Date: Fri, 23 Jun 1995 19:53:34 -0700 Reply-To: Naomi Hayashi Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Naomi Hayashi Subject: X-File #A274-D33 part 10 of 17 In-Reply-To: <9506240235.AC27866@mercury.sfsu.edu> This is being posted for the author, who currently doesn't have internet access. Please direct all comments you want to be passed on to the author or requests for missing parts to nhayashi@sfsu.edu X-File: #A274-D33 Part 10 of 17 by Albert Low The sword flashed through the air in complex patterns, never stopping, only occasionally slowing. MacLeod wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been at this, but, however long it had been, it wasn't long enough. He'd remained in his apartment for a while, but couldn't stop worrying about either the two FBI agents or Stocker. The immortal presented the more immediate threat, but Mulder and Scully, particularly Mulder, could prove more dangerous in the long term. Finally, he'd decided that worrying about his problems was pointless and had come down to the dojo. It was closed for the day, so he hadn't had to worry about anybody intruding on him. MacLeod had thought that performing some katas might help calm him, and one kata had merged into another, until he had lost count. He stopped now, his breathing heavy but even. The sword exercises had helped somewhat, releasing some of the tension in his body. He went upstairs to take a shower. As he walked up the stairs he could hear a drunk outside loudly calling out for some spare change. "Could you spare a few coins for an old seaman?" MacLeod stopped and looked down at the speaker, a grizzled middle-aged man sitting in the shadow of a warehouse. He couldn't make out any of the beggar's features in the dim light provided by the wharf's lights, but he saw the sailor had no legs. "My ship was sunk by a German U-boat. I was rescued but not before the sharks got to me. MacLeod reached into a pocket and tossed a few coins into the sailor's cup. "Thank you, sir." MacLeod nodded and continued down the wharf. His destination was at the far end of the largely deserted waterfront. *It'll be good to see Evan again. It's been a while since we last got together.* He'd been surprised, but happy, to receive the telegram from the other immortal, informing him that his ship would be docking today and asking him to meet with him tonight. It was interesting, he mused, that, despite the long lives his kind had, the endless opportunities open to them, they often chose to remain in the same occupation they'd chosen before they became fully immortal. Evan, for example, had sailed with the Phoenicians almost three thousand years ago. Since then he'd accompanied Greek sailors and Viking explorers, joined Drake on his journey around the world, and fought beside Nelson at Trafalgar. Or at least he claimed he had; MacLeod was never sure which of the old sailor's stories to believe. He only knew they were always entertaining. And he had no doubts there would be new stories about the great war that had encompassed all of Europe and drawn in the United States, as well. He was about two-thirds of the way down the pier when it happened. He felt it first, a sharp pain throughout his body accompanied by a momentary weakness. Then he looked up and saw the flickering lights at the end of the wharf. After a few seconds the light show faded away, and the pain was gone. MacLeod gathered his strength and sprinted the rest of the way, slowed only by the need to detour around huge piles of crates. He slowed as he approached the end of the wharf and pulled out his sword. He slowly made his way around a bundle of freight and saw the headless body. Even as he approached, he knew it belonged to his friend. Then he felt the presence of another immortal. He looked around and saw a man emerge from the shadow of a gangplank. It took him a second to recognize the other immortal. "Stocker." Stocker smiled. "This is an unexpected bonus. You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this." MacLeod abruptly advanced and attacked. Stocker parried his blows but was forced to give ground. As they fought MacLeod assessed his foe. Stocker's strikes were as incredibly fast as they'd been a hundred years earlier, but the force behind them was not as great. *The quickening must have taken something out of him.* MacLeod knew he had to take advantage of that before the other immortal had the opportunity to recover fully. He pressed the other man as hard as possible. Stocker was just as good as he had remembered, but MacLeod had honed his fighting skills over the last century. Yet, he _still_ couldn't get through Stocker's defenses. No matter how hard he tried his sword was met by cold hard steel. Finally, MacLeod saw his opening. He blocked a blow and lunged forward, hitting his enemy squarely in the chest with a hunched shoulder. Stocker stumbled backwards, momentarily off-balance and vulnerable. MacLeod's sword slashed across his chest, but, at the last possible moment, he leapt back, suffering only a long superficial cut instead of the deep gouge MacLeod had intended to inflict. Stocker stationed a large create between them and smiled grimly. "Not bad, Highlander. You've improved. But you're still outclassed." "I'm not the one who needs a doctor." The other immortal laughed. "I've had worse, from immortals far better than you." Then he stepped around the crate and attacked. MacLeod tried to stand his ground but had to withdraw or risk losing his head. He retreated slowly, making Stocker work for it. Stocker smiled. "Not so flippant now, eh, MacLeod?" MacLeod didn't say anything; he couldn't spare the energy. He just gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts. The two immortals circled warily, each searching for a gap in the other's defenses. Stocker feinted, feinted again, and then slashed his sword deeply into MacLeod's left arm just below the shoulder. The pain nearly caused him to drop his sword. He backed off desperately, Stocker following relentlessly. MacLeod's left arm was useless. The pain from the deep cut was beyond his ability to ignore. He glanced behind him and cursed silently. He was standing less than a foot away from the edge of the wharf. Stocker saw this as well. He smiled. "Nowhere to run, Highlander." He advanced slowly. MacLeod raised his sword, not ready to give up without a fight. "Over there, I tell you!" "I saw it, too! It was like some sort of fireworks display!" The voices came from down the wharf and seemed to be getting closer. Stocker was distracted for only a moment, but that was all the time MacLeod needed. He got a firm grip on his sword, spun about, and dived off the wharf. As he hit the cold water, he could hear Stocker calling out after him. "Go ahead and run! I'll find you someday!" =========================================================================