were was
better than taking a chance on making things worse.
   But he could eliminate so much pain...
   Or cause so much more.
   Silently, Duncan put the sword in his coat and snuck away just
before the Quickening was over.  With any luck, he would be out
of range before the Kurgan could come looking.

   Duncan headed for the only thing he knew: the police box.
Maybe he could find the stranger and figure out what was going
on.
   Turning a corner, he was alarmed to almost run into someone
until he realized it was the man he was looking for.
   "Why didn't you kill him?" the man asked curiously.
   Duncan stared at him in shock for a few seconds before finally
finding his voice.  "Who are you?"
   The man ignored the question and glanced around as if
searching for something.  "You wouldn't happen to have seen a
police box around here anywhere, would you?"
   Duncan looked at him with both surprise and alarm.  "You lost
it?"
   The man abruptly grinned.  "Ah, then I *did* have a stowaway.
I didn't think I was absent-minded enough to not remember if I'd
left the door open or closed twice in a row."  Looking Duncan
over, he said, "Come on.  I'll take you back where you belong.
I'm the Doctor, by the way."  With that, he started on his way.
   "Duncan MacLeod," Duncan announced and trotted after the
Doctor, determined not to get lost this time.

   In the police box--TARDIS, the Doctor had called it--Duncan
watched as the cylinder moved up and down in the thing in the
middle of the room.  From the way the Doctor had poked at it, the
thing was obviously a control console and this room was his
control room.  Duncan shook his head as he tried to understand
how the contraption had taken him back in time and how it would
return him to his own.
   "Why didn't you kill him?"
   Duncan looked at the Doctor abruptly.  "What do you know about
it?"
   "I've run across a few Immortals in my time," the Doctor said
with a broad smile.  "You looked like you recognized the winner
and wanted to kill him.  But you didn't.  Why?"
   Sighing tiredly, Duncan shook his head.  "I don't know.  I
wanted to help so many people, but I was afraid of making things
worse."
   The Doctor nodded.  "A very wise man," he said sagely and went
back to tinkering with the console.

   The cylinder stopped moving.  With a satisfied sigh, the
Doctor turned to Duncan and said, "We've arrived."
   Duncan watched as the Doctor flipped a switch and part of the
wall opened up, revealing a screen.  The screen showed Duncan's
living room, exactly as he had left it.
   "We're back about an hour or so after you left," the Doctor
was telling him.  "So no one should even know you were gone."
When Duncan said nothing, the Doctor asked, "What do you plan on
telling people?"
   "About what?  This?"  Duncan snorted.  "Nothing.  I'm not sure
I believe it all myself."
   Smiling, the Doctor said, "Good."  He pushed a lever and the
outer doors opened.  Gently ushering Duncan to the doors, he
continued, "It's been very nice meeting you, but in the future,
please try to stay out of strange TARDIS's."
   "I'll remember," Duncan said, finding himself back in his own
living room.  As he turned around, the police box doors closed
and, with a strange noise, the TARDIS disappeared.  He felt
nothing when he reached out to where it had been.  Looking down,
he noticed it had been on bare floor, so there were not even any
imprints in a rug to prove anything had ever been here.
   Deciding a drink was definitely in order, Duncan walked
towards the liquor cabinet, stuffing his hands in his pockets on
the way...
   ...and found a coin.  Pulling it out, he regarded it silently.
It was in much too perfect condition for the age it must be.  The
scratches on it were recent, not worn with time.
   He had been there.  He had been to Ancient Rome.  He had been
able to stop the Kurgan, but had not.  He had been able to make a
difference, but had decided not to.
   Walking over, he sat down on the sofa and dropped the coin on
the table.  He had made the right decision, hadn't he?  He could
not have done anything else, could he?
   Could he?
   He had been staring at the coin for several minutes before
realizing he was waiting for something.  What?  Absolution?
Maybe, but not from the coin.  Only one person could grant that.
He picked up the phone and started dialing.
   Waiting for an answer on the other end, he found himself drawn
to the coin again.  Reluctantly, he reached forward and picked it
up.
   "Hello?" came the question as the phone was finally answered.
   "Connor."
   "Duncan?  It's the middle of the night."
   Sitting in his hand, the coin was proof of his impossible
trip.  And of his guilt.  "I know," he said quietly.  "I'm sorry,
but I need to talk to you..."

                         *** The End ***

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Still here?  Good.  For those of you who still are, I propose a
polite, calm discussion on HIGHLA-L to explore the following
questions:

   Should Duncan have killed the Kurgan?  Why or why not?

   If Duncan *had* killed the Kurgan, what results might we
   have seen in the present?

   Assuming Connor believed Duncan's story, would he have
   agreed with Duncan's decision?  Why or why not?

One word answers do not a discussion make.

If this is a stupid idea, just drop it and nevermind, but I
thought it might be more interesting and HL related than some
of the more recent discussions/debates/arguments/flames.

For those who *do* wish to discuss this, *please* keep it to
HIGHLA-L.  I don't want to be wiped out by email.

Rene (who's still wondering if this is one of her brighter ideas...)
=========================================================================