From: Julia Kosatka Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative,alt.tv.highlander,alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: In the Dark, part 10/14 (X-Files/Highlander/TNG) Date: Fri, 14 Jul 1995 10:04:25 -0500 In the Dark, 10/14 Picard leaned back into the sofa in his ready room with a sigh and reached for his tea. If there was anything he disliked more than being forced into going on leave it was picking up the pieces afterward. Riker could easily have dealt with three-quarters of the reports listed on his screen, but regulations required that they come to his attention. As if it mattered whether or not he knew the serial number of the new port relay assembly. His doorchime tweedled and brought him out of his reverie. "Come." He felt the almost imperceptible alteration in his bearing as he went from being 'man' to `Captain'. Seeing Counselor Troi enter the room, the `Captain' persona relaxed a little, but remained dominant. He started to rise, but she waved him to remain seated, which he did. "Counselor, please, sit down. What may I do for you? Would you care for some tea?" He didn't have to be an empath to know that something was bothering her. Who counsels the counselor, he wondered with a touch of amusement. She declined his offer of tea and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. She placed her hands deliberately in her lap as if by that act she could also place her obviously troubled thoughts in order. The silence stretched between them for a few moments, he sipping his tea, she lost in whatever quandary had brought her here. Finally, Troi's shoulders straightened a little and her expression changed to one of decision. "Captain, I hesitate to bother you with this at all, but there's something I think you should know." "Yes, Deanna?" With his use of her name his Captain persona slipped another notch. After all the years of serving together, not to mention all she had done for him, she deserved more than the attention of a commanding officer. Right now, she looked as if she needed a friend. "Have you met our guest, Duncan MacLeod?" He studied her, trying to gauge her level of disquiet. She seemed concerned, but not overly so. "No, I haven't had an opportunity yet, though I have read the away- team's reports and spoken to Commander Riker about him. Is there something that isn't in the reports that you think I should know?" Troi looked down at her hands, then back up at him. "Did the reports mention that he and Guinan are old friends?" A friend of Guinan's? He felt a surge of surprise and curiosity, and just a little trepidation. Guinan had some very interesting old acquaintances; among them the entity `Q', for example. It was enough to make one a bit wary. However, he himself was also an old friend of Guinan's, and Deanna had termed this man a friend. He trusted Guinan's judgement on that score. His reply was careful. "Guinan probably has many old friends, and she has exhibited a rather striking fondness for humans for quite a-- long time." He smiled remembering the first time he and Guinan had met. "That's just it, sir." Troi held his gaze steadily, "He says he's human but he's not human." Picard leaned forward, his eyes intent. "Would you care to elaborate on that?" She shifted uncomfortably. "I can't really. I just know he's not human. I've never met a human who-- feels like he does." He frowned slightly, preferring more solid evidence. "So you're reporting a feeling?" She nodded. "Yes sir. I just thought you ought to know." "Have you discussed this with anyone else?" She looked offended. "No, of course not!" "Have you asked Guinan about him?" "No sir, I-- wasn't entirely sure of her objectivity in this matter." His eyebrows went up. "Now that's an interesting statement. Guinan is one of the most objective people I've ever met. What reason do you have to think that's changed?" "Have you seen her since you got back?" "No, I haven't had an opportunity to go down to Ten-Forward yet." "Go. You'll see what I mean." He sat back and looked at her over steepled fingers. "You have me intrigued, Counselor. Do you think MacLeod is a danger to the ship or crew?" She thought about that for a moment, then shook her head. "No, I don't. He's a very charming man, I don't think he would cause any harm, but the deception bothers me. That, and Worf." That got his attention. "What about Lieutenant Worf?" "It's just that a few hours ago he was suspicious and wary of MacLeod, yet when I saw him just now in the turbolift, he spoke of him as an `honorable warrior,' and told me he's invited him to participate in a holodeck workout! That's not like Worf!" Picard gazed at her thoughtfully. "I can see why that might concern you, Counselor, but actually, I think it's quite like Worf. Once you've proven yourself to him, he accepts you without reservation. It appears he has done so with our guest, however it would set my mind at ease if you were to speak to Worf and ascertain the reasons behind his actions. I take it that you've not had time to do so yet?" "No, I just saw him for a moment as I was on my way here. I did plan to speak to him about it, though." "Good. Is there anyone else you feel MacLeod has had an undue influence on?" Deanna thought about his question, and slowly nodded. "Yes, actually there is." "Who?" "Lieutenant Barclay, sir." "In what way?" "Well, he was assigned to help MacLeod transfer his cargo to the Enterprise. A little while ago I got a call from him. He was terribly excited, telling me that because of his conversation with MacLeod, he's going to study cooking, and organic farming techniques, and has even enrolled in Worf's mok'bara class, because, as he put it, `I want to know what it's like to work hard, physically.' Does that sound like Barclay to you?" He reviewed what she'd told him, and gazed at her, puzzled. "If you'll forgive me, Counselor, those sound like positive developments. It's difficult to consider this man a threat under the circumstances." She sighed. "I know, and I wouldn't even have mentioned it at all, if it weren't for the deception. I just makes me wonder." "I understand, Deanna, and I'll check into it." He stood and stretched, working the kinks out of his back. "I think it's time for a trip down to Ten-Forward. Which has the added benefit of getting me out from under this damned paperwork for a few minutes, so I'm grateful to you for bringing this matter to my attention!" That broke her tension and she smiled. "Anytime, captain." **** Picard walked into Ten-Forward and noticed the automatic hush that always accompanied his entry into a room. After a moment conversations started again, but with a bit less animation. He walked over to the bar and looked around, not spotting Guinan's familiar headgear anywhere, though he did see Lt. Barclay conversing animatedly with Ensign Barrow from Hydroponics. That was a surprise. Barclay talking? To a woman? Not silent or stammering? Interesting. He approached the bar and got the attention the young man who was working the counter. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Guinan, have you seen her recently?" A quick smile tugged at one corner of the server's mouth. "Yes sir, she's right there." He pointed over Picard's shoulder. Picard turned and looked. He didn't see her. "Where?" "There sir, in the rust and olive." He looked again, this time looking for the colors the man had described. The only woman wearing them was standing a few feet away next to one of the tables, talking and laughing with its occupant. Her back was to Picard, and it was clear from her figure that it wasn't Guinan. He shook his head. "Perhaps you didn't hear me correctly, I was looking for Guinan." This time the server chuckled. "Yes sir, I know. That's her." Picard looked again, just in time to see the woman turn toward another table. He stared. By God, it was her! But... it wasn't. She was wearing a dress, one not too unlike something he remembered Kamala wearing, and her hair was free of its usual confinement, framing her face in a mass of thin braids. She looked like an entirely different person. She saw him, and grinned, moving closer with that gliding walk that was her trademark. He was relieve to see that hadn't changed. "Jean-Luc! Welcome back, it's good to see you! How was your vacation?" "Guinan?" he said, stunned. "Twenty-three." she said, making a wry face. "Excuse me?" "You're the twenty-third person today to say my name in exactly those tones. I should have done this years ago. I seem to have shocked you all senseless." "I wouldn't say shocked," Picard began. "I would," Guinan interrupted. "I saw your face." He chuckled. "All right, you have me there. You look lovely." She preened. "Thank you, that's better." "I had no idea you..." he broke off, realizing he was about to put his foot firmly into his mouth. She laughed at him. "You had no idea I cleaned up so well? Just as well you didn't say that." She steered him toward a seat at the bar and took the one opposite him. "How was your trip?" "Boring. How was yours?" "Not. We had a bit of excitement." "So I'm given to understand. I hear he's an old friend of yours." "That he is." She smiled as she answered, and he saw something in her smile he'd never noticed in her before. He found it very appealing, and he found himself wondering why he'd never noticed how attractive she was. Her comment gave him an opening, though, and he was still enough in Captain mode to pursue it. "How old a friend?" he asked lightly. "Older than some, not so old as others," she temporized. "That's not quite the answer I need, Guinan. I hope you'll forgive me if this seems crass, but I feel I should make certain. Some of your old acquaintances have had a rather disruptive effect on this ship and its crew, to put it mildly. Is MacLeod one of that sort?" Her eyes widened, and she stiffened in obvious offense. "No! Remember, Jean-Luc, `Q' approached you on his own. Had I been on board then, things might have turned out differently. You, of all people, should know better than to think I wouldn't warn you about anyone I felt could pose even the slightest threat!" He took her hand. "Guinan, I'm sorry, I don't doubt that, but I thought it was quite possible that you hadn't warned me because I wasn't here when he came aboard. Also, Counselor Troi admits to being a bit disturbed by him, and it would not be right of me not to check." She looked at him for a long moment, then gave his hand a quick squeeze. "You're forgiven. As for Deanna, I'd be surprised if she wasn't disturbed by Duncan. I find him a bit--" she grinned and winked at him. "...disturbing, myself." He was surprised to find himself grinning back at her rather foolishly, and wondering if she were free for dinner. Before he could make an idiot of himself by asking, she spoke again. "You haven't met him yet, have you? He and Worf went down to Holodeck 4 nearly an hour ago to do `calisthenics,' as Worf likes to call it. Anyway, they ought to be about finished. Why don't you go introduce yourself?" Picard thought about Guinan's unexpected metamorphosis, and Barclay's, and nodded. "I think I shall." She smiled and made her way back toward the bar. He watched her, and became aware that he wasn't the only one doing so. More than one pair of eyes followed her with interest. Musing on that, he made his way down to the holodeck. There was definitely something different about her now, and it had nothing to do with her clothing or hair. It was something far more intense and personal. He remembered all the times he'd sat with her and talked long into the night, or fenced with her on the holodeck, or even just nodded in passing. Why had he never looked deeper? Why had he never wondered about her dreams, her needs? He'd rather taken her for granted, and suddenly he felt badly about that. He stopped outside the holodeck and noticed that the program was still running. Curious, he thought for a moment about entering, but decided against it. "Computer, is this program privacy-secured?" "Negative." "Activate monitor." The small screen next to the programming padd lit up and he watched it with interest. Worf was armed with his Klingon betelH, and his opponent carried what appeared to be a Japanese katana. As he watched they engaged, and he whistled softly. The sort of naked-blade practice they were engaged in could be damned dangerous! He was tempted to stop the program for safety's sake, but as he watched it was clear that there was consummate skill in the way they handled their weapons. The combatants were extremely well-matched as to height, weight, and, he noticed with amusement, hairstyle. Having fought Klingons himself, he had to admit he was impressed by MacLeod. The balance of power tipped back and forth until finally the man MacLeod caught the betleH between the spikes with his blade and seemingly without effort used his sword as a lever to flip the betleH out of Worf's grasp and onto the ground several feet away. Even on the tiny screen, Worf's chagrin and surprise were clear. They stood for a moment, breathing hard, then Worf clapped the other man across the shoulder and said something unintelligible. MacLeod laughed and put down his sword, reaching out to shake the Klingon's hand. A moment later the holo-background of a Klingon ritual-combat area disappeared and the yellow-on-black programming grid replaced it. The erstwhile combatants headed for the door. "Deactivate monitor," Picard said quietly as the holodeck doors opened. The small screen went black and he stepped back a pace. "You shall show me how that move is accomplished. It is a trick I would like to try," Worf was saying as they stepped from the room. "I'd be happy to, if in exchange you'll instruct me on the finer points of the betleH," MacLeod returned. "It's a formidable weapon." "It is, but I will admit that it is not so fine a one as your own. It has been in my family only four generations." Picard saw that MacLeod still carried the katana, which, since it had not disappeared with the program, must belong to him. He glanced quickly at the weapon, taking in the carved ivory hilt and the rippling play of light on the blade which spoke of folded steel. Worf was right, that was no modern replica. Something about it spoke of age and long use. "Gentlemen." Picard announced his presence quietly. Worf came instantly to attention, but MacLeod's reaction was far more interesting. He dropped into a fighting stance with the easy grace of a fighter, sword up and ready. Seconds later, after his sharp gaze had taken in Picard's uniform and rank pips, the sword dropped into non-threatening position and he straightened. The change was so swift that for moment Picard thought he might have imagined it, but he knew he had not. The man was trained to fight. Perhaps that was part of Deanna's unease. Starfleet was not really a military organization, even its best-trained fighters would be hard pressed to display that sort of battle-readiness. "Captain, is there a problem?" Worf rumbled, clearly ill at ease at being caught out of uniform, even though he was off-duty. "No, Mr. Worf, no problem." Picard shifted his attention to Worf's companion. "I've read the reports about what happened while I was away, and thought I ought to introduce myself. I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard." He held out his hand, and MacLeod shifted his sword to his left hand and took Picard's hand in a firm clasp. "Duncan MacLeod, sir, late of the Darius. It's a pleasure to meet you, the Enterprise is quite a ship, you must be very proud of her." "I am, I assure you. I understand you're a friend of Guinan's?" "I have that honor." "As do I." "Mr. MacLeod." Beverly Crusher's voice sounded firm and faintly annoyed. All three men turned toward the source. She was standing in the corridor, arms crossed, with a distinctly displeased expression on her face. Picard shot a glance at the man, and almost smiled at the look of resignation spreading over it. He knew that look. He'd worn it himself on many occasions. "You, sir, have been avoiding me." The doctor accused, lifting an eyebrow as she waited for a response. "I... have." MacLeod admitted. "Why?" He sighed. "I don't need a physical, Doctor. I'm fine." "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" "I can't." "Why not?" MacLeod looked trapped for a moment, then a tiny smile lifted one corner of his mouth. Picard waited. This should be good. "I'm a Christian Scientist." Beverly looked puzzled. Picard knew exactly how she felt. "A what?" "Christian Scientist. We don't believe in medical intervention. It would be against my religious ethos to allow a doctor to examine me." Beverly's eyes narrowed. "Is that so? Why have I never heard of this sect?" MacLeod shrugged. "Beats me. Go ahead, check it out if you like. Ask your computer." She stared at him a moment, then called his bluff. "All right, I will." She looked up. "Computer? Search databanks for religious group known as Christian Scientists, especially as pertains to their beliefs about medical intervention." Moments later the computer's disembodied voice spoke. "Christian Science, a Terran para-Christian Cult whose adherents believe that all healing comes from Deity. This sect adheres to strict policy of no medical intervention." Beverly looked stunned. MacLeod looked smug. Picard had to work very hard not to laugh. He hadn't seen his chief medical officer so neatly stymied in years. After a moment Bev shook her head, a rueful smile curving her mouth. "Well, Mr. MacLeod, you've manage to weasel your way out of an examination, haven't you? However, if you could manage to explain to me what you lived on for five days when your replicators were offline and there were no emergency rations aboard, I would certainly like to hear it!" "I went hungry," he said simply. "It's not the first time, nor, I imagine, will it be the last." She gazed at him thoughtfully. "That's certainly plausible; however, I also discovered that your water stores were contaminated by that coolant leak. You don't mean to tell me you went without liquid for five days as well, do you?" "Not at all." He smiled brilliantly. "I had a case of Laphroig aboard that I was planning to sell. Nothing contaminates a good single-malt." "You..." she sputtered, then rolled her eyes and made a face. "You are a damned slippery character, Duncan MacLeod. Just like your father, from what I hear!" He chuckled. "That I am." Picard stared at his CMO. "Don't tell me you know him too?" Bev turned to him, curious. "Too? Who else knows him?" "He's an old friend of Guinan's." "Oh really? Fascinating! Actually, I just met Mr. MacLeod yesterday, but it turns out that his father was a friend of my grandmother's." Picard studied MacLeod again, thinking it a bit odd that this man had connections to two such vastly different women. But then, perhaps it wasn't so surprising after all. He would admit to being no expert on what women found attractive in a man, but he was willing to wager that this particular specimen would fall into that category for just about every woman aboard the ship. He wondered what Beverly would say if he asked her about him. Would she admit to such interest? He wasn't the jealous type, but with their own relationship so tenuous, it was a little unsettling to find himself wondering how she regarded the man. Shaking off that feeling, he remembered that Deanna had wanted him to try and learn more about the man. "Mr. MacLeod, would you care to join me for dinner? Guinan is a long-time friend of mine, and I am always pleased to learn more about her friends. Also, I understand you're from Valhalla, and I'd like to satisfy my curiosity about the place. I've heard a lot of fascinating things about it." To his surprise, MacLeod shook his head. "May I take you up on your offer another time? To be honest, it's been a long week, and after that work-out," he nodded toward the holodeck, "what I really want is a few hours sleep." Picard nodded pleasantly, but wanted to make sure he understood that it wasn't exactly a request. "I understand. Perhaps tomorrow night, if that's convenient? If not, we still have several days before reaching Starbase 108." MacLeod gazed at him shrewdly, understanding clear on his face. "I would be honored to meet with you tomorrow night, sir." With that MacLeod nodded briefly to the three Star Fleet officers, and walked away down the hall. Picard caught Beverly watching him, and cleared his throat to get her attention. "Well, Beverly, I hope you'll not turn me down too." She jumped a little, and turned to him, her cheeks a tiny bit flushed. "Is that an invitation?" "It is." "I'd love to, then. Shall we?" She linked her arm through his and they headed for Ten-Forward. **** =========================================================================== From: Julia Kosatka Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative,alt.tv.highlander,alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: In the Dark, part11/14 (X-Files/Highlander/TNG) Date: Sun, 16 Jul 1995 07:35:51 -0500 In the Dark, part 11/14 Duncan sat in the dark in his stateroom, nursing two fingers of Scotch and thinking about his life. He was trapped in the web of depression that had afflicted him more and more often of late. It started whenever he thought about how long he'd been around. He'd been born in the sixteenth century, and it was nearly the twenty-fifth now. Soon it would have been a thousand years. What had he done with his life in all that time? What good had he done... and what evil? What mark had he left? Not much of one. He had composed no music, painted no paintings, written no books. His only real contribution had been to help whenever and wherever he could. Normally that was enough, but every once in awhile he wished he could have been more. Deep inside him there was a spark of creation that burned and twisted, but he'd never yet found what it was he was supposed to do. Deanna Troi's startling resemblance to Thalassa Demetrious had raked open long-scabbed-over wounds. Gods, but it was so hard to continually lose the people you cared about! By loving mortals, he condemned himself to the pain of separation again and again; yet what else could he do? He couldn't love an Immortal either. It wasn't allowed, all because of some stupid Game, some mythical Prize! What the hell was it, anyway? After a thousand years, it didn't matter any more. He didn't even believe in it any more. That was the worst of it. He'd come to the stunning realization that the Game could be just that, a myth created by some long-dead Immortal who had needed to rationalize his own desire to kill. The legacy of that myth had doomed countless Immortals to fear, and pain, and loneliness. They couldn't just love each other and live their lives as mortals did. They had to hide, and fight, and kill. Over the years he'd almost managed to convince himself that he didn't need anyone but himself, but sometimes in the night he knew a fierce longing to have someone to be with, forever; and not have to worry about someday facing them across the edge of a sword. Being surrounded by mortals as he was on this ship, seeing them free to love as they would, made him feel the absence of it all the more deeply. Aboard his own ship he could almost convince himself that he was normal. Here, his abnormality was starkly laid bare, and he couldn't hide it from himself even if he could from others. He hadn't had a relationship with a mortal in over thirty years, not since Ginevra had died. He had kept to himself, avoiding contact with anyone other than his Watchers, trying not to let himself care for anyone. Even then, it didn't work well. He had gotten interested in Valhalla despite his best efforts not to, and had ended up becoming friends with Jeremy Dikembe... he just wasn't cut out to be a loner. He tossed back the remainder of his Scotch in a swift gulp, and stared at the empty glass. Empty. Like himself. His fingers tightened around the glass and it shattered. He swore, staring at the blood dripping from his fingers. The pain began to fade almost before he'd really felt it, leaving behind only a slight tingle. Idly he picked up a piece of the broken glass and drew it across his palm, opening a wound and watching it heal. He wondered if there was another Immortal in the quadrant, preferably one who didn't like him. It was awfully hard to kill yourself when you could only die by decapitation. Not an easy task for any would-be suicide. Far easier to let someone else do it for you. The door-chime made its damnably cheerful little chirp and he sighed. It was probably the Doctor, still trying to find a way to coerce him into Sickbay. Even so, it would be better than sitting in the dark thinking about death. "Come." The door opened, and someone stepped into the room. He didn't bother to see who it was, but remained staring out at the stars. She moved closer, standing behind him. He knew it was a woman, from her scent, from the sound of her clothing. "What's wrong, Duncan?" the voice was gentle, and concerned. "Hello, Guinan." "I could feel you all the way from Ten-Forward. Do you want to talk?" "Not really." "All right." There was no recrimination in her voice, but she didn't leave. Instead, she moved around the couch and started to sit down next to him. "Wait, careful..." he picked up several shards of broken glass and moved them to the end-table. "There. Safe now." She sat, and took his hand, looking at the dark stains that crossed it. "You should see the doctor." "No need. It's healed." She looked more closely. "So it is. Must be nice." "I used to think so." There was a short silence, then she nodded. "I see." Of all people, she just might see. "How do you do it?" he asked, obliquely. She understood, as he had expected she would. "I just take things a day at a time, and I put up walls to keep people from getting too close. But you know, I didn't realize I was doing that until you came. You kind of... woke me up." "I'm sorry." "No, don't be. I needed it." She looked out at the stars. "Do you remember the talk we had in your apartment, all those years ago?" He remembered it. He remembered everything. "Yes." "I was pretty glib, wasn't I? It's so damned hard not to feel guilty. Even if it had nothing to do with you. And for me, it wasn't just one person, it was my people." That got through. He turned and looked at her, only to find her staring out at the stars just as he had been. "What do you mean?" "You've heard of the Borg, right?" "Who hasn't?" "They destroyed my world, and assimilated my people, all but a handful. I survived because, as usual, I wasn't home. I've always been so interested in other worlds... my family said I was too interested in them. In the end, I lost them because of that." "But if you'd been there, you'd have been assimilated too." She sighed. "I know. Sometimes..." "...you wish you had," he finished for her. She nodded, and he continued. "I know the feeling. On Earth, during World War Two; there were times I thought it would be so much easier to be one of the victims rather than one of the survivors. I did what I could, but it seemed like so little at the time." "I heard, and read, and felt... from the survivors. I wasn't there then, my father said it was too dangerous and wouldn't let me stay, though I thought maybe I could be of some help, somehow." "Your father?" he asked, surprised. "Yeah, you know, male biological parent," she said, smiling. "I--" he laughed, shaking his head. "I guess I thought that since you're like me in other ways, you were like me that way to." "And what way is that?" "No family. No parents. None of my kind have family." She shook her head. "Oh, I have-- I mean, had, family. A lot of it. Now it's just me, and Jahn." "Jahn?" She sighed. "My son. When he claims me, that is." "You have a son?" he asked, stunned, but unable to not ask. She nodded. "I do. Jahn's... oh, two hundred and three now. He'd be the black sheep of the family if we still had a family. I guess I wasn't a very good mother. Not when he needed me to be. Now that I know how, it's too late." she sighed and looked off into the distance. "We ought to be required to have a license to procreate." "But at least you can." he said starkly. He felt as if he stood on the edge of a cliff, looking down into a roiling chasm of pain. Her words had opened up a place inside of him that he normally walled off even from himself. Her head snapped around toward him, her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "Duncan... you..." "It's not important." he grated out. "But it is. I can feel it. I'm sorry; I didn't know you felt this way or I would have--" "You would have what? Hidden it from me?" he interrupted, angrily, though he was more angry with himself than her. After almost a thousand years he kept thinking he'd dealt with this problem. "No, I can't go through life having people hide their families from me just because I can't have my own." "What about adoption, or fostering?" He closed his eyes, remembering. Kahane. Viola. Michelle. Douglas. In some ways even the Immortals he had mentored been substitute children for him. "I tried that. It never worked. I was a hazard to them. I've learned that lesson." "That doesn't make any sense! How can it be dangerous for a child to have a parent who cares about them?" Duncan sighed. "It's because of what we are. Because of the damned Game, having families is a liability. Our enemies know they can attack us through them. The other problem is that since we can't have children of our own, we're inevitably drawn to mortal children. Even if they manage to avoid becoming bait for a trap, eventually they come to realize the strangeness of having a parent who unlike them, doesn't age, and doesn't die." She reached out and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "I never thought about how hard that would be, or how dangerous. Why do you still hide what you are, though? In this day and age, with sentients as diversely alien and far-flung as they are, why is it necessary?" "Because even now there are those who would use us as research animals, just to find out how we work. We've managed to avoid that so far, we haven't even tried to find out for ourselves because the knowledge is too dangerous. There are a lot of theories, but no real facts. Is it magic, or genetics, or a bit of both? Who knows?" "Dangerous? How?" "If it could be artificially duplicated, there are those who would do it, and then use their position to enslave those who don't possess the secret." "There's nothing that says a naturally-occurring member of your kind wouldn't do just that," Guinan pointed out reasonably. "Nothing but those of us who won't let them." Duncan said grimly. She gazed at him thoughtfully. "You realize, don't you, that if it could be duplicated, perhaps it could also be... fixed." He laughed humorlessly. "Oh, I've thought of that. Believe me, I have. And despite these periodic fits of depression, I've come to realize that I wouldn't change what I am. I just want to change how I live. I'm so damned tired of being alone, even when I'm not alone. I'm tired of the guilt, and the shame, even though I know it's not really my fault that I'm alive and they're not. It always seems somehow like it must be. I'm tired of hiding. I'm tired of not belonging to the world I was born on." She reached out and put her palm against his face. "I know, Duncan. I know. I live with that too." She shook her head. "I have a people without a home, you have a home without a people. We're quite a pair, aren't we?" He covered her hand with his and turned his head so it was against his lips, holding it there for a moment, feeling the warmth of her palm, the warmth of her presence. Some of the ice inside him started to melt, and he chanced a look at her face. He saw the his own pain reflected in her eyes. Reaching out, he drew her closer, his arms tight around her, hers slid close around him. They sat that way for a long time. After a while she lifted her head. "If only I'd known then what I know now..." she began. Duncan shook his head. "Don't. There's no point in that. What's done is done. We can't change the past, only the future." She sighed. "I know. But it's hard not to think that way. Isn't it strange how things work out? Tell me, something... was Joe Dawson one of you?" Emotions swept him. The pleasure of remembering a good friend, the pain of thinking about how long he'd been gone. It was always this way, remembering mortals. He shook his head. "No, though I always wished he had been. He was a good man, a good friend." "You miss him." "A lot." "I wish I'd had a chance to know him better." Duncan grinned. "So did he." She smiled, shaking her head. "You know, it's probably just as well that I had to leave when I did. When I was there studying Earth cultures we were under strict rules not to-- how shall I put it-- `fraternize with the natives.' I don't know that I could have stuck to that if I'd stayed around, and I don't know that I could have chosen between the two of you." He lifted an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't do threesomes." "I was young and naive," she said with a wink. He laughed, shaking his head, and she laughed with him. God, it was good to laugh and really feel it. He shifted position, stretching out, and then he drew her against him so they were touching along the length of their bodies; for some reason craving the physical contact. It was no more than that. He had no other expectations of the moment. He just wanted to touch and be touched by another living being. She settled against him comfortably, her head resting on his shoulder, her face turned upward. He followed her gaze and found her looking at the stars again. They were both drawn to that view; the brilliant stars and the dark, empty spaces between. Too much like their lives, he supposed. After a while, Guinan spoke again. "Duncan, why is it you seem to think you don't deserve to be happy?" "I was cursed by a Gypsy," he told her, dead serious. "She told me I would never find happiness." She looked at him, smiling a little. "Don't you know that a curse only has power if you believe in it?" He gazed back at her steadily. "Could I be what I am and not believe in magic?" She thought about that for a moment, and finally shook her head ruefully. "I guess you've got a point. Still, don't you think a few hundred lifetimes is long enough for a curse to run its course? I have some Gypsy friends, would you like me to have them remove the curse for you?" He chuckled. "Why didn't I ever think of that?" Her gaze was candid, and so was her reply. "Because you like brooding, Duncan. You're good at it. Byronic to the core." He winced. "Ouch. That hurt." "It was supposed to. Face it, you like being unhappy." "No I don't!" "Then break the cycle. Do something to make yourself happy!" He studied her for a long time, then finally found voice to ask the question that kept slinking out from the shadowy corners of his mind. "All right, I will. Stay with me tonight?" She contemplated him for several long moments, then a smile spread over her face, a wide, unforced, joyous smile. "As long as you like," she said finally. "And that will make both of us happy." He felt himself begin to relax for the first time since he'd come aboard the ship, no, for the first time in years. She reached up and repositioned his arm where it rested across her shoulder, then took his hand and threaded her fingers through his. "It's nice to find someone who really understands," she said quietly. He nodded, his lips brushing her hair. "That it is." **** Sunlight. She wished there were sunlight, the warm, focused, butter-yellow light of Terra's star. Instead there was just the cool, soft glow of the Enterprise's lightpanels. It just wasn't the same. Still, waking up was a pleasant thing this morning, surround as she was by the warmth and human comfort of Duncan's body. He lay behind her, cradling her against him. Guinan glanced down at his hand where it rested on her thigh, noting how light it seemed in contrast to her own chocolate-brown. She smiled, thinking that it probably wasn't often he was thought of as fair-skinned. She knew he was awake. Quiet, she sensed, but peaceful. So was she. She reached down and put her hand over his, idly tracing his fingers with hers. "I could get used to this, Duncan." He chuckled. "Good morning to you too." He stretched. She felt the muscles move beneath his skin, and closed her eyes, savoring the closeness. "Thank you for staying," he said, his voice shaded with meaning. "That's twice in one lifetime." "What is?" "That you've brought me out of the darkness." "We brought each other." "You never seem so far in the dark as I do." "I hide it better," she sighed. "Any idea what time it is?" "None, why?" "I usually have breakfast with Deanna, she'll wonder..." "No she won't," Duncan interrupted, amused. "She's a Betazoid, remember? She'll know why." Guinan felt her skin warm, and shook her head, laughing at herself. "I'm blushing. I don't believe it." He smoothed the backs of his fingers over her cheek, sensing the heat there. "Why?" "I--" she frowned, and finally figured out how to say it. "Because this isn't who I am to these people. They won't understand it." "What's not to understand? You have the same needs, and wants as any of them! Why would they think you sexless? And what about Picard? I thought I sensed something there." "Oh, that. There was something there, once, but we're just friends now." Duncan shook his head, smiling ruefully. "Just friends. God, how I hate those words. I can't even remember how many times I've said that, when I didn't mean it. It's as easy to lie to yourself with them as it is to others." She shook her head. "He's more than half in love with Beverly Crusher. I won't come between them, it wouldn't be fair. What's past is past." "But what's fair to you?" She turned finally, and looked at him evenly. "You are." He returned her gaze, head tipped slightly to one side as he assessed her words. "I see." She scowled, sensing his withdrawal. "What do you see?" "More than you think I do. I may not be psychic, Guinan, but I've a lot of experience with human nature. You think I'm fair for you because I'll be gone soon." She felt a shock of recognition as he spoke. He was right. But did it have to be that way? She chose her words carefully. "It's true you'll be leaving soon, and I won't be going with you. We both know that. But now that we know about each other, there's no reason why we can't... keep in touch, is there?" He shook his head, looking intrigued. "No, there's not." "You'll know where I am, I'll know where you are; and I'll be there if you need me." "What of your needs?" She smiled. "It works both ways, right?" He nodded, slowly. "If you want it so. Guinan, I..." A chirp from the door-annunciator interrupted him, and he frowned. "Just a minute, let me see who that is." He rolled out of bed, grabbed his pants and tugged them on as he walked out of the room. She sat up, listening intently. "Come." Duncan's voice was matter of fact. She heard the hiss of the door opening, then Worf's earthquake- rumble voice. "nuHpIn'a' MacLeod, we have practice, do we not?" Her eyes widened. Worf had used a seldom-used Klingon appellation to preface Duncan's name. Loosely translated it meant weapons-master, but had somewhat of the feel of the Earth term Sensei to it. She was more than a bit startled to hear Worf accord such a title to Duncan. "Worf, forgive me friend, I... have company and I'm afraid I overslept. Give me a few minutes and I'll join you on the holodeck." Guinan grinned, clearly visualizing the look on Worf's face. He would feign indifference, while simultaneously being curious who Duncan was with, and disdainful of the loose mating practices of humans. She'd seen him wear that expression before, usually around Will Riker. "I see. I will wait, as you wish." "Thank you." She heard the door close again, and Duncan walked back into the bedroom, yawning as he ran his fingers through his hair. Yawn completed, his expression turned rueful. "I'm sorry, I'd forgotten I was to meet him this morning for our workout." He grinned. "You drove all thought right out of my mind." She laughed. "You silver-tongued devil, you! Are you sure you're Scottish, not Irish?" He didn't miss her meaning, and grinned. "I'm sure. Stay if you like. I'll be back in an hour or so." Something began to niggle at her, some dark current of perception eddying just out of sight. She put out her hand. "Duncan, don't go." He paused as he pulled on the padded tunic he wore to spar in, and looked back at her. "Is something wrong?" She tried to focus on the vague unease, and couldn't make it come clearer. Whatever it was, it didn't seem all that serious. It was nothing like the foreboding she had when real danger threatened. Finally she shook her head. "No, nothing really. Just a... feeling." "Don't worry about me. I'm a big boy." She grinned. "I noticed." He laughed and took his katana from its place on the shelf. "Later." She nodded and watched him leave, wondering what was bothering her. No doubt she'd find out in due time. She settled back into the warm hollow where he'd been, and let her eyes drift closed again. Moments later she opened them again with a sigh. The unpleasantness that was hovering on the edge of her perception her wasn't going to let her get back to sleep, she could tell that already, so she might as well get up. She made use of the bathroom, then checked the time, and made a face. It was well past the time of her usual breakfast with Deanna. She slipped into her caftan and sat down at the comunit. "Personal message, Guinan to Deanna Troi, is she available?" "One moment," the machine responded. Seconds later the screen filled with Deanna's face. She was smiling. No, she was grinning, her eyes alight with mischievous humor. "Good morning, Guinan. Did you have a nice night?" "As a matter of fact, I did, but you knew that already." "Not really, though I suspected. I was a little worried when you didn't meet me, but a quick check on your whereabouts told me I didn't need to fret. And I'll have you know that though I was tempted, I refrained from snooping further." "Good girl, I'm proud of you for not succumbing to those Lwaxana impulses." Deanna laughed. "Well, since you missed breakfast, how about lunch? I don't have any appointments after eleven, and I want to hear all about it!" Guinan feigned amazement. "Deanna Troi! I had no idea you were such a voyeur!" "Of course you did! All Betazoids are voyeurs, it's genetic. How about it?" "Oh, all right, but only if you promise not to pry." "Who, me? Pry?" Deanna batted her eyelashes innocently. "Never." "All right then, I'll see you in--" she stopped suddenly, an overwhelming feeling of shock, pain, and darkness closing around her like a suffocating curtain. A presence she'd just begun to get used to vanished soundlessly from her mind, as if someone had flipped a switch. She heard Deanna's moan, and knew she'd felt it too. "Duncan!" she gasped, on her feet and running without even taking the time to close the connection on the comunit. In the corridor she stopped suddenly, confused. Which holodeck had he been going to? He hadn't said, and he wasn't wearing a locator so the computer wouldn't be able to find him easily. Worf was a different matter. She turned to the monitor panel on the wall. "Computer, locate Lieutenant Worf." "Lieutenant Worf is in sickbay." Ice seemed to form inside her, but she shook it off and began to run, her bare feet soundless on the carpeted floor. People looked at her oddly as she passed them, clearly taken aback. She didn't care. She only hoped that what she had sensed was not what she first thought. Worf's presence in sickbay seemed to indicate the worst, though. Duncan had confided his fears that someone had deliberately sabotaged his ship. Could that someone be aboard the Enterprise? Could they have gotten to him? Ahead she saw the turbolift doors closing, and called out "Hold!". The door reversed, opening, and she threw herself into the car, startling the three crewmen already there. "Emergency override, sickbay!" she panted, knowing that would prioritize her request to the top. The lift doors slid shut and she watched the indicator light dropping as they began to move. "Are you hurt? Can I help?" one of the three asked. She turned, and recognizing the man as one she had spoken to many times in Ten-Forward, she shook her head. "No, Sam, it's not me, I'm just... needed." He looked relieved. Before he said anything else, the doors opened and she dashed out, turned the corner, and flung herself toward the sickbay doors. She stopped short, staring, taking in the frantic activity around one of the biobeds. "Get those stasis fields working, Alyssa!" Crusher was saying, to her nurse. "Damn it, these readings don't make any sense. Worf, get out of my way! T'mer, we're we're going to have to do a replacement, we'll want to use the Tarvi-2028, it's the only one we've got that will handle someone this size." Worf turned and moved away, and Guinan gasped, seeing him covered with blood. So much... and human blood, that brilliant crimson, not the chalky-pink of Klingon blood. His face was a mask of suffering. He stood watching for a moment, then his fists clenched, and he threw back his head and let loose with the blood-curdling howl of a Klingon warning heaven that a newly-killed warrior was about to enter. In the silence that followed Worf's cry, everyone seemed momentarily stunned into inactivity. She had to know. Determinedly, she strode forward into the gap Worf had left around the biobed. Duncan lay there, still, white, and utterly lax. His tunic had been sliced open down the front, and was as soaked with blood as Worf. His broad chest was holed by a dreadful wound, it was clear that the stroke had pierced his heart. For a moment she wanted to scream, to cry, to demand justice from whatever deity seemed set on ruining any chance at happiness for either of them, then just as suddenly, calm settled around her. What had Duncan said? Decapitation could kill him, as could certain types of energy weapon. Nothing else. No matter what it looked like, he was not dead. Not really. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up into Beverly Crusher's anguished blue gaze. "Guinan, I'm so sorry. I'm doing everything I can, we've got him in stasis so he won't deteriorate, and we're going to replace his heart, we have a mechanical on hand that should work, at least until he can be fitted properly with the correct one, or a cloned replacement." Guinan took a deep breath, and shook her head. "No, Beverly. Take the stasis fields off. He'll be fine." Bev's eyes widened, and Guinan sensed her dismay quite clearly. "You don't understand, Guinan. He's gone, his heart was damaged beyond repair. Replacement is the only thing that will save him now." Guinan reached out and took Beverly's hands in hers. "I know he's gone, Beverly. I felt it happen. But trust me, I know what I'm saying, and I'm not crazy. It's not necessary." "It is if I'm going to save his life!" "You don't need to save his life, Bev. He would not want you to do this." The doctor drew back as if Guinan had struck her. "Not you too! I checked out that Christian Science line he fed me. They support two colony worlds, and neither has any record of a member named Duncan MacLeod." Guinan stared at her, puzzled. She vaguely remembered something about a religious group called Christian Scientists from her days as a student on 20th century Earth, but what did they have to do with Duncan? "Beverly, I have no idea what you're talking about, but I do know that Duncan would not want any kind of intervention. Have you checked for a Med-alert?" "I..." Beverly suddenly looked less sure of herself. "No, I haven't." "Do it." The doctor turned back toward Duncan's still form, and made an adjustment on her tricorder, then scanned him. A moment later she turned to Guinan, her expression stunned. "You're right. He has a `do not resuscitate' order encoded on a biochip implanted in his forearm. I can't believe this! It's insane! Damn it, Guinan, I can save him if you'll let me!" Guinan shook her head. "I can't, Beverly. It will be all right, trust me. Have I ever lied to you? Turn off the stasis units." Beverly started toward the biobed, but was brought up short by a hail on the comm. "Laforge to Crusher." With a sigh, she tapped her badge. "Crusher here, what is it Geordi? I have an emergency situation here!" "I'm sorry, doctor, but I'm registering an unusual power drain which seems to be originating in sickbay." She looked around, her expression blank. "Here? But there's nothing..." her eyes narrowed, and she lifted her tricorder again. "It's the stasis units. They're running at four times normal power levels! No wonder the readings were so odd! But that doesn't make sense... it's like they're fighting something." Guinan put her hand on the doctor's arm, drawing her attention once more. "Beverly, they are. Turn them off." They stood for a moment, gazes locked, then Beverly nodded, and reached over and switched them off. "What the...? The power drain just stopped." Laforge's voice sounded puzzled. Beverly looked equally so. Guinan went over to the bed and took Duncan's hand, feeling only emptiness where normally he was so full of life. It was hard not to weep at that, to have faith that what he'd told her was the truth. But it had to be. Behind her the sickbay doors opened, and she sensed Deanna and Jean-Luc's familiar presences as they entered the room. She smiled a little ruefully, knowing that Duncan was going to be unhappy about having a reception committee around right now. "What's going on here, Mr. Worf? Why did you put out a detention order on yourself?" "Captain, I have killed nuHpIn'a' MacLeod. I must be detained." "What?" Picard and Troi spoke almost as one, each one equally stunned. Keeping Duncan's hand in hers, she turned so that she could see the others, and listen to Worf's explanation, though she knew what had happened. "We were sparring, and I was careless. In so doing, I cost a warrior's life. I must be punished." A sudden change pulled Guinan's attention back to Duncan, as beneath her fingers she felt a presence begin to grow. He hadn't lied to her! Her relief was so fierce that it blocked out everything else. She put her head against their clasped hands and felt his essence suffuse the empty shell of his body. His hand twitched, his fingers closing around hers. He gave a sudden, sharp, painful-sounding gasp, and his eyes opened, their earthy depths unfocused and bewildered. She felt the others center their attention on her, and on Duncan, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was back. He reached up to touch her face with his fingers, leaving red smudges on her cheek from the blood on his hand. "Welcome back." she said softly, putting her hand over his, not caring about the blood. "I'm glad to see you." "I--" he started, then winced. After a moment he managed a weak smile. "I'm glad to see you too, but God... what happened to me? I feel like I've been hit by a truck." "Close. It was a Klingon." He looked puzzled for a moment, then realization flooded his face. "Oh no-- tell me I didn't--" he looked down at himself, and saw the blood, then lifted his head enough to look past her to the stunned faces of the Enterprise's captain, chief medical officer, counselor, and chief of security. "Damn." he muttered as he slumped back onto the biobed with a sigh. "I hate it when this happens." She nodded, smiling a little. He started to sit up and Beverly stepped closer, her hand on his shoulder. "What do you think you're doing? You shouldn't even be alive, much less sitting up!" Duncan let her push him back down on the bed. Guinan moved over to get out of Beverly's way. Duncan's face was a mask of resignation. He'd obviously decided that there was no point in fighting it any more. She reached out to clasp his hand again and felt waves of fear flowing from him. He might be consenting to the exam, but he greatly feared its consequences. "It's all right, Mr. MacLeod," Deanna said, obviously sensing his fear as clearly as Guinan did. "Dr. Crusher just wants to make certain that you're all right. She's not going to hurt you." "Not intentionally," he said flatly. Picard spoke quietly, "I can assure you, Mr. MacLeod that we mean you no harm, but you must admit that this incident raises some rather interesting questions." Duncan sighed,"I know it does. Believe me, I know. Also believe me when I say that while I trust you are all good people, I'd rather not answer those interesting questions. I've been burned one too many times," he paused, "literally." "Nevertheless," Picard responded, "we cannot let those questions go unanswered. This, however, is not the time to speak of such things. It can wait until after the doctor has finished." He turned to Worf who was now flanked by two rather bewildered security guards who'd answered the detention order, "Mr. Worf, would you assign an escort to wait for Mr. MacLeod? Oh, and remove that detention order on yourself. Have them show him to the observation lounge when he's ready." Picard turned back to Duncan, "After Dr. Crusher releases you and you've had a chance to clean up, I'd appreciate an opportunity to talk with you about this." Duncan sighed, looking remarkably mulish, "If you insist. It's your ship." Guinan winced a little, anticipating the Captain's response. She was relieved when he made no comment, glad that he'd grown beyond the need for such things. The last thing she wanted was for two of her closest friends to dislike each other. Giving Duncan's hand a gentle squeeze, she released it and went to wait by the door for Picard. Knowing him as she did, she knew he'd want to speak with her about Duncan. Beverly looked up, her face flushed with amazement. "This is incredible! There's no sign of a wound, no soft-tissue damage at all! No sign that this injury ever occurred, though I do see a rather incredible amount of skeletal scarring. You've been pretty hard on your body, Mr. MacLeod." Duncan snorted. "You know what they say... `shit happens.'" They all stared at him blankly, and after a moment he shrugged. "Well, they used to say it" he muttered. Guinan chuckled. "Don't let Data hear that one." "Please." Deanna said, smiling. Picard looked over at the Doctor and caught her eye. "Dr. Crusher, please report as soon as you release Mr. MacLeod." As Beverly nodded distractedly, absorbed in her tricorder readings, he turned to Guinan, clearly still amused by that last exchange. "Guinan, I'd like to speak to you." She nodded, and they left the room together. **** =========================================================================== From: Julia Kosatka Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative,alt.tv.highlander,alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: In the Dark, part 12/14 (X-Files/Highlander/TNG) Date: Sun, 16 Jul 1995 07:37:14 -0500 In the Dark, part 12/14 Beverly Crusher stood in the turbolift, mentally rehearsing the report she was to make to the captain. It was distressingly bare of substance, which he wasn't going to like it at all. She didn't like it much herself. She wished she'd had more time! The researcher in her was fascinated by Duncan MacLeod. He was just so amazing! He had taken her examination with ill grace, but what she had found just whetted her appetite to learn more. She had finally let him go, with extreme reluctance, knowing that the captain was waiting for her report, and for the man. The lift stopped and the doors opened. She stepped out onto the bridge and nodded at Deanna and Will, then made her way up the ramp to the Ready Room door. She adjusted her lab-coat, flicked her hair out of her face, and touched the chime. A moment later the door slid open, and she stepped inside. Guinan was seated on the couch across from Picard, who was half-sitting on his desk. The scene appeared relaxed, almost informal, but she could sense an underlying tension. Jean-Luc seemed glad to see her. "Doctor, what have you discovered about our guest? What is he?" "He's... human, mostly, but at the same time, he's not." "Explain." "I can't. It would take months of research, years perhaps, to find out why he is the way he is. I can tell you he's got the most bizarre immune system I've ever seen. His cellular regeneration processes are nothing short of phenomenal. Normally there would be a measurable amount of degradation during cellular replacement. We all lose and replace millions of cells daily, and each replacement cell is minutely, though measurably, less perfect than the one before. In Duncan MacLeod, each replacement cell is identical to the previous one. It's as if at some point in his life he was simply frozen in time. I've never seen anything like it." "The fountain of youth." Picard said, drawing from the imagery of mythology. Beverly nodded. "In a matter of speaking. " "How old is he?" "According to the medical scanners, he's around thirty or thirty-five, but according to his DNA mutation patterns, he's approximately that number of generations removed from us." "Thirty generations? That would be... good God! Nine-hundred years?" He frowned. "Could he be a time traveller from the future then, like the `future historian' that Rassmussen impersonated?" Beverly shook her head emphatically. "He can't be from the future, it doesn't work that way. The mutation rate is constant and measurable, like a kind of clock. If he were from the future, I'd be able to tell that as well. Another thing... he has antibodies to disease agents which haven't been present for hundreds of years. Things like bubonic plague, smallpox, AIDS, Rigilian Fever... the list is almost endless. It seemed like every test we ran came back positive. To have antibodies against diseases that no longer exist he has to have lived when those diseases were in existence. For example, the last smallpox virus was intentionally destroyed in the early twenty-first century, so he has to be at least that old." Picard looked at Guinan questioningly. She shook her head. "I first met him late in the twentieth century, on Earth, but I don't feel I can say anything more than that without violating his trust. What he was doing there, how he got there, how he got here... you'll have to ask him." "You're not being very helpful." Jean-Luc said, clearly exasperated. Guinan sighed unhappily. "I know, and I'm sorry. But it's his life, not mine. All I can tell you is that he poses no threat to you, or to this ship." Picard sighed. "I know that you believe that to be the truth, but you must admit, you are prejudiced in this matter." Guinan's posture altered subtly, becoming slightly stiffer, her chin lifting. "Everyone views the world through their own prejudices, Captain. Mine are not the issue here. He is not a threat to us, however we may well be a threat to him." Picard looked puzzled. "In what way could we be a threat to him?" "Ask him." Guinan said intensely. As her challenge hung in the air, Worf's disembodied voice sounded over the com system. "Captain, Mr. MacLeod is waiting for you in the Observation Lounge." "Acknowledged, Mr. Worf. Ask the senior staff to join us, please." "Aye, Captain." Picard gestured for Guinan and Beverly to follow him. "I shall ask him, Guinan, but will he answer?" She shrugged. "Time will tell." **** Duncan slouched in his seat, feeling surly and ill-used. He shot periodic glances toward the two security officers who stood at the doorway. `Escort' indeed. He knew a guard detail when he saw one. The conference room was juat a genteel prison. He felt as if he were awaiting sentencing. Waiting for the words that would end his life as he knew it, end his freedom. Perhaps not just his, but that of all those like him. He had no one in particular to blame, it had been inevitable, but he was in no mood to be reasonable about it. He sighed, and turned deliberately away from the room, looking out through the observation windows, glad that he at least had the stars. He heard the doors open. It sounded as if several people had entered the room, not just Picard. He didn't give them the satisfaction of turning around. After a moment, he heard a gentle cough. "Duncan?" Guinan's voice. He sighed. He couldn't be rude to her, even if he wanted to be rude to the rest of them. He turned around. "Hello sweetheart, I see the inquisition has arrived." Data, the android lieutenant commander Duncan had heard about but not yet met, cocked his head slightly to one side. "Sweetheart is usually used as an expression of affection. It does not appear to belong in the same sentence as `the inquisition'." "I was talking about two different things. I have a great deal of affection for Guinan, however, I can't say the for the rest of this nonsense." "I appreciate your frustration, Mr. MacLeod, however I am sure you understand the necessity of the situation," Picard said quietly. "I suppose I do, but I'll be damned if I have to like it!" "Liking it is not a requirement. The truth is." "You won't like the truth." "The truth is often unpleasant, however it is what we deal in." "`Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,' Captain. Have you never lied to protect yourself? To protect your friends? Do you tell everyone you meet everything about yourself? Have you no secrets, nothing you would rather be known only to your closest friends? I beg leave to doubt it." Picard leaned forward, his expression thoughtful as he steepled his fingers. "I can't say that I've never done any of those things as I have done all of them. However, you may rely on our discretion. Unless something about you proves to be a threat to us, or to the Federation, it need go no further than this room." Duncan looked around the room, from face to face, each person in turn. He lifted an eyebrow. "You're telling me that seven people can be counted on to never reveal my secrets to anyone else?" He laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. "Tell me another one." Picard stiffened visibly. "Mr. MacLeod, I would, and have, trusted these people with my life. They have never let me down. I will thank you not to insult their integrity." Duncan looked into Picard's eyes, and found honesty as well as anger in his steady gaze. He shook his head. "I have no doubt about their integrity, I just know human nature. You don't get to be..." he paused, considering. He might as well tell them, it was all going to come out anyway. "You don't get to be nearly a thousand years old without becoming something of an expert on the subject." Picard didn't respond for a moment, but LaForge did. "Are you telling us that you were born in the fourteenth century?" His voice held clear disbelief. Duncan smiled. "No, actually in the sixteenth. I have a couple of hundred years to go before I hit the big one-zero-zero-zero." Geordie started to laugh, then he looked at Guinan. His smile faded and he looked to Picard, then his gaze swept the others. "You're serious!" Duncan nodded. "All too." Beverly's face took on an expression of awestruck amazement. "Eight hundred years? After the tests I ran I can see that it's possible, for you, but I don't understand it! It must be some sort of mutation. Tell me, were your parents unusually long-lived?" "We have no parents. We are always foundlings." The look of shock on Beverly Crusher's face was priceless. "We?" she squeaked, clearly stunned. "There are more of you?" "Quite a few. That's part of why I didn't want to tell you. I expose not only myself, but all those like me. I put them at the same risk that I take on." "What risk?" Worf asked. "I see no risk in the truth." Duncan looked at the Klingon, but before he could speak, Picard did so. "I think I understand. You said it earlier. You've been burned too many times. Witch hunts, persecutions, pogroms." Duncan nodded. "Not to mention experimentation. Doctor Crusher isn't the first to want to find out what makes us tick. Few have been as gentle. The Eugenics Wars were the worst time for us, fortunately in the chaos that followed we were able to locate and destroy Singh's records. He had six of us, none survived the experiments." He paused a moment, trying not to remember the nature of those experiments, and their results. He'd lost good friends there. "Duncan?" Guinan said his name softly, drawing him back to the present. Her gaze was warm and concerned. He sighed. "Sorry. Sometimes the remembering is too much. I get so tired of losing friends." He looked at Picard, "Can you see my dilemma?" Picard nodded. "I understand it better now, but knowing there are more of you compounds my own dilemma. You may not be a threat, but others like you could be. Unless you can prove otherwise, I feel I must report this to Star Fleet Command." Duncan realized he was going to have to play his ace. "I can't prove otherwise, I'd be a liar if I were to try. But there's no need to inform Star Fleet, Captain. They know. If you want confirmation, contact Admiral Tamar Dawson. I'd appreciate it if you would do so on a secure channel, of course, but she'll confirm what I've told you." "Admiral Dawson?" Picard said, clearly surprised. "Admiral Dawson?" Guinan echoed, with a slightly different emphasis. Duncan looked at her and nodded, grinning. "Joe finally found a woman who'd put up with him. Delphia reminded me a bit of you." He paused a moment, and winked. "Though nowhere near as intriguing, of course." She chuckled. "Good save. I want details," she looked around, as if just realizing they weren't alone. "Later." He nodded, smiling a little at her obvious discomfort. "Later." Picard cleared his throat. "I know Admiral Dawson, and I will contact her. I do find it odd, though, that you fought so hard against telling us, if Star Fleet already knows." Duncan gnawed at the inside of his cheek and tried to think of a way to get out of this one. He had hoped Picard wouldn't be quite so shrewd. He should have known better. "I didn't say all of Star Fleet knew. Our presence is known only to a select few." "Who does the selecting?" Riker asked pointedly. He sighed. He was going to have to go one step further. At times like this he wished he had Methos handy. The older Immortal always seemed to take a perverse pleasure in dealing with this sort of thing. `Spin control' as he'd once put it. He hoped Tamar would forgive him for this. "There's an organization who keeps track of us. They're called Watchers. Members of Admiral Dawson's family have been Watchers for centuries." "Watchers? This gets more and more convoluted. Now not only are there... what do you call yourselves?" Riker asked. "Immortals, though it's somewhat of a misnomer. We can be killed. And no, I'm not going to tell you how." He grinned. "I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid." That drew a chuckle from his inquisitors before Riker continued. "So we have Immortals and Watchers. Pretty damned convenient if you ask me." "Not if you're an Immortal. It can be a damned nuisance. Actually, it's not always a picnic for the Watchers, either. My co-pilot was my Watcher, and it didn't turn out to be a great job for him." Riker's eyes narrowed. "Did you kill him?" For a moment Duncan was too stunned to speak. When he finally did, it was with outrage. "No, I didn't kill him, damn it! Jeremy Dikembe was my friend! I don't kill innocents!" "So who do you kill?" Picard asked quietly. "You're a trained swordsman, a fighter good enough to disarm a Klingon warrior. I get the impression you don't fight for fun." "I fight only when necessary. I fight to save my life, or someone else's," he looked at Guinan. She nodded acknowledgement. "You fight with a sword?" Data asked. At Duncan's nod, he continued. "That seems rather anachronistic." Duncan laughed drily. "You don't know the half of it. Suffice it to say our battles are rather... traditional." "Ah, ritual combat!" Worf said approvingly. "Exactly," Duncan agreed. "We have some pretty strict rules." "Would sabotaging a ship fall within those rules?" LaForge asked suddenly. Duncan turned sharply to look at the engineer, noticing that everyone else had done the same thing. "Sabotage?" Duncan asked. "What are you talking about?" "I'm talking about the Darius. I just confirmed my suspicions today. Your crash was no accident caused by an aging ship. Someone deliberately rigged those systems to cut out. You're lucky you weren't killed outright." He stopped, and looked a bit sheepish. "I mean, well, you know what I meant." Duncan stared at him. "Deliberate? Someone deliberately caused those malfunctions?" Cold fury suffused him. "That's murder! Someone murdered Jeremy, damn it! Why? What would be the point? Piracy seems unlikely, as what I carried would be of no value to anyone outside of Valhalla. There's no reason for anyone to do such a thing!" "What about you? Could someone have wanted to harm you?" Deanna asked. "It makes no sense. The only people who might want to harm me also know that I would survive a crash, no matter what." Guinan leaned forward intently. "Maybe that's it. If someone knew you'd survive the crash no matter what, they might have planned it that way, to isolate you. I know from experience that some of your kind are more expedient than honorable." She had a point. It could well have been another Immortal, looking to take easy prey. The deliberate disabling of the replicator pointed to that, since days without food or water would leave him weakened and less able to fight. But who could it be? He'd been out of circulation for a long time, he didn't think anyone knew where he was, not even his friends. "It could have been," he said finally. "I won't say I have no enemies, and you're right about expediency. Some of us don't follow the rules. Unfortunately, if they know I was aboard the Darius, they also know my destination. Whoever it is may be waiting for me on Valhalla." Picard looked at Data. "Commander, how far off-schedule would a detour to Valhalla put us?" "It will take an additional sixteen hours and twenty eight minutes, sir. I could give you the seconds if you..." "No, thank you Data." Picard said hastily. "We don't have to be at Ursa Prime for a week," Riker put in. "In light of the sabotage to the Darius resulting in the death of your first officer, a Federation citizen, I believe it might not be a bad idea to give you a `lift' to Valhalla, since it will not compromise our schedule. Besides," he smiled. "They have riding stables on Valhalla, do they not?" Duncan looked at him, puzzled not only by his question, but by this unlooked-for aid. He'd expected them to revile him, not offer to help! "They do, why?" A ripple of laughter circled the room. Deanna Troi grinned and took pity on his obvious confusion. "The captain has a saddle he'd like to get out of storage." Picard grinned. "Perhaps this time I'll actually get to use it for riding." The captain was obviously a horseman. That explained part of it, but not all of it. Before he could ask, Picard spoke again. "I think we're finished here for now. Everyone back to stations. Mr. MacLeod, perhaps you would like to work with Mr. Worf to see if you can untangle the mystery of who might have sabotaged your vessel?" "I would, thank you sir." Picard nodded and the group began to disperse. As he stood, Duncan leaned toward Guinan. "I don't understand," he said softly, so only she could hear. "Why are they helping me? I thought I was in for the inquisition, not..." he spread his hands, unable to come up with an appropriate description, "...this." She smiled. "They're good people, Duncan; fair people. They've been through things you can't even imagine, and to be honest, compared to a lot of what they've experienced, you barely even raise a flicker on the odd- meter. They will judge you on your actions, no more, no less. If you're honest with them and treat them with respect, they'll do the same for you." He snorted. "Honest and respectful? What am I, a boy scout?" She laughed. "I've heard almost those exact words from Jean-Luc on more than one occasion. You two are a lot alike. It wouldn't hurt either of you to loosen up now and then." "What? In public?" Duncan asked in mock-dismay, then spoiled it by smiling. "I still can't believe this." "Mr. MacLeod?" Picard said, drawing his attention. Duncan looked up to find the Captain watching him intently. "Yes?" "I will expect a few more answers over dinner." Duncan nodded somberly. "You'll have whatever I can give." Picard nodded back. "Good." **** "Now, that is what I call dinner." Duncan drank the last of his wine and sighed, "I can almost imagine being back in Paris, just around the same time I met you, Guinan." He smiled at his host, "A few months before she and I met, I'd been living on a barge across from Notre Dame. A friend of mine ran a little restaurant not far from there and he would have killed for this recipe, Captain. Thank you, for helping bring back a few good memories." "I'm glad you enjoyed it." Picard picked up the wine bottle and refilled Duncan's glass at his guest's nod. "Guinan?" "No, thank you, I think I've had enough for one night." Both men smiled and Picard continued, "It is one of many recipes that have been in my family for generations and it's always something of an adventure to see what the replicators will do to them." Guinan put down her fork and leaned back in her chair, satisfied, "This time, it seems the recipe came away unscathed. I applaud your ancestors, not only for creating it in the first place, but for having the good sense to hang onto it." "It's a pleasure to have someone else who appreciates real food to try them on. I fear that most people's palates have been ruined by years of eating synthetics." Picard pushed his chair back and gestured toward the living area, "Shall we?" Picard stepped aside to let Guinan and Duncan precede him into the living room portion of his quarters. He rarely entertained strangers in his sanctuary but MacLeod was different. Guinan's red and gold finery was testament to just how different. In all the years he'd known her he'd never seen her so seemingly carefree and happy. It's as if encountering MacLeod again stripped away the centuries and she'd begun to resemble the young woman he'd met in 19th century San Francisco. Picard hung back a moment, ostensibly to clear the dinner table, but it also gave the two of them an opportunity to speak privately. Dinner conversation had centered on Duncan. He'd touched on many of the high points of his more than eight hundred years, speaking of the personal side of historic events and where he was when momentous things happened. Picard still had difficulty accepting that the man admiring his small art collection had seen live broadcasts of Neil Armstrong walking on the moon. He wished he had years to talk with this man, but he really had only this evening and couldn't afford to indulge his historic curiosity much more. There were other topics to be covered. The relaxed atmosphere could not be allowed to interfere with the purpose of the gathering. Picard had questions that only MacLeod could answer. "Captain?" MacLeod gestured to the shelves before him. "This is a most impressive collection." Reaching out to lightly touch the shelf near one piece, Duncan continued, "Ixmaili, isn't it? Third cycle?" "Fourth, actually. You are interested in archeology?" Picard joined his guests at the shelves. "You might say I have a vested interest in antiquities." Guinan rolled her eyes at his comment and shaking her head, moved over to sit on the sofa. Duncan smiled at her reaction. "I used to deal in art and antiques. I've found that it's an interest that has stayed with me." His eyes fell on a small bronze statue of a nude human male. "This is Taylor's 'Prospero' isn't it? I remember attending one of her shows." "You knew Rena Taylor?" Picard began to wonder if the human woman had been born whom MacLeod didn't know. "No, unfortunately, we never met, but it wasn't from lack of trying on my part." Picard smiled at Duncan's expression, "I... discovered her work a few years ago. The original of this statue is in the North American Museum on Earth." Gesturing to include many of the pieces in his quarters he continued, "Replicators many not always do justice to fine food, but they do have their uses." "How true, and buying stock in MMS Enterprises is one of the smartest things I ever did." MacLeod drifted over to where Guinan was sitting. Picard nodded, his face taking on a more serious expression, "I can see where virtual immortality would have its advantages." He paused to sip his wine, "Wealth, property... power, all would be fairly easy to acquire for someone who could make plans in terms of centuries instead of decades." Picard sat down opposite MacLeod and Guinan. "It must provide quite a temptation." MacLeod's eyes flashed for a moment and Picard realized he'd hit a nerve. "Not to me, it isn't," he said flatly. "Come, Mr. MacLeod," Picard said, leaning back in his chair, "do you expect me to believe that you've never sought to acquire wealth and power? What of your investment in MMS Enterprises? Surely you didn't invest in replicator technology expecting to lose money?" Guinan settled into her seat reminding Picard of someone watching a play, or a fencing match. "Of course not, that would be ridiculous, but not to the extent you imply! Captain, think of what you're suggesting." MacLeod rose and began to pace. "Wealth of the type you're implying attracts attention and that's the one thing that we can't afford. There was a time when all one of us had to do was move on to another village, another continent and start over." MacLeod stood looking out at the passing stars, seeming to speak only to them. "Technology began making that harder and harder. You have to plan decades in advance. You need three or four identities to fall back on and all the time watching your... your back." MacLeod turned back to face Picard, his eyes dark and brooding, "As for power, it comes in many guises. You can't understand the kind of power we deal in." He looked into the dregs of his wine and continued more to himself than to the others in the room, "I'm not even sure I understand it." Picard used all of his training to retain his outward calm. He didn't need to be an empath to see that his guest was deeply troubled. In his fascination with the man as living history he'd nearly forgotten the human element, and he was beginning to believe that no matter what else MacLeod was, he was very human. Still, he mustn't let the man's obvious pain distract him. He needed answers and he needed them now. "Have you spoken with Admiral Dawson yet?" MacLeod asked as he sat back down next to Guinan, seeming to drawn some measure of strength from her. "I spoke with her, and she confirmed that you are no threat to my ship or the Federation. That is, however, all she said." Picard let a little of his irritation at that non-productive conversation show. Mysteries between the pages of a book were all well and good, but he despised them on his ship. "Captain, you have the assurances of Guinan, whom you trust and of a Starfleet admiral. What more can I add? Isn't that enough?" MacLeod seemed to have lost much of his earlier animation, his dark eyes seemed to look out from a much darker place, but his words sparked the fury Picard had not felt able to show to the Admiral when she, too had thwarted his quest for knowledge. "No, sir! It is not good enough!" All but slamming his glass down on the side table, Picard radiated the anger and indignation that his youthful temper had evolved into. "What can you add? How about when did your people first appear? How many are you? What of those who don't have the trust of Starfleet admirals? What of those of you who don't have any compunction against plotting for power? I need answers!" "All right!" MacLeod was on his feet again, anger in every line of his body, "Some of us are power-hungry and vicious! But you know what? We're no worse than you mortals! Maybe we're better! Has that occurred to you? Caligula, Hitler, Khan Singh, they were mortals! At least most of us limit our depravities to ourselves!" Picard could almost see the tension run out of the man as he spent his anger and again, that all-encompassing sadness began to creep back in. Macleod sighed and continued quietly as he resumed his seat, "Captain, for the main, we are not builders or makers. That is your gift. You are the empire builders, the artists, the thinkers. We create nothing." He closed his eyes for a moment, "Some of us are evil, but they merely serve to concentrate it in themselves. Can you tell me there are no evil humans?" Silence settled between them for a moment as Picard considered Macleod's words. He'd often thought that if only he could live long enough that he could finally find that spark of talent that would let him paint masterworks, or finally get the time to write all the poetry he felt he had in him. What an incredible irony that those who had the time didn't have the ability, or at least didn't think they did. Light laughter roused Picard from his reverie. Both he and Macleod turned to Guinan. "Well? Would you care to let us in on the joke, Guinan?" Picard found himself somewhat relieved that the mood had been broken. "I was just thinking how much alike you two are. I do seem to always gravitate to type." Picard just managed to keep his jaw from dropping, but he felt warmth creep into his face and fervently hoped he wasn't blushing. Guinan's absurd comment had what he supposed was the desired effect on Macleod as well since his brooding expression had been replaced by a small, but genuine smile. "Gentlemen, shall we cut to the chase?" Apparently, Guinan intended to make the most of the current change in atmosphere. "I suspect, Jean-Luc, that no immortal can answer many of your questions. Even they don't know their origins, or numbers." At Macleod's nod she continued, "If someone does decide to investigate those matters, and it's during your lifetime, I doubt that anyone would object to you being informed of them. After all, you already know of Immortals and the Watchers and you are also a trustworthy person." Picard watched Macleod's face carefully and the change there did more to convince him than anything that had been said throughout the evening. Macleod really couldn't answer and looked interested in being able to someday provide the information. "Captain, I can give you a promise." Macleod leaned forward earnestly. "If I ever have reason to believe that one of us poses a threat to any Federation ship, colony or personnel, I'll notify someone immediately. Either a local Federation official, Admiral Dawson or you. I have no desire to see innocents hurt." Picard nodded, more to himself than to MacLeod, "All right. I will accept that, if I must... and it seems that I must. I'm still not entirely satisfied with this matter, but I can see that I need to take it up again with Admiral Dawson." MacLeod rose, and offered his hand to Guinan. "It's late, Captain, and perhaps we should end this evening before we find ourselves at each other's throats again." His quiet smile echoed some of Picard's feelings as well. He had no desire to alienate the man before him. Indeed, he wished he had more time to spend with him, to talk with him about all the things that they had in common. Here was a man he could easily call friend, and he hated what he'd felt compelled to do this evening. "You're quite right, Mr. Macleod, it is late. Perhaps we can get together again before we leave." Picard's smile widened as MacLeod's eyes narrowed obviously not relishing another grilling, "Just to talk, Mr. MacLeod, just to talk." After a few more comments about getting together again and exchanging goodnights, Macleod and Guinan left. Picard picked up his wine glass and poured the last of the bottle into it. Sitting alone in his quarters he let his mind roam over the evening and finished his wine. With a sigh, he rose and collected his guests glasses. After finishing at the processor, he headed for his bedroom. The statue of Prospero that had caught the Immortal's eye sat as always on its shelf and he wondered idly what would have happened had MacLeod ever managed to meet Rena Taylor. He rather suspected his Prospero might have a matching Prince of Denmark. The thought brought a smile to his face and with that he continued his way to bed, touching the light panel on his way out, plunging the room into starlight. **** ===========================================================================