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Title: But a Day ``°°ºº¤oøO§Oøo¤ºº°°``°°ºº¤oøO§Oøo¤ºº°°``°°ºº¤oøO§Oøo¤ºº°°`` Methos yawned hugely as he came awake and stretched luxuriously. He listened, his ear cocked at the open window. He heard the odd calls of the indigenous wildlife - musical trills from the birds, a faint droning hum of insect life, the rustling sounds of deer grazing, strange mewing sounds from the various felinoids that seemed to dominate the local environment. It reminded him comfortably of Ancient Egypt, all these cats stalking around everywhere. Egypt without all that infernal sand, which was a definite improvement. They came in all sizes and colors, the cats, from tiny kittenish scamps that liked to try and steal his fish to the great, sentient, panther-like creatures that came to his dwelling daily for conversation and companionship. The indigenous humanoids were really ridiculously and erroneously afraid of the huge creatures. As a result, they tended to give Methos, himself, a wide berth. They knew he consorted with the K'rrah, as they called themselves, and the townspeople therefore did not trust him. That suited him, though. He had his little outpost with its carefully disguised technology and his quiet existence. He smiled wryly to himself. He'd engineered the ultimate coup d'état, he supposed, the quintessential survival maneuver. He'd found a planet where there were no Immortals, and it was far enough out of the way that there wouldn't likely ever be any other Immortals here. Relaxing among the heavy, warm blankets heaped on his large, comfortable bed, he let his mind drift back. Back a thousand years. All the way back to Earth. * * * * * * * * * * * It started out as a whimsy, more an idle fancy than a conscious plan, this idea he'd had of flying away from Earth and finding himself a world where headhunting Immortals never trod. He supposed he should've seen it coming, should've known that humanity would eventually conquer the stars. Well, at least visit and explore, if not conquer, though it'd started out that way. He snorted. Stupid greedy bastards, the lot of them in those days. But somewhere around the 23rd century, the old institutions had fallen away, and the United Federation of Planets was born. True to form, Methos had spent a number of years as a professor at Starfleet Academy. Ancient cultures and antiquities, of course. He'd enjoyed his time at the Academy, especially when they sent him off world to investigate cultures in the early stages of development. Always undercover, of course, but the thrill was still the same. But that position had to be abandoned in the fullness of time, before other people noticed he hadn't aged. He'd drifted then, traveling from world to world as a scholar, doctor, merchant, anything to keep his mind occupied. He'd lived like that for 600 years, keeping to the margins, staying resolutely aloof. He kept his head down and his blades sharp. He took a head every few years - usually in random challenges he couldn't avoid, but once or twice another specter from his past had arisen and needed to be dealt with. He'd deliberately avoided his friends from the 20th century. Once Joe Dawson had passed on, he'd become somewhat estranged from the motley, Immortal Clan MacLeod. It wasn't that he didn't like them; on the contrary, he'd been secretly overjoyed to have Immortal friends for once. They were just too damned conspicuous. There were the de Valicourts, alternately in the throes of wedded bliss or screaming enmity over the centuries. Way too volatile and too noisy for Methos' taste. And then there was Amanda. The sneaky little thief was always getting into some kind of mischief that she needed help getting out of. She attracted trouble like a magnet. Connor MacLeod was almost as bad. He was the original hot-headed Scot, as far as Methos was concerned, prone to drunken carousing and quick temper, neither of which were conducive to keeping one's head. And one couldn't forget Richie Ryan, Duncan's rash young student at the time, taking ridiculous risks as he tested the limits of his own invincibility. There were others, of course, all of them more or less considered "the good guys" in the Game. Being "the good guys," they naturally attracted all manner of unhealthy attention from "the bad guys" and headhunting young punks out for a quick kill, the Rules be damned. The whole situation had set off every last alarm in the head of the world's oldest survivor. It had been exciting while it lasted, but exciting was really just another word for dangerous, which was a quick road to suicidal. And then there was Duncan. Ah, Duncan. He hadn't thought of Duncan MacLeod hardly at all these last thousand years. No, that wasn't true. He should at least be honest with himself, he supposed. He'd tried to convince himself every single day not to think about the Highlander. Not to think about the Immortal Galahad, the consummate Clan Chieftain who never failed to ride to the rescue, who always fought the good fight, prudent or not. So upright and good that he fairly glowed - a candle so bright that he'd even managed to attract Methos, jaded and cynical old moth that he was. MacLeod the heroic; MacLeod the just; MacLeod the charismatic. Methos chuckled as he remembered. He remembered MacLeod at Joe's bars, smiling and laughing over beer and conversation. He remembered the Scot, as magnificent as an avenging angel in his righteous anger at injustice. His tragic beauty when he was forced to confront the darkness in himself. His determined protection of his Clan, mortals and Immortals alike. His unconscious but adorable pout when he was in the throes of a first-class Scottish brood. His smiles of open friendship. Methos frowned as other memories surfaced. He remembered those hurtful words that MacLeod had spat at him after the Horsemen debacle. He remembered Duncan at his most judgmental. Worst of all, he remembered the times when Duncan had nearly given up his head for the sake of his friends or the sake of his principles. Methos' mouth went dry and he felt the first stirrings of panic. Too important to lose, Highlander. Don't you dare die. Bloody stupid boyscout. He sighed. It wasn't his concern anymore anyhow. He wondered if Duncan was still alive after all these years. After the mess with O'Rourke, Methos had gradually faded out of the dour Scot's life, and they'd lost track of each other. He reflected morosely that Duncan was almost surely lost to the Game by now. He was too attractive a target, and too caught up in his foolish chivalry to survive this long. Silently, Methos mourned what might have been, what could never be. He sighed again and levered himself out of bed. Time to face the day, old man. He strode across his bedroom, heading for the bathing facilities. His dwelling was neither small nor overly large; three or four people could easily call it home. For just himself, it was more than adequate. He'd spent a great deal of his accumulated assets on this place, he mused. With the help of some of the finest engineers and shipbuilders money could buy, he'd designed and constructed his remarkable ship. With careful cloaking, holographic projection, and some physically real purchases, said ship now looked every inch a log cabin built form local hardwoods and decorated with local furnishings and tapestries. He'd designed it so that it was capable of long-term interstellar travel, yet was small enough to manage himself and land on a reasonably accommodating planet surface. After he'd finished building it, he'd filed his first flight plan, an entirely fake intention to take it to Alpha Centauri on a trial run. He'd then pointed his nose to the stars and traveled in a more or less straight line at maximum warp for eighty years. Lost in space, as far as the Federation was concerned. When he judged himself far enough away from Earth to avoid Immortals for good, he'd scanned for a hospitable planet and found Riyal, a smallish, lush M-class world with friendly inhabitants just beginning to explore the possibilities of technology beyond simple electricity. He'd landed his ship under cover of darkness, set up the "cabin" and gradually fit into the community, posing as a young thinker from a far-away land who came to the mountains to get away from it all. Not a bad existence at all, he mused as he replicated himself some coffee and wandered out to the fruit trees he'd cultivated over the last twenty years to pick some breakfast. Fortunately, the humanoids on this planet were very long-lived. They had a life-expectancy of around 300 standard years, which meant Methos had lots of time before he needed to worry about relocating. He smiled contentedly as he munched the sweet purple fruit. He felt a faint presence brush against his mind - not the tingling hum and prickling nerves that another Immortal would bring, but a quiet brush that told him his K'rrah friends were about to pay him their daily visit. The great cats were not anatomically constructed for human speech - it came out as unintelligible growls and snapping snarls. Instead, they spoke directly to Methos' mind. He'd wondered, at first, how it was possible for them to speak to him but not any other humanoids on the planet. They'd responded with a characteristically cryptic explanation, saying something about the energy in his head that made him easier to hear, the lightning that carried their words to him. His Quickening, then. There was a soft rustle as two Kats, one midnight black and one a deep red-brown, slunk into his clearing. //Fair morning to you, friend.// The chestnut cat, who called himself Hrryn, came nearly every day. He'd apparently taken a fancy to the furless creature who'd come among them. //Greetings to you, travelers. My den, my lands, and the creatures I hunt are offered in welcome. I wish you fair morning and safe journeys.// Methos gave the traditional response. He then broke into an impish grin. //Morning, Hrryn. Who's your friend?// The other Kat had kept silent and would not offer mind-speech until invited. The K'rrah were excruciatingly polite. //My friend and packmate Skyrr. He wishes to offer you his friendship.// Methos nodded gravely and treated the offer with the solemnity it was due. He unsheathed the stiletto at his hip and scored his palm deeply. He offered the bleeding palm to the Kat who still sat silently before him. Skyrr lifted one massive paw and dragged his fangs across it. The Immortal and the Kat briefly clasped hand to paw, then the wounds healed of their own accord. With the exchange of blood, the friendship was sealed. //Thank you, human, for so freely offering your friendship.// //The honor is mine, Skyrr. Please, call me Methos.// The Kat cocked his head. //A strange name. One feels it must be difficult to voice aloud.// Methos grinned. //Not for humans. Our mouths and voices are constructed differently.// He repeated the sentence aloud to demonstrate. Skyrr's eyes widened. //A most unusual manner of speaking. I see now, however, how it would be easier for you to say such words aloud.// Hrryn chuffed with laughter and regarded Methos expectantly. //And what are you smirking about, old friend?// he asked the chestnut Kat, knowing full well what he wanted. The game was as much a tradition as the ritual K'rrah greetings they exchanged. //It is the hour of the day for breaking fast,// the Kat prompted. Methos affected astonishment. //And you expect me to feed you?// The Kat's features stretched into a feral feline grin. //Yes,// he growled. Skyrr watched in mortification as his packmate all but demanded food from the human. He wondered when Hrryn's manners had slipped so. //Relax, Skyrr,// Methos' mental voice was amused. //I've some fish if you're both hungry.// Mildly excited rumblings filled the clearing. Methos chuckled and headed into his cabin to retrieve the two fish he'd caught the previous day. He plunked a plate down before each Kat and tore into another purple fruit to finish his own breakfast. The Kats ate delicately and licked their jowls clean. Hrryn spoke up. //I have spoken with my packmates and our leader. He has decided to allow you to see the Vortex. The energy in it matches that which you carry in you, and he has deemed you trustworthy to keep its existence secret from other humans.// Methos' ears perked up at this. Some kind of vortex with energy like his Quickening? This should be interesting. //It is far from here,// the Kat continued, //in a place where the humans will not go. You will have to ride upon my back to get there.// Methos started. //Are you sure? I wouldn't want to degrade you by forcing you to carry a passenger.// The great chestnut Kat padded towards him and swiped a rough pink tongue across one of Methos' cheeks. //The honor of carrying you is mine, friend Methos.// Methos nodded and stood uncertainly at the Kat's side. //Um, how do I... That is, how should I... Where should I sit?// Methos finally asked. Hrryn chuffed his amusement and sent Methos a pair of images. One was of him sitting upright close to the Kat's front legs. //For when I move slowly,// the Kat clarified. The other image showed Methos stretched out along Hrryn's back, arms and legs both clasped about the huge Kat's sides. //This one is better if I need to run,// the Kat explained. //Right.// Methos grinned wryly to himself. After all his centuries riding a horse, he never would've expected to be riding a horse-sized cat. He retrieved his sword and a pack full of traveling essentials from his ship/cabin, strapped both across his back, and then hopped blithely astride his friend and stretched out to give the Kat freedom to run. The two K'rrah set off at an incredible pace. They ran that way for at least an hour while Methos dozed, the rhythmic strides lulling him. A mental nudge brought him back to himself. //You may wish to be more alert now. We must climb high, and the ground is uneven. I do not wish to throw you off.// //Right. Thanks, Hrryn. I didn't mean to doze off like that.// Hrryn's tail flicked lightly across his back in silent reassurance. Methos smiled to himself. He really liked these Kats. They were altogether satisfactory companions. The trio climbed higher and higher into the mountains, heading towards the crater of what appeared to be a large volcano. The air grew steadily colder until Methos was forced to do something about his increasing discomfort. //Friends, can we stop for a moment? I must put on more coverings since I have no fur to keep me warm in this cold.// Skyrr chuffed with laughter. //You humans. Never understood why you all insist on being bald. Fur is good for a lot of things.// He sounded very sure of himself. Methos chuckled. //I'd grow fur to keep me warm if I could, Skyrr. Humans don't grow fur, you know. This baldness, as you put it, is our natural state.// A vast surprise flooded Methos. The Kat clearly hadn't even considered the possibility that land-going creatures might be born with no fur. Skyrr ruminated on the possibility. //Then you are more resourceful than I thought for developing ways to deal with it.// Respect given where respect was due. After changing his warm-weather tunic for a more substantial garment, Methos tied on his cloak and pulled on an extra pair of socks. He laced up the boots he'd donned in lieu of his sandals and resettled his sword and pack on his back //Thanks for waiting. I'm ready to be off again now.// Hrryn crouched, and Methos climbed aboard again. The Kats climbed to the very summit of the mountain. They paused for a moment at the high-walled entrance to a rocky enclosure. Methos glanced upward and gasped. There, sitting straight and proud and silent before the pass were a pair of stone sentinels - not just any sentinels, but figures with which Methos was very familiar. It was Bast, Ancient Egyptian cat goddess. He sat astride Hrryn, stunned. How in the world had the image Bast made it all the way out here - light-years and millennia away from Ancient Egypt? Hrryn stopped. //I am not sure if they will let you past. The Guardians have never let a human by them. You may have to temporarily give your conscious to Skyrr and myself to fool them.// Methos didn't answer. He simply raised his voice in an ancient chant, a prayer to Bast. The eyes of the stone sentinels began to glow and pulsate. Hrryn looked startled. //The Guardians have accepted you,// he sent, a wealth of unspoken question in his mental voice. //I knew her as Bast, several hundred lifetimes ago. I said a prayer to her that I learned then. Looks like she'll listen to me even here, so far from my original home.// Hrryn was suitably impressed. //Our Guardians have never given us their names before. Perhaps they will not mind if we use yours.// Skyrr spoke up next. //Our leader is coming. He wishes to know what has awakened the Guardians. Only he among us can do that; he wishes to see who else can arouse their notice.// A huge, tawny male Kat with a full mane approached, anger snapping in his eyes. He spoke to his packmates sternly. //What have you done? I have tolerated your rebelliousness, and now you bring this human to our sacred place. You have angered the Guardians!// Hrryn's eyes flashed their irritation. //Calm down, Kyrragh. You asked us to bring him here, remember? We were trying to figure out how to get him past the Guardians alive, and he spoke to Them in a language I have never heard before. They answered him.// Kyrragh looked only slightly mollified. He advanced on Methos, who had slid from Hrryn's back. The Immortal drew his sword, preparing to defend himself if necessary. Kyrragh stopped, puzzled. //What is this thing you hold?// he demanded. Methos grinned ferally. //I don't have sharp claws or teeth. I use a blade instead.// The pack leader rumbled warningly. The eyes of the Guardians flared brighter. The big Kat looked up nervously. //It seems They wish you to proceed. I cannot say that I trust you, but if They do, then I shall allow you into our sacred place. I feel it now. The energy of our Vortex runs strong in you.// The big golden male sat on his haunches, bared his fangs, and scored his paw. He offered the bleeding limb to Methos. //I offer you the welcome, friendship, and alliance of the pack. I offer you my own friendship as well, and I apologize for distrusting you.// Methos drew his palm along the blade of his Ivanhoe, scoring his flesh deeply. //I accept your offer of friendship and give you mine in return. My blade for your defense, my lands for your hunting, my loyalty to the pack.// He grasped Kyrragh's paw, their blood mingling briefly as the wounds closed. The Kats turned and stalked into the huge canyon. Shedding his five thousand years of "just a guy" image, Methos, the Oldest of his race, strode after them with a final, grateful nod of acknowledgment to Bast. He halted just inside the canyon. Kats in all imaginable shades of brown and black and grey and amber lounged on rocky ledges all about the walls. The place looked like it positively dripped felinoids. Feline eyes regarded him curiously, then a ripple of understanding shivered about the place. This one was here at Kyrragh's invitation - the human that Hrryn had found. A silent acknowledgment, and Methos slowly approached what appeared to be a round pool at the center of the canyon. He mounted the steps leading up to it and peered in. And gasped. Not water, but the familiar lightning of Quickening fire swirled and tumbled in the deep purple depths. Before he could blink, a tendril of pure energy snaked out and grabbed him. He felt for a moment like he would be flayed apart with the intensity, but the Vortex suddenly released him, becoming quiescent again. Methos felt as though his brain had been expanded. //What was that?// he asked Hrryn. //The Vortex tested and accepted you and made you a true member of our pack. You will be able to share mind-speech with all of us now without the ritual.// Methos didn't get a chance to respond. Suddenly, the Vortex surged, and a streak of lightning arrowed towards the cloudless sky, a massive clap of thunder rumbling in its wake. Hundreds of feline heads snapped upwards, clearly startled. //What was that?// Methos asked, feeling like a broken record Hrryn's expression was unreadable. //As far as we can tell, that only happens when the Vortex calls a spirit to it or sends a soul out from itself. It called you, though it's call was much less violent.// Methos was surprised. //How do you know?// //It flares when one it has summoned arrives here. The day you came, it flashed with a brilliance we've never seen before.// //And it took you twenty years to get me up here?!// Hrryn rebuked him mildly. //We are a patient and cautious people.// //Patient?!// Methos was incredulous. //Immovable, more like,// he snapped. Hrryn chuffed with amusement, then padded off to join his packmates as they gathered around Kyrragh. //What's going on?// //My people live in small bands in the mountains and forests around this place. Kyrragh is the leader of all these bands. Twice during each moon cycle, we all come here and tend to pack matters. This is the day of one such pack meeting. It was convenient to bring you here to be accepted by the Vortex and the pack at the same time.// //Ah.// Methos stood respectfully off to one side as the silent council continued. He could hear the muted rumblings of the Kats' voices off in one corner of his mind. Suddenly, the Vortex began to glow and hiss and heave in agitation. The Kats turned to look at it, muttering worriedly among themselves. Suddenly, Methos' eyes were drawn skyward. There, he saw the unmistakable flare of orange against blue sky that heralded the arrival of a ship, in this case, a ship in serious trouble. A tendril of energy from the Vortex flashed out and touched his head briefly. Go, it said. Someone on that ship needs your help. They were so far from other human habitation that Methos realized the consciousness in the Vortex was right. His centuries-old medical training came to the fore. //Hrryn, Skyrr, sorry to interrupt, but I need you. Whoever's on that ship is going to be in bad shape when it comes down. You've got to get me there, fast, and you may need to help carry back the injured.// The two Kats came immediately to his side, ignoring their leader's demands for an explanation. Methos flung himself astride Hrryn, and the three set off, bounding out of the canyon and racing to beat the ship to the plateau towards which it was plummeting. Methos and the Kats arrived first, but only just. The small craft, which Methos was startled to realize was a Federation shuttlecraft, slammed nose-first into the ground with a fiery explosion from its port nacell. Even more surprising was the feeling that skittered along Methos' nerves just before impact - a sensation he had not experienced in over a century. There was an Immortal on that ship. The buzz of Presence winked out seconds after impact. Whoever it was hadn't survived the crash. Methos set his jaw grimly and loosened his sword in its scabbard. He'd have to go in and see if the stranger's head was still attached. If so, whoever it was would be waking soon, disoriented and shaken up, for sure. If the stranger was hostile, well, he'd rather be out in the open for that anyhow. Fire suddenly erupted from the front of the craft. Methos broke into a run as he approached the shuttle. Whoever was on board didn't have much time before the whole thing blew itself to pieces, and there was a good change that the stranger would lose his head in the blast if Methos didn't get him out. Pulling a tricorder and modified phaser from his pack, Methos first scanned the ship and located the body, only one, thank the gods, and then aimed his phaser at the ship's hull close to the spot where the body lay. After melting a good-sized hole in the hull, Methos dove through and grabbed the inert form at the controls under the arms. He gave a mighty tug and dislodged the person from its seat. He groaned as the dead weight threatened to yank his arms from their sockets. Of course, the pilot would have to be a large, heavy male. The body was suited up in full EVA gear, so he couldn't immediately tell if it was anyone he knew. Methos yanked his wandering thoughts back on track. It didn't matter who the man was. He needed to get them both out of there and off the plateau before the fire reached the warp core. En route to the opening in the hull, Methos spotted a long, slim case with strap running from one end to the other, probably the man's sword. He really should save it if he could. The case rested against a miraculously intact satchel. Methos shouldered both objects, then took hold of the temporarily dead Immortal again. He heaved his patient ungently through the hole in the bulkhead, then shimmied through, himself. //Skyrr! I need you.// Methos' mental command was sharp. The Kat obeyed immediately. Methos flung the heavy body over the Kat's withers, balancing it as best he could Skyrr grunted and glanced reproachfully at the old Immortal. This human was heavy! //Sorry, friend, but we have to get off this plateau NOW. That ship is going to blow any minute now. Hrryn!// The chestnut Kat leaped to his side. Methos threw himself astride. //RUN!!// They did. The Kat's strides lengthened and brought them to the edge of the plateau in a heartbeat. They dove over the edge and tucked their large bodies into an indentation in the cliff wall. Suddenly, there was a tremendous detonation as the shuttlecraft blew itself to smithereens. Methos sighed with relief. They were safe. Now to see to his patient, who still hadn't revived. //Thank you, friends,// he said gratefully to the Kats. //I need to get this human to some even ground to see to his hurts.// //Of course,// Hrryn said. //One is grateful that you were not injured. One was very concerned when you went into the ship to bring out the other human. One is of the opinion that you were very brave.// Hrryn dropped into formal address to emphasize the seriousness of his declaration. //Thank you, friend. One is honored by your esteem,// Methos replied in kind. The Kats slowly picked their way down the steep slope to the level ground at the base of the plateau. He dismounted quickly and hauled the other Immortal to the ground. First in order of business was the fragment of shattered control panel embedded in the man's chest. So that was why he hadn't revived. Methos yanked the large piece of shrapnel from the inert body, knowing that the wound would heal on its own. Now to see who his unexpected guest was. He wrestled for a moment with the seal connecting the helmet to the rest of the EVA suit before the seal finally gave and allowed him to pull the thing off the man's head. Methos finally got a good look at the other Immortal and gasped, stunned. "By all the gods!" he whispered. "Duncan!" ...tbc... |