Date: Wed, 7 Feb 1996 10:56:39 -0700 From: Hank Wyckoff Subject: NEW (1/30) Reading the Endtrails A crossover between Highlander/Forever Knight/X-Files/Sharpe's Rifles + a cameo from Kung Fu: The Legend Continues The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (1/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Written by Henry Wyckoff A mathematician studying permutations would have easily sacrificed several of his prize grad students to have been here. Sharpe and Methos stood at opposite doors, while Duncan and Richie sat in the center. All were looking at one another with looks of shock. Something clicked in Richie's brain then. He looked at Adam, "Methos?!" Methos shrugged, "I was waiting for you to figure it out." Sharpe was now surprised, "You two know him?" Duncan raised his hand in a stopping motion, "It's a long story. Since we all know one another, why don't you have a seat and tell me what's going on." Everyone took a seat. Methos produced a basket of Guinness, while Sharpe brought out a bottle of Bombay Gin. Richie took a look at both of those and cringed -- they were BOTH horrible! //You'd have to be immortal to drink any of that!// "What's this?" asked Duncan, looking at the stout and gin. "I need a drink, and I thought you could use one too," echoed Methos and Sharpe. They looked at one another with odd expressions. Methos shrugged. "What happened?" Duncan's tone was resigned. Sharpe started first, "I might as well start at the beginning. I met Mulder at the D.C. airport -- I was assigned as his partner, thanks to Director Skinner -- and I suggested we stop by Toronto..." They all listened with wide-eyes while Sharpe talked about the legends surrounding the Landing, arriving there, the fighting, and the arrival of the Viking. Mostly, he talked about a lot of the crazy, unbelievable stuff that Axer and Mulder were apparently obsessed with -- chaos, the many-worlds theory, probability, and the rest of the can of worms opened by quantum physics. By this time, Richie was nearly ready to try that gin. "Whoa! Hold it there -- this is getting really far out and confusing!" He stood up and snapped his head back and forth. "You can't tell me you really believe in all this?" "I don't know what to think," Sharpe admitted. "If I hadn't seen some odd things up there, I'd have laughed them both off." "What kind of things did you see?" Methos was quiet throughout the monologue, but it was obvious that he was greatly intrigued by all this. "This lunatic who called himself Odin. The thing was, he healed like an immortal and fought like an immortal, but he wasn't an immortal." "That's impossible!" snapped Richie. Methos and Duncan stared at him with raised eyebrows, until he made defensive gestures, "All right!... All right!... But you know what I mean -- only an immortal can heal like that, and immortals sense one another... right?" "What about vampires?" asked Duncan. "Oh... yeah..." "What about vampires?" asked Methos. Duncan shook his head. "We'd better go back to the very beginning..." ********************************************************* Nick and Nat were in the morgue. Nat drank coffee, and Nick drank Scottish whiskey. "Well," Nat observed. "It's not the kind of drink that I'd approve of, but it's a start." "It's been a *hell* of a week!" "You're preachin' to the choir. You should see some of the corpses I've been getting." She put down her coffee and walked over to the refrigerators. "Take a look at this -- a man is found in his bed, the only thing wrong is that his brain has been removed without *any* cut or puncture. It's like it was beamed out!" "'Beamed?'" "Oh, you never watched StarTrek... What I mean is that the only way the brain could ever have been removed is if it had simply vanished! "And look at this one," she opened another drawer. "This man had *every single nerve* removed, again, without any sign of surgical removal!" Nick shook his head. "This is disturbing... I'm working on a case where a man killed a dozen people in a bank, claiming that aliens were disguised in human flesh, and were here to 'eat the souls of men.' He locked himself in the vault, and vanished without a trace. The engineers are still trying to figure out how he escaped. "I wonder if he may have been on to something, even if his mind *is* a bit warped." "You're not serious?" Nat was a bit disturbed. Nick had the occasionally wild idea, but this was really in the outfield. "I don't know... Remember Odin? He was mad, but if you look through his songs and poetry, there's a pattern. It never makes sense at the time, but when you take the time to examine it, you realize he's handing you the answers on a silver platter." "I don't know about this," Nat shook her head, returning to her coffee. "One thing's for certain. We've some deranged murderers out there." The momentary silence in the morgue was disrupted when the two swinging doors were kicked open. Time seemed to last forever as they swung their eyes towards the door, and saw the frantic form of Axer, holding a tense body in his arms. His hair was a mess, his clothes torn and bloody, and his eyes wild as he babbled, "Nat! You have to help her!" Nick was the first to respond, "What happened?!" "I don't know! You've got to help her!" Nick helped Axer put her on the table, almost afraid it would be Kate. It wasn't -- but she *was* a vampire that he had seen off and on for the last few years around the city. Her face had turned blue, and she was breathing as quickly as a mortal would after sprinting up a hundred floors. Vampires didn't do that. Nat reached the table and assessed the situation, noting the protruding fangs, the panic in her face, and the total absence of any physical trauma. "Can you tell me what happened to you?" she asked the vampire. It was hard to make out words between the gasps, "Lights [gasp] [gasp]! I [gasp] tried to escape! [gasp] [gasp] [gasp] Don't know [gasp] what [gasp] happened!" Her eyes began to unfocus, and soon her breathing began to slow. "She's dying!" Axer panicked. "Nick! Get him out of here!" Nick had to use almost all of his force to shove Axer out the door and keep him pinned to the wall. It was like trying to hold down a bull -- possible for a vampire, but quite a task. With one hand, Nick forced Axer's eyes into his own and made a suggestion, ^^Relax... How can we do anything for you if you don't relax?...^^ Axer was immune to the suggestion, but the different quality of the voice got his attention. He actually did start to calm down, but remained quite frightened as well. "Wait here," said Nick, running back to the morgue and returning with the whiskey. "Drink this." Axer swallowed a liberal amount, and didn't make any funny faces or choke. It helped a little. "Kate's going to kill me if she smells this on my breath!" "She'll understand," said Nick. "Now, try to tell me what happened." "It was like this..." ...Axer had left the Raven, but since it was such a nice night -- the stars were much brighter than usual -- he decided to take some alleys and side streets home. Compared to some of the cities he used to live in, the backstreets were pretty tame, so he wasn't tense in the way that many might be. It must have been some time later when he noticed some heavy fog blowing down an alleyway, and a heavy light behind it lighting it all up suddenly, making it look like a scene out of some horror flick. Curious, and keeping a hand on his sword, he silently approached the mist and heard the sounds of fighting and struggling. The lights were about as bright as floodlights, and seemed to come from everywhere. In the middle of an open area, he recognized a vampire from the Raven. She was frozen still, an aura of blue light surrounding her. Her face was locked in an expression of absolute terror. A few figures dressed in black leather suits surrounded the vampire, holding small boxes. Axer didn't know what was going on, but he could make a good guess. Although he carried a sword for the immortals he might meet, he also carried two Glocks under his trenchcoat. Pulling those out, he shot at the heads and hearts of as many men as he could target. They were caught by surprise, and three men got their heads blown off. The other three ducked behind some boxes and clutter. The aura around the vampire shut off when one of the black instruments hit the ground, fizzing and spraying sparks. Axer ran forward into the open, firing bullets at random where the men had ducked. He grabbed the collapsed vampire and slung her over his shoulder. One Glock was empty, so he popped the clip out and slammed in another one, firing more rounds into the light. He sprinted out of there, his blood racing and his breath tearing at his throat. The alcohol that he drank didn't help much, even though it was nothing compared to what he used to drink. After about half a mile of hopping fences, dashing across clogged streets, and running through buildings, he decided he could slow down. When he did, he noticed that the vampire was coming to. He set her down and tried to get some information out of her. "Do you know what happened back there?" he panted. "Who were those guys?" "I don't know!" she was a bit heavy of breath as well. "It all came out of nowhere -- the lights, the fog, everything. I couldn't move!" With a surprised look, she started to clutch her throat, even though she could still breathe. "I can't breathe! I can't breathe!!" Her skin was starting to turn blue, so Axer tried to come up with a plan. "I know just where to take you!" He spied a car parked not too far away, and punched through the back door window, unlocking the front door. He put her in the passenger side and hotwired the car, ripping off the steering wheel cover like it was paper. "Keep on fighting it!" He sped through the streets, not caring how fast he was going or how many accidents he caused. He didn't cause any, but there were a lot of near-misses -- and no police cars. He made it to the morgue all right, retracing the very steps he took a few years back when he was escaping. He kicked the doors in... ...Axer's head bowed in worry and guilt. "I did everything I could!" "I know," Nick's voice was soothing. "Don't worry about it -- she'll be all right. Nat's the best Vampire Doctor." Axer smiled at that, but the worry was still visible on his face. "So young... So young... What would those bastards want with her anyway." Nick was deep in thought. "I wonder... Have you heard about the murders?" "What murders?" "Let's go back to the station. I have some files for you to look at." //Maybe it'll get his mind off of things...// **************************** Nat had heard the conversation outside the doors, even while she was racing to save the vampire's life -- or more accurately, try to find out what was happening in the first place. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. //...And I thought Nick was crazy sometimes...// After a brief examination, her one guess was that somehow, she was suffocating on a chemical level. Respiration just wasn't occurring, or the blood wasn't circulating. Although no vampire would ever have a detectable pulse or heartbeat, the blood still flowed -- just much more slowly. That's why they never had the appearance of bleeding when shot or stabbed. A thin slice into the forearm showed an incredible sight: the blood in her veins was becoming more and more viscous. A very odd smell wafted towards her nose, and she realized that she was seeing some kind of chemical transformation. The little bit of blood on her scalpel was turning into some kind of polymer gel. "Oh my GOD!" **************************************** Whhoooeee! How's that for a cliffhanger? [one little piggy went to the market... (one less finger holding on) one little piggy went to the barn... (one less finger holding on)...] *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* Reading the Endtrails (2/30) By Henry Wyckoff A continuation of When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Go back to earlier chapters for disclaimer notices Chap 2 Mulder and Scully were relaxing at a local espresso house, sipping some iced mochas and discussing philosophical matters. Today's topic was: ALIEN EXPERIMENTATION. "You know," Mulder was saying, "there are at least thousands of reported events around the globe every year concerning unexplained livestock mutilation and alien abductions leading to unexplained medical problems. I don't know how it can sound so crazy to you." Scully didn't really enjoy these kinds of conversations, and desperately wished the topic would change. "There is no proof that alien abductions occur *OR* that the cow mutilations aren't performed by some Satanic cult." "I know it looks that way, but look at it this way -- would even a Satanic cult have this level of precision? Look at the reports -- they all agree that the smoothness of the cuts had to have been performed by a laser, and the only laser technology that we have that even approaches the necessary level requires a full laboratory to even use." "You're underestimating our level of technology." Mulder laughed, "So you ADMIT we have the technology to do it!" Scully's face sank into her hands. Her beeper then went off. //Ahh! I knew this beeper would come in handy!// She smiled, "Excuse me a moment." The number on the beeper said that it was a long distance one, so she rushed to find a phone. //Where is that damned calling card???// The number, it turned out, was the Toronto morgue. "Dr. Lambert," said the female voice on the other end. "This is Agent Scully, returning your call." "Oh yes!" the voice wasn't too excited to hear her voice. "Look, I hate to bother you, but I was told that you were working on a project called 'The X-Files'. Detective Nick Knight told me about you and Agent Mulder." Scully immediately felt a sinking feeling. Toronto plus a coroner plus a vampire usually meant trouble. "What's the problem?" "We're having a severe problem up here. Not only do we have at the very least one serial murderer -- I'm convinced there's more -- but we're having some mysterious, unexplained deaths." "What kind of unexplained deaths?" she asked warily. "I don't feel good talking about this over the phone. Could I talk you two into coming up here?" "I don't feel good about accepting a case until I hear more about it." "Could we do an Internet conference, then? It'll take me a few hours to scan all the photos, but it'll show you at least a glimpse of what we're dealing with." //O.K.... so she's desperate.// "I don't think that'll be necessary. Just describe what you're dealing with." It didn't take all that much description. Scully thought she was going to be sick then and there. "We're catching the next jet out there. I'll keep in touch." "Thank you!" she sounded much more animated now. When Scully caught up with Mulder, she nearly dragged him out of the espresso house. "Come on! We have a plane to catch!" "What's the hurry? Where are we going?" for once, he was caught completely off guard. "We're going to Toronto!" "Toronto?" //If it's enough to drag *her* up there, it must be pretty bad!// ********************************************************** Back at Duncan's boat, all the background had been reviewed, and everyone knew the whole story. Surprisingly enough Methos had been pretty open-minded. He didn't admit to it, but Duncan had the suspicion that Methos had met some vampires before. "Perhaps you'd like to tell us a story," suggested Richie. "How did you two meet up?" He looked pointedly at Sharpe and Methos. Sharpe and Methos actually looked embarrassed. "It's a long story." Duncan smiled, "We're waiting..." Methos shrugged... ..."Well, *who is he*?" demanded Sharpe a bit roughly, holding Brigit's arm so tightly that she grimaced. "Let go of my arm!" she snapped grabbing for a meat cleaver. He let go and backed off a foot. "His name is John, and he's a much nicer man than you!" "And what does he do -- interior decorating?" he mimicked a an accent usually associated with effeminates. "No! He's a professor of history at Oxford, and he's much more civilized than you'll ever be -- and he has a good taste for wine... not that *gin*!" "What's wrong with gin?" he took a large guzzle out of the bottle. "It's a soldier's drink!" She shuddered as she watched him guzzle the drink. He smiled. "I'm a soldier -- you should know that!" "And I'm a lady! When I met you, you were a general, but you act like an enlisted man! I had hoped that you would straighten out after the war, but I've finally realized that you're still living it! You never put down that sword, and you have no plans of settling down! I'll be the laughing stock of them all!" "You knew what I was when you met me!" "And I thought that you would grow up!" She stormed out the door. "Brigit!" he screamed, trying to follow her, but he was so drunk that he slipped on the tile floor and banged his head against it. He woke up sometime later. Reflexively, he raised the gin bottle to his mouth, but realized that he had dropped it on the floor. The gin was still pooled on the floor. //Professor John, eh?... An Oxford professor shouldn't be too hard to find around here...// He stormed out of the house, grabbing his horse from the stable, and riding away like the wind. Riding cleared his mind somewhat, but all it did was focus his anger and need to strike out at someone. Sometime later -- he didn't bother to keep track of time -- he had asked enough people to find out where this Professor John lived. The house was on the outskirts of town -- complete with a garden, atrium, and a team of maids. Nobody was around to stop him when he charged his mare in through the front door, his sword swinging around. Though he was dressed as an 1870s Englishman, he resembled one of the black knights of old as he rode his horse through the house, looking for someone to kill. "John!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Show yourself!" The horse stopped, and Sharpe felt the most powerful quickening he had ever experienced. His very bones twinged at the sensation. An impudently smirking man stepped from behind a corner, holding a Roman sword expertly. "Where did you learn your manners?" was the only thing he asked. "Didn't your father ever tell you to keep the horses outside, or are you an Arab, who would sleep outside and let the horses sleep inside?" "Are you Professor John?" demanded Sharpe. "Yes, I am." Sharpe charged without saying a word, and swung his sabre at John's neck. The only problem, that's what he *remembered* trying to do. He was now on the ground, the horse was standing in the corner, and his head still vibrating. "What is your quarrel with me?" asked John politely, giving Sharpe the chance to get up. "I can tell you're not after my head for the quickening." "You stole my wife from me!" "Brigit?" asked John innocently. "I honestly didn't know that she was married! She told me her husband died during the war!" "A likely story!" he charged again, and found that he was gaining the upper hand. John felt like an old one, but his skills were very poor, as if he didn't know quite how to handle Sharpe's style -- or hadn't fought in a long time. Within a moment, John was disarmed and bleeding. An idea entered Sharpe's mind then, and he grinned wickedly. While John was down, Sharpe pulled a length of rope that he always kept hanging from the saddle, and tied him up in a very unusual fashion. John was too wounded to struggle, but when he began to heal, he did struggle. "Don't worry, John, I'm not going to hurt you -- but you're going to wish that I'd killed you! You like to sleep around with other mens' wives, eh? Well, it's about time you saw yourself for what you actually are: an animal!" John didn't quite understand what he meant by that, until he left the room and returned about ten minutes later with a very excited stallion. It was fidgeting around like it had been fed some kind of drug. Sharpe smiled, "Say hello to your prize stallion!" "What do you mean?" "Open wide!" Sharpe forced John's mouth wide open, laughing at his incoherent screams... ...It was sometime later. Sharpe was waiting for Brigit to show up, and for John to recover from the first phase of his punishment. Curious as to what this man actually kept in his library -- many scholars tended to brag about what they study, and have a library that never reflected their supposed knowledge. Surprisingly enough, John was more of a master of understatement than overstatement: his library was crammed with enough old texts to fit in three offices. What intrigued him was a bookshelf that was set separate from the rest. After investigation, it revealed a set of diaries -- in French, Latin, Greek, and a few other languages he couldn't recognize. He could easily read the French and Latin, and was pretty amazed by what he read. Only, he hadn't been around immortals long enough to know that Methos was supposed to be a myth. All he could gather was that this guy was old, and pretty knowledgeable. He went back to the room where Methos was tied up. He has woken up and was trying to spit the bad taste out of his mouth, without too much success. "Well, Methos," smiled Sharpe. Methos snapped his head up in astonishment. "Let's see how well you pass phase two of your punishment. I call it: Mountain Through The Eye Of The Needle." Methos didn't know what he meant, but he was afraid to imagine what it might mean. "We just have to wait until Brigit gets here. I think she's going to learn how much of a man you really are." Sharpe... ...managed to look a little embarrassed, while Methos was laughing out loud. Duncan and Richie were looking somewhat shocked by the whole affair. "Guinness, anyone?" asked Methos. Sharpe took a swig of gin. ************************************************** Axer and Nat were at his place. Kate was asleep in the bedroom, which made Nat feel weird. She didn't have any special feelings for Axer other than a little bit of respect and fear -- that episode in the morgue when they first met still rang in her mind -- but it still made her feel like she was somehow intruding. Axer was drinking some tea, and Nat had a cup as well -- she preferred coffee, but she trusted Axer when he claimed that this stuff had "more caffeine per unit volume than Mountain Dew." That was a lot of caffeine. "Tell me what happened to the vampire," Axer was saying. "I want the *real* story -- not some official report that most likely says nothing. "I know you're concerned," soothed Nat, "but I don't think you want to know--" "Cut the horse crap!" yelled Axer. "Might I remind you *what* I am?! The only thing that bothers me is not knowing the truth -- not learning it!" Nat shook her head. "Somehow, her blood was turned into a polymer." "That's impossible!" "It's unexplainable," corrected Nat. "Since it happened -- it's not impossible." "Have you done an analysis of the blood?" "It's still being run by the university chemists, but their preliminary results say that the molecule is unrecognized by any of the data bases. We still need to determine exactly what this substance is. "I couldn't find any point of entry -- injection seems to be the most logical means of entry -- so how this happened is baffling everyone. I called in some FBI agents -- they'll be up tonight." "FBI agents?" Axer's head snapped up. "Their names wouldn't be Scully and Mulder, by any chance?" "Do you know them?" Axer laughed, "You don't know the beginning of it. Somehow I feel that things are falling into place. But back to the original subject -- I wonder if those men I saw were somehow creating that polymer at a distance -- perhaps through some physical means, rather than chemical?" "I don't know what you're getting at?" "What if one of those boxes was somehow directing chemical reactions? It sounds impossible, even to me, but what if all these bizarre murders are actually the testing of new weapons on the populace by some unscrupulous terrorist, or even government organization?" Nat shook her head, "You're getting to be as bad as Nick!" "Don't scare me." ************************************************** *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* Reading the Endtrails (3/30) By Henry Wyckoff A continuation of When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Go back to earlier chapters for disclaimer notices ********************** Scully and Mulder arrived at the Toronto Airport, carrying their sparse belongings with them. The atmosphere was calm, and even the children seemed well-behaved. Lawrence Welk music played on the PA system. "You know," Mulder shook his head. "It just doesn't feel right." "What do you mean? Nothing out of the ordinary is going on." "That's just my point! We haven't had any bizarre visitors, disruptions, or guys with sunglasses firing blindly into the crowd." Scully smiled. "Oh yes, remember that spot over there?" "All too well." It seemed to put him in a better mood, however. It was *the spot* -- the place where the two FBI agents, an ex-Fed, several immortals, and a vampire all converged on the same spot. What happened afterward was history. Uneventfully, they met Dr. Natalie Lambert, the Toronto Coroner. She stood as if she were impatient and dreading to see them at the same time. She held out a nervous hand, "At last -- the cavalry's arrived!" Mulder looked at Scully, his eyebrow raised, murmuring, "That's a rare welcome." Scully elbowed him in the ribs, but Nat didn't seem offended. ************************************ Axer and Nick were in the only multimedia conference room of the police station. It not only had a blackboard and slide projector (Nick was silently relieved), but also several computers, a computer-projector, a transparency projector, and a Pentium with a complete multimedia system -- that's what Nick didn't like. Nick was totally lost in this room -- he still had an old IBM complete with the yellow and black monitor and a daisywheel printer. When confronted with the different types of computers, operating systems, connections, programs, and so on, he just wanted to scream, "Calgon, take me away!" His head sank into his hands. //Great! Now commercials are running in my head!// Axer was in a near-trance state, his fingers flying so fast that they were quite literally a blur. His hands hovered in place, not even twitching, the fingers danced all over the board. Very few things impressed Nick -- this impressed him, even though it was something pretty mundane. Nick looked over Axer's shoulder and saw several different windows up. In one, text was typed so fast that Nick found it hard to read at the same rate it was written. Two other windows showed the computer status. The fourth showed a BBC transcript of a news report. Not only were those functions going, but Axer also had a music cd playing -- some kind of heavy metal music. Nick didn't complain about the music, since he figured that the music helped Axer concentrate. Occasionally, Axer would switch to some other function, flipping through windows and executing commands so quickly that Nick couldn't even make sense out of it. //How does he do it?// Nick wondered. //It's hard enough for me to accept changes in fashion, and here Axer is -- older than LaCroix -- and he changes even faster than the times do!// He had long since given up trying to anchor Axer in this world, and resigned himself to watching the show. Tracy broke the silence, walking through the door with that innocent smile on her face. Nick couldn't help but wonder if that was all an act. She took a look at Axer, and looked at Nick with a questioning look in her eyes. He nodded through the door, and they both walked out of the room. "Has he made any progress?" she asked him. "I don't know," Nick shook his head. "He's like a madman. I can't make any sense out of what he's doing -- I hope he *does* make sense when Scully and Mulder get here." Tracy looked shocked. "They're the feds coming up here?" "Yes. I figured that they would be the best consultants -- they have a reputation for handling the difficult cases." "If this is a difficult case, I'd be afraid to find out what you call an impossible case!" Nick laughed, "The night is young." He sighed deeply, "I'm going to stay with Axer until the presentation. I don't know what else we can do for now." "I'm going out for dinner, then. I'd offer you some -- but I know, you're on a special diet." She just remembered something, "The Captain wants to see you." "What's it about?" "He didn't tell me." They parted ways as she left for dinner and Nick headed for the Captain's office, but he was spared a trip. The large, usually jovial man met him in the hall. "You wanted to see me, Captain?" Reece nodded. "I understand you have an 'independent' consultant working with you other than the two FBI agents." "Yes. I've worked with him on a few other cases over the years, and he's proved to be most informative." "How come I've found out about it only a few moments ago?" Nick didn't show any of his nervousness, "I got here only an hour ago, and I didn't want to disturb you." Reece accepted that. "Don't worry about it. Why don't you tell me about him?" It wasn't quite a request. "Well... his name is Axer Carrick, and he's an expert at pretty much everything." "Everything?... How is he useful in this case?" "For one, he knows how to use computers," he gestured with his head towards the multimedia room. Reece nodded sympathetically -- he didn't even have a computer. "But he was also an eyewitness who tried to save the life of one of the victims. He volunteered to help us out." "How is he related to any of the victims?" "He didn't even know the one he brought in. He was just one of those bystanders who gets involved." Reece puffed up his cheeks as he blew out, "I wish we had more people like that... What does this guy do for a living?" "Right now, he's retired. But he used to be a researcher back in the States -- environmental physics, that sort of thing." "Well, why don't you get back to work -- but don't worry about interrupting me whenever you need to pass me any information," the look in his eyes was a lot firmer than his jovial tone. He looked down at the bottled water, "They remembered to fill it!" He took a cup, then spit it out, yelling to everyone within earshot, "Who put Perrier in the water bottle?!" Nick returned to the conference room, and saw that Axer was still typing away. He sat a few feet behind him again, just staring at the warp-speed text flying across the screen. "Yes?" asked Axer, still typing. "Nothing," said Nick, walking away. "What's on your mind?" "Nothing." "Don't tell me that. You've been pacing back and forth for the last hour. That tells me you're pondering something -- it had better be profound." He smiled a little at that one. "How can you do all this at once?" demanded Nick. "And how can you keep up with the times? It's the best I can do just to remember what's popular and who are the current movie stars!" "I've talked with LaCroix about similar issues. I think your problem is that you're oriented towards the past. I'm oriented on the future, so I'm always trying to stay a jump ahead. How else do you think I was a successful scientist for so long?" He stopped typing, "Done -- and just in time!" The door opened, revealing Nat, Scully, and Mulder. Tracy followed them with a large styrofoam container of salad and steamed rice. Nick played the host, "Agents Mulder and Scully, I believe you remember my partner, Detective Vetter?" Mulder nodded, and Scully smiled -- but her smile faded when she saw Axer at the computer. //Great!// she thought sarcastically. //Just the person I wanted to see!// Axer's thoughts were more along the lines of, //Oh great! Here comes the Miss Abrasive Personality Queen!// He held a good poker face, but it was clear that he wasn't thrilled by her presence either. "I take it that you two have been sufficiently briefed?" Mulder and Scully looked at one another and nodded. Mulder still had a zealous look in his eye that had become more intense these last few months; Scully looked as if she were going to be sick. "Well, why don't you have a seat, and I'll make my report," suggested Axer. Captain Reece entered the room then, and everyone turned to look at him, and he waved his hand, "I've been briefed. Carry on." Axer nodded, and flipped off the lights once everyone was seated. He turned on the computer-projector system, and the first slide was an unmarked map of the city, "I've spent the last few hours putting all the available data into a database, and I've come up with some rather interesting patterns. This is a map of Toronto. Now, let's look at Toronto with the crime locations superimposed..." There was an audible and collective gasp of shock. Red dots indicated the locations, and to their utter disbelief, it formed the pattern of a happy face, minus one eye. "Ladies and gentlemen, although this appears to be the work of one or more individuals with a particularly bizarre sense of humor, allow me to demonstrate that the crime scenes are brilliantly chosen -- look at the nature of these sites." He moved to the next slide, which blew up many of the sites. "These are *all* isolated alleyways. They usually have only one entrance and exit, are in crime-ridden neighborhoods, and are full of undesirables. If someone were to notice any unusual activities, it would most likely be misreported -- if reported at all. I'm willing to bet that if anyone saw anything like I did, they wouldn't have lived to tell the tale." Reece frowned at that one. He appraised Axer then and there. //For a research scientist, he looks pretty young AND athletic... And what scientist would carry a -- shotgun? -- underneath his trenchcoat? And what is that I see sticking out? Nick has a *lot* of explaining to do!// "Since I am the only eyewitness who has stepped forward, my analysis of the situation might be somewhat biased. After all, I won't be calling my own observations 'supposed' and 'alleged.' "Here's the basic story. A group of individuals possess technology that is simply nonexistent in the public domain. We're dealing a group possessing instruments that might even be based off of electrogravity." Mulder's eyebrows shot up in shock, and his note-taking became a great deal less discreet. He was now taking notes furiously. "I think we can safely say that the only organs affected during these murders, with the exception of one, focused on the brain and nervous system. The most recent one involved the blood polymerization, so my prediction is that the next series of murders will be of a similar nature. "The question still remains -- how did this happen. My reckoning is that the instruments either enable the traceless introduction of a substance that produces the desired effects, that is, the destruction of a selective organ by chemical means, or they directly cause the damage. "The technology is beyond me, so I can't give you any mechanisms, but I can't envision the technology being impossible or inconceivable -- just unreached in the public arena. "There also remains the question, 'why?' There have been many instances in history where soldiers practiced their killing techniques and weapons on the civilian populace -- the more peasant-like the better. The Japanese even had a name for the practice, although I can't for the life of me remember what it is." Axer wrapped up his report by showing some photos from the 1950s and archived material dug out of U.S. Army vaults -- released only by the Freedom of Information Act -- that showed that electrogravity experiments were not farcical, and that the world powers still believe it to be a sensitive area. It ended with a photo of Nikola Tesla. "This is to prove a point -- we've had the theoretical visions since before the turn of the century, and Tesla swore that his visions often came as visions. I think that we have enough evidence to show that there has always been a secret group within the major powers invested in destructive technologies, and that this group has embraced the newest frontier -- and isn't afraid to use it." The lights turned back on, making everyone squint. Reece had re-evaluated Axer one more time. His expression was very, very grim. As everyone stood up to stretch their legs, Reece tapped Axer on the shoulder, "Could I see you in my office, please?" Axer's response was somewhat absent-minded. "Sure." *************************************************** *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* Reading the Endtrails (4/30) By Henry Wyckoff A continuation of When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Go back to earlier chapters for disclaimer notices ********************** Nick and Axer sat in Captain Reece's office, facing the captain as if they were facing a firing squad. Reece was chewing on a piece of beef jerky, deep in thought. It was only for a few seconds, but it seemed to last for a bit longer. Although both Nick and Axer were centuries old and feared very little in the way of physical danger, they were afraid of Reece. He finally spoke, "I think you have a lot of explaining to do." Nick spoke, "What do you mean-?" "Cut the crap! I can spot a killer in a crowd of civilians any day! I don't know what State-side agency sent you here, and I don't care how many of you come into my territory, but I would prefer to be *TOLD* about these things!" "Agency?" laughed Axer sardonically. "You're right that I'm from the States, but my only role in government work was with the Department of Energy when I worked at Hanford, and I don't think they count." "Then perhaps you'd care to explain why it is that you're carrying a shotgun, and what looks like two military-type pistols under your trenchcoat? I've yet to meet a scientist who's as armed as you are." Axer smiled, "No, I assume you haven't. I guess I can also correctly assume that you think that everyone should be good little sheep and let the police handle everything -- and that good citizens have no business protecting themselves from anything and everything?" Nick felt like taking a few steps back; Reece got visibly angry and stood up. "I don't like your attitude, Carrick!" "And I don't like yours, but that doesn't make me uncivilized, does it?" Calm and collected, he even smiled warmly. "Why don't you get to the point?" "What agency are you with?" Reece repeated. "I'm going to say this only once, so listen well -- if you insist on playing the inquisitor, then you've only yourself to blame for what happens next. *I AM A MEMBER OF NO AGENCY.* *I DON'T WORK FOR ANYONE!* *YOU HAVE NO REASON TO BE HOUNDING ME WHEN I AM AN ESSENTIAL PART OF YOUR INVESTIGATION.*" Reece was fuming, "I don't take that crap from anyone -- you hear me? I don't take threats, backtalk, or evasions! You'd better spill the beans now, or --" "OR WHAT?" interrupted Axer. He made no threatening moves, and didn't raise his voice, but it had a quality to it that made it seem like he was shouting. Even Nick was knocked back by it. The voice was as soft as a whisper -- Nick would always remember that. "WHAT HAVE I DONE, EH? I'M DOING YOU A GODDAMN FAVOR, AND HERE YOU ARE THREATENING ME. YOUR COPS PAY INFORMANTS AT LEAST TENS OF THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS FOR MEASLY HINTS, AND LET THOSE MONSTERS HAVE THEIR WAY ON THE STREETS BECAUSE THEY CAN HELP YOU OUT WITH THE HIGH-PROFILE CASES. "AND HERE YOU ARE, TREATING ME LIKE I'M SOME KIND OF CRIMINAL. WHAT KIND OF AN IDIOT ARE YOU? I'M VOLUNTEERING FOR YOU, I DON'T CHARGE A CENT FOR MY LABOR -- WHICH WOULD BE MORE THAN YOU COULD AFFORD IF I DID CHOOSE TO DEMAND PAYMENT -- AND WITHOUT ME, YOU'D NEVER SOLVE THIS CASE. "AND LOOK AT MY RECORD. YOU DON'T FIND ME RAPING, KILLING, OR WORSE -- AND YET THIS IS WHAT YOU CONDONE EVERY DAY IN THE MONSTERS OUT THERE. MY RECORD IS A MATTER OF PUBLIC RECORD, AND INDISPUTABLE. WHY DON'T YOU TAKE A LOOK AT THAT AND ASK YOURSELF WHY YOU'RE ACTING LIKE SUCH AN IDIOT? I'VE NEVER SEEN ANYONE AS MORONIC AND ABRASIVE AS YOU!" Axer had barely spoken above a whisper, but Reece was knocked back in his chair -- wide-eyed and pale, which as quite an accomplishment for someone with dark skin. His fingers were twitching like he'd drunk a pot of espresso, and he kept on trying to say something, but he couldn't even get out a stutter. Axer stood up and left, saying in a normal voice that seemed very soft-spoken and whispery now, "You have your wish. I'm leaving, and when you come back on your knees begging for my help, you know what I'll say." It took a few moments for Nick and Reece to recover. Reece felt similar to a bumbling rookie who just got chewed out by the Governor for losing the case of the century; Nick felt like the poor guy who had to witness it, which he did. The thing that bothered Reece the most was that every word that Axer said was right on target: every day, Reece let trash get away with much worse things than carrying concealed weapons and possibly being more than he appeared to be. But he *would* take Axer up on his offer and check out his record. Nick stood up and shook his head back and forth a few times. "Did you have any more questions?" Reece glared at him, so he left, following Axer, who was walking a little stiffly. "Axer," called Nick, "wait up!" Axer kept on walking, and didn't even acknowledge him. When Nick put a hand on his shoulder, he was savagely thrown to the ground with a broken wrist. Axer's eyes were full of a powerful demonic fury, "Back off!" It looked like he was trying to hold back grabbing his sword. Everyone in the room was looking at them now, but Axer didn't care. Nick, of course, was pretty shocked by all this. "What --" "I SAID, BACK OFF!!" His voice had become a sharp bass, and this time he was actually yelling. When Nick recovered, Axer was gone, and everyone in the room was looking at him strangely. ******************************************* Mulder, Scully, Nat, and Tracy were talking in the multimedia room when Axer stormed in the room. Mulder was about to say something, but he immediately clamped his mouth shut once he got a good look into his face. Nat turned pale, averting her face. Scully looked shocked and backed up a step or two. Tracy was completely oblivious, asking lightly, "What did the Captain have to say?" She was lucky to be alive -- all she got was a glare. Axer said nothing, grabbed some of his equipment in a dignified manner, and left without saying a word. Nick came in a few moments later, looking pretty shaken, "Where is he?" "He left a moment ago," Tracy looked concerned. "He was sure mad about something." Nick made a face and sprinted from the room. Mulder and Scully looked at one another. "I won't ask," was all Nat said. ******************************************* When Nick caught up with Axer once more, they were on the sidewalk. "Axer! What's gotten into you?" Axer drew his sword, nearly frothing at the mouth, "I TOLD YOU TO BACK OFF! WILL I HAVE TO KILL YOU TO MAKE YOU BACK OFF?" Nick stayed back a few feet. "What's wrong with you?" The effect of the voice was wearing off, but still had power. Axer didn't answer, but attacked instead, nearly managing to cut Nick's head off. Nick decided enough was enough, he backed off a little, looking deep into Axer's eyes, ^^Put down the sword, Axer.^^ Axer didn't even blink. He moved in, thrusting his sword through Nick's heart. Nick, in pain yet unfazed, grabbed both of Axer's hands and pulled them away from the sword. Axer was strong, but not strong enough -- or so Nick thought. Nick was driven to his knees by a grappling move -- and now he no longer held onto Axer's hands. Instead, his own hands were bent back to the breaking point, and the bones were levered so that he couldn't break free. "DON'T DO THAT AGAIN. YOU MIGHT NOT LIVE NEXT TIME." ******************************************** LaCroix was at the Raven, watching the flow of humanity. It looked like it was going to be another uneventful night. //Nothing to do, nothing to think... Another night...// Suddenly, something gripped at the edge of his senses -- a tingling that became much stronger. It was more of a mental sensation than a physical one -- something that demanded his attention, screaming, 'I'm here!' LaCroix walked out the front door, and the sensation became stronger. He took to the air and followed the feeling, and a few minutes later arrived at the source of this feeling. Nick and Axer were in a fight, and it looked like Axer was winning. It was Axer that he felt, and he wouldn't have even known about Nick's presence if he wasn't looking at him. Normally, it was the other way around -- something strange was going on. Nick had just been stabbed through the chest -- the sword was just then yanked out -- and looked like he'd had a cross shoved in his face. Axer had a look of utter madness in his eyes, a madness he saw in one other place. "What is going on?" demanded LaCroix, landing and moving between Nick and Axer. The look of madness in Axer's face suddenly left him, and he looked around with a look of total confusion, "How the hell did I get out here?" Then he looked at the bloody sword in his hand. "Huh?" Nick looked just as confused, but LaCroix smelled a rat. Then he sensed a man in the distance running off as if he were being chased. He looked for the source and saw a figure in black running for a car. "Stay with Axer," commanded LaCroix, following the running man -- who didn't run that far. He was pathetically slow, managing only to reach the door before LaCroix put a crushing grip on the man's shoulder. The man dropped the black box he was carrying, and when it landed on the ground and sprayed sparks for a few moments, LaCroix could hear Axer's agonized scream in the distance -- a scream that cut off abruptly. Acting on instinct, LaCroix didn't plant any suggestions, but rather put a firm hand over the man's mouth and nose until he passed out from lack of air. He carried the man over his shoulder and flew over to where Nick and Axer was. Axer was one the concrete, spasming and gibbering insanely, speaking in several languages at once. Then he stopped. Nick looked up at him, "Did that man have a black box?" "Yes -- he dropped it when I caught up with him." "Well, that box was probably doing something to Axer." LaCroix nodded in the direction of the man he was carrying, "This man can tell us all we need to know, once I take a few precautions. I don't think we need to let the mortals know about this." It wasn't a polite suggestion. *********************************************** Another man had watched this whole affair, and once everyone had moved on, made a phone call, "Yeah, it's me... I *did* leave the Watchers, but sometimes duty calls... I think I have a bit of a situation here... Yeah, that one... Look, can you do me a favor and get both of them out here -- this situation's bad!... We need to move out of the woodwork for once, or it'll be a lot more than shit hitting the fan..." He took off his sunglasses and stared at the blood on the sidewalk. In all of his years of doing mercenary work, and his years of Watching earlier on, Kermit had never seen flying men before -- sword wielders were a familiar sight, though. Kermit scratched his head. He'd been through the database a lot of times, and he could recite the names of all the immortals like a mantra; with each name came a face that he could remember with his photographic memory. He wasn't as good with sounds, but he was perfect when it came to images and anything written down on paper. He'd never seen the sword-swinger before, and he had a look about him that said he was old. //Hmm... Must have slipped through the cracks -- if he's stayed a secret, it must be because he's a decent guy...// "Kermit?" asked an astounded voice behind him, one that sounded very familiar. He turned around and saw none other than 'Spooky' Mulder and someone else who looked like an FBI agent. "What are you doing here?" A lot of suspicions rose to the surface of his mind -- Mulder's presence could explain a great deal of things. "Not much -- just working on a case." "*What* kind of case?" Mulder smiled helplessly, "Need you ask?" Kermit found that he had been rubbing his hands together. **************************************** *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* AN EXPLANATION: The reason why I added this to the subject line is because a few folks requested that I do so. Please don't flame me for following a harmless suggestion. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (5/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt A crossover between Highlander/Forever Knight/X-Files/Sharpe's Rifles + a cameo from Kung Fu: The Legend Continues Chap 5 The young man who walked through the door looked like he was a body-building construction worker wearing his Sunday best. His brown hair was combed nicely, his clean face freshly-shaven, and his clothes casual. He wore cowboy boots, a t-shirt that said 'Montana'. Joe looked in his direction from where he was sitting with Bill MacMurdo and breathed a sigh of relief -- help had come. "Hey, Greg!" "Joe," Greg's voice was a bass rumble, "I hear you need some help running the bar." He shook with his left hand -- there was no tattoo. "Yeah. I'm need to leave town for a few days, maybe longer." "That's no problem at all. When do you leave?" "Right now." Greg nodded. Bill stood up, downing the last of the coffee. "Are you sure you want to do this, Joe?" Joe nodded gravely, "If Kermit says that we've something strange going on, then it's a good idea to check it out." He straightened up and set his shoulders, "Then let's go." ******************************* Kate and Coleen were at the Raven, laughing out loud. Axer had been a bit leery about the two meeting -- he knew it wasn't like he was a two-timer, but it almost seemed that way to him. Surprisingly enough, once Kate learned who Coleen was, the two got along very well. That didn't make Axer feel any better either. The club was empty tonight for some strange reason, so when LaCroix and Nick barged through the front door, they saw it immediately. Then they saw who Nick was carrying. "What -" Coleen ran over, with Kate a step behind her. Axer was limp as a noodle, his mouth open and his eyes staring blindly upwards. "What happened?" demanded Kate. "It's a long story," said Nick. "Let me put him down first!" LaCroix took the other limp figure downstairs to the basement while Nick explained what had happened earlier in the evening. "I don't understand," said Coleen. "I think I'm missing something here!" Breathing out in irritation, Nick took a few more steps backward and explained about the murders and Axer's observation. It took a few moments for it all to sink home. Coleen shook her head, "I can tell you this -- if they're testing out electrogravity and remote control chemistry weapons, we're dealing with a bad group of people. I thought all that was science fiction, but I guess I was wrong!" "You know about this?" Nick tilted his head. She made a face, "When Axer was training me, he *forced* me to learn calculus, physics, *and* chemistry. I hated it, but it's amazing how much stuck with me." She looked at Axer, "It's sort of like learning Latin so you can speak with an ancient Roman." LaCroix, who had just returned, snickered at that one. Kate looked at him with a worried look -- he was so uncharacteristically happy. "I think we're about to learn our answers. Do you care to come downstairs?" Kate knew what might happen -- she *knew* LaCroix, "No thanks. I'm staying with Axer." Coleen thought for a moment, and nodded. "I'm staying here." "Nick?" asked LaCroix. Nick nodded and followed him downstairs, where their prisoner was chained up to a medieval style rack. It was originally set up for the use of vampires who felt homesick for the old days, where people *really* knew how s/m was supposed to be done. LaCroix had accumulated two millennia worth of observations of human nature as well as torturing/interrogation techniques. Nick felt nauseous when he realized that LaCroix fully intended to use the instruments he saw. "Is this really necessary?" asked Nick. "The last time I tried to question his kind, he killed himself and nearly destroyed the room." His look became distant, "He was programmed to kill himself if hypnotized -- but I don't believe he was conditioned to do so if tortured. I also think he'll be a bit more honest." "If you have as much experience as you claim," retorted Nick, "then you'd also remember that people on the rack will swear to anything." LaCroix smiled, "I know, but it's more fun this way." ********************************* The prisoner was slowly waking up, coughing and spitting. Then he opened his eyes and realized where he was. Rather than asking the usual cliche questions, he kept silent. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a torch in the corner of the room. All the prisoner saw were shadows moving towards him. One whispered, "You will answer our questions." The prisoner remained silent. "Brave men are stupid men here. Do you want to leave intact? Do you want to spare yourself pain?" Another voice spoke sternly, "He needs a bit of encouragement!" "No!" pleaded the first voice sincerely. "No killing!" The second voice laughed, "Killing is for amateurs! I'll guarantee he *won't* die!" There was a brief silence. The prisoner began to sweat. "What is your name?" whispered the first in a soft voice. "Tim," stammered the prisoner. "No it's not!" yelled the second slapping him in the face. "You have no name! You're not human -- only humans have names!" ******************************************** Kate had moved Axer to a bed. He was still in a coma. His body was healthy -- even looked like it was enjoying a restful sleep -- but he just didn't have any response. "Axer," she whispered, her hand slowly going through his hair, "I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm here. I --" She stopped, unable to speak. "I don't know what to say!" her voice started breaking. "I never expected this to happen to you! Don't die on me!" The last was a loud scream. Kate broke down into choking sobs, her tears falling into Axer's face. "You're the only one I've ever loved," she whispered hoarsely. "I never could tell you that, and now it's too late... Why is it that we never say anything important to the ones we love?" "Kate," Axer was just barely able to speak. His eyes opened, "Kate. You're back!" Kate nearly jumped into the air. One moment, he was in a coma, and the next, he had spoken -- there was no transition. "What do you mean, I'm back?" He looked around in confusion, "What am I doing here?" "What do you remember?" "I was walking into Reece's office, and he was giving me a hard time... Then I entered a nightmare." He began to weep like a child, "I thought I would never leave." "Where were you?" "I was in an empty corridor, and met every immortal I killed. As I passed by and recognized each and every one, he woke up and tried to kill me. No -- that's not right! It was like a dream, but it was real too. They tried to become ME!" He grabbed at Kate tightly, pulling her closer to him. "Promise you won't leave me! I don't know what's real anymore!" "What do you mean?" His whisper was hysteric, "I'm remembering things that I *know* I never experienced. Conversations I never had. Lessons I never learned. It's too much! Are you a dream too?" His eyes were frantic, darting in all directions. "Is that all that's troubling you?" she smiled. "I can make you forget everything, and remember this!" Her kisses took his breath away, and her hands slowly moved, lightly touching him there -- and there -- and there -- He began to respond, the fear and anguish leaving his face, replaced by something that could only be called urgency. Then the teeth sank in. ****************************************** Tim: "Please, don't -- I can't --" #1: "You don't have to do this to yourself #2: "Please -- do it to yourself! I have such exquisite tortures planned for you!" Tim's hand was immobilized on a block, with each finger separated and also immobilized. A vice was set around his first finger. #2: "Please, *don't* tell me a *word*! I just *want* to crush your finger!" #1: "He means it!" The vice began to close -- it just touched the skin. Tim screamed in agony, even though the vice hadn't even begun to do its work. Tim: "Stop! I'll tell you anything!" #2: "I don't want to hear anything -- I want the truth!" ******************************************* Coleen watched from the cracked door, a smile creeping up on her face. She didn't watch because she was a voyeur, but rather wanted to make sure that Axer truly was turning himself around. She was afraid for a long time that there was something wrong with him -- but this proved otherwise. She wasn't afraid that he was gay -- she snorted at that -- no, she was afraid that he was the type who was content with being alone, with nobody to love and nobody to love him back. After watching this, she could be sure that this wasn't just some night-long relationship. She tore herself away from the door -- fighting the temptation to go back -- and made her way downstairs to where she kept her belongings, where she kept a laptop computer. Once it was powered up and connected to the phone lines, she started coasting alt.sci.physics, alt.conspiracy, and sci.physics. After a few moments, she found what she was looking for -- a few discussions about electrogravity, secret government weapons, Tesla, and government conspiracies. She left a few postings on the newsgroups that said, "Desperately need to discuss electrogravity -- please respond ASAP." Then she started to contact people by e-mail. She was almost immediately tagged by a statement: "Request for talk by kermit@toronto.police.net. Accept (y/n)?" Startled, she typed 'y'. The screen turned blank, and began to fill with text: "You're playing a dangerous game, Coleen." "Who are you?" "Kermit@toronto.police.net. That's all you need to know." "I could finger you." "Too bad you can't hear me laughing. We're just like AOL -- police.net can't be fingered without having the right software and knowhow, which I don't think you have. I believe you have a question to ask me?" "What do you know about electrogravity?" **************************************** Kermit smiled, "It looks like Coleen has quite an imagination." Mulder and Scully were sitting on the other side of the monitor, so they couldn't see what he was typing. "She's asking me what I know about electrogravity." Scully was looking bored. "Come on -- you can play chat some other time!" Mulder shook his head, "No -- this *is* important. Can I take the driver's seat?" Kermit enabled the proper security systems. "Go ahead. I want to see this!" ******************************************* It looks like you're going to have to wait in suspense too. To the tune of "Girl Watcher" -- "I'm a fingernail chomper! A fingernail chomper! Bite those nails good-bye!" *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (6/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt A crossover between Highlander/Forever Knight/X-Files/Sharpe's Rifles + a cameo from Kung Fu: The Legend Continues Methos was pacing back and forth on the deck of the boat. Duncan and Sharpe had gone out to hunt up some leads on the European base of the Invisible Ones -- the guy with all the dummies was nowhere to be found, and everyone seemed to think that was a key link to the Invisible Ones, since the Viking had gone on his merry way. And if Powys was to be believed, there wasn't much the Viking could have said. Richie stepped on deck, standing few feet from Methos. "What's bothering you?" Methos turned around as if he were startled, "What makes you think I'm bothered?" "You're only shaking the boat with that pacing." "Terribly sorry," he smiled weakly. "I'm just thinking about what I've been told. I still don't believe a lot of it, but I'm forcing myself to believe -- it makes life easier if I'm confronted by any of it... "I'm also thinking of the implications." "What implications?" Methos smiled tolerantly, "You'll laugh, but I might as well tell you. Norse gods walking the earth... An invisible power within the world governments... Vampires... Immortals... Do you see where this is leading? If all of this is true, then we might be one step closer to learning all the answers that we've all been seeking. "Where did we come from? Why are we here? Are we the product of some mad mortal experiment, or are we created by the gods? Or are we gods as well who were never recognized as such? Was there a civilization that knew much more and forgot so much -- one that either created us, or a civilization of immortals, one of which we are the remenants? Or is there no reason to it all? There's a lot of possibilities." Richie shook his head, "I just try to take it one day at a time and don't ask questions..." "Safe and secure, eh? Just take what you're given? That's one good, fast way to die." "What do you mean?" "You'll have to find out on your own. It's not something I can teach or explain to you -- I had to learn that lesson on my own the hard way. So did Duncan and Sharpe -- but they lived in such different times as we that they learned it as mortals." "What do you mean, different worlds?" Methos became thoughtful. "I was born so long ago that I don't even remember my life as a mortal -- but I can remember a time when the world was peaceful. There were no full-scale wars, no politics, or any other of the aspects of modern life that you accept without question. Life was as hard back then as it is now for many, but we went about through life knowing that life was good, that we had a purpose to life, and that death was nothing to worry about. "I never really knew when things changed. I was living through it all, so I didn't have the perspective to identify the crucial events, but it must have been 'civilization' really started taking root that things changed." He became silent, looking at the night sky, and then at the city. "What happened?" Richie was entranced. "We became afraid." ************************************************* Duncan and Sharpe walked down the empty street. Duncan and Sharpe both had automatic shotguns with belt-ammo, and their swords worn open. The area was a run-down slum, full of the obligatory filth, rot, and refuse from society. They faced what was once a lively factory, but was now a rusted skeleton. "Are you sure this is the place?" asked Duncan. "My sources are never wrong," Sharpe tried to assure him, but even his own doubts were evident. "Are you ready?" "As ready as I'll ever be." They both took a deep breath and rushed inside, instantly scanning the darkness for the layout of the place. They saw or heard nothing living, but that didn't mean much. The full moon shone through the roof, which made matters worse, because their vision was dominated by a quality of light and darkness that could only blind them. They stood still in the shadows, letting their vision slowly adjust, until they could see that this place was truly empty. Duncan looked sternly as Sharpe, who held up his hand warningly. He nodded towards the far end of the factory, where he saw a sliver of strong light at the bottom of a closed door. Duncan saw it and nodded. Both crept ever so slowly towards the door, and reached it after a few minutes. Sharpe drew out a short metal pen attached to a wire, which he gently touched to the metal door. Both had earphones which they used to listen. It was a voice speaking in Bayerisch, which neither of them spoke, unfortunately. Based on the pauses, it was evident he was speaking on the phone. They waited until they could hear the click of a phone hanging up. When they heard no further sounds, they busted through the door, with their shotguns leveled at the only man in there. The room was filled with high-tech computers, a computerized map of the globe, and what looked like a device out of science fiction blended with a chair from the hair-stylist's shop. "Hello," smiled the old man without any apparent fear. "Have a seat -- the coffee's just about ready." "The coffee can wait," said Sharpe. Without a word, Duncan kept guard by the now-closed door while Sharpe took a quick survey of the room. "You've quite an interest in the world. Perhaps you'd care to explain what all these red and green dots are?" "I'd be glad to!" the old man clapped his hands in delight. "So few of the young men take an interest these days. The green dots are where the immortals are, and the red dots are where the vampires are. Take a look at this --" he typed a few keys on his keyboard, and the world map changed into a Paris map. "It even shows precisely where you two are standing, and where Richard and Methos are!" Duncan was quite shocked, but Sharpe wasn't. "What's your game?" "It's no game at all!" the old man was now indignant, switching the screen back to the world map. "I provide an essential service." "To whom? What is your service?" Sharpe shook the man by the shoulders, but he didn't seem too disturbed, especially when Sharpe was brought to his knees by a sharp blow from behind. The last sight that Sharpe saw was a very familiar face. He looked like he'd lost a few more marbles since last time. "I'm Martin Smith," he giggled madly. "I'm just an electrician from Detroit!" His vision faded, and he thought he could hear an anguished scream, "Don't you know anything?! You've destroyed the capacitors again!" The old man didn't look too disturbed. He stood up and poured himself some coffee, stepping over Sharpe's body. "Hmmm... Taster's Choice...." He stared suggestively at Martin, "You wouldn't care for some... coffee?" Martin nearly looked sane again with his look of shock. ****************************************************** The night was his, just as much as the day was his. Of that there could be no dispute. He laughed at the memories that haunted the lower depths of his mind -- memories that persistently stayed there. Immortals... Vampires... Hah! They would learn who the true master was, soon enough. He walked down the empty alleyway, the occasional cat crawling out from behind some object, only to look in his eyes and run away so fast that it was a blur. Its howls echoed for only a few seconds before they too faded. Something touched at the edge of his senses -- faint sounds, and the hint of a bright light. He didn't know what it meant, but his instincts made him run as fast as the wind towards the source. Time meant nothing. He was at a place and he went to another. He was at a dead end, the fog and light obscuring his vision -- but he knew what was going on. Three men dressed in black and holding boxes were surrounding a bum, held immobilized by an invisible force. The men in black wore helmets, so the expression on their faces was not visible -- but they must have been full of a malicious joy. He knew his expression would be that. The how and what of this event was irrelevant. Perhaps it was then that he began to value the voice that screamed in the vaults of his lower mind. It showed its value -- in a few moments he mercilessly raped the lower consciousness of its memories and knowledge, leaving it to whimper in those dark corners. He saw what was happening in a different light now, and could even understand the significance of this event. A low, guttural chuckling escaped from his mouth. It sounded like rough clicking. He approached them, and one of them noticed him. He screamed something and pointed at him, backing up with jerky steps. The other two turned around and had the same reaction. The force field that surrounded the bum turned off, but the man was so damaged that he collapsed. He approached the three men, and he felt his progress stopped by the same force field. He smiled as he felt a peculiar sensation in his whole body. It burned, and then it stopped. He smiled again. Movement returned. The three men started shaking and tapping their boxes in total confusion. Then they stopped -- forever. When he raised himself back up to his full height, he spun around by instinct. A man stood at the entrance to the alley, holding an open sword. The light and the fog obscured him -- all he saw was the outline of a tall and muscular man. It called out to him, "Abomination!" Abomination? What abomination? Where? It looked around, and found only the man. Perhaps that is what it called itself. It didn't feel like a man. It felt powerful... seducingly powerful. ||What are you?|| "I am Heimdall, Friend to Man, and you've just hurt my friends. Prepare to die, demon!" Its voice was slurred, as if it could not speak the language of man. ||Ah! Now I understand!|| A smell assaulted his nostrils, making his movements slower than they should be. Feeling curiosity rise, he drew back and picked up one of the boxes. It had many knobs and switches, and he flipped and twisted them randomly. A scream rewarded his efforts -- only, he didn't know whether it was Heimdall's, or his own. ************************************************ Nick and LaCroix faced Tim, sobbing limply in his chains. Nick: "All you have to do is tell us the truth. Lying will do you no good." LaCroix: "But it will do *me* a great deal of good. I think your middle finger is next." Tim: "Ple- he- hease! I've told you everything I know! Honest!" LaCroix: "Then tell us again. Why did you try to affect Axer's mind?" Tim: "Because he was a witness -- we wanted to discredit him!" LaCroix: "There -- you lied! You told us before that it was because you were ordered to, and you didn't know! I think it's time to go for the next finger!" Tim: "Nooooo!!!!..." Nick: "Think about all you have to gain by telling the truth! You've already lost one finger already!" LaCroix vanished into the shadows, replaced by a shadow wearing an immaculate white coat, holding a scalpel. Carefully, with the delicacy of an artist painting with single atoms and molecules, he sliced open the finger, pulling away one strand of muscle or nerve at a time. Carefully, carefully he moved and pulled, the screams increasing with intensity the more careful he was. Nick vomited black blood onto the floor. LaCroix smiled tolerantly. ************************************** Mulder was typing away, while Kermit and Scully had gone for coffee and doughnuts. "What do *you* know about electrogravity?" Mulder typed. "Not enough," returned warbitch@aol.com. "It's based on a similar principle to electromagnetism, except that the relationship is between gravity and electricity. I know what it does moreso than how it does it." "What does it do?" "After the Second World War, the USA government looked into it with the hovercraft projects. It worked, but they found that just like anything else, there are a lot of tricks and traps. Nothing's ever as easy as it looks on the drawing- board. "There's an old saying that my teacher used to tell me: 'To the theorist, experiment and theory are the same -- to the experimentalist they are NOT!' They learned that out the hard way and apparently scrapped the project. They also learned the economics of this line of research -- it would put so many contract workers out of a job. They NEEDED those contractors to maintain the Military-Industrial Complex. "Do you know why the Cold War lasted as long as it did? Both the Russians and the USA learned that it was far better to start the Bureaucratic Juggernaut than to pursue efficiency, true progress, and the truth. All three would be a consequence of following that path, and they knew it would throw them out of power." Mulder sat back in shock. "Now," continued warbitch@aol.com, "what do YOU know?" ****************************************** *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* This chapter has been split in order to obey the maximum line rule. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (7A/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt A crossover between Highlander/Forever Knight/X-Files/Sharpe's Rifles + a cameo from Kung Fu: The Legend Continues ***************************************************** Kate had propped herself up against the headboard with a pillow, looking at Axer, who had fallen back into dreams after a rather intense hour -- it seemed such a pity that it took these circumstances to bring out his passion. He was always sweet and loveable, but never passionate... until now. She ran a delicate finger along the rippling muscles on his chest, feeling a rush as her finger slowly ran across every scar and ridge, her fingers combing through the hair. He was muscular, but his was the type of muscularity that's lean and well-defined. His strength was the kind that came from hard work and endurance -- not lifting weights in an air-conditioned gym. Looking at him, all one would see was a healthy man, but not fearsome or out-of the ordinary. The more she looked at him, the harder it was to believe he had died and become immortal as a teenager -- when she first saw him, she thought he was at least twenty, and had continued to think so until she learned he was immortal. But now, she could clearly see the signs of age. Though his body repaired itself from every wound, the trials of his life showed. Kate looked at his face, and saw that the tranquility and innocence had returned -- only a little while ago, his face was relaxed, but dead. She wondered what her own face looked like during sleep. She couldn't resist herself, after looking at his face. Kate leaned in to his neck, breathing in deeply -- the smell relaxed her, making her think of home, safety, and her own family that had passed on so long ago. She kissed him on the neck, and her fangs slowly came out. All it took was just a small prick, and a small taste of blood came out -- only a few drops. She kissed his neck even more furiously as she sucked the blood. His eyes opened up then, and Kate pulled back a little bit in startlement. "You mean you want *more*?" he smiled, pulling her back in. Giggling, she snuggled in closer, "Aye, I want it now! Give it to -- *************************************** --you!!" Tim howled from the depths of his soul as he looked at the stump where his first finger was, and the bone that extended from his middle finger. An oxyacetylene torch was being prepared now. He didn't care what it would be used for. The two figures returned now. #1: "But you promised several times to tell the truth. You have not yet told us the truth." Tim: "But I told you everything I know!" #1: "But how do we know it's the truth?" #2: "Don't encourage him! I want to try out this torch -- can't do that on an honest person, can we?" Tim: "Stop! I'll tell you the truth! Just let me tell you -- please, put it back! Ple- he- he- heaseee!!" Tim was crying like a child, hanging from his chains. The torch was extinguished. He was given a glass of water, but Tim wasn't able to keep it down -- his guts were churning too much. A kind face entered the light. Tim knew that this man had tried to help him the whole time, but was a prisoner of the dark man just as much as he was. "Please," pleaded the man. "I just know he'll let you go if you only answer his questions." "All right, I'll tell you," Tim's voice became very conspiratorial, as if he didn't know that the other man was only a few feet away. "Why did you use the box on Axer?" Tim didn't even blink, "We needed to test a weapon out, and we chose him because he's a dangerous man." "How is he dangerous?" "Because he asks all of the wrong questions -- you see, he's a free thinker!" He made 'free thinker' sound like a heresy and threat all at once. "He knows what we're doing, and he doesn't play the game -- he can't be killed and he can't be corrupted. He had no vices that we can exploit, and we can't buy his services!" "Yes," smiled LaCroix, stepping into the light. "What a fantasy. You don't really expect me to believe it?" "But it's true!" insisted Tim, fright radiating from his whole being. "He's a threat because he asks the right questions! It doesn't matter what he knows or doesn't know, because he can find out too much by knowing what to ask. If he asks questions, then others might start asking other awkward questions as well." "So you expect us to believe that you tried to destroy his mind because he was asking questions? Why not kill him?" "We tried that," frowned Tim, "but he has a habit of taking our hitmen out for beer -- and then they mysteriously vanish. My superiors decided to get rid of him for good and test our weapon at the same time." "What does your weapon do?" "I'm not completely sure -- I've been told that it controls the thoughts and emotions of others." He frowned, "It was working, but I had to turn the power up all the way..." Nick became concerned, "And what happens when the power is turned off? What if you had him controlled and you dropped the instrument?" "Nothing -- he'd go back to normal, like nothing had ever happened. He wouldn't even know anything was out of the ordinary." Nick and LaCroix looked at one another, and left the room for a moment to talk. "I'm convinced he's telling the truth," said Nick. "Or perhaps the truth as he knows it... We must be sure he is telling the real truth." "How would we know?" LaCroix smiled, "Need you ask?" ***************************** Coleen got off the computer, her head spinning. Kermit had been an interesting one to talk with. His knowledge of science was incredible, and the kind of things that he believed in were incredible. Looking towards the door, she could see that the sun had risen. Someone walked through -- someone she didn't recognize. The newcomer seemed just as shocked to see Coleen as Coleen was to see her. "Who are you?" asked the newcomer. "I'm Coleen," she said, her eyes still a bit wide. "And who, may I ask, are you?" She threw her unbound hair over her shoulder. The shine in her black hair made the other blink. "Dr. Lambert." She had a somewhat nervous expression on her face. "Oh... so you're the gnat that Axer was always talking about." Coleen laughed, and was quite sure that she didn't get the pun. "He had quite a lot to say about you." "Good things, I hope." "Nope. All of it bad." When she saw the look in Nat's face, she couldn't keep her face straight any longer. Both laughed. Nat got serious. "Have you seen Nick here?" "Yes. Why?" "He vanished pretty quickly after Axer and didn't answer his phone. I thought he might be here." "Well, he is, but he won't be able to see anyone for a while -- he's busy questioning a suspect." "Oh?" "Yes. The man quite nearly caused Axer to go insane -- he's still recovering." "*WHAT* happened?" that got Nat's attention. "Have a seat. It sounds like storytime. From what I've heard, it goes like this..." Nat was so engrossed in hearing the latest news that she didn't notice Coleen's direct, assessing glances at her. ******************* They were twenty in all, wearing thick leather trenchcoats. They openly carried clubs, knifes, sawed-off shotguns, and hunting rifles. They had no need for masks or shadows, because they weren't here to commit a crime. They could have been anyone -- street bums, shoe salesmen, or respectable doctors -- but three things tied them all together: their look of zeal, a leather band fastened around their right wrist, and the fresh slices on their left palms that spelled the word 'Tyr' three times in Nordic runes. Tyr was the Nordic god who 'governed' law, truth, and honor. These were Tyr's disciples, walking the streets of Toronto. 'Vigilant' and 'vigilante' were good descriptive words for them, because they were watching for the signs of Ragnarok. They were told by Tyr that though Ragnarok had happened before, it would happen again very soon. All must take sides -- for the one who made no decision was the worst kind of criminal. The twenty Tyrsmen blended in well in the place they were patrolling, whether they intended to or not. This was a bad neighborhood, and for all everyone else was concerned, this band of thugs were a daily occurrence to be left alone. A man observed all of this, leaning up against a streetlamp with a pipe in his mouth. He was a thin and tall man, who looked like the 'stereotypical Swede'. His hair was a yellow-blonde that cascaded down his shoulders. His face was clean-shaven and very angular. His clothes were like that of a Beatnik, which didn't clash too much nowadays with any environment. Loki puffed a fresh bowl, musing to himself about what he observed. The final war approaches soon -- Grab your bags and guns. Blow the penny whistle now For the battle has begun. An irony that this dread event Lies unnoticed by the mass That concern itself with gloss And never-closing malls. //Hmm... Not bad. You have the rhythm down -- now you just have to work on your end-words...// He wasn't a bad rhymer in Old Norse, but English was still difficult for him. English might be convenient for the Swedish rock stars who choose to relinquish their mother tongue, but for Loki, Old Norse was the only elegant language for the types of rhymes that he created. Loki looked around, and saw that his poem did indeed mirror reality. A newly-formed band of fighters had just walked down the street, and while everyone looked, nobody *understood*. They saw only twenty thugs probably playing Guardian Angel or going to beat the holy bejeezus out of someone -- not a band of soldiers preparing for Ragnarok. "What do you think?" asked a voice behind him. Startled, Loki turned around and saw the same grim face that he hadn't seen for a long time. "Tyr?" Loki's face was full of regret and fear. Tyr laid the stump-arm on Loki's shoulder compassionately. "Time has given me the wisdom to see the truth. Time has not been your redeemer -- any children's mythology book will tell you that -- but it's given me the chance to review what went on so long ago. The distance from Mad Odin made me realize that his madness had affected me... "The same way that his madness now affects us all..." Loki fought to hold back the tears -- and even his expression of relief. To an uninformed observer, that scene might not make any sense. The informed observer would understand that after almost a millennia, Loki has learned that one of his best friends admits his mistake of calling him traitor and betrayer. When Loki was placed under the serpent by the Aesir, that poisonous serpent was an analogy. The acid poison that would have devoured him if it weren't for his wife, who stayed by his side to catch the venom, and allow only the occasional drop fall on his body when she needed to empty the bowl. That acid poison was not literal, but rather descriptive of the venomous hatred that all the Aesir felt towards Loki the Trickster -- Loki the Betrayer. Heimdall and Frey were the first to see the light and understand who Loki and Odin truly were. Now Tyr understood. To the Viking, tears were nothing to be ashamed of. Tyr draped an arm over the shoulder of Loki as they looked on the fading band of Tyrsmen. "I'm sorry, Loki," Tyr whispered. Both men wept for centuries of friendship lost. ****************************** *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* This chapter has been split in order to obey the maximum line rule The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (7B/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt A crossover between Highlander/Forever Knight/X-Files/Sharpe's Rifles + a cameo from Kung Fu: The Legend Continues The bottles of blood were refreshing. Nick had brought some of his own cow blood -- LaCroix didn't "serve that kind" here. As it was, he looked at Nick with askance, as if he had made a breach of etiquette. "How will you determine if there has been any deeper conditioning?" Nick finally asked. "Simple -- we'll keep pushing and pushing until he breaks." "And if there *are* no deeper levels?" "Then we're done." "And?..." LaCroix smiled viciously, "He dies." "Isn't that a little needless?" "Nick!" LaCroix was exasperated. "He's the enemy, and if you let him go, he'll have even more incentive to hunt us! Never show mercy towards your enemy!" "'Enemy!' Have you become the 'general' once more?" Nick sneered. LaCroix was thoughtful, "I won't be Sharpe's general, but I find that these evermore frequent episodes intrigue me. I've never been more involved in the world since my crossing over than these last few years. I may not be a general, but you may find me taking charge if there's no one else to do the job. Like now -- it appears that you won't do yours." "What do you mean? I'm a police officer -- my duty is to arrest him!" LaCroix smiled with pity, "Nicholas, you are sadly mistaken. You are a vampire, and your duty is to protect our kind, even if you won't think of yourself. But even if you don't see it that way -- think about it this way -- they are invisible to your laws and cannot be arrested. The only way that you can protect and serve the people is to fight this fire with fire." To a vampire, that was a very significant statement. "It doesn't have to be that way!" "What would you have done? Read him his rights and let him hit the street the next day because his mother didn't give him Twinkies on demand when he was a child? Tell me, what would you have done -- considering that you helped me to interrogate him?" "I didn't help you -- I tried to stop you!" "But you only made the interrogation more effective! Think about it -- the good cop/bad cop routine taken to a new level! You looked so genuinely concerned about his welfare! Torquemada would have been proud of you!" The truth of it sank into Nick. His stomach rebelled once more, and he emptied all of his recent meal onto the floor. ******************************************* Kate entered the main floor to find Coleen and Nat in an animated discussion about what had happened earlier. By the sounds of it, she had most of it right. Nat seemed to sense Kate's approach and turned in her direction. "Is Axer alright?" Kate looked uncertain. "He's better, but he needs some more time to himself." "Perhaps I might be able to help," Nat offered. Kate seemed to think about it, "It's is mind that's in trouble -- can you fix mind problems?" "I'll see what I can do." Kate showed Nat to the door and whispered, "Wait just a moment." The door closed behind her, and for a few minutes, all she heard were some muffled sounds and a little giggling. Nat smiled a little at that, trying not to imagine what caused the giggling. The door opened up again, and Nat could swear that her face looked a little less white. "He's ready," she said in a voice that made her seem slightly out-of-breath. Nat ignored her observation and walked into the room. Looking at Axer, she smiled, understanding why Kate *would* leave the room looking like she did. His mind was elsewhere as he lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was obvious that he was covering himself with the blankets, and she found her eyes wandering to the wrong places, trying to catch a glimpse -- she stopped herself before she started. In a way, he even resembled Nick -- a Nick who hadn't become immortal the way he had -- differing only in his black hair and narrowed, sardonic eyes. "Axer?" she asked, grabbing a chair and sitting down next to the bed. "Dr. Lambert? What are you doing here?" he was startled, obviously oblivious to her entrance. "I heard about what happened. Kate thinks I may be able to help." He nodded, "I thank you for your enthusiasm, but you're a coroner -- and I'm not dead." She smiled, "No, but I know how to listen." "That's rare... But what is there for me to say? There's so much I can't put into words." "Then paint a picture." His eyes became distant. "You know, that's not a bad idea. Grab some paper and a pencil, and I'll show you." "I'll ask Nick," Nat got up and left for the door, but Axer stopped her, pointing to a pack in the corner of the room. "I have some paper there. Bring me the pack." Taking the paper, he began to draw, and talked at the same time. "You know, I was never a good drawer. Eventually, I could make rough technical drawings, but I just didn't have the skill -- until tonight." He showed her what he had drawn in just a few moments. It seemed odd -- such a skillful drawing on a piece of notebook paper. It was a hellish scene that would have done well in Dante's Inferno, although the scene didn't look like the layout of the Inferno. It was a wasteland of rocks, flames, and ash. Axer wasn't here, but there was another man. He looked oddly familiar, perhaps from one history book or another. He was a Roman centurion dressed in full battle armor and carrying a spear in less of a battle posture and more of a display posture. His face was visible, but his features were almost alien. All in all, the sketch made Nat feel uncomfortable as much as she felt awed at the skill. "It's amazing," she said. "You claim that you didn't draw well until tonight." She made a few mental notes as to what she thought this signified. "Can you explain this picture?" "He's Lucius," he smiled, "not the Lucius you know as LaCroix. It was a different one. It was about as common a name as John is over here. I only knew him by reputation. He was an Etruscan who had been assimilated into the Roman Empire. It was he who helped shift Rome from an isolationist to an expansionist state, though you'll never find it in any history books. He was a brutal man who was said to sacrifice women and children who survived the battles to his god -- a demon." He snorted, "Back then, demons and gods were private, and never shoved down anyone's throat. In fact, to know the name of another's god or demon was a way to lessen or take away its power. "I killed him..." he hesitated, "and committed unspeakable acts myself. He confronted me in that nightmare place, and I defeated him one more time, but he was much stronger. When I fight these immortals, it's not just a sword battle -- it's like they're trying to take my soul away from me. They assault me with memories, scream inside my head, and try to make me do things." Nat felt more and more disturbed. "Perhaps I might understand a little more if you told me more about yourself. How did you become immortal? Why did you kill those men you allude to?" Axer's expression was distrustful, but it went away. "I've wanted to tell someone all my life, but I've always talked myself out of doing it. I don't know how much I can say now. It all starts off when we're mortal. I was a Brythonic Celt living in what is now called Wales..." He snorted, "Wales! A Saxon name that came from 'Wielas', meaning 'Foreigner!' We called ourselves and our neighbors 'friends'. The land was simply the land, and there was no need to name it..." ****************************** *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (8/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Axer was in that barren wasteland, facing the one immortal he had ever regretted killing. She stared him in the eye, her face lit only from the light below -- beautiful features given an evil cast. His heart crushed by a torrent of emotions, he had collapsed to his knees, sobbing so uncontrollably that he couldn't breathe. "I'm sorry!" he cried. "I didn't want to kill you, but you gave me no choice!" "If you're so sorry," she whispered, "then why do you justify yourself? You always had a choice." ((What's going on??)) Axer heard Nat's voice all around him, but he couldn't see her anywhere. If Ingrid heard Nat's voice, she didn't' show it. "Yes! I could have let you kill the children -- and Ulla! I could have let you live with the deed!" "You killed me so that they could live?" "You know that!" "Then you feel no qualms for killing me. Could there be another reason why you weep so?" Her features were illuminated more and more by the light, but her expression was still stern. "Could it be something more to do with you?" Her last question was a whisper. "What makes you so sad to see me?" "I never wanted to kill you!" "You never wanted to kill a lot of people -- Morden, Krieger, Olaf, Brenden..." His eyes opened in shock, "They were before and after your time! How could you possibly know?" "Stop trying to change the subject -- why does my appearance sadden you so?" He hesitated, "I couldn't kill you... I --" he couldn't finish. "You--?" she prompted. "I loved you," he whispered, still on his knees, looking into her eyes. "I still love you, and I can't live knowing what I did." Her stern eyes still bore into him. "You're a fool." ************************************** Duncan was shaking with exhaustion, each muscle trembling -- even the ones he didn't know he had. Though his body was exhausted, his mind and senses were screaming with power. The man who had killed Sharpe returned, getting straight to the point. "That was a lesson -- do not act like an annoying child. Here are the rules. One, you will treat me with respect. Two, you will follow my commands. Three, you will answer my questions truthfully and completely. "Remember -- I don't NEED you, but I WILL use you. If you want to extend your life, you will follow my rules. If you want to die, then feel free to disobey them -- but remember that this time, there will be no immortal to receive your quickening. "What do you say? What do you choose?" Duncan was barely able to nod, "I'll follow your rules." "Good... Then you will answer my first question: what do you know about the Invisible Ones?" Duncan stared at him, a million instincts battling at once. His self-preservational reflex fought against his honor. His reflex won. "I don't know much." "What do you know?" "Only that they're a mysterious force behind every world power." "What else do you know?" "I don't know anything else." The interrogator paced back and forth, "I somehow find that hard to believe. You track several of our operatives across Europe, make a general nuisance of yourself for several years, and then tell me that you know nothing? What are you -- a compulsive order-taker?" Duncan remained silent. "So it's true -- you were following orders! Who are you with? Who told you what to do?" Duncan felt he could safely reveal this, "Sharpe, the one you just killed, came to me. He kept most of his information to himself, and asked me for a favor, which is why I'm here now." The man laughed, "This is so perfect -- two men in hand, and I kill the one who can give me information!" He put an axe under Duncan's neck, and he flinched back, "You'd better find a way to make yourself useful. While I'm gone, you can be productive by meditating on a single theme: you have no more honor." When the man left and shut the door, Duncan's head did hang in shame. When it came to true life or death, he chose life -- but at what cost? As he looked at the rotting corpse of Sharpe, he fought the tears, but they still fell. Immortality was a joke -- death was a reality they all had to face, and when it came down to it, Duncan still couldn't face it. Not when it happened like this -- so senseless. //Stop your damned cryin'!// his thoughts told him. //You're a bloody highlander! The last thing a dead soldier should hear is the cryin' of a bloody woman!// ********************************************** Nick looked at the pool of black blood that he had vomited onto the floor. He was on his knees, barely able to move his limbs. LaCroix was nowhere to be found -- he had gone to dispose of the body in a neat and orderly fashion, but the echoes of the interrogation still echoed through Nick's soul. //How could I have been so blind? I played into his game!// "Are you all right?" asked Coleen from behind him. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Yes," he barely managed to say, still unable to stand. "No, you're not," she decided, pulling him up. Nick was surprised at how strong she was. "You're coming with me." He wanted to protest, but found that he couldn't. His feet staggering and dragging like a drunk's, he was half-carried up the stairs and to the main room on the ground floor. All the doors were barred and the windows covered. "Sit down," she commanded, grabbing some blood by random and placing at his table. "Drink." "It's human blood-" he tried to protest. "Drink it!!" she commanded. Nick was surprised to find out that he obeyed. He took a cautious sip at first, and his guts nearly threw it back up, but he forced himself to drink more and more. It wasn't too long before he started to gulp it down hungrily, and then Coleen took it away. "It's not good to drink it all at once," she explained. Her expression grew serious, "It looks like I'm going to have to have a talk about that --" she pointed downstairs. "It's going to kill you, and God damn me if I'm going to sit back and watch you do it!" "I don't know what you mean!" he was a bit startled at this young girl taking this tone with him -- immortal or not -- but then again, she was Axer's student. "I think you do. Do you know why you've been vomiting for the last few hours? It's not because you've been drinking scotch -- but I'll bet that you're vomiting for the same reason Axer drinks." His head tilted, "Go on." "You're in conflict with yourself, and it's not healthy. You're a vampire, and you want to be human. You're faced with a situation, and you can't handle it. You either stand on one side of the road or the other -- but you can't straddle the road unless you know how to dodge really fast or jump over the cars. "Let's start with point number one. According to LaCroix, you were a human who willingly became a vampire. You made the choice, and over the centuries, you began to regret your nature and tried to change it. You wanted to become mortal for a few decades at least. Why are you still a vampire if you so desperately want to be mortal? Why don't you relinquish your vampire powers if the very vampirism that makes such powers possible is evil? You're just like a politician -- so full of virtue and principles, but you'll still take loads of campaign contributions and bribes. Either you take it all or leave it all." That was certainly a mouthful, and Nick took a moment to respond with something close to anger, "I'm still a vampire because there is no way to reverse the condition. God knows I've tried and tried, but nothing has worked." "For every condition there is a reason, and for every cause, there is an action. If your vampirism came about by a bite and some blood drinking, then I'd say that's a chemical reaction there, and with the state of molecular biology, the scientists should find a cure." "But Nat has been working on this for years, without ANY success!" "Nat is a coroner," Coleen frowned as if she were talking to a child who had made some silly claims. "Saying that there's no vampirism cure Nat didn't find it is like taking your car to the junkyard dealer, who says, 'Yeah, that car's a goner -- I can't fix the radio, so you'd better junk it and get a new one!' You don't just pick the right tool for the right job -- you pick the right specialist too! Don't you know any molecular biologists? What about a chemist?" "I've consulted other scientists over the years." His stomach was a little better, and life flooded back to his limbs. He reflectively drank some more out of the bottle, and Coleen smiled. "They didn't have any luck either." He didn't add that many of those scientists also died some rather tragic deaths as well -- some were deaths of the soul. "So, you stick with a coroner! What good is she for besides slicing open bodies and concluding, 'Yeah -- he's dead all right -- he didn't twitch or scream a bit!'" Nick got a bit mad at that, "That's rude!" "It's accurate! Prove me wrong -- what is she good at? So she knows some chemical analysis and can find out what poison killed you. So can any undergraduate chemist! But her knowledge is too general -- " Coleen threw her hands up in the air. "Why the hell am I talking to you -- you're centuries old and you can't see the obvious!" "And what is the obvious?" His eyes narrowed. "If you can't find a cure from a mortal scientist, or you can't trust them, go to someone who has no reason to betray you!" Nick didn't know what to make of it. "Who do I go to then?" "Find an immortal scientist. I'm sure Duncan or Axer can name several who would love to find a cure for you, and they'd have no reason to betray you: they have their own secrets to keep!" That stunned Nick. It *WAS* obvious, and he never even considered it, even though he knew about immortals for a few years now. ***************************************** Six men in black turned on the lights and their black boxes. This time, it was a whore. They didn't really care who it was, as long as it was somebody that nobody would miss. The whore was immobilized, and the only sign that she was going through an unspeakable treatment was the moan-scream that escaped. If her jaw wasn't immobilized as well, this would have been a blood-curdling scream that could be heard for miles around. As it was, it was loud enough to be heard for about fifty feet. The work was done and so the boxes were turned off. Then the lights turned off, and one of the men muttered something into a small microphone. When they turned around to go about their business, they found twenty men surrounding them. They were so startled that they couldn't do a thing as the band closed in on them. This was a professional job -- it was silent, fast, and efficient. The six men lay in a bloody heap, but the job wasn't done yet. Several men left to find some wood to make a frame. Others had brought rope -- and all had the cutting utensils. ********************************************** Methos soothed his nerves by listening to the BBC World Broadcast. Someone was reporting from the heart of Ireland -- a Londoner by the sound of his accent, "If you walk through the heart of Dublin or Belfast, everything will seem unchanged. The bombers continue their activities, politics go on, and the tourists visit all the sights, but if you lift the cover, you'll find a different sight. "Around the corners, in the violent quarters, and in the less-traveled places, you will see a violent storm rising. Over the last few months, with the advent of Frey, we have seen an alarming eruption of mob-style riots. They're religious in nature, but have motives that would alarm anyone in the world. "A religious cult that calls itself the Vanir have made it their life's goal to destroy any Christian church or cathedral they can find. Priests have been found nailed to the crosses that face the pews of their church; nuns and monks forced to fend for themselves while being beaten and slashed to death in the middle of violent crowds. "They remain uncounted, but are believed to be small in number -- but their actions rock the whole of Ireland. When Frey first visited Ireland, nobody knew who was a cult member and who wasn't. Now, the picture has changed. They are open and growing in number. One thing that all of the cultists have told those not of their number is, 'The time comes, and you must choose your side.' "My sources say that this is in reference to their belief that Ragnarok, the End of the World, is coming. What is amazing is that Ragnarok comes from Norse mythology, and this is Ireland, where tradition still holds strong." Another voice butted in, "And now, on to the sheep races..." Methos switched it off, frowned and grabbed a Guinness, slowly filling a pint-glass. Richie came into the room, shaking his head. "Man, the New Agers are really at it today! There was some guy preaching to a crowd of New Agers. They kept on telling me he's balder -- if he's balder, he must have been a gorilla! The guy has enough hair to make three wigs, and it's all gold!" Methos shook his head, "They weren't saying 'balder.' They were saying 'Baldur.' He's another Norse god walking the earth. Whether he's for real or not remains to be seen..." "Gods? Come on!" Methos looked sharply at Richie, "You've lived a pretty sheltered life, and I dare say a narrow one. Didn't the Odinssons' church show you anything? What about Powys? There's no proof yet, but the signs point to the facts that there might indeed be gods walking the earth." His look became wistful, "Perhaps we might even understand what we are..." "Not that again!" "You're a shallow man, Richie. Age enough, and you'll realize that you're empty without understanding what you are, and looking for the reasons why things are." ***************************************** Ingrid pulled Axer up by the shoulders and kissed him firmly on the lips, taking Axer's breath away. He was still so shocked and weak in the knees that she supported him as well, holding him in an embrace so strong that it threatened to crush his ribs. When she pulled back, she scolded him, "You dumb ox! All these centuries, and you were tearing yourself apart because YOU LOVED ME?! I tried to seduce you and kill your family because I wanted to throw you off balance!" That stunned Axer. "You WHAT? I thought--" "Because I was JEALOUS?! Have your brains turned into straw?? Do they turn into mush with age?! It was the GAME! We all had to use our own weapons! Look at me!" She was short and thin-boned, with a great natural beauty that would have been a hinderance in the old world. "Do you think I could have beaten you in a fair sword fight -- forget I asked that question -- we both found out that answer, didn't we?" Her voice softened, "Let it all go. I died a long time ago, and any concerns I had with my own life died when my own head was taken." This dreamworld began to fade. The last words Axer heard her say were, "For all my sins, I can't believe you truly loved me. Let it all go -- there is one who truly loves you, and this baggage you carry does her ill." The real world returned, and Nat was shaking him vigorously. "Stop it!" he snapped. "I'm not a tossed salad!" "You're back!" she sighed in relief. She then noticed that the covers had fallen off again, and she sighed for an altogether different reason as she reluctantly put the covers back, catching a quick look at the rippling muscles of his chest. "You had me worried!" "How long did it last?" "A minute. I was ready to call for help." Axer closed his eyes, "I don't know what's happening to me, but I think I'm beginning to make peace with it. She was Ingrid, a woman I had to kill. I had a mortal family, and she threatened to destroy what I had. "When Nick starts belly-aching about how evil he is, tell him this story..." ************************* Coming Next: Axer's Story! *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (9/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Axer sat against the headboard, oblivious to the fact that Nat's eyes were a trifle wider than they should be. His hair hung in his face as he lit a Shermans, taking a deep drag and blowing it across the room. ********************************************************** Axer's Tale ********************************************************** Where do I begin?... Europe was in flames. Wars erupted right and left as the old orders crumbled and the land turned to barbarism. Like a fire rushing across a grassland, fires are part of the cycle of nature, but I didn't want to be caught up with it. And so I left my familiar homes behind -- Wales, Britain, Scotland, Ireland... I didn't know where to go, so I went for the unfamiliar. It was said that the Danes were great sailors, and they reached into parts unknown, and so I would share the new discoveries with them. I walked on foot from Cornwall to the Danelaw, and I learned about the people who had invaded my fair land many years before. After a generation of moving from place to place, I became a Dane myself -- the fact that I looked like a Wielas was not important, because by the second generation, many looked like Wielas and Saxon. The fact that I refused to speak Danish was considered irritating, but not too important, because they all spoke Saxon and Celt as much as Danish. I was known as Bjorn, a travelling skald who knew the tales and the songs. My lore was well-needed, and my power great -- and none of it to do with fighting. I threw my fate up to the wind and buried my sword underneath a huge boulder and took up the cloak, and decided that it was time to move on... I went to the port and signed on a ship traveling to Iceland. It had already been settled, but more expeditions were being launched, so I thought that it would be good if I moved to Iceland first. The captain was glad to have a skald on board, but he let it be known that when the times came, I would be expected to row and bail like the rest of them. I accepted his terms and cast a piece of my heart away, sailing to parts unknown. I sat near the rudderman, a hand clutching my heart tightly as I watched the last of the shore vanish. As the shore nearly vanished from sight, I wanted to jump up and dive into the waters. I would swim my way back, I thought, and return to the land that had brought me into the world. I never moved a muscle. Over a millennia of memories flooded through me. I remembered the mountains I climbed, the men I killed, and the feasts I attended. Civilizations passed before my eyes, and the world changed several times. I had seen death and life pass before my eyes too many times to count, and yet I had a sense of stability. I knew my place in the world. No matter what happened, life was good and had meaning. Now I knew it was because I was still a child living in the cradle. It was time to grow up. Perhaps that was when the world changed for me, as I watched the endless expanse of ocean all around me. I had always known the sea was endless, looking from the shore, but I never truly embraced the notion of 'endless' -- I had traveled across the waters before, but it was with a knowledge that land wasn't that far away. It took weeks for me to finally forget the Isles and become a resident of the ocean. Though I was signed on board as a skald, the others seemed to understand and respect my love of the land, and my broken heart that came with leaving it. Though they were seamen, they had lived their lives on land, and knew what it was like to leave it for real the first time. When the world changed for me, they seemed to sense it, and began to ask me to break their exhaustion and boredom with songs and poems, tales of great deeds, riddles to confuse them, and jokes to lift their spirits. I had known the Danes enough to know that their hearts were much like the Celts of my youth -- young, lively, and sharp. Their ideas of humor and good taste often clashed with those of 'civilization'. But I had lived in a time much like theirs -- I no longer saw them as oppressors -- they had become human. The weeks passed, as we went from isle to isle, replenishing our stores of water and food. Scotland and even the Faroe Islands were long since left behind, and we entered the ocean proper. It didn't bother me as much now. When we eventually reached Iceland, I had become a new man. My muscles were lean and tight from the endless rowing and adjusting of scales. My skin was roughened from the ever- cold wind and the low sun. The narrow eyes and grim face I had gathered from the long wars had changed to an open face and a wide smile. I had every one of the sailors laughing at my jokes and crying at my tragedies. When it was time for me to part ways with them, the Captain was the most regretful of all -- yet he was very accepting of parting ways. He told me, "When you love someone or something, set it free. Chaining it will kill it. We value you, so we let you go in the hopes that some day, you will return." One of the sailors, Ulaf Trygvasson, parted ways with the Captain as well -- he had family who had moved here years before him, and now it was time for him to farm and raise cattle. He never loved the sea, and was tired of eating fish. Ulaf was a tall and thin man from the shores of Norway. Though his muscles were as thin as my wrist, he had the strength and stamina to row all day and night, and carry thrice his weight for miles. For all his roughness, he had a voice as smooth as silk, and I found the sound of his poems and songs breathtaking, even though I still didn't understand a word of Danish. It was my stand -- I would not learn the language of the invaders, even though I now lived in their world. At least he spoke the language of the Lowland Scots, and enjoyed speaking it. It wasn't my language, but it was close enough that I used it to speak with him, rather than the Saxon we had spoken on the ship. "Where are you bound?" he asked me. "I don't know," I told him. "I want to see the world beyond the world -- I wouldn't know where that is." He became serious, "That is a dangerous place to go. The end of the world is not far away, and when you reach the end of it, horrible monsters await." I still believed in monsters back then, and as far as I was concerned, the world was a flat place. I trusted him. "All I know is that I am tired of war." He nodded. "I wondered where your sword was." "I buried it forever." He took that in an odd way -- he was disturbed, but refused to elaborate as to why. I let the matter drop and looked inland to the breathtaking volcanoes. The village was bustling with life, as the people went about their daily business. Ulaf looked at it with satisfaction, "My family lives a day away, so I have heard. I will go there and claim my inheritance. You are welcome to come with me. A skald would bring me much fame." "Even though I don't speak Danish?" "Who says you'll never learn?" he laughed. And so we bought a large horse for each of us, built for dragging plows through clay. As we travelled across the snow-covered rocks, I felt this land become a part of me, as much as I became a part of it. I saw the Great Mother in everything around me, and I no longer felt as homesick. As Ulaf had believed, we reached his family's farm, and the extended family greeted me as if I were a part of his family as well. There were three separate branches of the family living on the farm, each taking care of a different plot. I was quite shocked to learn that the patriarch was the very man who killed me in battle many years ago. He was a gray- haired old man who was beginning his path to death, which would claim him perhaps as little as a year down the line. He saw me and tilted his head, with his eyes narrowed, and I was nervous that he would recognize me and declare me a demon. I was filled with relief when his expression became more open and he greeted me as friend. But in my heart I knew that he had deliberately kept his knowledge hidden -- he had a true warriors heart, and not that of a fearful man who would declare all things not understood as evil or demonic. I was a true bit of mystery and wonder in a world that Christianity was altering -- stripping of that mystery and wonder. And so I became the skald of the farm, and though I did not speak the language, many would come from miles around to hear me play the pipes or the harp. When I sang in my own language, or in languages that we mutually understood, that would thrill them even more than if I had sang in their tongue. Though many of them had come from the old lands, they hadn't heard the sounds that I had grown up with. It was like a breath of new life, and it renewed all around the farm. It was a year later that Buri, the patriarch, died in a farm accident. A bull had broken loose from a pen and run him down, and the whole family rejoiced. Though they lived on a farm, they were still warriors at heart -- and to die of old age was still considered bad luck. The fact that he had been killed was enough for celebration, but sadness was still mingled in with the cheers. It was then that one of Ulaf's cousins caught my attention - - Ulla, her name was. Buri's death had hit her hard, and she spent more and more time to herself. The others left her alone, and so I figured that it was the Viking way. But I was not Viking. I followed her to where she sat pensively, and let my presence be known. She didn't react when I sat down next to her on the rock that overlooked the next valley, covered with snow. Her eyes were still red with tears, though Buri had been dead for two weeks. "You are killing yourself," I told her. She had lived in the Danelaw, and so she understood a little of what I said when I spoke in Saxon. "This grief maddens you." Her eyes blazed as she looked at me, "This is none of your concern!" "It is of my concern. I see a soul crying for help, and I can't stand back and let it die alone." She stared back to the next valley, "It is noble to die alone." "But not if you die alone by your own hand. You're committing suicide, which is an act that bestows no honor. You will be remembered as Ulla, the woman who gave herself to needless grief, and perhaps as the woman who simply gave up. Is that how you want to be remembered?" "Leave me alone," she whispered hoarsely. I left her alone, perhaps a little too defensively. The days passed, and Ulla seemed to break her mood. Though she still kept to herself, she started to work once more at the household chores. A few days later, and nobody would have known about her depression -- except me. I could still see it in her eyes, and she knew it. Ulla avoided me even more. It was sometime the next spring that my life and hers changed forever. A neighboring family had a feud with this one, and this year they decided that they'd help themselves to a few dozen cows. Before the sun rose, they came. A dozen horsemen with spears and axes descended from the ridges and converged on the farm. The houses were mostly stone, so they couldn't torch them, the way they would do in Wales, but they could torch the fields that were full of corn. I noticed the sounds first -- I was still attuned to the sounds of war. My hand grabbed for the sword that I had buried near York, and grabbed nothing. Regardless, I raised the alarm and jumped out the window, charging towards a horseman with a wood-chopping axe that I found near the wood-pile. The memories are still a blur, but I do know that somehow I gained a sword and killed five men that morning. The fifth man I killed had finished raping Ulla and was about to take her with him as a prize. My rage boiled, and I killed the young man. Ulla stared at me as if I had killed her only son. The sounds of battle faded away in my own mind as I stared into her eyes -- I couldn't take them away, and she couldn't take hers away from mine. "What am I to do?" she nearly cried. "He's taken away my honor, and you killed him! What will become of me?" At last I understood, and was surprised to hear myself say, "I will take you for my own. I don't care if the child is his -- it's yours, and that is all that matters to me." For the first time in weeks, she cried in relief. It was the happiest moment of my life as well, and I took her up in my arms, kissing away the tears. *********************************************************** *********************************************************** Axer had gone through a full pack of Shermans already, and was starting on another one. Nat's eyes were still wide- open, but for an altogether different reason. "I'm curious as to how you were so evil," she finally said after a few moments of silence. "You've told me nothing that would suggest your evil." "That comes next," he frowned, the relaxed tranquility draining from his face. "I had to set the stage, so you would be able to appreciate my actions." **************************************** Axer's Tale continues! What was the great evil that he committed? What drove him to it? To be answered in the next installment! *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* This chapter has been split because of the maximum line rule The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (10A/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Nat studied the still clouds of smoke as Axer leaned back, his eyes distant. He had paused in his tale so that she could bring up some food and drink. Kate had fallen asleep with the rising of the sun, and so she wasn't around to raise any eyebrows. Nothing had happened between Nat and Axer anyway, so it was a good thing all around. "So what happened next?" asked Nat, sipping on some coffee. "Well, we were married that very week, so as not to give rise to suspicions later. But it wasn't like some romantic fairy tale, where everything becomes nice and rosy. For the next five years, my life was a living agony, and I know that hers was too. What compounded the problems was my absolute refusal to learn her language, and her inability to learn mine. We could get by with Saxon, and as the years passed, she could speak it as well as I could..." ************************************************************ Axer's Story ************************************************************ As I mentioned, several years had passed, and Ulla bore several more children by another man -- Sidhatt, his name was. The only problem was that he didn't know it. He always assumed that they were my children, because they all resembled their mother, instead of him. I only knew him by name, and I suppose I had mixed feelings about the whole thing. I adored the children, and cherished the rare opportunity to bring them up. Though I knew that I could not give her children, I felt very possessive of Ulla and couldn't accept the fact she might in fact love another man more than myself. In my attempt to grasp the one I loved, I totally forgot love's meaning. It was a wedge that drew us apart. She spent more and more time with Sidhatt for a reason that I couldn't understand, and so as a form of revenge, I spent more of my time in the growing village, mending bones and making children better during the years of endless sickness. I don't think I spent more than two waking hours with her a day. Our actions drove us even further apart. We were now just like any other married couple -- miserable, spiteful, and cynical about everything. Her family, and Ulaf especially, didn't think anything of our marriage problems. Those kind of problems were rampant, and if anyone thought anything was wrong, even the women believed that Ulla was the one to blame. If I had faced her like a man and confronted our problems, I would have never been on the road that day, and perhaps I wouldn't have changed all of our lives forever. But it happened, for better or worse. I felt the sensation at the edge of my senses, coming gradually closer. Curious, I approached what I knew would be another immortal. Though I was unarmed, I was not afraid. After a few minutes, I saw her. She was a young woman by appearance, with a focused and stern gaze, and a scowl that would curdle milk -- add that to the fact that if she would only smile, she would be absolutely breathtaking. On seeing her, my heart began to race and -- well, you don't need to know about the other details. She seemed to sense my feelings, and she actually did smile, "I thought I was the only one on this island." "No," I smiled back a little shakily, a stutter in my voice. "You haven't won the Prize." And that was how I met Ingrid. After saying our hellos, we said our goodbyes and went on our own ways. I believed quite naively that she was as peaceful an individual as I had become, and that she meant me no harm. I put her out of my mind and prepared for a silent meal at home, and another evening without conversation. Perhaps Ulla forgot that only a few years ago, things were different -- I know I had. It was several days later when I met Ingrid at the village tavern. Some Christian monks had heard of me and wanted to hear songs from faraway Ireland. I obliged them, singing the old songs and playing the harp that I had made a year before, and the flutes I had brought with me. Ingrid, as it turned out, was not born on Iceland -- rather, she was born of a Viking family transplanted to Scotland, and she was enchanted by the music. Before long, I had forgotten my vows to Ulla and was singing songs only for her, mindless of the now blushing monks -- and the laughing Vikings -- and began to share the same glass of red wine with her. How could the Vikings be laughing, you ask? Well, they weren't laughing at my Gaelic, which they couldn't understand -- or, most of them anyway. They laughed at the expressions on the monks' faces and understood there was only one thing that could make them react that way. One song led to another, mixed in with glasses of wine and mead. I spent the whole day there, and when night came, I was unfaithful to my no-longer loving wife for the first time. We stayed in the selfsame tavern as the monks, and I took her in plain sight of everyone. Don't look so shocked -- read your history books: that was a popular form of entertainment, even as late as the 10th Century in the Viking world. Lords would often... ah... 'know' their servants on the feasting table in front of all the guests. In this case, a few of the local fishermen stayed at this tavern, as did the monks. Perhaps they were as perverted as the rest underneath those robes. To the delight of everyone, Ingrid took charge once I began to tire. It was a long night that night. When I returned home late in the morning, Ulla was the first and only one to greet me, and it was in a very bad way. She slapped me and immediately began to curse in Danish. I never physically hurt a mortal woman in my life -- except for this time. I didn't care what she was trying to say, or even why. I slammed her in the face so hard that she was knocked out on contact, and she was a pretty tough woman to begin with. Regret never came, oddly enough. In fact, it even felt good. I was smiling and whistling to myself as I grabbed some mead from the cupboard and got horribly drunk. And so, that was how the next few months elapsed. I would go to the tavern, get drunk, sing less and less songs each time I was there, and go on public display with Ingrid more and more. We became quite a hit in the village -- even the resident Christians loved it. Underneath all their self- righteousness, they were human and unafraid to admit it. I think this was where my drinking practices had changed. In the old days, I only drank on festivals or during sacrifices -- I had begun to drink all the time now. It got to the point where I didn't even sing anymore -- I just drank and screwed around. When I got home, exhausted and hung over, I would drink myself into a coma for a few hours. Ulla had learned to keep quiet, because if she ever raised her voice to me, she would get a bash in the face for her efforts. Although her jaw had been set by the bone-mender, I think the signs of my violence were visible to all, and would be for the rest of her life. Ulla was now just a name I knew in the back of my mind, my children were strange faces that stayed away from me, and Ingrid was the name that popped into my mind more than any other. Ingrid probably sensed it and acted on the plan that she had concocted many months before. My senses screamed at me to wake up, and I felt it. It was an immortal -- it had to be Ingrid. It could be nobody else. Through my hangover came a clarity that I had lost years ago, and I'll never know why, because it wasn't until after that clarity that I noticed the house was torn up and my family gone. My adrenalin kicked in as I ran half-naked out of the house. Ingrid sat on a horse a few hundred yards away and rode off. I followed her on the closest horse I could grab. I didn't put on a saddle or reins -- I hopped on its bare back and grabbed the mane. The horse must have been pretty shocked. She was perhaps a mile away from the house when she slowed down and entered a clearing, where she dismounted. I was weaponless, and had this mad idea of running her down with the horse, but she stopped me with a glance and gesture. Ingrid was grinning madly as she pointed at my wife and children, tied up to separate posts, suspended over dead brush and wood. "If you value your family," she said, "you'll walk forward slowly and let me take your head. If you fight, they die." To make her point, she showed me a torch that she was ready to throw it on the wood. My family would die a slow and endless death. In her right hand, she drew a sword. My mind raced for options, and I realized I had only one. I walked forward, surprised at what I said. "Go ahead. Take my head -- see if you can stand it." That confused her, "What do you mean? Explain yourself!" "Have you ever taken an old one?" I asked, walking ever so softly forward, and she didn't notice. "How old are the heads you *have* taken?" "What does it matter?!" her confusion made her angry. It was making her lose control, and that was the one thing she required to maintain her balance. "You haven't," I smiled. "We've survived as long as we have because we've taken many, many heads. You might take my head, but you won't survive the Quickening! I've taken the power of countless immortals -- I've had the time to take them all in, but you'll get them all at once, and you'll never survive!" I know -- from what you've been told, that doesn't make any sense. You're right -- it doesn't -- but then again, I was LYING! I'm not God, you know -- everything I say isn't the Gospel Truth! I might be lying, mistaken, or deceitful, as well as correctly informed or truthful -- and I might even be lying right now! Think on that! She certainly hadn't learned that lesson -- she doubted, but in her heart, she trusted me because I was an old one. She shook her head in confusion, "It can't be!" "Just think about it," I whispered softly, inching further towards her. "Think about what a single Quickening feels like -- now think about the sensation of a hundred Quickenings at once! You'll go mad! You won't be able to assimilate it!" "No!" she screamed, perhaps thinking about the implications of such statements -- namely, that the young ones had no chances of survival, regardless of what they did. For a Viking, she seemed quite afraid of the possibility of death. I was close enough now to grab the torch from her loose hand and throw it a few dozen feet away. Her eyes snapped back to reality, and she swung her sword at me... and missed. I know what you're thinking -- I was some master of Kung Fu -- but I hadn't travelled to the Orient until after the time of Marco Polo, and the only thing I learned there was philosophy and science. No, it was a lot of things -- her inexperience and my experience. All you need is good reflexes, a healthy body, and a qualitative understanding of physics. And don't get that look in your eye -- physics does have some applications in a good fight, and it has nothing to do with a calculator! The Viking sword is an edged weapon without much of a tip, so I had a lot of warning. Those things are pretty heavy and have only a single-handed grip -- *now* do you understand why I use a glaive-sword? You mean you don't know what it is? Mine's a leaf-tip sword with a two-foot long handle, and a tang so full that I can actually feel the metal in the grip. Nevermind what a tang is -- if you don't know, it doesn't matter. Anyway... If I didn't move back or duck, I jumped over the blade when it swung low. She didn't thrust with the sword, not only because the weapon wasn't designed for it, but also because it never occurred to a Viking that sword thrusts could revolutionize warfare. Ingrid was more maddened, and swung even more viciously, wearing herself out with each movement. I didn't attack or defend -- I simply danced with her, and apparently, the tables were reversed for once, and it was Ingrid who didn't know how to dance. Who knew how long the fight lasted, but the time came when she sank to her knees in exhaustion, and could barely lift a finger. I was winded, but felt an unusual energy rush fill my being. It wasn't the first time it happened, and it certainly wasn't the last. It comes as odd moments when I really need it. I grabbed the sword out of her hand kicked her so solidly in the gut that she was lifted off the ground for a foot. When she landed, I stomped so hard on her hand that she screamed -- or tried to, as the wind was totally knocked out of her. She looked up at me with utter terror. I believe I must have smiled, because she frantically tried to beg for mercy, again unable to breathe or say a complete word. "I'm a simple man," I told her, "and the thing I hate most is a damned Byzantine!" I kicked her in the face this time, flipping her over lengthwise so that the back of her head slammed into a rock so hard that the crack made everyone else jump. The blood flowed like a river. Ulla and the children didn't know my secret, and so I made it appear that I, a mortal, had killed another mortal. They were shocked by the whole affair, but not really concerned once I had killed her. It was more like they were a captive audience than potential victims, they way they saw it. Though it was dishonorable for a man to kill a woman, they wisely forgot about that fine point in Danish culture -- besides, I was technically a foreigner and a bad husband and father anyway, so the rule didn't apply to me. "I think you should take the children home," I told Ulla. She was about to protest, perhaps to ask why in the world I would say such a thing, but then she stopped in mid-sentence. Perhaps she saw something in my eyes. Ulla nodded and took the children away, using the two horses. A few moments later and they were gone. By now, Ingrid was waking up. I sat on a rock and watched her head wound heal, and her eyes open up with full consciousness. A few moments later, she sat up groggily and tried to find her sword. I whistled gaily, holding up the sword towards her. She groaned in defeat and sank to the ground as she was reminded of her situation, numbly looking at the posts that had once held my family captive. Smiling maliciously, I kicked her in the face and sent her sailing through the air once more. This time, I dragged her over to a post and tied her firmly to two of them by her wrists. When it comes to the last moment, many immortals get as melodramatic as a vampire, saying something like, "There can be only one." I think it's silly, if I say so myself. I did say something, much more dignified and meaningful, "Why?" It shocked her in a way that a kick in the gut never could. Her face blanched, and she realized precisely what she had done. She couldn't speak. "You *will* die today," I assured her, "so tell me why." She never did answer me, and so I took her head. When the Quickening came and went, I came to my senses -- I suddenly realized what I had done. A single woman had succeeded in turning me into the man I had become. ************************* Continued in 10B *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* This chapter has been split because of the maximum line rule The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (10B/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt When she died, it wasn't in the heat of battle, but in cold blood. I wanted her to suffer, and I wanted her to die. Even though she died that day, she won the war. I also realized that though she had schemed to take my head, I loved her more than I did Ulla. It wasn't lust -- that had faded long before my mental clarity did with the drinking. I had loved Ingrid because she understood me. Forget the fact that she had been a Byzantine schemer -- she understood me, my needs, my loves, my hates... Ulla never could, and I could never make her understand. Memories came back as I regarded the headless corpse. I remembered the good times we had, the joking, the laughter, and the tales we both had to tell. I might have been married to Ulla, but I was much closer to Ingrid -- and could still call her a friend. My heart emptied that day, and though my soul ached, I didn't shed a tear for her. I stared at her body, desperately wishing that the head would come back on, and her Quickening would return. In a moment of madness, I even put the head back on, and howled when the head rolled back off. The memories still flooded through me, and I realized it was time to move on, but I would do it the right way. I went to Sidhatt's house and called out for him. Warily, and seeing me half-naked with the blood all over me, he approached. I engaged him in a fight, and he killed me in front of some witnesses. As I lay dying, and he stood above me with a half-baffled face, I whispered so that only he could hear, "This is all for a reason. I had to leave this land with honor -- it is the only way you could be with the one woman you love: Ulla. Yes, I know about it! You have slain me in a fair fight, and so you have every right to take my woman!" And so I died. Nowadays, it was becoming popular to bury all corpses, but they waited for seven days to make sure I was dead. In order to keep up appearances, I would strangle myself to death every time I woke up. The seven days passed, and I was buried without any ceremony. The church did it, and I had no witnesses at all -- friends or enemies. When the time came, I clawed my way out the ground, and was surprised to find Ulaf sitting on a rock, waiting for me. His head was tilted, and he wore a frown, "How do you feel?" I looked shocked, perhaps with the sanest face that I had for years. I was suddenly afraid of how Ulaf would think of me. "I'm alive." He pointed to his heart, "But how do you feel in here?" He pointed to his heart. I understood, "Better in some ways." "Sometimes, a man needs to walk through the darkness, and I think you did well. It's only a sin if you stay in the darkness." I must have looked at him oddly then. "Who are you?" Many suspicions ran through my head. Ulaf smiled. He understood what I meant. "Ulaf, priest of Heimdall." I wasn't interested in his religion, and he understood. He took it well -- it was like my refusing a cup of tea -- nothing serious or offensive. With his help, I made my way to the village disguised as a monk. I learned that my name was spoken with great hatred, but at least I was a dead legend. Nobody ever suspected my true nature, and satisfied, I moved on. Ulaf would make sure that nobody ever put all the hints together. As luck would have it, I found the selfsame captain who brought me here to Iceland. He was much older now, but remembered me and greeted me with a warm heart. "Remember what I said? If you don't chain down those you love, they return." The next day, we sailed for France. Ireland and the Isle of Britain were forgotten from my mind -- I would not be returning there for a few centuries. There was a whole world to see and I was going to discover it. *********************************************************** Nat was dabbing at her eyes and nose with a Kleenex, sniffling a little too. Axer blew out a puff of smoke, "Just like truth and humor come from simple things, so does great evil arise from the simplest things. Tell Nick that when he starts moaning to you about his great evils. "But I would ask you a favor, Doctor. Don't breathe a word of this to anyone. I had totally forgotten about this until the nightmare brought my memories back up." "Will you tell Kate?" she asked softly. "What good will it do for her? Both of us were happy without the knowledge -- it would be kindest to let the past remain buried by the past." "Why did you tell me, then?" "We all need to tell someone our stories, but only to someone objective. I love Kate with all my heart, and I would spare her any pain that my past might give her." Kate had sat on the other side of the door the whole time, listening in. Nat may have heard a sad story, but Kate had gained something pretty profound from it. She closed her eyes very tightly. ******************************************************* Sorry, but the chapter ends here. HyperventilatE-mail is accepted. *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (11/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt It was Richie who paced back and forth now, driving Method to distraction. "They should have been back by now!" Richie snapped nervously, gesturing like a dictator. "Duncan 's *NEVER* taken this long!" Method nodded gravely, "We might as well assume they're dead, until they prove otherwise. They could have met more than their match." No matter how much Richie worried, and no matter how close Duncan or himself met their deaths, he always believed that neither one of them would die. A look of disbelief changed to uncertainty, and from that to fear, "No!... Don't say that." //Poor kid...// He put a hand on Richie's shoulder, "You know the rules. We can die just as mortals can, so you'd better start accepting it." He became nervous again, "So what do we do?" "Do? We *do* nothing." Richie hit the roof, "Duncan and Sharpe may be dead, and you propose to do nothing?!" Methos lounged on the couch, putting his feet on the table, "That's *precisely* what I propose to do." Richie couldn't contain himself, "Fine, you coward! Just sit there -- I'm going to do something!" "And what are you going to do?" asked Methos as Richie reached the door. "I'll think of something!" the door slammed shut. Methos frowned and picked up his cellular phone, pressing memo-1. ************************************************** Their plane ride was almost over. After hours of delays at Vancouver and Chicago, they were finally approaching Toronto -- just a few more minutes... Joe's cellular rang, but just before he picked it up, the stewardess rushed over and exclaimed, "Please turn it off! No laptops or cellular phones allowed!" "What?!" demanded Joe, a bit bristled. "Since when?!" She got a little angry herself, but bit the bullet and forced a tight smile, "Don't you watch the news? They interfere with the captain's radio. Would you rather reach Toronto and miss a call or answer your call and collide with a plane?" Joe's look was skeptical, but Bill said softly to Joe, "She's right, you know -- it can wait." Joe glared at Bill, but kept quiet and switched off the phone. Bill winked at the stewardess, who raised an eyebrow in his direction -- but she was smiling now. It was a few minutes later when they landed, and they entered the terminal without any incident. With angry, jerky motions, Joe pressed a button and listened for a few minutes, walking with Bill at a fast pace -- his face confused and grave. Then he suddenly stopped. "WHAT?!?!" the blood drained from his face. "When?" His voice was a lot softer now. "Thanks for telling me." He switched off the phone and leaned against the wall, nearly dropping the phone. Bill took it from him before it hit the ground. "What happened?" "That was Adam. He thinks Sharpe and Methos are dead, and from what he's told me, there's another player in town." He swore, "Dammit! Duncan didn't tell me about any of this!!" "You *ARE* his watcher," reminded Bill. "Yes! But I can't follow him *EVERYWHERE*!" "That's why you delegate the task to subordinates -- and you act as a manager and overall historian, especially when you can't get around as much as you used to." That shocked Joe completely -- sure, they used that approach in the library... but in the *field*? "Are you nuts, kid? It'll never work!" "Why?" he asked, walking once more. "Because it's never been done? Lots have things have never been done, and look at what we have. The simple facts are that (a) the immortals are more mobile, (b) the world has become a much smaller place, and (c) you're walking on two fake legs and couldn't sprint out of a hot zone if your life depended on it. "All of you in the field have been taking this romantic approach: one immortal for one watcher -- but you can't get anything done that way anymore! In the old days, sure, you could follow him on a horse, wherever he went -- but it doesn't work like that anymore! "Look at what I did -- I discovered Odin and took charge. Not only did I take charge of the situation by following him, but I also called for backup, telling them the precise situation and asking for specific help. When I followed him to Canada, I networked with EVERYONE on the way, gathering EVERY SINGLE bit of data, relevant or not. "I think about a hundred and fifty people helped me out on this, whether they knew about it or not. Now think, Joe... just think! If I hadn't have networked and delegated tasks, as well as earning favors, would I be standing here now with the information I gathered? No! "The Watchers have to grow with the times -- and it's the Internet that gave me the whole idea: we need to be like an electron cloud." Joe had been following -- he didn't like the kid's arrogant tone, but he could see where it made sense -- but the last bit confused him. The 'fake legs' part was still running through his head, and he had to restrain himself from clubbing the kid to death with it. "What the hell does an electron cloud have to do with anything?" "Ever hear of an analogy?" asked Bill in an annoyingly smug manner. He was still a polite kid, but his confidence rubbed Joe the wrong way. "Take hydrogen -- it has single electron, and it's caused the greatest stir in the century, next to light. You know it's there and you can feel its effects, but you can't touch it. Just *one* electron, and all you can say is where it would most *likely* be. That's you. "I envision a uranium atom -- lots of electrons weaving an intricate electron cloud that changes with time as the atom itself changes. Hydrogen rarely changes. You get what I'm saying? Hydrogen is nice, but the time comes when you need a good blast of uranium." Joe stopped him again, "Where did you get this, boy? You're an economist -- not a scientist." "Joe -- I consider that an insult! What does else does an economist do but make the *REAL* world move smoother? Why do you think our economy is a mess? We don't have real economists running the world -- we have bean counters, gamblers, and psychics! A true economist needs to be rooted in the real world and know how it works. "If a real economist had been working with Tesla, our world might be a much better place." "You didn't answer my question," snarled Joe. "Who gave you that idea?" "I *did* talk with Axer Carrick at a truckers stop on his way down south," admitted Bill, then he saw the look in Joe's face. "They don't know me! They just thought I was a talkative college kid on his way to an experimental station in Greenland." He laughed without any humor as he started walking again, "That was the problem. Once Axer found out, he was asking me a million questions -- what kind of science was I in?... Where did I get my degree?... Who was my major professor?... What did I think about the theory that volcanoes were the only significant contribution to the ozone effect?..." He stopped when Joe looked at him oddly. "To answer your question," he concluded, "we were talking about the Internet, and he corrected me on my assumption of what it was. I made an innovation and applied it to our own organizational structure." Joe needed a smoke, badly. "Got a smoke, kid?" Bill looked shocked, "That's bad for your health!" Joe looked down at him, "Look at me, boy! Do I look like I'm concerned about my health?!" "I know you're sad about the possibility of Duncan being dead, but life goes on." //Damn, that kid's sharp!// swore Joe to himself. Then he looked up and saw what could only be Kermit. Two feds walked with him, and Joe's eyes widened in disbelief. //What the bloody hell?!?!// When the two groups met, Joe was frowning for good reason. Kermit and Mulder made a good team with their deadpan expressions, whereas Bill and Scully made up the 'polite, confused, and possessing living human expressions' team. "Are you insane?" demanded Joe. "Have you lost your mind?!" He didn't spell it out, but Kermit knew what he was screaming about. "Relax," smiled Kermit humorously. "They've known for years about them -- remember that episode with Patrick Morgan, later known as Krycek?" Joe looked like he got slammed in a very special place. "You mean?--" "Yep! It's better that they knew the *whole* story from one of us. Meet FBI agents Mulder and Scully. Now that you two are introduced, I'll be making my goodbyes." He turned around and left. "Now, wait a minute!" Joe nearly yelled. "Nope! I did my duty, and I'm going back to me *real* job..." he faded into the crowd, and Joe slammed his cane into the ground, fuming silently. "I'm Bill," he smiled at Scully for a brief moment, then shook Mulder's hand. Bill frowned when Mulder reflexively and unconsciously glanced at his left wrist. Then he shook Scully's hand, and smiled at her again. She smiled faintly, but seemed quite distant. "This is Joe." Joe calmed down a little bit to the point where he was just barely civil, "Nice to meet you." He shook their hands as well, but scared Mulder for some reason. Scully, ironically enough, was charmed by Joe. Bill shook his head, //Women! If I could at least *score*, I wouldn't have to care about not understanding them!// Mulder took the initiative, "Let's go to our hotel room. We can come up with a plan, and give the both of you some time to relax." Bill certainly looked forward to it. Joe was about to refuse, but Bill stepped in, "We'd be glad for a shower and a chance to eat some real food." Joe glared at him, but said nothing. As they left the airport and reached the car, Mulder stopped, looking around -- not as if he saw something, but rather as if he were trying to see something that he sensed first. Joe and Bill exchanged significant looks, while Scully looked startled, "What is it?" Mulder shook his head, "I don't know... For a moment, I thought it was Cancerman." "But he's dead!" Scully protested. Mulder looked at her without saying a word, and she shook her head, "No -- even your friend said he was dead!" "I won't believe anyone's dead until I see Death's cold grip around his neck." He looked around a little more, and gave up. "It must be me." Before they all got into the car, Joe accidentally slipped and fell into Mulder, who scraped his hand on the ground as he tried to stop himself from hitting the ground. "I'm really sorry!" Joe apologized. "It's these damned legs -- they give out at the worse moments!" He tapped his hollow legs, and Mulder's angry look faded, to be replaced by a deadpan expression once more. "Don't worry about it," Mulder laughed as he helped Joe back up, blood oozing out of the nasty scrape. Bill kept a discrete eye on the wound, and saw that it hadn't shown the slightest sign of healing. When they drove off to the hotel, Joe and Bill exchanged another significant look, asking themselves silently, //What the hell was that?!// The car moved swiftly out of the parking lot. Halscombe breathed a sigh of relief, wedged between two closely-parked cars. He had wanted to take the first ticket out of here, but when he saw Mulder and Scully in the crowd, his instincts kicked in. Halscombe's conscious mind had firmly re-established itself by now, with a few differences. Whenever he looked in the mirror, he saw that unspeakable horror with its fingers sunk through his skull, touching his brain. Sometimes, he would also see Mulder in the mirror, or entering his dreams. He didn't sleep anymore, now. The reflections and dreams were so frightening that he would avoid looking into any reflective surface. He took to wearing sunglasses as well. The visions were too horrifying for him to see. His sanity couldn't leave him if he saw the visions, but he sorely wished it would. It was too much. The most unusual difference was a newfound vitality. He hadn't become an immortal or a vampire -- he knew that much. Rather, it was like he'd been taken back two decades. Also, he found himself possessing reflexes and stamina that he never knew he had. He still looked like a street person, so he would occasionally be confronted by muggers or gang members, and when that happened, an unconscious reflex would save his life by taking over and dealing with the problem in a few moments that flashed by so fast he couldn't make sense out of it. "One more mystery to solve..." he muttered, watching the car vanish into the traffic. Halscombe had already written down the license plate number, and in a few moments he would get to work. Some things hadn't changed for Halscombe. *************************** *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (12/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt WARNING: THERE ARE THINGS IN HERE YOU DON'T WANT YOUR KIDS TO SEE -- IF YOU'RE AN ADULT, THE WORST YOU'LL GET IS A CASE OF THE 'CRINGES'. Joe sat down with Mulder, while Bill and Scully showered -- but not together, to Bill's frustration. Mulder was at first a bit nervous about meeting a Watcher for the first time, and Joe's rough personality kept him at a distance, but as they both got to know one another, they became more friendly and their conversations became smoother. Once the Glenlivet started flowing, they even made some progress. "Now that you've had a chance to relax," said Mulder, "perhaps you can tell me what REALLY brought you over here." Joe nodded, "I might as well tell you, since Kermit spilled the rest of the beans. Did he tell you what happened only a few minutes before you met him on the police station parking lot?" "No," Mulder shook his head. "I *did* see a pile of blood, but I didn't see anything else." He paused for a moment, "It was like walking into a room where you could sense that everybody had suddenly hid what they were doing the moment you walked through the door." "Well, you sensed right. Only a few minutes before you met Kermit, he had witnessed something completely outside of his own experience -- but while he was a Watcher, he developed a reputation of being accurate and precise in his observations, so I have a hard time doubting what he told me." "What did he see?" Mulder was ablaze with curiosity now, the scotch making his eyes cross a little, giving him the appearance of being slightly insane. Joe described everything that Kermit had relayed to him -- the two running from the police station, the verbal exchange, the fight, the flying man, and the man who tried to run away. Mulder listened intently, then his eyes narrowed. "You didn't get a description of these men, did you?" "I have better than that." He produced several photographs with the tell-tale blurring of hasty shooting and perhaps the sign of being shot with a mini-camera. Mulder looked at them, not expecting to be surprised by what he saw. The first photo showed Axer running Nick through with his sword, a maniacal look on his face. A few others were close-ups of that. The next few photos were of a flying man making a landing. The closeups showed that it was LaCroix. Axer then looked around in confusion, as if he had been lifted from a hypnotism. LaCroix was then seen turning around and running over to the other side of the street, where a man tried to make a getaway. He dropped a box that produced a lot of sparks, and Axer was seen writing in agony. Nick took Axer into the air, while LaCroix took the captured man away. Mulder's head started aching. There was so much he wanted to say, but his training took control. //Trust no one!// He would wait until Scully came back. Instead of talking, he took another drink. Joe broke the silence, "What do you think?" "I think I want another round -- when Scully gets back, show her those pictures and tell her the same story you told me. Then we'll talk." Scully eventually came back, with Bill arriving a few moments later. Mulder gave her a discreet sign of caution, and she folded her fingers in acknowledgement. Joe did as Mulder had requested and repeated the same story verbatim, showing her the very same pictures. Where Mulder's expression had been slightly poker faced, Scully's was openly disturbed. When Joe and Bill read into that, Mulder wanted to bang his head into the table. "So you know them?" asked Joe. "That's Detective Knight," said Scully, "the one being run through with the sword. The one with the sword is an immortal called Axer Carrick. The one who flew in is LaCroix, and I have no idea who it is he's carrying, but if that black box is what I think it is, then this case is involved directly with ours." Mulder's guts churned -- Kermit might trust these people -- but he didn't. //Trust Scully to blow it!// Joe faced Mulder, his eyes betraying a little anger, "You knew about this." "Yes," admitted Mulder. "Perhaps you can explain how it is that human beings can fly like birds without even flapping their arms?" Mulder didn't mind being confronted for his secrecy, but Joe's rough personality was really getting to him. "You won't believe me." "Look, Mulder, I believe what's in these photos." "They're vampires." Joe sat back in shock with a thoughtful expression, but Bill hit the roof. "This is crazy!" Scully could identify with Bill, most certainly, so she decided to deal with this situation. "Do you think the photographs are a fake?" Bill paced back and forth, "Yes!-- No! I don't know -- it's too impossible!" "As impossible as an immortal?" asked Joe softly. That stopped Bill cold, and his blood drained, "If vampires are real..." "Yes," smiled Mulder, "the whole picture changes, doesn't it? The question is, what are you going to do about it?" That seemed to startle both the Watchers. "What do you mean?" "It seems you made a special trip out here just because of that. Now that you know that vampires exist, what are you going to do about it? Will you set Watchers to observing vampires now? Will you hunt them like some among you hunted the immortals? Will you ignore it and go back to running your bar?" It seemed as if Joe had never considered the possibilities or the implications. But now, he did. "I don't know, Mulder. The facts were sitting here before me the whole time, and I never saw it coming. What do you think I should do?" It was a rhetorical question, but Mulder answered, "I think you should leave them alone." "What?!" To Bill that was as much of a heresy as suggesting to let the immortals live their lives without observation. "We *have* to Watch them! Think of the opportunities to learn from them!" "Think of all the opportunities for Watchers to decide for themselves that blood drainers are a threat to humanity and must be destroyed for the good of the world." Bill's mouth was hanging open in shock, but Joe only shook his head. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, all he had to do was say one word to himself: Hunter. The Hunters, who had dedicated their whole existence to wiping out the immortals because they saw them as some monstrosity. Mulder was right -- the potential was too high -- but what should they do? Nothing? "Perhaps you should meet the victims you plan to persecute," smiled Mulder. "It's a lot harder to look a man in the face and *then* stab him in the back -- and it makes the game a lot more fair if they know you plan to videotape every move they make." Bill managed to look a little embarrassed. ************************************** Duncan stared at his Black Inquisitor, who still covered his face with the black hood. "You'll pay for this!" swore Duncan. He was rewarded for his rashness with a paper cut across the fingers. For some odd reason, it hurt a great deal more than a major cut. Duncan gasped in pain, and the Inquisitor laughed softly. "You have not been cooperating with me," said the Inquisitor, so I believe we'll move on to the next stage in our program. He produced a small carrying case, which when opened revealed a display of glass syringes and vials. One vial and a wicked-looking syringe were specifically chosen, and within a moment, the air was being purged from the syringe, along with a little of the substance. "This is a little something to soften you up," smiled the Inquisitor. Without any preparation, he injected it into Duncan's neck. Duncan gasped in pain, and immediately felt an odd sensation -- lethargy mixed with an odd loss of balance. "You haven't told us what we need to know, so I've given you something *VERY* persuasive." "But I've told you everything I know!" his cry was that of a frightened man. Gone was the pride and confidence. "Why are you doing this? Why do you hate us?" The Inquisitor clutched so hard at Duncan's groin that he screamed in agony. "*I* ask the questions!" he roared. "You will *NEVER* AGAIN speak unless spoken to, and NEVER in disrespect!" The pain seemed to intensify as the moments passed. Every sense was magnified. He could feel the touch of the faintest breeze against his skin, hear the sound of a spec of dust hitting the ground. He felt the fine needle getting shoved between his right index fingernail and the finger itself. It was slammed in all the way. His howl shattered glass in another room. "Very good, but you're going to beat that record -- you'll be shattering twenty wine glasses a time by the end of the day." ******************************************* Axer's nightmares had left him for the moment, and his mood had certainly improved. He was on the main floor, eating a simple breakfast of sausage and beer. Kate slowly approached him, but she didn't surprise him as she always did. His mouth was crammed full of sausage at the moment, so he didn't try to say anything until he managed to swallow it. "I thought you were still asleep!" "I couldn't sleep. I heard everything." She sat down across from him at the table, noting the sudden draining of his face. "Why did you ask Nat not to tell me?" His response was immediate, "Because I didn't want you to know." "That's the best circular argument I've heard in a long time!" she laughed humorlessly. "Look -- what good would it have done you knowing about it? *I* didn't even remember it until this last night, when the nightmares came. What good would it have done you to know that I've had a past that I'm not proud of?" Kate looked away, "To be honest, I don't approve of what you did, but I know you're no longer that man. You changed. But if you won't *tell* me about these things, how can I trust you?" "So it's trust now, eh? Have I done anything to make you suspect me?" "Yes. This." He slammed the table with his hand and walked off, yelling, "Damn it Kate -- you're not being fair!" She started yelling herself, "What?! I'm not being fair? Perhaps you'd like to explain that!" "I just did!" "Funny -- it doesn't seem to be making any sense!" When he faced her, his eyes were red. "O.K. -- I'll explain things a little better: I have done NOTHING to betray your trust! Not! a! single! thing!! And I've never considered holding back some unnecessary trivia a breach of trust!" "Maybe you should have asked me!" She was becoming very angry as well. Axer's head hung down, but not in shame or sadness. It was more like he was fighting with himself. His voice had returned to a normal volume, but it was strained, "Kate. I'm not proud of the man I was. The younger immortals look up to us like we're some kind of god, but the fact is that for over a thousand years, I was a horrible man. I did so many things that I'm ashamed of -- how can I tell you about them?" The last was a whisper, "I can't even tell myself." Understanding finally came, and Kate's eyes softened a little bit -- but only a little bit. "What kind of man were you?" "A murderer. A torturer. An abuser." It was like he read off a death list. "We're all human, Axer," she put a hand on his shoulder turning him around until he faced her. "We all make our mistakes. Do you know what Hell is? It's not a place -- it's a state of mind: it's looking at every single deed of your life and not learning from the lessons. It's taking yourself and life too hard. Let it go." He slammed the wall, "'Let it go.' It's not as easy as you make it sound!" "Why isn't it easy? All you have to do is start opening up to me." His face was on the danger of breaking. "I can't." He whispered. "Then pack your bags and go!" Her voice was firm. "What?" That got to him, sure enough. His face drained of all blood, and his voice became weak and shaken. "You can't be serious!" "I am! If you can't trust me, then I can't trust you! So open up your heart or open the door -- it's your choice." It appeared as if Axer were going to walk out the door, but he froze as if his muscles were immobilized. In defeat, he looked at her with a broken expression, "What do you want to know?" It was an honest, genuine expression, but it made Kate realize what she had actually done. //Oh God! I didn't mean for it to go *this* far!// *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (13/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt WARNING: SEVERAL THINGS YOU DON'T WANT YOUR KID TO READ Do you really think I'd ruin the surprise by telling you *what* to expect? ;) Mulder knocked firmly on the door. Normally, he would have walked on in, but it was still daytime, and he didn't want to unintentionally burn any vampires inside. "Who is it?" asked a voice on the other side. It had been a long time since they last met, but Mulder thought it sounded like Coleen. "FEDERAL AGENTS." He smiled at Joe's and Bill's shocked expressions. Scully was shaking her head sternly, but he could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. "Fox?" asked the voice on the other side. "Is that you?" Mulder looked a little uncomfortable, "Please... It's Mulder." The door opened, and it WAS Coleen. She looked at Mulder a bit sternly, "That's a good way to get killed around here!" She recognized Scully, and took a good look at Joe and Bill. The two apparently recognized her as well -- and the looks on each of their faces were completely different. Bill's expression showed a mixture of embarrassment and fear; Joe's expression was simply one of surprise. "You!" Coleen yelled at Bill. "You perverted sonofabitch! What the hell are you doing here?!" She drew her sword, which prompted Mulder and Scully to draw their guns. Coleen snorted at that. Joe stepped in, "You mean you two know each other?" Coleen's gaze softened when she looked at Joe. "If you know him, you should also know he's sicker than a pimp! Do you know what he wanted me to do?" "Hold it!" shouted Mulder. "Why don't you both back up and start explaining things?" Bill turned white at that question, and kept his mouth zipped while Coleen moved up to Mulder, "He met me in D.C., and tried to hire my 'services'! Then he told me he wanted me to comb his hair while he screwed a sheep!!" Everyone looked at Bill, who backed up a little uncertainly. The expressions were mostly those of bafflement -- except for Joe, who was a bit furious. Bill stammered, "Hey -- I offered her a great deal of money, and it's not like I asked her to do anything sick!" Scully glared at Bill with a look of utter disgust, but Mulder laughed himself blue. "Oh god! That's gotta go in the books!" "It's not funny!" snapped Coleen. "That bastard needs some help!" Joe also glared at Bill, "I think we need to have a talk... later." That really made Bill shake and sweat. Joe, he was beginning to realize, had some pretty high and standards of conduct and decency. Joe's expression softened when he looked at Coleen, "I see you've managed to evade your Watcher again. May I ask how you knew about us to begin with?" "I have a good teacher." Something clicked in Joe's mind. "Axer Carrick! He was your teacher!" Coleen nodded, an uncertain look on her face now. "Is that important?" Joe had to smile at that one. "To us, the guy's a legend -- he learned about us a few centuries back and started a tradition. It's called Ditch the Watcher. Every April 1st, he ditches his Watcher for however long it takes us to find him again. If we don't find him again after a year, he gives an Easter egg to the Watcher who lost him the last time. He thinks it's funny." Coleen laughed pretty hard at that one, "Yeah, he would! But I wouldn't be talking with him right now," she whispered the last. "He's having woman problems." Everyone smiled at that, but Bill turned an ugly shade of white-blue-green. "Come on in." *************************** Nick still had a churning stomach. He was truly thinking about what Coleen had told him, and he knew she was right. But the mind and the heart are forever at war, and whatever he knew in his mind, his heart fought right back and said otherwise. //It was for a just cause,// he tried to convince himself. He repeated it over and over again, but he just felt sicker. Then he remembered that he had drunk a whole pint of human blood earlier, and it made him even sicker. Nat walked into the room, "So there you are! I've been looking all over for you!" He looked up at her from his brooding, "Sorry. I didn't feel like being sociable." "What happened?" she looked genuinely concerned -- whatever it had been, it really shook Nick up pretty badly. Nick told her all that had happened -- the scene at the police station parking lot, LaCroix' entrance, the man with the box, and the torture scene that took place in the basement. "I fell right into LaCroix' hands!" Nick's voice was harsh. "I was honestly trying to make him ease up on Tim, but that's what he wanted the whole time!" By now, Nat felt totally disgusted. Maybe it was after talking with Axer and hearing his story. Then she remembered his advice. "Nick, I have a true story to tell you." "Nat-" he tried to protest, but Nat shouted him down. Nat told him the same story that Axer had told her -- or at least gave him a very good paraphrase. ************************************* Coleen led them to a large table. "Do you want anything to eat or drink?" Scully knew what folks usually drank here -- she declined -- but everyone else accepted a drink. They didn't see Coleen's snicker as she spiked the coffee with a generous portion of Benedictine -- which they missed spotting as well. One cup got something else as well: aquavitae, the Roman water of life -- so potent that to drink too much would at the very least make one horribly sick. She put in a liberal dose, but not too much to draw attention to itself. //Let the good times roll!// she thought as she fixed the last cup of coffee. //Good thing they're already a bit tipsy...// "This is really great!" exclaimed Bill after sipping it. "What kind of coffee *is* this?" His was the one with aquavitae. "It's a Kenyan coffee." That *was* true, so they didn't catch any falsehood on her part. But they didn't ask what else was in there, and she didn't volunteer. Scully liked the smell of it so much that she changed her mind and tried some herself. Scully's chemistry was good enough that she should have had warning bells going off in her taste buds, but she was oblivious as well. Mulder decided that since he opened the show, he'd better set the stage, "So Coleen, are Nick or LaCroix here?" Coleen nodded. "I'll get Nick right now. I don't know if LaCroix is back yet, but I'll check." ********************************************* Nick was shaking his head in awe and disgust. "I had no idea that Axer was such a person." He looked at Nat with a mixture of hope and fear, "Do you think I might ever be like that?" Nat slammed a hand on the table, making him jump back in shock, "You weren't even listening, were you?! You've missed the whole point!!" "What point?" He asked it with such a straight face that it must have been genuine. "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" she screamed to the ceiling. "Is everything all right in here?" asked Coleen, opening the door. "There are some visitors who want to see Nick." "Take him!" cried Nat. "Please!!" Puzzled, Coleen ushered a reluctant Nick into the main room. She shut the door after her, allowing Nat to cool off. She returned alone a few moments later, her face etched with concern. "Is everything all right?" Nat took a deep breath, sitting down -- she had been beating down the carpet with her pacing. "Yes -- NO! I don't know... It's Nick -- he just--" she was so flustered that she couldn't even complete a sentence. Coleen held her hand, and Nat smiled a little, oblivious to Coleen's intense gaze. "What did he do?" "It's what he's not doing -- it's what he's *not* doing! He's not growing up!" She vented her frustration to the ceiling again, but found it easier to calm down again. It was then that she noticed that Coleen wasn't just holding her hand -- she was caressing her hand. Nat looked at Coleen with a startled look, but Coleen just smiled. To her utter amazement, Nat discovered that she wasn't protesting or pulling her hand away. *********************************************** Kate was holding Axer while he shivered in fear, his head buried in her shoulder. "Damn you!" He was shaking uncontrollably, his voice at the edge of breaking -- somewhat muffled, "Why is this so important to you?" "I know it frightening, love," she whispered. "But it's for the best. Do you want to live the rest of your life with the nightmares? Do you want to go insane, or worse?" His grip tightened as he was reminded of the experience that had nearly cost him his sanity. He had come to grips with the soul of Ingrid, but there were many more nightmares that still haunted him -- that took him to the nightmare scape. "Look at me, love," she said, forcing his face up until he looked into her eyes. "Look, and listen." She then hoped that this would work -- she knew that he was immune to the Push, but then each time it had been used *against* him. So instead, she did a Pull. ^^Listen...^^ his pupils dilated and his sobbing died down. ^^When you enter the dreamscape, you'll take me with you. I'll *be* there. You won't face the nightmare alone. You'll hear my voice, and tell me everything you see.^^ //There! That should work!// She let out a tense sigh. "Am I going mad?" whispered Axer. Something occurred to Kate. "Love, tell me what happens when you kill another immortal for real." "We take in all their power and knowledge." "Power and knowledge," she whispered. "What about their souls?" Axer looked at her in shock, and she smiled, "So you *ARE* a vampire! Only, you drink souls! Don't you see what this means? You immortals are vampires like us! When you take the quickening, you're drinking a soul! But they don't die -- they become a part of you, if you let them." She became excited, "Don't you see? You might have taken their heads, BUT YOU NEVER KILLED THEM! They're still in here," she tapped at his head, "trying to take control of you. Don't you see what an opportunity you have?" "What do you mean?" She stared him straight in the eye, "You can harness the quickening. You can learn from those souls swimming in your head." She tapped his forehead. **************************************************** "Coleen!" protested Nat, in a shaky voice. "It's --" "--Not right?" finished Coleen. Her other hand was moving up Nat's arm. "It's obvious what the problem was all along. Don't *you* know what it is?" Nat finally found the will to break away, but she didn't run away. For some reason, she stayed. "What problem?" "You don't love Nick. You might have loved some things about him, but you never loved him -- and you can never love his immaturity. He's always going to use you." She grabbed Nat's hand again... very gently. "I'll never use you." **************************************************** Duncan was screaming and sobbing with unspeakable pain. A fine needle had been shoved into the space between his fingernail and the flesh of his finger -- for all ten of his fingers. They were sticking there in place the way acupuncture needles stick in someone's back. The Inquisitor was speaking jovially, "Now, let's see -- you've shattered twenty-three wine glasses at once! You've beaten the record. That reminds me -- you're going to have a hard time screaming with this one!" The Inquisitor yanked out every single needle, and waited for Duncan to finish his second round of screaming. The blood quickly stopped flowing, and the wounds closed up. "Good. I was afraid I had done too much... But you did me a good favor -- I'll have to give you that much credit." Duncan's eyes worked open, his face tilted, as he looked at the Inquisitor in agony. "What favor? Simple -- as you were screaming, I had a good look at your teeth. They were perfect! No cavities -- no missing teeth -- and I *know* you must have gotten them kicked out at one time or another. It's made me wonder -- what will happen if I drill a hole into each of your teeth and empty out the nerves?" Duncan's screams took on a new life as his head was immobilized and his jaw pried open. The dentist's drill came to life, and began to bore away... ************************************** Methos was sitting on the couch, lazily drinking beer when Richie barged through the door. "Any luck?" he asked the kid. "No!" snarled Richie. "Nobody knows a thing -- not even the bums!" "That's because you're going at it all wrong." "And what, pray tell, is the proper way?" Methos smiled, "Has it ever occurred to you that Sharpe might have a Watcher?" ***************************** There -- that should give you enough screaming material! ;) *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (14/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt WARNING: STUFF YOU DON'T WANT YOUR KID TO READ The brace had been taken off of Duncan's head, allowing his mouth to move. The pain was so intense that he didn't even know where the pain was coming from. He was moaning in pain, but even that hurt. The Inquisitor smiled grandly, "Don't you love my handiwork? Now you won't have to worry about tooth decay! Now, perhaps you'll tell us the whole story?" Duncan spat saliva and blood at the Inquisitor, who clapped his hands with glee. "Wonderful -- I haven't broken you yet! You're going to *LOVE* what happens next!" Then he stopped himself, "But it looks like I'll have to let you heal first..." He poured out some red, gloppy stuff. "Drink this -- it's vegetable juice. It should make you heal faster." Duncan didn't have much of a choice. He drank it down, shuddering with pain as each drop entered his lips. After an eternity, it ended. He did start to feel better. "So your teeth DO heal," muttered the Inquisitor. "I thought they would be left alone..." He became happy once more, "Then that means I get to play with you some MORE!" His face became grim, "Now, you're not going to start talking and force me to quit playing, are you?" By now, Duncan's mind was so totally twisted in knots that he didn't know *what* to think or say. He just moaned in pain. "I guess I'll have to let you heal. I'll be back tomorrow." He walked away, then stopped, grinning wickedly, "Enjoy your salsa!" Duncan was now beginning to realize that he had swallowed half a jar of the hottest Mexican salsa he had ever tasted -- beyond red salsa. It never occurred to him that it tasted like tomato juice only a second before. His moaning continued now. What Duncan couldn't know was at that precise moment, Richie and Methos had kicked in a solid German door at the precise moment his door had shut. The door flew open, cracking down the middle in a crooked fashion, and the two rushed in. The only occupant was busy reading the news, but his reflexes were good enough for him to pull a handgun on them. He was a middle-aged man with a worn face, and a bearing that identified him as a military man. The look in his face said that he wouldn't hesitate to blast both their heads off, and the gun was good enough to do it. "Who are you?" demanded Hans Kiefer, the Watcher. "What do you want?" Methos, grinning a bit, said. "I'm Methos, and my friend here is Richie Ryan, the student of Duncan MacLeod. And we want information from you." Hans knew what that information would be, and he turned white. "Methos! If that's true --" "It is," interrupted Methos, "but I thought your response would be more along the lines of: Duncan and Sharpe are at such and such a place." "I can't tell you! I'm an observer -- you can't expect me to interfere!" Methos shook his head, looking at Richie, "An honest Watcher, if you could believe it!" Richie had enough of all this, so he yelled, "You'll be a lot less concerned about interfering if you don't tell us where they are!" "Is that a threat?" The gun was still aimed at the two immortals. Hans figured that it was the only thing they could be. "Yes," growled Richie, moving forward. His eyes were wide open with fury, his eyes seeming to glow red -- but that could have been a trick of the light. "Hold it!" barked Methos pulling Richie back a touch. Richie resisted, but gave in. Methos looked at Hans, "Look. Richie wants to hurt you very badly -- all you have to tell us is where Sharpe and Duncan are." Hans kept silent. Methos sighed, "This isn't a matter of immortals battling one another. They were investigating another group of Hunters -- a new group that none of us knew about. Does your idea of noninterference include letting others interfere." "Hunters? Impossible!" Hans was red with rage. "If I could prove it to you, would you reconsider?" A moment of hesitation, "Yes." ****************************************** Scully was grinning foolishly as she started on another cup of coffee. She never felt so good in her life. The same could be said for everyone else as well. Even Bill felt better -- his blood-drained expression was replaced with a red-faced, red-nosed expression. He resembled a much younger Ted Kennedy in appearance -- all he needed was that 'puffed up' look and a ring of dripping keys in his hand. Joe seemed the only one who kept his head on straight, and he viewed everyone's gradual changes with amusement. He was old enough -- and enough of a drinker -- to figure out what happened, but he let Coleen play her trick. The more he thought about it, the more he admired her deviousness. //What better way to make sure people aren't sober enough to try anything stupid?// He felt a little pained that she didn't trust him, but then again he realized that in this game, trust was a dangerous thing. //Well, I have a few tricks up my sleeve as well...// Nick walked in to the main room and saw them, "Mulder? Scully? What are you doing here?" Then he saw the two others. Mulder got up a little unsteadily, "Allow me to introduce Joe and Bill -- they're Watchers, and they came here all the way from Vancouver just to see you." Nick's eyebrows rose. "Have a seat," said Joe, "and we'll tell you everything." //And we'll have an honest chance to gauge you!// Nick did sit, "So tell me what brought you out here." "It all started not that long ago, right outside your very police station..." ************************************** Nat's expression was a mixture of utter horror and a blissful release -- a quite improbable mixture, but possible given the right encouragement, which Coleen was certainly giving. She had a "drugged out" look which was slowly fading, and her "natural, reflexive reaction" that would normally be kicking in most certainly wasn't -- or at least, not as much as it would in a normal situation. "See? I told you so," smiled Coleen. Her hands were around Nat's waist, and their heads just inches apart. Nat was lost in the green eyes that pulled her in ever closer. No matter how much her soul screamed in rebellion, she nodded. When Coleen leaned in and kissed her on the lips, Nat didn't resist. Whether it lasted for minutes or hours, neither knew, but when it ended, Nat's expression now included guilt. But when she looked into Coleen's eyes again, she felt the guilt wash away. //My god, what am I doing?// But it was Nat who leaned in for the next kiss. ************************************** Axer was shaking with fright. "No! Please don't make me go back!" His fear was so strong that he might as well have been a child begging his mother not to take him to the dentist. His face was still buried in her shoulder, his arms holding on to her as if for dear life. "You have to face your fears sometime," Kate spoke in a soothing voice, running her fingers through his hair. "I've seen what happens when you don't face them." ^^Trust me.^^ He still held onto her, but he seemed to relax. A few moments later, went limp and breathed as if he was asleep. Then he breathed, "Great Mother, help me." "Can you hear me?" she asked. "Yes," he whispered. "But I can't see you." "Don't worry. I'm here. Where are you?" "The same place as before, but it looks a little different." His tone was full of wonder, "You won't believe this -- there's a forest off in the distance, and an ocean! And I can see mountains -- this wasn't here before!" "Is there anyone there?" Kate immediately regretted the question. "There is, and she's seen me. GREAT MOTHER!..." ...Axer sank to his knees. It was her. //Why does she always look like Scully?!// She approached him, and smiled lightly as she reached him. "Silly man. Does any son kneel to his mother?" She reached down and pulled him up by the shoulders, then frowned as she realized that he was a good bit taller than her. "What are you doing here?" "Didn't you call my name? You're acting like I don't belong here!" "No, Mother! I'm just surprised, that's all!" "I'm just *kidding*," she pinched his cheek a little. "You're so *serious*." For some reason, that stung him badly. He frowned. The Great Mother frowned as well, "Why are you afflicted with this great sadness? What is it that ails you?" He was honest, "I think I'm going insane. When I'm awake, I have memories that aren't mine and when I'm asleep, I have the most horrible nightmares. Men and women I've killed come back to haunt me." "It's the memories that haunt you," she nodded. "You did things that you regret, don't you?" Axer nodded, "That's part of it. But I don't know what to make of the rest. I can't go on like this." "Have you ever considered just letting go? Do nothing, and what needs to be done will be done." "I don't understand?" "You're FIGHTING. You're fighting the memories. You're fighting the nightmares. What you're not doing is letting go and learning what the memories can teach you." ********************************** Nick leaned back in his chair as Joe finished telling what he had heard from his informant. Although Nick was there, things had been going so fast that hearing it from another point of view wasn't all that boring. In fact, it filled in a few gaps. "So now that you know about us, what will you do?" asked Nick. "We have an organization known as the Enforcers, and their primary goal is to kill every mortal who knows about vampires -- or at least any mortal who is a threat to our existence. What is your intention?" That seemed to shock Bill, who would never have considered such a possibility. Nick noted that reaction, and also Joe's lack of one. It was Joe who spoke, "I think that particular topic is neither here nor there. What is important is the string of murders and these mysterious third players. Bill happened to follow Odin up to Canada, and managed to catch on to what happened. "I think that this situation is grave enough to pull us in. We just can't stand back and watch, since there's a high chance that any Hunters who are left over from the Horton incident could be recruited." "That is an interesting turn," smiled Nick. "You have an unspoken thought on your mind." "Yes. I might also be able to ferret out some useful information about this group testing the 'electrogravity' devices. We have some extensive contacts, and I think I can pull up some definite answers in a little while." "That would be helpful." Bill suddenly turned green and whispered that he'd be back in a moment. Nobody heard the retching sounds. ***************************************** Axer looked over the endless ocean, an arm over her shoulder. It relaxed him, and made him think of simpler times. "You see, my son? It all depends on what you want. If you want hell, you get it; if you want this, you get it. It's all up to you." "But how do you explain the nightmares?" She shook her head sadly, "You've had the answers for all your immortal life. You've told them to every student you've had. 'When you take a head, you also take the quickening -- all the power and knowledge of an immortal.' Where do you think that knowledge goes? Just because you've never consciously tapped it, it doesn't mean that the knowledge isn't there." I KNEW IT!! The voice boomed throughout the land, jolting Axer's nerves. The Great Mother looked at Axer quizzically. "It's Kate," he explained. "She thinks that immortals are some other kind of vampire that take souls." She shuddered, "Her analogy is not accurate. No, you're not a vampire, because immortals don't *feed* on other immortals. Vampires are poor souls who know nothing but appetite. Immortals should know better than to let themselves be ruled by appetite and emotion." "Do you know *what* I am? What we are?" Her eyes were full of sadness, "There are some answers you must find for yourself." Axer snorted and turned away, but he didn't yell this time or throw a tantrum. "Axer... to get answer your earlier question, souls are an integral part of the quickening. You've been tapping into that pool of knowledge, whether you know it or not, but there's a danger -- you can fall in that pool, and something altogether different can climb out." It ended. Although he was bewildered, he knew he was lucky. How many people got to come back from some dreamscape and reemerge into the real world in the arms of a beautiful vampire? *********************************** *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (15/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Richie drove the car, his eyes narrowed and his breath coming in short hisses. He remained silent, not even talking to Methos as he raced through the streets, barely even stopping for the lights. Methos, rather than being scared by the wild ride, enjoyed it immensely. He reveled in the near-collisions, the pedestrians yelling at Richie to slow down, and the absent-minded driver who just happened to have good enough reflexes to avoid a major accident. Paris is a place that requires good driving skills -- and this is a good reason why: you might find Richie coming the other way. "You're coming close to the place," warned Methos. He knew this part of town very well, so Richie didn't snap anything at him -- he wasn't so lost in his rage that he didn't pay attention to good sense. He slowed down and turned at the right place. "Where is it?" asked Richie curtly. Whatever resemblance he had to the innocent teenager he was only a few nights ago was long gone. He was a maddened time-bomb ready to snap. His reddish hair only accented his anger. "Turn over there, in the alleyway." It was an abandoned church -- perhaps built during that era in the earlier part of the century where the fashion in architecture was the 'ugly' look. Looking at all the ruins and condemned buildings around it, it seemed odd to find a church here, even if it was as ill-maintained as the rest of the buildings around it. Methos got out of the car and looked at it fondly, "I remember that church." Richie grunted, "If Duncan's there, I won't want to remember it." Methos shrugged sadly and followed him. Their senses were opened for anything, and the fact that they sensed immortals did not make them feel any better. Through the vestibule they entered, their swords drawn, and the only thing that greeted them were dusty, empty pews. The pulpit was empty as the air around it. The cross was broken and rotted. Methos sighed sadly as he approached the pulpit and wiped some dust on it. "I guess the German lied to us." Richie's eyes glinted. "I don't think so. Don't you feel that?" "Feel what?" Richie didn't listen to him as he walked into one of the wings and approached a rotten piece of carpet. He pulled it up easily -- it was a five by five foot square carpet that was cut neatly at the edges. The cuts looked recent. Underneath the square of carpet lay a solid steel door with three locks at the edge. It was apparently locked, since Methos couldn't even budge it an inch. Richie shook his head sadly and brought out a lock-picking tool kit. Within a minute, all three locks were picked, and the door opened. Stairs led down to darkness. The two looked at one another. Shrugging, Richie went down first. ************************************* Nat was in ecstasy, leaning back as Coleen's kisses moved slowly down from her lips to her cheek, moving ever so slowly down lower. Maybe it was her knowledge of vampires that made her jump in shock when the kisses reached her neck. Coleen realized this and chuckled a little bit. "See?" smiled Coleen. "I told you that you'd enjoy it. You are, aren't you?" "Oh, YES!" breathed Nat, shocked at the pleasures she was experiencing. "Just lie back and let it happen." Coleen gave Nat another injection. It started again, and Coleen kept moving lower. Nat was shocked to find that she was undoing the buttons herself, quite hastily, in fact. Her hands gripped Coleen's hair tightly as her body quivered with nervous pleasure. ******************************************** Axer put on his soft leather boots, lacing the leggings immaculately. Kate was making the task impossible by distracting him in a rather unfair manner -- which was an understatement. "Come back to bed!" pouted Kate. "Do you realize I've spent more time in bed today than I have in years?" She grabbed his shoulders, succeeding in pulling him back on top of her, "But that's the problem -- you're *never* in bed!" "What do you mean?" his voice raised a fraction in pitch. "For a man in retirement, you're an active man!" "I have to be! Do you realize how easy it is to get cabin fever?" She sighed, "I know all too well." She pouted once more, "Go on! Get dressed if you want to do that." Then she smiled wickedly, "That means I get to pull those clothes off all over again!" Axer actually blushed, and Kate was so glad that she forced him to keep that beard off. "So you *do* blush," she teased, "well it looks like I'll have to give you a *real* reason to blush!" She didn't reach for his clothes, but what she did was more than enough to *really* give Axer a shock, and that's pretty impressive for someone as old and experienced as Axer. She didn't reach for his clothes, but what she did was more than enough to *really* give Axer a shock, and that's pretty impressive for someone as old and experienced as Axer. Any immortal who's older than a century -- and not a monk or nun -- has most likely seen and done everything. As it turned out, Axer *hadn't* seen *everything*. Kate was ever so slowly getting dressed, but the way she did it had Axer breathing heavily and turning white-skinned pretty fast. "No you don't!" laughed Kate when Axer reached for her. "You're supposed to be getting up out of bed. Remember?" Axer gritted his teeth and watched the show go on. *************************************** Nick's cellular phone rang. Nat had given it to him for Christmas -- she had been so sick and tired of not being able to reach him when she needed to. "Excuse me," he said to Joe, who nodded. "Hello?" "Oh Nick!" it was Tracy. "We've been worried about you! Are you sick?" With a sinking feeling, Nick realized that the day had passed and turned to night. He was supposed to be on duty. "No," he whispered, "I'm right in the middle of something hot. I don't have any time to talk right now." That was mostly the truth, and allowed him to keep from completely lying. He then hung up the phone before Tracy could say another word. What Nick didn't know was that he breathed a sigh of relief. "Your wife?" asked Joe, smiling. "No. My partner." Nick looked out the now dark window. "Do you mind if we carry this conversation somewhere else?" Joe shrugged, "It doesn't really matter to me." Bill was still white-faced, "If you don't mind, I'll stay here." "Are you sure you're O.K.?" Joe looked concerned. "Really!" gasped Bill with clipped breath. "I'll be fine!" But he turned another shade of yellow-green. Scully and Mulder stood up with difficulty, still ignorant of the fact that they had drunk several cups of masked Benedictine. They knew that they felt sick to their stomachs, and had an odd taste hovering around the gum line, but were still hazy-brained enough to chalk it up to exhaustion. After all, neither of them had much sleep. "We'll stop by our hotel room," said Scully. "We both need some sleep." "O.K.," nodded Nick. "We'll drop you off." When they had left, Bill discreetly ran for the restroom and heaved, trying to empty his already empty guts into the toilet. When the only thing that came out as yellow bile, he collapsed on the floor, lying next to the toilet. The need to vomit would only come in a few more minutes, he knew... When Mulder and Scully were dropped off at their hotel, Joe told Nick, "That Coleen of yours is one twisted individual." "Why do you say that?" "She spiked enough Benedictine in that coffee to kill a horse. I've run a bar long enough to recognize anything by smell and taste. I didn't say anything, because I thought it was a nice way to get back at Bill -- that perverted boy needed *something* to set him on the right track -- but I thought it was pretty inconsiderate of her to get Mulder and Scully drunk, not considering that Mulder got warmed up on scotch back at the hotel room." "She did WHAT?" it all sank into Nick. "Sure, not only that, but she gave Bill an extra shot of Roman aquavitae with the Benedictine and coffee -- I took a taste of it. You *do* know about aquavitae, don't you? He drank five cups of coffee before I could stop him." Nick was shaking his head in shock, "I had no idea that she had it in her. I think I'll have to make Axer have a talk with her!" They drove in silence for a little while, before Nick spoke again, "I think that you won't be forming any Watcher organizations for my kind." Joe nodded, "I knew that there was always a possibility, but if I have any say, your folk will be left alone." "But Bill doesn't feel that way." "He's a young lad, but he'll learn." "Not if the Enforcers get to him first. You need to keep a tight leash on the boy." Joe nodded. "If he makes it to forty, he'll be a legend." "How old is he now?" "Twenty-eight." "Do you believe in God?" "I don't know." Nick sighed, "Then you'd better get to know him -- it's going to take all your prayers to keep that kid alive if the Enforcers ever get to him." "They'll have to beat Coleen to the punch." They got to the police station, and met Tracy, who had actually gotten quite a bit done. On her desk was a pile of reports and notes. She also wasn't too pleased to see him. "Perhaps you'd care to tell me what you've been doing since last night?" "Like I said," Nick told her, a bit surprised at her uncharacteristic tone, "I found some leads." "So did I!" snapped Tracy. "They're called witness sightings -- it looks like some of those men with the boxes were found burned to death, along with the body of an old bum. *I* found some witnesses who were able to give me a composite of the guy who was found running away." Nick saw the sketch, and for some reason, it looked very familiar. Joe gasped when he saw the photo, "I've *seen* that face before, but I can't remember where!" He hit himself in the head with his fist. "Damnit! Why can't I remember?" Tracy calmed down a bit, and asked, "Who's your friend?" "Another volunteer. His name is Joe Dawson, and he came all the way from Vancouver to help us out." "What about the FBI agents?" "We dropped them off at the hotel," said Nick with a straight face. "They were pretty tired." She nodded sympathetically, "They must be used to the day shift. Oh well." She looked at Joe with a direct gaze, "How will you be able to help us?" "I have a lot of useful contacts who can probably help us scare these killers out of the wood work." Tracy remembered Axer's assessment of what these kind of people were, and her eyes narrowed. "What kind of contacts?" Joe did his kind-old-uncle expression, "The usual." It didn't work, and he sighed, "You name it, and I'll have it. I know the bums, and I know the senators." Tracy nodded with a touch of skepticism. "There's a phone and a quiet room you can use. If you need anything, let us know." Nick was a bit shocked at Tracy's sudden 'take charge' attitude, but he didn't say anything. He wasn't sure yet whether this was a good or bad sign. When Tracy returned from showing Joe to the room, she let some of her irritation surface again. "You said that you found some things out." Her eyes were sharp as flints. "You'd better sit down," said Nick, "and I think we'll need a conference room for this one." For some odd reason, he started craving coffee and doughnuts. When they were in the conference room, Nick sat down with a thump and began to relate all that he had learned in the torture chamber. "I was talking to an informant since last night. He's dead now." That changed Tracy's mood really fast. "I think you'd better go back to the very beginning." Nick nodded, and found himself starting with the scene in Reece's office, and telling all of the story -- the scene in Reece's office as he saw it, the fight in the parking lot, LaCroix' arrival, and the capture of Tim. "And so LaCroix took Tim while I took Axer -- we flew to the Raven, where we questioned Tim. LaCroix immediately took charge. I admit I wanted to scare Tim into talking, but you know LaCroix -- if he decides he's going to do something, nothing can stop him." Tracy nodded sympathetically, and Nick continued, "After a few attempts at lying, LaCroix managed to convince him not to lie. That's when things started to get really strange. "He admitted that the black boxes they used were meant to do horrible things -- control people's minds and emotions from a distance, like they tried to do to Axer, hold them immobile in some kind of force field, or completely disintegrate the nervous system." Tracy was now sitting on the edge of her seat, "What happened next?" "There wasn't a whole lot he could tell us, but he left a lot of hints. Apparently, he was just a lowly member of this organization, but he knew enough. Whatever this organization is, it's planning to increase its activities very soon." "Why do you look so disturbed? I mean, even more than I'd expect?" "They're fanatics, Tracy. They believe that the end of the world has come, and they must prove their worth to Odin by bringing about utter chaos by destruction. And before that happens, they believe they must kill the immortals." "That doesn't make any sense!" "You're preaching to the choir." Tracy raised an eyebrow. ********************************************* Mulder and Scully were sharing the same hotel room, but sleeping in separate areas. Scully took the bed, and Mulder took the couch -- they were so accustomed to this arrangement that they felt perfectly comfortable in these situations. Mulder, however, was tossing and turning in his sleep. Sweat rolled down his face as he twitched, then stopped twitching. He didn't notice the silent figure who crept up, and placed all of his ten fingers on Mulder's forehead. Scully was snoring in the other room. Mulder's eyes snapped open, his mouth screaming a silent scream. Halscombe's face was triumphant, his eyes full of mindless glee as he -- ************************** You have reached the end of the chapter. Please come again. *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (16/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Joe sat down at the table, thinking about who he would want to call. His first guess would be Kermit, but he knew that Kermit already did his duty. //Hmm... who else could I call?...// An idea entered his mind. He knew who he would call. He pulled out the phone book and found his number within moments. "Hello," said the bored voice on the other end. "I'd like to speak with Detective Peter Caine." The voice had now turned to one of disdain, "Please hold." After a few moments of listening to muzak, Peter grabbed the phone, "Hello." "Detective Caine? This is Joe Dawson, and I have to talk with you about something pretty damned important. Do you have about ten minutes to spare?" "Look -- Joe -- I'm sunk right in the middle of a case. Can't this wait?" "No, goddammit!" yelled Joe with his most abrasive tone. "Do I have to tell you that I know that you were with the team the killed Jin Ming? Do I have to tell you that Kenny wasn't an eight year old boy from Wisconsin? Do I have to tell you that Kermit won't let you hear the end of it if you blow me off? Do you want me to continue?" That got Peter's attention. "I'm listening." His tone was one of shocked neutrality. "Look, I'm calling from another precinct nearby. You might have even heard of the case. Look, it's so bad that I need your help. I'll have the photos faxed to Kermit, but I'll tell you the details right now. They're some pretty bizarre murders, but we have some basic information..." ***************** Nick drove the car through the streets, while Tracy sat pensively in the passenger seat, asking, "Do you think that Axer's pattern is going to hold out?" "You mean the smiley face? It's held so far, long before Axer discovered it. All we have to do is hide and wait -- and hope they don't get creative and start embellishing that face." He thought for a moment, "The only question I would have is whether they're going to strike where the missing eye should be, or if they're going to fill in the smile a little more." "Good question." They drove in silence for a little while longer. Nick was still hurt by Tracy's new-found anger and abrasiveness, and so he didn't say anything more than necessary. Tracy's silence came from the fact that she was angry at Nick's lone-man attitude, secrecy, and lack of teamship. Nick made the turn and pulled in to an abandoned driveway. "I think we should walk from here." Tracy nodded, and they made their way down an alley, climbing a fire escape. Nobody in the various apartment rooms seemed to notice their ascent, or even care. They were at the right place. It was isolated, in a run- down neighborhood. There was only one way in and one way out. Their patience and Axer's foresight paid off. A bum entered the alley, so blind drunk that it was amazing that he could even walk. He gathered some trash and started to stuff it into the trash can. A few minutes later, floodlights flicked on all around the bum from the tops of the buildings. That surprised Nick, because he should have been able to spot them before they switched on, but it was too late to beat his head into the dashboard. The bum was shocked by all the lights, and screamed in fright. Then he screamed in pain and horror, and kept on screaming. Three men dressed in black walked into the open with black boxes, closing the circle. The bum couldn't move, but he could scream. Whatever was happening to him must have been indescribably horrible, because while neither of the detectives could tell what was being done, they knew that it had to have been that bad to produce such screams. "Come on!" snapped Tracy, jumping and sliding down the fire escapes as nimbly as a monkey. Still, she was surprised to see Nick already sprinting at ground level when she reached the asphalt. "I'd kill to learn how he does that!" she snapped to herself. Before Nick or Tracy reached the scene, which was a good hundred feet off, someone else arrived on the scene -- a man that neither one of them recognized. The man yelled something unintelligible, and though neither of them could see how it happened, the lights turned off and the forcefield around the bum released. The men in black had jumped back as if they were both startled in surprise and shocked with several thousand volts simultaneously. The bum collapsed on the ground, motionless. The men in black recovered a moment later, and aimed their black boxes at the intruder, who didn't seem affected in the least. He drew a sword and went after them, killing the first man in his reach. "Damn it!" thought Nick as he reached the scene. Although he could have arrived here much faster, he didn't want to leave Tracy behind and risk exposing her to danger -- or exposing his abilities to the wrong people at this end. He could spot another immortal when he saw one, and he kicking himself for not suspecting the presence of more in this city other than Axer and the occasional visitor that he knew. The immortal killed the other two rather quickly, and then was broad-sided by Nick, who tackled him to the ground, wrestling his sword away, and handcuffing him. The immortal was almost as strong as a vampire, but not quite strong enough. "You have a lot of explaining to do," whispered Nick, the fangs just beginning to protrude. "So do you," said the man with the thick Minnesota accent, "such as how you could be so stupid as to arrest the man who's saving your city for you. It must be those doughnuts and coffee." "You can tell me your story at the station." Nick called to Tracy, "Gather the evidence -- I'll secure our immortal." That shocked Tracy -- she knew about both immortals and vampires, but she hadn't identified this man as one. Perhaps she just thought the guy was a lunatic. He could hear Tracy making a few calls to dispatch. ************* Richie and Methos slowly made their way through the absolutely dark tunnel. The only way they made their way was by feeling with their feet and the listening echoes of their soft footsteps and breathing. In times of great doubt, Methos would click his tongue in a way that resembled dripping water. How long they traveled this way was a mystery, but eventually, they reached a solid steel door. Again it was locked, and Methos smiled in the dark, "Care to pick this?" "Don't sound so smug -- I might not be able to!" Methos smiled regardless, and his faith in Richie was soon justified as the door opened. The door cracked open just enough for the light to burst forth, ruining whatever vision they might have had. For about ten minutes, both were absolutely blind, but slowly gained their day vision back. It was then that they opened the door just a bit more. Inside was a stairwell, with circular stairs going upwards. Looking at one another, they ascended. As they crept upwards, they could hear the ever-increasing sound of clicking. A few more minutes later, and they could identify the sounds of a computer keyboard. Whoever it is was typing away at light speed. Curious now, they reached the top of the stairs and found a single wooden door that was cracked open. Richie stopped, his face wrinkled in doubt, until Methos tapped his shoulder and pointed upwards. It seemed that the door was kept open so that the air could circulate, taking advantage of the vent above. With that out of the way, they slowly opened up the door, but Richie froze its motion. He had the expression of one waking up in a vat of rotten egg sludge. Methos' head tilted in confusion, and Richie did the impression of a mouse face, pointing up at the hinges. Methos nodded in sudden understanding, and smiled in a fashion that frightened Richie. Methos silently made a fist and a hammering motion, pointing at the door. //Oh no! Not that!// Richie thought, knowing exactly what that meant. He wanted to do just that, but his guts rebelled against it. He was about to shake his head, when he realized that he liked the plan after all. His smile was much more wicked, and he drew his sword. On a silent count of three, they stormed through the door, and found a room full of personal computers, monitors of all sizes, a few printers, and a solitary old man typing away on a computer. He was kindly in appearance, as if he were the grandfather or uncle that every young boy wishes he had. "I've known where you were the whole time," said the old man. "I knew when you left the boat, and I knew precisely how you got here. All you had to do was ask, and I would have turned on the lights in the tunnel." That startled both of them, and they jerked as if they had been shocked with static electricity. Methos got his balance and charged over to the old man, "You have some explaining to do." "I know," sighed the old man wearily. "You want to know where Duncan and Sharpe are. Can't help you there," his voice brightened, "but I do have some Taster's Choice!" Methos shook his head, putting his sword up to the old man's throat -- the old man didn't care in the least. "Start talking. Please." Even though Methos had spoken in a dead-neutral tone, the old man responded, "See? All you had to do was ask nicely. What do you want to know?" Puzzled, Methos pulled his blade back, "Who are you?" "How courteous of you!" the old man clapped his hands, "My name is Pieter van Schouwen, once of Oland Island." "Odd," said Methos, "that sounds like a Dutch name, and when you were talking to yourself, it was in Bayerisch. Even your accent is Bayerisch." "What can I say?" asked Pieter. "I was moved to Muenchen when I was a young boy." "Next question," said Richie. "What are you doing with all these computers?" "Such wonderful, *wonderful* questions!" marveled the old man. "You see, these computers receive and process all kinds of information. I know where every single vampire and immortal is on the earth, as well as a few other special kinds of mortals picked for side experiments. These can tell me precisely where they are at every moment -- even if they're travelling through a tunnel!" "And what do you do with all this information?" "I pass it on to the people who need it. I'm something of a 'useful middle manager', if you can forgive the apparent paradox. I'm not quite as low as a foreman, and I'm low enough not to be an executive." "And what is done with this information?" "Why, it's used to hunt down and kill the immortals, of course! Why else would this information be painstakingly gathered?" "Who are the executives?" asked Richie, on an impulse. "The Invisible Ones, of course." He quit his typing, leaned back, and said with a thick haze in his eyes, "I was a promising researcher in mathematics and statistics, and they found me most worthy." Methos puzzled over the significance of that, until he heard the sounds of heavy boots. "You should have stuck with the coffee," suggested Pieter. *************** Nat lay on the floor, next to Coleen, her eyes nearly closed in exhaustion, wearing a blissful smile on her kips. Coleen wasn't nearly as worn, and her smile was more of a mixture of smugness and mischief. She gazed over Nat's body admiringly, lightly running her hand down her side. Though Nat was half-asleep, she moaned in pleasure. Before she could do anything else, the door was opened by a half-dead Bill. He had finally finished his retching, and was looking for some forsaken corner to crash into. His eyes opened as he realized what he was observing. He tried to stutter something, but he wasn't able to get out much, and didn't really succeed in trying to move either. His wide eyes were frozen on the scene. "Bill -- you bastard!" shrieked a fully-naked and fully- furious Coleen, grabbing her sword and running after Bill. He wasn't in much condition to do anything, but at least he managed to run down the hallway. LaCroix had investigated the source of all the noise, and was shocked to see this bizarre scene -- a stumbling, severely sick and hung-over mortal being chased by a naked, furious immortal. It seemed like scene out of some dark Renaissance painting. LaCroix whispered silently, "And Nick says I have no sense of humor." ****************************** *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (17/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt WARNING: There's something in here your kids shouldn't be reading Axer and Kate ran downstairs to see what all the racket was. The screaming, yelling, thumping, and crashing sounds were enough to wake the dead. They were on their way out of the bedroom anyway, but this was enough to send them barreling down the stairs, ready for combat. What they saw was enough to make them stop, open their eyes a little wider, and look at one another. Coleen, naked as the day she was born, had Bill cornered with a sword in her hand. Bill had thrown down some tables between the two of them, and held a chair in his hands, ready to hold her off for the moment when she got the last table out of the way. Axer, viewing this scene, came to the worst possible conclusion, and ran over to where the fight was. "What the hell's going on here?" he demanded, drawing his own sword and moving between Coleen and the tables. He didn't seem to notice her nudity. Axer twirled towards Bill, "And you? Who are you? What the hell were you trying to do?!" "It's not what you think!" Bill was nearly incoherent with hysteria. "I didn't mean to-" In the best of situations, that could be taken in the wrong way, and this wasn't the best of situations. "You didn't mean to WHAT?? You'd better start talking, boy!" Bill's stomach rebelled again, so instead of explaining himself, he retched bile. Axer's eyes opened in comprehension -- he knew what the cause of it was from direct experience. He turned back around towards Coleen, who had just enough time to cool off a little, "I know I'm missing a few pieces here. It's your turn to talk. For starters, who is he? And then you can tell me why he has alcohol poisoning!" Coleen suddenly lost her voice, stammering as she realized that she had a *lot* to tell him. That was when Nat walked into the room, her hair a mess, and a silly grin on her face. Axer noticed Coleen's eyes dart in that direction, and when Axer saw Nat, he drew the only conclusion. "You?? And NAT??" Coleen's grin was a little empty and helpless. Axer's head fell into his hands, where he shook his head slowly, "Great Mother! What else do I need to know?" Bill retched again. Axer walked over to the bar, muttering to himself about needing a strong drink. He rummaged around at the bar, then stopped suddenly. Coleen cringed when she heard a yell, "Coleen! You get your ass over here right NOW! You hear me?!" *********************************** Joe finished giving Peter Caine the background, and as Kermit gave him packets of incoming faxes, he whistled occasionally in shock and amazement. "Wait a minute!" said Peter eventually. "Are you telling me that this has been going on for weeks now, and we didn't even know about it?" "What can I say? -- it wasn't in your district. The question is, will you help us? He have the theories, but now we need heads -- forgive the pun." Peter was hesitant, and Joe could almost see him pulling his hair out -- a good thing they were talking by phone. "O.K., I think I know who I can talk to. I'll let you know what I dig up." "Thanks -- but remember, I need information, and not help. You get my meaning?" "Don't push your luck, Joe." Peter hung up, and Joe looked at the wall with a pensive expression. He made another call, and got a 'this number is not in service' message. "Damnit! Where could he be?" A few halls down, somebody else was slamming his hand on a table too. Nick was face to face with what he believed was a murderous immortal. "Answer me, dammit!" yelled Nick, his face just inches from the immortal's. The immortal's expression was bored. "I think I need a beer." That might have been true. From the smell of beer wafting from his unwashed body, the man practically swam in the stuff. The game was bad cop-worse cop, and Nick gave up on being the bad cop. Now, it was Tracy's turn, and she was the worse cop. The took over the interrogation, "Now look! We saw you there, and we saw you kill those men. So there's no use in denying anything!" "If there's no use in denying anything, then you already know the truth and there's no need for me to say anything." Tracy grinned viciously, "Nice try -- but that's a trap too. What if we 'know' that you're dead guilty?" "Then I'm dead," he shrugged. "You might as well let me go. There's not much I can tell you, punishment for crimes in North America is a joke, and there's nothing you can do to threaten me. Where does that leave you? With nothing." "You're a brave man, but I think it's all bravado." "But you can't prove it, can you?" Heimdall lazily picked at his fingernails, flicking peeled-off bits of fingernail on the floor. "You're linked to the crimes -- I think we can push for an execution." That got Heimdall's attention. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened, "Are you an idiot? It'll never happen! The law never goes for an execution, unless you're in Texas or Arizona. Do you hate your jobs bad enough to be made outcasts?" He started to laugh hysterically -- with genuine laughter, not maniacal laughter. Nick pulled Tracy back for a moment, into the observation room -- there was only a soundman recording the interrogation tape. Nick whispered so that only Tracy could hear, "I think he's right -- there's no way we can threaten him." "Then what do we do?" "Ask nicely?" "That might be a good start." Heimdall leaned back in his chair, grinning, "I don't talk to cops, but I have been known to associate with human beings on occasion." Tracy's eyes flashed, but Nick made a face, making his best civilized face, "As you wish. I'm asking you nicely then, what do you know?" "Are you sure you want that tape recorder on? I can tell you right off that this won't be admissible in court, any more than you could report everything that you saw earlier tonight." The two detectives considered for a moment, and nodded. Tracy went into the other room and told the sound man to take a coffee break. That tape recorder was turned off, but not the one in Tracy's pocket. "So, start talking." "Turn off the other tape recorder." Tracy made a face and turned it off. Nick gave her an odd look, and she gave him a furious one in return. Heimdall was either oblivious or uncaring of that exchange. "First off, to establish some credibility here, let me state that I know you're a vampire. That might make what I have to say more believable." Nick could accept anyone knowing about vampires -- rare people do learn about them -- but to have an immortal he never met tell him straight off that his secret is known... "That doesn't establish any credibility in itself," Nick held his surprise well, "but I'm listening." "Good. What do you want to know?" "How was it you came onto the scene tonight?" "I was hunting for the killers -- the ones your news media doesn't talk about. Tonight, I was lucky." "What do you know about the killers?" "What do you know about the Invisible Ones?" Nick took a seat. "I know enough about them -- but not how *you* tie in with this." "Get me a beer, and I'll start talking." Nick looked at Tracy pleadingly, who threw her arms up in the air and muttered, "Alright! *I'll* go to booking, if that's what you want!" Heimdall snickered a little bit at that, but became somber again when Nick glared at him. "Like I said, no beer -- no talk." He kept by his word too. When Tracy came back with two bottles of Bud, Heimdall shivered and made a face, but took them anyway. "Now that's done," snapped Tracy, "you'd better start talking!" "What do you want to know?" Heimdall would certainly make this as hard as possible. "What is your relationship with the Invisible Ones?" "Look, are you *sure* you want to know?" "Damnit!" Nick slammed his hand on the table, hard enough to crack it. "We got you the beer, and you promised you'd talk!" "Just making sure," Heimdall said in a soothing voice. "Since you want to know so bad, I guess I'll have to tell you -- but it's a bit of a long story, so you might as well have a beer yourself." He ripped off the caps with his hand. ----------------------------------------------------------- Heimdall's Story ----------------------------------------------------------- The nineteenth century was a pretty bad one to begin with, I'll let you know that from the start. I had left Norway back in 1798 -- things had gotten pretty bad up there in Scandinavia, so I thought I'd go out to see the world. I must have reached the Americas in the 1830s. I'd seen all kinds of civilizations, but I found the cities of the Americas to be both frightening and majestic in a way that I had never experienced before. There is something about crowded humanity that shakes the soul as much as it stirs the soul. I'd landed in New York City, and I moved up through the state, up into New England -- mostly New Hampshire and Vermont. Nowadays, it's something of a "nice" place to be - - I'll have you know that even in 1830, it was a still a harsh frontier. Farms *had* carved out a good chunk of the forests, but there was still a lot that remained untouched. I was in one of those isolated stretches of Vermont when something happened to change my life forever. It must have been sometime in the middle of the night. There were heavy clouds in the sky, but it still didn't keep me from seeing what occurred. The lights that came from the sky lit up the land for miles. The clouds only served to spread the light everywhere. At first, the light seemed to be coming from all directions, but after a few moments, I could see that it came from a single point in the sky that moved across the sky. I'd seen a lot in my life, but not that. I followed the moving light and saw it land in a homestead. Again, the lights were too bright to make out any detail, but I could hear the animals panicking, and then the horrible screams of the human family that lived there. When the lights vanished, I ran down to the farm to see if there was anything I could do. The animals were just scared, and they would forget about this soon enough. I entered the house and found a young man and woman asleep on the bed. Nothing I could say or do would rouse them. Looking around, I could see that a child lived here too, but the child was gone. I wondered if it was taken away by the lights. The child was returned uneventfully two weeks later, and none of the family had any idea that anything had happened, but I kept a watch over them, and discovered something pretty amazing: the boy, who had been just a regular boy, had become nothing short of a genius -- but not in a nerdish sort of way. He seemed to be a boy beyond his years, having a store of knowledge and wisdom that would have been impossible for anyone of even forty years to know. He even predicted the future, and it takes a lot to convince me that something like that is possible. Time passed, and the young boy became a man. He hated farm work, so he moved on. I had grown bored with being a smith, so I moved on too -- it was strictly coincidence that we left on the same day. As luck would have it -- good or bad, I would soon see -- we left on the same road, and he became directly acquainted with me for the first time. Although I had most certainly known him, I made sure that few people -- Kerry included -- knew me directly. His name was Kerry, and though he was born in Vermont, he seemed to have a bit of Ireland in him. He also knew a lot about Scandinavia, without having been there. We walked north. I just wanted to move on. I guess you could say I was running away from something -- but it seemed like Kerry was moving *towards* something. Again, his staying with me was coincidence. We might as well have been moving in the same direction, but a valley or mountain apart. It wouldn't have made any difference. We took a roundabout route -- along the northern rim of the Great Lakes, north through the middle of Canada, and then to the lands of the permafrost and Caribou. It may seem strange that we might stay together on these aimless wanderings just for the hell of it -- but we didn't think it strange. We were two people traveling the land, and that's all we needed. Perhaps we had already crossed the Arctic Circle when we met this nomadic tribe of Indians. I know, I'm being politically incorrect, but I really don't give a damn. I think I'm actually showing more courtesy by using a word that's easy to use and pronounce, than some word I'll choke on. I know it annoys me when I hear Tohono O'odham pronounced like Tohono Oddam -- they should just stick with Papago: it's been used for centuries and can't be mispronounced, even if it does mean 'bean eater.' I figured they'd feel the same way -- but that's besides the point. Look -- *you* started it, so don't look at me that way! O.K. -- I'll call them 'Inuit', if that makes you happy, but I still think you two should get a life! Fine. Well, anyway... They behaved as if they were perimeter guards -- they were wary of anyone crossing into their territory, and they were afraid of anyone they didn't know. I would have chalked it up to paranoia, except for the fact that every single one wore the tattoo of the spear on their forearm. This was something that an Odinsson would do, except that these men bore no other marks of an Odinsson. My curiosity engaged, I performed enough "tricks" to earn their respect and startle their superstitious minds. They were simple things, really, but to a mind such as theirs, those tricks were sufficient. Kerry looked at those tricks with wide eyes. Maybe something occurred to him that hadn't before. In retrospect, I often wonder about the significance of that event. ========================================================== Heimdall stopped talking and took a deep swig of beer. "Here's some money, why don't you get some decent beer for a change?" Tracy was about to hit the roof, but Nick intercepted her, "We'll continue this discussion at the Raven. They'll have everything you want." Heimdall's eyebrow raised, and he could barely keep himself from laughing. "I would greatly look forward to that." **************************************** Richie heard the sounds of boots in the tunnel below, and handcuffed Pieter to the table. "You're not going anywhere!" There were two ways in and out -- one was the way the two came in, and another door opened into an empty warehouse. Methos barricaded that door, and answered Richie's unspoken question, "We have no idea what's out there -- and the devil we do know is coming through the best possible door." Richie looked confused, until Methos added, "It's a narrow door, so we can control how many come into the room." The door got blasted open, and the thugs who came through were dressed completely in black -- black pants, black boots, black shirts, and black ski masks. They had clubs instead of guns, Methos observed, so their orders must have been to capture only, and not kill. //They have those orders, when they *know* we're immortal?// He wasn't one to question fate. Although time seemed to slow for both the immortals as their adrenalin rushed through their veins, motion speeded up in real time. There seemed to be no end of them as Richie glanced through the door. Maybe thirty, or maybe more. But there couldn't be *too* many to handle... he thought. What then happened wasn't some stage fight, where every movement was theatrical. There was no flashy fencing, posturing, or witty exchange of words. Think of it this way -- it was like watching a Mafia hit. The killers involved are down-to-earth and kill their targets by the 'straight line between two points' approach. This skirmish took place in a similar fashion. Richie and Methos made a good team. Richie, although trained by a swordsman who used predominately Oriental movements and strategies, fought like more like Brian Cullen -- with skill and grace, but mixed in with some Bronx-style bluntness. He didn't use much footwork, and relied on his youthful strength to pummel the blackies into the ground. Methos, though the oldest living immortal, had been out of the game long enough to lose his skill. For the last few years, he had subtly entered the game enough to gain back some basic skills. He fought more like a reckless solider -- discipline in his movements, but overruled by a wildness that he began to feel in the base of his soul. It almost felt good to kill again. The two immortals stood about a foot from the doorway, their swords acting like scythes, chopping off limbs, ripping out intestines, punching out lungs, and taking heads. The blood sprayed everywhere, covering everything nearby with a thick coating of blood. The smell of ruptured intestines assaulted both of their nostrils as the bodies began to pile up. When enough bodies were piled up to block the doorway, the blackies stopped coming through blindly, but they didn't give up. Rather, they kept at the base of the stairs. Sounds from the other door were heard as well. Pieter chuckled, "I asked for a lot of backup. Since you're the only two immortals left in Paris, I was able to spare several hundred men." A loudspeaker boomed from the tunnel, "You are surrounded. You have no hope." Methos looked at one of the monitors that showed a detailed map of Paris, and an idea of what they would do next. Then he chuckled. "Richie, you're not going to believe this!" ************************ Duncan opened up his eyes. His teeth and gums finally felt better, and the effects of the hot salsa had faded. His eyes adjusted to the light, and he realized that he was still in the torture room. His spirits sank. Then a jolt of pain filled his body as he realized that he had just been injected with something. "You're finally awake," said the silky voice of the Inquisitor. "It's so good that you're awake now." He paced back and forth, musing, "You know, I think I've been going about this the wrong way. I'd almost believe that you loved pain, the way you keep asking for it. So I think I'll try another approach -- pleasure." The Inquisitor walked over to the door and escorted in a young blonde woman, smiling innocently, wearing an uncomprehending expression. She looked like she could have been a top model, and certainly dressed for the part. One could almost say that she was almost not-dressed, to be more accurate. "Meet Tasha. She failed hairdressing school, and now she works for me." He directed Tasha to where Duncan hung from his chains, "Tell me, Tasha, what do you think of my prisoner?" Tasha's eyes bulged as she gazed on the now-healed body of Duncan, breathing heavily as she lightly touched a finger, running it along his chest. "He's *wonderful*! Like a *stallion*!" To Duncan, that touch felt much more intense than it should have. He shuddered in a pleasure that he fought with all his might. Tasha smiled wickedly. "Oh yes!" the Inquisitor clapped his hands. "He's all yours!" He winked at Duncan, "I'll leave you two love birds alone!" True to his word, the Inquisitor left the room, while Tasha whispered in Duncan's ear, "Welcome to the *ride* of your life, 'Stallion'!" Duncan had already been breathing heavily, and confusion filled his whole being as he wondered what on earth was happening. //Is this a dream?// The moments passed, and Duncan knew with great certainty that this was *no* dream. His eyes closed, and he shuddered involuntarily as Tasha practiced her craft -- then it ended suddenly. Duncan looked down, where Tasha had been kneeling, "No talk -- no play. If you answer my questions, I'll do this some more." Duncan's eyes closed again, "God help me." "God can't help you," she smiled evilly, "but *I* can -- all you have to do is talk." ****************************** And I leave you with this and your imagination -- may it not be too naughty! ;) *********************************************************************** ** e-mail: wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu ** homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff ** My fanfics are now archived in pkzip format on my fanfic page ** at http://ag.arizona/edu/~wyckoff/fanfic.html ** Also: check out the X-files creative archive at Gossamer ******************************************************************* ** ERROR: You just deleted 6 years of work -- MERCY KILL ? ******************************************************************* SPLIT POSTING -- In order to follow the maximum line rule The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (18A/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt WARNING: DON'T LET YOUR KIDS READ THIS STUFF -- ================================================= Duncan screamed in ecstasy. He had never felt such pleasures in such intensity before. It was like every nerve in his body were alive and telling him all at once how much of a great time they were having. His heart beat so strongly he could feel it shake his whole body. Then it stopped, and he screamed again. "Noooo!!!" he cried. "DON'T STOP -- PLEASE!!!" Tasha's face was only a half-inch from his. "Just answer my question." Her sweating, naked body rubbed against his own. All she had to do was touch him here, and rub him there... "Oh GOD! Please!" She pulled away, and Duncan sobbed in frustration once more. Just then the door burst open, and Richie and Methos barged through with their swords out. The two immortals were covered with blood, as were their swords. "You're here too soon!" yelled Tasha, snapping at them like they were movie extras who followed the wrong script. Methos, unlike Richie, had a pragmatic view about life, death, and killing. He thrust the sword through her heart, ignoring her surprised expression as he asked, "Was it as good for you as it was for me?" She fell to her knees, the pain overwhelming her so much that she couldn't even move her mouth -- it was wide open, and for some reason, Methos couldn't resist shoving the sword down her mouth. "Swallow this!" Richie viewed all this with shock and horror -- not only with the fact that he killed a woman, but the *way* he killed her. When he saw Duncan, his expression was only one of shock, and his earlier reaction was forgotten. Duncan was bloody, beaten, and panting like he'd been running a mile. Exercising every muscle of decency in his body, he kept his eyes above the waist. "God -- Mac! What did they do to you?" Duncan, rather than saying, "Thanks" -- or even grunting in acknowledgement, screamed in a voice of infinite loss, "You *killed* her!" Now, he really began to sob uncontrollably, moreso than when he had lost Tessa or killed Brian Cullen. Richie looked at Methos, who nodded. "Torture by pleasure - - the Romans mastered it, and every inquisitor ever since knows how to use it. I think Duncan's been on a rough ride." Duncan was straining in his chains, trying to reach something -- only God knew what -- and sobbing as if someone even closer than Tessa had died. Richie and Methos had a hard time dragging him away. He flailed around and fought them, trying to run back to Tasha's dead body. "Methos," grunted Richie, "promise me that this is one little story that stays between the two of us." ************************************** Mulder stared up at an impossibility. It was Cancerman alright, but it was a different Cancerman with something more -- something different. It was an aura around him, a power that he hadn't detected before. The fingers threatened to bore into his brain. Though the pressure wasn't even great enough to punch through paper, Mulder was screaming in pain and fear. Something snapped, and Mulder's reflexes kicked in -- even though his conscious mind was still paralyzed by fear. His foot shot out and slammed Cancerman in the groin. The hands on his forehead loosened, and Mulder snatched them away, throwing Cancerman into the couch. It wouldn't hurt, but it might slow him down. "Scully!" yelled Mulder, running over to where his gun was. "Scully, wake up!" He was always neat and orderly to the point where folks could have fun making up derogatory words about his orderliness, and so he would certainly have known where his gun was -- only it wasn't there. "Shit!" Cancerman was up by now, and was just within touching- distance. Mulder picked up a chair and -- but Cancerman's foot was on it before he could do anything with it. Mulder let go of that and grabbed for a lamp, but Cancerman had already grabbed it and thrown it to the floor. "Freeze!" yelled Scully's voice. She was clad only in her sleeping clothes, pointing her private home firearm -- a 19th Century type rifle that shot lead balls -- in Cancerman's direction. Maybe it was her frequent association to Mulder, vampires, and immortals that allowed it -- but she looked at Cancerman and only sighed deeply in sadness. "Don't you *ever* die?" Cancerman had frozen, and when he recognized Scully, he became afraid. Without a word, he dashed for the wall, but Scully shot a lead-ball through his left thigh, blasting a hole through much of the muscle. He collapsed on the floor -- physically affected yet apparently ignoring the wound -- trying to frantically crawl to the door, but Mulder stomped on his hand. Cancerman raised his face, howling in pain. Mulder twisted his heel, cracking bones and joints. "...Hey! There's a fight in there! Someone call the police!..." There was a lot of yelling and panic outside the door. Mulder opened up the door, showing his badge to the folks next door, "FBI Agents! Everything is under control!" "Good God!" yelled another, "Harold! Call for help, quick! It's the FBI!" "You have no authority over here!" yelled another. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" "Go home!" folks started yelling from all up and down the hall. "Go harass some of your politicians for a change!" "GO HOME!" more people yelled. Mulder's head started to spin -- they were right: it was like a German police officer flashing his badge to citizens of Mexico during a highly questionable situation. He closed the door gently, as if that would help defuse the situation. "Scully? I think I made a big mistake -- we have to get out of here, fast, and we'll have to take Cancerman." "Where do we go?" "The Raven. Where else?" Mulder leaned against the wall, holding his head, "Damn, I've got a headache! Do you think that coffee might have been spiked?" Scully blinked, "You know, I've been feeling pretty awful too, but it's a good thing: if I hadn't have woken up to vomit, I wouldn't have known Cancerman was here." Mulder now clutched at his stomach, sinking to his knees, "I'd like to *kill* Coleen about now!" he snarled in a near- whisper. Scully stepped into the light and looked like she was in bad shape too. Dark circles hung under her eyes. "You watch him while I get ready." Mulder was a bad sight, holding the rifle in Cancerman's face while he looked like he honestly wanted to point it at his own head. His breathing came in laborious gasps, and his squinting eyelids threatened to mash his own eyeballs into mush. Cancerman was limp now, looking at him with a look of almost animal-like surrender. That's why Mulder was so unprepared when Cancerman -- as instant as the flick of a light switch -- moved out of the line of fire in a fluid motion and grabbed the rifle out of Mulder's hands, slamming him in the cheek with the butt. Mulder was thrown back to the floor, the room spinning, as Cancerman ran out the front door. For the next minute, Mulder could hear screams coming from up and down the hall, and it made him redouble his efforts to get up. When he did get up -- he wanted desperately to crash back onto the floor and stay there -- the screams had faded, and when he managed to stumble out the door, everyone in the hallway had forgotten about his 'transgression' and were pointing in the direction that Cancerman went. They didn't need to, because he left a thick trail of blood. "Mulder!" he could hear Scully yell in the distance, but he ignored her. His breath coming in labored gasps, his eyes aching with even the slightest movement, and his face feeling like it was about to explode, Mulder at first trotted in a zombie- like fashion, then gradually sped up to a run as he leaped down the stairs several steps at a time. With every step he took, he could feel the bones of his face throb -- in perfect rhythm with each breath he took, each heartbeat, and each time his feet hit the floor or pushed him forward. It was agony -- the pressure threatening to make his very face explode. After about five minutes, he even managed to catch up with Cancerman, who had slowed down -- the fact that he could make it this far with a blasted leg said something about his determination. Cancerman flipped the rifle in his direction, and fired. Mulder, totally exhausted, tripped on his own feet and missed the fatal projectile by mere inches. The whizzing he heard in his ear was deafening, and smoke filled the space between them. "What's going on?" demanded a security guard, sticking his head through the stairwell door. Cancerman fired a round at the security guard, who suddenly found himself with a head and body, minus a neck. The man's head, on hitting the floor, wiggled as the mouth opened and shut a few times. When Cancerman aimed the rifle at Mulder once more and pulled the trigger, it went [click!] [click!]. Mulder had managed to get up by now, and he tried to tackle Cancerman, who twirled out of the way, grabbing Mulder as he flew by and adding some momentum to his flight into the wall. One loud thump, and Mulder was motionless. "Stop!" screamed Scully from the stairs, aiming a handgun at Cancerman, who looked at her with an aloof expression as he raised the rifle at her. Scully smiled, "I counted three." She fired a round into his other leg. Screaming, Cancerman fell to his knees, but he hadn't given up yet. He held the rifle like a sledge hammer, waiting for her to make a move. His face was bone-white now from the bleeding. With this short pause, Scully had a chance to come to her senses, and so made the next action in a very deliberate manner: she shot Cancerman's hands, one by one. He screamed and howled, but he dropped the rifle, as his hands were now ground meat with bones and spraying blood that squirted on time with his heartbeat -- but he was still alive. Whoever thought that Scully was soft and gentle hadn't seen her backed into a corner -- real or figurative. *********************************************************************** Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (18B/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt ================================================= Axer was staring down into Coleen's eyes, his voice tight with an honest anger, "Can you explain this?" "Explain what?" "It's obvious you don't have enough experience drinking -- do you realize how much Benedictine you gave them? If you want an *interesting* experience, you put *one shot* in a *large* cup of coffee! You spiked enough in there to get *me* drunk! Do you realize Bill isn't just puking his guts out, but he's got alcohol poisoning?! You gave him a *pint*!!!" His voice was powerful enough to make a drill sergeant back off with uncertainty. Coleen was white- skinned with fright. Axer continued, "And what the hell were you trying to do, eh? I *also* noticed that you used my aquavitae... ARE YOU AN IDIOT?? I DON'T ASSOCIATE WITH IDIOTS! I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!" "Ease up on her, Axer," whispered LaCroix behind him, laying a rather... *firm* grip on his shoulder. "She did it for a good reason -- you've missed out on a great deal the last few hours, so you might as well listen to what she has to say." He looked at Coleen, not quite as unobservant of her nudity, "You *do* have something to say, don't you?" Coleen started stammering, "Mulder and Scully came in with two Watchers. I didn't trust them, so I offered them regular coffee, but I didn't tell them it was spiked with Benedictine. I thought if I got them drunk enough, they might be easier to control if they tried anything." Axer's eyes narrowed, "O.K. You're clever, I'll grant you that, but where does aquavitae fit into it?" "Bill was a pervert..." she explained about that episode in D.C. "I just wanted to get back at him." "Coleen!" sighed Axer, shaking his head. "You don't get even at someone by killing them with alcohol! I'm going to keep him from dying, but he's going to be hurting for a few days at least -- and you're going to be helping him recover the *whole* time. You hear me? Now I want you to get dressed and get back here in TWO MINUTES! GO!!" Coleen bolted off, and anyone with a good batch of hormones would have a good case of glued-eyes. Nat's eyes sure were glued, but nobody noticed that detail. Axer started to rummage through the food cabinets. "Where the hell do you keep the baking soda?!" "Over there," said LaCroix in a soft tone. He grabbed it, and talked while Axer stirred a few liberal tablespoons of the stuff in a glass of water. There was so much it would never dissolve completely. "What are you doing?" "Simple chemistry. The alcohol has done its work, so now I have to combat the effects until his body can heal. The baking soda will fix his pH, the buttered crackers that I'm going to feed him -- and you'd better have them -- will soak up some of the remaining alcohol out of his blood stream. When he stops puking, I'll make him eat as much greasy sausage and eggs as I can grab." Axer then stopped as if he'd been struck. "Carafate!" "Excuse me?" LaCroix shook his head in confusion. "Look --" he grabbed LaCroix by a lapel, shoving some money into the vampire's hand, "here's fifty dollars! Can you make a run to the pharmacy and get some Carafate?" That struck LaCroix as being utterly absurd and unexpected. He shook his head in confusion. "Come on! What are you waiting for? You can get there fast than any of us, and you can 'persuade' the pharmacist into saying 'to hell with the prescription'. Go on!" Baffled, LaCroix took the money and left. By now, Coleen had returned, hurriedly-dressed and still pale-faced. "O.K. Coleen," snarled Axer, "time to gain a practical education in first aid. Grab a bucket -- there'll be no rags or mops for you. Not even a toothbrush!" "What --" Coleen tried to ask. "You're going to find *every* spot of vomit and clean it up! Go on! What are you waiting for?" When she paused, he yelled, "You have it easy -- you could be *licking* it up!" Coleen bolted, looking for a bucket. "Where the hell's a bucket around here?!" "You'd better find out!" Axer's voice floated down the hall. Bill vomited bile again, and Coleen cursed. Axer walked up to Bill with the soda water, and forced him to drink every drop. Bill vomited it all up a few moments later, looking even worse. "That was uncalled for," said Kate, moving up next to Axer, "telling Coleen that!" "Can you take a look at Bill and repeat that?" he asked softly, pointing at Bill. "He's a mortal, and she almost killed him because she thought he was a pervert. I can agree with her views -- on this subject -- but I can't agree with the results of her prank." Kate frowned, "I get your point, but..." she couldn't finish the sentence. The front door opened loudly, and three people came in: Nick, Tracy, and ... "Adams?" demanded Axer, "What the hell are you doing here?" He stared at Heimdall -- whom he knew only as a laid off craftsman named Doug Adams. Heimdall shrugged helplessly. Axer then noticed the sword hanging from Heimdall's belt, and made a connection, "Wait a minute -- I can't sense you, but if you're carrying a *sword* --" "That's Heimdall, you idiot!" said someone right next to Axer. "Who said that?" he demanded, looking around furiously, only to find that nobody had spoken -- and nobody was anywhere near the source of the voice. "Who said what?" asked Nick. "Said that Adams is Heimdall, and that I was an idiot for not knowing that!" Heimdall snickered. Nick and Tracy looked at one another, and Tracy said, "You just said that yourself." "No I didn't!" "Yes you did!" everyone said at once, except for Bill, who vomited some more, the sounds of his dry heaves enough to make most shudder in concern. However, nobody was paying any attention to it. That sent Bill into even more heart- wrenching dry heaves that everyone ignored. Axer's head sank into his hands, "Why does this have to happen to me?..." Kate put a hand on his forehead, "You aren't running a fever... Maybe you ought to sit down -- without a beer." While Axer and Kate sat down, Nick looked around and saw that Nat was here. He moved up to her, "What happened to you? What are you doing here?" He was about to give her a hello kiss when she backed up. "Nick," she said hesitantly, "I think we need to talk somewhere else." Nick and Nat walked over to the bar, where she said, "I don't think we can be friends -- like this -- anymore. I just can't handle it." "Nat?" That utterly shocked Nick. "What do you mean?" "Nick? I don't know how to tell you this, so I'll go ahead and say it: I'm in love with Coleen, and I don't love you. I can't love you when you treat me like a psychiatrist -- and an unpaid one at that." Just then, as Nick's face went through some contortions, Janette walked into the front door, looking around, "The place looks different, somehow -- I hate it. Is this LaCroix' doing?" Nick looked towards the in shock. "Janette?!" Nat slapped Nick on the face, "I knew it! I hope you're happy!" Nat walked off while Nick looked at her with total confusion, holding his hand on the cheek that Nat slapped. It hurt as much as a faint touch -- it was the emotion that he reacted to. Janette, of course, noticed this little exchange and looked at Nick with questioning eyes. Nick groaned, letting his face fall into his hands. *********************************************************************** Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. SPLIT POSTING -- In order to follow the maximum line rule. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (19A/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Axer made one of his special drinks: Guiness over Bass over Absolut. Sure, the vodka mixed with the Bass pretty quickly, and it was tasteless, but it would give a hell of a kick after a while. Heimdall was pretty pleased as he looked at Axer. "I'll have to say you're a great bartender. I haven't had anything this good in a long time." He took a sip and sighed deeply, "This is *really* good." Just to be fair to Axer, Heimdall told him what he had told Nick and Tracy -- during that time, Tracy took a cat nap and Nick tried unsuccessfully to talk to Nat. Nat absolutely refused to talk to him, choosing instead to spend her time at a table, staring at the corner. Heimdall finished giving Axer the background information and then looked around, "Hey -- I thought this place thrived at night! Where is everyone?" Axer nodded over to the door, "Didn't you know? Whenever we have a little get-together, LaCroix closes the place down -- he calls it 'inventory time'. Nobody seems to mind." "Hmm..." Heimdall drained his imperial pint glass and reached for a pitcher of beer that Axer had just set down. "Oh well." While he rested his throat with some more beer, Tracy woke back up and Nick drifted on over. It worked out rather neatly, because Heimdall was ready to finish his story. Although Nick and Tracy had threatened to pin him with the murders, he didn't seem to mind. Taking another draw of beer, he continued where he had left off at the station. "Like I was saying, Kerry and I were up north. North of the Arctic Circle..." ============================================================ Heimdall's Tale ============================================================ ...and we were making sure that the natives wouldn't treat us like fresh meat ready to be smoked. Kerry sure had a real knack for that skill -- keeping from being smoked, that is. We stayed with them for a week, resting our feet from our most recent road march. We must have walked for a full week there, so we really deserved it. Once a week passed, we both started to get cabin fever. That was when we started to get social with the natives. I don't have much trouble picking up a language -- that's just the way I am. But Kerry -- he was a wonder. He was able to make his needs be known from the start, and after a week, he was having conversations with them. Of course, it was child talk, but hell -- I challenge you to pick up a primitive language in a week! It took a month for me to catch up to Kerry's skill. By this time, we were respected because both of us were crazy enough to kill polar bear and walrus. Sure, we weren't the only ones, but it was still a big deal back then, so it kept us useful. It also kept us fed. In retrospect, I really wish that Kerry hadn't learned their language so much, because he started nosing around about their rune tattoos. One thing led to another, and he started night-dreaming, looking up at the stars, and talking about stuff that made no sense to me. Stuff like 'starry wisdom', 'smoking mirror', and 'the branches of the tree'. Maybe it was the aliens that did it to him. I still don't know. All I know is that he was touched by some sort of lunatic. It was a few weeks later, when we were both drowsy from eating a big feast, that he told me, "There's a cave not far from here that I want to explore. The People say that the Gods left great treasures in there. I want to see it for myself." "Don't you think there's a good reason they'd leave it alone?" I asked. I hadn't heard about this cave, but I figured that legends were better off left as legends instead of sad facts. "Don't you want to find out for yourself?!" he stood up and ranted at me. "This is *wisdom*!" Wisdom is not a good word to use around me. I had more than enough with wisdom. I obey my common sense, and that's good enough for me, and I told him so. Kerry sulked on his own, and didn't talk to me for a week. Time heals, though, and he forgot about his little snit. He even seemed to forget about it, and when he made another suggestion, it was that we go out and hunt some caribou. It was that time of the year, and I was all for it. We went out with a team of hunters, so I thought this would be hunting as usual. And you know, it was. We went out and killed more caribou than we did in a long time, even on the way up. We were on the way back when a storm buried us in snow, and Kerry and I were separated from the rest of the group. They moved on, figuring it was better to reach the village with the meat than to risk dying in search for us, and risk leaving the meat out in the field where nobody would be able to find it before it was too late. There wasn't any wood out here, so Kerry was starting to fret, but I must have started laughing and told him not to worry. "You know that you can eat this meat raw, you know," I told him. He looked skeptical, so I ate a good chunk of meat just to show him. I came from a culture where we ate raw meat just as much as cooked, so it was like old times for me. We ate our meat and tried to move on, but the storm got worse, and eventually we reached the strangest cave. Most caves are set into the sides of hills and mountains -- this one was a natural cave with a mouth that opened up on flat ground without any mountains in sight. It opened up and sloped gently downwards into the darkness. Kerry looked at me, saying, "You know that it's the only thing we can do now. The cold'll kill us for sure without any fire." I was feeling the chill pretty strongly, so I agreed with him and let him lead the way. Since we didn't have wood on either of us, we had to descend slowly enough to let our eyes adjust as much as possible. Enough light cracked through that it was like walking through a house at night. There's enough light that you can just barely see. The cave sloped downward for about a mile, then reached a man-made door of lead and stone. It looked almost medieval in appearance, and I said so. "This could be almost Roman in design!" But I could find no writing or any other artifact identifying this place. But then again, it was dark in there. Maybe I missed something. I was curious enough to try opening the door myself, but it wouldn't budge. Kerry snickered and opened it himself with great ease, telling me, "It's all in the touch." On the other side of the door was a natural source of light that blinded us for a moment. It came from some minerals that created their own light -- faint by our standards in this room right now, but bright enough to give us headaches and force us to close our eyes a few minutes until our vision returned. When our vision did return, we found ourselves in a great hall. It was like being inside of a great Viking feasting hall, except that instead of wood, it was stone. It was obvious that some group of people invested a great deal of time and energy in carving this room out. It might have even explained the cave, except that I still swear that it looked natural. Not only did it look like a Viking hall by design, but it also was filled with Viking relics and artifacts. The tables set in the center of the from door to wall, the swords and shields set on the walls, the Chief's weapons set against the Head of the Table. It was like I had traveled back in time and entered the feasting hall that I knew so well. I almost expected my Father to stare me in the eye with his own and ask me what I had seen during my observations. But this was empty, and so for me it was like roving through a graveyard. "This is it!" cried Kerry with some bit of mania. "This is the place that the People were talking about! See -- at the far end of the room!" *********************************************************************** Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (19B/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt He ran towards the Chief's chair, grabbing a spear. I saw it. Memories flooded back to me, shaking my nerves pretty well. I remember being on my knees somehow as I saw Gungnir, the spear of Odin. This was not his hall, but somehow his spear was here. I scanned the other weapons and saw the other belongings of the Aesir. I saw the bow of Ullr, the hammer of Thor, the swords of Frey, the Axe of Loki, and my own sword. I had either lost it in a bout of drunkenness -- I believed. That was in 1066, when I lay collapsed on an English tavern table. Hadradi died that very night in an unsuccessful raid on the shores of Britain. The king who represented the old order lay dead. No, it's not really important. I was just remembering... By the looks of it, my sword must have been taken, because I can't just forget and leave it in a place thousands of miles from England, to a place I'd never been. I was shaken from my memories as Kerry yelled, "And I, the Allfather, will shake Erde and Yggdrasil itself! I, Odin, shall bind the many into *ONE*!" As I stared at this lunatic, I saw many things fall together. The coal-black hair that he had allowed to grow long, the thick beard now on his face, and his now thin and ropy frame. He looked exactly like Odin had before he lost his eye. That was soon fixed, because Kerry pulled out a belt-knife and took it out, screaming, "The Well! Let me drink once more from the Well!" I didn't know what was going on, whether this deranged boy was just that, or the next incarnation of Odin. I couldn't take the chance, so I took out my pistol, which I always kept loaded when I had a chance. This was during the days where you had to pack in some gunpowder and a pellet each time you shot it. I see you nodding, Nick. Good to see I'm not the only one who can remember *that* pleasant little experience... Well, I shot Kerry in the shoulder. I hit where I aimed. I could have shot a hole in his brains and let them seep out, but I still felt a pity for the boy. Taken by who knows what and living an odd life. I hoped that I could knock whatever spirit or demon out of his skull without killing him. I was rewarded for my efforts with a loud laugh, "Ever the pacifist, Heimdall, my son? You should have used that shot on my skull, and now you'll ever regret your choice." Centuries of instincts and reflexes took over as Kerry attacked me in his madness. Though the boy had never fought as I had, his reflexes and instincts said different. He nearly ran me through before I could reach my own sword. All I had to do was touch it, and I felt the ecstasy that I had not touched for many eons. Just wrapping my hand about the grip filled me with power, and I guess I must have been mad myself when I faced him, actually glad to do so. However long we fought was a mystery, but it ended suddenly, I can remember that. He ran me through. I didn't die, but I was so wounded that it took me a week to recover enough to crawl back out of the cave. I left my sword behind. When I did, I found no trace of the snow storm. I had enough ammunition to be able to catch enough food to keep myself fed as I made my way back to the village. I returned to find almost all the menfolk killed by Kerry, or I should say now, Odin. He was possessed by the mad spirit enough to slaughter every warrior and hunter who faced him, and he laughed over their bodies. But oddly enough, he left the women and children alone. I stayed for another year, and then I left for the south once more. It was about thirty years later that I met up with Odin again. He had spent that time adventuring in the Caribbean and Central America. The one legend that surrounded him was that he had been cast aboard, and somehow returned to tell about it. Those who knew him said that he had become a changed man. For an innocent boy to be taken away and changed by mysterious beings, then possessed by the mad spirit of Odin -- to believe that he had changed again was a bit too hard to swallow. It was like being told that someone had come up with a redder red. It just can't be done. I cornered him when he was drunk and pointed a rifle in his face. This was one of the 'modern' ones that one didn't have to repack with every round: this one used bullets. I faced him and told him he had a lot of explaining to do. "I've made a bargain with the Invisible Ones," smiled Odin. "They found me on the island, and revealed to me that I was one of them all along. They understood my life-long vision and told me that they had revealed it to me when I drank from Mimur's Well -- the well that I sacrificed my own eye to drink from. "It was they who told me the great act of courage I had performed by hanging myself from the wind-blown tree to capture the runes. "It was they who revealed themselves and told me that if I wanted to survive, all I had to do was make a pact." The rest of what he said was gibberish, but what I did understand filled in a lot of gaps -- concerning both Kerry and Odin. I blew out his brains then, and believed that all had been fixed. I even threw the spear into the sea. This was Baltimore, so it wasn't that hard to get out far enough into the ocean and drop it straight to the ocean floor. What I didn't know is that the Invisible Ones had acted. I may have killed 'Odin', but they had a large resource pool, and as it turned out, means of recovering the spear. You saw it surface, as did I on many an occasion... ============================================================ Heimdall drained yet another beer, "And that's how I began to learn about the Invisible Ones. I spent the next fifty years searching for the clues that Odin left behind, finding enticing clues -- but only clues. "I learned that the Invisible Ones were very real. They were a political power as well as a religious one. Though they were not blatantly obvious, their works were well known to the one who only observed. I found their fingers in everything from the Conquest of the Old World to the end of my own. "As I learned the truth, I acted on it. I've tried to seek out everyone I could find who was connected to the Invisible Ones. Where I couldn't get what I needed by observation, I got it by torture. When I couldn't get information at all, I killed. "I know, it sounds brutal, but you have to understand that the Invisible Ones are brutal as well. It's the Invisible Ones who are behind these series of black box murders, and it's the Invisible Ones who were responsible for a great deal of things that make no sense. "They're not responsible for *everything*, but they're directly responsible for a lot of the key events that shaped our world and history." Heimdall took another drink. "I can't believe this!" fumed Tracy, pacing back and forth. "It's impossible!" Heimdall lifted his face up a little, but he didn't look angry for having his words doubted, "What's so impossible about it? You saw what those weapons do to human beings, and you see impossibilities in this very room. What can be so impossible about that?" "What about aliens?" "What about them?" Heimdall looked at her steadily. Before Tracy could say anything, the front door slammed open, revealing Mulder, Scully, and someone being dragged along the ground. Scully looked pale and exhausted, and Mulder looked like he got a good face-beating. Axer took a good look at the man being dragged along the ground, and jumped in shock, "Halscombe!" Halscombe looked up at him with feral eyes. Something deep within Axer surged, and he found himself screaming incoherently, without knowing why. The reaction was reflexive -- reacting to something deep within that Axer couldn't identify. It took Nick to keep him from killing Halscombe then and there. Nick stared into Axer's eyes, slowly restoring sanity, as he asked, "What is the matter with you?" "Chain that monster in a padded cell!" Axer panted, his muscles straining against Nick's relaxed ones. "Put him in a strait-jacket and gag him!" Nick looked at Scully, who nodded, "It's a good start." *********************************************************************** Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. NOTE: This list is caught up now. From now on, all the postings you get will be *new*. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (20/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Coleen was wiping trying in vain to wipe the bile stains off the floor with her hands, and not really making any progress. It just got worse. Most of this was getting pretty ripe, and the smell was making her want to vomit as well. "Axer," she pleaded -- or at least tried to. "NO!" yelled Axer, fury still in his eyes. "You'll use your HANDS for this!" "But it's not working!" "Neither did your plan, but you didn't think of that, did you?" Axer stormed off and checked on Bill, who had stopped vomiting. His skin was still bone-white, but his limbs had stopped shaking. He could even understand words now, which was a big improvement over his condition an hour ago. The Carafate also worked wonders. It was intended for folks with ulcers, but it also worked wonders for alcohol problems. "How are you doing, laddie?" asked Axer, kneeling down by Bill's side. Bill had been cleaned up -- again, by Coleen, who had to sense (four out of five senses) entirely what a mortal went through during severe alcohol poisoning. The vomit had been washed off, and his mouth cleansed with several different rinses. "I'm doing a bit better," Bill tried to laugh. "I thought I was just sick until you told me about the aquavitae. I guess Coleen's even with me now." "Don't think of it that way," snapped Axer. "I'm punishing her suitably, so just put it all out of your mind -- and get those hair-combing fetishes out of your mind, or do it yourself when you feel the need to ride an animal." Even though the blood was drained out of Bill's face, he managed to blush. Axer laughed, "Who knows, I might even straighten you out!" His expression suddenly turned sour as if he just realized something. "You're concerned about Coleen?" Bill asked. Axer paced back and forth, somewhat nervously. "It's just not right! We were created as man and woman for each other, not man for man or woman for woman! It's unnatural!" Bill's eyes took on a faraway look, "Connor MacLeod was told a similar thing when the people of his village learned of his immortality. A totally different Kate said to him in the village tavern, 'It's unnatural!' Is immortality any different than sexual preference?" "You've opened up a can of worms, laddie boy, and I've enough scientific training to know when not to open a debate. Save your strength, and I might just take you up on that debate once you're better." Axer stopped as if he sensed something. It wasn't like he sensed an immortal -- it was more like a feeling that he should pay attention to something behind him. He turned around and saw LaCroix turn the corner, and by the look on the vampire's face, he had a similar sensation. "LaCroix... we have to talk." "About the sensation you just felt?" For some reason, LaCroix seemed to feel nervous. "We've had months, and never even talked about it. I think it's time." LaCroix nodded, and they left for the back room, where they had their philosophical discussions before. Nervously, Axer lit up a Shermans, and relaxed a little. "I think if we can attack this in a scientific manner, we can solve the problem," Axer suggested. "But how can you explain vampirism or immortality scientifically?" LaCroix was almost shocked. "You can't even explain human life scientifically." "Wrong. Anything can be explained scientifically -- it's just that some explanations take longer to reach than others. But let's attack one problem at a time. First, let's define the problem. It seems that only Coleen and myself can sense you, and vice versa. It doesn't happen with anyone else. Suggestions?" LaCroix thought about it for a moment. "Mulder had an idea. I thought it was a crazy man's rambling, but perhaps he was right. He claimed that I had died that day you slaughtered my invasion force, and that I had somehow made a quantum decision to live, which made me no longer dead." Axer laughed loudly, "That is an unproven extrapolation of quantum physics! Did he ever tell you that? It was such a long time ago that I can barely remember it, but from what I remember, I let you live -- I just slashed you up pretty badly. If you came back an immortal, you would have woken up without injuries, but instead, you had to heal for a few weeks." LaCroix nodded slowly, "Yes, I did take a few weeks to heal -- and then my daughter brought me over, so I wouldn't have known how long true recovery would have taken. But do we really know? What if I was immortal, could I have become a vampire?" Axer's eyes lit up with life, "THAT is a crucial question! If both vampirism and immortality are a function of chemical and physical processes in the body, then there might be a chance that one might exclude the other... or act as a catalyst, producing something unexpected! But the way you vampires act, you think that vampirism is something spiritual... unexplainable. And many immortals believe the same way about their immortality. I think I'm the only one who believes that both conditions can be produced by some kind of physical change." LaCroix looked disturbed, "Are you suggesting that we came about by some *natural* process? That we're the natural products of evolution? Or that we were somehow *created* by some kind of physical agency?" "We don't have enough data to say for sure, but I've done enough thought experiments to show that we might have definite origins -- that we probably sprang from a single source." "What do you mean by that?" "I mean that we might have been created by some mortal agency with an incredibly superior scientific base of knowledge -- biochemistry, biophysics, and so on -- perhaps even extraterrestrials!" "I have a hard time believing that!" "So do I -- believe me! -- but I'm willing to consider all the options." Their discussion quickly slingshot off a tangent, and their original topic was totally forgotten. ******************************************* Joe was still at the police station, drinking coffee like a madman and handling the immense amount of phone calls and faxes that came into him. Most were overlapping sightings that could act as secondary evidence in court -- if this ever got there -- but none of the information told him what he needed to know. That changed. A rogue walked through the door, showing no signs of having beaten his way through a line of policemen to get here. When he spoke, his voice had a distinctive Irish accent. "I understand you need some help finding the black-box killers." "Who are you?" demanded Joe, reaching for his gun. "Relax... My name is Mulroney... former employee of the Invisible Ones. I'm quite sure you saw me that day the Odinssons' church was sacked -- I most certainly saw you and that telescopic camera. Don't tell me you didn't get a picture of *my* face!" Mulroney sat down and stuck his feet on the table, an impudent grin on his face, "I've had my ears open on all levels, and I heard that you're trying to find some heads. I read between the lines and figured you're looking for the spilled guts. "You want to read the entrails of the black-box killers and see what the immediate future will bring. Will you find the Invisible Ones? Will you gain understanding of what happened in Canada? Will you unravel all the mysteries that haunt you? "...Will you learn why the Invisible Ones arranged for you to walk into a mine field for the purpose of getting only your legs blown off, and arrange for you to not only be rescued by an immortal, but also to be induced into the Watchers?" Joe sat back in shock. "You certainly know what questions to ask. What are your answers?" "Not a chance -- unless you're willing to pay. I charge... a thousand USA dollars a question, and I've got a lot of answers." Joe was angry now, "What the hell are you trying to pull?!" "Now calm down," soothed Mulroney, patting Joe on the shoulder. "You're forgetting the first law of economics: everyone acts in their own self-interest. In that case, you should be assured that I'm doing you a big help because I know I'm going to be paid handsomely for all the questions I'm going to answer. If I offered to do this without any apparent gain, then you *should* be worried." He grinned even wider, "You'll also have to admit that in the long run, I'm the least expensive way of getting information." Joe seemed to think about it. "All right. Start talking." Mulroney stuck out his flat hand, "What do you want me to answer?" ******************************************* Halscombe sat in the barricaded room, held in a straight- jacket and chained to the wall -- courtesy of LaCroix' torture room supply downstairs. Everyone who was at the Raven -- minus LaCroix, Axer, and Coleen -- were debating as to what to do about Halscombe. Nat had somewhat recovered enough from her... earlier activities... to be able to join the discussion. Her eyes looked almost normal now, the wild and dialated eyes gone. But her "spaced out" look was still somewhat evident. Nobody seemed to notice it, however. Nick and Nat did pretty well, considering all that took place -- they just didn't look at each other or say anything directly to one another. Janette had somehow managed to cling to Nick without attracting attention -- Nick's included. Nat couldn't care less. That seemed to frustrate Janette for some reason. In the locked room, Halscombe was shivering with fear. So many memories returned to the surface, along with all the unexplained compulsions. He had a compulsion to kill Mulder, to flee from Scully, and to torture Axer. He didn't know why, but he hoped -- and feared -- that with enough effort, those memories would emerge. Though he had been 'himself' for a while now, there were still holes in his memory. If he wasn't gagged as well, he'd have screamed to keep the fears and demons away. As it was, they assaulted him from all directions. The shadows were devils, the squeaking floorboards were the chattering of monsters, and the man sneaking into the room through the vents was... *POWYS*. "You'd do well for an Iron Maiden cover," whispered Powys silently. "It's such a good thing they remembered to gag you as well -- it would have been quite inconvenient for me if they hadn't have done that." Halscombe tried to rip the strait-jacket away, but he didn't make any progress. All he did was pull his own arm muscles. Powys continued in his monologue, "And don't hope that the immortals will sense me. I can sense them, but I am like a man walking silently through a house with squeaking boards - - I am unsensed, but *very* real. I was a thief as a young man so long ago, and I found that analogy is a very powerful tool in developing new skills." He nodded with his head towards the east, "Duncan asked me what I was when he met up with me during that Jin Ming affair, and realized that he *had* seen me in Italy when he and Fitzcairn roamed the land. In the 1640s, I believe. He even had a hint of what I was and what I did, but he didn't have the ability to observe and understand the obvious." Halscombe's eyes were now wide with fear as Powys continued, "I am counting on the others' lack of the same ability this very moment. Did you know that in your family, immortality runs through it? Your own father -- of course, in all reality, your adoptive-father -- was an immortal, and for most of your life, you were obsessed by it. When you made a pact with the Invisible Ones, it was because of your obsession. I believe your obsession with life, death, and immortality will reach a new high." Powys pulled out a black obsidian short sword and an orb. Holding the orb in his left hand and the sword in his right, he thrust the sword through Halscombe's heart, and twisted it three times, as if he were trying to stir the insides around like soup is stirred. Under his breath, Powys chanted and sang in a gutteral, consonant-dominated language, none of which Cancerman recognized as he lay dying. Halscombe died, and his twitching stopped. ********************************** The others still argued about what they should do, and how they should go about it. They weren't getting anywhere, so it was a good thing when Mulder held up his hand, his expression the same as a puppy trying to zero in on a sound. His head was even tilted the same way. "What is it?" asked Scully. Just then, Axer and Coleen came sprinting through the hallway with their swords drawn -- apparently Coleen's punishment didn't hold during crisis situations. Everyone else followed them after a moment of hesitation and arrived at Cancerman's room. "Identify yourself!" yelled Axer, ready to kick down the door. "What's going on?" demanded Mulder. "There's an immortal here!" snarled Axer, who kicked down the door when no answer was forthcoming. They all were introduced to a blood-curdling scene. Cancerman was ritually-sacrificed, lying in his own congealing pool of blood. Axer and Coleen gasped in shock when they realized that Cancerman was the source of the sensation they felt. Somehow, someone had snuck in this room, killed him, and revealed his immortality. Heimdall, observing all this, said, "Anyone feel like a beer?" When everyone looked at him in askance, he shrugged, "Hey, whatever works -- it sure calms my nerves!" *********************************************************************** Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (21/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Halscombe was coming slowly back to life, overwhelmed by sensations wracking his whole being. It wasn't like some tingly sensation, or some psychic phenomenon -- rather, it was a knowledge that Axer and Coleen stood a few feet away -- a knowledge that was as maddening as knowing that a faucet in the other room is dripping. He began screaming again. The fears already in the seat of his mind, Powys killing him, him coming back to life... It was all too much. Mulder ripped the gag off his head, "What happened?" His tone was as harsh as an interrogator's. "Who killed you?" Halscombe was so full of shock that it took a long time for him to respond. When he finally whispered, "It was Powys," the whole room exploded. A jumble of independent and chaotic opinions filled the room, making it sound as muddled and crazy the Wall Street exchange floor just before the final bell rings the day to a close. "What?!" "It fits..." "Impossible!" "He's lying!" "Quiet!" yelled Mulder, restoring some calm to the room. "How did he get in here?" Halscombe looked up, nodding at the vent. "He crawled in through there, and left the same way just as you came in." Axer inspected the vent, shaking his head, "There's no way anyone could have come in through here. It's thin enough to give a small girl trouble, not to mention that the screen's covered with years of dust. I don't see a single disturbance -- not to mention that it would take a while to get these screws loose." He looked at Halscombe, "I don't like liars." Halscombe didn't really care what Axer thought. "You're going to kill me anyway. Why should I care what you think?" Axer moved over to him, lifting him up by the neck, "You've just entered the next level, where all of your past privileges are nonexistent, and we control your fate. Are you sure you want to lose while you're ahead by being a smart alec?" Axer wasn't in a good mood to begin with, and all the recent aggravations only made him worse. "Now, I think we've babied you long enough. You're going to tell us what we need to know, and you're going to tell us now." Halscombe began to leave his state of shock, and defiance entered his eyes. "There's nothing to tell." Mulder smiled so viciously that Scully began to become worried, "There's a great deal to tell, and I know just how to make you talk." He looked around, "Do we have a screwdriver and some wood screws around here?" Axer shook his head in disgust, "Not now... Do you think you all can leave the room for a moment? I think I know how to handle this." Everyone reluctantly moved out, except for Coleen -- he stopped her with a sharp glance, and she stayed, with uncertainty in her eyes. That changed when he gave her a thumbs up sign and whispered, "Hey, nice shot -- but next time, cover up your tracks better and don't overdo it. And remember: nobody can pick up lies and trails like an alcoholic. Why don't you use a mop now and check up on Bill?" Utterly confused, and hoping that she would make sense out of his odd behavior -- and that statement -- she scurried off. She knew when to quit while she was ahead. Axer closed the door and stared at Halscombe. "Do you realize what you have become? I knew you were an enigma when you were brought in. Powys told me he fixed your parachute -- after you tried to trick him -- and you died on the ice after a rather high drop. And you came back -- but not feeling like an immortal until now. "So the question is: how did you survive your trip to the Arctic?" Halscombe just stared at him, but the fear remained in his eyes. Axer paced back and forth, and idea forming in his head, "You know, for the many centuries that I've been alive, I've heard this so-called Quickening Myth -- that with each head we take, we gain the power and *knowledge* of the slain immortal..." He looked at Halscombe piercingly, "I always wondered where all the knowledge fit in -- I only came out knowing what not to do next time. But I think this is a *perfect* opportunity to test it out, don't you think?" Halscombe started shivering, but maintained his silence. Axer drew and fingered his glaive, smiling viciously. *********************************************************** Duncan was injected with enough insulin to keep him immobile for a long time. In a mortal, this much insulin would have caused to body to use up so much glucose that death would result -- in an immortal, it just meant a temporary death. Methos paced back and forth, "I'd say that he got put through the whole treatment -- physical torture, and when the realized that he wouldn't tell them everything, they went to the other extreme. I've seen it done a great many times." "But why's he a basket case, Methos? A little pain shouldn't hurt him!" Methos looked at Richie like he was an idiot, "There's a lot you have to learn, boy. The first is that an inquisitor will have more success with an immortal than a mortal any day. Have you ever been on the torture rack?" Richie shifted uncomfortably, "Well... no, but --" "But nothing. You simply have no experience with it -- I do, and I can tell you that they probably used the most drawn-out tortures and gave him chemicals to enhance his sense of touch." He looked down at Duncan with pity. "I think we'll just have to assume he's out of the game for now. His mind was overwhelmed, and I think I know the right way to underwhelm it." He pulled out a cellular phone and began to dial. "What are you doing?" "I'm calling Amanda. If he was mentally conditioned by a beautiful woman, then it'll take a better one to bring him back to our world. I'm also calling Connor -- he should be enough of a Devils's advocate to fight off the effects of the inquisitor. "In the meantime, I think we're pretty close to the Invisible Ones. When Amanda gets here, we can make a good hit." "What are you planning?" "Hush -- let me make my call, then I'll tell you." Amanda answered the phone, and Methos quickly explained the situation in clinical detail -- what they were doing, what happened, and the condition Duncan was in and what would most likely be necessary to bring him back to the land of the sane. Richie blushed at some of the stuff that Methos was saying: it was like Methos was telling a whore in a monotone doctor's voice exactly what he wanted in lewd, extensive detail. By the sound of the one-way conversation, Amanda understood and wasn't having that much of a hard time with it. Methos hung up the phone and made a few calls to some Watcher friends, then called Connor. Again, Methos told the whole story and said, "He needs a good prodding to pull him out of his current state. Can you get to Paris?" Methos cut the connection and looked at Richie. "I'm going to fix a Greek feast fit for Agamemnon, then we're going out. Prepare yourself in your own way." "Prepare myself for what?" He smiled, "We're going climbing, and then we're going to turn some floodlights on the Invisible Ones. I've been making some other calls..." Richie shook his head as he just remembered something, "You know, in all the excitement, it suddenly occurred to me that I didn't see Sharpe." Methos' expression was full of pity, "I'm afraid you did see him, but it never registered to you. He was beheaded next to Duncan." He looked at Duncan again, "Poor man. It must have been quite a shock to him." **************************************** Reece glared at the computer screen. He hated any form of computer, but he realized that sometimes they had a use. The argument in his office had shaken him in a way that a good fistfight couldn't -- it had somehow taken a hold of his nerves so strongly that he had to lie down after a few hours, and couldn't even get up out of bed for a whole day. His strength had left him, and the feeling that he had been severely yelled at stayed with him the whole time. All of that had finally begun to wear off, and it was then that he gathered enough guts to use one of the department computers with Internet access. After about half an hour, he could at least use basic functions with the web browser, and another hour to figure out how to pick out biographical information. When he finally looked into the Department of Energy records (he could remember Axer referring to that), it took a bit of hoop-jumping to find Axer Carrick's name. Unfortunately, when he clicked on it, the screen blacked out, and was replaced by a line that said, "Talk requested. Accept?" That startled Reece pretty badly, but he decided to accept. A moment later, type started flying onto the screen: "You're taking a big risk, captain. Did you know you were just a touch away from tripping a pretty nasty alarm?" Reece had no idea that would have happened. "Who are you?" "One of the best friends you'll ever have in your life. Don't be too concerned about my name right now. If you really need to know about Axer Carrick, why not ask one of the best historians in the world? He's sitting a few rooms away." "Who is he?" "His name is Joe, and you'd better catch him before he decided he's been working too long a shift. I understand he likes single-malt scotch." "I don't, and I don't like being diverted. For all I know, you interrupted my search and are trying to keep me off the track." "That's the price you pay. I can back off and let you trigger that alarm. Can you live with the knowledge that a single mouse click might condemn you to death? What if they decide to do a full-scale proscription and kill your friends and family too? Don't feel confident just because you're living in Canada -- they'd laugh if you were." Reece turned off the computer. This was getting too weird - - and too dangerous. He walked down the hall, where Joe was talking to some scumbag who somehow found his way into this floor. He barged into the room, and demanded, "Who the hell is he and what is he doing in my police station?" "My," smiled the scumbag, standing up to his full height, "what a *charming* host! It's a pity he doesn't say that to everyone who comes in here -- we might solve that 'overcrowded jail' problem pretty quickly!" //God! Not another smartass!// Reece lost his temper pretty quickly, but learned enough from last time to hold it in. "Well, let me worry about that. You can go on your merry way." He looked at Joe, "You and I need to have a talk. Now." Mulroney left with that ever-present impudent grin on his face, while Joe leaned back with fury in his eyes. Two very thin muscles on each side of his jaw were pulsing. Reece ignored all the warning signs as he sat down and said, "I've just had an interesting experience. I tried to find some information about Axer Carrick, and someone intercepted me before I could find anything. He warned me that if I found out anything about him, I might get myself killed. Then he suggested that you would be able to enlighten me -- that you're the best historian in the world. Perhaps you have something to tell me." Joe was now shocked, instead of angry, "Who was it?" "He wouldn't tell me! But he has a point -- his name isn't important, but your story is." Joe sighed heavily, "I suppose I'd better tell you what I know.... Axer Carrick was born in September 14, 1944, in Wales --" "Not that specific!" "O.K., he got his college degrees at MIT in nuclear physics and went on to Waterloo to get a few more degrees in hydrology and environmental science --" "Waterloo? Isn't that here in Canada?" Reece interrupted again. "Yes!" Joe ground his teeth. "If you wouldn't keep on interrupting, I'd actually be able to tell you something!" "Sorry..." Powys grinned, folding up his laptop computer and walking out the front door. ******************************************** Coleen had washed off the last of the bile-vomit off her hands, but no matter what kind of soap she used, the smell wouldn't leave her hands. She glared at her hands, then at Axer, who was conferring with the feds, LaCroix and Nick. Bill was still half-comatose, and Kate was keeping watch over him. Nat had left full of regret, causing a scene as she kissed Coleen good-bye. Nick and Axer were visibly holding back their anger for two different reasons. Janette moved in behind Coleen, "I thank you for going such a good job." Her whisper was barely audible. "Don't mention it!" Coleen snapped. "Now get out of my face!" Janette firmly grabbed Coleen by the jaw and lifted her up in the air a little bit, "Discourtesy is a bad habit to pick up so early in life. What angers you so? Is it that Axer is trying to teach you some responsibility?" "No, you idiot! It's because I can't get this damned smell out of my hands!" It actually came out as a muffle, but Janette could understand what she said. Janette was quite surprised to find herself one moment holding Coleen up by the jaw, and the next getting her head slammed full-force into the tile floor, and her right arm twisted in a leverage hold aligning her arm so perfectly that even with her enhanced strength, she couldn't shake her off, let alone tense a muscle. "Complacency and overconfidence are bad habits to pick up later in life," whispered Coleen. "They might actually kill you." Cautiously, she let Janette go, since her point was proven. Janette stood up with such dignity that it seemed she had merely slipped. Nothing in her expression showed any anger or shame for being bested by a youth a fraction of her own age. If she did feel those emotions, she was a good actor. **************************************** Amanda entered the boat just as Methos and Richie were leaving. She raised her eyebrow, and Methos nodded. "He's in there. No holds barred." "I hope not," she smiled. *********************************************************************** Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (22/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Halscombe cringed against the corner of the room as Axer approached with his sword drawn. "I've wanted to do this for a very long time," whispered Axer. "Now, I don't even have to justify it. You're an immortal. I'm an immortal. There can be only one. I take your quickening and read every thought, every experience you ever had. Nobody argues or questions, because that's the way it is. All you know is mine for the taking." "What do you mean?!" "You mean that all this time you hounded me, you had no idea what I was? Isn't that a little contemptible?" Halscombe clammed up, so Axer kicked him in the groin -- his body already crunched against the wall. The only direction his pinned body could move was up... but only a few inches. His face contorted in pain, and then he passed out. "Bloody sissy!" muttered Axer, sheathing his sword. **************************************************** Duncan opened up his eyes, screaming and flailing. Then he stopped, looking around in confusion. He was in bed at home, in the boat. "Damn you!" he screamed, clawing at his head. Soft hands firmly pulled the claws away from his face. He had actually drawn blood. "It's all right," said the voice, just as soft and firm as the hands. Duncan turned, and saw a face that he didn't recognize, but felt that he should know. Her face showed true concern. "Tasha?" he asked hopefully. "No," sighed the woman regretfully, perhaps she was even a little hurt. "It's Amanda. Don't you remember me?" "Amanda?" The name *was* familiar, but he couldn't connect any memories with the name. "I *should* know you, but I don't." "Don't worry," she smiled, pushing him back down on the bed. "I'll give you new memories." Duncan's tensions left him as he thought, //Where's Tasha?// ************************************************** Methos and Richie stood at the base of the skyscraper, looking up along the north side. Fear and excitement raced through their blood as they grabbed their climbing material: ropes, gloves, and hooks. "Are you ready?" asked Methos. Richie cracked his knuckles, unconsciously imitating a tough-guy pose. "Yeah. Let's do it." Unseen by the security guards, they prepared to break into one of the most heavily-defended skyscrapers in France by the most unlikely, but not unheard of, method. They reached the side of the building, and touched the walls tentatively, mentally preparing for the long climb upwards. The wind began to blow. Richie froze. "Methos?" "Yes?" Methos stopped as well. "Have you ever done this before?" "Climbed? Oh yes." His eyes became distant. "I've climbed many a cliff, up and down -- mostly because I had to. I even climbed Everest when I did my travelling." He chuckled, "I guess you could say *I* was the first man to climb it. It was some time around 2000 BC, and the thought of an oxygen tank would have been something beyond unthinkable... From what I remember, I didn't even pass out." Richie was a little more distracted, so he wasn't as frightened as they climbed and talked. A few minutes passed, and a few feet were climbed when he asked, "How many skyscrapers have you climbed?" "Like these?" "Yeah. How many? Five? Twenty?" "None. This is the first time." Richie looked down at the ground, which was now about thirty feet below, and gulped. "Why didn't you tell me before?" "Because you were doing so well," Methos smiled. "Come on, why don't you tell me about your racing?" And so they climbed, inch by inch, and talked about anything ranging from bikes and racing to women and politics. Richie might have still been afraid, but at least he didn't notice it as much. ************************************* Axer paced back and forth on the main floor, smoking a Shermans and holding a Guinness in his hand. Kate frowned at that, but said nothing. Mulder was looking at Axer with a shocked, but admirable expression, "How long will he be out?" "Not more than a few minutes," muttered Axer. "I figure we should leave him alone for a little while and let him stew -- but that's the least of my worries... Some things aren't making any sense, like who killed him." "I agree," nodded Scully, "but we were all in here, and we saw nobody go in or out." "So it would have to be somebody good...." Axer pulled at the skin of his neck, an uncomfortable expression on his face. "Maybe it'll come to me later." "I think we're forgetting about a much more important mystery," said Joe, who had just opened the front door and stepped through. Mulder looked at Joe with curiosity. "What are we forgetting?" "That we should all be focusing on those men with the black boxes. I did a lot of calling around tonight and got some information. I don't know where they are yet, but I have a lot of information." Even Mulder momentarily forgot about Cancerman as everyone gave Joe a seat at one of the tables. He breathed out a heavy sigh and said, "I need a drink. What was that stuff you served us before?" He looked at Coleen with a smile as she turned white with fear, then looked at Axer, who was still deep in thought. "Axer?" asked Joe, looking at him with a more serious expression. Axer looked up, still deep in thought, "Yeah. Help yourself." He grabbed a napkin and began writing something down in a hurry. "So what do you have?" demanded Nick. Even his personal troubles were momentarily forgotten. Nat, who had something of a vacation from her life for the last day or so, became grim-faced as she realized that she'd have to come back to real-life eventually. "Well, I've been able to pull together a database of official witness observations as well as some under the table stories. To begin with, I'll have to say that you were dead right all along, Axer. We're dealing with some science fiction technology here, and nobody knows where it came from. "But that's the least of our worries. I've been getting some pretty recent reports, and some of it's happening all over the world. This is some of the stuff that's happening here." He read from a police report: Six men dressed in black clothing, similar in description to the "Black-Box Killers" were found slain in a manner suggesting ritual sacrifice. Their boxes were found smashed beyond repair, and their right hands were all cut off. The bodies were killed in a clean manner, but all the signs point to ritual killings... "Then there's this editorial:" Vigilantes are roaming the streets. This is nothing new. Vigilantism has been in fashion off and on for the history of mankind, but not this kind. Bands of men from all walks of life are beginning to walk the streets with all kinds of weapons, looking for any trouble. They call themselves "Tyrsmen" and claim that they are waiting for signs of the end of the world. When asked, they claim to look for 'Odinssons, Jotuns, and Dark Elves.' This might be excused as mad ravings, except for the fact that some of these Tyrsmen are respected men in this community -- doctors, lawyers, policemen, shop owners, and so on. It makes us ask a question: what is the cause of this lunacy? Joe looked pretty serious as he told the group, "I've thought a lot about what I've been told about what went on in Canada, and I think we're seeing the next stage. You might have stopped Odin, but his children are probably attracting enough attention for these Tyrsmen to become a public nuisance." Mulder shook his head, "That whole episode never made any sense to me." "Wait a minute!" Axer snapped, his eyes narrowed in thought. He almost seemed to be in a trance as he said, "I remember what I heard Krycek tell me when he was still sort of whacked out. He told me that there would be a war to come, and that what happened at the Landing was but a prelude -- like an arraignment court. He said that this war would be the true Ragnarok to come... "I dismissed a lot of what he said as mad ravings, but what if he was really on to something? What if it could explain why the Vanir cult is tearing up Ireland, and why the Tyrsmen are making a racket here? What if they're foreshadows of things to come?" "Hold it a moment!" snapped Scully. "I think you're running with this a bit too fast! We have no proof that they're anything more than lunatics!" "I'm not arguing with you about their lunacy," smiled Axer, "you can be most assured of that!" He paused, "I know you like to play the snappy skeptic, but you'll have to admit that unbounded brainstorming has its uses." Mulder beamed at that one; Scully shook her head. Heimdall, who had nearly knocked himself out with drinking, raised his head, "Why should you pay so much attention to something you can't prove?" His voice was still strangely focused, despite his wild and unfocused eyes. "Why don't you just go after something you might be able to prove? Didn't Tim tell you anything useful?" Nick stood up, "How did you know about Tim?" "I listen," smiled Heimdall, "which is something you could do once in a while." He spoke in Welsh, "It might do wonders for your love life." Axer, who was the only other person who understood Welsh besides Nick, smiled at that. Nick looked downbeaten, "He couldn't tell us much." But then his eyes lit up as he remembered something, "He *did* tell me something that I didn't pay much attention to -- that they went after you because you knew too much!" Axer looked perturbed, "I can't think of knowing too much of anything. Could you be more specific?" "He also said that you took their hitmen out for beer, and then they vanished." He shook his head again, "That hasn't happened since --" His eyes opened up in shock, "It couldn't be!" "What?" everyone demanded at once. "I did that to Halscombe's men a few years back. I'd take them out for beers, and get them in fights with some bikers. Nobody ever noticed anything unusual -- blithering idiots walk into bikers' bars all the time." He narrowed his eyes, "I think Halscombe and I need to have a real talk." He left the room, while everyone else stayed to drill Joe some more. A few moments later, there was a horrible, monster-like scream. Axer's scream was one of pain. Kate was the first to sprint out of the room -- she vanished in a blur. Nick and Janette were the next, vanishing in the same way. The others plodded along at a slow sprint. When they got there, they found four dead men in the hallway, all dressed in black and holding black boxes. The fifth had pointed his box at Axer, and was making whimpers of fear and frustration as he was backed into a corner, his instrument useless. Axer walked forward step by step, and then casually took his head off. The box fell, but Axer caught it with one hand. "Take it!" snapped Axer, giving the box to Kate. He then ran out the back door, yelling, "They got Halscombe!" Kate passed the box to Nick, who passed it to Joe. Joe, at least, seemed to appreciate it. A moment later, and everyone else had ran off after Axer, except for Joe, who began to walk back to the main room. He laid the box on the table and examined it. It was a shiny, spotless black box made of some hard plastic. There were switches, knobs, and buttons without any markers to identify them. Afraid to do anything, but intensely curious, he paced back and forth. Then he muttered, "Why didn't I think of it before?" He made a call. "Hello? Kermit? I have one of the black boxes. Get your ass over to the Raven." Henry Wyckoff -- wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu -- homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (23/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Axer emerged from the Raven, his eyes wild and a sword in his hand. His blood racing through his head, he looked around wildly, finding nobody. They had to be out there, he knew. A moment passed, and he heard no sounds either. No squealing of car tires, no running sounds -- then the sounds of everyone following him drowned out whatever he might have picked up. He turned around, glaring at them, "Be quiet!" Everyone looked at him with a glare in return, but then Nick pointed. "They're over there!" A van that was parked a few hundred feet down the road suddenly sped away, smoke burning from where the tires scraped against the asphalt. "Damn it!" yelled Mulder, frozen in angry tension. Axer snorted and pulled a Glock from under his trenchcoat, firing at the tires. The van might have been speeding away, but it wasn't weaving, so it presented a stable target. Unfortunately, the Glock is a close-quarters weapon, and though Axer aimed right, it was the gun that was off. Every bullet missed and hit just about everything else around it -- trees, another car, and a stray dog that had been startled into jumping up from where it was sleeping. Mulder and Scully got the right idea, and started firing themselves, but handguns are just as bad when it comes to long distance accuracy. Nick snarled and took to the air, with Janette on his tail. Scully's jaw dropped at that, but Mulder yanked her into action, "Come on!" They ran for their car. Now, only Nat, Coleen, Kate, and Axer were left. Axer looked around wildly and called out, "You can come out now! I know you're there! Why don't you make yourself useful for a change?" Nat and Coleen looked at him as if he were mad, but when they heard a young man stumble out into the open, their expressions turned to shock. Coleen prepared to rush him, but Axer held her back, "Meet Jay, my Watcher." "You saw me then?" asked Jay, an embarrassed look on his face. "Your Watcher?!" Coleen demanded at the same time. "I don't have time for this -- where did the others go?" "I can't tell you that," the blood drained from his face. Axer's growl was wolf-like as he grabbed the young man -- who looked to be more bookish than anything -- by his pects and lifted him straight up. The kid was a few inches taller than Axer, and had a larger frame, so the sight was pretty impressive. Being lifted by one's chest muscles is not a pleasant experience. Jay grabbed onto Axer's hands and pushed down, trying to ease the pain, but he wasn't too successful, because Axer was also shaking him around a little and crushing on the muscles with very powerful grips. "They went the other way on foot -- but they don't have the guy in the bag! He's in the van!" That set Axer's mental wheels a-runnin'. In one motion, he dropped Jay on the ground and started sprinting so fast after the other guys that he even left Coleen behind -- to her credit, she was able to keep up for half a minute. It was something faster than a sprint -- more of a pace that would burst any good heart if it was kept up for too long. Kate was as shocked by Axer's speed as Coleen, but could have easily outdistanced him even now. However, folling a gut instinct, she took to the air and flew so high above that it would be hard for her to be seen by anyone. She whistled as Axer sped up even faster, and when she looked ahead a ways and saw some men running a little slower -- it seemed as if Axer somehow knew where they were, even though he couldn't have seen them. Nat had stayed behind to see if Jay was alright. Other than having two nasty bruises on his sore chest, he was unharmed. He glared in Axer's direction, "That sonofabitch! That's the last time I help him!" Coleen, who had returned by now, smiled, "Don't you have some place to go?" Jay glared at her now, getting up, "I *hate* you!" He ran over to a shadowed spot behind a dumpster and started a motorcycle. Before Jay could leave, Coleen hopped on behind him and yelled, "Get moving!" ********************************************** Time played funny tricks to Axer. On one level all he saw or felt was the rushing of time and the objects around him. He'd never run this fast before, and he could barely even keep from dodging into things. On another level, time went at an appropriate pace, and objects flowed by smoothly. It was an apparent paradox that was taking place. As he ran across streets with six-lanes of speeding traffic, hopped over walls and fences, and slammed panhandlers and street walkers out of the way, he noticed that somehow everything seemed *different*. Even though everything was going past him at a frantic pace, he could notice that fact on a mental level -- with much time to spare. He knew this area like the back of his hand -- he'd become acquainted with a lot of it crawling on his hands and knees at the pre-dawn hours -- and so it shocked him. Usually, things became so burned into his mind that they became background, but now, the background had somehow become noticeable. Not only did he see individuals in the crowds as he smashed through them, roughly shoving them aside, but he could also *sense* them, but not in the way he could sense other immortals. It was more like an extended sense of touch. When he saw things or people with his eyes, he could *feel* them as if he were touching them. When he saw a brick wall, he could feel the texture of the brick with his vision; when he saw a person, he could feel the shape of the person. If this were a calmer moment, he might even be frustrated by the fact that was all he could sense. When he shoved people aside or bumped into them, the merest physical touch instantly told him a *quality* about the person -- that's the best way he could describe it to himself. Although it was a very mystical experience for him, he was practical about it and believed that knew what happened. Somehow his physical senses had become enhanced... or maybe he had been shocked into paying attention to them more. First the nightmares, then the memories, and now the senses. Axer stopped and looked around. Though he didn't know in his mind where the men were, a 'reflexive' part of him took over, as if 'his reflex' knew where they were. Although he could see around himself well enough, he had the sensation that he were feeling his way around a darkened house, and though he couldn't see the men, he *knew* that they were right around the corner. And there they were -- three well-dressed men with the physiques of hitmen. They most certainly seemed surprised to see him, and took a step back in fear. When Axer walked forward, one deliberate step at a time, his lungs heaving like he couldn't breathe, they looked a little more confident and opened their trenchcoats, almost as if they were showing off the guns in their shoulder-holsters -- or threatening to kill him if he didn't behave. None of them said a word as they smiled. They were also about five feet away from him, so they were confident that he couldn't pull any dirty tricks on them. "Go on," Axer panted, his voice unintentionally sounding like Jack Nicholson's. "Kill me." He opened up his arms a little, his breath fogging up most of the air around him. His coat was open too, but all the men saw was the sword. One of them grabbed for his gun, having grown impatient with the adrenalin surge that clouded his brain, but Axer was quicker. Like a blur, his Glock was aiming at the hitman's face before the gun was even halfway up, and the guy's mind must have worked quickly enough for him to realize he was a goner. //So fast--!// he thought wordlessly as he tried in vain to finish his own motion. {Click!} The bullet was a dud. Breathing a sigh of relief, the hitman finished his motion, {Clack!} {Thunk!} but just before his finger {Clack!} received the message to pull... {Bang!} ...all senses abruptly got cut off -- {BOOM!} {Bang!} Axer shot the second guy in the chest, surprised at the fact that a six-inch hole opened up, rather than a neat little one. The hitman also fell straight down, as if an anvil dropped on his chest. The last hitman was pretty shocked at this development, but had enough smarts to roll out of the way as another musketball shot through the empty space where he was a moment ago. A figure leaped from a fire escape, oblivious to the Glock that Axer had trained on him. A momentary flash of light revealed none other than Mulroney, holding some kind of heavy-duty rifle. Before Axer could stop him, Mulroney fired another shot that blasted through the trash dumpster and slammed the hitman against the wall behind him, blood spurting out the hole in his blasted shoulder. His eyes closed in shock. Axer's adrenalin still rushed through him as he fired a round at Mulroney, who had enough reflexes to move just far enough out of the way that it made a skim mark across the front of his jacket. Mulroney aimed his rifle at Axer, smiling widely, "I don't believe you've been acquainted with my friend here." "You talk too much." Axer shot some lead into the now-still and talking Irishman. When Mulroney was shot in the middle of the chest, he reflexively fired a shot that missed Axer by a few inches, and fell to the ground, gasping in shock. "That was for killing my sources of information," grimaced Axer, now close to catching his breath, "but I think you should do quite nicely. I understand you work for the Invisible Ones." "Used to!" gasped Mulroney, losing a lot of blood from a spot in his leg that had mercifully landed where it did. "I don't think so," smiled Axer. "Not when you tried to 'hide' the evidence." "I was saving your life! They were going to kill you!" "You know better than that." Mulroney laughed sardonically as the life left him. Axer had no idea about the man's true age, unlike Duncan, and so walked away, rooting through the hitmens' pockets for identification or any other kind of clue. After a few moments without any luck, he decided to check Mulroney. When Mulroney slowly sat up, a grim expression on his face, Axer pulled out his Glock in true astonishment. "What the hell--?" "You've got that right," muttered Mulroney. He didn't heal like an immortal -- rather all that happened was a loss of blood flow, but no true healing. He couldn't have been a vampire either because vampires didn't bleed. "What the hell *are* you?" The fact that he couldn't *sense* Mulroney stretched his nerves and made his blood race with fear. His mind raced trying to find an explanation. "That's not important. I think there is something else that was." "Like what?" "Do you want to know who's been *building* the black boxes? I figured you'd want to chase the scientist, instead of the field marshals." Axer tilted his head a fraction, "I'm listening." "Then come on! I know where she is!" Mulroney ran off deeper into the alley, and Axer followed him. When Jay and Coleen arrived at the same spot and found only the three bodies, Coleen swore. Jay got down and examined the bodies, and swore in a much more civilized manner, "These aren't the men I saw!" "There could have been others!" "No -- it could only have been Axer who did this, and if he missed the ones I saw, then he could still be in danger!" Jay hopped back on the motorcycle and sped down the alley. "I thought you Watchers didn't interfere!" "Who says I am -- I want to be there when the head rolls!" Kate hovered directly overhead, having heard both Axer's conversation with Mulroney, and then this one. She followed along directly over Coleen. ***************************************************** Methos and Richie had made it up a few stories. The going was hard, and Methos had to admit to himself that this was much harder than climbing an actual mountain. On a mountain, you had the occasional depression in the rock faces to rest your hands and feet -- and rest your whole body when the occasion rose. Here, everything was smooth and regular by design -- designed for appearance, and not scaling. Still, they coped. Inch by inch, foot by foot, they climbed. Then the wind began to tear at them -- it had begun to blow a long time ago. Storm clouds came from beyond the horizon, as if some storm god realized that he'd been daydreaming on the job and had to send the storm there before the deadline. They had been silent for a long time, so Richie broke the silence. "Tell me. Do you have any lady friends?" Methos was so shocked by the question that he almost lost his grip and fell off the building. "What?" he almost shouted with a nervous jolt. "Pardon me for asking," he said almost a little fearfully, "but you seem so... I don't know -- a lot like a loner! Aside from your Watcher friends, you don't seem to have any close friends." Methos chuckled, "I suppose that's the way it seems. That's just the way I am." He thought about it for a moment, and his climbing became easier, "I guess it's just that I don't feel comfortable about talking about myself. Would you, if everyone seems a stranger to you? I can't remember any close friends that I've ever had -- and I define a friend differently than you do. "I call a friend someone who won't go for my head, and an enemy someone who does." Richie thought about that for a few moments. "I don't think you've answered my question." His tone sounded as if he were trying to back off a few feet, waving hands in defense. "I'm just curious, that's all." Methos chuckled, "I had a 'lady friend', as you would call it. I've had them off and on." "Who was she?" "She died..." whispered Methos. "Just as she told me she would when we met." "I'm sorry," whispered Richie. They continued climbing in silence. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------ Henry Wyckoff -- wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu -- homepage: http://ag.arizona.edu/~wyckoff Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (24/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Nick and Janette flew side by side, staying a hundred feet above the van and keeping track of where it was going. Every once and a while, Nick would use his cellular and tell Scully where they were and where the van was going. Although it was difficult concentrating on flying, using a cellular, and talking at the sane time it doable. The van did a lot of random turning at first, as if the driver expected to be followed, and actually wanted to shake any tails. After about half an hour, the driver must have felt safe and secure, because he made a straight line for a very familiar place. It was the very place where Mulder had been held prisoner and tortured. "My, how the world turns..." whispered Nick when the two of them landed in the grasses a few hundred feet from the abandoned warehouse. "...and turns again," finished Janette. Nick thought for a moment. "I think we should wait for the others." Janette looked annoyed, "Why? We can break in there, kill Halscombe, and leave before the Americans get here!" Nick looked pensive, "I just don't like this. Some voice is screaming at me that something is wrong. Please, Janette, just wait out here for a few minutes." Nick didn't see her smile as he turned his back to find a stump to sit on. He turned back to look at her, and her expression was neutral again, "Why have you come back? I thought that you wanted to leave forever!" "I just needed to move on. You understand." He nodded. He had to be honest with her. There were many times when he had to move on, and did. "But why did you leave like that. I can understand changing your identity, but why did you leave me and tell LaCroix that you didn't want to be found?" "Nicola," she sighed, shaking her head. "There are some things about people that you don't understand..." "What don't I understand." She didn't answer. Instead, she looked away, her expression that between a pout and a sob that she refused to let surface. Just then Mulder's car silently approached, and they got out. Mulder looked grim as he viewed the warehouse after all these years, "It's a small world --" "--after all," finished LaCroix, sitting on top of the car Indian style, giving both the two feds and the two vampires the scare of their lives. "Where the hell did you come from?!" demanded Scully in a harsh whisper, letting go of her gun. Her adrenalin was forcing her fingers to twitch like she was on a coffee binge. "Wouldn't you like to know?" LaCroix whispered back evilly. "Cut the games, LaCroix!" snarled Nick, getting up off the stump and approaching the car, with Janette following after. "Answer the question, for once." LaCroix snorted at that, gracefully hopping off the car. "Come now, I thought you were a detective! Don't you love a mystery?" Before Nick could say anything, Mulder defused the situation, "That's not important. What *is* important is what lies inside the warehouse. Shall we go?" Nick glared at LaCroix, but remained silent. LaCroix grinned, patting Nick on the head. Janette, who had watched this exchange simultaneously cringed and held back her laughter. Only a squeaky "mmrph!" escaped her mouth before she clamped it shut with both hands. Neither seemed to notice. Mulder hadn't moved yet, but it was obvious that he was impatient. Just when everyone got ready, visibly taking deep breaths, he looked thoughtful and said, "Wait just a moment." Mulder went to the trunk and opened it, coming back with something from a sci-fi movie. It was a shotgun with a an adjustable double-barrel, so that it could be switched from "sawed-off" to "hunting" lengths with a side-handle. The clip was rather large, and looked like it could hold about twenty or thirty rounds, easily. He carried a side-pack with several more of these clips. "What--?!" Scully tried to ask, her eyes widening with shock. She seemed to forget about the rather unique rifle she pulled on Cancerman. Mulder managed to look embarrassed, as if his grandmother caught him with a porno magazine while he was still underage. "Santa gave it to me." Scully's eyes narrowed, "We can talk about this later." ****************************************************** Mulroney took the point, and Axer kept the rear, keeping his eyes behind him more than ahead of him. They were in an industrial park, complete with the barbed-wire fences, roving security guards, and the occasional floodlights. It was pretty amazing how a nice, grassy industrial park could turn into a maximum security prison overnight -- only the world was the prison, and the inside was the exit. Mulroney stopped, and Axer moved up behind him silently. They both looked at an electric fence, popping and fizzing as the occasional bug hit it. Mulroney frowned, "I didn't count on this." "Wimp," muttered Axer, looking around. "It's only a few Megavolts." "You climb it then!" Just then Mulroney had a thought, "Why don't you use your sword? I once saw an immortal nearly chop a stone column in half with his sword." Axer snorted, "What you saw was probably the work of a Damascus blade. They weigh a ton, and aren't *that* superior considering that I sliced that guy to ribbons three fights in row before I killed him. Thomas, you're thinking of, right?" "That was him. He was a friend of mine." "I'm so sorry." His tone was sardonic. Axer gazed at the fence, and seemed to be fighting with himself. After a few more moments of hesitation, he slowly approached the fence, and touched it lightly with his finger. "Mmmph!" he clamped his mouth shut, snapping his finger away and shaking it. "That's some pretty high voltage!" "I told you so!" snickered Mulroney. "So what now?" Axer thought for a moment, "We climb it." "What?!" Mulroney looked at him like he was insane. "Have you lost your mind?!" "Yes... and in a very good way." His accent had suddenly become Croatian, but by Axer's expression, he didn't even notice it. "What if the Quickening were a kind of electricity? If the Quickening can flow into us, we should be able to handle at least equal voltages..." "Axer?" asked Mulroney. "Why is it that you sound a lot like Nikola Tesla right now?" "What are you talking about, silly Irishman -- I *am* Nikola Tesla! Have you been drinking more of that devil whiskey today?" Mulroney tapped Axer lightly on the forehead, "Hello? Your name is Axer Carrick, and you are not Nikola Tesla!" Axer grabbed Mulroney's hand tightly enough to make his face blanch, "What the hell are you talking about? Of course I'm not Tesla! He died fifty years ago! And don't do that again!" Mulroney started to look a little worried, "A moment ago, you sounded, moved, and talked like Tesla -- and you believed you were Tesla -- trust me, I knew the man personally, so I know what I'm talking about." Axer looked like he wanted to ram Mulroney into the fence. "We don't have any time for this! Are you going to climb or not?" "I'll watch you climb first." "Wimp!" But Axer went ahead and walked intently towards the fence and grabbed it with both hands. He glowed very faintly as the fence began to hum, his face contorted in a Quickening- like pain as he forced his hands to tense bit by bit, and help pull the rest of his body upwards. It was horrifying for Mulroney to watch: it was like watching a man torture himself with the skill of Torquemada. By the time his hands reached the top of the fence, Axer was weeping with the pain, but he made it to the top and pried some of the barbed wire out of the way, oblivious to the lashes on his hands. He flopped over the fence and landed hard on the ground, breathing heavily. For about ten minutes, Mulroney stayed immobile, watching Axer pant and twitch, not moving an inch. Then, his head lifted, and his face took on a wild light, "It worked! I think my theories are proving useful!" Again the Croatian accent. His head collapsed back on the ground. Mulroney stood in front of the fence, muttering to himself, "You're making the wrong assumptions, friend. I'm not an immortal and I don't take in Quickenings. But since you're out cold..." Mulroney walked about ten feet to the right, where a gate stood, and produced a key. The locks and frame of the gate were insulated, so he walked through sweat-free, locking it after him. He walked over to Axer's still prone body and shook him awake, "Hey, wake up! Time is short!" "Mmmph!" Axer forced himself to stand. "Let me sleep!" "Come on, you wimp," muttered Mulroney. "We have a date with a scientist..." ********************************************* Richie and Methos made it to the top of the skyscraper at long last, but they didn't actually scramble onto the roof yet. There were guards walking along the edge of the roof, holding guns. "Let me handle this," whispered Methos. He whistled softly, like a bird would. One of the three guards -- neither immortal could see how many there really were, but they thought they spied only three -- came over to investigate. Methos whistled some more, and the guard leaned over the edge. Methos threw himself up with all his might and grabbed onto the man's face with a powerful grip. The man was so startled that he couldn't even scream -- he tensed up, which was perfect for Methos, because it let him pull the man off the edge all the easier. When Methos let himself fall back down, he just kept a good hold of the rigid guard and pulled the man down with him. He quickly fell, and then began screaming and flailing by the time he fell a few stories. But his screaming was drowned out by not only all the other loud noises around, but also by his very falling. Richie looked at Methos with a mixture of awe and horror. Methos shrugged and slowly climbed onto the roof. ************************************************** Coleen looked at the fence, frowning. "I don't see how Axer climbed that fence." "Neither do I," agreed Jay, shaking his head. "But I'll bet you that fence could kill a rhino." "So, what do we do?" "I don't know." They both sat there in silence. "How much do you value your bike?" Coleen's grin was pretty evil. Sudden comprehension dawned. "No! You can't be serious." She just nodded with that same evil grin. "I will *not* let you use my bike for that!" Naturally, that's exactly what happened. Sure, it made a lot of noise, shorted out the system, and sent a whole team of security guards to check out what happened, but Coleen didn't care. "Come *ON*!" she hissed, pulling him along with her. --------------------------------------------------------- Henry Wyckoff -- wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. This chapter has been split in order to obey the maximum line rule. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (25A/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt AUTHOR'S NOTE -- PLEASE READ ============================ This chapter and chapter 26 will contain something that might disturb the Highlander 'purists', who insist (sometimes unknowingly) that no fanfic may contain anything which has not been approved by the Series Producers, the Highlander FAQ and EFAQ. I don't want to give away what it is, except that it might be considered heresy. When you encounter it, please keep these things in mind before you write me a frantic e-mail or make a newsgroup posting, telling me -- at the very best -- to read the FAQ or watch the Series from start to finish: (1) Be sure to read chapter 26 before coming to any conclusions. (2) There *is* a method to my madness. I have thought about it a great deal through the years -- yes, *years* -- and did a great many thought experiments, trying to come up with a reasonable mechanism. This is what *I* consider to be the soundest mechanism, and I am willing to debate with anyone who disagrees over the email -- or the newsgroup if there is an interest. (3) What you will see is an *extrapolation* based off of a few statements made in the *movie* (There can be only Highlander *One*!) and some early episodes in the Series before the producers realized that they were opening a can of worms. *I am aware of the fact that the Series producers have downplayed this aspect of Highlander immortality*, however I believe that since they have not come up with some blatant statements invalidating my thesis, it remains valid. Also keep in mind that precedents have been set with other fanfics. Although you will see it in a way that is unprecedented, the concepts themselves have set precedents, in a way. (4) Although it may seem to come as a surprise, you'll have to admit in retrospect that I led up to it with some pretty blatant hints, some taking almost a whole chapter. (5) If it seems too fantastic, keep in mind that (A) there have been more fantastic theories thrown around in the fanfic scene -- and have received no *apparent* opposition, and (B) I'd like to hear how immortality, vampirism, and aliens are not fantastic. Now, on with the show. ***************************************************** Axer's grogginess quickly faded as he stumbled along with Mulroney. That 'other Axer' seemed to be gone as well. Because Axer still didn't admit that odd moment happened, Mulroney kept silent about it, thankful that at least he had returned to normal. Axer seemed at ease with sneaking across guarded facilities, and made Mulroney wonder where the immortal had developed that ease. Breaking out of prisons? Being in the modern wars? Being a thief? He pushed those questions out of his mind. A bright light clicked on behind them, and they both spun around to find two beefy security guards with drawn revolvers aiming at their faces. Thankfully, the flashlight wasn't aiming in the same direction. "You have a lot of explaining to do," the shorter guard said in a New Jersey accent. He looked more like a street cop than a security guard -- he even had that thick and trimmed moustache. "What seems to be the problem, sirs?" asked Axer in a convincing North Carolina accent. There was suddenly a loud bang, and a section of the electric fence started snapping and hissing with such intensity it would be painful to look at it. The two guards made the fatal mistake of turning around to see what had happened. They were dispatched pretty quickly. ************************************************************ Mulder felt chills run down his spine as he recognized many of the sights. He couldn't help but think, //I was dragged up those very stairs,// or, //Behind that wall is where Cancerman put screws in my back.// He held on to that shotgun of his rather tightly, as if that would see him through. Scully was right by his side with only a handgun, but she seemed a lot less worried. But then, she wasn't fighting with flashbacks either. The three vampires were hovering around several dozen feet above, scanning the ceiling framework, the catwalks, and the rest of the ground floor. It was almost like looking at a maze -- because it was a warehouse, the builders thought a roof for the first level was pretty unnecessary, so all they put up were dividers. It gave the vampires a certain advantage, because few people ever looked up nowadays. The place was dead-silent. There were no sounds of any kind, not even from rats or insects. It was too quiet, but nobody ambushed them once that thought entered their minds. Even LaCroix began to get edgy. This was the place -- they *knew* that -- so they expected to find some sort of life. Nothing. Not even the faint sound of a heartbeat. Powys sat crosslegged on one of the steel beams high up, patting the black box on his belt rather lovingly. //Isn't interference wonderful?// Taking his rifle, he silently loaded his ammunition: a sliver of oak attached to a specialized bullet. He took aim at LaCroix, who hovered in place right below him. He fired. LaCroix' body spreadeagled itself, tense with pain and shock -- a thin sliver of oak punching through his heart. All the others saw was LaCroix stiffening up and then falling to the ground. When he landed, he looked horribly old and wrinkled. Janette and Nick landed at his side a few moments later. They were just as shocked, but tended to have good reaction times in situations like this. Nick felt like he was going to be sick -- he relived a time in Russia during the Napoleonic War, when LaCroix lay before him with a splinter of wood impaled in his heart by a dying soldier. "Nicholas..." whispered LaCroix, barely able to speak. "Pull out the wood..." His eyes weren't pleading or commanding, but they were father-like. Nick fought within himself, and wanted in his very heart to just leave him be, but another part of him forced his shaking hands to reach for the wood. A pause and a deep breath later, he prepared himself, and... [snap!] "LaCroix... I don't know how else to tell you this, but it snapped -- it's still in your heart, and I can't pull it out now." Powys stayed put, observing all this with a lazy smile, and leaned his head back. From his left pocket, he held a single, well-worn figurine in his hand. It was of a black cat with a white spot of fur around its eyes and near the tip of its tail. LaCroix closed his eyes, and breathed out his last bit of life. Nick and Janette were so shocked by this event that they just sat there, not even considering that sense the first shot was fired, the battle had begun. Floodlights from the ceiling snapped on suddenly, and this got everyone's attention. The front doors slammed shut on their own, and a voice with a thick German accent spoke through some hidden loudspeakers, echoing throughout the warehouse, "Blasphemers. Heretics. Freaks." That's all the voice said, and then the speakers clicked off. Mulder looked at Scully, "That's pretty original." They hadn't recognized the voice, but the could guess what kind of man it was who had just spoken. They ran over to where LaCroix had landed. **************************************************** --------------------------------------------------------- Henry Wyckoff -- wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. This chapter has been split in order to obey the maximum line rule. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (25B/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Mulroney waited a moment before he opened up the door, "Here she is." Axer nodded. The door opened and led to a large hangar converted into an electrical engineering lab. Some of the instrumentation was as big as a house, whereas a lot of others were very compact and were integrated with personal computers. There was only one person here, the woman that Mulroney had described. Even by looking at her back, Axer knew who she was. He had known her very well, and even in the days when he had a cold and closed heart, he could say that he called her a friend. "Jamie," he whispered, his voice echoing through the hangar. Jamie turned around slowly and deliberately, smiling arrogantly as she faced and recognized him. "So the abomination returns..." Axer blanched at that one, "So I'm an abomination now, am I?" "Not you," she corrected, pointing at Mulroney. "Him. The Irishman." Mulroney shrugged helplessly, "She's right. What can I say?" "Could someone here tell me what's going on here?" Axer was starting to get annoyed. "What do you want to know? You know, of course, that you'll never be able to leave here alive, but while you're here and alive, I'll answer whatever question you ask. Consider it something of a last request." Axer considered. He'd have something to say about when he died if it came down to it, but for now, he'd play her game. "What is your role with the Invisible Ones?" She looked at the floor, but not in shame -- it was more like her particular way of thinking, the same way other put their heads on their chins or scratch their head. Then she looked back up, "I'm something of an independent consultant. They finance my research into electrogravity and supply me with everything I need, just so long as I produce certain items that would be useful to them." "Does your research also involve remote-control chemistry? Like making blood polymerize just by flipping a switch?" "That?" she asked disdainfully. "That wasn't my doing. My work only involved electrogravity!" Axer pulled at his chin, disturbed. He didn't trust her. "And what are the applications involved with your electrogravity research?" "I think you already know the answers." "Then you know I'm thinking the worst... DAMMIT JAMIE!!! HOW THE HELL COULD YOU SELL YOURSELF?!" He stared her in the eye, those tiny muscles along his jaw clenching and unclenching. She looked back at him, unconcerned and unruffled. She started picking at her fingernails, saying nothing. "I would have expected better of you!" Axer continued ranting. "You could have had any appointment you wanted! You could have nailed down any grant you wanted!" She finally spoke, "Yes, I could have played 'the game' and done the respectable thing, but I wouldn't have had the freedom I have now. Here, I'm actually making progress. I don't have to defend myself in front of professional societies that will ignore anything and everything I say unless I've either let the 'big daddies' be first names on *my* papers or let them *@^@ me up the *$$. "Here, I'm respected. I don't have to fight up hill to get anything done, and I'm judged solely on my merits." "Jamie," Axer shook his head, sad and angry, "Jamie, Jamie... It's not like that at all. It *was* that way even twenty years ago, but things have changed. Don't you realize that's the treatment *everyone* gets? You're just being treated like one of the guys now. We all have to get *@^@ up the *$$ to get somewhere in this world." Her look was smugly superior, "Of course -- you're male. You never had to take the second position because of your sex, instead of your qualifications. You were never told to stay out of the professional societies because of your sex, or to accept a sub-standard wage." "You're a spoiled brat!" snapped Axer. "You think you're being oppressed? Why don't you --" Mulroney tapped him rather firmly on the head, "We don't have time for this." Axer grudgingly let it drop, but was about to launch into a full tirade when Jamie's face was dripping with smugness. Fighting against himself, he said, "How did it happen?" "You mean, how did I get recruited? Easy -- I was desperate and in between jobs. The Invisible Ones sent me a letter stuck in a newspaper, asking me to join them, saying that they knew that I was uniquely qualified. When I came here, it was already equipped with everything I needed." Her look was one of heavenly bliss as she exclaimed, "The instruments they gave me would have blown MIT and Berkeley out of the water! I'd never seen anything like them before!" "That's because they weren't on earth before," spoke that 'other' within Axer that Mulroney had seen emerge back at the fence. Mulroney took a step back, uncertainty in his face -- the last thing he wanted was something *totally* beyond his control: things were bad enough as they were. Jamie looked at Axer in shock, not sure what had just happened. "Are your brains packed with wool?" demanded Axer, his gestures wild and emphatic as he slowly walked towards her. "Does not all this tell you something obvious?" "What's obvious?" asked Jamie, her eyes narrowed in confusion. "The fact that you were given heavy bribes and access to instruments that have *never seen the light of the scientific world*! If something *seems* too good to be true, have you never thought that it might *be* too good to be true? There are geniuses on this world, but if there were anyone brilliant enough to come up with that! --" he pointed to a specific instrument as if he recognized it, "--even I would have known about it. His genius would have rocked the world!" Jamie shook her head. Perhaps she understood what lay between the lines, "You're wrong. It's not like that!" The last was a sobbish-scream. "You just can't appreciate my genius! You can't accept the fact that a *woman* is working on a project that you could never touch!" Axer stood still for a moment, and then he seemed to move at light speed as he rushed over to her chair and grabbed her roughly by the throat, lifting her body out of the chair, and slamming her against a mainframe. He slammed her head against it a few times, and let her slide to the ground when she went limp. Mulroney looked a bit scared and made a gamble. "Tesla?" He asked, "Nikola? Is that you?" "Of course it is me! Who else could it be?" Then he stopped and looked around. "But you might want to explain why I am here, and why my body feels so... different." He looked at his hands with an expression of wonder and curiosity. "Nikola? How did you die?" He sneered, "Some federal agents barged into my hotel room and --" he stopped as his eyes widened. "An immortal came for my head. He took my head!" he screamed as the memories came back. "What is happening? I DIED!" "Calm down!" Mulroney ran over to him, trying to quiet him down. "You *did* die, and if the stories I heard about the immortals are right, Axer killed the man who had killed you and taken your quickening. I knew that you were immortal -- my employers told me so -- and I knew that you died under mysterious circumstances, so I figure that had to be the case." He knew what he said to be fact, but he never believed that it was possible to "harness the power of the quickening". For all their talk of power, it seemed that about the only power they gained was a faster healing rate and a stronger sword arm. But now he was beginning to doubt everything he believed he knew. //Could it be possible? I *know* the two never met -- could this really *be* Nikola Tesla?// That staggered Axer/Tesla, who began to display mixed body language, "That is impossible -- I can't -- it cannot -- my soul --" Mulroney's smile was sardonic, "I'm not an immortal, and I'm here after more than a century. Now tell me what's impossible." "But it makes no sense!" Tesla screamed. "Are you telling me that there is no heaven or hell? That my soul is taken up by the one who kills me, and I must be taken by every victor after that? Is there no order or reason?" "You?" snorted Mulroney. "You wanting a reason to life?" "There has to be a reason! Things can't happen randomly! God wouldn't do that to us!" He put his hands to his head and screamed, and when he stopped, he put his hands down, looking around with a confused expression on his face. "What happened?" asked Axer. //Is this insanity?// Mulroney still wasn't sure whether this was real or some elaborate mind game. "You were possessed." "What do you mean?" he looked at Mulroney as if he had claimed he had danced naked on a table, singing 'In Heaven there is no beer.' "I mean what I said. You were talking with her, and then you were suddenly talking in a Croatian accent, and did that to her." He pointed at Jamie's body, still unconscious. "You claimed you were Nikola Tesla, and until a moment ago, was screaming about how nothing seemed to be making any sense." "That makes two of us..." he muttered thinking back to what Kate had told him. "I wonder..." Axer leaned back against the mainframe, rubbing his face. //Tesla? Are you there?// There was no answer. Axer swore, slamming his hand on a mainframe. Then he stopped and seemed to realize something. He walked over to Jamie and nonchalantly took off her head - - it was a mortal head, spraying out blood like a geiser. He looked at Mulroney, "I had to make sure. Do something with her body while I take a guided tour of the place." Mulroney looked worried. His worry changed to disgust as he began to get blood on his hands. --------------------------------------------------------- Henry Wyckoff -- wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (26/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Axer walked through the hangar-sized laboratory looking at all of the instruments. Most of the stuff he couldn't even recognize. About the best he could say that a lot of it looked 'neat' and 'pretty'. High-tech physics was a long way from his own brand of science, when it came down to it. Mulroney was still in the process of disposing of Jamie's body. For all the man's past and present, the Irishman seemed shocked at Axer's uncharacteristic behavior. It was almost as if he were truly becoming possessed -- or at least acting in a frighteningly uncharacteristic manner. "Hmmph," snorted Axer as he ran his hand down a shielded wire. "I wonder..." His mind went back to the Raven, to a conversation that he had with Kate only a few hours back. It was then that the nightmares had plagued him, and Kate had suggested that somehow he'd gained access to all the souls that he had taken when he absorbed their quickening. "Then why can't I just access the memories like a disk drive?" he muttered, speaking his thoughts aloud. Then a thought hit him like a jolt of electricity. "What if I *could*, but I'm not using the right interface? What if that nightmare-scape was the interface -- something that would allow my 'ego' to access the 'ego' of another..." He smiled, "It makes perfect sense... There's no possible way I could function and absorb their egos, but I could interact with them directly, like I did with Ingrid..." Axer closed his eyes and put himself back in that nightmare scape. He was two places at once now: the 'real' world, and a world that was just as real, the only difference being that he was actively constructing everything with his imagination... ...Something took over, making his imagined landscape much more real -- in more senses than one -- and he found himself standing not on a hellish landscape, but in a pleasant meadow that was distinctly Swiss or Austrian, judging by the lay of the land and the colors. An Austrian-style home stood a ways in front of him. He approached it and entered, amazed at how he could feel everything here, and still feel the real world back at the lab. It was odd how when he walked up a slope, down didn't feel like down. Inside sat a young man with a thick moustache and cleanly- cut hair. His clothes were casual for the 1880s on the East Coast. He was busy reading a book, and it took Axer a moment to realize it was *his* book -- or at least one of his anyway. "Guten Tag," said Axer, figuring that since this was an Austrian home, the resident would most likely speak High German, if not Italian or Romansch. "I speak English well enough," smiled the man. "Have a seat." Axer thought that wasn't a good idea. "No offense, but this is an interface for me, and I'm afraid I'll do something foolish in the other world if I take this one for granted." "An intriguing thought. I assume that you are trying to be polite, and refrain from calling that other world the 'real' world. You do not need to be so polite that you cannot use what words you must... I assume then that you are the host? You are the one who took the head of my killer?" "I have never met you, so I assume that it must be the case -- if it is the case. And you are?..." "Nikola Tesla," he smiled, holding out a hand. Axer shook his hand numbly. All the pictures he ever saw of Tesla were of an old man, and not this young man... But the pictures and this man's face showed great similarity, now that he thought about it. "Axer Carrick." Axer walked around a little bit, "I knew that you died in mysterious circumstances, but I never knew that you were an immortal." Tesla laughed, "Neither did the world, except for the Spiritualists who believed that I was from Venus. They took my theories and discoveries, and claimed that they were the products of a superior alien being. It frustrated me to no end!" He laughed again, no sign of frustration in his face. Perhaps he might have even missed those moments, after a great deal of time passed. Tesla walked over to the kitchen, pouring out two cups of tea from a boiling kettle. "I was an immortal, and I think the government knew about it. It was a federal agent who took my head -- or at least he was disguised as one. I suppose that if I had died in mysterious circumstances, that must help explain it... Tell me -- what is the real world like now?" "It is not a *different* world... just one further along. You haven't been given the blatant credit you deserve, but the history books are beginning to swing to your favor. The children in schools learn about the great Edison, but those adults who have an interest in reading about scientists learn about Tesla. "Whether you're publicly known for it or not, you may be pleased to know that most of the world -- that I know of -- runs on AC power. You were right, and nobody's disputing that now." Tesla smiled, "I thank you for your praise, but I sense that you have not just come to talk about science, though I can tell you have an interest there as well. Why have you truly come?" Axer became grave, "In the real world, I have need of your wisdom, as if it were my own. There is a grave threat to our kind, and perhaps the world, and it involves electrogravity technology, and some sort of technology that drives specialized biochemical reactions from a distance -- reactions that can subtly control behavior or fry out someone's nervous system in a flash. "If this is the only option, I'll take it -- but I was hoping you could somehow leave this interface and look at the real world with my own senses, and perhaps help me out. I hoped that you might recognize some of this equipment and help me sort it out." Tesla looked shocked. "Electrogravity? It is possible?" "We can talk about the theoretical problems as I go along. Would you be willing to help me out?" He nodded. "Of course. I just have to work on doing as you ask. I did not even know it was possible. All I knew was that this was a dream, and that the dreams changed for no reason." Axer left the house, entering the pleasant meadow once more, opening his eyes. Nothing had changed, and the time on his watch said 03:12:23. Only ten minutes had passed. Mulroney didn't seem to notice that anything had happened, and had just finished disposing the body and cleaning up all the tracks. //Tesla?// asked Axer. "I am here. I can see what you see." It was odd, as if Tesla were speaking on the left and right side of him simultaneously. It wasn't a voice in his head. //What do you think?// "Let us observe..." Mulroney became impatient as Axer appeared to take his sweet time, looking at the many instruments in great detail once more, muttering to himself and tapping things now and then. "Come on!" hissed Mulroney, walking up to him urgently. "We have to get out of here!" Axer turned around, startled, "But we're so *close*!" His voice was Croatian. "Close to being caught by the guards!" *********************************************** Coleen snuck up behind five security guards silently on her bare feet. Not a sound was made. Then she softly whistled. They turned around, their jaws dropping as they saw Coleen - - her untied hair thrown around her shoulders in long waves, and her blouse ripped open exposing quite a few details that set the guards' blood racing. Coleen's smile was wide and sharp, her sword was sharp too, but they didn't seem to notice that little detail until her sword started dancing with them, quickly spilling blood and guts. One man lay on his side, hamstrung and gutted, and his still-open eyes stared in Coleen's direction as she wrapped her blouse closed. The buttons were ripped off, so she used her belt to keep it in place Japanese fashion. Jay came along, muttering, "Teaser..." Coleen pretended not to hear that. Kate hovered above, having observed all of what happened, amazed at Coleen's creative way of handling things. In a way, she could see a bit of Axer Carrick in her -- and she wasn't sure if they were the best things that rubbed off on her. She spied another packet of guardsmen a few hundred feet away, sitting in a guards booth. They were playing cards and eating doughnuts. ***************************************************** "We can take care of that as it comes," muttered Axer. "If you want to go, then go." Mulroney was sweating, "You're going to thank me for this later." He tried to sucker punch Axer, and found himself on his knees, trying to pull his stomach back out of his rib- cage. It had happened so fast he didn't even remember an in-between. //He's better than Duncan!// "Yes... Thank you for such wonderful target practice. Now leave me alone." His voice had returned to normal. ********************************************************* Methos and Richie snuck past the other guards, finding their way to the elevator. They entered and descended. "Are you ready?" asked Methos. "As ready as I'll ever be. What floor are they on?" "The 13th. What else?" They got off on the 13th floor, and found that there was no sign of life here. Nothing. No lighting, no ventilation... But everything had the lived-in look, so it was obvious that somebody kept business hours at some point in time during the day or night. Hallway after hallway, room after room, they came up with nothing -- just empty tables, office supplies, and computers. Eventually, they came to the last room. It was the executive meeting room. The two looked at one another, nodded, and opened the double doors at once. On entering the room, both immortals were hit by a presence so strong it nearly made Richie topple to his knees. Methos just felt a slight tingle. Only one man sat at the conference table, big enough to fit fifty people. He was on the far side, his form mostly in the shadows. "So here it is... the first and the last. How appropriate..." "Where are the others?" asked Methos calmly, as if he expected this. "I would expect to see the Invisible Ones here. I had very reliable sources -- up til now." "There are no others. I am the only power. The Invisible Ones do exist, but they don't control the game. I do." "And who are you?" The lights flicked on, and Richie gasped, "Jesus!" The long-haired, bearded man smiled, "Yes?" Richie became skeptical, "Come on, man -- you do a hell of an impression, but I don't think your parents were Hispanic!" Methos nudged Richie, "You're wrong, Richie. That *is* Jesus." "It can't be." Jesus shrugged. "That's my name." "You seem to be doing well," Methos said lazily. "Perhaps you might be in the mood to explain a few things... For instance, who are the Invisible Ones?" "They're my partners in crime." "What crime?" Jesus laughed, leaning back in his chair, "For millennia, we've watched mankind. We've made a nudge now and then, but mostly recorded observations. That in itself is nothing -- until you start asking 'why'." "This isn't making any sense!" fumed Richie. He scruffed the carpet with his feet -- an odd carpet, with a single strip of yellow across a red carpet. "It makes a great deal of sense," whispered Methos. "The only question that remains is: who are the Invisible Ones?" Jesus became grave, "Let us both hope you never have to know." He brightened, "But I've planned to spare you of that." He flipped a switch, and a transect of floor -- the same place where that strip of yellow carpet was -- opened up underneath Richie. He fell through, and his screams were cut off by the closing of the trap door. His grin was vicious, "No sense letting the kids getting tangled in our feet." Methos drew his sword, "I've always wondered... if you take a man's body from his head, piece by piece, do you still get a quickening?" Jesus smiled, "Good question. Let's find out!" Jesus jumped onto the conference table, which was about fifty feet across lengthwise, and about fifteen feet widthwise, and was built so solidly that there would be no chance of it cracking or collapsing. Methos shrugged and jumped on the table as well. For a few moments, both stood still about twenty feet away from one another, their swords at the ready, their eyes locked but unfocused. Then, as if a light switch was flipped, they both sprang into action. They charged towards one another. They reached sword distance. Nerves were stretched. Time played funny tricks. Their hearts beat so strongly they could feel it throughout their whole bodies. Jesus' sword descended with deadly force and speed towards Methos' head, but as Methos had reached Jesus, he also changed his direction so that he was moving *around* Jesus. At the same time, Methos simply held his sword still, and Jesus neatly severed the inside muscles of both his forearms using only the force of his own swing. The hands opened of their own accord, and the sword impaled itself into the oak table. Methos' sword kept moving forward, in harmony with both of their motions, and the tip of the blade reached Jesus' neck. As it moved forward, it cut into the neck, so by the time the sword was fully extended, one side of the neck was cut to the bone. Now, Methos stepped backwards to the left, putting his muscle into the smooth slice as it cut the other way, from guard to tip. The head hadn't fallen off, but it was close enough. When Methos swung the sword around and cut off the head, it took no effort at all. This whole exchange had taken place in the space of about five seconds. When you know what you're doing, sword fights are just like Russian Roulette with a two-chambered gun -- somebody wins and somebody loses pretty fast if you make the assumption there's only one bullet loaded. The force of the quickening stretched Methos' limbs taut, so when his knees hit the table, his whole body jolted like a spring. When the thick windows burst into fine powder, it could just as well have been Methos' screaming that did it. --------------------------------------------------------- Henry Wyckoff -- wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (27/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Powys put the cat figurine back in the bag, and walked the ceiling beams back to the pillar that he had climbed to get up there. When he almost reached it, a single figure emerged from the shadows. It was Heimdall, and he didn't look pleased at all, but he looked like he was in a talkative mood. "Would you mind telling me what's going on here? And what you did back at the Raven? I was there, you know." "I know," he smiled. "Do you really need to ask what I'm doing here?" He produced the cat. Heimdall frowned, a little mollified, "You're walking a fine line, boy. I don't like this." "You don't have to like this -- you just have to like the popcorn." He brought out a prepackaged bag of popcorn from his side-pack. "Enjoy the show -- it's about all you can do." Heimdall nodded glumly, grabbing for the bag. "I still don't have to like it." "Don't look at it that way -- just think of it as stirring the pot. That way, you can be sure you've got a full mix of potential. Can't have any residuals hanging around, can we? You know about the dangers of hidden powderkegs as much as I do." Heimdall nodded again. They both sat on the beams, watching the show that took place below... ...Nick looked up from the dead body of LaCroix. He was dead for sure this time, or as dead as he could see. Janette was shaking him, trying to bring him back to reality, while the two FBI agents made sure their guns were loaded. They already were, but it never hurt to check. The man in the loudspeaker hadn't said anything more -- that was thirty seconds ago. The faint echoes of his last word had finally died. The sounds of door opening up all over the warehouse was deafening. Then, they shut, one by one. Then they came -- the men with black boxes. Heimdall almost threw up his popcorn. "I can't bear to watch this." Powys almost laughed in glee, "Just wait. Here comes the best part!" **************************************************** Kermit walked through the front door, mist coming through the door with him. "Joe? What the hell is so urgent?" Joe waved him over to the table. "It's all here! I was afraid to touch anything, but I figured you'd be able to get a look at it and work it out." Kermit raised his ever-present sunglasses, so he looked at Joe from underneath them, "So you want me to be the guinea pig? How considerate of you." "Stop your bitching and check this out!" Kermit sat down and examined the black box. "I've never seen this material before," he whistled. "This stuff is better than Teflon -- nothing'll stick to it -- ever." He examined all the controls carefully. "No markers... No seams... No screws... I don't like this, Joe." "Can you do anything with it?" "How much of a gambler are you?" "Hmm... You have a point." They sat there, staring at the box. ********************************************************** Just as the twenty black-box men began to turn their dials, Mulder started firing his shotgun, which turned out to be semi-automatic. Even though the barrel was extended, the spray was wide enough to cause some considerable damage in the ranks. As men began to fly back or grab themselves, howling in pain (the latter were the ones caught at the fringes of the shot spray), they became less concerned about switching dials on the boxes. Those who weren't hit by the shot spray didn't have the luxury of using their weapons either, because the folks in front were flying or stumbling back into them, distracting them at the very least. The boxes that hit the ground were also making matters were, because they would spray sparks like a downed power line. Scully was using her handgun to shoot the folks that Mulder didn't hit so hard with his shotgun -- it's pretty hard to miss someone with a shotgun spray. She fired just as fast, her adrenalin pumping so fast she didn't care about the fact that she was shooting to kill. Every few shots, she would pop out a clip and have another one replaced so fast that she didn't miss a beat. The overall effect was pretty spectacular. It looked like this: Mulder fired, and five of them would fall back, except for one person right in the center of the two spreads, and he would get hit by Scully. By now, the firing had jolted Nick out of his catatonic state. Rage had instantly filled his whole being, and he charged the crowd in a blurry rush -- not caring that half the shot was now hitting him. Even Scully accentually hit him once or twice, but he didn't care -- and once he reached the middle of the crowd of black-box men, it didn't matter anymore. It was a good thing too that he'd done that, because one of them in the back had almost managed to ready and fire his weapon -- but now the chaos spread back there as well, and they became too occupied to adjust knobs and dials... ...High above, Powys had just swallowed a mouthful of popcorn. "You see?" he asked in silent triumph. "They might have seemed to be outmatched, but as I hoped, it's a true dice roll." "It's going to be close," said Heimdall "But that's part of the fun, just like gambling..." ...The floor was a total madhouse. What had looked like the beginning of an orderly little slaughter on the part of the black-box men had become nothing short of utter pandemonium. Somebody making commands must have become impatient, because thirty more men in riot gear carrying shotguns and clubs emerged from the stairways. Their appearance only added more confusion, as friend hit friend as well as foe. To make matters worse, some stray shots -- aimed upwards for one reason or another -- hit the lights and plunged the area in near-darkness. Mulder and Scully had used up all their ammo, and were now using their firearms as effective clubbing implements, as well as kicking and punching their way through the mob. Janette and Nick did an efficient job of tearing their way through, picking at the individuals that the others were missing. They also kept an eye out for new arrivals. In the middle of all this, a tension was rising -- a tension that nobody seemed to feel. Its epicenter was LaCroix, who suddenly began to breathe once more, a single wood splinter resting inexplicably on his chest, next to the now-healed heart wound. Weakly, he opened his eyes and sat up, observing the pandemonium. He felt a presence, much like Axer's and Coleen's, but it was much weaker. "What-?" he asked aloud weakly, in confusion. This had happened once before, but this time, there was no mystic experience or vision. There had been only pain, then blackness, only to be followed by confusion. The presence pulled at him much more strongly, and he took to the air, leaving the battle behind him. For all the centuries that had passed, he was still a General at heart - - and it was the General who decided how a battle would turn. His gut told him that the true battle was not taking place here, but rather at the source of the presence... ...Powys chuckled, "Look at so many possibilities taking place at once! So many potentials made real." "There is such a thing as critical mass." "This isn't a nuclear reactor." "No, but the principle is the same. You can't play with the laws of probability and not pay the price." Powys' look was more sober, "I know, and I've accounted for that..." ...LaCroix flew down the empty corridor, following his nerves, until he reached a solid German door. He slammed the door above the handle, and it burst open, squeaking a little. Halscombe remained bound and gagged as he was in the Raven, but at least did it in the relative comfort of a Quaker- style chair. Another man sat in the room, behind a large desk where two swords lay. He had the appearance of a high-powered executive -- and a proper French gentleman in the old sense. "You're stronger than you look," smiled the old man lightly. He spoke in genuine Provencal. It startled LaCroix -- he understood it in a fashion -- but it had been such a long time that he spoke it that he was rusty. He answered in the northern French, "It's in the blood." "No pun intended? I take it you're here to 'rescue' Halscombe." "No. He could live or die and I wouldn't care." "Then why are you here?" the old man was confused. "Why don't you tell me?" He nodded, "Now I understand. You want understanding..." He stood up and stretched his legs. "I'm afraid you won't get it here." He drew a sword, "There can be only one." Confusion flooded through LaCroix until realization came. //He thinks I'm an immortal?!// He reflexively grabbed for one of the swords on the table, and blocked the sword thrust that almost skewered him. Anyone who has the idea that vampires are immune to anything other than the dreaded three surefire ways to kill a vampire... is sadly mistaken. Vampires can be immobilized if their muscles are sliced away, which is a good way of making sure that they won't resist when that stake of wood is slammed through their heart. LaCroix understood this, which was why he wasn't taking the superhero's approach. He did a Roman Surprise and headbutted the Provencian, knocking him back against the wall, stunned for a moment. The Provencian recovered and stayed a few steps away, a slow smile creeping on his face, "I know you now." He spoke in a soldier's Lingua Latina, and LaCroix began to realize that this man might be a true Provencianus. The floor a little more even now, they faced one another. LaCroix broke the stillness by charging in with his enhanced speed, only to find out that he was countered with the Provencian's enhanced skill. His movements weren't nearly as fast as LaCroix' -- in fact, they were much slower. It was more a matter of footwork and being in the right place. It was a truly even match: both fought with the same style, and no matter how fast LaCroix moved, he never seemed to land a blow. He was also tagged with slight cuts and stabs -- only enough to annoy and pester him... or to prove a point. The Provencian smiled, "You're very good, General, but you've been out of the game for too long." "I've never been in it," said LaCroix, instinctively straight-throwing the sword at the Provencian. It slammed through his chest, and he fell to his knees. Such a simple move for such a fight, but sometimes fights are won by simple moves and tricks. LaCroix pulled out the sword, taking the other one as well. He used his foot to pin him to the table, and rested the sword on his neck, ^^I'll give you once chance to enlighten me.^^ "There can be only one," was all the man said. Apparently he had a strong will. His mind didn't bend a bit. LaCroix nodded and took off his head. It was more reflexive than anything else -- and in retrospect seemed to be the best choice. This wasn't a man who would bend to torture or drugs -- just as little as he bent to the suggesion. He would be much worse alive than dead. He was totally shocked to find the body to glow blue, and even more shocked for the lightning to strike him. "But I'm not immortal!" he screamed in shocked fear. But as he rode the lightning, he realized something in an odd corner of his mind. Long before his death as a vampire, he *had* died as a man. In the pain, all of his lies were stripped away. Even over the spaces of weeks, lies can cloud the memory -- these lies clouded the memory for centuries. He did die as a mortal, he realized. Being cut from shoulder to wrist so deeply that the bone was exposed, and lying in unconsciousness for hours on end while the blood flowed could only be fatal. It wasn't so much a memory as an acknowledgement of what conclusions the known facts must present. Even if he had somehow survived as a mortal, the infection would have taken him. He remembered the fact that he had no infections. And when he had returned home, the wound *had* gone. And how else could he retain full use of his arm and hands? Such a severe lengthwise cut should have left *some* noticeable damage. ...And then he'd accepted the damning bite of his damned daughter. Then came the hard facts: he had been staked through the heart several times and lived to tell about it. Pure and simple -- he should be dead by now by any measure -- except an immortal's. But something was missing -- why was it that the hints didn't surface until Axer came along? Why did he not sense immortals before? And how could he be a vampire if he was an immortal? The answer hit him then: perhaps he didn't know any immortals until recently. He had lived his live in the shadows and dark corners, whereas most immortals -- except for those like Axer -- lived in the sun and the open places. Perhaps it took an exposure to immortals to bring out that aspect to himself? But something was still wrong... while he could sense Axer and Coleen, and vice versa -- the other three could not sense him, and he could not sense them. Even with that unanswered question, LaCroix believed that he had just answered Axer's rhetorical question to Coleen so long ago quite admirably: what happens when an immortal is made a vampire? ********************************************************** Halscombe looked at LaCroix with utter horror and confusion. After what Axer had told him -- albeit a very little -- he knew that what he saw was a total impossibility: only immortals can take the quickening of another immortal -- and this was a vampire. LaCroix was shaken and trembling, his eyes closed, but he was not on his knees. He was, however, breathing heavily and leaning on the table for support. He had dropped the sword he used like it was unclean, and looked around. When he opened up his eyes, he looked around in a daze that soon left him. LaCroix then turned his eyes to Halscombe, "I could kill you right now and solve a great deal of trouble for everyone." If Halscombe could only talk... The gag was still firmly bound to his face. LaCroix ripped it off quite easily, nearly yanking Halscombe's head off with the powerful yank. Halscombe jolted in shock and pain, twisting his head around a little to remove the painful kinks. "What are you?" whispered Halscombe. He had always been a confident and poker-faced man, but his uncertainty and fear were certainly showing now. "It's impossible." "That, coming from you?" smiled LaCroix. His face was a good, blank poker face, so no emotion could be read. "But I suppose you really want to know. Why? So you can launch some black-box men in my direction? But wait -- don't tell me -- you were just a middle-level manager!" Some of Halscombe's classic character came back, and it showed on his face as well, "The question is, what are you going to do with me?" LaCroix was honestly at a loss, but he tried not to show it. Instead, he lazily paced back and forth, "You know, I think I'll keep you here for now. I'll let the others, ah... question you. I'm sure Axer knows how to handle people like you. "It's quite fitting, in fact. You, a professional puppet master; Axer, a professional string slicer. You two make quite a team, you know? I wonder if you two are twins... or soul brothers sharing two sides of the same coin." --------------------------------------------------------- Henry Wyckoff -- wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (28/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt The black-box men and their reinforcements were all dead -- some blown to bits by Mulder and Scully, but most bashed, bludgeoned, and deblooded. Nick and Janette were both exhausted, keeping a nervous eye in all directions. Scully had fallen to her knees, unable to catch her breath or her nerves, so exhausted that she couldn't even tense a muscle, let alone move it. Mulder was in a state of super-energy and super-excitement. Out of all, he was the only one who had come out of this feeling cleansed and charged. Although he knew deep down that he should be feeling horrible for causing so many deaths, he was honest with himself and admitted that he was exhilarated. He began to go around the bodies, trying to find an intact black box before any of the others recovered enough. He found one that appeared undamaged. It was too big to hide on his person, so he hid it underneath some boxes. When the coast was clear -- maybe in a few days -- he would recover it. The main doors were blasted open with some explosives then, and the Toronto police barged in, led by Reece, Detective Vetter, and someone that none of them recognized. The last one was a youngish man with a drawn gun and a rash attitude. He looked around with focused, almost nervous eyes, and seemed to recognize Mulder. The feeling was mutual -- even though Mulder could swear that he'd never met the man before. "Spread out!" boomed Reece. "Move it! Move it!" Special police units designed for this type of operation moved in, spreading out throughout the whole warehouse, and into the upper levels. Reece pulled his revolver and ran over to where Mulder and the others were, followed by Vetter and the other one. Of course, they were all too late, but it was a nice gesture. Mulder decided he'd have to send them a nice thank you card. "What the hell went on here?!" demanded Reece in a booming rumble, looking at all of the bloodied and blasted corpses in an expression that could only be called anger. Since Mulder was the only one with any apparent functionality, Reece addressed him, "Perhaps you could explain?" "We were following some armed kidnappers here, and we were met with armed resistance. It was too late to call for backup, and so we dealt with it as best we could. If I may ask, sir, how did you know we were here?" Mulder's nonemotional expression and frank statements seemed to calm Reece down somewhat, "He did," nodding towards the unknown man. "Detective Peter Caine. He said that I needed to get some shock troops down here in a hurry -- claimed that 'his sources' said there was something going down." Mulder nodded towards Caine, holding out his hand, "Agent Mulder, FBI." Caine shook it, an odd look on his face as he nodded, "Nice to meet you." Mulder continued his report to Reece, "It also turned out that the kidnappers were also the black-box killers. We haven't been able to find out much about them up until now, but if we search this place -- which appears to be their headquarters -- we might be able to find some files, or other evidence that will give us a direct clue -- or a better hint -- as to what this group truly is and why they were testing electrogravity weapons on the populace." If the situation weren't this grim, Reece would be smiling at Mulder's concise manner of communication. He just nodded, "Then get to work." He looked at Vetter, "Help Agent Mulder." She nodded, and they both took a good look around. There were a lot of boxes here, and this was just the ground floor. It was then that Mulder noticed that LaCroix was gone from where he had lay dead, but then he noticed that Janette had also vanished, so he relaxed, figuring that it was she who had moved him. Peter Caine looked around as well, letting memories flood him for a moment. It seemed as if those memories took over until he was in two times at once -- and the same place. The two times were superimposed on one another, each just as real as the other. There were less boxes here now, in different arrangements, but this was the very warehouse where he and a very unusual bunch had fought the immortal Dimack, Jin Ming. In the current time, he could scuff his feet on the floor and see the traces of the oiled net that had nearly proved their downfall. He looked a few feet away, saying to himself, //That was the place where Duncan nearly killed Jin Ming before Pop reminded Duncan of his oath.// The superposition left, and everything returned to normal. Reece looked at him, "Any thoughts?" "Yeah," said Caine, "I think someone should demolish this warehouse. I think it's cursed. Do you realize that so far three 'incidents' took place here?" Reece smiled, "But at least we'll know where to look next time." "Next time?" Caine raised his eyebrow. "Yeah. I'm something more of a cynic -- I say the half-full part of the glass just got drained." He frowned, "Thanks for reminding me -- I've *got* to do something about that water bottle!... ...and find that joker who filled it with Perrier..." "Captain?" Reece shook his head irritably, "Nothing! Let's get started..." ...Up above, Powys and Heimdall stood up, stretching their legs. So as not to make any noise, Powys just left the popcorn bag sitting on the beam before they left. They might not have made any noise, but for some reason, Caine found himself looking upwards, and seeing two figures. A logger-type and... "Alan?!" he whispered. "Excuse me," he said to Reece as he silently tracked the progress of the two above, without drawing attention from them or those on the ground level. They might have thought he was nuts, but they didn't even consider that he might be subtly looking up. Powys and Heimdall went by different ways, and when Powys was about to walk out the back door, he was quite startled - - for once -- to hear the click of a 9mm behind him. Caine stepped out, "All right, Alan, you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. First Jin Ming, and now this. What the hell's your game, Welshie?" Powys smiled uncertainly, his hands in his coat pockets, "Observing. Rolling the dice. Stirring the pot. Whatever you want to call it. You know full well that I don't interfere." "I don't believe it. And I get enough of the poetry and code language from my dad -- I want a straight explanation from you." "How much do you know of quantum physics?" "CUT THE CRAP!" Caine yelled, his gun-hand tensing. "If *you* know your 'quantum physics', you should be able to explain it to a barmaid!" "Feynman?" "No. Axer Carrick. I met him at Tam O'Shanty's. He was playing 'drink scotch til you drop' with Strenlich." He stopped himself, shaking his head sharply, "Stop evading and answer my question!" "You wouldn't know the answer if it hit you on the head." Powys' tone was patronizing. "Oh yeah?" Caine looked pretty annoyed. "I think I'll get it." Powys nodded, coming to a decision, "Very well. You do deserve an answer, and for old partner's sake, I'll tell you. But -- are you sure you want it?" "YES!" Caine's voice rose a little in irritation. Powys nodded once more. "Just remember -- the truth sometimes hurts... a great deal." In a movement so fast it was a blur, Powys threw a small figurine of a cat at Caine's forehead, hitting it with an audible 'thunk' and knocking him down -- and then knocking him out when his head hit the hard asphalt. Powys stood over Caine's unconscious body, saying lightly, "See? I told you so! You *wouldn't* know the answer if it hit you on the head! And the truth *does* hurt!" He left the cat figurine with Peter. *************************************************** The 'shock troops', as Caine had called them earlier, barged into the office, only to find a decapitated man. The lay of his body and sword showed that he had somehow chopped off his own head, which had everyone scratching their heads. He had somehow performed an impossible feat -- nobody has the strength to chop off their own head. That's why they started to look for clues that someone else was here. One of them made a call over the walkie-talkie, "This one needs assembly..." [squawk] [murphle] "...cute! Really cute!" [pause] "The coroners on the list have a long backlog. We're going to have to borrow one." [pause] "Look for a Dr. Natalie Lambert. She's with Reece's crowd." *************************************************** Mulroney was pulling on Axer's arm like a little child tugging at his mother's arm. "Come on! They'll be here any minute." The ones who came that minute were Jay and Coleen, who ran up to them and almost scared Mulroney out of his wits, who demanded, "What are you doing here?!" "Getting rid of those who were about to come any minute. You should be thanking me, you know." Axer seemed to be quite pensive, his face nearly folded in thought, and spoke suddenly, "Everyone get out of here -- this place is going to blow!" "What?" demanded Mulroney, disbelief -- and fear? -- on his face. "What's the problem?" "Me," smiled Axer. "Now go!" "Are you out of your mind?!" screamed Mulroney, grabbing at Axer. "First you're talking to yourself, and now you want to blow the place up?" "I've never had a clearer mind," whispered Axer, firmly pulling Mulroney's hands off his jacket. "I understand what work is going on here, which is why this lab needs to be destroyed. I'm burning in hell before I see this work continue." Coleen looked uncertainly at Axer. His expression was calm, as he usually was in a non-crisis situation, but he also looked... unusually focused, almost like Mulder. She pulled at Jay and nearly dragged him out of the lab. Mulroney followed her after a moment of hesitation. Axer walked over to the power supply, and turned knobs at random. A few minutes later, an explosion so horrible it could have been made from ten bombs rocked the very ground, throwing everyone for a little ways. Lightning and electrical fires erupted, and the sounds of fire sirens were heard. Axer was the first one to raise his head from the ground, whispering "Let's move it!" He was the first to reach the fence, nearly sailing over it. Mulroney was next, but he didn't follow Axer. ***************************************** "Can you grab it?" yelled Methos from the top of the trap. He dangled a long rope from their climb down the hole. Richie tugged on it, and began to climb as Methos began to walk back. Within a moment, Richie was out. "Whew!" he wiped sweat off his face. "I thought I was going to die in there -- I found two skeletons next to me!" Methos nodded, "I imagine he's played that trick before. He thinks it's funny." "Did you know that guy?" "Not really. Forget him -- we have more important work to do..." he sighed deeply. "We have to go through the files and get whatever we can, and if this isn't the European Headquarters, we'll have to find out where it is. I have a hard time believing that a megalomaniac like Jesus shouldn't be doubted..." Richie nodded, "Then let's get moving. I'll start on the west side; you start on the east." ********************************************************* Mulder was ready to pull out his hair. No LaCroix... No Cancerman... No files... No answers... He looked at his watch -- 30 minutes since Reece arrived. //Nnnhgh!! I need to stop drinking coffee!// Nick had recovered and left so that he could get to shelter before sunrise -- and he had no idea where Janette was. Detective Caine had gone off on his own to check out something and had not returned yet. Scully was only now beginning to recover from her exhaustion. Detective Vetter was the only one who was at all helpful, and seemed to catch onto his way of doing things pretty quickly. They had methodically -- that is, by Mulder's method -- searched the whole ground floor, and were now ready to move one level up, where the offices were. Before they did, however, Caine stumbled his way in, rubbing the back of his head, "Damned Powys! I'll kill him!" That shocked Mulder. "You *know* Powys?" "Yeah! He was my partner back during that series of decapitation murders." A lot of things clicked for Mulder, but he kept silent about that. He would have time to dig into that at a later time. "Where is he?" "He's gone now -- he was hiding up in the beams," he nodded upwards, wincing in pain, "when I saw him, and I followed him out back. I tried to get some solid answers out of him, but he pulled a fast one." "That doesn't look like a punch," Mulder observed, peering a little at the odd-shaped bruise on his forehead. "It wasn't -- he threw *this* at me!" he produced a cat figurine. "I just got up a few moments ago. ...The last thing I remember him saying was, 'You wouldn't know the answer if it hit you on the head.' Some answer!" "Let me see that!" snapped Mulder, grabbing it and examining it closely. "Of course!" He started laughing, almost doubling over. "What is it? What does it mean?" Mulder managed to stop laughing, "Don't you know what this is?" "A cat?" "It's Schroedinger's cat! This is too good!" He fell over, laughing again, tears streaming down his face. Caine chalked it up to exhaustion. The guy was as wired as a chihuahua, and needed some sleep -- bad. He took back the cat. Maybe another someone he knew might be able to make sense out of it. ******************************************* Axer and company made it back to the Raven in one piece, and just in time, because the sun had begun to rise. Jay made a big show of riding off, but Axer looked out the window long enough to see him pull back in on the other side and hide in the bushes. "What a funny guy," he muttered. "A good thing it's not April the first yet..." Coleen left to handle her own affairs, and so Axer was left with Kate, who was sort of nudging him down the hallway. "Good idea," Axer muttered, "I need to crash." Kate pouted, but nodded after a moment. ******************************************* Richie found something. "Methos! Look at this!" Methos ran over from the adjoining room only to see an old book, perhaps a century old. It was a diary written in an old-fashioned cursive that was nearly illegible due to it's sloppiness. It was a Watcher's book. The Chronicles of Odin. Methos and Richie looked at one another. More books were found in the same area -- a whole series of Chronicles: Tyr, Heimdall, Baldur, Loki... A final one said, The Prophecies of Ragnarok. Richie looked questioningly at Methos, "If these guys are supposed to be gods, then why do the Watchers have chronicles for them?" Methos scratched his head, "It could be that the Watchers didn't know that they were gods. Perhaps they thought that they were immortals playing at gods -- or were just plain immortals. Or it could be that Powys lied to you all." "There's more! Here's one called Non Videt, Sed Video." "What?? Let me see that!" He leafed through it. "This is it!" "You can read that?" "Don't you know Latin?!" He took a step back, "Sorry. I forgot -- American education is substandard!" The sounds of guards could be heard. "Let's go!" whispered Richie. They quickly gathered the books and were off. They left just in time, because if they hadn't left, they'd be answering some pretty awkward questions. --------------------------------------------------------- Henry Wyckoff -- wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (29/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt LaCroix and Halscombe were in the perfect hiding place -- a hidden cellar in the Raven that only he and Janette knew about. Janette would have no reason to go down here, and Nick didn't know about it, so LaCroix felt safe and secure. Halscombe felt anything but that. "I thought you were going to leave me for the wolves," said Halscombe. "To tell you the truth, I really don't know what to do with you. I *could* do it, but then I wouldn't get the information I want." LaCroix was sweating, hardly daring to go through with what he planned -- it had backfired in the past, but then again, none of the others had the problems that Halscombe had. "What information?" asked Halscombe. LaCroix stared Halscombe in the eyes, his pupils locking into Halscombe's. ^^What's so special about you?^^ A nice and ambiguous question to start with -- unfocused enough to keep Halscombe guessing if he was resisting, and open enough to get an unexpected answer. ^^You *will* tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.^^ Halscombe was not a resistor and was not programmed to self- destruct. He tried to fight the suggestion, and was quite strong-willed, but he lacked that special -- unidentifiable factor -- that the resistors had. His eyes took on a zombie-look as he said, "I don't know how to answer your question." True, but useless. LaCroix decided to tighten the questions. ^^Is there anything you *want* to tell me?^^ "No." LaCroix wanted to strangle the man, wondering if he was still resisting on some level. ^^What is your connection with the Invisible Ones?^^ "I was recruited by them because I was 'the kind of good help that's hard to get'." ^^Go on.^^ Halscombe must have been resisting; he was sweating visibly. "I knew something about everything, had friends and acquaintances everywhere, and knew how to organize operations. The Invisible Ones needed someone with those qualifications. They arranged it so that I would managed the United States operations and act as an interface with the other powers." LaCroix nodded. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He couldn't help but think about the many worlds theory. Could Axer and Halscombe be two souls who diverged, and had become opposite sides of the same coin? When it came down to it, Axer had many of the same inclination of skills under the surface. ^^What are the Invisible Ones?^^ A nice, specific, neutral question. "I don't know. I never met them myself. They just run the show." LaCroix considered something. ^^Are they of this world?^^ "I don't know." ^^What do you think?^^ "I don't know." ************************************************ Duncan held his head in his hands. The only thing he knew was pain. It was a headache so powerful that even when he breathed, his head would ache with a new wave of pain. Amanda washed his forehead with a wet cloth, unsure as to what was happening or what to do about it. It couldn't be poison, that was for sure. "What happened?" he asked. The effects of that dungeon session were slowly wearing off. He remembered it only as a whirlwind of pain and pleasure -- without any faces. "You had a bad few days," she answered, ringing out the cloth. "Just let it go." There was a polite knock on the door, and both felt the presence of an immortal. In came through a man with a worn and used trenchcoat, a week-old beard, uncombed hair, and worn tennis shoes. He wore a lop-sided grin on his face that faded into an uncertain one. It was none other than Connor MacLeod. Duncan looked up, confusion open on his face. Finally, recognition came, "Connor?" "It's me," smiled Connor, walking over to the kitchen and pulling out a bottle of white wine. "A friend asked me to come down and help you get back on your feet." He grinned viciously, holding two claymores that were so heavy that they probably weren't even meant to be used in battle. Duncan's head fell back into his hands. ***************************************************** Mulder, Tracy, Caine, and now Scully were going through the paper and computer files in the only office the warehouse had to offer. Most were genuine papers for the warehouse business, but a few were coded transactions -- perhaps indicating the storage and transport of illegal materials. It resembled the office of a contrabandistor more than the office of an Invisible One. Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised, but Mulder hoped to find *some* sort of hint -- a memo, a scrap of paper, a file -- *something* to send him along the right path. Something occurred to him then, as he looked at the room with unfocused eyes. The windows were gone. They were swung open, and all the glass had blown outwards. The more he looked around, the more he found evidence of... some sort of massive disturbance, almost like some sort of explosion. Only, there was no fire or bomb. He scratched his head. "Care for some coffee?" asked a new voice. Mulder turned to see Nat, who had brought in a big thermos. Mulder was the only one who felt like coffee, so he grabbed a cup and motioned with his head towards the hallway. Mulder could tell that Nat was looking very preoccupied, even more than she should be expected to be, so he asked her, "Is everything all right?" "Nothing's wrong," she shook her head. //She didn't answer my question *and* she shook her head. This must be serious!// "You can tell me," he said. She couldn't speak. "That's o.k.," he took a sip of coffee. "Whenever you want to talk, I'll have an ear open." Nat shook her head again. "I just can't believe what's been happening to me the last few days... Ever since I stepped into the Raven, my whole life changed." Mulder nodded, saying nothing. "Nick -- Coleen -- Janette coming back... I don't know what to think any more. I don't even know what I'm feeling anymore!" It must have been the angle of the faint light, but Mulder spotted something on Nat's arm. She wore short sleeves at the moment, and he could see several injection points. They were too random and sloppy to be those made by a doctor -- and they were finer than the points left by ultrafine insulin syringes. They looked like they were made by -- "Do you remember being injected with something?" demanded Mulder sharply. "I -- don't--" she shook her head sharply, as if she were trying to clear her memory of something, or trying to remember. "That explains it!" he snapped, a fist hitting his open palm. "I *thought* you looked out of it, and now the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. I think somebody injected you with something!" His tone softened. "What do you remember?" "I don't know... Only waking up with Coleen and realizing that I couldn't waste anymore of my life with an immature vampire who refused to grow up or admit the truth to himself." Mulder shook his head sadly. //I'd be the first to say that Coleen acted in an unethical manner... But should I tell Nat the truth? She's confused, but I think she might actually be happier this way. I couldn't have worked so well if she didn't want it to be this way...// His stomach clenched. //At least I'll sleep on it. Better to wait and see.// Mulder sighed, "Tell me this. If Nick left you forever, how would you feel?" They turned around and started to walk back. Nat shook her head, "I don't know. Maybe a week ago, I would have said differently, but I honestly couldn't care if he vanished forever. Maybe if he matures a little more, I *would* care, but he's like a broken record, and I need to move on." Mulder's gut crunched some more. He'd had inner debates before, but nothing like this. He didn't know what to say or think -- only what he knew he *should* do, and what he *would* do. "I think you should trust your instincts," he said, not adding, //...Instincts warped by drugs. But maybe that's what you needed...// They returned to find that the investigation was finished. Nothing was found here, but Scully did have some information to give him. "Joe just called, and told us he has a few fish stories to tell us." "The fish that got away?" "More like the fish he threw back in." Mulder shook his head, "We *have* to find Halscombe! He *has* to be here!" "*Mulder*! If he was here, we would have found him. Maybe some of them moved him somewhere else." //She has a point...// "We still can't go -- we still might be able to find some files." "Detective Vetter can do that." Once more, Mulder found himself gently over-ruled by his partner. They left for the Raven. ******************************************************* Richie and Methos had been delving through the books for the last day, at Methos' apartment rather than the boat -- at Methos' insistence, since Duncan needed some room to heal and get his bearings. Richie didn't mind at all. He'd never been to college, but the whole experience made him feel like he was studying for some major exam. Coffee was made in copious amounts, and there were snacks galore. More than once, Richie reached for the pretzels, and had to fight really hard to stay away from the beer. They had taken the books randomly, reading them cover to cover, making notes where appropriate. What made the reading easy was the fact that they were translations into English from Swedish and Icelandic. What made them hard was the fact that while they read like fiction books, they couldn't read them as such -- they had to read them critically, which made the job a great deal more tedious than either one of them would have liked. They had finished the 'biographies', and Richie made a comment, "You know, I can't see where these 'gods' are different from immortals! They're the same, do the same things, live like regular human beings..." "Except for the fact that they were never observed to take a quickening or get challenged by an immortal." Richie nodded at that, "Maybe they were good at staying hidden at the right times." "You have a point there, but I don't think we have the whole story." Methos held up two more books: The Prophecies of Ragnarok and Non Videt, Sed Video. "I think these will be the most valuable." They got to reading... ******************************************** Axer leaned back on a sofa, an arm loosely draped over Kate as she snuggled against him, nibbling -- and biting -- at his neck. It was a game she sometimes played. She would ever-so-gently bite a hole in his neck and sip at the few drops of blood that would come out. The wound would close almost immediately, which Kate seemed to enjoy immensely, because she would puncture his neck again, giggling the whole while. Axer smiled a bit at that, but his mind was elsewhere. He was thinking about the memories that had assaulted him the last few days, the nightmare-scape, Tesla's momentary possessions of him, and his own control over the quickening -- or so Kate and Mulroney would have him believe. //Could it truly be? Could this truly be an emergence of older, slain immortals from that sea of captured quickenings? Or was it all in my head? And why was it the box that triggered it all?// "Hmmm..." muttered Kate, nearly succeeding in diverting his attention as she kissed another bite mark. "Don't tell me you're thinking -- after all this!" "I'm afraid I am," he smiled, running his fingers through her hair. "I hate to say it, but I think you're right about the nightmares." She looked up from his neck, a little startled, "What do you mean?" "When I was at the lab, Mulroney said that Tesla -- who turned out to be an immortal -- had possessed me a few times. Once he told me about it, I went into the nightmare-scape and met him." He shook his head, "I knew some things about the man, but there's no way I could pull him out of my own subconscious -- there are so many things I don't know about him or his science. I pulled him to the real world and he took a good look at everything, and figured out in half an hour what I would never have figured out in a year." "But I thought you knew about all that," she frowned. Axer laughed sardonically, "I know *about* a lot of the different fields, but I'm not a master of all trades. ...There are *so many* tricks and traps that I'd never be able to pull it off. It's like knowing how to say 'I speak your language very well' in twenty different languages, and not being fluent in any of them." Kate laughed pretty hard at that one, "I can see you've been on the other side of that one!" He nodded ruefully, "One too many times -- and Berlitz made it a lot worse!" He shuddered. Something just occured to him then. "I need to go back under." "Why?" She could sense his urgency. He laughed sardonically once more, "You know, I think I've been going to the nightmare-scape for a lot longer than I realize." "What do you mean?" "Whenever I had a vision of the Great Mother, it would take place in the nightmare-scape. I never questioned it, but now I am." --------------------------------------------------------- Henry Wyckoff -- wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. This chapter has been split. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (30A/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Nat and Coleen were standing on the roof, looking over whatever part of the city that wasn't blocked by the buildings. Nat had been strangely pensive the whole time. "Coleen?" she asked. "What did you inject me with?" "Inject?" Coleen asked with true innocence. Nat shook her head, "Don't lie to me. I'm starting to remember things -- the injections... the loss of time... It didn't make sense until Mulder talked to me, and I started to remember." She looked at Coleen with furious eyes. "Why did you do that?" Coleen knew the game was over. "Janette asked me to. I met her in New York, and when she found out who I was, she asked me to do a little job." "Which was?..." "To make sure that you wouldn't have an interest in Nick. She thought you were a bad influence, and when I saw how Nick was treating you, I thought that he was bad for you." "What are you saying?" Coleen was honest when she said, "When I came back to town, I thought I was doing it for the money, but when I saw you, I realized that Nick wasn't good enough for you." She blew out her breath when she realized what she said, "I didn't mean it like that! I just couldn't watch Nick treat you like that! You were there for him, and helped him out during all his difficult times, and he was just treating you like a slave... I realized then that you didn't want Nick - - and you didn't know what you wanted." Nat was furious, "So you made my decisions for me? So you thought you'd pump me full of drugs?! What kind of compassion is that?" Coleen looked away, "I know how it looks, but you weren't giving yourself another chance. You would have stuck where you were until one of you got too cynical to go on or one of you died -- in one way or another. This way, I've given you a choice, even if you don't like it." She looked at Nat very intensely, "What is it going to be." Nat didn't answer the question -- she stomped away without saying a word. Coleen's head hung in her hands as she breathed the cold air. A particular memory surfaced, and it was as if she stood on that nameless patch of tundra once more... ..."Emotions may be a fine thing to have when you're watching Bambi," Axer was saying, looking out at the frozen ocean, "but they're a bad thing to have if you're an immortal. It's best to block them all off. Kill them." "That doesn't make any sense! I'm human -- you are too, and I *know* you have emotions!" He smiled, "Perhaps I misspoke myself. You're right -- we're human, and we do have emotions, but the question is, are you in control of them or are they in control of you? If your arm gets chopped off, are you going to grovel in your pain and need for 'hugs and kisses' 'til the hurt goes away, or are you going to shrug it off, get up, and finish the fight?" He chuckled humorlessly, "For a long time I hated the British, but one thing I respected was their refusal to bow down to adversity. Their eternal response to disaster was, 'My, how inconvenient!'" "What do you want me to do?" "Run a mile out in the ice without any clothes on. Punch a boulder with your bare hands until they're broken slabs of meat. Put yourself through the worst kinds of torture you can, be honest with yourself about what you're feeling, and then keep going. Trust me, it's the only way you can survive." Axer looked at her directly, "Look at me: I'm a short Welshman, and I've killed Goths and Vikings who towered over me by a foot or two. How? By my *acquired* ability to let my pain pass by -- and maybe that's the key phrase there: 'pass by'. You feel it, and you let it go..." Coleen looked at her hands, "Let it go..." She slammed her fist into the wall, and broke every one of her knuckles. The pain was so intense that tears flowed, but she slammed her other fist into the wall. The pain rose. Time and time again, she slammed her fists into the wall at full force until she could no longer do it. Weak, weeping, and paralyzed from the pain, she lay slumped against the wall. "Damn you Axer!" she whispered. "You were wrong -- pain doesn't erase the pain!" Desperately, she wanted Nat to come back and realize her mistake, and say, "I'm so sorry. I was wrong. I *do* love you after all." But Nat didn't. Coleen remained alone. ****************************************** Powys walked into the Raven -- all smiles. "I hear you had several major breakthroughs!" he said as he helped himself to a pint of ale. Joe wasn't in a good mood to begin with, and snapped at him, "What made *you* so happy?" His look was innocent, "Why, it's a wonderful day!" He sipped some of the ale now that the head settled a little. "And where have you *been* all this time?" "Here and there," he said evasively. "No place special." Joe stopped asking questions: he wasn't in the mood to play games. **************************************************** LaCroix stared at Halscombe. He no longer needed to 'persuade' Halscombe, because he had begun to volunteer stuff on his own, as if he were dumping baggage from his shoulders. "There's a lot I don't know about it," admitted Halscombe, "but the word was that --" * * * "--the Invisible Ones are a society, or some sort of group of people that have been around for at least two millennia," said Methos, translating from the Latin, "and this was in Roman times. "Their purpose -- their open purpose -- was to --" * * * "--enable human beings to walk the Tree of Life. A few months ago, I didn't know what that meant, but ever since Powys talked to me, I think I do. It means --" * * * "--that if they followed through with their plan, according to this, any human being would be able to travel to 'the stars', which would most likely be more poetic than literal, and so would mean --" * * * "--that any human being would be able to travel to any time, any alternate universe, or something along the lines. But who knew why they wanted to --" * * * "--create such a race? It doesn't say. Could it be that they had a simple scientific curiosity, or did they feel they needed to do this? Who knows --" * * * "--why. It's so crazy that I can't believe it. Even now, I can't believe it. But *they* do, and that's important." "But who are they?" asked LaCroix. "What are they?" * * * "Good question," smiled Methos. "I don't know, but I think we have a clue as to where we need to go." "Where?" demanded Richie. He was so tired of reading that he needed to kill something. "It says here that they have remained hidden, but there is one who is said to be a contact -- a means of reaching the Invisible Ones." "Who?" * * * "Who else but Odin? But there's nothing you can do now. He's dead." ********************************************************** In the cold north, the winds blew mercilessly across the landscape. There was no snow here, but lots of ice. It covered a single corpse lying in the middle of ruins. It was a filthy corpse, but anything but bloated. One eye had been taken out a long time ago, and the second one had been shot out with an arrow. The corpse twitched, then screamed. It felt hot -- so hot. It pulled the arrow out of its face and waited. Time passed as it breathed heavily, fingers twitching like fingers at a keyboard. "Behind closed eyes, realize your sight," whispered a voice from nowhere. **************************************************** --------------------------------------------------------- Henry Wyckoff -- wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down. This chapter has been split. The Cycle of Axer Carrick, Part 4 Reading the Endtrails (30B/30) A continuation of: When the Veil is Lifted The Duplicity Frostmelt Axer stood on the Scottish plain, the sky empty and the landscape devoid of all life except for the rolling grasses. She was there, without his even having to call for her, and she looked as if she were expecting him. "Mother," he said. "We need to speak." She nodded. "I know. You're beginning to understand." Axer nodded hesitantly, "I think I do -- but I only have more questions..." It was really hard for him to ask this, "Were you an immortal?" She laughed long and loud, "What would possess you to ask a question like that?" His look was grave, "'Possess' is the right word. It suddenly occurred to me that I met Tesla the same way that I met you -- through the nightmare-scape. He was an immortal who passed on to me when I took a quickening. But you were in my mind for as long as I can remember. ...Were you an immortal that I had slain?" Her look was sad, "I had wanted you to remember -- had *pushed* you to remember, but I was also sad that it had to be. You *must* grow up, but it's sad to see, as it is for any mother." "What are you getting at?" demanded Axer. She pointed to a calm pool that was now next to them, "Look into the waters, and remember." He did so, and he found that he *could* remember. It was in the pool, but it was also in his own mind... He had died in battle. That much was evident. And now, he was no longer dead. He screamed in the pain of dead flesh coming back to life -- nerve by nerve. But even that faded. "He is a god!" cried the jubilant villagers. "Me? A god?" he asked incredulously. "It can't be!" But it was. And in order for the god to rise from the ground, the old one had to be put into the ground. He was led to the sacred grove, where the goddess waited between the three sacred oak trees. It was the young woman he had known all his life, one he had only known as 'mother'. The villagers were honest enough to say that they never knew his mother, but she was close enough to a real mother. "Mother, what is happening? Why am I a god, when I thought I was but a man?" His mother looked at him kindly, "Do not question what is. Accept it. Just as I will accept your next deed." She handed him an axe. "You must lay me down to the earth." In a trance, he accepted the axe. "Now you must take my head." He never protested, asked why, or hesitated. He took her head, for this must be the way of things. Her head came clean off in one swipe, and the next thing he knew, her soul was released -- for everyone knew the head was the soul-cap, and if the head came off, the soul must release itself from the body. His vision faded with the pain that came from the soul-lightning... "I killed you," Axer said numbly. "You were my mother, and I killed you." She smiled fondly at him, taking him in her arms and kissing his forehead, "It was the way things had to be. And it wasn't that bad -- we still could see one another..." Axer opened up his eyes in the real world. "I remember now." ************************************************** "So," Richie asked, "what do we do? We go up to Canada to find this corpse?" "That's exactly what we do, but I think we should make a detour by Toronto first." Richie buried his head in his hands, "Why did I get a feeling you were going to say that?" ***************************************************** LaCroix' was deep in thought, and he came to the conclusion he was searching for. He didn't like it, but he stuck with it. "You're free to go," he said, releasing the prisoner. "But they'll kill me!" LaCroix just looked at him. ******************************************************** Axer felt a strong presence hit him from within the Raven. "Kate," he nudged her off. "Something's wrong. There's another immortal here." "Who could it be?" she helped pull him up. "I don't know, but I aim to find out." They went downstairs, where he saw LaCroix and Halscombe in the main room. Not only were Joe and Kermit here, but so were the two feds and Powys. Axer drew his glaive, "You're mine!" "Stop!" commanded LaCroix. "He has a story to tell you all. The same story he just finished telling me." ******************************************************* Nick lay in his own bed, in his own house, staring at the ceiling. Janette had followed him here, but he would have nothing to do with her. Everything hurt too much -- Janette leaving him, Nat leaving him, and Janette coming back. Janette stood a few feet away from his bed, "You can't stare at the ceiling forever." "No, Janette. I can't take this." "What is it that you can't take, Nikola? Tell me." "You left me, and made it clear to LaCroix that I wasn't to follow you, and then you waltz on back, expecting everything to be like nothing ever changed." "That's not true," she sat on the edge of the bed, "I *don't* want things to be the same. I *want* them to be like things are changed." She stood up sharply, "I don't even know why I'm even talking to you! LaCroix told me that you'd changed, so I thought I would come back to see for myself. But apparently he's wrong." "LaCroix *knew* where you were?!" He looked at her. She looked at him as if he were an idiot. He was silent for a moment, "What is it that everything I do seems wrong? Why have you never approved of my ambitions, and mocked everything I've believed in? What is it that I'm supposed to do?" Janette smiled softly, "At least you're asking. That's a perfect way to start." **************************************************** Everyone was seated at the main floor, their eyes locked on Halscombe as he finished his story. Rather than clearing minds, all his monologue did was clutter it up with more confusion. Mulder reacted the worst, "This doesn't help us at all! You know a great deal more than you're telling us, and I *know* how to get it from you, bastard!" He drew his gun. Axer, who was seated a foot away, smoothly grabbed the gun and unloaded it. "There'll be no killing here today. Sit back down." Mulder didn't. He paced back and forth, making 'Latin American dictator' gestures. "So where the hell are we? Are we any closer to the truth? Have we actually accomplished anything?" "I think so," said Axer lazily, counting on his fingers. "One, we've knocked out the black-box killers. Two, we've totally demolished the electrogravity research lab and destroyed all their records. Three, I killed the only one who knew anything real about the research. Four, we have Halscombe, and whether you like it or not, he's helped us eliminate some possibilities. "But I get your point -- so don't start snapping at me... I'm also pretty sure that even though we've hit a lot of dead-ends, tying up a lot of the loose ends are going to help us out in the long run." "That may be fine and nice, but what do we do now? We're no closer to the Invisible Ones -- how do you propose to get us any closer to them?" Axer's ears perked up, "I think that may be the least of our worries for the present. Do you hear that outside?" There was the faint roar of a million voices coming closer. ****************************************************** While Methos and Richie were going over the books, the BBC news was on the radio, but neither one paid it any mind. Today, a horrific riot took place in the middle of Dublin and Belfast simultaneously. If these riots took place because of differences between Catholic and Protestant, or views on England's relationship with Ireland, it would be understandable -- though sad. No, the reason these riots took place have more to do with the rise of pagan cults across Europe. One group, calling themselves the Vanir and claiming to follow the Viking god Frey, clashed with another cult calling themselves the Cult of the Wolf -- of Fenris, in fact. It started off with several hundred people on each side, armed with not guns and bombs, but rather swords, axes, and clubs. Nobody know why these two cults met openly and began to fight, and nobody knows how the riots grew, including average people who were not involved with either cult in any way. When government troops moved in to squash the riot, they found themselves overwhelmed, even when they used tear gas, plastic bullets, and the other humane tools used to stop riots. Two years ago, this would have been unheard of, but now it is a common scene across the globe. In Dresden, similar riots erupted last week -- thoughts of labor and anti-Semitism problems absent from all of the rioters' minds. In Toronto, Canada, an especially violent and armed cult known as the Tyrssons have been roaming the streets, actively searching for whom they call 'Odinssons'. This very day, there was a long and drawn-out battle between the two cults in the slums, and in another part of the city, police and federal agents stormed a warehouse where the black-box killers were headquartered. More as the developments are made available... Neither one paid any attention to the news, but there wasn't much they could do about it anyway. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx This is the end of Reading the Endtrails. The next part of the Cycle is called Riding the Wave As always, I'm accepting guesses as to why I picked this title, as well as predictions of what will happen in the next story. --------------------------------------------------------- Henry Wyckoff -- wyckoff@ag.arizona.edu Q: Want to know how to conserve bandwitdth? A: We all stay off the web and watch the servers shut down.