A Dish Served Cold... Kevin Robnett The following is a work of fiction. Do not try this at home without adult supervision. Richie Ryan, Methos, Duncan MacLeod, Joe Dawson, and some incidental characters mentioned are owned by a lot of other people, including Panzer/Davis. No infringement of their rights are intended. Sonya Gomez, Lwaxana & Deanna Troi, Danny Bird & Harry Kim, the entire crew of the USS Enterprise, Ambassadors Sarek & Riva, Sergey Rozinko, and most of the technology is owned by Paramount, who has kept a good thing going. No infringment of *their* rights are intended either. The metaphasic shielding concept is copyrighted 2372 by Dr. Reyga. Any unathorized use with be severly punished by the Ferengi government at a high cost to the user. Holodeck program designed by Stewart Smith. Anything left is copyrighted by Kevin H. Robnett, 1996. This story may not be reposted, sold for any reason, or flamed by critics. You may pass this on in hardcopy form to other interested friends but you may not upload this to any other service or bulletin board. A DISH SERVED COLD.... by Kevin H. Robnett 2369 A.D. -- Stardate 46171.5 -- Earth Orbit Lounge 9/127, located close to the Spacedock control center, was alive with color and music. It wasn't the only lounge in the orbital complex, but it afforded the best view of the interior of the mammoth space station. At least, when the windows weren't darkened, like they were now. Tonight, it was specifically reserved for a Starfleet function, the presentation and christening of the fleet's newest ship, the Intrepid-class. As functions go, it was pretty high up on the excitement scale, requiring a representative of all the races jockeying for position in the Federation. But being only a minor scout ship, not something like, say, the Galaxy-class Enterprise, it was left for the underlings to populate. All the really important diplomats were brown nosing at Admiral Hancock's granddaughter's birthday party in Australia. "I hate these suckers," Lieutenant Richard NMI Ryan whispered as he entered the room. His hand tugging at the tight neck collar of his maroon dress uniform with a will of its own. Even though Command had shortened the tunic's length, and added pants instead of tights, he still hated the outfit. Give me a tuxedo any day, he mentally wished. Resisting the urge to run his other hand through his dark blond hair, he let his blue eyes scan the crowd. Nothing higher on the diplomatic food chain than Assistant, so I should be safe, he silently added. No one that would know me from.... Telepathic words filled the Immortal's head as Captain Pretar Lorrict walked up behind him. Dressed similarly, the captain sported jet black hair slicked back and a more rounded face. But it was the deep chocolate eyes that betrayed his full Betazoid heritage. Pretar placed a hand on Richie's shoulder to strengthen the mental contact. Richie snorted, startling a waiter passing in front of him. Petey, I look nineteen, just like I always have. Now go bug someone your own age. With deft hands he grabbed two glasses of champagne and passed one over without asking. Watching his friend and captain raise an eyebrow, they clinked glasses, a personal toast to their accomplishments. "To space," they both said. It was the last private moment together for the pair. "There you two are." The sharp voice of Janice Chrane, head of the Federation Ship Design Department, cut like a knife through the Brandenburg concerto that was playing. Before her sentence was finished, she had her arms nestled around both men, gently herding them to a gathering of dignitaries. "One can't be late for one's own party," she added as the group opened up to admit them. "May I present Captain Lorrict and Lieutenant Ryan, two valuable members of the Intrepid's design team." For Richie, the party dissolved into one handshake after another, with sincere compliments sprinkled around mindless pleasantries. He hardly noticed how many glasses of champagne he had sipped, until the warm glow of a true alcoholic haze finally settled about him. His head suddenly twinged when someone tapped a glass, drawing everyone's attention. Janice had made her way to the large dark windows that overlooked the gigantic interior dock. "If I could have your attention please," she called as small groups gathered closer. "It is with great pride I introduce the design team, if you don't already know them. Captain Pretar Lorrict, who oversaw the decade long project." Heads around Richie turned, but the Immortal was focused on his glass. He no longer needed to search out the Betazoid. Petey, the wonder dog, he thought. His eyes focused on the amber liquid as it swished around in the crystal. I have here a hoop.... The Immortal sighed. I certainly hope so, he mentally answered. Sorry, just being the morbid person I usually am. Carefully, he moved out into the open, certain of what came next. "A real find from the Academy, Lieutenant Richard Ryan, one of the project's aerodynamics and computer advisors, as well as chief pilot," Janice announced, motioning in his direction. All the eyes focused on him as he took a slight bow. He had worked hard these last ten years, pushing more and more for certain things. Higher efficiency, tougher specs. It seemed he was the only one in Starfleet trying to keep the design befitting its purpose. A deep space scout vessel. And now, to reap the benefits. The eyes swung away as Janice continued. "Lieutenant Commander Sonya Gomez, structural and engineering designer, and Dr. Leah Brahms, head of the Theoretical Propulsion Group, who designed the warp systems." Across the room, two ladies nodded to a smattering of applause. Sonya was a person they had snatched straight from the Enterprise. The first engineer for the design team had retired suddenly for health reasons, leaving an ever-widening gap until Lt. Cmdr. Gomez had expressed a desire for the job. A natural "hands-on" talent, she had quickly lost her Academy delusions after working over a year and a half on the flagship. There she had been one out of a hundred in Engineering. The chance to run her own show, with a crew of under twenty-five, sounded very appealing. And Richie certainly found her appealing. With long, black hair and Latino looks, she fell well within the Immortal's attraction parameters. But getting to know her as a drinking buddy, and then a constant co-worker had dulled the desire for sex. Now, she considered herself one of the "guys," and Richie hadn't the heart to push it further, and lose a good friend to his libido. Dr. Brahms, on the other hand, was aloof as any pure scientist could be. Rarely did she leave the Mars Utopia plant, where most of the construction on the Intrepid was done. After working diligently on the Galaxy-class design, both in conception and building, she turned her attentions on modifying her theories for a smaller, more powerful design. Warp 9.5 was nothing to sneeze at. "And now," Dr. Chrane was saying, drawing everyone closer to the large windows, "the newest Starfleet design, the Intrepid-class." To the applause, the darkened windows became clear, revealing the small scout ship. Every time Richie saw the Intrepid in the last few days, it took his breath away. No longer attached to the bulky McKinley Station, its sleek shape was evident. The forward section was oblong, the largest part of the ship. Reminiscent of the newer ships, like the Galaxy- class, it curved up and down from a single main deck. Large windows dotted the saucer, the Captain's quarters as well as the mess hall, and the Ready room and briefing room on Deck One. The bottom curve dropped to hold the main deflector dish, while the top angled down to make the shuttle bay. Straight planes on either side attached the stubby warp nacelles. Unlike its bulkier cousins, the ship was not designed for separating sections. Instead, the warp nacelles pivoted up to create the warp field, while they remained lowered for impulse cruising. A surprise benefit was the ability for atmospheric flight, possibly even a landing. While theoretically capable, the ship had only landed in simulations. But always ones to prepare, the design team had left room in the lower decks for landing struts. Someday.... Applause broke through the Immortal's flight of fancy, bringing him back to the present. Richie had totally missed the christening. People came up to him, shaking his hand and adding congratulations for a job well done. Others were clustered around Pretar, the one who had launched the bottle of honey wine, the last of Richie's private stock that Darius had brewed, so long ago. After all, the Intrepid only deserved the best. Richie remembered Pretar coming up to him, after the scale models had been replicated, asking him what prompted the name. It was easy enough to research the two previous ships named Intrepid. But for the Immortal, it held a much more special meaning. The first ship, destroyed in 2268, was manned by an all-Vulcan crew, many Richie had counted as friends. The second Intrepid, closely linked to the Federation-Klingon Peace talks twenty years ago, was also a part of the Immortal's life. He wanted to honor and remember the valiant sacrifices of both ships and crews by naming the new starship after them. His captain had readily agreed upon hearing his tale. A lot of the details had been left out of his story to Pretar, a fact that still bothered him. But he wasn't ready to share that part of his life just yet. "A lovely design," a female voice spoke nearby. With a start, Richie focused on an older woman next to him, waiting for a reply. The Immortal searched his memory, trying to place the face. It did seem familiar.... Pretar supplied from across the room. Richie's eyes lit up in recognition, but there was still something nagging at his brain. Oh, well. "Thank you, Commander," he replied, his lips widening in a smile. "But you've been out to McKinley since the hull was finished. You've seen it before." "Indeed I did, Lieutenant," Laura acknowledged, adding her own smile as she emphasized the last word. "And please, call me Laura. I never had a chance to compliment the designer. The last I saw of you, most of your body was in a relay conduit. It's nice to know the rest of you live up to the promise of your legs." Her bold gaze emphasized her remark. Unable to keep from blushing, Richie chuckled, preening from the praise. "Thank you, I so hate to disappoint a higher-ranking officer. But I didn't do everything myself." It took a moment to identify his unease. He had spent so much time in the last decade hitting on every woman he met, being chased seemed almost new. God, it has been too long, he thought. Finishing off his glass, and noticing hers was low as well, he raised an eyebrow. "Would you care for some more champagne, Laura?" "I would love some, Richard," she replied, easily sliding her arm into his as the pair walked to the buffet table. Old habits, or more truthfully, a whole way of life settled comfortably over Richie. He knew how to play the millennium old game, and play it well. At least someone is having fun, Pretar thought, knowing a little of the sentiment would leak over to the Immortal. I wonder if I should warn him she's Dr. Brahms' sister.... Nah. He had caught the pair out of the corner of his eye, and shamefully eavesdropped on Richie's side of the conversation. He quickly glanced around, aware he was alone. I wonder if I could sneak out of.... The mentally shouted greeting overrode any thoughts Pretar might have of leaving. He managed to turn before two hands had grabbed his shoulders, pulling him into a dress that was half plant life, half décolletage. "Hello, Auntie," Pretar verbally replied, knowing it would antagonize his aunt. One thing the infamous Lwaxana Troi detested was Betazoids who spoke aloud to another Betazoid. This time was no exception. His first look at his aunt's face saw a mix of distaste and disappointment. At least, what he could see of her face. Her dark, black hair had been made up to resemble the Battle of T'Pak, and her brown eyes were the only parts of her face not plastered in makeup. The whole ensemble resembled the Bride of Frankenstein. Not that anyone spared from Richie's tastes in entertainment would know what that means. She's on the prowl tonight. I feel sorry for any guy she corners. Lwaxana huffed, causing the leaves to tremble. It's good to see you too, Pretar responded, mentally cutting her off. While Lwaxana's daughter, Deanna, might hold her ground against her mother's idiosyncrasies, he didn't. But that didn't stop him from teasing. Nephews were allowed. When did you get here? Mother didn't say anything about you traveling. The Betazoid ambassador pulled away, holding Pretar at arm's length, giving him a once over in his dress uniform. Pretar fumed, not complying. I am a starship captain, and a decorated officer of the Federation. Not a dog. But still, he softened under Lwaxana's gaze. Why is it, Auntie, that you can make me feel like I'm seven years old? The Betazoid ambassador smiled warmly, enveloping Pretar in another hug. She brushed a stray hair out of his face lovingly. You can stop that now, Pretar thought, pulling away. Come on, let me show you my ship. Holding out his arm, he escorted his aunt to the windows, both nodding greetings to the few remaining partygoers they passed. a sudden thought intruded from outside the private conversation. Pretar felt his aunt jerk to a stop as Richie approached from the other side of the room, alone. The Immortal was smiling, unaware he was broadcasting to both of them. "Auntie, may I present my first officer, Richard Ryan?" Pretar hoped to forestall any of Lwaxana's theatrics, but couldn't mentally warn her without it leaking to Richie. At this close distance, even blocked thoughts might be transferred along the link. "Rich, this is my aunt, Lwaxana Troi." The female ambassador drew herself to her full height, holding out her hand to the lieutenant. "Daughter of the Fifth House," her voice automatically added as Richie nodded over her wrist and gently kissed it. "Holder of the Sacred Chalice..." While his aunt babbled on with her titles, Pretar mentally added a yadda, yadda, yadda in her direction, only to find that she had full shields up, blocking all thoughts both in and out. It was rare Lwaxana didn't pry as much as possible into the people she met, especially males. Young, handsome, available males. Richie certainly qualified as such. Even though the Immortal's body was frozen forever at nineteen, a somewhat hardened cast to his features added a few years, making him seem experienced, but still in his prime. Centuries of training and workouts barely showed through the cumbersome dress uniform, but nothing could hide the grace and calmness of his movements. He certainly matched Lwaxana's quiet poise with his own dignified aura. Exactly what she wants from a lover, especially since she still is in Phase. Normally, she would have him horizontal by now, and here they are, casually chatting about the weather. This does not bode well, Pretar quietly thought, shielding his own unease. "And how long have you known my nephew?" Lwaxana was asking when Pretar focused on the conversation again. Even though her tone was light, and her body language relaxed, there was a glint in her eye that anyone in her family knew too well. Battle stations. "Frankly, I was surprised he never mentioned you." Richie cocked his head, as if making a decision. "Only a couple of years," he finally said, sticking to the usual cover story. They had devised the lie to give to anyone who didn't yet know Richie was an Immortal. Not many would take the time to check it out. "Straight out of the Academy, in fact." Lwaxana nodded as all the pieces mentally slid into place. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ryan," she intoned, holding out her hand for Richie to kiss, abruptly ending the conversation. "If you'll excuse us, I need to talk to my nephew a bit." Richie took his leave as the ambassador grabbed Pretar's arm, moving him toward a private area with sofas. "Auntie...," Pretar began, still unable to penetrate her shields. Now, he was really worried, a sentiment echoed in Lwaxana's eyes. she began, her emotions tightly controlled and filtered. Not able to wait for a response, she continued. Pretar calmly took his aunt's hands in his own, wishing the sudden pounding in his head would go away. Aunt. Slow down. Yes, Richie and I are bonded, but we are not involved. The ambassador still didn't look mollified. She grasped his hands harder, her concern evident on her face. Pretar always knew he was going to have this conversation, but the time never seemed right, and the pain still hurt. But it looked like he would have to try. When the Kyushu was lost at Wolf 359, I was here, seeing if the Intrepid might be able to leave drydock. I was actively linked to Donald when he died. I got sucked in. I...I felt him die! All the horror Pretar had felt that day came rushing back, filing the hole that was still inside him. I only remember blackness. They said I was almost dead myself. He shuddered, recalling the fear when they told him he had been unconscious for eight days, hovering on the brink of oblivion. Richie was nearby. He was concerned, and already partially telepathic.... Lwaxana finished, experiencing the past as well. Her hand was now brushing his hair, his face pressed into the nape of her neck. Pretar risked a glance across the room, to where Richie and Sonya were slowly dancing. Once again he checked the bond, making sure it was tightly shielded from his end. He's been a good friend, Auntie. For a very long time. He's been very supportive while I've tried to rebuild my life again. Lwaxana choked at that comment. With sure hands, she lifted his face to look into his eyes, her own shining with tears. It's been very handy to be telepathically connected to my second-in- command. Also, it's something we've both grown comfortable with. Pretar was unwilling to add he was scared to go on alone. Feeling Richie through the bond helped to fill a void inside of him, if only minutely. But the Immortal wasn't Donald. Lwaxana began, stopping when she remembered whom she was talking with. Her hand flew to her mouth, as if to stop the mental image already passed telepathically along. Have sex with someone? Pretar finished. Without all that lust and passion traveling along the link? Easy. Neither of us have had the time. That caused her to blush, a reaction very rare for her. Auntie, I am an adult. And after seeing you in action over the last couple of decades, I can't imagine you being shy about it. Her gaze was drawn to the windows, where the Intrepid floated lazily in the mammoth bay. Pretar smiled, pleased that his aunt was interested in the fruits of his labor. I would be delighted. Taking her arm, he escorted her to the doors, wanting to walk her over instead of transporting. On the way out, he dropped the shields on the bond long enough to add a good night to Richie as he left. Sonya Gomez glanced up at her dancing partner for the fourth time in as many minutes. "Are you sure everything is fine?" Her voice was somewhere between miffed and concerned, and tinged with a faint accent. Richie blinked twice, finally looking at her instead of off into space. "I'm sure. Pretar just wished us good night." With a burst of energy, he whirled her around, glancing at the Betazoid relatives leaving. When his gaze returned to her face, the lips were pursed. It was a speculative look of hers, one the Immortal had learned to avoid. "You've seen me talk to him before. Where's the fire?" "That was an awfully long two words, Rich." His dancing steps weren't lost on her. Being a latecomer to the project made her no less a family member. "And that wasn't a talking-to-Pete look, that was a spying-from-the-bushes stare if I ever saw one." Richie blushed, which was not an unfamiliar reaction to her. "Busted. All right, lady. Dear Captain Lorrict blocked me out of the link, which he only does for very, very good reasons." For a moment, the Immortal looked thoughtful. "I'd bet they were talking about me." "What are the stakes, and how do we prove it?" Sonya fired back. Casual bets between the pair were a common occurrence, done mostly out of fun. Occasionally, serious wagers were taken, but nothing that would affect their friendship. After all, it wasn't good practice to alienate a shipmate, especially on a ship as small as the Intrepid. That sent Richie thinking again. "I'll pass on that one. Pretar won't tell us, and I don't think I want to visit with Ambassador Troi again any time soon." The live band, here at Richie's insistence, finished the song with a flourish. With flair, the Immortal dipped his partner on cue, the perfect ending to a long, dreary evening. "And on that note," Richie punned, "I will bid you good eve'n." "Alas, fair Richard," Sonya quipped, raising a free hand to her forehead as they straightened up. "Parting is such sweet sorrow. Till anon, I say." Her eyes betrayed a sparkle Richie was fond of, her laughter and humor one of the many things he liked about the engineer. "Adieu," she finished, the pair separating with arms outstretched. Richie chuckled. "That wasn't Shakespeare," he said, watching her exit from the room. With a sigh, he glanced around the party, noticing all but the serious night owls were gone. He blinked, unaware where the time had gone. I wonder if the Ambassador has that effect on everybody, he speculated. Apparently Pretar wasn't listening. ---------------- Morning wouldn't come fast enough to satisfy the Immortal. For the third time since waking, Richie turned over in his bed, eyeing the chronometer and glaring at it when it didn't read anywhere near 0700. With a grunt, he turned back over, the sheets trying to keep up with his tossing. He hated nights like this, when his mind was racing at warp three and his body was too tense to sleep. The morning would be the worst. Body aching, head pounding, and trying to function. Usually, a long, hot shower would relax him enough to sleep some and salvage the night. But occasionally, when the muscles were knotted and his heart pounded, he would visit his workout room and remove himself from the concerns keeping him awake. It had been built over two hundred years ago, on the far side of the house from the sleeping rooms. Back then, an occasional sparring match could occur at a moment's notice, and the participants might not want the rest of the house to come watch. There was only one door in and out of the chamber, completely built with bricks and wood like a reminiscence of days gone by. Richie's feet always felt at home on a hardwood floor, the satisfying thump of a staff on it a happy reminder of days gone by. Even on mornings it was cold, he welcomed the sounds as he moved over the chill surface. The brick walls were adorned with all manner of weapons, most usable by the Immortal, over half he felt confidant to teach to others. But that had been a long time ago. The Immortal took three steps into the room, enough for the door to automatically close. Throwing a towel into the corner, he took a deep breath before running through a brief stretching routine. Dressed in just sweatpants, it took only a moment before his body was limber. Another lungful of air, and he started. His hands rose from his side, meeting in front of him and crossing. With determination, his right foot stepped out, his body moving forward and then hesitating, his mind forgetting if he should turn right or left. Richie snorted a curse word, the first turn of this particular kata he always forgot. Unsure, he turned to the.... 1995 A.D. -- Seacouver, Earth ...right, Duncan calling out the moment Richie committed to it. "Other left," the Highlander yelled, his deep baritone ringing in the empty dojo. Flustered, Richie stepped back to start the kata over. Duncan only smiled when the younger Immortal turned to the left this time, sliding into the next move. "Just feel the way the body wants to go, and follow it." Richie knew his teacher was only trying to help, but the words still made him bristle. Then again, the youngster had never been much of an avid learner. Even about the Immortal stuff. But this year had been especially rough. Then there was Adam. For some reason, even the thought of that particular Immortal didn't sit very well. Richie had only just met him. He seemed nice enough. Three times through, and then Duncan showed Richie the last of the kata, a gift of sorts from the teacher to student. Duncan had created it especially for him, to emphasize and develop the younger Immortal's weaknesses and strengths. Richie had no clue anything was up, until the Highlander brought him out to the dojo floor and began showing it to him. Left alone to finish smoothing the routine out, Richie's thoughts turned again to his own ever-changing relationship with the Scot. The lines between mentor and student were continuing to blur, no longer comfortable. Richie stopped in mid-form as he realized he was finally seeing the man as he truly was, not the fantasy hero he had pictured. One that wasn't perfect. Right then, the hero in question entered through the changing room door. Richie glanced up as the Highlander descended the stairs. "What?" Duncan asked, as he noticed Richie's gaze. He glanced at his outfit, trying to find what was wrong. Richie still hadn't moved. "Too much aftershave?" Richie stifled a laugh, the clueless expression on Duncan's face was almost too comical. "No, it's fine," he said, smiling. He walked over to the bench, the Highlander following behind. "You and Adam seem pretty chummy." This piqued Duncan's interest. "Yeah," was all he replied, acting indifferent. He paused a moment, waiting to see if Richie would say more. "We're going to Joe's tonight, for the band. Wanna come?" The faint stirrings of a half-forgotten dream shook the young Immortal, who was almost ready to answer yes. A sword tantalizingly close to the Highlander's unprotected neck. Fear crept through his body. He spotted the confusion in Duncan's eyes as the Highlander saw the emotion overtake his friend. "I have plans," Richie hurriedly said, covering his thoughts. "I need to start packing if I'm gonna last a week alone on your island." That appeased Duncan. "Well, maybe next time." A quick clasp of Richie's shoulder, and the Highlander retrieved his coat from the stairs, then moved to the front doors. "I don't trust him," Richie called out, unsure where the need to warn his friend came from. Too many strange things were happening lately. He also knew the warning might weaken their already touchy relationship, but he had to voice his concerns. He owed the man no less. Duncan paused, turning his head and giving Richie a small smile. "I know," he quietly acknowledged before turning and leaving. Richie sighed, wondering if he had done even more damage. The young Immortal shivered, the sweat evaporating off his body as he picked up the towel,... ...drying off his bare skin. Muscles exhausted, Richie wondered if he should take a shower or jump straight into bed. It was the promise of the scalding water, the warm liquid soothing his body that decided it. He rolled his head under the spray, letting the water wet his hair and run down his body. Each movement of his neck stretched worked muscles, and added to the pleasant glow coursing through him. More and more, he let his body relax, trying not to think of anything in particular. He'd move and let the water pound the stretched skin, until any tenseness was gone. He shifted to his arms, working each limb slowly, basking in the steaming heat. If it wasn't imperative he get some sleep, a sauna sounded really tempting. There's always tomorrow night, he promised himself as he finally slid out of the shower. He walked into the bedroom, towel drying his hair. Within minutes of crawling under the covers again, he was sound asleep. ---------------- "Captain's log, Stardate 46173.9. Captain Lorrict Pretar commanding the USS Intrepid for her first test drive. Today, we have a six hours intra-system cruise lined up, trying to spot any glitches before we actually fire up the warp drive for the shakedown cruise next month. Due to the shortness, we will be able to operate with the minimum crew already assigned. Now if we just don't hit anything...." "Captain on the bridge," Richie called out, already sitting at the forward pilot's console and slowly spinning around in his chair. Unfortunately, the effect was lost because only he and Pretar were currently on the bridge. Still, it didn't keep the Immortal from smiling at the Captain's discomfort. I'll get you for that, Pretar threatened as he moved to the center command chairs. Once he got comfortable, he raised his head, looking at the ceiling. "Bridge to Engineering. Mr. Aston, leave our newly promoted Commander Gomez alone and report to the bridge. Pronto." ·Aye, sir. On my way. Aston out.· "Mr. Ryan," Captain Lorrict continued, "prepare for departure." "Yessir," Richie drawled, spinning back to his console. Much longer than most conn stations, it was specifically designed to handle a lot more than just navigation. With a kick, the Immortal shoved his chair down the panels, manually bypassing the normal procedure and beginning the preflight checklist from his station. "Spacedock Control, we are beginning departure sequence. Requesting clearance for space doors." ·You are cleared, Intrepid.· Once more Richie checked the readouts, before his fingers raced over the clear polymer of the console. "Roger, Control. Severing power conduits and ODN bypasses." Outside the ship, where the tunnel from Spacedock melded with the Intrepid on Deck Six, wisps of gasses escaped when the seals were breached. As the tunnel slowly withdrew, the docking port covers engaged, closing off the conduits to space. The results were very obvious. All lights, in and outside the vessel blinked off. The ship was a dark hulk inside the well-lit interior of the space station. "Emergency generators coming on-line," Richie called out in the dark, as the secondary lighting activated, casting a pale glow around the room. Various stations lit up, as the automatic Ops programs rationed the available power. "Engineering, we are go for cold start." Chief Engineer Gomez really wished certain members of the crew didn't have such a sense of humor. Being suddenly immersed in darkness, especially when trying to bring a new warp engine on-line, was not very amusing. "Thank you, Richard," she said, gritting her teeth. "Ever hear of warning us?" ·Nonsense, Gomez. You perform much better in the dark. Bridge out.· I would break every bone in his body, if it would do any good. Grimly, Sonya stormed over to the main console facing the primary reactor core. In the dim light, it was difficult to spot all the engineering crew. I still might. "Chuck, we got enough power for the constrictors?" From one of the upper decks above her, a hand beacon flirted. "Yeah," a male voice called out, the steady baritone of Lt. Charles Goodwin. "Backup cells are charged and active." The console under her hands beeped, alerting her that the temperature was steady. "Ready, people?" she called, giving every one another chance to spot something wrong. When nobody replied, she opened the magnetic constrictors, letting a small amount of matter and antimatter race toward each other. The particles collided in the center of the reaction chamber, completely annihilating each other. The resultant energy, directed by the dilithium crystals, was channeled down the two power transfer conduits, heading for either warp nacelle. With the warp drive deactivated, the power was rerouted through the various systems of the ship, taking over the burden from the emergency generators. The shadowed vessel, seemingly dormant, awoke. Color appeared in the warp nacelles, the dark blue and muted red slowly brightening until it reflected off the nearby Spacedock wall. Along the sides, small windows lit as power raced along conduits, little rectangles of light scattered on the gray hull. The main deflector dish changed from black, to navy, moving carefully to light blue as more and more power coursed along the ship's veins. The Intrepid slowly came to life. Richie released a breath he hadn't realized he had held as the normal bridge lights came on. All around him, the burr and chatter began, as systems were restored to full power. Somewhere deep inside the ship, but still able to penetrate his boots, the engines throbbed. A constant reminder when one was in space. It's been a long time, Richie thought, watching his board light up. The main viewscreen, dark for so long, came to life. Pretar thought, drawing Richie's attention. The Immortal wasn't ready for what greeted him. The Intrepid was positioned like she had been the night before, facing the lounge. Only today, it was packed full of people, all cheering and applauding. It was hard to make out faces until Richie magnified the scene. His eyes raked over several members of the design teams, even a few from the Utopia yard on Mars. All had come to see the ship and crew off. It was a very satisfying feeling. The Immortal was still smiling when the turbolift doors opened, disgorging a very irate Operations officer, at least by the tone of his voice. "Ah woulda been here sooner, but Ah hadta get out and push!" The very loud drawl of Lieutenant George Aston echoed on the bridge as he walked across the back, finally reaching the Ops station. Richie was almost tempted to turn around and smirk, but the possibility of minor violence deterred him. "Sparky, didja haveta cut power while Ah's in the blasted box?" Richie had never figured out how, exactly, he had picked up the nickname "Sparky." And nothing he did could change the Texan's mind. But then again, he never passed up an opportunity to harass the big guy, either. He was ready with a witty comeback, when the hail from engineering spared him the need to reply. ·Engineering to Bridge. We're ready, Captain. Full impulse at your discretion.· Pretar absently nodded. "Thank you, Commander. Bridge out. Mr. Ryan, get us going." With that weighty pronouncement, Captain Lorrict stood, strolling two steps to the exact center of the command platform, and waited. "Aye, aye," Richie replied. His hands flew over his console, activating navigation programs and the deflector protocols. "Thrusters to station keeping. Clear all moorings." Quickly, he signaled Spacedock control that the Intrepid was underway. He silently began counting off the seconds until the space doors would be open enough for the ship. "Moorings are cleared," Aston called out, his drawl fading as he concentrated on his own duties. With no tactical officer, nor support personnel, he had double the workload. Luckily, it was only a six hour flight. "Activating navigational beacon and lights." Outside, as the thin mooring lines floated away from the ship, hazard lights flashed in concert. They set up a steady blinking on top and at landing area in the rear. Permanent red and green lights also blazoned from the back as the impulse generators flared to life. The cheer in the lounge immediately followed the main spotlight bursting on to the ship's designation: NCC-74600. The letters and numbers were painted on the forward hull around Deck Three. With a brief flash, the impulse engines kicked into reverse for a second, enough to propel the ship away from the inner wall. Thrusters ignited, pushing the scoutship into a backward roll with a twist, aligning the bow with the retracting four space doors across the huge bay. As Richie's count closed on twenty, he pushed the thrusters to maximum, increasing their speed inside the complex. He could hear Aston's gasp of breath as the viewscreen showed the thin opening they were heading for. The Immortal never let up, his hand hovering over the impulse drive panel. When he hit twenty-five, he punched forward at full impulse, the hull barely clearing the lumbering doors. Then they were outside, racing away from orbit. "Gawd dang," Aston exclaimed, once he recovered. Richie smiled, glad that he was able to push the envelope just a little. After all, he had a reputation to maintain. "If you don't get demoted again for your...little stunts," Pretar quietly added in his ear, startling the Immortal. Richie had been so engrossed in his little show, he had failed to notice the Betazoid moving in behind him. "Must you always play the daredevil?" Richie treated it as a rhetorical question, busying himself with the myriad of details a pilot had to worry about. "Course, Captain?" he asked diplomatically. As far as he was concerned, they could head for the Beta Quadrant now. Pretar cautioned. "It might be nice to pay the folks at the Saturn flight range a quick flyby, and then once around the Solar system." Richie sneaked a glance behind as the Captain strolled back to his chair and sat. "After that, you can pretty much entertain yourself, Lieutenant." "Aye, aye," Richie called out. He selected the course and let his body relax. The better to enjoy a quick jaunt around the block. How did that old show go? A three hour tour.... ---------------- The Intrepid floated in space, smoothly gliding along solely on impulse engines. Richie lazily remembered the days when lightspeed was a fast as anyone could go. Let's see...the Prosperity. The Immortal closed his eyes, mentally picturing himself with arms outstretched, as if he to was gliding along in space. Floating along, his weight held up by air pressure and dynamics, flying along.... 2009 A.D. -- Duncan's Island, Pacific Northwest, Earth ...and calling out with a screeching voice. The bird skimmed over the lake surface, drawing Richie's attention. For a brief moment, he stopped paddling the canoe, watching the feathered creature beat its wings, slowly climbing into the morning sky. There was something peaceful about it, the thought of flying along without a care in the world. With a sigh, the Immortal went back to the oar, knowing the upcoming confrontation could not be put off any longer. Richie's time was running out. Not that he expected Duncan's blessing or anything, but it was something his friend deserved to hear first hand, not through Joe, or someone else. Quicker than he expected, Richie reached the island, a small parcel of sacred land that Duncan had built a cabin on. A safe haven that Richie had used many times. But now it seemed it would be his last battlefield. It only took a moment to secure the canoe. Then one final deep breath, and Richie climbed the hill. Just as the rise crested, the cabin came into view. Along with it, the unnerving dread rose from his stomach, the intimate feeling of another Immortal alerting him to Duncan's presence. He had only taken a few steps to the front when the curtains moved. By the time he reached the steps, the door was opening, an empty-handed Highlander waiting to greet him. "Richie," Duncan said, "this is a surprise." The shock was evident on his face, the same one Richie had first glimpsed over 25 years ago. "I thought you were in...Miami?" "Tampa," Richie replied as he climbed the steps, holding a hand out to Duncan. "Yes, I was. Now I'm here." It took a second for the Highlander to react, grasping the younger Immortal's hand and pumping it. "It's not a problem, is it?" Stepping back, Duncan ushered Richie into the main room. "No, not one bit. How would you have warned me, smoke signals?" Once out of the bright morning sun, he gave his former student a once-over. "Not staying, I see." "I don't have much to say," Richie answered, knowing he was within an inch of blushing. He hated that he reacted this way, and that thought only made it worse. "Uh, can we talk?" The blond man fidgeted, looking around the room. The Highlander smiled, a knowing gleam in his eye. With paternal understanding, he grasped Richie's shoulder and directed him to the one sofa. "I take it I'm not going to like this." Once Richie was seated, Duncan moved in front of the fire, settling on the floor. "I guess I should have asked if you wanted something to drink, before I sat down." Richie unconsciously looked over to the kitchen. "Maybe later," he said as he clasped his hands together to keep them still. "I have a job, Mac." He tried to look at Duncan, but found he couldn't. "It's...it's.... Oh, boy." "You're racing motorcycles again," Duncan supplied. "You're selling used cars, and want to show me this little sports number to use around the island. No, wait, even better, you're managing a grunge band of pyromaniac women Scrooges called 'Sis-boom-bah'." That brought a laugh to Richie's lips. The tension eased as he sat back, clutching his stomach when the giggles erupted. For a brief moment, it seemed like everything would be okay. They would be okay. All the worrying, all the vague unease had been for nothing. "No..." He gasped for breath, trying to regain some control. "I'm moving to the Moon. A mining colony." Silence was the only reply. It took another second to focus his eyes, and to sit up on the sofa, but his first look at Duncan's face scared him. The Highlander showed no emotion, just stared at the floor in front of his booted feet. "The Moon," MacLeod quietly repeated, a small hint of a smile gracing the sides of his lips. "Yeah, they need a surface to orbit pilot, and it sounds kinda neat," Richie informed him. Even with a blazing fire, it suddenly felt chilly. All of Richie's worries came back full force. "This is what I want to do, Mac. I want to do something with my life." Duncan looked up at Richie, his eyes wide and his face grim. "You can't just hide away from the Game. I've tried. It always finds you again." His hand reached out and grabbed Richie's arm, emphasizing his words. "Someone will challenge you, even on the Moon." Richie jerked his arm away, not liking the contact. "That doesn't mean I have to play." His voice also took on an edge. "I want something better." "You don't understand...," Duncan started, making Richie feel like a teenager again. The Highlander must have sensed the sudden stiffening, because his next words were softer. "You are an Immortal, Richie." He leaned in closer, trying to smile. "There can be only one. That's our life." The younger man shook his head. "But it doesn't mean I have to do the weeding," he supplied in rebuttal. "I'm not going to turn into some crazed fighter...." "Like me," Duncan supplied, finishing the sentence. His voice was tinged with resignation. As he stood, even his shoulders slumped. "That's what you think. You don't want to turn into me." "I never said that," Richie shot back, cringing at the half lie. It was one of the unvoiced reasons he had to get away. "I'm not cut out for this." Duncan walked to the fire. "And I am?" He kept his back to Richie, staring into the flames instead. "Don't answer that. I'm putting words in your mouth and I know you hate that." "You're Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod," Richie said quietly. "A warrior. My teacher. And my best friend." He walked nearer to the fireplace. "That's your identity. Who you are. I'm just still searching for me." The Highlander turned around, resting one arm on the mantel. "And you're going to the Moon to find it." He shook his head, glancing around the room. "You'll keep up the workouts." Richie nodded, mentally relaxing at Duncan's small showing of acceptance. "As much as I can. I'll keep fit, and probably spend a lot of time with a staff. That'll be easier to explain than a sword." He laughed, his chuckle dying off when his stomach rumbled. "Let me guess," Duncan said, his voice taking on a lighter tone, "you didn't stop for supper on your way up here." He smiled as Richie's stomach growled again, some things never changing. "I'll see what I can rustle up." Richie turned toward the kitchen, realizing it had gotten dark while the pair had been talking. "Mind if I stay the night?" he asked, glancing out the window at the sky. It was the black of night, a scattering of stars... ...stretched across the viewscreen while they cruised at sub-light speeds. "Mr. Ryan," Pretar called again, finally drawing Richie's attention. "Time's up," the Betazoid continued once Richie had turned his head around. "Lay in a course for Earth." "Earth it is," Richie answered, taking another glance at the stars, trying to shake off the ghosts of the past. Luckily, the voices and memories were done. For now. ---------------- George Aston looked at the long-range scanner display again. Still there after five course corrections. And closin'. With a sigh, he augmented the sensors in that direction, and brought up the defensive sub-menu. "Cap'n. We've sprouted a tail...." It didn't help the Texan's esteem when Mr. Ryan stifled a laugh. Smarty-pants. "A tail, Mr. Aston?" Captain Lorrict asked. He turned around in his chair. "Would you care to elaborate?" he added as he looked toward Ops. "We's got us a boogedy, sir," Aston reiterated. "Be'n trailen' us fer the last ten minets or so." Shaking his head, he augmented sensors again, the blurry shape of an Apollo-class starship taking form. Only one was listed in the sector. "It's'tha Ajax, sir." Pretar nodded, facing forward again. "Shake us loose, Mr. Ryan," he ordered, turning back to the readouts. Richie quickly glanced backward before replying. "Yes, sir," he called, deactivating the automatic pilot. His sudden activity with the navigational programs caused a demand for more resources, alerting Operations. Aston authorized it as he heard the blond mutter "...sprouted a tail...." It probably wasn't supposed to be audible at the back of the bridge, but one never knew. Just 'cause Ah wasn't born ahun'erd years ago, Aston mentally grumbled, watching as the sensors began picking up another problem. Or lots of little problems. The Asteroid Belt between Mars and Jupiter's orbits. Which the Intrepid was heading straight toward. "I know that," Richie spat, realizing he was arguing with an accursed computer program. Every thirty seconds it would beep, commenting that he was currently on a dangerous collision course with numerous large objects, and wouldn't he much rather just go around it, and looky here, a safe way to avoid the obstructions, and by pressing this large flashing button, the program would happily do it for him. Right away, in fact. No waiting. Press me now. The system had originally been designed so that in an emergency, even a Pakled could navigate the ship. But what Richie had failed to do, much to his chagrin, was program a way to turn the blasted thing off. "SHUT UP!" he finally yelled after another beep. The program, whether by design or a fit of Murphism, cross-connected with the security systems, initiating a yellow alert and adding an auditory warning as well, just in case someone on board had an objection to meeting an asteroid belt at high speeds. ·Warning. Collision course. Warning. Collision course....· "Mr. Aston," Pretar called out, barely heard over the ruckus. The Texan's reply was drowned out by the noise, but within seconds, the siren and computer voice was silenced. The yellow lights turned red as the Ops officer initiated a full red alert, overriding the normal safety programs and allowing "irrational" commands. "Thank you," the Captain said on the now silent bridge. Richie shut off the navigational programs, knowing they couldn't keep up with the ever-changing situation, once they entered the Belt. Again, he told himself he could do this. With one eye on the Ajax's location, he increased the Intrepid's speed as they entered the outer fringe of asteroids. Sensors notified him the other ship was reducing speed to match him. The Apollo-class was similar in size to the Intrepid, but it didn't possess the over-powered thruster package Richie had designed. The Immortal started turning the ship this way and that, fitting neatly into openings between the scattered rocks. Here on the outer edges, it was about as difficult as dodge ball. A challenge both ships handled with ease. Twisting the ship around, Richie kept heading farther inward, dumping impulse power when things started to get tight. All that extra energy was diverted to the inertial dampeners, the only thing that prevented the crew from being crushed in all the high-speed maneuvers. Using thrusters, he dove between two large asteroids that crashed into each other moments after they passed. The other ship'd just have to go around. "The Ajax's slowin' down," Aston called out, most likely wishing they had installed seatbelts in the back stations. "We can probably head on outa here...." Not on your life, Richie thought. Once again, he turned into the field, the asteroids becoming smaller and more dense. The sensors finally overloaded, unable to map the numerous chunks, all with various speeds and trajectories. "Damn." Placing his hands on the thruster controls, he took two quick breaths and closed his eyes, slipping into a meditative trance. Vaguely, he could feel Pretar join with him on a mental level, passively doing nothing. Remembering long-unused techniques, the Immortal pushed his awareness outward, into space. Once past the ship's confines, he started cataloging the bits and pieces moving about him, a part of his mind noting the vectors. In between these shimmering lines, he weaved the Intrepid through. There came a point when several lines converged, the ship being slowly enveloped as it flew into what would become a solid mass of rocks. Richie panicked, almost losing the trance. He mentally looked around and realized even the uprated thrusters couldn't save them. Damn. Lines of pulsating energy appeared from around him, zooming toward the mass. Two of the vectors winked out, the asteroids they represented destroyed by phaser fire. I owe you, Richie added to a wave of relief he felt. The ship easily fit into the holes created, weaving through the abundance of rock. Pretar replied on the fringes of Richie's consciousness. he hastily added. Once past the obstruction, things began to ease up. Feeling surer of himself, Richie upped the speed, taking long curves between the asteroids, a giddy feeling of satisfaction augmenting the gracefulness of flight. Just on the edge of his senses, he "felt" the Ajax, and the awe being projected by their bridge crew. Good, let them spread this around. As the asteroids numbered less and less, the Immortal could spend more time on fancier maneuvers. It was like an intricate ballet, each piece moving in harmony with each other. He was the powerful male, leaping and diving around the many ballerinas flittering about. He knew he was physically laughing, but the joy was so much more in this trance-state. He almost didn't want to end. He could just turn around and.... Captain Lorrict intruded as he gently untangled himself from the bond with Richie. Richie wanted to argue. He couldn't help it, or even stop that momentary feeling from traveling to Pretar. But it was immediately followed by a flash of regret, and the grudging admission his commanding officer was right. It was time to return to the physical. Slowly, checking one last time that all the obstacles were past, he slowly collapsed his expanded consciousness, shutting off the extra senses he had been using. It felt like he was cutting off a hand, or blinding one of his eyes. There was a brief pang of loss, then once again the normal senses took over, reminding him of the centuries he had existed before his latent skills had been activated. He had lived then, and will now. "Welcome back," Pretar said, once Richie began to shuffle in his seat. "Fancy flying, hotshot." Richie grinned, activating the automatic pilot and turning around. "You did say lose them," he remarked, adding a shrug. Bridge lights returned to normal as Aston ended the red alert. Aston. "George, thanks. We were about to be toast." "Sew Ah noticed," the Texan drawled, busy at his own station. "Yer welcome, Rich." The Immortal nodded, turning back to the viewscreen. "Nice moves," George added, almost as an afterthought. That got a chuckle from Richie. "I aim to please...," he started. "So please aim...us for home," Pretar finished. "It looks like our time is definitely up, gentlemen. Mr. Aston, find us a nice parking orbit, will you? Away from any asteroid belts." Double "aye, ayes" sounded in stereo, the three men immersing themselves in their respective tasks. Just another day in space. ---------------- Benny Haven's Tavern, one of the many bars in Spacedock, was named for an institution from the past, an establishment very near the old West Point Academy in North America. Since the Borg invasion, it had become the unofficial watering hole of crews returning from their first flight, be it crews from new ships, or raw cadets after their first tour of duty. Tonight, it served as location for the Intrepid party, a much more down to Earth affair than the reception the previous night. There were no ambassadors or admirals. The music was loud, the alcohol real, the air hazy and dark. A perfect place to let your hair down. Or whatever an individual had. "So there I was, heading for the Asteroid Belt,..." Richie was saying to a seemingly engrossed Laura Benteen at the bar. The Immortal had been very surprised to see her here tonight, but then again, things had gone rather well the night before. "...and I'm saying to myself, 'Self, you can do this,' and then...." "Let's dance," Laura suddenly said, setting her drink on the bar. With a grin, she grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. The Immortal acquiesced with a sigh, intent on having a good time. At least, that was the plan until Sonya cut in. And during a slow song, at that. "She's Dr. Brahms' sister, you know," the engineer said once Laura was out of earshot. She grinned at Richie's look of shock. "I thought I'd better warn you. It probably wouldn't be wise going home with her tonight, they share a house when they're on Earth. And from what I witnessed last time, you don't want to be caught by Leah with your pants down again." Richie looked down at the Latino woman in his arms, adding a cocky smile. "You wouldn't happen to have a personal interest in who I go home with tonight, now do you?" It was a long shot for Sonya to change her mind, but miracles still happened. "The way you've been hitting the bar, I think you'll be going home tonight. Alone." She smiled back, with a glint in her eye. "Although you might invite me over one night to use the jacuzzi." Richie smiled, pressing close. "Tonight?" he asked in full puppy-dog mode. Sonya laughed. "I have to go over the engine logs before tomorrow's debriefing. Make it one night next week. With suits, this time." "Darn, you spoil all my fun." The Immortal tried a dip, but in his inebriated state, it turned more into a spin and stumble. "Oops, better augment my stabilizers." "Don't look now," Sonya whispered, "but you may have lucked out after all." The engineer suddenly disappeared from Richie's arms, only to be replaced by another soft feminine body. "Miss me, Richard?" Laura Benteen asked. "Why don't we blow this party? Give me five minutes to grab an overnight bag and I'll meet you at the transporter station on Level Twelve." Again his arms were empty. "You did mention a jacuzzi, didn't you?" her unseen voice whispered in his ear. Then she was gone, and Richie was alone in the middle of the dance floor, arms still outstretched. It took a moment to wander back to the bar in his befuddled state. Pretar appeared out of nowhere, instantly sizing up the situation. "Barkeep," he called out. "Coffee, black, and a hangover pill, strong." Seconds later, the two requested items were in front of the pair. "Take this," the Betazoid insisted, pushing the pill into Richie's mouth. "And this," he added, bringing the cup of strong coffee to the Immortal's lips. he mentally added, not wanting to yell over the noise. "Uh, huh," Richie managed to say as the medication began to take effect and Pretar pushed him toward the exit. "Thanks." Before he got the word out, he was in the corridor, alone, and beginning to feel much better. "So thar Ah wus, watchin' them asteroids gettin' closer,..." George Aston was saying, unaware his audience of two wasn't listening. "And Ah's sayin' 'Self,'...." The two men rolled their eyes, reaching again for their drinks. One was of medium height, a dark haired Greek by birth. The other was shorter, a black haired Asian. Out of politeness, the taller of the duo coughed, loud enough to draw George's attention. "So, did you talk to Captain Lorrict yet?" he asked, the eagerness palatable on his face. Both wore the new gray jumpsuits of Academy cadets, two bars on each collar. "Now, Dannikins, it's not a shore thang, you understand," George replied, grasping Daniel Bird on the shoulder. When his best friend's younger brother had approached him over a month ago, to see if the pair might be assigned for the shakedown cruise, George had promised to talk to the Captain. Most cadets spent their summer break visiting their family, or traveling to other parts of the galaxy. But a lucky few got to intern on Starfleet ships, and this year, an Intrepid slot was the choice spot. "Harry, too?" Danny added, dragging his friend and roommate into the conversation. The Asian flushed, not used to such dubious routes to get things done. That amused George even more. The Texan finally gave in, glad to give the two good news. "Shore 'nuff. You's both got whoppin' grades. Cadet Kim's in with Sonya, and yer one of the night operations officers." It took both of George's large hands to restrain the two cadets. "Now, don't go shoutin' the news. It won't be 'ficial 'til next week. Until then, keep yer trap shut." The two snapped to attention and saluted, wide grins breaking out on their face. "Now, git. Before you catch trouble for breakin' curfew." He couldn't help wondering if he had been as excited when he was in the Academy. Probably not. The two cadets were hollering as they barreled down the corridor. Richie dove to the side to let them pass. He stayed against the wall a moment while his head spun. Maybe I did have too much. God, why did he have to shove one of those nasty pills down my throat? He was almost ready to continue his hunt for the turbolifts when the harsh voice assailed him from a side hallway. "So, Mr. Ryan, I understand congratulations are in order." It was a deep baritone, the consonants over accented. The vowels barreled in the hall, due in part to an oversized oral cavity, the better to hold a mouthful of sharp teeth. In short, Klingon. "So it appears," Richie replied as he carefully turned around, the voice already identified. "Ambassador K'talok," The warrior-turned-politician chuckled, aware of the tenseness in the air. "It is so good that you use your...abilities in such a peaceful pursuit," the Klingon added. "Might you show me around?" Richie ground his teeth. "You'd have to talk to someone in Command about that. I'm just a lowly lieutenant." His hands were clenched at his side. "So it would appear," the Klingon threw back at him, nodding in return. "But then again, your appearance can be very deceiving,...so I've heard. I understand you'll be conducting the warp drive tests next month. Braslota, I believe?" Hearing the supposedly confidential details from a Klingon spy infuriated Richie. K'talok bared his teeth as he watched the Starfleet officer's face flush. "I'll take that as a yes. For once, Mr. Ryan, it's been a pleasure. pIweblu'taH!" With another chuckle, the ambassador turned and left. Up yours, Richie mentally finished. Where does that battle ship get off calling me a disgrace? Still fuming, head pounding, the Immortal stormed off to find Laura. The jacuzzi was looking better each second. ---------------- The last box sat on the end table, the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle Richie had been assembling all morning. Actually, all week. Slowly, but surely, his luggage had been amassed. That waited in the foyer, almost complete, the last empty hole gnawing at Richie. The cube seemed out of place here in his San Francisco home. House, he mentally corrected. Ever since the Intrepid's launch three weeks ago, he had tried to force himself to think of the starship as home. It just wasn't working. He hated packing. More than anything else, it emphasized his inability to stay in any one place for long. It was an activity he could never really escape from. Even before he became Immortal, he started to detest it. Packing meant losing the few friends he had managed to make, angry at the relief others felt with his departure. Then suddenly, he would be somewhere else, alone, unwanted. That had been his life. This time wasn't so bad. He was keeping the house, and only had room for a few of the more special items on board the ship. But still he had ended up with a cube about two meters square. And that didn't count any clothes, which were stored on a isolinear chip until being transferred into the replicator's memory. Sometimes, he wished for a fire or other disaster, to wipe out all the items, all the memories, and let him start over. Fat chance. Richie walked into the den and over to the wall monitor, activating a channel to the Intrepid. "Ryan to Transporter Room Two. My luggage is ready to be beamed aboard." ·Yes, sir. Prepare for transport.· The sharp whine during dematerialization filled the empty foyer, then faded, taking with it the bulky cube. That project out of the way, Richie moved on to the next item on his list. Securing the house. As he looked at the padd he had picked up, a curious sense of déjà vu passed over him, strengthened when the monitor beeped, alerting him to an incoming communication. Confused, he turned to the wall... 2346 A.D. -- San Francisco, Earth ...watching as the image of his legal ward filled the screen. "Jack! What a surprise. Where are you?" His question seemed a bit redundant with the background clearly belonging to the USS Horatio. Specifically, Jack's cabin. "Somewhere between the Surata system and Starbase 65," Ensign Jack Crusher replied. "Now that the pleasantries are aside, what do you think you're doing?" The young man tried to look irritated, but failed miserably. Richie tried not to laugh. "Now that you're out of the house, well...." The Immortal lost control at Jack's astonished look, lapsing into a snicker. "Sorry. I simply need a change of pace. And how did you find out? I only got the word yesterday!" "Only you would call the Klingon Homeworld a 'simple change of pace'! Not enough evil Immortals around for you?" For all the joking, Jack looked concerned. He had met a few, unfortunately with a violent thirst for power. "You think Klingons will be any better?" Richie shook his head. "Much. I'll only have to worry about fresh air. With Immortals...." He shrugged. "You still haven't answered my question." Jack rolled his eyes. Even though he had become Richie's responsibility late in the mortal's childhood, it was difficult not to play father and son. "I've had a few talks where your name has come up, and so the Captain passed on the news." Now the ensign almost blushed. "Were you going to tell me?" A twitch of guilt stabbed at Richie. "Of course. But the approval came suddenly, and you can see, it's been a whirlwind here." To emphasis the point, he motioned at the mess behind him in the living room. Boxes were strewn everywhere, and only the heavy furniture was still in its normal place. Clothes were piled all over. "But you've been thinking about it for a while, haven't you," Jack continued, knowing an evasion. "It is something you want." "Yes," Richie started, when the com panel beeped, signaling another call. Very long distance, if Richie read the coordinates right. "Look, someone else is trying to get through. I was planning to catch you on the trip out, so let's go ahead and plan, say, two days. Same time?" The panel beeped again as a reminder of the other call. The young ensign smiled, already scheduling the free time. "Forty- eight hours. I've started a timer." Jack pointed at Richie as he warned him, another brief smile as the contact ended. Almost immediately, the Starfleet banner appeared, the other call patching through. The face that graced the screen was very familiar, and yet subtly different, as if the mental picture had mutated over time. Physically, Duncan MacLeod's face would never change. "Mac." The word felt so strange on Richie's lips. He knew his face betrayed his shock, because Duncan's expression grew grim. It was as if two people who had pointedly been ignoring each other across a crowded room suddenly found themselves face to face, trapped in a corner. Forced to deal with each other. "Richie," Duncan breathed. It seemed like an eternity passed between the word, and the Highlander's blink. Then time returned to normal, at least for Richie. "I didn't think you'd answer.... Uh, hi." Richie tried to turn off the monitor, but his hand wouldn't obey his mental command. Nothing seemed to work: his arm, his voice, his legs. He was at a loss, caught unprepared. "It's...good to see you." Duncan look thoughtful, concern etched on his face. "I hear you're changing jobs," he quietly said. "Did everybody in the galaxy find out overnight what I'm doing?" The sudden anger broke through the icy grip that held him. "Is there a little old lady with a blue tattoo, locked away in the basement, who's sole job is to alert a few million people about my employment status?" In disgust, the younger Immortal cleaned off a spot on the sofa, sitting down. The Highlander got angry. "Come on, Rich. It's a big deal when you toss out your cushy teaching job for an all-expense paid trip to Klingon central. And it was a pushy bureaucrat at the Diplomatic Corps who called me. Wanted to know what I thought about you. I told him you never lost your head. Or at least, not yet." He added special emphasis to the last word. Richie tried to ignore the dig. "Please don't tell me you called to argue. Please." The Highlander shrugged. "Oh, god. I knew I shouldn't list you as a reference." "I still have a little pull over there. I did work for them for...forty years?" Duncan quickly did the math. "Forty-two. They said you wanted the posting really bad. I told them you'd do a good, thorough job. And you will. Rich...I want this to work out for you." "I appreciate it." Richie's sentiment wasn't fake. There were still a lot of feelings for MacLeod, begging that the rift between them be healed. He opened his mouth to add something else, but stopped. It always began this way, a rosy sense of contentment and closeness, that would slowly turn into a fight. Verbal or physical. Unfortunately, the Highlander was still very perceptive, where his old student was concerned. "You don't seem very excited. Second thoughts?" Duncan's voice took on that older, concerned tone. Softer, more emotional, and straight from the heart. It always cut right through Richie's defenses. The younger Immortal frowned. "I needed a change. Something really different. I thought this was it, but now...." He looked at the screen for help, but Duncan just waited, patiently. It wasn't like time affected them at all. "I have no pressing responsibilities. Teaching has gotten...boring. It seemed a good idea. A strong background as a strategist, patience, a deep belief in peace. It sang to me, Mac." Duncan nodded. "You felt the same way about racing, I recall. And you did very well at that." "For a bit. But, I mean, Klingons," Richie snorted as he started to pace. As if that one word explained everything. "I really thought I had made up my mind. But now that it's happening, I'm.... I'm...." He stopped, placing a hand to his forehead as he tried to work through the feelings. "I'm not sure why I'm going. It's the other side of the galaxy, among people...Klingons...shit!" From behind closed, frustrated eyes, he heard Duncan. "Klingons, Vulcans, French women. It's always something. Every time you leave your comfortable little nest, you...worry. You're doing it now. But you'll be fine. Just like always." Sometimes, Richie wanted to scream at how well this man knew him. After all the years. And more often than not, be right. He hated Duncan for that, being maddeningly right. Sometimes he wondered if he really was three, almost four centuries old, and still unable to swallow advice. His advice. Duncan didn't offer it to belittle him, in fact was trying to save Richie the pain the Highlander had been forced to experience. Wasn't that a facet of love, trying to spare them the pain? Didn't he cut MacLeod completely out of his life because of love? "Mac.... I.... Thanks." "You're always welcome." Duncan cleared his throat, his voice developing an emotional tone. "I've missed you...." "Please," Richie interrupted. "Please, don't." He rubbed his eyes before opening them, the screen blurry as he focused. Or was it tears? "I'm too tired to start. Just let it end like this. Please?" The Highlander looked disappointed, but nodded anyway. "Luck, Rich." And then he was gone, the screen fading to black. But the floodgates had been opened. Both the calm assurance, and the ache of their separation mixed together, forming a bittersweet mood. "Mac," Richie whispered to the empty wall. Gratitude filled his heart as he remembered the good times. The happy times. And the hope that there might someday be more. But all he saw was the sword slicing into the neck, over and over and.... "Richard? RICHARD!!" The female voice was almost at a yell when the Immortal opened his eyes, the panicked face of Dr. Beverly Crusher filling the wall screen. "Answer me!" More concerned than angry, she took a breath of relief when he responded. "Took you long enough." The Immortal shyly grinned. "Sorry, I was...lost in thought." Beverly fixed her steely gaze on him. "You were having a particularly long flashback, weren't you?" Dr. Crusher was one of the few people who knew everything about Richard Ryan, Immortal. It also didn't help he was her father-in-law, in a weird sort of way. "Yes," he guiltily answered. "One of Jack's calls, in fact." That sobered her up. "So, you probably called to offer your congratulations," he supplied, adding a wide grin. Mock disgust graced her face. "Actually, I have several things to bring up. One, did you find anything for my next production?" As the good doctor talked, she moved a finger in turn, accenting her points. "Two, what did you think about Dr. Reyga's theories? Three, did you stop by and see Wesley yet? Four,...." Richie held up a hand to stop her. "Whoa, Nelly. Let me catch up." The Immortal walked to a side table, digging through a small stack of papers. "Uh, first, I found a play. Should be perfect if you want something different than 'Cyrano' this time out." He was very familiar with her love of theater. "Sounds interesting," she cautiously replied, twisting in her office chair aboard the Enterprise. Richie was not known for his literary tastes. "Did you manage to get a title?" "'Before the Dawn.' Really, Bev, why don't you write something yourself?" The good doctor gave him an exasperated stare. Richie picked up another paper before he continued. "Maybe not. As for Dr. Reyga.... A Ferengi scientist? Come on. Not to say his theories on metaphasic shielding isn't interesting, but I'm not a subspace specialist. Heck if I know. Have you tried it outside of these simulations? Actually flown into a star's corona?" Dr. Crusher shook her head, her red hair following along. "Not yet. He's performed a few tests himself, but for any substantiation, no. I'm thinking about seeing if anyone else in the scientific community is interested. So, have you spoken to Wesley yet?" It was Richie's turn to shake his head. "Not yet. I have to go over to the Academy today anyway, and I was timing it to get there at supper. Being an old faculty member should get me a free meal." "That it should," Beverly gleefully agreed. "Oh, I talked to Dr. Simmons the other day," she added, bringing up the Intrepid's Chief Medical Officer. "Those ideas I started when I was head of Medical? Well, Simmons tested them the other day, and all the medical emergency programs came through with flying colors. Your ship is the first to have them." "Really, Bev. Emergency ghost doctors?" Richie hadn't been to thrilled at the supplemental equipment, but had been overruled by Captain Lorrict. But as Petey said, when we're all alone in deep space, every bit will help. He held up a hand to forestall Dr. Crusher's arguments. "Let's just say I haven't made up my mind, and I'll let you know how well they work in real situations. Deal?" She scowled at him. "I guess that's the best I can hope for. Stubborn!" "Idealist," he fired back. "Narrow-minded!" "Romantic!" "You...you...archaic, obstinate,..." she stuttered. Richie held up his hands in surrender. "I give! No more!" They both had a good laugh. "I'll let you get in the last word, this time." "You know," Beverly said, switching subjects. "It's been a long time since I've seen you this happy, Richard. It's nice." Her tone was relieved, not mocking as it had been seconds ago. "Jack would have been proud." Richie finally blushed. "Thanks. You all were right about getting me out of my funk." That conversation had been much less civil than this one. But once they got me to feel angry, that let loose a lot of other feelings. Some that had died with Jack, and I didn't even realize. "I'd have done anything to have Wesley along on this trip, you know." His mouth was graced with a wry smile as Beverly nodded on the screen. "But with the accident and Josh's death last year...." He trailed off, not wanting to bring up the touchy subject. "There was no way to give him a slot with so many others...." He stopped, unable to find a way to continue the train of conversation that wouldn't bring back feelings of disappointment. The Immortal did not need to show up around Wesley with those feelings still inside. "I understand," Beverly replied. From off-screen a nurse appeared, handing the doctor a tricorder. She looked it over quickly, her face turning from sad to grim. "I hate to end it on this note, but a patient just took a turn for the worse. Call me later?" Richie smiled. "Of course. Give us a few days to get everything tuned on the ship, and I'll track you down. You're not going anywhere, are you?" "Not for a few days," she said, standing. "We've had a bad couple of weeks, so there's a ship-wide R&R in effect. Take care." She leaned over the desk, reaching out and shutting off the channel, plunging the wall screen to black. With a sigh, Richie turned off power to the monitor, then activated the security programs for the house and grounds. With another look around the room, he began his preparations to depart. His eyes came to rest on the Toledo rapier hung over the mantel. His sword, the physical symbol of his Immortality, that he had used against so many opponents. But that had been a long time ago. Now it was displayed in a place of honor, gathering dust. It was the symbol of his commitment never to battle another Immortal again.... The sword was already in motion toward the unprotected neck. One hand pinned, the other too far away to block the stroke. Richie mentally cried out, unable to stop the blow himself. The energy had already been transformed into momentum, and he had none left to counteract it. It was happening, just like he had imagined. The look in the other Immortal's eyes was beyond words. It cut straight to Richie's heart and ripped it to shreds. This was what he had feared for so many years. It was always his fault. It had always been.... ---------------- A long time ago, when Richie was still teaching at the Academy, he would sometimes find peace by walking in the Academy gardens. Lush plant life, nurtured by San Francisco's weather, flourished. Several rare Earth species as well as other flowers from around the galaxy were planted along winding paths. As the sun set, and a cool breeze blew off the ocean, Richie would unwind from the rigors of academia. Since joining the Intrepid project, he had rarely had the desire to visit. It just wasn't the same. Students who passed wouldn't call out his name, no celebrations ever swept him along. He was an outsider now. Richie paused, knowing without a doubt the man he was looking for was around the bend. Another Immortal, working in the gardens. A few more steps, and the old man came into sight, bent over a delicate gardenia in bloom. "Boothby," he called. The old man finished his work, struggling to his feet. Richie knew better than to offer any help. The other would stand in his own sweet time. The white haired fellow turned, nodding as if he had already guessed the identity of his visitor. "Professor Ryan. I guess that should be Lieutenant Ryan, now." Mr. Ryan also learned a long time ago that the word "Richie" would never pass the caretaker's lips. He was strange that way, addressing everyone else as a superior. Richie had once tried to ferret out the story of Boothby's early years, to find some clue why he was satisfied to live forever on Holy Ground, tending plants and cadets alike. "Yeah. It's been a while since I was a professor." It seemed useless to point out a decade had passed. Time had an unusual way of not affecting Boothby. More than any other Immortal. "I ship out tomorrow, and I was wondering...." "...if I'd have a few cadets keep an eye on your house. Leaving again, I see." The old man peered intently at Richie, looking not so much at him, but through him. "Still haven't found what you're searching for." That surprised Richie. In all their many, many conversations, nothing so oracular had Boothby ever uttered. And now this. "Excuse me?" Richie asked. "Hmmm." Boothby scowled and looked again, even deeper this time. His stare bothered Richie. "Don't even know that you are searching. It seems the teacher needs the teaching." He waved off a reply when Richie opened his mouth. "But that lesson's for another day. Hand me the codes." The old man held out a withered hand, grasping at the data chip Richie offered. "Now you're confusing me," Richie interjected. "Anything else?" Boothby pointed at the gardenias growing nearby. "If you haven't gone up and said goodbye Joe yet, take him some of those. I know a few fourth year cadets who'd appreciate a night away from the Academy, in exchange for a little housework. She'll be waiting for you when you return. Your house, I mean." To Richie, it had always been the perfect solution to his housesitting problem. He had done much the same for Duncan, many years ago. "You know what they're serving tonight?" "Stew and a casserole, I believe. Off to see Mr. Crusher?" The look on Boothby's face as he said the last two words begged for explanation. "Spill," Richie urged. The gardener shook his head sadly. "He's still one of the best this place has seen for quite a few years. But something's off kilter. His grades are fluctuating, and his mood is sour." The old man huffed. "And he almost crushed my prize roses." "I'll see what I can find out. You'll keep an eye on him, though. For me?" Richie smiled when he got a grudging nod from Boothby. "Thanks for the flowers, I'll stop on my way back and pick them. Goodbye, Boothby." The old man grunted, not offering a hand. "Fair sailing, Mr. Ryan." And then the meeting was over. The old man turned and walked up the path, away from the main buildings, the opposite direction Richie would have to go. Class dismissed, Richie thought. ---------------- "So, it's all done, Joe," Richie said, holding out the flowers. "Boothby wanted me to bring you these." Gently, almost reverently, the Immortal placed them next to the headstone. Every few years, Richie tried to visit Washington State, and spend some time with Joe. Foolish, he knew. But it made him feel better. Talking to Joe had always made him feel better. "The ship looks great. Everything is falling into place, with not a hint of trouble. We start our shakedown cruise tomorrow, so I'm here to say goodbye for a while." Richie knelt on his haunches, talking about anything and everything Joe might have been interested in. Wesley, Pretar, how the sunset had looked just thirty minutes ago as he walked from the Seacouver public transporter. His knees finally started to ache, and that was usually his cue to wind down, and say a few parting words. He never knew if anything came from his visits, except for his peace of mind. "I've been thinking about calling Duncan," Richie finally admitted. He rubbed his hands together, surprised to find them sweaty. A quick wipe on his pants solved that problem. Now if MacLeod would be so easy. "I don't know why, but I never get as far as turning on a monitor. Nerves, I guess. What would I say? How could I explain, when we can barely talk?" His mouth was suddenly dry. He coughed when he tried to swallow. "What would he say? That's what worries me. 'That's fine, Rich, you can go ahead and try.' Like all he needs is another friend after his head..." 2012 A.D. - Joe's Bar, Earth Richie felt, rather than saw, the Immortal approach. He tensed at the warning; there were several of his kind that ended up at Joe's. Even after the elderly Watcher retired, MacLeod and his network of friends still stopped by. It had been almost a home for many of them. So instead of grabbing for his sword and screaming a challenge, the Immortal sipped his drink, and watched the entrance. As luck would have it, or not in Richie's opinion, it was the Highlander himself that burst through the double doors. Too late for Richie to sneak out, or hide. He was trapped. Duncan found him after a quick scan of the tables near the stage. The Highlander nodded at Mike for his usual, and then proceeded to Richie's seat with the drink. "Get in trouble on the Moon?" the Scot asked in a husky voice. He nodded over at the pile of duffel bags that sat on the floor next to the younger Immortal. "Hi, Rich, good to see you," Richie said in a fair approximation of MacLeod's accent. "Gee, Mac, it's nice to see you!" he answered in a chipper version of his own voice. Back and forth he traded off. "How's it going, tough guy? Fine, Mac, and how's your life? The same -- in town for long? I don't know, Mac, you gonna ask me to stay? Sure, Rich, my casa is Sue's casa." The scowl that slowly bent Duncan's lip grew harsher with each passing word of sarcasm. His eyes flashed in anger. "What happened?" he asked in a clenched voice. He wanted a straight answer. Now. Just like always. The drink in Richie's hand suddenly became very interesting. "I died, Mac. Happy?" One quick gulp and all the gin was gone. The empty glass thumped as it hit the table. "Actually, the problem was I revived in front of the entire colony. After they all saw my vacuum packed corpse. So I left." "Rich!" Duncan was livid. "How in the...." The younger Immortal slammed the glass onto the table again as he got to his feet. "Can it! I don't need another lecture on how I screwed up, or what Duncan the Infallible would have done, or anything!" Richie paused to take a breath and noticed the bar was silent. All the patrons were frozen, watching the pair by the stage. With a wave, he signaled the waitress for another drink. He sat back down, staring again at his empty glass. "It wasn't like I had a choice when I woke up, Mac. I opened my eyes and they were all staring at me like I was a monster." It was a sight he would never be able to forget. His voice trembled, something that only rarely happened. He was grateful when the fresh drink arrived. "So what are you going to do?" Duncan's question was one he had asked himself over and over on the shuttle flight down. "I'm spending a few days with Joe and his kids, play 'Uncle Richie' for a bit. Then after that...who knows?" The Highlander finished off his drink and set the empty glass on the table. "You're welcome to come over and spar sometime...." "Your kind of 'help' I don't need, Mac," Richie interrupted. Duncan opened his mouth, but the younger Immortal cut him off. "I know you mean well, but you'll go into teacher mode and harp nonstop." There was a brief flash of hurt in Duncan's eyes before he looked away. "I guess I would. Come by for just a visit then. I'll try not to 'harp'." He grabbed his empty glass and turned away toward the bar. "Mac," Richie called, stopping him. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm still on edge from the trip, and everything." The Highlander glanced back, waiting. "I'll call you in a couple of days. Maybe we could go see a film or something. One with subtitles so you can follow along." A small smile briefly crossed Duncan's lips. "I'd like that. I...." The Scot stopped, his face clearly showing the conflict he felt inside, of wanting to express himself and the incapability of doing so. "David Keogh came back and challenged me." Richie had seen the Highlander go through this many times, each one as painful as the one before. Duncan looked at him with sad eyes, hoping for a response. The young Immortal shrugged. "You want me to say I'm sorry? I knew he was your friend, Mac, but he was after your head. You defended yourself." The Scot sadly shook his head and looked at the bar. "Doesn't make me feel any better, Rich. He was a part of my life and I..." Duncan stopped again, and Richie knew that he was seeing another dark night, in the dojo. Another friend waiting for death, and the satisfaction of killing. Even after the Dark Quickening was over, the Highlander still felt some of that gratification. He never said so, but Richie saw it in his face. That made it even worse for him, the killing. "Mac, why don't I come over for supper tomorrow night? A bottle of wine, some Italian pasta...." The smile that was on Duncan's lips said more then he ever could vocalize. "That would be nice," he quietly added. "Welcome home, Rich." "Thanks, Mac." The young Immortal watched his old teacher walk out of the bar as Joe finally came over. The Watcher shook his head. "Same song, seventeenth verse. It's always the same. Can't you two be together more than ten minutes without fighting? Rich? Richie?" As if the mental voice in Richie's head could belong to anyone else. I'm here. The Immortal was surprised to find his hands shaking. With an audible groan, he slowly rose to his feet, numb legs stretching. A little of the pain leaked over the link. Reality intruded on Richie's lament. That's right. Uh, I'm not anywhere near a communicator at the moment. Can you get someone to home in on me and beam me up right now? I'm at Joe's grave. Just thinking those two words made Richie shiver. Though there was really no need, the Betazoid had the habit of treating their mental communications like a communicator, or even audible speech. But it was so much more. Emotions, sometimes visuals transferred as well. Especially when the emotions ran high. Like the time Richie had depressed himself so much, he flung himself of the nearby cliff. Fat lot of good that did. His ears picked up the whispered whine as the targeting scanners locked on him. "Goodbye, Joe," he said. "I wish you could go with me. But I know wherever you are, you're still watching." And then Joe, the grave, the cemetery, all faded away. 2346 A.D. -- Earth Orbit Richie's first sight of the Intrepid was the small transporter room. Opposite the platform was the technician's station. And behind that was a humanoid in a maroon Starfleet uniform. The Immortal was about to step off, when the doors opened, and another person entered, obviously in a hurry. "I'm so sorry," the man said in a thick accent. "I just got assigned to help you moments ago. I'm Sergey Rozhenko, chief petty officer." With a wide grin, he approached and held out his hand. "Welcome aboard the Intrepid. Is this all your luggage?" Richie shook hands, then reached around to grab his one bag. "Thanks. I travel light. So what's the plan?" "Let me carry that," Sergey insisted, grasping the bag's strap. "First, I'm to show you to your quarters. You won't have much time to freshen up, because the reception is already going on. I'm to show you to that, and then you're on your own." Surrendering the bag, Richie followed Sergey out the door and into the corridors, mentally visualizing the plans for the Ambassador-class vessels. He was about to remark on their location when Sergey cut in. "I'm sorry we're having to put you with the Engineering staff. Such a late addition. There wasn't any time to reshuffle rooms. I hope it won't be too much of an inconvenience. We can..." "It's fine," Richie interrupted. That explained why they were heading away from the guest quarters. This whole assignment was starting off on the wrong foot. "At least it will be out of the way of the other diplomats. I might actually have some peace." Sergey smiled. "There is that. Ah, here it is." With a wave, he motioned toward a door. It really was very out of the way, almost a stone's throw from Engineering. "It's rather small, usually for overhaul consultants." It was tiny, compared to the usual guest accommodations. Even though the Ambassador-class was one of the largest in Starfleet, there were still some personnel who got cramped living arrangements. "The nice part is, I'm right down the hall." With another wave, he pointed out his door. "That will be nice," Richie agreed. "Let me throw some water on my face, and change my shirt. Reception, you say?" Sergey nodded, prompting more thought from the Immortal. "Yeah. Anything else would take too long. Give me five minutes." Five minutes later, plus travel time, found Sergey and Richie entering the reception. The forward mess hall, with a little help from decorations, became a muted party. Soft music, Vulcan, Richie guessed, played over the intercom system. Several faces he recognized, most he didn't. That was just as well. He'd gotten more than one confused look from former students in the corridors. "Well, Mr. Rozhenko. I see you found our latecomer." A rather haughty voice overrode the music, coming from a large man in dress uniform approaching them. "Out of uniform, even. You're dismissed, Mr. Rozhenko." With a perfunctory wave, he brushed aside Sergey and grabbed Richie's arm, hauling him toward a small group of people. Richie opened his mouth to speak, but before he could articulate anything, they were across the room. "Gentlemen, may I present our newest member, Mr. Ryan. Straight from the Academy, I'm told. Ambassador Sarek, of Vulcan. Ambassador Riva, of Ramatis." The two gentlemen he was being presented to nodded serenely. The Immortal bowed, inhaling to utter a greeting, but was interrupted again. "If you'll excuse us," the large man said as he dragged Richie away. "Now, look here," Richie began, not liking this treatment at all. "Ensign," the other man seethed. "First, being out of uniform is inexcusable. I thought they taught cadets better at the Academy. Second. While you may be working with the party at large, you will be working for me. Don't go disturbing the ambassadors or other members. Third. Until things change, you'll be working on board the ship with all the diplomatic communiqués, and I already have filing for you to do tonight...." The man stopped when a hand gently landed on his shoulder. "Commander James," Sarek of Vulcan interrupted. "I was hoping Mr. Ryan could join us later for our opening discussions." The ambassador turned to Richie. "A pleasure to work with you again." Richie resisted a grin. A Vulcan would not appreciate it, and this "Commander James" would not enjoy it. "The pleasure is mine, Ambassador. I was delighted when you were named head of the delegation." Mr. James wasn't liking this turn of events at all. "I'm sorry, Ambassador. I don't believe he'd do you any good. Even though the ensign hasn't been given official position yet, I've found some work for him." Sarek fixed his gaze on the large human. "I heard your last statement. Let me assure you, Commander Ryan will be much more that a file clerk in this delegation." Commander James almost blanched when he heard Richie's rank mentioned. "While the Diplomatic Corps is hesitant to confer full ambassadorship on him, I've already petitioned to have him act as Starfleet's liaison." "But, but," Commander James stuttered, his face very pale. "That's my job." "One not officially given you, as yet," Sarek pointed out. The Vulcan reached out, guiding Richie over to the other ambassador, Riva. "I was impressed with your speech at the Khitomer Conference of 2293. I hope you will bring the same order and 'good sense' to this meeting." "I hope I can," Richie replied, glad to be away from the detestable Commander James. "Wouldn't that be amazing, peace between the Federation and Klingon? For the first time since we met them?" Sarek nodded. "It would be most beneficial." He stopped before going any farther. "I must warn you. Riva is a deaf-mute. He communicates through a 'chorus' of interpreters, three individuals that represent three aspects of him. Speak directly to him. During this reception, I have been acting as his interpreter, allowing his chorus a brief rest from their travels." Richie thought it strange, but no weirder than Immortals "I understand." They continued on, stopping briefly for refreshments when Richie's stomach grumbled. Once an hors d'oeuvre was washed down, they finished their tour of the room. "I believe Mr. Ryan will be a valuable asset to the negotiations," Sarek informed Riva. The Ramatisian examined the Immortal with his dark, black eyes. A smile graced his lips, hidden behind a closely cropped red beard. "I am honored to meet one on whom Sarek heaps such praise," the Vulcan continued, addressing Richie. The words were an echo of the emotions in Riva's eyes. With grace, the bearded ambassador held out a hand, palm first, placing it on the Immortal's chest. "It is," Richie began, freezing at the contact with the Ramatisian's hand. A spark shot through him, both hot and cold at the same instant. The world subtly shifted, as if a doorway opened up and flooded the universe with sudden light. Then Richie fainted. "Sir?" The frightened voice of a young Deltan captured Richie's attention. Opening his eyes, he found himself on the Intrepid's transporter pad. His Intrepid. "Are you all right?" Lieutenant (j.g.) Gehbor asked. Richie shook his head, banishing the vision. "Sorry. Just a little disorientation. I'll be fine." ---------------- "So there's this guy, see? He doesn't understand why I'm visiting the Academy." Richie's voice, sounding like a teenager, echoed in the deserted engine room. "He won't let me into the cafeteria...." Sonya grunted. "Sounds like you had a pretty terrible day," she commented. A quick turn let her fix her gaze on the Immortal as he sat on the railing. "Let me guess, it rained on you, too." The Latino moved closer, trying to work around him. Richie grinned, leaning out of her way. "Nope. Clear as a bell. Who's telling this story?" He picked up one of her stray padds and began punching the buttons. "Give me that," she said as she grabbed it. With a shake of her head, she examined the small screen, hoping everything was still as she left it. "You may be telling, but I have a hundred things to do besides listen. Like a meeting in forty-five minutes? The one you called? Followed by a delightful group discussion with those uncoordinated cadets we're using." "You know the bridge meeting is fluff. And you can certainly handle some adolescent cadets. Right?" The Immortal playfully snatched the padd back, holding it behind him, out of her way. "So whatcha gonna do about it, Gomez?" With a wicked grin, she placed her hands inside his knees. With a yank, she spread his legs apart like a wishbone, moving into the space between them. "I wouldn't be making any threats, just yet," she whispered seductively. With one hand, she grabbed a handful of his loose shirt, jerking him forward. "I can order you around now, Mr. Junior Officer...." Her hot breath fluttered down his chest, her body heat warming his skin. Their breathing quickened, synchronized with each other. She was oh so close. "Gotcha." The word was whispered into his ear as she picked the padd from his hand, now within her reach. With a laugh, she backed away and pointedly ignored his obvious reaction to her flirting. "Damn," Richie cursed, utterly embarrassed as he crossed his legs. I should know better by now, he told himself. "Do you want to hear this story or not?" ·Pretar to Ryan. I hope I'm not disturbing you· "Not," Sonya replied, with a wink. "Go ahead, Captain," Richie said. "There's nothing going on at the moment." His eyes, though, were full of a different message for the engineer. But with a boatload of people, these little games will have to stop. Darn. ·I'm still escorting the diplomats around. Will you go by the Transporter Room and pick up our cadets? Get them settled and such.· "Oh, sure," Richie replied with a grimace. "I just love to play den mother. Ryan out." Sonya's delighted laughter followed him out the room. He turned just as the doors were closing. "You ain't heard the last of me," he added as they shut. It only took a few minutes to reach Transporter Room 2. He barreled through as the doors automatically opened, not expecting anything drastic. I really should know better, he admonished himself again. Most of these are for Sonya, so I guess I should be thankful. Ooh, revenge will be sweet. There were twenty cadets crowded together in the room, plus mounds of luggage scattered in between them. Gehbor looked besieged on the podium, the only uncluttered area. Several cadets snapped to attention as Richie entered, then relaxed as they saw his civilian outfit. A few decided to play it safe and stayed respectful, in case he was an officer. But all of them were scared. "Gentlemen, ladies," Richie said by way of introduction. "If you'll follow me...?" He turned on his heel and headed out the still-open doors. The noise from the commotion behind him made him smile. In deference to their nervousness, he slowed to about half his normal gait. Still, it took twenty minutes to get everyone to the turbolift. "Deck five," he announced, motioning for the first two cadets to enter with him. They rode in silence during the short trip. The Immortal stared straight ahead, watching them fidget in his peripheral vision. He ignored the glances, ignored the luggage hitting him in the leg, and most certainly ignored the fact Sonya had left him very aroused. It took another twenty minutes to get the group assembled in the corridor outside their cabins. With a clap of his hands, Richie called for attention. "For those of you who haven't guessed, I am Lieutenant Richard Ryan, First Officer." He waited for the muttering to quiet before he continued. "I'll give you your cabin assignments in just a minute, but I do have some announcements. As of tomorrow morning, you are all receiving field promotions to ensign for the duration of the cruise. Comport yourselves accordingly." Several of the cadets looked shocked at the surprising news. The limited promotion would look very well on their records. "New uniform patterns are in the replicators. Use them. Second, you have about forty minutes to freshen up before someone from engineering comes by to escort you for a little informal meeting tonight. Don't make them wait. And see if the Chief Engineer will give you all a tour of the ship. Normal duty shifts and rotations, in uniform, with correct rank insignia, will start at 0900 tomorrow. Those of you not on Alpha shift might want to sleep in." God, I really am a den mother, Richie thought as he watched them relax, turning from Academy cadets to lanky teenagers. Was I ever like that? He knew the answer to that question. "Feel free to talk to the Chief Engineer, or myself, if you have any problems. Don't bother the Captain. There won't be a counselor on board, so we all have to tough it out. OK, Jenson." With his left hand, he pointed to the nearest door, continuing to call out names and point to doors as he moved backwards. Now, I feel like a tour guide. I guess those lessons from Tessa came in handy after all. He continued to walk, stiffly pointing out doors with the machine-like motions and dull monotone his dear friend had shown him. None of the cadets seemed to understand the sarcasm. It was funny, however, to watch the madhouse he left in his wake. Cadets fumbled over each other's luggage, trying to quickly get to their cabins. Slowly, the crowd in the corridor thinned as he reached the few remaining doors in this section. "Mr. Kim," he called. "And Mr. Bird." As the last two approached, he noticed they each carried only one bag apiece. Traveling light. Smart. One was an Asian, the other Mediterranean. "Which is which?" The dark haired Asian gulped, nervously looking to the other. "Danny Bird, sir," the other cadet said as he held out his hand. "This is my friend, Harry Kim." After shaking both their hands, Richie turned to Cadet Kim. "If you'll excuse us, Mr. Kim, I need to have a word with Mr., ah, Bird." The inadvertent rhyme helped relax the nervous cadets, prompting a laugh. "I'll return him later," the Immortal added. After the Asian left, Richie turned to the remaining cadet. "You aren't so lucky," he said. "We have a bridge officers meeting in five minutes. Throw your gear on your bed, and come with me." The Immortal's estimate of Mr. Bird continued to climb as the cadet stepped into the room, tossing the bag in the direction of the sofa. Within ten seconds, Danny was standing in front of him, waiting. "Excellent. I see why Captain Lorrict insisted you should be on the bridge." "Thank you, sir," Danny replied, following Richie as the Immortal turned and walked down the hall. The cadet easily slid into position next to the First Officer as they entered the turbolift. "I plan to be the best." Don't we all, Richie mentally added, bolstered by the cadet's bold attitude. ---------------- 0700 rolled around, and Richie awoke with a start. It was bad enough dreams and memories had been plaguing him for the last few months, but the disorientation he felt as he looked around in the dark almost made him panic. "Lights," he called out, already rolling to the side, hunting for the phaser he kept nearby. His hand thumped on a side table as the room erupted into light. He was aboard the Intrepid, in his quarters. He started gulping air as he looked around, his eyes finding his belongings, still mostly unpacked. The windows were clear, letting in the small amounts of light the stars produced. He felt no other Immortal. With a sigh, he fell back onto the bed, letting his body relax. Bad dreams, strange surroundings and now he was turning paranoid. It took a moment to catch his breath, the sudden shot of adrenaline slowly wearing off. He ran a hand over the bedsheets, feeling the differences from his own. The mattress was harder and thinner. Not quite as big as his old one. But it was something he would get use to, again. Another bed in a long string of abodes, all he called home. Maybe this one would feel like it. He almost thought he could understand Duncan, and the Highlander's need to build or remodel. It was a great feeling. Here was a place that Richie had built himself. His sweat and blood were mixed with the duranium and plasteel. He was surrounded by friends, and fueled with a purpose. What more could anyone ask for? But there was more. Richie wished he knew what it was. Pretar thought from the room next door, the Captain's quarters. Richie momentarily debated whether or not he could stay in bed for a few more minutes. "Come," he said aloud, unlocking the door. He decided it would be best to get the morning rituals out of the way. I'm jumping into the shower, so take your time. The Immortal slid out of bed, heading for the bathroom. Pretar Lorrict rounded up the last of the padds scattered around his cabin. Most only required his thumbprint before being filed, but several had points he needed to bring up with his first officer. Once they were carefully balanced in his arms, he headed for the door. All of a sudden, a wave of contentment enveloped him, traveling along the bond from Richie as the Immortal immersed himself in hot water. Unable to get any shields up in time, Pretar felt his body respond, namely by relaxing. The padds trembled, their precarious balance disturbed. He quickly moved several steps down the corridor to Richie's door, which opened for him. The Betazoid barely made it to the table before the stack shifted and scattered themselves over the surface. Thanks, Pretar thought out. I really wanted to take another shower today. The captain had been awake since 0500, working on the myriad of reports and files. All a hot shower did for him now was make him sleepy. Richie replied, It seemed weird, feeling chagrin from a man almost ten times older than the Betazoid. Several sarcastic replies crossed Pretar's mind, including an impish desire for Richie to come out and get it himself. Decorum and prudence won, and within seconds, the replicator spit out a brand new, newly designed uniform, tailored for Richie's measurements. The Betazoid looked briefly at the gray undershirt, wondering if now was a good time for his surprise. Better wait. "Hhuummf?" Richie asked as Pretar laid the uniform on the bathroom counter. It was hard to vocalize when hot water splashed on one's face, but the mental query came through loud and clear. "Breakfast," Pretar sidestepped, as he turned and left the bathroom. It was hard for him to breathe with all the steam. He spent the next several minutes over the table, arranging the padds and ignoring the noises from the shower. He had finally taken a seat to wait when the bathroom door slid opened. The setting looked like something from one of Richie's bad movies. A wave of white steam burst through the door into the room, and out of it strolled the Immortal. His dark shape was visible first, wisps of white swirled around him. Then he was there. Pretar's first look took his breath away. Starfleet's new uniforms, for station personnel and Intrepid-class vehicles was a one piece jumpsuit, with a gray undershirt. The jumpsuit was solid black up to mid-chest, with the top in one of the three basic colors. Maroon for Command, yellow for Services and blue for Sciences. It had no collar, just a closable seam in front from neck to crotch. This let the undershirt, which did have a high collar, be seen. The effect on Richie was remarkable. The maroon brought out the red highlights in his dark blond hair. The gray and black made the Immortal's blue eyes the only other color, and very noticeable. From the soft padded shoulders, to the black boots, the uniform made Richie neat, trim and serious. "Oh, my," was Pretar's comment. Richie blushed, not one for being examined. "You're exaggerating, as usual," he said. Once he noticed the padds on the table, he moved closer. "I'm serious, Rich," Pretar argued as he stood, "you look good." He pulled out a palm-sized case from the stack on the table. "And I've got something that will make it even better." The Betazoid walked around the table, meeting Richie in the middle of the room. "Here," he said, opening the box and revealing a solid black pip with gold edging on a cushion of black velvet. "Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander Ryan." Richie looked at the physical representation of a promotion, speechless. Pretar moved next to him, adding it with the two solid gold pips on his collar to make three of them in a row. "Perfect," Pretar commented as he stepped back to admire the effect. The Immortal was frozen, trying to decide if this was something he wanted or not. He had fluctuated up and down the ladder so many times, rank wasn't very important. It didn't affect his position as second- in-command, that rested on the bridge officer's test. The pay change was hardly worth the effort, when weighed against all of Richie's fortune. But out of everything in the world, it was the only thing Pretar could give him that meant something. "Thank you," he finally replied, absently rubbing his fingers over the three pips. "Thank you," he repeated, not knowing what else to say. Pretar gently turned him so that he was facing the one mirror in the room. Richie didn't want to look. Mirrors were something he avoided. This one would have been gone by that evening. But the Betazoid's firm hand on his chin raised his head, until he could no longer avoid the sight. He locked eyes with himself, wondering what would happen this time. It had been a while since he had seen the man in the mirror. Or more exact, the boy. At nineteen, Richie had thought of himself more of a charmer than a hunk. Well, Tessa had called him handsome, but he felt his face was bland. Ordinary. His blue eyes weren't a clear blue, just like his hair. What was it Miranda called it? Dishwater blond. Dirty, like his eyes. The quintessential blue-eyed blond, but sullied. That's what he saw. The face was the same as it had always been. The Immortal found it hard to remember if he had looked any other way. It had been so long ago. As time had passed, he found himself drifting father away from his reflection, sort of like Dorian Gray, but in reverse. The mirror was showing him a mockery of what he felt. He was getting older, so much older, and there was his laughing visage, young as always. One, or the other, was a lie. He had married (once), raised several children (each adopted, like Jack), and occasionally he'd chance to see himself in a mirror. In it the street punk, sometimes even caught in a grin, would frown, and look back with sad, tired eyes. But the face was always young, and fresh. Such a lie. "That's not me," Richie whispered, finally turning away from the mirror. Pretar was beside him, waiting. "That can't be me." Somehow, the Betazoid guided him to the bed. There was a hand on his shoulder, and comfort flowing from the bond, but confusion overwhelmed him. It was always like this, with the mirror. "I don't want to be that," he cried, suddenly almost in tears. Out of all the pros and cons of Immortality, Richie had narrowed his hatred to one simple thing. He would never grow old. Everything else had a solution, albeit a temporary one, except for his appearance. He was forever frozen at nineteen. And he hated that. Always being treated like a teenager. Never given credit for maturity or wisdom. Always looked down upon as a young, naive man. Or boy. The last straw had been one evening when he had dined with Miranda, and one of the old socialite biddies had commented on "her boy-toy." That had killed him. Babbling, he managed to tell some of it to Pretar. The Betazoid sat beside him, whispering soft, soothing words, letting the Immortal say what he needed. This had been building for a long time, much longer than the Captain had originally thought. But before they set out to explore the galaxy, it needed to be purged. And neither was deluded enough to think the problem was totally solved, but at least now, Richie would be able to talk about it. That was a step in the right direction. Before Command training, Pretar had been a ship's counselor. Once Richie had told him about Immortals, he had spent a lot of time at Starfleet Medical, auditing the courses on long-lived species, and other seminars that might help in dealing with a person who would live forever. A discreet meeting with Dr. Crusher five years ago had also helped. The Betazoid knew having Richie as a first officer was a two- way street. The Immortal offered a lot, but needed as much in return. "Why don't I feel wise?" Richie suddenly asked. "I'm almost four hundred, and all I feel is stupid." Pretar couldn't help chuckling, but he also knew Richie wouldn't interpret it the wrong way. "By the First House! That's a tough one." With a sigh, he lay back on the bed, knowing this would take a bit. "Now, this is just my personal opinion...," he began, looking at Richie curled up at the head of the bed. The Immortal nodded, wrapping his arms around his knees. "I understand." "In most species, there's birth, life, and finally death. In the middle.... No, wait." Pretar stopped, taking a moment to order his thoughts. "Most species have a definite lifespan. In humans, it's about one hundred thirty years. Betazoids, about one eighty. Vulcans, around two, two fifty. With me so far?" Richie nodded. "So, somewhere in the middle of that, the lifespan, a person wakes up one morning. The body's a little slower, the joints ache, the lines appear on the face. There comes a time a person can't kid himself any longer; he's on the downhill stretch of his life." The bed wiggled every time Pretar gestured with his hands. His face was animated, and he couldn't help feeling excited. That made Richie smile. "When a person feels, really feels, his mortality, something happens," Pretar continued, sitting up at the foot of the bed. "He realizes that he's running out of time. There won't be much time to find more answers. He stops actively searching. He's spent all this time gathering knowledge, and what is he going to do with it? Where's the enlightenment? There is none. Heck, you've known people over a thousand years old, and still haven't found any enlightenment. So we can assume there is none. Just more questions. With me so far?" Richie nodded again. "And this is leading...?" "Shut up, you," Pretar jokingly warned. "This is my lecture. Now, this person looks back, and notices how much he's learned, how many answers he has. And all around him are all these people, younger people, still searching for answers. So he sets up shop to dispense those answers." Richie shook his head, holding out a hand and interrupting. "I'm talking wise people here, Petey. Every salesman is trying to sell answers. Especially to make a buck." "Try this. The wise ones are the people who realize you can't just hand out answers to people. They won't learn. You have to set their feet on the right path to find the answer." Pretar tried to gauge Richie's reaction. "You don't understand." The Immortal did look confused. "So...the wise ones don't give out the answer, but try to lead others to the right answer. So all I have to do...." "Wait right there," Pretar said. "It's true, you might be able to find the right frame of mind to be considered a wise person, but you're forgetting the first part." "Which is?" Richie prompted. Pretar leaned forward. "You have to give up searching. True wisdom comes when you give up the thirst for knowledge, and I don't think you're ready for it just yet." "I guess you're saying that when I don't need to search...." Richie stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes suddenly unfocusing. "No longer need to search," he mumbled. His face brightened. "I understand." It was Pretar's turn to be confused. "That's good, 'cause I don't." "Just something a person told me," Richie explained, grinning again. "I still wish I felt wise, though." "What are we going to do with you?" the Betazoid joked. In a fit of whimsy, he reached out to tousle the Immortal's damp hair. He was unprepared for the instant and overwhelming response. Apparently, he had flipped one of Richie's switches. Waves of pure anger flooded along the bond to Pretar. He could almost see it, red and seething. Richie's face was livid. "Don't you ever say that to me again," the Immortal hissed through clenched teeth. But it broke, like a wave upon the shore, and all that remained was embarrassment and sorrow. "Maybe we should go get breakfast, now," Pretar pointed out, knowing when to cut and run. The Betazoid stood and walked to the door, stopping and turning to wait. "Coming?" Richie was torn between apologizing and trying to ignore his outburst. "Yeah," he sullenly replied, standing also and smoothing out the wrinkles in his uniform. "Petey,..." he started, walking toward the door. It's fine, Pretar thought, giving the Immortal's shoulder a brief squeeze. They walked into the hall and down the corridor, side by side. Once again Captain and First Officer. ---------------- Breakfast in the mess hall, and a morning full of reports and activity had kept Richie busy enough not to dwell on what happened earlier. With the medical staff finally on board and the gaggle of young cadets, he was up to his chin in paperwork. But now that everything was ready, and nothing left but set a course and go, his mind returned to his outburst. "What are we going to do with you?" The few times someone had uttered those words had scarred him more than he would admit. He was the misfit. The extraneous puzzle piece that doesn't fit anyplace. The eternal fifth wheel. God, how he hated that. When Emily Ryan died, and Mr. Stubbs had first said it to him, everything had fallen apart. The hell of the orphanage, then moving from one foster family to another, never fitting in. He was always the outsider. He hated feeling that way so much, he had finally run away his junior year of high school. Lived on the streets for over a year, stealing to survive. Nobody ever said he didn't fit in on the streets. He never sunk to true homelessness, but he did spend a lot of time cold and hungry. Then Duncan had found him, and as much as he tried, they all tried, Richie was always 'extra'. He didn't feel it at the time; he was overwhelmed by everything. The shop, Immortals, having a home. He only found out later... 2092 A.D. -- Paris, Earth ...that night. Later than he had planned. Luckily, the day wasn't over yet, not until midnight. Winter Solstice was special for Richie. Not because it was the shortest day of the year, nor for any astrological or agronomical reasons. His teacher, his friend, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod had been born on that day. Five hundred years ago, to be exact. It hadn't been easy getting to Earth from Vulcan in time. Then there was a hectic morning and afternoon flying the globe, trying to find the Highlander. But at 11:30 pm, amid the bright lights of Paris, Richie got out of the rented car. He took a moment and looked across the Quai de la Tournelle at the new barge. Duncan always seemed to return here. The young Immortal couldn't complain--the first winter here, just the three of them, had been...magical. Leaning over to the passenger seat, Richie grabbed the small, wrapped present and card. It wasn't much, really, just an attempt at jewelry. One thing the Vulcans did well, besides justify everything, was their metalwork. What else would you expect from an environment whose mean temperature could melt bronze? He looked at the other two cars he had parked near. One was Duncan's antique Beamer, the other a mystery. Probably Amanda's or Adam's, or some other friend. Richie was still too far away to know how many Immortals were on the barge. All the lights were off, so it was probably Amanda, or some other woman. Richie paused, wondering if he should disturb them. Duncan would probably be celebrating. His mind was decided for him. Suddenly, a small light was turned on inside the barge, sending faint rays out the portholes. Several were open, letting the air in and sound out. It was difficult to see who was inside, but an odd premonition made Richie stay where he was. He found himself very nervous, and tense. "What is it now, MacLeod?" Adam's voice drifted over the still night air to the cars on the bank. One question was answered. There was a moment of silence from the barge, while a dark shape moved toward the bow. Richie dared not step closer. "I can't believe he didn't call," the Highlander quietly replied, his deep baritone unmistakable. "Look, Duncan, it's not midnight," Adam shot back. "There still is time. Besides, he may have tried while we were at the opera. You know you never activate the answering program when you leave." "Yeah," the Highlander replied, his voice full of sarcasm. "Anything's possible. I guess I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. Why should Richie remember my birthday? Like he cares." The dark shaped moved to a porthole, blocking the light. It was apparently Adam. "Is that why you've been such a sourpuss all day? Waiting for your student to call? Get a real life, MacLeod. I didn't come all this way to spend a week watching you pine away for your student. Who knows what is going on with that guy? He's on another planet. Literally." "You don't like him very much, do you?" Duncan asked. Richie froze as Adam looked out the porthole at the bank. "I'm surprised he's lived this long. And that's only because of your training. Most of the young ones are all dead by now." Duncan's next words were lost on the wind, but Adam's voice was still strong. "It doesn't matter to me, he's not my protégé. You're the one who said you wished you'd never taken him under your wing." More was said, but because of the wind, or the shock, Richie didn't hear the rest. The voices were arguing, sharp edged words, but he wasn't paying attention. His legs felt weak, and only leaning against the side of one of the cars kept him from collapsing to the ground. He'd never imagined the Highlander didn't want him. Never. Sometime later, after the lights were extinguished and the voices silenced, Richie dug around for a pen. He quickly scrawled a brief note on the outside of the card, explaining he had come by very late and didn't want to disturb the Highlander. Then with a little work and a small pick, Duncan's car was unlocked and the alarm deactivated. Richie placed the package and the card inside, and softly shut the door. Like a phantom in the night, he left, driving away. By the time he had reached Vulcan, he had convinced himself it was all a dream, a nightmare. A nightmare he never woke from. Richie blinked, finding himself staring at the dedication plaque on the bridge, his fingers idly rubbing his name. Sometime recently, a new one had been installed, this one giving his new rank of Lieutenant Commander. Petey thinks of everything. At that moment, the door to the Captain's Ready Room whooshed open, and Captain Lorrict entered the bridge. From across the room, George Aston called out "good mornin', Cap'n." "Let's get the show on the road, shall we?" the Betazoid asked moving to his chair. "Bridge to Engineering. Gomez, are we ready yet?" ·Nine by nine, sir. You have full impulse, and the warp drive is ready for action.· "Fire her up, Chief. Bridge out. Mr. Bird, report to the bridge. Helm...." Pretar stopped, having to take a second to find Richie by the wall. "Would you care to join us, Mr. Ryan?" The turbolift doors opened, disgorging the smiling Ensign Bird. "Already on my way, Captain." He waited patiently, drawing attention from the Immortal. "If you'd be so kind as to monitor tactical as we leave the system," the Betazoid offered. "Yes, SIR!" Danny acknowledged, smiling widely as he moved over to the back console. George was grinning like a Cheshire cat, keeping his eyes glued to his Operations station. During the exchange, Richie quietly moved to the conn, sitting down and swinging into action. Pretar turned back. "Set a course, Mr. Ryan. And this time, try not to antagonize the navigational programs." Richie didn't verbally acknowledge the order, just efficiently went about doing it. Sometimes Richie hated the bond. No, he mentally sighed, signaling Ops and Engineering for power. Yes. I don't know. I shouldn't have yelled at you. That was uncalled for. Pretar calmly replied. The Betazoid cleared his throat. "Time to Jovian orbit?" Sure, Richie mentally replied. "Thirty seconds. Bringing warp engines on-line. Course set at heading 247 mark 4. Twenty seconds." The Immortal double checked the heading, notifying engineering of imminent warp speed. "Ten. Pivoting nacelles. Five. Four. Three. Two. Engaging warp drive." Outside, the ship cruised along just slower than the speed of light, slicing effortlessly through the minute debris of space. Powerful harmonics formed around the ship, solidifying into a subspace bubble, invisible and undetectable by normal means. A hole in space/time appeared in front of the vessel, pulling it forward. So fast that viewed in normal space, the ship was stretched. In truth, the vessel attained faster-than-light speed. At the beck and call of her master, the Intrepid jumped. ---------------- 2346 A.D. -- Near the Homwell System, Sector 501 "I believe, gentlemen," Sarek of Vulcan said as he lay the padd down on the table, "we have an opening statement." The other three persons gave their own versions of relief. Sarek had been the last one to read it. Maggie Tuscona stood up. "Now that that's settled, I am long overdue for sleep." As the group's linguist and archivist, she had been working for the last forty hours, translating and editing. It was easy for everyone else to fade in and out as they discussed tenses and modifiers, but poor Maggie could rarely get a break. With a nod, she swept out of the room, heading for her cabin. "The opening paragraph was eloquent, Mr. Ryan," Riva said through the woman as Wisdom. He smiled warmly at the Immortal before standing as well. "Good night," Intellect spoke. After working with the odd chorus for over a week, it was starting to get easier to understand the three who spoke for the one. Richie felt right at home. There were so many foreign movies he had seen with MacLeod, that voice-overs were almost second nature. "Thanks," he called out, watching the Ramatisian and two of the chorus leave. The Warrior aspect remained, looking rather sheepish. The Immortal's stomach tweaked. "Anyone care for a late night snack?" Sarek declined. "I've been enlightened to your peculiar dietary habits, Mr. Ryan. I must decline. Good night, gentlemen." The Vulcan swept out of the room, leaving the Immortal and last chorus member. Richie gathered his notes, hoping the other would speak. When there was nothing left to do but leave, Richie looked up from his seat, eyeing the warrior. "Well?" he asked, drawing out the word in invitation. "If I may be so bold..." the man asked, hesitating for a sign of encouragement from the Immortal. With a wave from Richie's hand, he continued. "I am Nostrum, a prince of Ramatis' Warrior Clan. I have heard you are a fighter of some renown. Would you care to spar?" The request was something of a shock. It was an offer Richie had been declining for several decades, but now he sat back and thought. While diplomatic work was rewarding and uplifting, it was all desk work. His mind was working fifteen hours a day, while his body languished. He had meant to do some exercising, but maybe a workout partner would be the thing. He and Charlie always had fun, productive workouts, and that's exactly what he needed at the moment. "What's your pleasure?" he asked with a smile. Nostrum would make a fine Clan Chief someday. Richie had decided that after thirty minutes of nonstop hand-to-hand. The pair was in one of the smaller gyms aboard, their sweat-streaked bodies the only color amid the gray walls. "Here," Richie said, purposely grabbing Nostrum's arm and slowly showing him the last throw. The prince rolled gently on the mat, letting the Immortal follow through and add the nerve hold that had ended the informal match. "I see," Nostrum replied, trying one of two possible counters. The Immortal had moves for each. The Ramatisian only worked himself into a tighter package. "Enough!" Richie stood, offering Nostrum a helping hand, which the chorus member accepted. "You're very good," the Immortal pointed out. It had taken several of his best moves to defeat the other. "I haven't had such a tough time since...well, quite a while." "You are better," Nostrum bluntly pointed out, heading for the pile of towels and water holders they had brought. "It has been a honor. If I might...ah...." It struck Richie that Nostrum was not much older than he had been, the first time he had met Duncan MacLeod. Even though the prince was at his height, and fully muscled, he was only twenty, according to the bio. And as nervous as the Immortal had ever been. Richie paused. "Go on," he urged, reaching for his towel. Nostrum gathered his courage. "I would like for us to do this again...if you are agreeable, of course." The prince brushed a wet lock of his dark brown hair aside, giving Richie a hesitant look. "You are an excellent teacher," he added, hoping it might help his cause. "Well, I'd be honored myself to have a student of your skill," Richie replied, not wanting to prolong the man's wait. "It is agreed," the Immortal formally intoned. The pair bowed, Nostrum's face a mix of relief and seriousness. "That would not be a bad idea," the prince said, his voice dropping half an octave. Richie looked at him with a raised eyebrow. It was Nostrum's small glance behind him that made Richie turn, surprised to see Riva at the door. "I am sorry to intrude, Mr. Ryan," the prince added as Riva bowed formally as well. Richie returned the salute. "You would not be intruding," he replied. "It might help ease the situation for you to make similar arrangements among the Klingons," Riva pointed out, Nostrum's voice added to his own facial expressions. "Such bonds would only help our cause." Like a dance, the prince moved behind the Ambassador, taking his normal place. "Out of our group, you seem the best candidate for such a task." It wasn't as easy for Richie to switch gears, seeing Nostrum change from person to mouthpiece. Try as he might, the Immortal could not help glancing at him as he spoke. But Riva did not seem offended. "I'll see what I can do. You're right, though. We'll need every connection we can get." Riva quirked an eyebrow. "Just because they are ready to talk about peace," Nostrum supplied, "does not mean they are ready for peace." The diplomat chuckled without a sound, but Nostrum's voice held the mirth. "And it shall be the warriors who lead to the peace." "Wise words," Richie acknowledged. With a final nod, Riva departed. It was strange watching Nostrum visibly change; first standing rigid like a statue, muscles poised, then relaxing and becoming more expressive and free. The Immortal decided that it was harder now that he thought of the prince as a person, not just a nameless translator, like the other two. "That was weird." Nostrum finally reached for his own towel. "It is difficult to find free time when one is part of Riva's chorus. That is part of the price. But I believe he approves of our arrangement." The nagging sound of tapping intruded. Richie looked down, surprised to find the prince's feet perfectly still. "Richie?" Nostrum asked, his voice pitched too high. The Immortal just stared. "Richie," Sonya said again. Richie blinked, finding himself at a table in the mess hall. The Chief Engineer was standing across from him, tray in hand, her foot meticulously tapping the carpeted floor. "Gomez to Ryan, come in Ryan." "He's been like that all afternoon," Danny pointed out from the next chair over. His tray was empty, except for a small piece of chocolate pie. The last Richie had seen, it was heaped with food. "At least I don't have to fight to dominate the conversation." Ensign Kim edged around Sonya to take the chair next to Danny. "That'd be a first," he joked, a smile gracing his face. With relish, the Asian dug into his plate, not waiting for Sonya. "Yeah, whatever, sit," Richie offered, waving his fork at the last empty seat. "And you," he added, using his fork to point at Danny, " do not need to be relating stories about your superiors, Ensign." Ensign Bird did not look exactly sorry. "Yes, sir," he said, scowling when Harry grinned even wider this time. "I won't tell anyone you've spent the last forty minutes playing with your mashed potatoes...." Danny stopped at Richie's panicked look. "What?" the Immortal loudly asked. "It's been that long? Why didn't you do something?" His outburst shook the ensigns up. Danny only nervously shrugged his shoulders. "Computer, time," Richie called out, already standing. ·Time is 1917.· "Damn," Richie cursed, running from the table. He was scheduled to relieve Pretar at 1900. I hate being late. Danny leaned into the table, whispering conspiratorially. "Is he always like that?" Sonya looked at both their eager faces, torn between loyalty to Richie, and the chance to dish some dirt. "Let me tell you about the time he accidentally left the holodeck on, and...." ---------------- Captain's Log, Stardate 46261.5. We have successfully smoothed out the matter/antimatter mix through Warp 7.9 as of yesterday evening. Today we finish up Warp 8 and 9, then proceed at a leisurely pace to the Braslota system for other testing. The Engineering staff has yet to encounter a problem that was not a simple fix. I know Sonya is curious to see how well the neural gel packs hold up under str.... The Captain's Ready Room was plunged into darkness in the middle of Pretar's comment. Outside the large windows, the streak of stars at warp collapsed to their normal round pinpricks, then started wildly tumbling. It didn't help the Betazoid that the artificial gravity failed, and he too started tumbling. "Captain to Engineering, report!" Silence answered him. Stifling a curse, he tapped his communicator on his chest, trying to open a comlink. "Engineering? Anyone?" Still no answer. "Computer, what is the ship's status?" Richie thought out. Pretar grabbed the edge of his desk. Yeah, though we're tumbling pretty bad. Do you remember if there's any navigational hazard we could be floating towards? After he got his spinning under control, a soft kick sped him to the doors. He grabbed at the frame, trying to anchor there. It wasn't a completely selfless request from the Immortal. Pretar knew he didn't like the dark. And only the Ready Room and Conference Room had windows on this level. No, the Betazoid replied, feeling for the access hatch to the manual override. Try and keep the cadets on the bridge calm. Is George there yet? Richie thought a curse that was truly unpronounceable. Feel up to it? Pretar asked, concerned. Richie wasn't the most accomplished telepath he had known, and stretching beyond simple mental communication was risky for the Immortal, at best. I think it might be wise to let Sonya have a chance of getting things back on. Richie replied, with only a small feeling of disappointment surfacing. Pretar tried not to picture the free-for-all happening just a few feet away, but a chuckle sounded as he manhandled the door controls. It was eerie, to be working in the black and silence during a crisis. Usually, red flashing lights and sharp klaxons kept the adrenaline rush at fevered pitch, but this was definitely different. Hopefully, not fatal. "Report," he called out once the doors were open enough for him to float onto the Bridge. Richie had been right, it was spooky. He heard one of the cadets on the far side, probably near Ops, and Richie helping Danny somewhere to the left. "Same old same old," the Immortal called out, more of a location signal than a real answer. "I think Danny's bleeding. My hand feels wet. Can you get to one of the emergency beacons?" The tactical console held all the emergency equipment for the Bridge. Medical kit, light beacons, and some rations. Just another of the many precautions they had made. It took a moment for Pretar to pivot around, the better to launch himself over the console. Not that the Betazoid had much problem in zero gravity, but without any light, each protrusion and beam became almost lethal. He felt around, trying to remember which access panel held the supplies. Compartment G-3, which is two over and... ·Gomez to Bridge. Can anyone hear me? Gomez to Bridge.· "We hear you," Pretar called out as his hand closed on the light beacon. "Go ahead." ·Everything, and I mean everything is off-line. We're trying to coax the emergency generators to life down here, which will give us enough power to start the others remotely. Any problems up there?· The Betazoid closed his eyes before turning the small light on. Immediately, the area behind the tactical console burst into light. "We're tumbling, but everyone's semi-fine. Do you know what caused this, yet?" As he talked he grabbed another beacon, sending it spinning across the room to the cadet at Ops. Pretar could barely make out Richie, his legs wrapped around the back railing with Danny's head trapped against the Immortal's chest. Small globules of blood floated around them like satellites. ·Ah,....· "Out with it," Pretar ordered, pulling out the medical kit. With a tiny push, he floated toward Richie and Danny, slow enough that his arrival wouldn't jar the pair. The Chief Engineer hadn't replied by the time he reached them. "Sonya." ·I think I spilled some coffee on the main power relay....· It was too much for Ensign Bird. He let loose a loud giggle. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Coffee." His voice was tinged with hysterics, but he didn't struggle. Pretar and Richie locked eyes over the young man's head. "That's enough, Mr. Bird," Pretar warned, running a scan on the head injury. The medical tricorder only found minimal damage, the worst being loss of blood. Which is probably making him giddy, mixed with the darkness.... "Do your best. Bridge out." There was an edge in the tone of the last order. Pretar shook his head, aware that Richie found this as frustrating as he did. Digging a pressure bandage from the med kit, the Betazoid applied it to Danny's wet skull, giving it a once- over with the tricorder. "Good as new." "I wish," Danny mumbled in reply. In contrast to his gloomy demeanor, the emergency lights activated, as well as the gentle sounds of life support. With a sympathetic pat on the ensign's shoulder, Richie turned to the other bridge crew at Ops. "How are you holding up, Susan?" The blond cadet nodded nervously, already seeing if there was anything she could do to help Engineering from her console. "Artificial gravity is back on-line," she called out. All four gently floated to the carpet. Disaster protocols called for a two minute delay before the full 1G was reached, so that delicate and vital equipment wouldn't crash to the floor. During the wait, George Aston appeared on the Bridge, via the Jefferies tubes. The Texan's grumpy visage changed to concern once he saw the injured ensign. "Whatintha Sam Hill happened to you?" he asked. "Seems Mr. Bird didn't live up to his name," Captain Lorrict supplied, trying to lighten the moment. "He ended up playing hardball with a bulkhead." Danny just scowled again. "Rich, once the turbolifts are working, escort Danny to Sickbay, and have them look at that cut of yours as well." "What cut..." the Immortal started, raising his hand to his forehead. His fingers came away bloodied. As everyone watched, the wound sparked, slowly healing itself. Richie just looked annoyed. It was Pretar's turn to almost blush. "Sorry." The Betazoid took a second and revised his game plan. "Ensign Boulter, would you escort Mr. Bird to Sickbay once the turbolifts are working? Mr. Ryan, you have the Bridge, Mr. Aston, with me. We'll be in Engineering." He crooked a finger, beckoning the Texan to the Jefferies tube. "Again?" George asked, several soft chuckles following him as he entered the small crawlway. Richie rubbed his hands, looking around the Bridge. "All right, Susan, try and get at least some power to the thrusters. We need to stop the tumbling. Danny, see if you can get the viewscreen on-line." All three went to work, until five minutes later, the viewscreen lit, the thrusters were ready, and the turbolift door opened. "That's your cue to exit." Once the pair had left, the Immortal turned his attention to the screen. Without any power to the sensors yet, he was going to have to do this by eye. Let's start with a little bit to the left.... ---------------- It was relatively quiet in Sickbay when Richie finally arrived. He had planned to check on Danny as soon as Aston returned to the Bridge. Dr. Simmons was working on the ensign at one of the beds. Julia Everett was assisting and Ensign Kim was off to the side, nursing a freshly bandaged hand. "So, Doctor, will he live?" the Immortal asked. "Just barely," Danny spat. "Yes," the tall human replied a little forcefully, not stopping what he was doing. "Dermal stimulator," he said, holding out his hand. The nurse handed the small instrument to him, then moved back to the office. "By the way, Ryan. Did you get the license plate of the truck that hit him?" It constantly amazed Richie how much of his archaic language ended up in his coworkers' vocabulary. Guess I'm habit forming. "I H8 N-SENZ, Doc. So it's only a flesh wound?" Jarvis Simmons nodded, finishing the scalp rejuvenation. "Yes. He's perfectly fit for duty, unlike that one." With a wave, he gestured over to the other ensign. "Now, son, watch out for those low-flying runabouts...." The doctor was gently patting Danny's shoulder when the ensign interrupted. "It wasn't my fault. Gomez probably had an ancestor on the Titanic. The Challenger.... "Danny..." Harry Kim warned from the wall. The Asian nervously glanced at Richie, then back to his friend. "Your mouth...." "...the Nova Squadron...." Richie stepped in, holding up a hand. "That's enough, ensign. Mr. Bird will have plenty of time to work on his mouth, Mr. Kim, while he does a planetary survey of the system we're traveling through. All ten planets. And moons." That got Danny's attention. "We only have the lateral array working, so you better get started. With your permission, Doctor?" Dr. Simmons nodded, heading back to his office. Unfortunately, Harry Kim didn't have the same restraint. "Sir..." A glare from Richie stopped him. "I, I better get back to engineering." With one last sympathetic glance, he left. "That will take weeks, sir," Danny pointed out. Richie smiled. "Then you had really better hurry." It didn't take someone with a Betazoid's ability to sense Ensign Bird was choking back another retort. The young man just glared on his way out, avoiding Richie as he passed. "I'm sure you'll learn something from this," the Immortal encouraged. "The best always do." ---------------- A very angry Daniel Bird glared at the console. It didn't glare back, same as the last six hours. With a small sense of accomplishment, the survey on planet number three was done. What was irritating was the sensors were already aligning on number four. And it's sixteen,...no, seventeen moons. But luckily, the evening shift was almost over, and Commander Ryan just might let him leave. He'd been at the tactical console since returning from Sickbay, over eighteen hours ago. Lunch had hit in the middle of the first survey. The opening test on his patience occurred when he mentioned getting lunch in the mess hall. Captain Lorrict had stopped him with a word just as he stepped into the turbolift. The Betazoid calmly pointed out there was plenty of time during the seismic scans to grab something from the replicator in his Ready Room. His next moment of hope came at the shift change, when the Alpha shift had supper. He had turned to follow the Captain into the turbolift, but Richie had come out in front of him, blocking his way. "The survey's not done, Ensign, back to work," he had been ordered. It took a painful bite on his tongue to not say something. It was now close to 0300 hours. Part of the problem was that repairing the other sensors, which would cut down the scanning time exponentially, was a very low priority. Probably at the Captain's or Ryan's orders. Just to make this job difficult. I could have been done in ten hours, and be in bed by now, or goofing off with Harry on a holodeck. It wasn't as if he hadn't spent many sleepless nights at the Academy, working on some project or paper. But those times were his choices. Now was silly punishment for speaking his mind. They didn't even take the extreme duress into consideration. And eighteen hours was brutal discipline. Someone is going to hear about... "Ensign!" Richie called out from the command chair. "Your scan has been finished for twenty minutes. Move on." Even though the First Officer wasn't a Betazoid like the Captain, Danny was almost sure he was telepathic. Just his luck. An odd fluctuation in the result of the scan caught his eye. A minor variation in metal samples, an odd spike where there normally wasn't one. His mind dropped his brooding in the blink of an eye, focusing on the glitch. The ensign reran a small part of the scan, focusing on the anomalous readings. "Sir, I'm reading a rather large amount of duranium on the tenth moon." That seemed to get the First Officer's attention. The man came around the railing and moved next to the console, checking the readings. "Well, large for duranium. It's rare that more than a few kilograms of low-grade ore is found in one place." Ryan looked closer. "And you've found almost a kiloton. Hmmm." With a tap, he activated his communicator. "Bridge to Aston. Better get up here. Ensign, what do you make of it?" Startled at the sudden change of his status, Danny's mind raced. "I doubt it's natural." He refiltered the data trying to come up with any more information. "A ship?" "A ship," Ryan confirmed. "Helm, plot an orbital approach to the tenth moon. Full impulse." The bored ensign at the conn perked up. "Aye, aye, sir." With deft fingers, she plotted the easiest course, moving the Intrepid into a synchronous orbit above the deposit. "You might be able to localize the area and get a better scan, one that might tell us if it's a ship," the First Officer suggested, turning back to Danny. The ensign was already trying. Danny shook his head. "It's impossible with only the lateral array. Unless you want to use a probe?" The few probes the Intrepid carried had much more comprehensive sensor equipment than the lateral array, and better still, had not been affected by the power failure. "No," Ryan decided, "we'll know plenty soon enough. You haven't found any lifesigns, or anything?" One more scan revealed only a little more. "Nope. That I am sure of. Just a lot of man-made alloys. And no discernible power emanations. What ever is down there is dead, dead, dead." After the incident in Sickbay, he didn't feel adding the moon had virtually no breathable air to support any life. At least the kind that traveled in ships. A whoosh sounded behind the station, and a breathless George Aston crammed in next to Danny. "Whatcha got?" he asked, his wet hair dripping on the console. "I don't cut shart a shower fer just anythin'." "Duranium," Ryan supplied. "Lots of it. No lifesigns, but it still might be a ship." He pointed out the scan results to George. "Feel like an away mission?" George eyed the First Officer. "Shoot, yeh. You told Cap'n yet? And I'll need Danny, here." Ryan paused a moment. "You better take someone from engineering as well. Bridge to Mr. Kim, report to Transport Room 2, full vacuum protocol." With a wink to George, he added, "and keep them out of trouble." Thy superior officer giveth, and he taketh away. I shall remember that lesson, Mr. Ryan. Danny quickly shut down the console, but not before saving the scan readings. With a look from George, he grinned and followed the Texan into the turbolift. It was after the doors had closed, and the car had dropped two floors, that he let out a loud "YES!" ---------------- ·Well, Sparky, it shore is a ship. 'Bout thirty, forty years old, Ah reckun. Gee, would ya look at that!· "Look at what?" Pretar prompted. He had just arrived in his Ready Room and headed straight for the replicator, dressed in a loose pullover. Richie was already on the sofa, feet propped up on the table. This was the easiest solution. Richie didn't feel that Pretar needed to show up on the Bridge, in full uniform, just for this. Pretar had countered with the inappropriateness of Richie deserting the Bridge and meeting in the Captain's Quarters. So they had compromised. The Betazoid wished either the replicator or George would hurry up. The coffee beat the Texan, but only marginally. He sipped the drink as he made his way over to the Immortal. ·It's a freighter, Cap'n. Hull breech is smack dab in the cargo hold. Big'un, too. This baby probably depressurized instantly.· "Still no sign of any crew?" Richie asked, accepting the second cup. "Or maybe what ship it is?" ·Naw, not yet. Wait a minute. This here's the bridge. It's pretty tore up. Yep, Ah found... Uh, why don't you boys wait back thar a bit?· Richie raised an eyebrow in Pretar's direction during that particular snippet of conversation. "What did you find George?" ·Two men. At least Ah thank so. The whole front is caved inta the rock. No decomposition. And cause ah death is definitely suckin' space. Ah didn't thank the boys needed ta see this.· "Probably right, Mr. Aston," Pretar offered. The hot coffee had suddenly lost its taste. "Tag the bodies, and we'll beam them over for the doctor." The Betazoid stared out at the black stars. Things can certainly take a turn for the worse. Richie offered, finishing his drink. "George, see if you can find a log or something." He flashed Pretar a look that usually meant 'do you want anything else done?' The Betazoid shook his head, letting his CO handle it. "Ryan to Sickbay. Julia, I've got two corpses coming in, autopsies. I need official cause of death as soon as possible." ·We're ready down here, Rich. Doc Simmons just walked in.· "Good," Richie said toward the ceiling. "Transporter Room, two bodies to Sickbay. George? Grab what you can and bring the Lost Boys home. We'll let Sonya go over it with a fine tooth comb." He added a wink to Pretar. "Hurry up. You're an hour late to relieve me at watch, and I ain't waiting." ·Pushy, pushy, pushy. Ah thank Harry just found somethin'. Be right thar. Away team out.· Pretar stood and walked over to the wall. "And I have about another four hours of sleep, as well." He set his empty cup back in the replicator, watching the invisible technology whisk away the dirty dishes. "Call me if anything pops up." "Will do," Richie added, as the Betazoid left by the side door. It was one thing to see holodeck simulations, another to actually be standing in the middle of such carnage. George knew the sinking feeling would get worse the longer he stayed. And this was positively something that Danny and Harry should be spared. "Nice work," the Texan said as Harry showed up with what appeared to be a memory core. "Why don't ya'll check the back part, see if'n there's anythang vital back there. And double check tha engine's are off-line." That would keep them busy. Taking a deep breath, he went forward again. From what the Texan could tell, the ship had been hulled, probably by a meteor. Both bodies were strapped into the chairs. The most likely scenario was that they crash landed on the moon. Then, trapped between the rock surface and the back of the forward compartment, they watched as the air leaked out. It was not a calm death, and that was reflected on their faces. Shaken, he hastily attached the two transponders to the bodies. Then he pressed a button on his tricorder, opening a comlink. "Two bodies to beam aboard. Direct ta Sickbay. You don't wanna be seein' this, Gehbor." ·Understood. Prepare for transport.· The whine barely penetrated the environmental suit, then the bodies were gone, no longer a concern for George. "Aston to Bird, ya'll ready yet?" ---------------- "Early breakfast?" Richie asked as he sat down next to Sonya. This early in the ship's "morning", the mess hall was virtually deserted. Not that Richie needed any excuse to sit with a fellow officer. Especially one as lovely as the Chief Engineer. Sonya swallowed, then quickly wiped the stray milk from her mouth. "Since someone stumbled over a derelict at three a.m..... Really, Rich. Couldn't you have waited another couple of hours? I'm missing my beauty sleep!" The Immortal opened his mouth to reply, but she pressed a finger to his lips. "I'm really not in the mood. I just saw Kim. He's so pale he looks positively Caucasian." "It was bad," Richie acknowledged, settling for toast and jam this late at night. Right now all he wanted to do was crawl into bed, but that wasn't going to happen for a while. "Hulled, then crashed, then decompressed. Space puree." The tinkling of Sonya's spoon in her bowl stopped. "George said he eyeballed it at thirty to fifty years old. That will be interesting to examine. Being in a vacuum, all the crucial parts should be intact." "Yeah, what didn't crumble in the crash. All we need is probable cause, and then let's send it in and get out of here." All the delays were getting on the Immortal's nerves. This was just supposed to be a simple shakedown cruise. The Love Boat. ·Goodwin to Gomez. You won't believe what we found where one of the bodies had been.· Sonya looked annoyed at the ceiling. "I'll bite. What interesting and bizarre tidbit did you find next to one of the bodies?" She played with her silverware, not even curious. After being on the Enterprise, this was apparently boring. ·Two feet of cold steel. The computer identified it as a long sword of some kind.· The sinking feeling in Richie's gut was only partially caused by what he was hearing. Somewhere nearby, an Immortal was coming back from death. One of those "bodies" is an Immortal. There's an Immortal loose on the friggin' ship. SHIT! Richie jumped up, knocking over his chair. Sonya let out a startled gasp, and watched as he raced out of the room. It took five minutes to get from Deck Two to Sickbay, most of which was waiting for a turbolift. The Immortal sprinted down the corridor, knowing he was probably already too late. Even if the Immortal was swordless, there was a lot of damage he could do, to innocent mortals and the ship alike. Richie put on the brakes in front of the Sickbay doors, long enough for his presence to register on the sensors. The doors parted, and he stepped forward... 2107 A.D. -- Outskirts of Seacouver, Earth ...as Adam Pierson's face appeared in the doorway. "Ohmygod -- Richie Ryan!" The other Immortal's visage was frozen in shock, the wheels spinning madly behind fathomless eyes. Or so it seemed to Richie. "Hello, Adam," he said as he shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder. He really didn't know what he was doing here. His stomach was in knots, and had been ever since he arrived in orbit. But he had to try. He owed Duncan at least that much. Though by now it seemed everything was against him. The washed out road to the Highlander's new address, the weather. And now Adam. The dark haired Immortal quickly opened the screen door. "Come in, come in. It's pouring down rain. I didn't know you were even on Earth. Your last letter said...well, never mind." Adam stood to the side as Richie entered. Once in the house, he let the bag fall from his shoulder and gave an audible sigh of relief. "This is more than a social call. There's something I need to talk to Mac about.... I've resigned my position at the Vulcan Science Academy and I'm moving back to Earth. Permanently. I thought as a Watcher you'd keep track of all of us?" Richie wondered. He shook out the arm and worked the shoulder, trying to stretch out the kinks. He hadn't expected to walk from the highway, but the taxi couldn't handle the mud. "Or have you stopped playing that little game?" Adam smiled, with just a hint of feral grin to make the younger Immortal edgy. "I never could stand aging make-up. No, ole' Adam-the- Watcher is very much retired. And after Joe...." There was an uncomfortable silence as his dark eyes saddened. Richie had to admit that despite his flaws, Adam had cared for Joe. "I stopped by the cemetery before coming out. I was sorry to miss the funeral." It really hadn't come as a surprise. At 157 years of age, the Watcher's body just stopped working. A brief flash of sympathy crossed Adam's face, softening it. His voice was likewise soft and gentle. "He knew you were there, in spirit. Duncan was the one who needed you. We've kinda wondered if you were ever going to show your face." It seemed callous, but Richie just shrugged. "I couldn't get away," was all he said. The last thing he wanted to do was travel down that path with Adam right now. It was time to change the subject. "Look, I'm sweaty and grimy and soaked. Think I could borrow a shower? And where's Mac?" Again, Adam abruptly changed. He absently shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "I'm terribly sorry, I'm not being a very good host." Once the front door was shut, Adam reached down and grabbed Richie's bag. "Duncan is in town getting groceries. Did you walk from the highway?" Richie followed him down a hallway to a set of stairs going up. "Yep. All five miles." Their feet echoed on the wooden steps as they climbed to the second story. Adam was already at the first door, open to a small guest room. "Bathroom across the hall, towels under the sink." Adam gestured out a window into the woods. "There's a back road next time. But I would suggest a four wheel drive in any case." The dark haired Immortal set down the bag and turned to leave. "Oh," he added, leaning around the frame and looking ever so much the graduate student he had pretended to be. "When you come down, bring your sword. I'd like to take a look at it if I may." Richie hardly blinked. "Sure," he answered, moving the bag from the floor to the bed. For the last century, he had been hoping to "spar" with Adam, but they never seemed to get the chance. It was as if Duncan kept trying to stop them. Well, maybe today would be the day. Cool place," Richie commented as he motioned around the open living room. The decor wasn't the usual masculine aura that MacLeod favored. There was something softer, older, influencing the surroundings. "You and Mac?" he asked, unsure how to approach the private subject. Adam looked Richie straight in the eye. "Yes." As if that was all the young Immortal was going to get. "Duncan handled most of the renovating and heavy labor. I did the small jobs. Supervised, that sort of thing." He noticed the rapier in Richie's hand. "May I?" Playing the guest, Richie handed it over. "So, you live here?" "For a bit," the other replied, holding up the blade to examine it. "Life with MacLeod is never dull. I need that right now." Richie grinned at the truth of the statement. "Nice weight, by the way," Adam commented. "The balance is a little forward...." With ease, the Immortal swung it in front of him, ending up with a nice chest slice on a phantom opponent. Richie stood to the side, watching. "I liked it that way," he replied. "I never really got into Mac's style. This way, it was easier to go straight into another move." It was rare, getting a chance to talk about swords with another expert. Most swordsmen were the Sunday afternoon variety, regulation this, scoring system that and "oh, I have a paper cut, time out." There was nothing better than talking shop with a person who lived and died by a sword. "You're using the past tense," Adam pointed out. He looked at Richie over his shoulder for a second before continuing his shadow fight. "So what Duncan told me was true, you've given up." "Let's just say I try and stay away from other Immortals," Richie corrected, more than a little pissed that MacLeod was still passing on their private conversations. Adam swung around. "Not even when they are holding a sword to your throat?" Richie's blade was anchored just under his chin, ready to slice into his vulnerable neck. "What do you do then, Richie Ryan? Duncan thinks you'll give up. Would it be that easy?" The face was still the same charming visage, but now the eyes were of a cold blooded killer. It was the moment Richie had been waiting for, the move of betrayal. He was partially thankful it had happened to him and not the Highlander. Maybe the nightmares had been a warning of what he had to prevent. Either way, Adam would no longer be a threat to Duncan. "Like anything else," he said, stepping back, "play to win." The sword stayed at his throat as Adam followed. He dropped his voice to a soft whisper to try and draw the other Immortal closer. "I've been waiting for you to make your move. Took you long enough." Adam fell for the bait. The other Immortal stepped closer, matching the whisper. "You have no idea," Adam added, a mass of emotions mixed in with the words. They were chest to chest now, Richie's sword pulling his chin up. But the last step put Adam into range. The young Immortal counted the years he had been cursed with the vision of his friend's death. "I do," Richie replied, snapping his knee into Adam's crotch. As the blade fell away from his neck, he rolled to the side, rising to his feet in the middle of the room. Adam was on the ground, somehow still clutching Richie's sword. Most people unconsciously let go. "Keep it," Richie hissed, "you'll need it." He pranced around, loosening up, waiting for Adam to stand. "That wasn't very nice," Adam gasped, looking more amused than frightened. But he was still enshrouded with a dangerous aura. "No, it wasn't," Richie agreed as he kicked out, aiming for Adam's arm. They fought, long and hard. Neither asked nor expected any quarter. Richie did an excellent job defending himself from Adam's attacks. The other Immortal didn't press too hard at first, but when nothing got through, he stepped up his onslaught. The fight turned more serious, and deadly. It was harder for Richie to not get cut. And Duncan's furniture wasn't doing much better. By bizarre luck, a chance strike connected with Richie's neck, his own sword digging a few millimeters into his skin. It wasn't supposed to be a beheading blow, and that was the only thing that saved Richie's head. Adam jerked the steel back, coated with red blood, the same that seeped down Richie's skin. The younger Immortal put a hand to the wound, feeling the hot, wet blood coat his fingers. "This ends now," he said through clenched teeth. Adam didn't look worried or scared, just cold and calculating. The other Immortal tried an attack on Richie's weak side, but he was ready. Using a move he had learned on Vulcan, he disarmed Adam, knocked the wind out of him, and retrieved his sword at the same time. The follow through positioned the sword above Adam's defenseless neck, waiting for the killing blow. "What the HELL do you think you're doing?" Duncan's voice blasted from the front door. His katana was drawn, and his face was filled with horror. Richie paused and lowered his rapier. Duncan walked over and grabbed the young Immortal's arm. "Mac!" Richie exclaimed as he was dragged from the house. The Highlander was furious by the time he got Richie out on the porch. He released his former student with a jerk, almost making Richie stumble. "You don't attack defenseless Immortals, you don't go after my friends, and you sure as hell don't trash my house!" "He came after me," Richie yelled back. He was gesturing, his blade swinging wildly in the air. "With my own god damn sword. He started it!" The Highlander grabbed the rapier out of Richie's hand, throwing it off the porch to the ground. He was in Richie's face, spittle flying. "And you were going to finish it! Do you have any idea what you were about to do? He was just goading you into defending yourself! And you're ready to take off his head!" "How the HELL am I supposed to know that," Richie screamed, his face bright red. "No one will tell me what the FUCK is going on!" Some chord was struck, something changed in Duncan's eyes. It made Richie even madder because he had no clue what it was. But somehow, some way, he knew Adam did. "I can't," the Highlander curtly replied. That wasn't good enough. "Can't, or won't? Do you really trust me, Mac?" Richie asked through clenched teeth. Duncan only stared back in silence. "I don't take kindly to having a sword at my neck, no matter who holds it. That's a challenge in my book. And I'll defend myself. Against any of you." Duncan wouldn't meet his eyes. "You've already written me off as dead," Richie realized. "You don't fight, you die. Adam was trying to show you that!" "I'm a little old for show and tell!" "That's the way we are," Duncan shot back, seething now. "The way you are, Mac," Richie said. "I came to talk to you, believe it or not. I guess I got my answers." He turned and stormed off the porch into the rain and mud, bending down to retrieve his sword. Then he kept walking, leaving behind all his other possessions. The porch creaked as Duncan stepped forward to catch him. "Let him go," Adam called from inside. The creaking stopped. Damn Pierson for sticking his nose in. And damn Duncan MacLeod for listening. The memory of Paris rose unbidden from his subconscious. Somewhere deep in Richie's heart, he knew caring about the Highlander had been his biggest mistake. Richie and Adam both started as they stood face to face in the Sickbay doorway. Inside the room, Julia and Dr. Simmons were unconscious on the floor. Adam reacted first, pulling a small laser scalpel and pointing it at Richie. The younger Immortal replied instantaneously and irrevocably. Grabbing a handful of Adam's shirt, he turned them both around, shoving Adam's body backward into the wall control panel. Richie enjoyed the sickening crunch as the clear polymer was broken on impact. And just to make sure, Richie butted his forehead into Adam's face. He was rewarded by a load moan and the sight of Adam's body crumpling to the floor. ---------------- "Well, what was I supposed to do?" Adam asked. "The last thing I remember was seeing my partner's face bug out, and then I'm on a table with a laser scalpel heading toward my chest." He settled back in his chair at the conference table, glaring at the officers around it. Dr. Simmons leaned forward. "I can understand Nurse Everett fainting. After all, dead bodies usually don't sit up and ask the time of day." He glanced over at Richie and added, "present company excluded, of course." That made the blond Immortal blush. "But to nerve pinch me, for heaven's sake...." Adam stiffened. "You were coming at me with a laser!" "That's what doctors do during autopsies!" countered Dr. Simmons. Pretar informed Richie. I wouldn't be surprised, Richie thought back. Are you reading him? All I get is this overwhelming noise. That was one of the reasons Richie had hung back in the meeting so far. Ever since he calmed down earlier, he noticed Adam had a very strong mental presence. Not telepathic, and not something the Immortal had run into before. Pretar slipped a small smile across the table. Richie risked a glance toward the other end of the table. Dr. Simmons was almost frothing. I feel like I'm standing next to a very large container of unstable antimatter. Nothing physical, just an overwhelming sense of dread. "Gentlemen," Pretar intruded, cutting into the continuing argument. "This will take us nowhere. We agree that Mr. Pierson, or what ever name he is going by, acted accordingly in this situation. Drop it." Dr. Simmons nodded his acceptance. Adam just sat quietly. "Good. So, what should we call you?" The Immortal shrugged. "Adam Pierson is as good as any other. What difference is a name?" Richie bit back a sarcastic reply. "So, would you tell us what happened?" he asked. He had yet to offer an apology, and Adam didn't seem to care about getting one. "And what you plan to do next." "That's right," Adam replied. "You're on a training mission or something. I'll just tag along like I usually do. At least until you get close to a Starbase, or something. I don't think the Cyrus will be taking me anywhere soon. I won't be a bother." Again, Richie choked down his retort. Having Adam aboard was turning into a nightmare. Now, he's baiting me. And doing a perfect job. Pretar agreed. The Betazoid gave Richie a glance across the table. The dark night in Paris surfaced far enough for the memory to leak across before Richie could clamp down. He's.... Hell, I don't know. Lorrict gently informed him. Richie tried not to smile. Yeah, but I'm just a product of an angry time. Adam watched the Captain and First Officer interact. "Did I miss something?" he casually asked, looking between the two. There was a hint of interest in his hooded eyes. "Yes," Richie shot back, losing the bit of humor he had a second ago. George just rolled his eyes, content to watch the fireworks as they unfolded. "So, what were you doing thirty-three years ago?" The Immortal had been very surprised to find no record of "Adam Pierson" in the Federation Database. He was probably using an alias. Pretar intruded. "Sam and I...," Adam began. "Uh, Sam was my partner. We were on our way to the Pridum Colony with...." The dark haired Immortal's eyes shifted, finally resting on Captain Lorrict. "...medical supplies." He paused, giving someone a chance to interrupt. When no one did, he shrugged. "We got blind-sided by a stray asteroid." Pretar nodded. "We found as much. Did you crash, and then die?" "No, we must have crashed after the air ran out." Adam fixed Richie with his gaze. "Oxygen starvation isn't a pleasant way to go." Richie gave back a glare of his own. " You'll have to tell me about it sometime," he commented, with a hint of smarmy cockiness. He felt Pretar send a brief flash of warning. "I would be interested," Dr. Simmons interjected. The Immortals reluctantly broke the eye contact. "Not to make light of your partner's death, or anything," the doctor hastily added. "But the chance to learn something...." Richie sat back in his chair, withdrawing from the conversation. Pretar is right, all I'll do is make things worse. He glanced out the large windows at the stars streaking by at warp speed. Dr. Simmons' comments echoed in his mind, drawing him farther away.... 2346 A.D. -- Qo'noS, Klingon Homeworld "...chance to learn something from each other, and about each other..." Sarek was saying, reading the final paragraph of the Federation's opening statement. To the side, Maggie was translating for the Klingon delegation. Since the Klingons had offered the invitation, they had spoken first. Their statement, while beautifully translated by Maggie as it was read, would need serious attention. As much as the Klingons will probably give the Federation's. "...a lasting chance for peace." Sarek finished and sat at the table. No applause rang out, just muttered conversation from the other delegates. That wasn't unexpected; Klingons had other ways of showing appreciation. Only a few didn't involve blood of some kind. "Thank you," the arbiter said, nodding toward the Federation delegates. "We have much to...think about. This concludes today's meeting." With an authoritative strike of rock on table, the formal session was over. More talks had already been scheduled, to discuss the many points in each government's agenda. Richie was slated to attend about three fourths. Once each week, the groups would meet as a whole, to settle the points brought up in the meetings. And maybe, after everything had been dissected, discussed, modified, changed, ratified, and translated, they might walk away with a peace treaty. Richie stood and found himself already surrounded by Riva and his chorus. "And what do you make of their reaction, Mr. Ryan?" the aspect of Wisdom asked. Riva stood close, but sufficiently far enough away to avoid accidental contact. Ever since they first touched, and Richie fainted, they had kept apart. "I'm not sure," Richie replied. "They seem to be taking everything remarkably well, considering peace is a dirty word to them." The Immortal finished closing his portfolio, using it to prop up his elbow on the table. "That statement they had went a little farther than I was expecting. Somebody is pushing them, that's for sure." Richie took another look at the small clumps of Klingons, a few already into arguments. "I wonder if it's a snowjob for us, or there is someone who really wants peace behind curtain number three." "Very astute, Mr. Ryan," Sarek interjected, joining the informal party. "The Klingons seem angry, but not at us. It is logical to assume they are following unpopular orders." Unlike their Federation counterparts, the Klingon delegation made no attempt to hide the fact they were mouthpieces only. The real power was in other hands. The final decisions would be made by the High Council. "It would be helpful to find out who the man behind the mirror is. I will see what our operatives here know." That gave Richie pause. "You know the Starfleet Intelligence agent here? Isn't that dangerous?" It was a given that both the Klingons and Federation had spies in the other camp. But to actively contact them.... "Dangerous, Mr. Ryan, is not using all the means at our disposal to forge this treaty," Sarek replied. The Vulcan looked down the table, focusing on the stack of translated statements they had brought with them. Also, a few pamphlets were stacked there also, in case anyone was interested in Federation propaganda. The Klingon's paraphernalia was one spot over. "Would you be so kind as to gather up our materials?" Richie turned his head and looked down at the end of the table. It was a mess. The stacks were scattered, and a few pamphlets were on the floor. "Sure..." he began. As he turned back, Riva and Sarek were gone. "...I won't be a minute." With an exasperated sigh, he grabbed his portfolio and moved to the end of the table. It took a moment for other noises to overpower his own muttering. He was on his knees, gathering up the loose papers on the floor. He didn't realize a body was standing next to him until it spoke. "qaSuj'a'!" It was a sharp bark, startling the Immortal. Reacting, he quickly rose, only to have his head intersect the bottom of the table. "Ouch!" Richie cried, sitting abruptly down on his rump again. His hand dropped the flyers and moved to his head. It hurt. "Damn." He looked up in time to see a Klingon bend over and gaze at him under the table. "Sorry, I don't know very much Klingon, yet. What did you say?" The Klingon offered a hand, helping Richie stand. "I said 'am I bothering you?'" Richie found himself staring at the chest of the warrior as he placed the voice as female. The uniform was missing a palm-sized rectangle of material over the breastbone, revealing the upper curves of very full breasts. It took all the Immortal's effort to raise his head to look at the taller woman's face. "Uh, no," he replied, trying hard not to stutter or blush. "Thanks. I guess you startled me." Nervously, he turned back to the papers and hurriedly gathered them up. "Uh, I'll be out of your way in a minute." A sharp jerk on his arm whirled him back to face the Klingon. She smiled, her mouth opening to reveal a set of rather large, sharp teeth. "You are not in my way, Human. I was sent..." Her eyes flashed. "...came over to welcome you to the Homeworld." Richie knew his eyes must be bugging out. "Uh, fine. Can I ask why me?" It was rather obvious she had been set up, just as he had. Her eyes appraised him again as her hand tensed on his biceps. "You are...the most desirable looking I see." She stepped in closer and sniffed. This put Richie's face very close to her attributes. "Is that not how it is done on your world, Human?" Richie tried to step back, but the table was in his way. "Y...yeah. I've never been hit on by such a..." The moment he said it, and her eyes sparkled, he knew he was up a creek. "It was...suggested that we get to know the Federation delegates...in an effort to promote good faith," she said, dropping her voice. "I'm glad I chose you. I'm sure we could learn...something from each other. Is that not what you said in your statement?" Richie stopped fighting a blush. His face felt hot and flush, which only made her smile even more. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Make friends, they said. I like to make new friends...." Why did he feel like he was in high school again? "jup, we call them. Friends. You have plans tonight?" Her sudden change in conversation had Richie for a loss. He turned his head to the side, trying to find any help. Over at the far end of the hall, Riva and Sarek were watching the incident with intensity. The Immortal almost thought he saw Riva nod ever so slightly. "Uh, no," he said when he turned back. "What did you have in mind?" It was her turn to look at the Klingon delegates. Richie couldn't tell if any signal was passed. It was difficult to tell anything other than her hard muscled body was pressing into his, and the table end was creasing his butt. The pain mixed with the pleasure and danger, making his face flush even hotter. That wasn't his only reaction. "Have you heard any Klingon opera?" she asked suddenly. She moved back slightly, relieving the pressure forcing him into the table. "My brother is premiering one of his new works tonight, at the Emperor's amphitheater." Her breathing increased, which only made her breasts swell more. "It will be dark and emotional, Human. We both may enjoy it." To emphasis her point, she pressed her crotch into his side. It had been a while since Richie had blown a gasket, but today he was getting awfully close. "The name's Richie. Richie Ryan. I...I didn't get yours." "B'Erell," she breathed, stretching the word into five long seconds. "I'll call your ship when it is time." Reluctantly, she stepped away, her breathing returning to normal. "Wear something a little less military, Human. And disposable." With one last tooth-filled grin, she turned and strolled out of the meeting hall, all eyes on her. Richie turned back to the scattered papers. His wiggling hadn't helped them get organized. "I just love making friends. jup. I just love making jup. Luckily, I won't die from exhaustion. jup. Gotta love 'em." "Jup, Sparky?" George asked. Richie jerked in his chair. He was sitting in the conference room, and everyone was looking at him. "What duz that haveta do with this Adam fella?" The other Immortal was absent, leaving only the Intrepid's senior staff. "Nothing," Richie gushed. This was starting to get embarrassing. "I was thinking out loud." "Well, gentlemen," Pretar said. The Betazoid was sitting at the head of the table. "Is it safe for him to be aboard? For us and him." He focused on Richie. The Immortal stood. "It should be fine, Captain. He wouldn't cause any trouble to the ship. If you'll excuse me?" He turned to leave. Later, Petey. I want to be alone right now. "Fine," Pretar responded as the Immortal left. ---------------- "So, is this seat taken?" Adam asked as he walked up to Richie in the mess hall the next day. The blond looked up from his padd, hesitant. They would be entering the Braslota system that afternoon, and he wasn't looking for any added pressure. Adam almost flinched under his gaze. "Boy, you're really into this non-verbal communicating. Does that look mean yes or no?" It bothered Richie that Adam had one hand behind his back. He wasn't holding a sword, at least not in any way Richie could imagine. The Starfleet officer took the cautious approach. "What do you want?" "I talked to Duncan last night," Adam informed him, taking a seat anyway. Lucky for him it was directly across the table. "He was surprised I was with you. You may want to give him a call sometime. He'd like to hear from you." Richie raised a warning finger. "Butt out." Adam oozed sincerity. "I'm just trying to help. Pardon me for caring." He reached over and grabbed Richie's wrist. "He's my friend too, you know." "It's real hard to forget that," Richie replied. He jerked his wrist free from Adam's grasp. "You still haven't answered my question. What do you want?" The other Immortal rolled his eyes. "I have a way to settle our differences. Mano a mano." "Huh?" "Man to man," Adam explained. Richie had had enough of this madness. He started to gather up his notes, stacking the padds. "I told you, I don't do sword fights, I don't care to settle our differences, and I especially don't want to play with you again." "Who said anything about swords?" Adam asked. He tossed the mysterious object on the table. "Phasers. Nice, neat, and neither of us gets hurt. Well, not permanently. What do you say?" "No." It seemed Adam didn't know the word. "Well, then, how about camping? A little fishing. Like on the island. Male bonding type stuff...." ---------------- What the hell was I thinking, Richie wondered. He was already pacing the holodeck. Can I trust him? Damn, I wish I had a sword. The doors opened just as Richie stiffened, and Adam walked in. He was dressed all in black. He eyed Richie. "Right on time. Ready to begin?" "And what exactly are we beginning?" Richie wondered aloud. He gestured to Pierson's outfit. "Or do you just like to dress up this way?" Adam smiled. "Touché." Richie really hated it when Adam smiled. There was just something sinister way down deep in that one. "I thought you might like to try something a little more aggressive. Big game hunting? Interested?" The older Immortal was posed like a graceful cat as he tossed one of the phasers to Richie. He really is a sneaky little bastard.. That's probably why no one has kicked his scrawny little butt. "Sure," Richie replied. It's not like I said 'no' a hundred times already. "Computer," Adam called out. "Initiate holoprogram Starfleet Intelligence Omega One." ·Loading Starfleet Intelligence Field Training Program Omega One. This is a restrictive program. This program must be initiated by a Level Alpha Five or above. This program is for Intelligence Operative use only.· "That's strange," Adam said. Richie just gave him a quizzical look. "It's never needed a security code before. Computer, recognize Preston, Michael. Security code Hosanna, hesana." The computer beeped to signal the program's readiness. ·Warning. Holodeck safeties disengaged. Warning. Holodeck safeties disengaged.· "What the hell..." Richie muttered as he was suddenly plunged into darkness. His words echoed like they were in a cavern, or tunnel. He set his phaser on low and felt for a rock. A quick burst and the rock glowed a soft red. The tunnel stretched right and left, both branching off a few yards away. A lighted globe sped toward him from up the corridor. "Adam?" he asked. It flew right past him, heading left at the first branch. As it passed, it fired at the pair, but missed. A phaser shot echoed from beside him. "Got it." Adam gestured both ways. "Any preference?" Richie started down the passage, turning left. "You may want to watch out for..." Adam's warning came to late. Intent on the other Immortal, Richie failed to look down. He stepped forward onto an open hole. His foot never landed, and he found himself tumbling forward. "Arrgggh," Richie cursed, managing to snag the lip of the pit with one hand. "Nasty little program," he commented as he drew himself up. A phaser blast hit the ground just inches in front of his face. A globe had been waiting for them, sneaking up behind Adam. "Eat this," he spat, shooting the target. It exploded in a very satisfactory bang. After quite a walk, the air grew humid and muggy. A soft light came from ahead of them, signaling the way out. "And you SI guys do this for fun?" Richie asked, feeling hot and sweaty and drained. Adam was in the same boat as they finally stepped into the light. "I think I may have started the advanced program," Adam offered. He laughed at his own joke as Richie glared at him. "Live a little, Richie. After all, this won't kill you." The tunnel ended opening into a jungle setting. Loud tropical birds called just out of sight, their cries muted in the damp forest. Little critters scurried in the underbrush, shaking small trees and shrubs as they passed. Instead of being shot at by small spheres, they were stalked by humanoids, armed with phasers. The pair of Immortals ambushed a small group, succeeding in catching them by surprise. The last of Richie's opponents managed to return fire before being killed. Pain scorched the Immortal's side where the blast hit. "Oh, god," he screamed as he fell, clutching his side. Adam appeared from somewhere, looking totally frazzled. "Here, let me look at it." Richie's uniform was melted away where the shot had brushed his side. The skin underneath was slowly mending itself, but it still hurt. "Shit," Richie cursed. He looked up at Adam, partially in shock. "What the hell have you done?" With the other Immortal's help, he managed to stand. His breathing became easier as the wound healed itself. Adam looked as contrite as Richie had ever seen him. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's going on. This wasn't like this...damn, thirty years ago. Look, you still haven't been damaged permanently, and I think we only have...well, I don't know how long this program runs. "No shit? You win, man. I give. Computer, I surrender. Stop the program." Getting shot at with live phasers by fucking targets while trapped on the holodeck with a maniacal Immortal was not what Richie had planned for the day. Not even close. ·That option is not available for this program.· Back talk from a computer never made Richie's day. "Computer, end program." The computer beeped but nothing happened. "Computer, open the doors." Nothing. "Computer. Arch!" Still nothing. "Richie to Pretar." Silence. "Richie to bridge." No answer. "Richie to...Fuck! What's going on?" Adam was worried. Even a non-Betazoid like Richie could tell that. And he wasn't faking. "I don't know, Richie. I honestly don't know. But it's not like they're after our heads...." "Phaser fire can kill us, man," Richie informed him. He mentally contacted Pretar before turning to Adam. "Petey's gonna get us out of this, but it may take some time. We need to lay low." The other Immortal held out his arm, helping Richie to stand. They made their way into the brush, almost tripping when they stepped on asphalt. The jungle ended and changed to an urban setting. Not a pleasant day in the park, but a dark, disturbed nightmare with fires in the streets, overturned cars, and unmistakable sound of gangs roaming the area. "Come on, we need to take shelter in one of the buildings. We can finish this if we stick together." "No way," Richie gasped, pushing Adam away. "I've had enough of your games. As far as I'm concerned, you put another sword to my neck, and I sure as hell don't appreciate it." He was still clutching his side as he moved away. "You're on your own, Adam." He limped down the street, the small fires throwing devilish shadows against the building walls. An Algerian botthmarc jumped him at the end of the block, but in his rage, Richie plowed right over him. He kept firing until the animal was nothing more than a pool of slag on the street. Looking at what was left of the ooze and carbon scorching, he spat into it, then turned to the growing dusk. "Come and get me you bastards." Methos watched as Richie struggled down the street. The oldest Immortal debated following after, to secretly help the youngster. Prudence won out. Trying to help each other out would only expose them to more danger. He didn't realize phasers could kill an Immortal nowadays. That was something Methos wanted to avoid. He lucked out finding three snipers in an abandoned shop, hiding in the aisles. Three quick blasts, and another for the fourth that barreled in the door to catch him off guard, brought him a brief moment of rest. "Where are you, you little buggers," he whispered. A shot caught him in the leg, sending waves of agony up his body. He fell to the ground, unable to crawl to safety. Sudden phaser fire on the rooftops drew his attention. Then a dark shape was thrown off the roof. It wasn't until the body landed and bounced, that Methos got a good look. One of the dangerous species in the universe, a Denarian mercenary. "YOU OWE ME," came the shouted call from above. Richie's voice was crazed with hysteria. Methos snuck down the street and turned a corner. He found himself in the middle of something out of a Eugenic War movie. The ancient Immortal thought it a sad parallel to the real horror. This holoprogram left out the whimpers and moans of the dying that writhed about as the living continued to fight. These lay there, silently. Luckily, or maybe the design of some sadistic holoengineer, the canteens contained cool, fresh water. Methos was able to collect enough to dump over his aching head. That really helped improve his outlook. He hadn't expected this level of carnage. Hell, he hadn't expected anything remotely dangerous. When he was an operative, this had been a pleasant little program to prove one's prowess. Now it was something akin to a life and death struggle. Or a cleverly disguised 'accidental' murder. That's why the high level security override. Damn, I should have realized something was buggered when it asked for one. After an hour, Methos was on edge. Still no rescue, still no end in sight. He still hadn't caught a glimpse of Richie in the last thirty minutes or so, but the younger Immortal must certainly be keeping up. The street he had been following emptied out into the jungle again. Methos found out how deadly the program was when one of the characters he was following, a large Gorn, accidentally stepped on a trip wire. The swinging stakes took him out, one puncturing his cardiac membrane. At least these things have the same troubles we do. These little surprises can do our work for us. "Arrrrrrr...." Richie's faint scream cut through the humid night air. It came from somewhere to Methos' left, jarring the Immortal into action. He dove into the brush, managing to come face to face with a surprised enemy. A good kick to the face, followed by a phaser shot to the gut took care of it. But try as he might, Methos never found the young Immortal. Only some blood. Damn. Duncan's gonna have my bloody stupid head when he hears of this. Concerned with his own survival, and that of the other Immortal, Methos quickly finished off the group he had been tailing. For the first time since things had started, he was alone. And then it happened. It was howl, loud and strong. It not only echoed in the night air, but vibrated deep in the millennia old Immortal. Klingon, he readily identified. Methos was surprised. Not one of his opponents had been Klingon. His quick glance at recent history had shown the Federation- Klingon treaty, so he had assumed the holocharacters had been changed to reflect the new friendly attitude. So how did Richie come across one? Still, the inhuman howl gave Methos the chills. He was given another ten minutes of peace before he was found. This one was also familiar, but in a different way. It was Kesla of Deneb II, a sadistic mass murderer. So they're using real homicidal lunatics for this program. Great. Just what I need. Not like facing the real ones were a snap. Another scream sounded, only this one was more animalistic. Phaser fire occurred, close by. Methos found himself running toward the fight, stumbling through the dense underbrush. He soon came across a clearing, finding a dead Romulan. This one he didn't recognize, but the neck had been neatly snapped and the throat caved in, probably by a hand chop. Klingon style, as well. What's going on? Methos found an answer, but not to his question. A large Talarian jumped him from the brush. The pair rolled on the ground until Methos could reach his phaser. The shot went off as the large humanoid drove a knife into the Immortal's sternum, nicking a lung. It hurt to breathe as Methos struggled to stand, knowing there were still more assassins roaming around. Deal with those first, he told himself. Then help Richie. The rest were easy kills. While they may have been the worst the Federation could offer, none could compare to the Immortal's five thousand years of cunning and stealth, honed against some of the finest hunters on Earth. He debated trying to find Richie once the last opponent was taken care of. This may have been easy for me, but how in the Goddess did Richie survive? If he even did. Methos' decision was made for him. ·Program override established. Canceling program.· The holographic forest vanished, replaced by the orderly yellow grid. Methos was near a wall, Richie lying on the floor dead center. It was easy to tell he had difficulty breathing. "Richie, I didn't..." Methos began as he hurried over, bending down to the other Immortal's side. He looked bad. His face was covered in blood, and his uniform was gone from the waist up. Only tattered remains hung at his mid-section. Damn. He painted his face with blood. His own blood. Once he was near enough, Richie grabbed Methos' shirt, dragging the Immortal closer. With a snarl, the Starfleet officer jerked him over, using both knees to toss him across the floor. Methos slid into a wall and just lay there in shock. The young Immortal struggled to his feet, his breathing still labored. Shakily, he stood and glared at Methos. "Fuck...you...." The two words were a painful effort, costing Richie dearly. He still managed to limp to the exit, which opened at his approach. Outside, a group of Federation engineers started to enter, but the sight of the First Officer approaching froze them cold. Methos watched him leave, deciding he had made a colossal mistake. And a gross underestimation. ---------------- Captain's Log, Stardate 46275.8. We've reached the Braslota system without further difficulties. My First Officer has requested a day off, which I have granted. We begin hull stress tests in the morning. Just another day at the office. End entry. Personal Log, Stardate 46275.9. The first thing I saw was a stranger. I looked into Richie's eyes, and I swear I didn't know the man that was there. He's made no effort to talk, or even acknowledge my mental contacts. He said he wanted to be alone. I'm finding it hard to follow my friend's wishes. Adam on the other hand seems genuinely upset it happened. He admits the program he thought he started was not that violent. It was supposed to be a simple outdoor program, not a field operative's nightmare. Still, he promises not to explore any more holoprograms until he's off the ship. I told him that was pretty smart. He just smiled at me, with that secretive little smile of his, and asked me to dinner. I must add he's kind of attractive, in a boyish sort of way. But I'll go with Richie on this one. He's not to be trusted. Richie was finding it impossible to sleep. The adrenaline rush still had not worn off, and his body jumped at each imagined noise. To survive today, he had called upon old instincts and training. He was finding it difficult to bury them again. When the Nausicaan had jumped him on the holodeck, he remembered screaming, but only a Klingon howl had sounded. War, death, blood, fighting. When would it ever end? The Immortal ripped the cover sheet off his sweating body, throwing an arm over his forehead as he lay on the bed. He closed his eyes, but still heard the jungle's sounds. Smelled the damp, humid air. What the hell did Adam think he was doing? Angry and frustrated, he tossed on the bed. What he wanted now was a long, slow session of hot sex. For a moment, he considered calling Sonya and asking her. There was always a small chance she would say yes. The cadets were off limits, for obvious reasons. There was no way he would return to the holodeck. What I need is a large, athletic woman... 2346 A.D. -- Qo'noS, Klingon Homeworld ...on top of him, her hand pinioning his wrists above his head. B'Erell straddled his naked torso and ran her free hand down his skin. She smiled as he wiggled, trying to escape. Part of him was dying for this, the other terrified of what was happening. Their date had begun innocently enough. He had been in his cabin, trying on shirts when she called as promised. Settling for a green silk top, he grabbed the first pair of loose black trousers in the drawer. His Starfleet uniform boots completed the outfit. Within minutes he beamed down to the surface, ready for his first taste of Klingon opera. B'Erell was waiting for him. She was wearing tight black leather and plenty of fishnet, or at least the Klingon equivalent. His reaction was twofold. His jaw dropped as he gapped at the tight curves of leather and flesh, and his loose pants became not so loose. Richie expected to see her holding a bullwhip, not a hefty wicker basket. She growled her approval as she approached, taking in his outfit. "Something's not quite right," she commented, grabbing his shirt. With a jerk, she neatly split the halves down to his navel, the buttons flying off. "Better," she critiqued as she ran a hand down his newly exposed skin. "Ready, Human?" The urge to run mixed with a moment of panic almost made him grab his shirt and hold it closed. It had been a while since he had met such an aggressive date, and he didn't quite know how to handle it. Then there was a small lusty voice nagging him to enjoy it, and lose himself in the hedonistic pleasure. It was the arrival of her ground car that decided it. Tonight he would 'go with the flow' and see what happened. The opera was interesting. It was full of discordant shrieks and clashing harmonies that set him on edge. The plot was convoluted, so much that B'Erell stopped trying to explain it. Instead, she spent the evening moving closer as they lay on the grass. It seemed opera made her frisky. A quick check around showed other couples engaging in equally erotic behavior. Apparently, Klingon opera was an accepted form of foreplay. By the brief intermission, B'Erell had started running her hand across his chest, pulling his shirt off his shoulders to bare his entire torso. At one point, he had lain back on his elbows, his feet splayed out near their picnic supper. He threw his head back in ecstasy while her hand explored his body. He made the mistake of trying to return the favor. A snarl from her, and he returned to a passive state. It was during the requisite battle scene that she had poured wine over his skin, following it with her tongue as she lapped the alcohol up. Every now and then she bit his flesh with her sharp teeth, finally causing him to groan. By the time the climax of battle was reached, every inch of his skin had been licked dry. As the orchestra crashed and the lead tenor howled his victory cry, her mouth reached his, conquering it for herself. Richie submitted as his air ran out, his mind light-headed and his body on automatic. Sharp fingernails drug over his stomach caused him to gasp into her kiss. A chuckle answered deep in her throat. They had relocated to her bedroom, the rest of his clothes fodder for her violent destruction. She was on top of his naked form, in her bed, pinning him down and ravishing him. Richie was certainly not complaining. She bit him randomly, obviously enjoying his body as it tensed and thrust in reaction. Chuckling, she drew out each moment, wringing every delicious shudder from both their forms. Frustrated, Richie tried to join their bodies or throw her off, anything to end the overwhelming torment she caused. Or was it euphoric rapture? The Immortal couldn't tell if he was enjoying it, or hating it, or both. Her teeth sank deep into his shoulder, drawing blood. With a yell, he struggled against her grip. It was hopeless. The pain transformed itself into pleasure, bringing him almost to the edge. Her body pressed down on his, drawing him into her. With a long-held sigh, his body took over until her free hand grabbed his hair and pulled. "yImev!" she shouted in his face, his blood dripping off her teeth onto his cheek. He stopped moving in terror. She continued to ride him, drawing both of them to the abyss. She climaxed first, her hand crushing his wrists. Her snarl rang in his ear as she shuddered on top of him, driving him finally over the edge. His head exploded as he lost consciousness, his muscles straining. His last coherent sight was her body collapsing on his, her flesh pressing into his sweaty skin. It was the most intense sex he had ever had. The fleeting thought that there could be more chased his mind into darkness. "You were very good," B'Erell whispered in his ear. A cold cloth wiped the dried blood off his shoulder as she spoke. Richie had only been unconscious for a couple of minutes, enough for the Klingon to collect a few things. Like a damp cloth to clean up their mess. "I had not thought you would be. Humans look so fragile." Richie just murmured something about being beaten up by the best, his eyes closed to slits. She still had forbidden him to do any active moving, but stretching seem acceptable. His hands were at his side, the bruises on his wrists slowly fading as he had watched. By the time the blood was wiped clean, the bite wounds were gone as well. B'Erell lay at his side, still examining his body with her hand. "I have never seen a Human naked before. You do not look to be so sturdy under your clothing. Not like Klingon men." Her hand brushed a nipple, then traced the curve of his pectoral. "You are not as bulky as Klingons, but you are nicely muscled. It is pleasing to look at." Her fingernail traced down his sternum and onto his abdomen. He shivered in response. "You aren't bad to look at yourself," he added, smiling up at her. He knew he was grinning from ear to ear in pleasure. "Next time, you'll have to let me do all the work." Her hand rested lightly on his stomach, slowly rubbing in a circular motion. "I do not think so," she added. Her own body was completely relaxed in the afterglow of sex. It was easy for him to roll both of them over, so that he ended up on top of her. For a brief moment, she panicked and grabbed his wrists, intent on a fight. Chuckling softly, Richie licked her neck slowly, ending up with his tongue by her ear. "I want to show you as much pleasure as you just showed me. And trust me, I know many ways to do it." She still was not comfortable with the idea of Richie taking charge. An idea popped into his head. "Let me serve you, be'HoDqu'nes." The Klingon seemed to accept that solution. "Captain?" she asked, letting him continue to kiss her skin. His wrists were still trapped in her grip, but she was allowing him freedom of her body. Richie looked up from her breasts and smiled, trying not to laugh. "It's one of the only Klingon words I know." That drew a chuckle from his bedmate. "We will have to see about that, toy'wI''a'oy. And pIn'a' is the word you should have used." She pulled him up to give him a kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth and lips. "I look forward to helping you with your studies. Of all kinds." She was interrupted as the door chimed. "That would be my brother. He is interested in meeting you. He can wait." They continued to kiss. It rang again. "Come," Richie said angrily as he sat up in bed. His body was coated with sweat and his muscles tense. "Come!" he repeated louder. Still no response and the doors remained closed. "Computer, who requested entry?" ·No one has requested entry into this cabin since 1845 yesterday.· That was when I came in, Richie noted. Damn. Wiping his face with his hands, he flopped back down on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. God, I need a sex life. ---------------- "So that's what the Watchers are," Pretar said. He and Adam were sitting on the bridge, in the command chairs. The Immortal had wandered in after breakfast, at a loss for something to do. Captain Lorrict quickly engaged him in conversation and they had been talking ever since. "Richie has mentioned them before, and I know he's been friends with several. And you say you disguised yourself as one?" Adam chuckled. "Oh, yes. That was the easiest way to make sure they never found me." The Immortal smiled, actually beamed. "I was my own Watcher, you see. Well, I was only a researcher, but I made sure they never found me." He really is rather charming, Pretar admitted. He added his smile to the joke. "That seems very smart." A brief ripple in the back of his mind alerted him to Richie's approach. "Yes," Adam continued, unconsciously reacting as well. If Pretar hadn't been forewarned, he would have missed it. "That's how I met Joe Dawson, then that led to Richie and Duncan MacLeod." He finished off the cup of tea Pretar had offered earlier. "And the rest, as they say, is history." Pretar likewise eyed his empty cup. "I guess that means you've known Richie most of his life? Would you care for more?" The Betazoid motioned to the cups. Adam shook his head as the turbolift doors whooshed open. "Oh, no thank you. In Immortal terms you could say I changed his diapers, as it were." "I'd disagree," Richie interrupted, stepping onto the bridge from the turbolift. He stood at the upper railing and looked down at the pair. "You showed up long enough to cause whatever mayhem you felt like, then rushed off and disappeared. I had to change my own diapers, thank you very much." "That was just a figure of speech, Richie," Adam replied. By the look of his downfallen expression, the party was over. "I've known you since a year after you became Immortal. You were still learning how to be an Immortal." Richie moved to the side steps, walking down to the forward conn station. With a nod, he relieved the ensign and took his chair. "Not an accurate figure of speech," he informed them. A quick check of the ship's status and then he swiveled around. "You didn't 'know' me. You never took the time to 'know' me. I was always Mac's other friend. Remember?" Pretar stood, breaking into the conversation. "Well, Rich, since you're here instead of taking the day off, I'll go see how Sonya is doing in Engineering. You have the Bridge, Commander." He started for the turbolift as Richie swung back to his console. Captain Lorrict glared at the turbolift doors, waiting for them to open. This isn't personal, Commander. It's a direct order. The doors opened just in time. With a scowl, Pretar entered and turned around. Richie's back tensed under the Betazoid's gaze. Damn, Richie cursed. He knew better than to take it any farther. No matter how much he thought the Betazoid was lying, there was no way to prove it. To a court of law or even to himself. I'm just being petty. With practiced hands, he called up another complete status report. Hmmm, main engines off-line for microfracture examinations of the reactor core. George and Danny were at Ops and Tactical, respectively, assisting in the tests. With all sensor arrays back on-line, they were recalibrating the readings. One of the dead planets in the system proved an excellent subject. Of course, with all his practice, Danny should be a snap at planetary surveys. Behind him, he could feel Adam staring at him. He should probably say something. But Richie didn't feel like confronting the annoying Immortal just yet. I don't understand what Mac sees in him. There are less aggravating Immortals around. Hell, even Amanda seems tame compared to Adam. Why does MacLeod trust him and not.... "Sir," Danny called out from the back station. "I'm reading some kind of tachyon surge ahead." The ensign shook his head as he tried to make sense of the readings. George ran a cross check. "Yep. It's a.... Damn. Klingon bird-of- prey decloaking and headin' this way." The Texan's drawl almost vanished in his excitement. Richie managed to look up in time to see space shimmer, and the heart- stopping shape of a Klingon warship materialize. The forward torpedo bay glowed as the weapon prepared to fire. The Immortal opened a ship- wide channel as he tried to raise the shields. "All hands, brace for impact. Red Alert." "Shield emitters are down," Adam called out. The other Immortal was working at the small console between the command chairs. "Phasers and torpedoes also off-line." The klaxon cut him off as George initiated the Red Alert. The bridge lights darkened, replaced by softer glows and blinking red rectangles. "Too late," Richie called out as the bird-of-prey fired. He managed to activate maneuvering thrusters as glowing destruction shot toward them. "Hold on," he shouted. The Intrepid side stepped enough that the torpedo slammed into the side. Everyone on the bridge grabbed handholds as the ship lurched from the impact. George let out a curse. "Hull breech, Decks Five and Six." He was doing his best to get the corridors sealed. "Sparky," the Texan called. Seething anger colored his voice. "They just spaced all of the off-duty personnel." There wasn't time for Richie to think about that. The K'Vort class attack vessel was turning for another run, and the Intrepid was a sitting duck. He opened a channel to Engineering. "I need impulse, shields and weapons pronto." With a mutter, he maneuvered the lumbering ship to an angle that presented the smallest profile. "I have something labeled a tricobalt device online," Adam interjected. Richie smiled as he turned the Intrepid on its side. The tricobalt was an experimental torpedo. Very powerful. The yield was estimated at roughly ten normal photon torpedoes. He hoped the Klingons didn't even know about it yet. They deserved a deadly surprise. Richie waited until the bird-of-prey was heading in. "Fire it!" The other Immortal complied. A flashing object shot from beside the deflector dish, speeding toward the Klingon ship. The shields flared as the torpedo detonated. The high yield explosion ripped into the vulnerable underbelly, knocking the ship off course as another torpedo fired out its front. "Incoming." There wasn't enough time to move the Intrepid out of the way. The second photon torpedo plowed into the aft shuttle bay. The resultant power surge caused the empty engineering station on the bridge to explode and shower the crew with sparks. "I've lost contact with Engineering," Danny called out, engulfed in the spreading smoke. "On it," Adam called out, moving to help the distressed ensign. Richie barely gave them a thought. The second photon torpedo had virtually crippled the ship. The bird-of-prey slowly turned back, lining up another shot. This one the Intrepid wouldn't survive. Richie watched as the torpedo bay flared, a missile of death heading toward the Federation ship. The thruster controls were dead; there was no way to move the ship out of the way again. "Oh, god," he managed to utter before the photon torpedo hit. The viewscreen exploded and sent a shower of deadly shards onto the bridge. Richie managed to duck and cover with his arms, feeling the little bits jabbing along his back. The ship shook again. He was thrown to the floor as more conduits exploded, sending vapors and sparks into the air. Gravity skewed, sending him rolling to the right. He could hardly understand the computer over the noise and alarms. ·Warning. Warp core breech in progress. Warning. Warp core breech in progress....· There was no way to hear the high pitched whine of the Klingon transporter over the dim. Even the signature sparkle of matter being rematerialized was lost in the smoke and haze. Richie looked up in time to spot the three Klingons as they moved toward him, disrupters ready. "Shit." Methos watched Danny try and reestablish contact with Engineering again. It failed. Most of the displays were flashing too badly to read. It seemed only one console panel was even functioning. "It's no use, ensign," he told Danny. "We're on our own." "Oh, god," he managed to hear Richie say. The haze cleared enough for the Immortal to see the viewscreen and the deadly picture it showed. The third torpedo was speeding toward them. Without warning, he grabbed Danny and dove to the ground. Methos shoved him into a corner of the console and wall, using his own body as a shield. The ship lurched as the missile hit, debris falling around them. Only minor shrapnel landed on Methos' back; something the Immortal had faced many times before. When he was sure the coast was clear, he allowed Danny to get up. The bridge was a disaster. He could barely make out the large pylon that crushed the Ops station. And probably the officer manning it. "Look," Danny called, drawing his attention back to the console. ·Warning. Warp core breech in progress. Warning. Warp core breech in progress....· The few remaining sensors showed the Intrepid was being boarded. Transporter signals were being scanned in Engineering, Sickbay, and the Bridge. Methos looked around. "You have a phaser or something hidden up here?" Danny dropped to the floor again, looking in the wall panels. "They have emergency supplies in here, somewhere." It was then they heard Richie curse. "Got it," the ensign added, placing a small hand phaser into the Immortal's grasp. The smoke cleared just enough to see Richie surrounded by three of the ugliest Klingons Methos had ever seen. And surprisingly, not in uniform. Rebels, he guessed. "vISuqta' R'chIy'," one of them said, brandishing his disrupter. Richie slowly stood, his hands in the air. "joy ylchu'!" "Drop it," Methos shouted, aiming his hand phaser. The other two Klingons fired at him. The Immortal ducked behind the console, but Danny was not so quick. A disrupter shot caught him in the shoulder. His body was thrown back into the station's monitors, then he crumpled to the floor. The ensign was slumped next to the Immortal, the injured shoulder visible. "Bloody stupid." By the time he managed to stand, Richie and the three Klingons were already locked in the orange shimmer of a transporter. The Immortals managed to lock gazes before it was completed, but Methos had no idea what the composed look in Richie's eyes meant. The way things were progressing, he may never have a chance. ·Warning. Warp core breech in ten minutes. Warning. Warp core breech in ten minutes.· The Tactical console was dead. Methos was unable to call up any power. He moved to Ops, confirming the man and the console were crushed under a duranium crossbeam. A check of the man's wrist failed to reveal a pulse. He was dead. The Immortal looked around the Bridge. The viewscreen was a blasted ruin, Richie was gone, power cables hung from the ceiling. Ever so often sparks and gasses escaped, showering the area. Danny moaned, briefly moving in pain behind the Tactical console. Methos went back over, setting down the phaser and getting a grip on the ensign's good arm. "Up you go," the Immortal called as he jerked him over his shoulders. With a grunt, he stumbled to the turbolift. The doors failed to open. Pressing the panel didn't work either. "Bloody great," he whispered, wondering where they had hidden the Jefferies tubes. It was going to be a long afternoon. ---------------- Richie made his move as soon as the transporter beam released him. He moved to the right, hammering his clenched fists into the Klingon next to him. The large male was knocked backward, into the second Klingon. A growl behind him telegraphed the third's attack. Bending down, the Immortal's foot shot out, catching the third in the chin. He too was knocked back. "mev ghaH," someone shouted at the transporter console. Richie managed to duck as disruptor fire passed over him, hurting the Klingon he had just kicked. With one dive roll, the Immortal moved into the room, using the console as a shield from the disruptor. The remaining two Klingons on the transporter pads followed after. Another disruptor was fired just as Richie managed to stand. It hit him squarely in the chest, knocking him backward into the console. Still, he did not give up. He used the equipment to steady himself as he kicked out again, sending a Klingon to the ground. His head was turning to look over the console when a fist connected with his jaw. Angry now, he grabbed the still outstretched arm, pulling the attacker into the console. He was rewarded by a loud grunt of pain. But he was still in the open, trapped between two groups of Klingons. Another disruptor shot hit him in the back, the force ramming him into the console. Hurting, the Immortal dropped to the ground and rolled under the console. The Klingon behind it was so surprised, Richie got a free shot at his kidney. A quick jab, in the right spot, and another Klingon was down. Two down, two to go. He was lucky that there had only been one Klingon in the transporter room. Any more, and he would be toast by now. Hiding behind the console, he waited until he heard the remaining Klingons sneaking around it. With a shout, he sprang forward, pushing the one in front of him down. That gave him a clear shot at the corridor door. Once out of this room, that'll give me a little breather. Maybe I can find an escape pod or something. The door opened and reveled the stark metallic corridor, a standard in Klingon architecture. Without thought, he turned right, racing out the door. Two disruptors, fired simultaneously, suddenly hit him in the chest. He was knocked off his feet, flying a good five yards back. His head slammed into the floor with an ugly cracking sound. The Immortal didn't move. "bIghHa' 'e' dah yaH," one of the newcomers called to the two Klingons who stumbled into the corridor. With a kick to the unconscious human, he indicated the direction of the brig. The injured pair grabbed the Immortal's arms and pulled him down the corridor. "R'chIy', son of M'QlowD. After all this time, you are finally mine," the newcomer said, mostly to himself. ---------------- "I need some help here," one of the Engineering crew called out as he reached Sickbay. Captain Lorrict was beside him, fully supported by the black haired Asian. Julia moved to help him, motioning to the one empty bed in the room. Several of the crew with only minor injuries were sitting against the walls. The few critical crewmembers were on the beds, but most were limp on the floor. No klaxons blared, but the sounds of moans and whimpers of pain were almost as bad. Methos shook his head, wondering if anything ever really changed. Julia ran a medical tricorder over the Betazoid. "What happened, Ensign?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she injected the Captain with a hypospray and ran another scan. "He was.... He was knocked into a bulkhead, and then a loose console landed on him." It was clear the young ensign was in shock himself. His hands and face were grimy with oil and sweat, and there were scorch marks on his uniform. "His pulse was steady, but he didn't regain consciousness." "Got it," Julia replied, setting aside the tricorder. "Computer, initiate emergency medical holographic program." There was a shimmer next to the nurse, then suddenly a human male was standing there, in the uniform of a medical crewman. The ensign and Methos jumped in startlement, but the nurse just looked expectantly at the new arrival. The newcomer turned his bald head and oriented on the nurse. "Please state the nature of the medical emergency," he stated in precise, clipped tones. A very calm individual surrounded by a sea of chaos. Julia handed over the medical tricorder. "Multiple percussive injuries, possibly concussive, Doctor. I've already administered 1 cc of hydroprophaleen. Heart rate stable and brainwaves normal." The short doctor gave the readings a once over and handed it back. "Three cc's of trianoline?" she asked. "Affirmative," the Doctor replied without emotion crossing his face. He waited patiently as the nurse administered the hypospray, then moved with her to another patient. Kim just stared down at the Captain like a lost puppy. "Mr. Pierson," Doctor Simmons said as he arrived behind the Immortal. Methos turned. "Ensign Bird has suffered severe damage to his chest and shoulder." The Immortal estimated that Danny had lucked out. A direct hit of that disrupter would have probably killed him. "The shot cauterized the wound, so there was negligible blood loss, but he still is in shock, with a possible concussion. He'll probably need to remain in Sickbay for several days." Methos nodded, glad the damage had not been more severe. "Thank you, Doctor. That's good news. I noticed they just brought in Captain Lorrict." He pointed out the bed to Simmons. The doctor hurried over, leaving the Immortal to himself. I guess it's time for drastic action. "You," Methos called. It took a second shout to rouse the ensign. "You know anything about bridge operations?" The Asian absently nodded, still engrossed with the unconscious captain. "You're with me," Methos informed him, grabbing a shoulder and pushing the young man out of Sickbay. ---------------- "My stars," were the first words out of the ensign's mouth when they exited the Jefferies tubes. The Bridge was a disaster. And unfortunately, Methos remembered the officer still dead at Ops. The young man noticed George about the same time. The Asian froze, his mouth agape. "Oh, my...." "Ensign," Methos called. He added a jerk on the arm to get the young man's attention. The Immortal pointed at the science station, in the middle of the curved side wall. "We have work to do. That has to wait until later." The Asian absently nodded, probably still in shock, and moved stiffly to the console. "Computer," Methos called and gave a silent prayer to the gods, "activate disaster protocols." ·Beeep. Dis...Disaster proto...ls. Beep. Must be initiate...by bridge offi... Beep· Methos crossed his fingers, a habit he had developed in the last five centuries. "Computer, transfer command protocols and codes to Commander Michael Preston, authorization Methos-one, Adam-one." ·Authorization accept.... Command cod...ferred to Commander Michael Preston. Status up... to active.· Methos would have jumped for joy if things weren't so grave. "Computer, activate disaster protocols." The words were tripping on the way out of his mouth. His excitement was jumbling them together. Red Alert died as the lights returned to a muted state, giving enough to see by while conserving power. Triple redundant systems engaged as power was rerouted. Communications were routed through auxiliary channels. In all, major systems were using anything and everything that was still functioning. ·Gomez to Bridge, wha...zzz... hell is happening up there?· "Sonya, this is Adam. The short version is that the Captain is in Sickbay, Richie's been abducted by...." 'Aliens' was not a word she would appreciate. "...Klingons, and I've just activated the disaster protocols. How's Engineering?" ·That's just great. We're a little shaken ... ... ... we've started to fight our way back. ...'s in command?· "I am," Methos replied. "But the computer knows me as Commander Michael Preston." Harry motioned him over as he was talking. "I've borrowed one of your crew, if you don't mind. Why don't we try and call for help, while you restore as much of the major systems as you can?" ·That.... Sounds ... plan, Bridge. Gomez out.· "S...sir?" the ensign shakily called once Methos was finished. The Asian's hands were trembling, and his eyes looked haunted. "These panels... They're destroyed. The console doesn't look too bad." It appeared to Methos that the panels had burst outward, sparing the underlying equipment from further damage. The Immortal started looking around. "Why don't we try...." He stopped. Even a cursory glance showed the other stations were in far worse shape. "Computer. What's the procedure on repairing a marginally damaged console?" ·...zzz... Consoles use replaceable display panels. Swapping out damaged panels may restore partial functionality to consoles. Replacement panels are located in bridge compartment AF-5.· There were times when Methos really hated the Industrial Revolution. Now was one of them. It was almost like talking to a retarded child. He refrained from using a particularly nasty expletive, in the mad fear the computer would try and respond. "And where the bloody hell can I find bridge compartment AF-5?" ·Bridge compartment AF-5 is located two sections forward of the Engineering station.· The Asian pointed to the opposite station from where he was sitting. "That's it," he offered. Methos gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and walked over. Once the covering facade was opened, neatly layered panels came into view, each different size marked with a letter -number combination. The combination was also marked on the back corner of the panel. "Hey, ensign," Methos shouted, mentally reminding himself it would help to find out the man's name. "Pull off one of those damaged panels and read me the little sign on back." cont... [split by the archivist]