Date: Sun, 11 Feb 1996 21:58:16 -0500 Reply-To: NSumsion@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "Nathan R. Sumsion" Subject: The Value of Friends (3a/10) This story has scenes of violence and the occasional profane word. The Value of Friends part 3a of 10 by Nathan R Sumsion SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA. 1996 "...and as soon as they got busted, they knew they'd been ratted out. And all eyes turned to Jacob." Lamont howled with laughter, and even Gerald cracked a smile, at Jessica's tale. Jacob merely flushed in embarrassment. "I hadn't realized they would put it together so quickly," he protested meekly. "C'mon, Jacob. You start showing up at the speakeasy under a ridiculous assumed name, then articles start showing up in the newspaper penned by you, and then a week later the place is cracked down? And you don't think they'd be a bit suspicious?" Jacob shrugged his shoulders. "It seemed safe at the time." Lamont rolled his eyes. "And that concludes the tale," Jessica finished, triumphantly, "of the only one of us ever to be killed by Dutch Schultz." "I was crapping bullets for a month," Jacob grimaced as he sipped his drink. Lamont howled some more, spilling some of his drink in the process. They were in a pub, and as most eyes were on a football game in the background, Lamont's laughter merely blended in with the boisterous noise of the place. "At least he didn't put you in cement galoshes," Gerald observed dryly. He smiled as he sipped his beer, but the smile never seemed to reach his eyes. He had lost too much, watched too many die, it seemed, to ever truly enjoy life again. He was tall and wiry, his hair a constant disarray as he had ceased to care how it appeared. His clothes too seemed to emphasize this, picked haphazardly and thrown on. But the fact that he had allowed himself to be dragged out in a group like this only attested to the fact of how much he enjoyed Jacob's company. Surely no one else could have dragged the reluctant Gerald from his den of misery and retreat. "Yeah," Lamont agreed, slapping the table with his palm, "give me good burst from a Tommy gun any day." ******************************* At a table not too far away, two others sat and observed the four Immortals. Russell Carthage had one elbow on the table, his head leaning casually on it. He looked amused if not somewhat bored. "God, it's always like this. Why couldn't I have been assigned to someone who _likes_ to go out and fight? Hamilton hasn't taken a head in almost a year." Monica laughed, shaking her head, causing her straight dark hair to twirl around her face. Her eyes sparkled in genuine good humor. "As I recall, didn't you ask to be assigned to him?" Russell grimaced guiltily. He took another sip from his glass. "Yes, I did, dammit. And it was fun for the first little while. He was fairly active there, that first year, though only recall once where he actively sought someone out." "What made you ask for him?" Monica asked, genuinely curious. "His writing, actually. I had read several of his books under his different pen names before I realized they were all by him. I guess I was a fan wanting an excuse to stalk someone." Monica laughed again. "Tell me about him." Russell leaned back, looking over to the table of Immortals. Four of them, all vastly different, yet all there because of the personality of one man. "He's not really old, as far as they go. About 250 years or so. Born in the Virginia colonies in 1744. Was the son of an indentured servant. His family all died while he was young. He fought in the Revolutionary War, where he first died. I think he wandered for a bit, trying to find a purpose in his life. He was pretty morose for his first few decades as an Immortal. But having lived on his own, struggling to survive as a young boy, he had a fighting spirit. He surprised the first few Immortals that came after him. "I guess it was around 1800 that he found his first mentor. Hamilton never really seemed to enjoy fighting, tried to avoid confrontations. Many thought it was a sign he was weak, an easy target. By trying to avoid the confrontations he was merely drawing people out to fight him. But when he met Gunther, that all changed." "Gunther?" Monica interrupted. "Never heard of him." "Naw. Not surprising. He got taken out by Slan Quince about ten years after he started teaching Jacob. Good guy. Even a decent fighter." Monica shivered. "Quince. I heard about him." "Yeah. Anyway, Gunther taught Hamilton a lot. Mostly, I think more than teaching him how to wield a sword, he taught him how to be himself, how to live through the coming decades. Because Jacob sure changed after that. Found he liked to write. Ever since then, Hamilton's done something involving writing: journalist, novelist, whatever." Russell paused, so Monica asked, "Do you like him?" The question seemed to genuinely stump Russell. He started to reply but was drowned out by an eruption of cheering from the spectators watching the television. He waited for the noise to die down again before replying. "I thought he was great for that first year. I mean, the guy does so much. He gives huge amounts of money to charities. He spends time doing community service. And you can tell he's sincere about it, not just trying to impress someone. He's had his share of girlfriends, even his share of wives in the past, but you can tell he's not interested in anything serious lately. Still, that's about the only fault one could find with him." "But..." Monica prompted. "But then he found out about us. I still don't know how it happened. But, man! I guess I never realized how much they could hate us for what we do. This was a guy I admired, that I had really looked up to. And as soon as he found out about me... he detested the sight of me. I know he probably doesn't hate me personally, but what I stand for." "Why didn't you request reassignment?" Russell shrugged. "Because I guess I do still admire the guy. He's one of the good ones, you know. He's someone you can trust. I mean, look at them over there," he pointed at the Immortals. "They should all be after each other's heads, but they're not. They're all there because they want to be around him." He was silent for a while, lost in his thoughts. Then he turned to Monica. "So tell me about Lamont." Monica flushed a bit, smiling nervously. "Well, he certainly is friendly." Russell laughed, evidently having heard the rumors of the Immortal's fondness for women. "He flirts outrageously with me, but really I think his philandering is just a front. I know he doesn't honestly expect me to give in. It's just his way, his personality. And no," she said, answering his unasked question, "I haven't given in." "So why didn't you request reassignment? When Jacob told him about us?" "Because he likes the attention I give him. He lives for it, you know? Calling me up to tell me the most trivial of things, insisting it be recorded in his Chronicle. Honestly, even the field leader has commended me on how thorough and insightful my chronicles are now that he goes out of his way to make sure I get every thought down, every single thing he does in his life." Monica looked over at the table. "So what do you know about the other two?" "Well, the lady is Jessica Frampton. Very old friend of Jacob's. They've met each other every ten years for about the last century. Ever since they split up. She's quite a bit older than he is, I think around 450. She's good. Fast. Strong. Lethal. "The other guy is named Gerald something-or-other. He doesn't have a Watcher assigned to him right now. The guy's been around about 50 years or so. He never seems to have recovered from the deaths of his family and original friends. He just kind of floats through life, nothing seems to affect him. Doesn't have many friends and doesn't seem to want any. But Jacob's pretty attached to him. Don't know if it's pity or something about Gerald that Jacob genuinely likes." Russell was about to say something more, when the mood at the other table abruptly changed. ******************************* "What?" Jacob demanded, outraged. "Why didn't you say anything?" Gerald shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't think I should bother you with it." Lamont rolled his eyes at Jessica. "Another Immortal is after your head and you don't think you should bother us with it?" Jacob demanded hotly. "It's my fight," Gerald answered, his tone never wavering, as if he were discussing the weather outside as opposed to his possible death. "Gerald, I'm you friend. Let me..." "Jacob," Jessica interrupted. "He's right. There's nothing we can do. If someone is after him, it is his fight. That's the Game. It always has been." Jacob was stressed. He desperately wanted to do something, but knew in his heart he could not. He leaned back and stared into his drink. "Great," Lamont muttered. "Leave it to morose-boy here to ruin our fun." "Lamont," Jessica chided. Gerald rose to leave. "No, it's okay, Jess. He's right. You all were having much more fun before I arrived." He looked cadaverously thin when he put on his trenchcoat, but he didn't move as awkwardly as one expected him to. "Thank you for inviting me along, Jacob. But I really think I should be going." The three muttered their good-byes and watched Gerald walk casually out of the pub. Jacob watched him go, pain in his eyes at the thought that this might have been his last chance to have spoken with his friend. "He'll be okay, Jacob," Jessica said, reaching over to place her hand on top of his. "Was it something I said?" Lamont asked innocently, and when Jacob glared up at him, he couldn't help but notice Lamont's barely suppressed impish grin. The grin that was so damned infectious. Soon, the three were laughing again, teasing each other with stories from their pasts. ******************************* End of part 3a. Send any comments or criticisms, as long as they're constructive, to: NSumsion@aol.com =========================================================================