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 *******************************************************************