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A Highlander/Star Trek Universe
Crossover by Kevin R.


2369 A.D. -- Stardate 46171.5 -- Earth Orbit

Lounge 9/127, located close to the Spacedock control center, was alive with color and music. It wasn't the only lounge in the orbital complex, but it afforded the best view of the interior of the mammoth space station. At least, when the windows weren't darkened, like they were now. Tonight, it was specifically reserved for a Starfleet function, the presentation and christening of the fleet's newest ship, the Intrepid-class.

As functions go, it was pretty high up on the excitement scale, requiring a representative of all the races jockeying for position in the Federation. But being only a minor scout ship, not something like, say, the Galaxy-class Enterprise, it was left for the underlings to populate. All the really important diplomats were brown nosing at Admiral Hancock's granddaughter's birthday party in Australia.

"I hate these suckers," Lieutenant Richard NMI Ryan whispered as he entered the room. His hand tugging at the tight neck collar of his maroon dress uniform with a will of its own. Even though Command had shortened the tunic's length, and added pants instead of tights, he still hated the outfit. Give me a tuxedo any day, he mentally wished. Resisting the urge to run his other hand through his dark blond hair, he let his blue eyes scan the crowd. Nothing higher on the diplomatic food chain than Assistant, so I should be safe, he silently added. No one that would know me from....

{Just plaster on that winning smile of yours, Richie.} Telepathic words filled the Immortal's head as Captain Pretar Lorrict walked up behind him. Dressed similarly, the captain sported jet black hair slicked back and a more rounded face. But it was the deep chocolate eyes that betrayed his full Betazoid heritage. Pretar placed a hand on Richie's shoulder to strengthen the mental contact. {No one will care that you are 394 years old. Besides, you don't look a day over two hundred.}

Richie snorted, startling a waiter passing in front of him. Petey, I look nineteen, just like I always have. Now go bug someone your own age. With deft hands he grabbed two glasses of champagne and passed one over without asking. Watching his friend and captain raise an eyebrow, they clinked glasses, a personal toast to their accomplishments. "To space," they both said. It was the last private moment together for the pair.

"There you two are." The sharp voice of Janice Chrane, head of the Federation Ship Design Department, cut like a knife through the Brandenburg concerto that was playing. Before her sentence was finished, she had her arms nestled around both men, gently herding them to a gathering of dignitaries. "One can't be late for one's own party," she added as the group opened up to admit them. "May I present Captain Lorrict and Lieutenant Ryan, two valuable members of the Intrepid's design team."

For Richie, the party dissolved into one handshake after another, with sincere compliments sprinkled around mindless pleasantries. He hardly noticed how many glasses of champagne he had sipped, until the warm glow of a true alcoholic haze finally settled about him. His head suddenly twinged when someone tapped a glass, drawing everyone's attention.

Janice had made her way to the large dark windows that overlooked the gigantic interior dock. "If I could have your attention please," she called as small groups gathered closer. "It is with great pride I introduce the design team, if you don't already know them. Captain Pretar Lorrict, who oversaw the decade long project." Heads around Richie turned, but the Immortal was focused on his glass. He no longer needed to search out the Betazoid.

Petey, the wonder dog, he thought. His eyes focused on the amber liquid as it swished around in the crystal. I have here a hoop....

{You're drunk, Rich.}

The Immortal sighed. I certainly hope so, he mentally answered. Sorry, just being the morbid person I usually am. Carefully, he moved out into the open, certain of what came next.

"A real find from the Academy, Lieutenant Richard Ryan, one of the project's aerodynamics and computer advisors, as well as chief pilot," Janice announced, motioning in his direction. All the eyes focused on him as he took a slight bow. He had worked hard these last ten years, pushing more and more for certain things. Higher efficiency, tougher specs. It seemed he was the only one in Starfleet trying to keep the design befitting its purpose. A deep space scout vessel. And now, to reap the benefits. The eyes swung away as Janice continued. "Lieutenant Commander Sonya Gomez, structural and engineering designer, and Dr. Leah Brahms, head of the Theoretical Propulsion Group, who designed the warp systems." Across the room, two ladies nodded to a smattering of applause.

Sonya was a person they had snatched straight from the Enterprise. The first engineer for the design team had retired suddenly for health reasons, leaving an ever-widening gap until Lt. Cmdr. Gomez had expressed a desire for the job. A natural "hands-on" talent, she had quickly lost her Academy delusions after working over a year and a half on the flagship. There she had been one out of a hundred in Engineering. The chance to run her own show, with a crew of under twenty-five, sounded very appealing.

And Richie certainly found her appealing. With long, black hair and Latino looks, she fell well within the Immortal's attraction parameters. But getting to know her as a drinking buddy, and then a constant co-worker had dulled the desire for sex. Now, she considered herself one of the "guys," and Richie hadn't the heart to push it further, and lose a good friend to his libido.

Dr. Brahms, on the other hand, was aloof as any pure scientist could be. Rarely did she leave the Mars Utopia plant, where most of the construction on the Intrepid was done. After working diligently on the Galaxy-class design, both in conception and building, she turned her attentions on modifying her theories for a smaller, more powerful design. Warp 9.5 was nothing to sneeze at.

"And now," Dr. Chrane was saying, drawing everyone closer to the large windows, "the newest Starfleet design, the Intrepid-class." To the applause, the darkened windows became clear, revealing the small scout ship. Every time Richie saw the Intrepid in the last few days, it took his breath away. No longer attached to the bulky McKinley Station, its sleek shape was evident. The forward section was oblong, the largest part of the ship. Reminiscent of the newer ships, like the Galaxy-class, it curved up and down from a single main deck. Large windows dotted the saucer, the Captain's quarters as well as the mess hall, and the Ready room and briefing room on Deck One.



The bottom curve dropped to hold the main deflector dish, while the top angled down to make the shuttle bay. Straight planes on either side attached the stubby warp nacelles. Unlike its bulkier cousins, the ship was not designed for separating sections. Instead, the warp nacelles pivoted up to create the warp field, while they remained lowered for impulse cruising. A surprise benefit was the ability for atmospheric flight, possibly even a landing. While theoretically capable, the ship had only landed in simulations. But always ones to prepare, the design team had left room in the lower decks for landing struts. Someday....

Applause broke through the Immortal's flight of fancy, bringing him back to the present. Richie had totally missed the christening. People came up to him, shaking his hand and adding congratulations for a job well done. Others were clustered around Pretar, the one who had launched the bottle of honey wine, the last of Richie's private stock that Darius had brewed, so long ago. After all, the Intrepid only deserved the best.

Richie remembered Pretar coming up to him, after the scale models had been replicated, asking him what prompted the name. It was easy enough to research the two previous ships named Intrepid. But for the Immortal, it held a much more special meaning. The first ship, destroyed in 2268, was manned by an all-Vulcan crew, many Richie had counted as friends. The second Intrepid, closely linked to the Federation-Klingon Peace talks twenty years ago, was also a part of the Immortal's life. He wanted to honor and remember the valiant sacrifices of both ships and crews by naming the new starship after them. His captain had readily agreed upon hearing his tale. A lot of the details had been left out of his story to Pretar, a fact that still bothered him. But he wasn't ready to share that part of his life just yet.

"A lovely design," a female voice spoke nearby. With a start, Richie focused on an older woman next to him, waiting for a reply. The Immortal searched his memory, trying to place the face. It did seem familiar....

{Laura Benteen, Admiral Leyton's aide,} Pretar supplied from across the room. {She's the one that pushed for the gel packs.}

Richie's eyes lit up in recognition, but there was still something nagging at his brain. Oh, well. "Thank you, Commander," he replied, his lips widening in a smile. "But you've been out to McKinley since the hull was finished. You've seen it before."

"Indeed I did, Lieutenant," Laura acknowledged, adding her own smile as she emphasized the last word. "And please, call me Laura. I never had a chance to compliment the designer. The last I saw of you, most of your body was in a relay conduit. It's nice to know the rest of you live up to the promise of your legs." Her bold gaze emphasized her remark.

Unable to keep from blushing, Richie chuckled, preening from the praise. "Thank you, I so hate to disappoint a higher-ranking officer. But I didn't do everything myself." It took a moment to identify his unease. He had spent so much time in the last decade hitting on every woman he met, being chased seemed almost new. God, it has been too long, he thought. Finishing off his glass, and noticing hers was low as well, he raised an eyebrow. "Would you care for some more champagne, Laura?"

"I would love some, Richard," she replied, easily sliding her arm into his as the pair walked to the buffet table. Old habits, or more truthfully, a whole way of life settled comfortably over Richie. He knew how to play the millennium old game, and play it well.

* * * * * *


At least someone is having fun, Pretar thought, knowing a little of the sentiment would leak over to the Immortal. I wonder if I should warn him she's Dr. Brahms' sister.... Nah. He had caught the pair out of the corner of his eye, and shamefully eavesdropped on Richie's side of the conversation. He quickly glanced around, aware he was alone. I wonder if I could sneak out of....

{NEPHEW!} The mentally shouted greeting overrode any thoughts Pretar might have of leaving. He managed to turn before two hands had grabbed his shoulders, pulling him into a dress that was half plant life, half d�colletage. {It's been too long.}

"Hello, Auntie," Pretar verbally replied, knowing it would antagonize his aunt. One thing the infamous Lwaxana Troi detested was Betazoids who spoke aloud to another Betazoid. This time was no exception. His first look at his aunt's face saw a mix of distaste and disappointment. At least, what he could see of her face. Her dark, black hair had been made up to resemble the Battle of T'Pak, and her brown eyes were the only parts of her face not plastered in makeup. The whole ensemble resembled the Bride of Frankenstein. Not that anyone spared from Richie's tastes in entertainment would know what that means. She's on the prowl tonight. I feel sorry for any guy she corners.

Lwaxana huffed, causing the leaves to tremble. {You and Deanna will be the death of me. Why, my own flesh and blood unable to live up to modest decorum....}

It's good to see you too, Pretar responded, mentally cutting her off. While Lwaxana's daughter, Deanna, might hold her ground against her mother's idiosyncrasies, he didn't. But that didn't stop him from teasing. Nephews were allowed. When did you get here? Mother didn't say anything about you traveling.

The Betazoid ambassador pulled away, holding Pretar at arm's length, giving him a once over in his dress uniform. {Well, dear, when I heard you were finally unveiling this little ship of yours, I had to come. Now, turn around and let me look at you}

Pretar fumed, not complying. I am a starship captain, and a decorated officer of the Federation. Not a dog. But still, he softened under Lwaxana's gaze. Why is it, Auntie, that you can make me feel like I'm seven years old?

The Betazoid ambassador smiled warmly, enveloping Pretar in another hug. {Because you still are seven, to me. My little jumarie, running around the gardens hunting for blossoms. And you are much too handsome to be called a dog.} She brushed a stray hair out of his face lovingly.

You can stop that now, Pretar thought, pulling away. Come on, let me show you my ship. Holding out his arm, he escorted his aunt to the windows, both nodding greetings to the few remaining partygoers they passed.

{Your ship?} a sudden thought intruded from outside the private conversation. Pretar felt his aunt jerk to a stop as Richie approached from the other side of the room, alone. The Immortal was smiling, unaware he was broadcasting to both of them.

"Auntie, may I present my first officer, Richard Ryan?" Pretar hoped to forestall any of Lwaxana's theatrics, but couldn't mentally warn her without it leaking to Richie. At this close distance, even blocked thoughts might be transferred along the link. "Rich, this is my aunt, Lwaxana Troi."

The female ambassador drew herself to her full height, holding out her hand to the lieutenant. "Daughter of the Fifth House," her voice automatically added as Richie nodded over her wrist and gently kissed it. "Holder of the Sacred Chalice..."

While his aunt babbled on with her titles, Pretar mentally added a yadda, yadda, yadda in her direction, only to find that she had full shields up, blocking all thoughts both in and out. It was rare Lwaxana didn't pry as much as possible into the people she met, especially males. Young, handsome, available males. Richie certainly qualified as such.

Even though the Immortal's body was frozen forever at nineteen, a somewhat hardened cast to his features added a few years, making him seem experienced, but still in his prime. Centuries of training and workouts barely showed through the cumbersome dress uniform, but nothing could hide the grace and calmness of his movements. He certainly matched Lwaxana's quiet poise with his own dignified aura. Exactly what she wants from a lover, especially since she still is in Phase. Normally, she would have him horizontal by now, and here they are, casually chatting about the weather. This does not bode well, Pretar quietly thought, shielding his own unease.

"And how long have you known my nephew?" Lwaxana was asking when Pretar focused on the conversation again. Even though her tone was light, and her body language relaxed, there was a glint in her eye that anyone in her family knew too well. Battle stations. "Frankly, I was surprised he never mentioned you."

Richie cocked his head, as if making a decision. "Only a couple of years," he finally said, sticking to the usual cover story. They had devised the lie to give to anyone who didn't yet know Richie was an Immortal. Not many would take the time to check it out. "Straight out of the Academy, in fact."

Lwaxana nodded as all the pieces mentally slid into place. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ryan," she intoned, holding out her hand for Richie to kiss, abruptly ending the conversation. "If you'll excuse us, I need to talk to my nephew a bit." Richie took his leave as the ambassador grabbed Pretar's arm, moving him toward a private area with sofas.

"Auntie...," Pretar began, still unable to penetrate her shields. Now, he was really worried, a sentiment echoed in Lwaxana's eyes.

{I want you to tell me everything,} she began, her emotions tightly controlled and filtered. Not able to wait for a response, she continued. {It's not only that we are still in shock after you bonded with Donald, but to now take up with a...a boy barely out of his teens.... Nephew, you are a Son of the Fifth House!}

Pretar calmly took his aunt's hands in his own, wishing the sudden pounding in his head would go away. Aunt. Slow down. Yes, Richie and I are bonded, but we are not involved.

The ambassador still didn't look mollified. {Even if that is true, you're bonded with him. So soon....} She grasped his hands harder, her concern evident on her face. Pretar always knew he was going to have this conversation, but the time never seemed right, and the pain still hurt. But it looked like he would have to try.

When the Kyushu was lost at Wolf 359, I was here, seeing if the Intrepid might be able to leave drydock. I was actively linked to Donald when he died. I got sucked in. I...I felt him die! All the horror Pretar had felt that day came rushing back, filing the hole that was still inside him. I only remember blackness. They said I was almost dead myself. He shuddered, recalling the fear when they told him he had been unconscious for eight days, hovering on the brink of oblivion. Richie was nearby. He was concerned, and already partially telepathic....

{And so you transferred link to him,} Lwaxana finished, experiencing the past as well. Her hand was now brushing his hair, his face pressed into the nape of her neck. {He saved your life.}

Pretar risked a glance across the room, to where Richie and Sonya were slowly dancing. Once again he checked the bond, making sure it was tightly shielded from his end. He's been a good friend, Auntie. For a very long time. He's been very supportive while I've tried to rebuild my life again.

Lwaxana choked at that comment. {I know, precious one. An imzadi's death can be very hard to live beyond. But it's possible.} With sure hands, she lifted his face to look into his eyes, her own shining with tears. {I guess I should be grateful you're still with us. But why haven't you had it dissolved? The Borg attack was over...what, two years ago?}

It's been very handy to be telepathically connected to my second-in-command. Also, it's something we've both grown comfortable with. Pretar was unwilling to add he was scared to go on alone. Feeling Richie through the bond helped to fill a void inside of him, if only minutely. But the Immortal wasn't Donald.

{How do you...?} Lwaxana began, stopping when she remembered whom she was talking with. Her hand flew to her mouth, as if to stop the mental image already passed telepathically along.

Have sex with someone? Pretar finished. Without all that lust and passion traveling along the link? Easy. Neither of us have had the time. That caused her to blush, a reaction very rare for her. Auntie, I am an adult. And after seeing you in action over the last couple of decades, I can't imagine you being shy about it.

{Oh, my darling Pretar. Some things just shouldn't be discussed among relatives.} Her gaze was drawn to the windows, where the Intrepid floated lazily in the mammoth bay. {And you've done lovely things with your time. Will you show me around now?}

Pretar smiled, pleased that his aunt was interested in the fruits of his labor. I would be delighted. Taking her arm, he escorted her to the doors, wanting to walk her over instead of transporting. On the way out, he dropped the shields on the bond long enough to add a good night to Richie as he left.

* * * * * *


Sonya Gomez glanced up at her dancing partner for the fourth time in as many minutes. "Are you sure everything is fine?" Her voice was somewhere between miffed and concerned, and tinged with a faint accent.

Richie blinked twice, finally looking at her instead of off into space. "I'm sure. Pretar just wished us good night." With a burst of energy, he whirled her around, glancing at the Betazoid relatives leaving. When his gaze returned to her face, the lips were pursed. It was a speculative look of hers, one the Immortal had learned to avoid. "You've seen me talk to him before. Where's the fire?"

"That was an awfully long two words, Rich." His dancing steps weren't lost on her. Being a latecomer to the project made her no less a family member. "And that wasn't a talking-to-Pete look, that was a spying-from-the-bushes stare if I ever saw one."

Richie blushed, which was not an unfamiliar reaction to her. "Busted. All right, lady. Dear Captain Lorrict blocked me out of the link, which he only does for very, very good reasons." For a moment, the Immortal looked thoughtful. "I'd bet they were talking about me."

"What are the stakes, and how do we prove it?" Sonya fired back. Casual bets between the pair were a common occurrence, done mostly out of fun. Occasionally, serious wagers were taken, but nothing that would affect their friendship. After all, it wasn't good practice to alienate a shipmate, especially on a ship as small as the Intrepid.

That sent Richie thinking again. "I'll pass on that one. Pretar won't tell us, and I don't think I want to visit with Ambassador Troi again any time soon." The live band, here at Richie's insistence, finished the song with a flourish. With flair, the Immortal dipped his partner on cue, the perfect ending to a long, dreary evening. "And on that note," Richie punned, "I will bid you good eve'n."

"Alas, fair Richard," Sonya quipped, raising a free hand to her forehead as they straightened up. "Parting is such sweet sorrow. Till anon, I say." Her eyes betrayed a sparkle Richie was fond of, her laughter and humor one of the many things he liked about the engineer. "Adieu," she finished, the pair separating with arms outstretched.

Richie chuckled. "That wasn't Shakespeare," he said, watching her exit from the room. With a sigh, he glanced around the party, noticing all but the serious night owls were gone. He blinked, unaware where the time had gone. I wonder if the Ambassador has that effect on everybody, he speculated. Apparently Pretar wasn't listening.



Morning wouldn't come fast enough to satisfy the Immortal. For the third time since waking, Richie turned over in his bed, eyeing the chronometer and glaring at it when it didn't read anywhere near 0700. With a grunt, he turned back over, the sheets trying to keep up with his tossing. He hated nights like this, when his mind was racing at warp three and his body was too tense to sleep. The morning would be the worst. Body aching, head pounding, and trying to function.

Usually, a long, hot shower would relax him enough to sleep some and salvage the night. But occasionally, when the muscles were knotted and his heart pounded, he would visit his workout room and remove himself from the concerns keeping him awake.

It had been built over two hundred years ago, on the far side of the house from the sleeping rooms. Back then, an occasional sparring match could occur at a moment's notice, and the participants might not want the rest of the house to come watch. There was only one door in and out of the chamber, completely built with bricks and wood like a reminiscence of days gone by.

Richie's feet always felt at home on a hardwood floor, the satisfying thump of a staff on it a happy reminder of days gone by. Even on mornings it was cold, he welcomed the sounds as he moved over the chill surface. The brick walls were adorned with all manner of weapons, most usable by the Immortal, over half he felt confidant to teach to others. But that had been a long time ago.

The Immortal took three steps into the room, enough for the door to automatically close. Throwing a towel into the corner, he took a deep breath before running through a brief stretching routine. Dressed in just sweatpants, it took only a moment before his body was limber. Another lungful of air, and he started.

His hands rose from his side, meeting in front of him and crossing. With determination, his right foot stepped out, his body moving forward and then hesitating, his mind forgetting if he should turn right or left. Richie snorted a curse word, the first turn of this particular kata he always forgot. Unsure, he turned to the....

1995 A.D. -- Seacouver, Earth

...right, Duncan calling out the moment Richie committed to it. "Other left," the Highlander yelled, his deep baritone ringing in the empty dojo. Flustered, Richie stepped back to start the kata over. Duncan only smiled when the younger Immortal turned to the left this time, sliding into the next move. "Just feel the way the body wants to go, and follow it."

Richie knew his teacher was only trying to help, but the words still made him bristle. Then again, the youngster had never been much of an avid learner. Even about the Immortal stuff. But this year had been especially rough. Then there was Adam. For some reason, even the thought of that particular Immortal didn't sit very well. Richie had only just met him. He seemed nice enough.

Three times through, and then Duncan showed Richie the last of the kata, a gift of sorts from the teacher to student. Duncan had created it especially for him, to emphasize and develop the younger Immortal's weaknesses and strengths. Richie had no clue anything was up, until the Highlander brought him out to the dojo floor and began showing it to him.

Left alone to finish smoothing the routine out, Richie's thoughts turned again to his own ever-changing relationship with the Scot. The lines between mentor and student were continuing to blur, no longer comfortable. Richie stopped in mid-form as he realized he was finally seeing the man as he truly was, not the fantasy hero he had pictured. One that wasn't perfect. Right then, the hero in question entered through the changing room door. Richie glanced up as the Highlander descended the stairs.

"What?" Duncan asked, as he noticed Richie's gaze. He glanced at his outfit, trying to find what was wrong. Richie still hadn't moved. "Too much aftershave?"

Richie stifled a laugh, the clueless expression on Duncan's face was almost too comical. "No, it's fine," he said, smiling. He walked over to the bench, the Highlander following behind. "You and Adam seem pretty chummy."

This piqued Duncan's interest. "Yeah," was all he replied, acting indifferent. He paused a moment, waiting to see if Richie would say more. "We're going to Joe's tonight, for the band. Wanna come?"

The faint stirrings of a half-forgotten dream shook the young Immortal, who was almost ready to answer yes. A sword tantalizingly close to the Highlander's unprotected neck. Fear crept through his body. He spotted the confusion in Duncan's eyes as the Highlander saw the emotion overtake his friend. "I have plans," Richie hurriedly said, covering his thoughts. "I need to start packing if I'm gonna last a week alone on your island."

That appeased Duncan. "Well, maybe next time." A quick clasp of Richie's shoulder, and the Highlander retrieved his coat from the stairs, then moved to the front doors.

"I don't trust him," Richie called out, unsure where the need to warn his friend came from. Too many strange things were happening lately. He also knew the warning might weaken their already touchy relationship, but he had to voice his concerns. He owed the man no less.

Duncan paused, turning his head and giving Richie a small smile. "I know," he quietly acknowledged before turning and leaving. Richie sighed, wondering if he had done even more damage. The young Immortal shivered, the sweat evaporating off his body as he picked up the towel,...

...drying off his bare skin. Muscles exhausted, Richie wondered if he should take a shower or jump straight into bed. It was the promise of the scalding water, the warm liquid soothing his body that decided it.

He rolled his head under the spray, letting the water wet his hair and run down his body. Each movement of his neck stretched worked muscles, and added to the pleasant glow coursing through him. More and more, he let his body relax, trying not to think of anything in particular. He'd move and let the water pound the stretched skin, until any tenseness was gone. He shifted to his arms, working each limb slowly, basking in the steaming heat.

If it wasn't imperative he get some sleep, a sauna sounded really tempting. There's always tomorrow night, he promised himself as he finally slid out of the shower. He walked into the bedroom, towel drying his hair. Within minutes of crawling under the covers again, he was sound asleep.



"Captain's log, Stardate 46173.9. Captain Lorrict Pretar commanding the USS Intrepid for her first test drive. Today, we have a six hours intra-system cruise lined up, trying to spot any glitches before we actually fire up the warp drive for the shakedown cruise next month. Due to the shortness, we will be able to operate with the minimum crew already assigned. Now if we just don't hit anything...."

"Captain on the bridge," Richie called out, already sitting at the forward pilot's console and slowly spinning around in his chair. Unfortunately, the effect was lost because only he and Pretar were currently on the bridge. Still, it didn't keep the Immortal from smiling at the Captain's discomfort.

I'll get you for that, Pretar threatened as he moved to the center command chairs. Once he got comfortable, he raised his head, looking at the ceiling. "Bridge to Engineering. Mr. Aston, leave our newly promoted Commander Gomez alone and report to the bridge. Pronto."

*Aye, sir. On my way. Aston out.*

"Mr. Ryan," Captain Lorrict continued, "prepare for departure."

"Yessir," Richie drawled, spinning back to his console. Much longer than most conn stations, it was specifically designed to handle a lot more than just navigation. With a kick, the Immortal shoved his chair down the panels, manually bypassing the normal procedure and beginning the preflight checklist from his station. "Spacedock Control, we are beginning departure sequence. Requesting clearance for space doors."

*You are cleared, Intrepid.*

Once more Richie checked the readouts, before his fingers raced over the clear polymer of the console. "Roger, Control. Severing power conduits and ODN bypasses."

Outside the ship, where the tunnel from Spacedock melded with the Intrepid on Deck Six, wisps of gasses escaped when the seals were breached. As the tunnel slowly withdrew, the docking port covers engaged, closing off the conduits to space. The results were very obvious. All lights, in and outside the vessel blinked off. The ship was a dark hulk inside the well-lit interior of the space station.

"Emergency generators coming on-line," Richie called out in the dark, as the secondary lighting activated, casting a pale glow around the room. Various stations lit up, as the automatic Ops programs rationed the available power. "Engineering, we are go for cold start."

* * * * * *

Chief Engineer Gomez really wished certain members of the crew didn't have such a sense of humor. Being suddenly immersed in darkness, especially when trying to bring a new warp engine on-line, was not very amusing. "Thank you, Richard," she said, gritting her teeth. "Ever hear of warning us?"

*Nonsense, Gomez. You perform much better in the dark. Bridge out.*

I would break every bone in his body, if it would do any good. Grimly, Sonya stormed over to the main console facing the primary reactor core. In the dim light, it was difficult to spot all the engineering crew. I still might. "Chuck, we got enough power for the constrictors?"

From one of the upper decks above her, a hand beacon flirted. "Yeah," a male voice called out, the steady baritone of Lt. Charles Goodwin. "Backup cells are charged and active."

The console under her hands beeped, alerting her that the temperature was steady. "Ready, people?" she called, giving every one another chance to spot something wrong. When nobody replied, she opened the magnetic constrictors, letting a small amount of matter and antimatter race toward each other. The particles collided in the center of the reaction chamber, completely annihilating each other. The resultant energy, directed by the dilithium crystals, was channeled down the two power transfer conduits, heading for either warp nacelle. With the warp drive deactivated, the power was rerouted through the various systems of the ship, taking over the burden from the emergency generators.

* * * * * *

The shadowed vessel, seemingly dormant, awoke. Color appeared in the warp nacelles, the dark blue and muted red slowly brightening until it reflected off the nearby Spacedock wall. Along the sides, small windows lit as power raced along conduits, little rectangles of light scattered on the gray hull. The main deflector dish changed from black, to navy, moving carefully to light blue as more and more power coursed along the ship's veins. The Intrepid slowly came to life.

* * * * * *

Richie released a breath he hadn't realized he had held as the normal bridge lights came on. All around him, the burr and chatter began, as systems were restored to full power. Somewhere deep inside the ship, but still able to penetrate his boots, the engines throbbed. A constant reminder when one was in space. It's been a long time, Richie thought, watching his board light up.

The main viewscreen, dark for so long, came to life. {Would you look at that...,} Pretar thought, drawing Richie's attention. The Immortal wasn't ready for what greeted him. The Intrepid was positioned like she had been the night before, facing the lounge. Only today, it was packed full of people, all cheering and applauding. {Is that...Admiral Hancock? And Dr. Brahms!}

It was hard to make out faces until Richie magnified the scene. His eyes raked over several members of the design teams, even a few from the Utopia yard on Mars. All had come to see the ship and crew off. It was a very satisfying feeling. The Immortal was still smiling when the turbolift doors opened, disgorging a very irate Operations officer, at least by the tone of his voice.

"Ah woulda been here sooner, but Ah hadta get out and push!" The very loud drawl of Lieutenant George Aston echoed on the bridge as he walked across the back, finally reaching the Ops station. Richie was almost tempted to turn around and smirk, but the possibility of minor violence deterred him. "Sparky, didja haveta cut power while Ah's in the blasted box?"

Richie had never figured out how, exactly, he had picked up the nickname "Sparky." And nothing he did could change the Texan's mind. But then again, he never passed up an opportunity to harass the big guy, either. He was ready with a witty comeback, when the hail from engineering spared him the need to reply.

*Engineering to Bridge. We're ready, Captain. Full impulse at your discretion.*

Pretar absently nodded. "Thank you, Commander. Bridge out. Mr. Ryan, get us going." With that weighty pronouncement, Captain Lorrict stood, strolling two steps to the exact center of the command platform, and waited.

"Aye, aye," Richie replied. His hands flew over his console, activating navigation programs and the deflector protocols. "Thrusters to station keeping. Clear all moorings." Quickly, he signaled Spacedock control that the Intrepid was underway. He silently began counting off the seconds until the space doors would be open enough for the ship.

"Moorings are cleared," Aston called out, his drawl fading as he concentrated on his own duties. With no tactical officer, nor support personnel, he had double the workload. Luckily, it was only a six hour flight. "Activating navigational beacon and lights."

* * * * * *

Outside, as the thin mooring lines floated away from the ship, hazard lights flashed in concert. They set up a steady blinking on top and at landing area in the rear. Permanent red and green lights also blazoned from the back as the impulse generators flared to life. The cheer in the lounge immediately followed the main spotlight bursting on to the ship's designation: NCC-74600. The letters and numbers were painted on the forward hull around Deck Three.

With a brief flash, the impulse engines kicked into reverse for a second, enough to propel the ship away from the inner wall. Thrusters ignited, pushing the scoutship into a backward roll with a twist, aligning the bow with the retracting four space doors across the huge bay.

* * * * * * * *

As Richie's count closed on twenty, he pushed the thrusters to maximum, increasing their speed inside the complex. He could hear Aston's gasp of breath as the viewscreen showed the thin opening they were heading for. The Immortal never let up, his hand hovering over the impulse drive panel. When he hit twenty-five, he punched forward at full impulse, the hull barely clearing the lumbering doors. Then they were outside, racing away from orbit.

"Gawd dang," Aston exclaimed, once he recovered. Richie smiled, glad that he was able to push the envelope just a little. After all, he had a reputation to maintain.

"If you don't get demoted again for your...little stunts," Pretar quietly added in his ear, startling the Immortal. Richie had been so engrossed in his little show, he had failed to notice the Betazoid moving in behind him. "Must you always play the daredevil?"

Richie treated it as a rhetorical question, busying himself with the myriad of details a pilot had to worry about. "Course, Captain?" he asked diplomatically. As far as he was concerned, they could head for the Beta Quadrant now.

{Patience, oh wild one,} Pretar cautioned. "It might be nice to pay the folks at the Saturn flight range a quick flyby, and then once around the Solar system." Richie sneaked a glance behind as the Captain strolled back to his chair and sat. "After that, you can pretty much entertain yourself, Lieutenant."

"Aye, aye," Richie called out. He selected the course and let his body relax. The better to enjoy a quick jaunt around the block. How did that old show go? A three hour tour....




The Intrepid floated in space, smoothly gliding along solely on impulse engines. Richie lazily remembered the days when lightspeed was a fast as anyone could go.

Let's see...the Prosperity. The Immortal closed his eyes, mentally picturing himself with arms outstretched, as if he to was gliding along in space. Floating along, his weight held up by air pressure and dynamics, flying along....

2009 A.D. -- Duncan's Island, Pacific Northwest, Earth

...and calling out with a screeching voice. The bird skimmed over the lake surface, drawing Richie's attention. For a brief moment, he stopped paddling the canoe, watching the feathered creature beat its wings, slowly climbing into the morning sky. There was something peaceful about it, the thought of flying along without a care in the world.

With a sigh, the Immortal went back to the oar, knowing the upcoming confrontation could not be put off any longer. Richie's time was running out. Not that he expected Duncan's blessing or anything, but it was something his friend deserved to hear first hand, not through Joe, or someone else.

Quicker than he expected, Richie reached the island, a small parcel of sacred land that Duncan had built a cabin on. A safe haven that Richie had used many times. But now it seemed it would be his last battlefield. It only took a moment to secure the canoe. Then one final deep breath, and Richie climbed the hill.

Just as the rise crested, the cabin came into view. Along with it, the unnerving dread rose from his stomach, the intimate feeling of another Immortal alerting him to Duncan's presence. He had only taken a few steps to the front when the curtains moved. By the time he reached the steps, the door was opening, an empty-handed Highlander waiting to greet him.

"Richie," Duncan said, "this is a surprise." The shock was evident on his face, the same one Richie had first glimpsed over 25 years ago. "I thought you were in...Miami?"

"Tampa," Richie replied as he climbed the steps, holding a hand out to Duncan. "Yes, I was. Now I'm here." It took a second for the Highlander to react, grasping the younger Immortal's hand and pumping it. "It's not a problem, is it?"

Stepping back, Duncan ushered Richie into the main room. "No, not one bit. How would you have warned me, smoke signals?" Once out of the bright morning sun, he gave his former student a once-over. "Not staying, I see."

"I don't have much to say," Richie answered, knowing he was within an inch of blushing. He hated that he reacted this way, and that thought only made it worse. "Uh, can we talk?" The blond man fidgeted, looking around the room.

The Highlander smiled, a knowing gleam in his eye. With paternal understanding, he grasped Richie's shoulder and directed him to the one sofa. "I take it I'm not going to like this." Once Richie was seated, Duncan moved in front of the fire, settling on the floor. "I guess I should have asked if you wanted something to drink, before I sat down."

Richie unconsciously looked over to the kitchen. "Maybe later," he said as he clasped his hands together to keep them still. "I have a job, Mac." He tried to look at Duncan, but found he couldn't. "It's...it's.... Oh, boy."

"You're racing motorcycles again," Duncan supplied. "You're selling used cars, and want to show me this little sports number to use around the island. No, wait, even better, you're managing a grunge band of pyromaniac women Scrooges called 'Sis-boom-bah'."

That brought a laugh to Richie's lips. The tension eased as he sat back, clutching his stomach when the giggles erupted. For a brief moment, it seemed like everything would be okay. They would be okay. All the worrying, all the vague unease had been for nothing. "No..." He gasped for breath, trying to regain some control. "I'm moving to the Moon. A mining colony."

Silence was the only reply. It took another second to focus his eyes, and to sit up on the sofa, but his first look at Duncan's face scared him. The Highlander showed no emotion, just stared at the floor in front of his booted feet. "The Moon," MacLeod quietly repeated, a small hint of a smile gracing the sides of his lips.

"Yeah, they need a surface to orbit pilot, and it sounds kinda neat," Richie informed him. Even with a blazing fire, it suddenly felt chilly. All of Richie's worries came back full force. "This is what I want to do, Mac. I want to do something with my life."

Duncan looked up at Richie, his eyes wide and his face grim. "You can't just hide away from the Game. I've tried. It always finds you again." His hand reached out and grabbed Richie's arm, emphasizing his words. "Someone will challenge you, even on the Moon."

Richie jerked his arm away, not liking the contact. "That doesn't mean I have to play." His voice also took on an edge. "I want something better."

"You don't understand...," Duncan started, making Richie feel like a teenager again. The Highlander must have sensed the sudden stiffening, because his next words were softer. "You are an Immortal, Richie." He leaned in closer, trying to smile. "There can be only one. That's our life."

The younger man shook his head. "But it doesn't mean I have to do the weeding," he supplied in rebuttal. "I'm not going to turn into some crazed fighter...."

"Like me," Duncan supplied, finishing the sentence. His voice was tinged with resignation. As he stood, even his shoulders slumped. "That's what you think. You don't want to turn into me."

"I never said that," Richie shot back, cringing at the half lie. It was one of the unvoiced reasons he had to get away. "I'm not cut out for this."

Duncan walked to the fire. "And I am?" He kept his back to Richie, staring into the flames instead. "Don't answer that. I'm putting words in your mouth and I know you hate that."

"You're Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod," Richie said quietly. "A warrior. My teacher. And my best friend." He walked nearer to the fireplace. "That's your identity. Who you are. I'm just still searching for me."

The Highlander turned around, resting one arm on the mantel. "And you're going to the Moon to find it." He shook his head, glancing around the room. "You'll keep up the workouts."

Richie nodded, mentally relaxing at Duncan's small showing of acceptance. "As much as I can. I'll keep fit, and probably spend a lot of time with a staff. That'll be easier to explain than a sword." He laughed, his chuckle dying off when his stomach rumbled.

"Let me guess," Duncan said, his voice taking on a lighter tone, "you didn't stop for supper on your way up here." He smiled as Richie's stomach growled again, some things never changing. "I'll see what I can rustle up."

Richie turned toward the kitchen, realizing it had gotten dark while the pair had been talking. "Mind if I stay the night?" he asked, glancing out the window at the sky. It was the black of night, a scattering of stars...

...stretched across the viewscreen while they cruised at sub-light speeds. "Mr. Ryan," Pretar called again, finally drawing Richie's attention. "Time's up," the Betazoid continued once Richie had turned his head around. "Lay in a course for Earth."

"Earth it is," Richie answered, taking another glance at the stars, trying to shake off the ghosts of the past. Luckily, the voices and memories were done. For now.






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