His opponent lunged in with a vast overhand strike, and Duncan seized on the opportunity, stepping in and locking the blades together.
A century ago he would have tried to talk to the man as they strained against each other, claiming that he didn't even know his opponent. Today, though, he saved his breath; the stranger wanted him dead, and was almost good enough to make that wish a reality. His opponent's sword, apparently a Civil War cavalry sabre, wasn't really built for brute force, but somehow the man forced Duncan back. Better sword than it looks, then, he noted as he ducked to the right under a blow aimed at his head.
The opponent was getting angry now, beginning to make mistakes. The cuts, though vicious and very, very fast, were growing less accurate. Duncan dodged to the left past one cut, ducked under another, and negligently danced around a third. "Getting sloppy, are we?" he asked impudently, batting aside a thrust that in and of itself could probably have taken his head. Got his back to the water, now. Just one more mistake...
There. The vast overhand blow, again. A blur of motion, a tearing hiss, and Duncan found himself coming out of a forward roll and turning, bloodstained blade poised defensively in front of him.
His opponent hadn't fallen yet, but it wouldn't be long. Duncan's rolling slice Don't think about it had quite nearly disembowled him, and the wound was too deep for even an immortal to quickly recover from.
"Nice try," Duncan growled, stalking forward with sword raised. "Whoever you are." "Not my last one, MacLeod" the other man drawled lazily, voice amazingly steady considering the injury. "Bly. John Bly." And with that, he turned, and dove off the pier, disappearing under the water...
"And you didn't go after him?" Dawson asked in surprise. "MacLeod, this guy came after you with no warning whatsoever! You had every right to -" "-Kill him?" Duncan cut him off. He took a long drink of whatever it was Dawson had given him, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, I suppose."
Joe waited a moment. "But?" he prompted.
"But it was right in front of the houseboat in broad daylight. But somebody could have seen the Quickening. But he sank like a stone, and was gone before I could get to him. But I wanted to get to know him better," Duncan ticked off each sentence on his fingers, smiling wryly at the last one.
"C'mon MacLeod," Joe snorted. "I'm your Watcher. I know you, remember? I follow your moves. I tap your phone line. I go through your garbage."
"And here I thought Paris had raccoons." Duncan took another long sip. "You know the move I used to take him down? Cutting him as I somersaulted past?"
"Yeah?" Joe said vaguely. "Doesn't sound much like you, that acrobatic stuff." He paused, looked at Duncan shrewdly. "It wasn't you, was it?"
"No. No, it wasn't," Duncan said slowly, staring off someplace, sometime else. Joe watched him sit there, eyes vacant for almost a full minute before the highlander came back to himself. "So you found yourself instinctively using the technique of one of your old enemies, and you froze?" Joe asked. He'd heard of this from some of the other Watchers. Take enough heads, receive enough Quickenings, and you started to change. Some immortals suddenly took a liking to an instrument. Some developed an odd mannerism. Hell, Darius underwent a religious conversion. Picking up a few moves is tame by comparison.
But Duncan was shaking his head. "I've done that before. Never minded it, really; it seemed right, using the technique of an old enemy to defeat a new one. This was worse."
"I don't follow," Joe admitted.
"Brian Cullen perfected that move three hundred years ago," Duncan said tonelessly. As Joe nodded sadly in recognition, he went on. "Tried to teach it to me, but I could never make it work."
"I'm sorry, Duncan. I know you and he were friends."
MacLeod's uncharacteristic freeze made sense now. I'd probably freeze too if I was abruptly reminded that I'd recently taken the head of one of my oldest friends. "You know there was nothing you could do about it," Joe tried.
"I could've tried harder," Duncan muttered harshly, unforgivingly. "Could've seen it coming."
"He was dead a long time before the two of you fought," Joe pressed stubbornly.
"Oh, really?" Duncan asked dourly. "His head still seemed to be attached pretty firmly-"
"You know what I mean. It's not your fault that Brian Cullen lost his nerve and fell out of the game. It's not your fault he turned to drugs, and it's not your fault he tried to kill you." Joe took a swallow of his drink, then finished, "And it's not your fault you had to take his head."
"I know," Duncan murmured. "I know. Could we talk about something else?"
Joe sat back. He'll be alright. Not that it's any of my business. "Sure. Yeah, sure. What did you say this guy's name was, the guy who attacked you?"
"John Bly. Ever heard of him?"
"No," Joe said slowly. "Doesn't ring a bell. Might've been a false name, though. What did he look like?"
"Short and thin," Duncan said, frowning, "but very strong. Blond hair. His face looked odd, almost like he'd had plastic surgery, except that I don't think plastic surgery would hold with one of us. Would it?" Joe shrugged, and Duncan went on. "And he was using a cavalry sabre."
"I'll run a check on him," Joe told his friend, inwardly wincing. Now I'm finding out about his enemies for him. How far am I going to go?
No. MacLeod's one of the good guys, and sometimes you have to do more than just watch. Right.
The barge was quiet; Duncan had never really noticed it before. So often he was remembering one personal war or planning another, protecting a friend or awaiting an enemy, that he forgot to sit down, relax, and just listen.
Not that he could really afford to, now, he told himself sharply after a moment. Some immortal he'd never met- He stopped in midthought, and remembered the sensations he'd felt when the other man appeared. First the indescribable feeling, of course, the warning beacon all immortals emitted. But immediately afterward, as soon as he saw his opponent, a new feeling; a confusing, blurry sensation across his mind.
Like a memory that wasn't quite remembered, Duncan thought slowly. Or a memory of something that hasn't happened yet? Maybe I'm finally going senile. Or maybe this is something new.
Forget it. Concentrate on the fight, Duncan told himself abruptly. How am I going to beat him the next time we meet?
Some time later, there was a blinding flash of light.
It was so easy; that must have been what distracted him.
Thinking of his knowledge of the Orb, considering his options in the
energy battle that might take place, he'd momentarily forgotten that
strategy in the nineteenth century meant choosing the pistol over the
shotgun. He'd had the energies of the cosmos at his command, ready
to thwart whatever attack his opponent could muster --
-- And then the blinding, piercing agony shot through his
stomach, reminding him that in a pinch, an Orb Rod could simply be
used as a melee weapon. He stumbled backwards, clutching in
surprise at the wound. He could feel the energy building up, swirling
around him almost tangibly.
This is familiar, he thought with his characteristic dry humor.
Maybe this won't be so
And then the world exploded in a blinding white flash.
"Well, it brings in a whole new class of clientele," Zeke said defensively. "Put some hot food on the menu and instead of surly bounty hunters nursing one drink for hours, I'll get crowds of people looking for a place with nice atmosphere."
Brisco sighed, took his drink and his partner's, and made his way back to the table. "Sometimes `The Coming Thing' hits you from all sides, doesn't it, Bowler?" he asked reflectively. "Still think the dartboard's a bit much," his companion growled dourly.
"Come on, Bowler -- it promotes camradery and a friendly atmosphere," Brisco said, taking a bite of grilled... something. Something good, he decided generously.
"Yeah, well that don't mean I have to like it," Bowler stated with an air of finality. Brisco shrugged, and decided to change the subject.
"You want to go see the theatre group perform again at Foxx's Saloon?" he asked. Ever since Bowler's rise in financial status, but especially since their nearly fatal encounter with the business end of the U.S. government, the rangy tracker had been trying to cultivate what he referred to proudly as his cultural side. Plays, art shows, book clubs; it was duller than ten miles of Nebraska countryside in Brisco's opinion, but business had been slow lately, and it was something to do.
"Naw. Already know how the play ends, anyway. Besides, they got cancelled. Foxx said they weren't drawing enough of a crowd."
"Really?" Brisco asked in surprise. "That's a shame. I thought the troupe was fresh and imaginative."
"Yeah, well, write a letter," Bowler grunted.
Brisco thought reflectively for a moment. "You know, Bowler," he said finally, gnawing on the something good, "there ought to be a place for troupes like that one. Smaller saloons, places where they could go to get practice, but still be seen by people."
"Maybe perform their plays five times a week, 'stead of just once?" Bowler ventured.
"Maybe, maybe," Brisco allowed. "The Coming Thing, Bowler?" he suggested, raising his glass.
"I'll drink to that," the large man said with a grin, raising a mug that could have doubled as a respectably-sized helmet. The friends drank deeply, then went back to their meals.
"Hello, Buhrisco," came a drawl from behind them. Buhrisco winced at the tortured sound of an extra schwa being added to his name, then turned around slowly. Behind him, as the who-else- could-it-be pronunciation had suggested, stood a dishevelled, slightly cagey-looking man with a leer on his face.
"Hutter," Brisco said flatly. Bowler stood up with a "Hunh" that implied that violence could easily follow. Nearby tables emptied. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"
Pete Hutter (thief, would-be assassin, and hired gun extra- ordinaire) sat down, uninvited, and Bowler did so as well, if only to pointedly move his food away from the table's new occupant. "Well, you know me. Can't resist a chance to drop in and say "Hi!" to my old pals."
"You mean you don't want nothin'?" Bowler asked doubtfully.
"Like, say, to kill us?" Brisco added.
"Or rob us?" Bowler appended.
"Or drop off a Chinese baby with us?" Brisco tacked on.
"Well, now that you mention it," Hutter said casually, "I could use a place to stay for-"
"No!" Bowler's voice made an avalanche seem like a coy evasion.
"Oh, I don't know, Bowler," Brisco said thoughtfully, trying not to grin. "If he stayed with you, at least we'd know where he was." Bowler's eyes narrowed.
"Well," Hutter said with a hurt look, "I must say that I am mightily offended. If I had known that I'd be treated like-" And then, in midsentence, he flinched violently. The slightly ingratiating smile was gone as if it had never been there, and his eyes darted nervously around the room.
"Pete, what is it?" Brisco asked sharply, looking at his fr- well, looking at Pete in concern.
"You got the flu or something?" Bowler asked suspiciously, moving his food even further away. And then, as if Hutter's fear was catching, Bowler's eyes widened, staring in shock at something behind his friend. "Brisco, you'd better have a look."
Brisco turned around, and saw the figure standing in the doorway. His hand was halfway to his gun before his brain caught up with it, and then he relaxed somewhat. Not by any means a lot, but somewhat.
John Bly.
Almost.
He was almost the spitting image of the man who would be born hundreds of years later -- his great-great-great-some-odd- grandfather, most likely. Looked to be about the same age in years, but younger in experience. Shabbier clothes, looser set of the shoulders, a thousand tiny clues pointed out the differences. -No hardened criminal here,- Brisco thought in satisfaction. -Looks more like a rabbit than anything else.- Out of some impulse he would be hard pressed to name, he walked over to the man as he sat down at the bar.
"You new around here?" he asked the man boldly, leaning against the bar next to him. The man turned to him nervously, licking his lips before he spoke.
"Yessir. Just arrived in town," the man said, with an effort that said he was trying hard not to stammer. He really seemed young for his years, Brisco noted.
"Name's Brisco. Brisco County, Junior," he introduced himself, offering a hand. The other man shook it, after staring at it with a bit of apprehension.
"Nice to meet you, Mister County," the man said quickly. "Um, I really ought to be going. I'm spending the night at the local church tonight, and... well, I best be going." Almost before the words were out of his mouth, he was walking quickly outside, trying to look everywhere at once. Brisco watched him go, then sauntered back to the table with a slightly smug expression on his face.
"What'd you go and do that for, Brisco?" Bowler demanded.
"Nearly had me jumping out of my skin!" Pete looked nearly as bad, shivering violently and gulping down Brisco's drink.
"Bowler, don't you get it?" Brisco asked. "John Bly was a time traveller from the future. The man I just talked to couldn't possibly be him, or Bly would've been seven or eight hundred years old when we met him!"
Bowler chewed on that, along with a small piece of the something good. "Alright, I get it," he muttered dourly after a moment. "I ain't stupid. I don't like it, but I get it."
"Well, just the same, I think it's time I was leaving, friends," Pete drawled in a fair imitation of his normal voice. Before Brisco or Bowler could protest -- although the likelihood of that occuring was debatable -- the disreputable figure had slunk away.
"Wait a minute," Bowler growled after a moment. "How could Pete get nervous all of a sudden on account of Bly walking in, when he had his back to the front door?"
The shaky figure broke into a run as soon as he reached the moonlit street. -Damn!- he shouted inside his head. -Can't even walk into a bar without running into one of... one of them!- He'd tried Iowa, Ohio, heck, he'd even tried Nebraska! No one lived in Nebraska! And still...
He was pretty sure it wasn't the man who'd talked to him. Usually if they talked to him it was just "Hi, name's Kalas. There can be only one. Draw." Or whatever the sword-wielding variation of that was. He wasn't entirely sure, not having much sword training to speak of. More likely it was one of the men at the table -- the black man had certainly seemed interested in him....
He shook himself, not that anyone would have noticed amidst the semi-permanent shiver he had going. Think later. For now, he had to get out of here, before whoever it was followed. Circle around back, then run. That'll lose 'em. He changed direction, and headed for the alley next to the Bar and Grill with a cunning grin on his face.
If there was one thing that one-hundred and twenty years had taught young Johnny Bly, it was the importance of running away.
"And why," Brisco wondered, "is Hutter so scared of one of John Bly's ancestors that he's leaving by the back door?"
The man currently known as Pete Hutter eased into the darkness outside, letting the back door shut softly behind him. His mind was a confused welter of thoughts...
get out of here, got to get out of here
young, untrained. I could take him
safer inside?
holy ground
quickening
even have my sword?
He broke into a run. Figure this out later
And then, with a startled "OOF!" he collided with another figure, sending both of them tumbling to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Pete rolled away frantically, looked up, and saw to his horror the very person he'd been trying to escape.
"Now, listen-" Pete started.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!" the younger immortal screamed as he backed up. His hand came up, and moonlight glinted on metal. Very familiar metal. Pete glanced down at his empty holster, and for the first time in several minutes felt an emotion besides gut- wrenching terror.
He managed to get out "Hey, NOBODY touches P-" before the sharp retort, along with the swelling blossom of pain in his chest, cut him off.
"The hell?" Bowler growled, coming to his feet. Brisco was up a moment later.
"That shot came from out back," Brisco said intently.
"Hutter."
"Had to be." Without further discussion they headed outside. It was too late, and then some. Pete lay in a small -- but growing -- pool of blood. Brisco moved to him quickly, leaving Bowler to scout the surroundings.
"Pete?" he asked as much as said, rolling the dishevelled man over. Hutter's eyes were glazed, unfocused, but still moving. "In the flesh, Buhrisco," he gasped weakly. "Bullet-holed flesh, in this case."
"Come on, Pete," Brisco said reassuringly. "You'll be fine. You've come through worse than this." He would have said that to anyone, but in Pete's case it was closer to being true than he cared to admit. Chinese throwing knife, pitchfork, he thought absently, among many others. Be surprised if something as ordinary as a bullet did him in.
Pete's eyes focused for just a moment, and he grabbed Brisco's arm with a grip like iron. "Keep him away from me, Brisco, 'til I'm on my feet."
"I will, Pete," he promised. Keep who away? Who did this? Couldn't have been that mousey ancestor of Bly's, could it?
"Keep 'em all away!" Pete gasped, and then went slack. His eyes fluttered, then closed.
"He dead?" Bowler's voice was shockingly loud in the darkness. Brisco flinched, then turned around.
"I don't know. With anyone else I'd say yes, but this is Pete we're talking about." He looked at his friend. "You find anything?" "Couple of footprints in the mud," Bowler said modestly. "From the size and shape, s'definitely young Bly. He ran out the front, snuck around back, ran into Pete, and used Pete's gun." He handed Brisco Pete's Piece.
"Hoist on his own petard, eh?" Brisco asked, cradling the gun.
"Funny you should mention that," Bowler said, looking at a patch of dirty ground. "This is where they scuffled. Now look at that." He pointed at something like a small scrape in the ground. "Looks like a normal scuff-mark to me."
"Uh-uh. That scrape was made either by a large knife or..." he touched the scrape lightly, then touched it to his tongue. "Like I suspected. A sword."
"A sword?"
"Yeah, that's what I said. Antique, too, from the taste of it."
"So one of them had a sword?" Brisco asked in disbelief.
"Bowler, that's impossible! We know Hutter didn't have one, and Bly's great-great-some-odd-grandfather couldn't have hidden a sword under those clothes."
Bowler shrugged. "I dunno, Brisco. I just track 'em. I don't explain 'em. How's Pete?"
"Bad. I don't know how bad. Let's get him to your place."
"My place? But-"
"Come on, Bowler!"
"Oh, all right. But I'm countin' the silverware afterward."
The late-night coach rolled slowly to a stop, horses snorting with fatigue. As the coachmen deftly maneuvered the luggage down to the street, the coach's sole occupant hopped out of the car. "Sorry t' trouble ye this late," he apologized to the coachman in a light scotsman's brogue. As he set the last bag down, he tossed a small pouch up to the driver. "For your trouble."
The coachman opened the pouch and grinned broadly. "No trouble at all, Mister MacLeod. Enjoy San Fransisco." With a light flick of the reins he was off. Duncan MacLeod watched him go, then turned and inhaled deeply.
Ah, San Fransisco. How long has it been? he asked himself, tasting the light tang in the air. He shook himself. But we can see the beach later. Right now, there's two bits of business to take care of. He glanced at a bar whose lights glowed warmly in the night, and remembered...
...About two months ago. Not his longest flashback, to be sure, but a flashback nonetheless.
"Through the heart?" Duncan asked incredulously, taking a generous drink of Nebraska's finest beer. The lanky, long-faced man next to him nodded.
"Straight, clean shot," Jacob said morosely. "Ruined my best shirt, too. If the doctor hadn't been a drunkard, I'd have had a deuce of a time explaining my miraculous recovery."
"Ah, cheer up," the highlander said with a laugh, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Happens t' the best of us."
"Still," the other immortal said in injured tones, "you'd think that after all this time... I didn't even threaten the child! Just `Hi, Jacob Callahan, nice to meet - AK!' And then hours later I wake up to find the local doctor asleep at my side."
"Maybe the boy needs a teacher," Duncan suggested.
"Possible," Jacob allowed. "Not me, though. I don't train people who shoot me."
"Sensible rule. D'you know where he was headed?"
"West. San Fransisco, maybe. You going to go after him?"
"Well, I didn't have anything other pressing engagements," Duncan said with a smile. "'Sides, someone took the time to take me in, once."
"Good luck, then. Here's to teachers."
"To teachers." The two immortals clinked their glasses together...
Except that, suddenly, it wasn't the glass he'd been holding in the bar in Nebraska. It was the glass he was holding now, in the cheery bar in San Fransisco. He glanced around casually, but nothing seemed to be out of place. Odd little memory, he noted curiously. Don't usually flash back a mere two months.
He shrugged. It was a kind of magic, after all, and nothing if not inexplicable. Deciding to get down to business, he turned to the barman.
"'Scuse me. I'm looking for two men; perhaps you've seen them. One looks to be in his twenties or thirties; straight blond hair and a face like a scared rabbit?"
The bartender nodded. "He was in here tonight," he said pleasantly; Duncan wondered how much he'd tipped the man while wandering around in his flashback. "Didn't get his name, but he said he'd be staying at the local church."
"That fits," Duncan said with a smile.
"How about the other man?" the bartender asked.
"He goes by a few different names. You ever hear of someone named Brian Cullen?"
The bartender thought. "Sorry, can't say that I have." "How about Pete Hutter?" Duncan said hopefully. He had forgotten most of Cullen's other aliases. There was one he had used awhile back, something western-sounding during his days as a stage- coach robber, but Duncan couldn't quite remember it. Wild Oxen William or some such.
Luckily, he didn't need to. "Oh, Hutter," the bartender said with evident distaste. "Sorry, friend, but you may be too late. Hutter was shot out back earlier tonight; a pair of bounty hunters took him someplace -- home, maybe -- but it didn't look like the sort of wound you'd recover from."
"You'd be surprised," Duncan said with a small smile. Inwardly, though, he was worried. Too many immortals took jobs as sheriffs and bounty hunters, arresting other immortals and bringing their heads back as proof. "D'you know where Hutter lives?"
"Sorry, no, but I can give you the address of one of the bounty hunters."
"Thanks. What were the names of the two?"
If only he'd had a sword. He could have stopped the man from ever coming after him again. Or not, he admitted, still running down the street. He'd never actually taken a head; he'd seen it happen though, shortly before he first died, and the experience had been enough to turn his hair white.
It hadn't looked like the other man had had a sword either, but young Johnny Bly had learned not to trust that. He had seen some pretty impressive cutlery come out of unlikely places... He checked his surroundings quickly; the warehouse district. He could feel his heart begin to race again. No one would notice one man dying in the warehouse district. Not many churches in the warehouse district. Good place to get yourself decapitated, the warehouse-
He stopped himself, realizing that he'd begun to shudder again. Warehouses meant docks nearby, he thought with the lightning thinking of the desperate. I could hop on a ship, sail to some island where no one could find me. I could even live there like a king, getting the world's greatest warriors to pay me for the pleasure of hunting prisoners all over the island with ancient melee weapons. Call it the Ring of... something. I'd spend years learning their moves, honing my skills
What the hell am I thinking? Johnny interrupted himself as he came to his senses. He began to run again, casting about for a likely-looking hiding spot. What kind of idiotic idea is that? Where am I going to find a deserted islaaaaaaaahhhhhhh
The feeling ran through his body like a bolt of lightning, a jolt of power that hit him in the gut and slammed him into the ground. It was easily ten times stronger than any sense he had received before, maybe a hundred times stronger. He could see the lines of energy tracing across his skin.
And yet, he realized with startling clarity as he huddled on the ground, it didn't send a tremor of fear through him. Every sense he'd received in the past had been different -- although he couldn't quite say how -- but this one seemed oddly familiar. Friendly, almost, in a painful sort of way.
I think I should see what's in that abandoned warehouse, Johnny thought, again with remarkable clarity. No, not that one. That one down the street. Yeah, that one. I'll just see what's in there.
Confident for the first time in decades, Johnny Bly headed for the warehouse down the street.
"I wish you'd make up your mind as to whether he's dead or not," Bowler rumbled, bringing a bowl of hot water and some towels into the room.
"Yeah, well, you know how it is with Hutter," Brisco responded, struggling to get Pete's jacket, shirt and pants off. "Let's get a look at this... Bowler, what are those for? You get hot water and blankets for pregnant women!"
"Well, what else am I s'posed to do?" Bowler asked in consternation. "Aside from bandaging wounds, I ain't got a whole lot of experience with -- the HECK IS THAT?"
The two stumbled backward, staring in shock at Pete's chest. from under his shirt, a bright, bluish-white flicker of light was crackling out. It shone brightly for perhaps a second, then flickered and died. And at that moment, Pete opened his eyes and gasped. "I always thought he just got lucky," Brisco breathed in shock. "Never got any vital organs `perforated'... but this... Bowler, stop that." His friend ignored him, and continued to make the sign of the cross.
The newly-reawakened figure sat up slowly, gasping and holding his chest. "Seem to still have a good head on my shoulders," he drawled softly. A moment later he looked up to see Brisco and Bowler staring at him. His expression regained a little of its seediness. "I imagine I have some explai-" he started, and then broke off abruptly, his face contorting in horror. "HE'S HERE!" he shouted, the sound conveying more terror than either of the bounty hunters had ever known.
Bowler looked at the blankets and hot water he had brought up, and began to formulate a defense.
The night felt wrong. It was something he couldn't quite put his finger on, as if he sensed another immortal who wasn't quite there. Or who duplicated his movements exactly, staying just out of range. The overall effect had Duncan's sword halfway out of its sheath.
There's the place, he thought in relief. Just check and see if Brian's alright, and then hole up for the night. He looked carefully at the large mansion as he approached. Garish enough for one of us, he thought with a shrug. Impossible to say, though. And then there's the matter of the bounty hunter... those names are familiar... He was ten feet from the gates when the sense hit him, strong enough to be Brian -- or some other strong immortal. But there was something else alongside it -- that feeling Duncan had been experiencing all night. It was something new, and foreign, and possibly dangerous.
Sort this out the easy way, Duncan decided, hopping the wall with a speed that belied his years.
The warehouse looked to have been abandoned for quite some time. Johnny walked in confidently, though, somehow sure of where he was going.
Over behind that crate... no, not that crate. To the left. The LEFT, you idiot! Johnny thought. That one. Right there. Behind it. Yeeeeeeees.
Had Johnny been thinking more clearly, he might have recoiled from the metallic rod that suddenly flared with brilliant blue light. As it was he reached down and grabbed it without hesitation. Can't believe it all comes to this... hide a few rods throughout the timestream, replace them with dummies so that no one knows you have an ace in the hole if they somehow get the Orb away from you... seemed like a good tactical maneuver, ya know, don't put all your plasma grenades in one fusion rifle? And now it's the only chance I've got to recorporealize myself...
...thought Johnny Bly. He paused, frowned, and stared in confusion at the object in his hand.
What am I no no no not now, just do what you're supposed to and everything will work out fine. See that pile of dust over next to those crates?
Downstairs, a door crashed open. As far as Bowler was concerned, that was the final straw.
"First it's Bly," he grumbled, crashing down the stairs. "Then it's Pete bein' dead. Then it's Pete NOT bein' dead. Now it's this!" A short man -- a fairly safe description relative to Bowler -- stepped onto the stairs below, and glared up at him. "Where's-" the man got out, and then a pile of blankets was flying at him. And then, out of nowhere, some kind of sword was going through the pile of blankets. His blankets. His expensive blankets. The blankets that had come all the way from France and had a name he was still trying to learn to pronounce. "Duck THIS," Bowler growled, and flung the bucket of boiling water at the man. Except somehow that man was somewhere else when the bucket hit. And then Bowler was crashing into the wall as something slammed into him.
These things, he reflected dazedly, always happened when he put down his favorite gun.
Just stick the Orb Rod into the pile of dust. The energy focus should catalyze the healing factor enough to bring me back. Thought Johnny Bly. He found that his knees were beginning to shake again. His fear instinct was something he had cultivated like those others cultivated their swordsmanship, and that instinct was screaming for him to get out of there.
The problem was that it was screaming very quietly in the background. And in the foreground was the voice of a Johnny Bly who wasn't afraid.
People say fear and the adrenalin rush it creates can be addictive. But then again, the grass is always greener... Johnny Bly shrugged off his fear, and plunged the metallic rod into the dust.
A well-built man with long, dark hair and what looked like a katana burst into the room. Instinctively, Brisco stepped between him and the bed.
"How'd-" Brisco started.
"Who-" the other man broke in.
*Shhhhhk* Brisco turned around in surprise at the noise, and saw Pete standing on the bed. In his underwear. With a sword.
The explosion of bluish-white energy knocked Johnny clear across the room. It was like the lightning shower he'd seen before, when one of them killed another, only more compact. And painful. The twisting in his gut and stabbing in his head was the worst pain he'd felt since he died. And it had been a painful death. Every window in the warehouse blew out with a spectacular explosion. Johnny shut his eyes tightly, huddled in the corner, and waited to die.
"Where in the world did-" Brisco managed to get out, and then both of the other men clutched their hands to their heads. Two swords clattered to the ground.
"The sense-" the dark man muttered. Pete said nothing, just pressed himself against the wall as if gravity had just gone horizontal.
The last flash was bright enough to be painful even through his closed eyes, and then there was an eerie silence. After an eternity, Johnny opened his eyes.
And stared into his own face.
"Thanks," John Bly said with a catlike smile. "I guess I owe me my life."
Bowler burst into the room unsteadily. After a moment of staring at Pete shivering against the wall, the other man leaning heavily against the bed, and Brisco gingerly holding what looked like an antique swrod, he summed it up in one word: "Hunh." Brisco nodded in agreement.
For awhile no one spoke. Finally, the silence was broken. "N-n-n-nobody t-touches Pete's P-p-piece."
Brisco sighed, handed the sword back, then turned to the rest of the room. "Anyone want to explain?" he asked hopefully. "I'd go get some more blankets, but HE cut 'em all up," Bowler grumbled darkly. Brisco sighed.
"Brisco County, Junior, the bounty hunter?" the dark haired man asked.
"As if there were lots of other Brisco County Juniors running around," Bowler muttered. "With a name like that..." Brisco gestured to himself and finished Bowler's thought. "...There can be only one."
The dark-haired man sighed. "So I've heard."
"Alright, let's talk," Brisco said decisively. "Who are you? What do you want with Pete?"
"And what was that moanin' and grabbin' at your head thing?" Bowler added.
Duncan looked quickly at "Pete", then sighed and shook his head. His friend was still almost delusional; he was on his own. -Let's try the formal approach.- "I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. I was born in the Highlands of Scotland centuries ago; Pete and I are immortal."
"Go on, pull the other one," Bowler snorted. Duncan sighed. -Well, it was worth a shot.-
"We can only be permanently killed if we lose our heads. Anything else we recover from. And we don't age."
"What about drowning?" Bowler asked suspiciously. "Can you drown?"
"Ahhh..."
"Or what about if an arm or leg is cut off? Will it grow back?" Brisco added.
"And if a mortal takes the head of an immortal, does-"
"Look," Duncan said in exasperation. "It's really simple. We only die from decapitation. That's why Pete and I carry swords: to protect ourselves."
"You mean you immortals fight each other?" Brisco asked in confusion. "Why? You'd think all you immortals would get along well."
"We know very little about ourselves," Duncan said slowly, then stopped and looked at them in confusion. "You're taking this pretty well, you know."
Bowler snorted. "We had to deal with time traveling and magic orbs and Pete not dyin' every time he got shot. This ain't nothin'." He still looked a little suspicious, however.
Duncan shook his head in resignation. -Ask later.- "Anyway," he went on, "the only information passed down from teacher to student is this: We're immortal, we can't fight on holy ground, and in the end, there can be only one. At some time in the future, all immortals will be drawn to some faraway place. And we will fight until only one remains. And that one will receive the Prize."
"And what's the prize?" Brisco asked.
Duncan shrugged. "Who knows. It could be knowledge; it could be power. It could be a myth, for all I know. Whatever it is, immortals fight either to win the prize, or to stop others from winning it, or in self-defense."
Bowler frowned derisively. "So if you want to be king of the world-"
"Or queen," Duncan interjected.
"-Or queen, or prince of the planet, or whatever, you have to run around whackin' each other's heads off?" The big man shook his head. "With that kinda life, who wants to live forever?"
Duncan shrugged. "It's not all that bad. S'just life, like yours or anyone else's. The only difference is that it's longer."
Brisco shook his head. He could accept the idea academically; after the Orb, anything was possible. But it would take some time to get used to. "So why are you after Pete?" he asked pointedly.
Duncan shook his head. "I'm not. I was in the area, looking for a young immortal I'd heard about-"
"To kill?" Bowler asked suspiciously.
"To train," Duncan shot back, glaring at the big man. "And I thought I'd see how `Pete' was doing. When I heard he was injured, and then taken away by two bounty hunters, I came looking."
"You thought we were evil immortals?" Brisco guessed. Duncan nodded. "Guess that makes sense. But we didn't injure Hutter. A young man did."
Pete spoke, then, for the first time. "He only looked young," he half-whispered.
Brisco nodded as the pieces fell into place. "The young-looking kid is one of you? Maybe he's the one you're looking for," he offered to Duncan. "Short, thin, blond hair? Sort of rabbity look to him?"
The highlander nodded. "Sounds like him," he affirmed. "D'you know anything about him?"
"Sort of," Brisco said with a frown. "He's a distant ancestor of John Bly, one of the most notorious criminals of our time." Duncan looked confused. "John Bly was from the future. He time-traveled back here to capture something called an Orb; it's a powerful device we don't quite understand."
Duncan was shaking his head. "Assuming that's true... what do you mean, ancestor?"
"Well, he looks just like the John Bly we knew, but obviously he's an ancestor. Otherwise he'd be six or seven hundred years old..." he trailed off. "Oh."
Duncan looked grim. "Immortals can't have children," he said shortly. "So he's definitely not an ancestor."
"I knew we shoulda killed him," Bowler said in consternation. "Would've saved ourselves a world of trouble if John Bly never got to whatever century he came back from."
"Yeah, but it would have disrupted the time-stream," Brisco countered. "If we killed John Bly tonight, we would never have met him all those months ago. But we did, so we couldn't have, so we didn't. Wait." He went through the last several sentences in his head. "I hate time travel," he finally muttered.
"So if I train this young immortal," Duncan said slowly, "he turns out to be a time traveler?" The thought was ludicrous, but Duncan MacLeod lived a ludicrous sort of life sometimes, so he let it pass. "And he time travels back here and causes trouble?"
"Causes trouble... Yeah, that's one way of puttin' it," Bowler muttered, glaring at the table.
"So..." Brisco said after a moment. "What are we going to do?"
Duncan shook his head. "Something isn't right, here. Immortals can sense each other, but nothing like the pain that Pete and I had tonight. That disruption had to be caused somehow by another immortal. And there aren't all that many of us around here, so chances are it has something to do with young John Bly."
Brisco grimaced. "Or old John Bly, for that matter."
Bowler shook his head. "But after what you did to him, Bly wasn't nothin' but dust in the wind!" he said in exasperation. "His ashes must've been spread from here to Kansas!"
"We won't know unless we go check," Brisco countered. "And if he's immortal, maybe he can survive what the Orb Rod did to him."
Bowler glared at nothing in particular. Duncan looked at the two of them. "Can I have a moment alone with Pete?" he asked.
"Sure," Brisco said, standing up. "Bowler, let's you and I have a talk outside."
The big black man got up, then turned to Duncan. "If Hutter's head ain't attached when we get back in, you're gonna regret it," he said with a glare.
"He's an old friend," Duncan said, meeting his stare. "He's also the best swordsman I've ever seen."
"Hunh."
"Speaking of which," Brisco said as something occurred to him, "one last question. Where do you keep your swords?"
"You're... you're me!" Johnny Bly stammered, staring in terrified fascination at the figure looming over him.
"Not quite," his mirror image answered with a cool smile. "I'm you, six hundred years in the future. I traveled back in time."
"Time travel?" Bly said incredulously, slowly pushing himself to his feet. "That's impossible." The sense of the other man was still there, stronger than any he'd felt before but still familiar somehow. It was like meeting a total stranger dressed in exactly the same clothes.
"In case you hadn't noticed, so is immortality," the man said, his dry smile widening. "And yet, here we are, all these mortal injuries later, still ticking away."
Bly swallowed. "So why are you here?" he asked. -It can't be for me,- a small, rational part of his mind reasoned, doing several years' worth of temporal logic in a few seconds. If he kills me he doesn't exist.
"Power," the other figure said, holding up the metallic-blue cylinder Johnny remembered holding. "With this device, I -- that is, you, a few hundred years down the line -- will take over the world. Forget the Prize. Forget politics. Just mind-boggling power." He took a few steps back, looked down at himself. "Thanks for putting me back in one piece," he said with a lazy smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got an empire to build." He held the metallic cylinder aloft in both hands.
"Wait!" Bly shouted. "You can't just leave me here! Someone's trying to kill me!"
"You survive," the other man drawled. "Trust me."
"But can't you help me-" His words were cut off as a brilliant blue-white aura began to surround the man. Bly stumbled backwards, shielding his eyes against the glare. "WAIT!"
There was a sound like a gigantic pop, and a moment later the light faded. Bly looked at where his counterpart had been standing. Aside from a scorch mark on the floor, it was bitterly empty.
"He just left me," Bly muttered. "Can't believe-"
And with another brilliant blue-white flare, the elder John Bly exploded back into existence.
"I can't believe it!"
"Brisco, just stop talkin' about it."
"But they hide them in-"
"I know, I saw it. I'm just tryin' not to think about it. Okay?"
"Okay, okay. So, do you trust him?" Brisco asked quietly. They were in the living room, standing in front of some painting Bowler had bought last month.
"Don't know," his friend said after a moment's thought. "Duncan MacLeod... name's Scottish, like he said, but his accent don't sound right."
"Sounded Scottish to me," Brisco said in confusion. "What did it sound like to you?"
Bowler thought for a moment. "Egyptian."
"Egyptian? You've never even been to Egypt!"
The black man raised his hands. "Yeah, but I know how they talk. Duncan sounded Egyptian... or maybe Spanish."
Brisco sighed in defeat. "Okay, aside from his accent. What do you think of his story?"
Bowler grimaced. "All this immortality stuff's kinda hard to swallow, even with Pete's coming back from the dead."
" I know what you mean. The Orb was a machine -- a darn complicated one, but a machine, to be sure. But this is... it's..." Brisco searched for the words.
"A kind of magic," Bowler grumbled dourly. "Just what we need. All the other bounty hunters get bank robbers and cattle rustlers. Why do we get this?"
"Just lucky, I guess." Brisco shrugged. "So, what are we gonna do?"
His friend made a face. "I'm gettin' the willies just thinking about Bly not bein' dead. If he's one of those immortals, we gotta go back to that warehouse." Bowler frowned, then shook himself.
"Something the matter?" Brisco asked.
"Just get a funny feelin' in my gut, thinking 'bout that warehouse." The black man looked at Brisco. "Like I was walkin' over my own grave."
As clearly as the picture in front of him, Brisco could see Bowler lying on the warehouse floor, the life leaving his eyes. -It never happened! At least, not in any way that matters,- he told himself, and forced a laugh. "Probably all this talk about immortality," he told his friend, patting him on the shoulder. "Let's grab Pete and Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod and check out that warehouse. That'll put everything in order."
"Guess you're right," Bowler conceded. "Wonder what they're talking about in there?"
"Immortal stuff; I bet we couldn't begin to understand it." Brisco paused. "The way they hide their swords-"
"Brisco!"
"Sorry, sorry."
"Alright, Cullen. Talk."
"Cullen?" the shifty figure sitting across from Brisco asked. "Cullen who? No Cullens here. Just Pete Hutter, thief, swindler, and hired gun extraordinaire."
Duncan shook his head angrily and turned away. "Why do you do this to yourself?" he asked. "First drugs, now... I don't even know what this is, but it's definitely worse!" He turned back and glared at Brian. "Do you think the others won't come for you if you act like this?"
The effect on Cullen was instantaneous. "Others?" he repeated with a flinch. "What do you mean, others?"
"The others, Cullen!" Duncan half-shouted, bending over until his face was only inches from his friend's. "Bowler and County are famous as straight shooters -- even I've heard of them. But meet an immortal with a badge, and you're dead by mortal laws AND immortal ones. You're Brian Cullen, once the best swordsman in the world-"
"...still am..."
"-and now you piss in your pants if a kid with hardly a century of experience walks into the same room!"
"I'm still the best, MacLeod!" Cullen shouted back into his face, and deep down inside Duncan gave a sigh of relief. The voice, for the first time he'd seen his friend that night, was undeniably that of Brian Cullen.
"Then act like it!" He reached into the man's jacket and pulled out Cullen's sword. "When was the last time you practiced with this? Before tonight, when was the last time you'd even held it?"
"Give it back, MacLeod!" Cullen demanded as he stood up.
"Why?" Duncan asked insultingly. "So you can run away the next time you're challenged? So you can forget who you are and become nothing but a broken down cowardly thief who can't seem to stay dead?"
Cullen fell back into his seat, staggered by the weight of the words. "You don't understand, Duncan," he whispered, resting his head in his arms on the table in front of him. "I can't be him anymore... can't be who he's expected to be, do what he should be able to do. Can't forget who I am anymore, so..." he fingered his jacket, "become someone else."
"That's not the way it works," Duncan insisted. "You can't hide from yourself like that. You face what you are, and if you don't like it, you change it."
"Give me my sword, MacLeod," the man at the table said softly, holding out one hand.
"Why?" Duncan asked again. This time, though, the question wasn't insulting, just penetrating.
"Because..." the other man struggled for a moment. Finally, he stood up. "Because no one touches Pete's Piece," he said with an cocky smile.
Duncan sighed and handed it over. "It's a start."
The problem with incredible mind-boggling power is that most of the time there are incredible mind-boggling requirements to get it. And once you get the power, you spend a lot of time trying to repay all those debts you rang up. It's a little like taking the black queen, only to find that the two-move checkmate you were planning required that knight you sacrificed just a moment ago.
It's drained, Bly thought to himself, amid a sea of mental expletives. Drained, or blocked, or something. And until I can fix it, time travel is limited to about two seconds.
His younger self was almost pathetically happy to see him. "You came back!" he exclaimed joyfully. "I knew you wouldn't leave me!"
"Had a change of heart," Bly murmured. "I can take over the world just as easily here as I can six hundred years in the future." He paused. "Of course, to take over the world here is going to require an energy boost for this Orb Rod." After which time I can happily leave this period in my life behind me, so to speak.
"You mean, like electricity?" the boy asked. "I don't know... it's hard to get all that much energy out of electricity."
A young man destined to be proven wrong, Bly thought with a smile. "That's not quite what I had in mind," he answered. He reached into his jacket, pulled out an old cavalry sabre, and spun it experimentally. Luckily disintegration hadn't changed its balance. "Now, a nice little Quickening, on the other hand..."
He looked over and saw that his younger self was cringing away. "No, not you! I kill you and I cease to exist," he explained contemptuously, gesturing with the sword for emphasis. "No, what I need is for you to go out and find me someone whose head I can take."
"Why me?" the sniveling younger man asked. Bly snarled at him.
"Because I'm asking you nicely," he said, with a big, toothy smile that explained why he rarely gave big toothy smiles. "Now, go find me someone whose head I can take, and I'll get the Orb Rod ready to accept the energy transfer." That was a blatant lie. He really just wanted a few hours to think, without his younger self crouching terrified in the corner.
Something seemed to occur to the younger Bly. "Well... actually, there are a couple of immortals in town that you could take," he said with toadying eagerness.
"Good. Who are they?"
"I, ah, don't know," young Bly said, cringing as if expecting rebuke. "But I can go find out."
"Good. Do that," Bly said firmly, settling back against a table with a lazy smile. "Just think. You're helping yourself take over the world."
The answering smile his younger self gave made him look like a puppy dog. Bly sighed; and he'd thought his flashbacks were embarrassing.
The possibly-Scottish MacLeod and Pete came out a moment later. "Get things cleared up?" Brisco asked casually.
"Working on it," Duncan answered shortly. Not much of a talker, Brisco decided.
"So what're we gonna do about Bly?" Bowler asked impatiently.
"WE aren't going to do anything," Duncan said. "Pete and I are going to go investigate. You two wouldn't be able to stop Bly"
"Seems I'm always cleaning up after you, Buhrisco," Hutter added with a cagey smile. "Maybe after I go finish off Bly for you, you could find it in your heart to-"
"Oh, no," Brisco said flatly, making a sharp motion with his hand. "If you two go investigate Bly, Bowler and I are coming with you." Bowler turned and looked at him pointedly. "Well, I am, anyway. Bowler, would you like to come along, too?"
"Why thank you, Brisco. So nice of you to ASK."
"The two of us can handle it," Duncan said forcefully, gesturing to Pete.
"Ah, but you don't know about Bly like we do," Brisco said with a smile. "If young John Bly is beginning to act like his older self, Bowler and I would best know how to stop him." -With a magic bullet, if I had one,- he added mentally. "And if old John Bly somehow survived what the Orb Rod did to him, we can help you stop him."
"You're not allowed to do that," Duncan protested. "Fights between immortals are single combat."
"Then why are you bringing Hutter?" Bowler asked suspiciously. Duncan glared at him, then sighed in defeat.
"Fine. The two of you can come along. But when I tell you to stay out of it, stay out of it."
It was frustrating. Bly was almost half-sure that he remembered running off, eager to please his older self by finding the identities of the immortals in the area. But he couldn't remember who they were, or where he'd gone. For all he knew, he could just be making up the memories based on what he thought should be happening. Minor but unavoidable memory loss, Lothos said. Blasted thing practically swiss-cheesed my brain! He remembered that much. Only travel within the time of my own life... what a crock. Least my own lifetime's considerable. He wondered briefly how the other side had traveled back; the woman hadn't been an immortal, so she couldn't have gone back all those centuries unless... Bly paused. Skynet? Considerable risk, turning that thing back on. It gets sentient and we're up to our necks in androids with plasma weapons. He decided to take it as an indirect compliment.
Regardless, the end result of HIS particular method of time- travel had resulted in a rather sketchy memory where his past was concerned. It hadn't much mattered up until this point, since he hadn't planned on seeing himself. Now, of course, every move he made forced him to wonder if he was changing history or fulfilling it. The most frustrating part was knowing that he should know it, that he HAD known it, but that now was stuck second-guessing himself and relying on luck. He hadn't even remembered where in the country he had been in this time period, until the familiar sense had hit him while he lay helpless on the floor of the warehouse.
"Lucky I wandered by," he muttered again, shaking his head with a smile. And then another thought occurred to him. "Long as I'm stuck here," he said with a wide grin, "I might as well pay back the people who put me here."
Where Brisco County, Junior, and Lord Bowler were concerned, Bly's memory was very intact indeed.
"So we're just going to rush into the warehouse and start fighting?" Brisco asked.
Duncan thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, that's about it," he finally said. "Immortals usually work alone, so there isn't much planning involved."
"So what're we expectin'?" Bowler demanded.
Duncan frowned. "Well, we know that young John Bly is somewhere in the area..."
"Probably in the warehouse district," Bowler added. "Least that's the way his tracks were headed."
"Which means that it's likely he had something to do with that strange feeling Pete and I got back there," Duncan finished.
"And since the old John Bly supposedly died in the warehouse district, it's possible that he had something to do with it as well," Brisco said, thinking out loud. "Is it possible that young John Bly helped old John Bly come back from the pile of dust we left him as?"
Pete shook his head. "If we heal, we heal fast," he said decisively. Brisco was a bit surprised to hear such a confident, self- assured voice coming out of Pete Hutter's face, but decided not to mention it.
"Any of you ever been turned into dirt before?" Bowler asked pointedly.
"Point taken, my large friend," Pete drawled. "He could have needed something to get back on his feet."
"Like a quickening?" Duncan guessed.
"A what?" Brisco asked in confusion. Duncan looked over at him, then sighed.
"When one of us takes the head of the other, we release all his power and knowledge." He explained.
"Big light show," Hutter translated. Brisco nodded in vague understanding.
Bowler had another grimace on his face. Brisco, knowing how much Bowler loved the supernatural, guessed that he was looking for problems at this point. "If Bly can't be killed 'cept by cuttin' his head off, how are we gonna get him?" his friend asked angrily. "If he's got one of your swords, my little knife ain't gonna be all that useful."
"Just shoot him," Duncan advised. "That should slow him down enough for Pete or I to take him."
"Wait a minute!" Brisco exclaimed. "I've got something that might help. You three go on to the warehouse and check it out. I have a stop to make back at my room."
"Whatcha got, Brisco?" Bowler asked suspiciously.
"The Doc had a prototype for a new... well... you'll believe it when you see it," Brisco promised.
Minutes later, four figures left Lord Bowler's estate. Three of them left for the warehouse district, while the other headed towards the main part of the city.
A dark figure watched them go.
"Did you see who they were?" Bly asked excitedly. The street urchin shrugged.
"Not quite sure," he said expansively. "All these hunger pangs affect my memory." Johnny grimaced and tossed him another quarter. "One of them was the man who owns the place -- name's Bowler. Another was his friend, Brisco County. The third was Pete Hutter."
"Who's he?"
"Hired gun, assassin." The kid made a face. "Say he's the luckiest man alive. He's been shot more times'n anyone else in California, but he's still walking."
Bly smiled widely. Pete Hutter. His older self would be pleased. "How about the last one?" he demanded.
"New in town," the kid said. "I'm not sure I could find out his name, what with him only being here a few hours..."
Bly tossed him another quarter.
"Duncan MacLeod," the street urchin said with a grin. "Scottish, from his accent. Bartender says he's looking for someone who..." He looked closely at Bly, then gulped. "Well, he's looking for someone."
Bly hadn't lived as long as he had (short as that time was, compared to other immortals) by being stupid. His first reaction was to look around nervously -- sometimes he didn't feel the sensation until the other man was almost upon him. Looking for me, another one thinking he can make an easy kill, he thought in growing panic. I've got to tell-
In midthought, he stopped, paused, and then smiled.
I don't have to run anymore, he realized with a grin that made the urchin run scampering away. I've got me on my side. And if I'm telling the truth, I'm seven hundred years old!
There was an immortal looking for him, and Johnny Bly was not afraid.
"Come on," Duncan said shortly. "We're not safe out here."
"You said you could tell if one of 'em tried to sneak up on you," Bowler accused from the shadows of the alley across the street from the warehouse.
"I can," Duncan growled, "but that won't stop us from being ambushed by mortals, and this isn't the safest place in San Fransisco."
"You think Bly'll have humans waiting for us?" Hutter -- Although closer to being Cullen than before, Duncan noted with hope -- asked. There was professional curiosity in his voice, but little fear.
"S'possible," Duncan conceded. "Would he be expecting us?"
"Old Bly'd already be huntin' us," Bowler muttered. "New Bly'd probably be tryin' to hide."
"What if we've got both?" Hutter asked in a slow drawl, a nervous smile on his face.
"Then we got trouble," the big black man muttered fervently.
"Aye," Duncan agreed, face grim. "Where's County?" he asked impatiently.
"He'll be here," Bowler promised. "Probably with something tricky up his sleeve."
The professor hadn't had a chance to test the prototype; Brisco fervently hoped that this was one of those inventions that worked perfectly the first time. "Where did I put it?" he wondered aloud, digging through his closet. "Promised the professor I'd test it out..."
"Lose your boots, Brisco?" The unmistakable voice slid lazily into the room behind him. Brisco spun, his gun leaping out of its holster.
"So you ARE alive," Brisco said grimly. "How'd you come back?"
The slender blond man chuckled. "Immortality is a wonderful thing," he drawled. "Having an Orb Rod doesn't hurt, either."
Thank goodness the overconfident bad guy always tells the good guy his secrets before he kills him, Brisco thought tightly. "Come on, Bly," he said in a disbelieving voice. "Our friend from the future took both remaining Orbs. You and I both know that there's not a single Rod left in this time."
"Your skepticism is refreshing," Bly said with a laugh. "After I take a head and recharge that Rod, I'll be sure to give you a convincing demonstration. Not," he added, "that you'll be here to see it."
"You seem to be overlooking the fact that I'm the one holding the gun," Brisco said in what he hoped was a confident tone. Bly looked surprised, then began to chuckle again.
"Of course!" the blond man exclaimed, smacking himself on the forehead. "You don't know about Immortals. You probably think you can just shoot me and I'll die like a good villain." He stepped into the room, one hand snaking under his jacket and producing what looked like a Civil War cavalry sabre. "Come on, County," Bly taunted. "I'll let you get a few shots in first. Give it your best." He practically oozed confidence, standing just yards from Brisco with arms spread wide, daring the bounty hunter to shoot him.
A large cardboard box in the closet finally caught Brisco's attention. Not a moment too soon, he thought in relief as he dove inside, grabbed the box, and leaped back out. "Sorry to disappoint you, Bly, but I do know a little about Immortals." He grinned and tore open the box, revealing what looked like a little like a wide- bladed sword with a squared-off handle. "I am Brisco County of clan County..." He pulled a cord attached to the handle of the device, and the machine roared to life like one of those motor-driven cycles. Over the roaring noise Brisco added, "... AND THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!"
Bly took a step backwards in shock, and Brisco pressed the advantage, leaping forward and slicing at his enemy with the professor's invention. Bly dodged, and the device tore through one of the legs of Brisco's bed instead. This thing's heavy, hard to control, Brisco noted. Make sure to use both hands!
"We'll finish this later, County!" Bly screamed over the noise. With one last baleful look at the bounty hunter he turned and ran. Brisco dashed into the hall after him, but gave up chase after just a few moments. Better to wait until I've got numbers on my side again, Brisco decided. He flicked a switch on the professor's device, and it shut down with a cough and rattle.
Brisco grinned, still feeling the vibration in his hands. Say what you will, he decided, the Petroleum-Powered Rotating-Chain- Saw just proved itself to me. Holding the device carefully with both hands, he began to jog towards the warehouse district.
Of course, five minutes of newfound bravery didn't override a century of constructive cowardice; Bly circled around and entered the warehouse from the back. He's not here, he realized with a note of unease. He said he'd be here, working on that Orb thing.
Bly paced back and forth, trying to look casual. Maybe he went to get something to eat, he thought. Or maybe he ran into another immortal... or maybe he changed his mind and decided to leave... or...
The newly-brave Johnny Bly leaned against a convenient wall and began to chew on his fingernails.
Pete Hutter looked at Bowler in shock. "Why would you ever want to know something like that?" he asked in a sick voice.
The black man shrugged. "Might come in handy someday."
"I certainly hope not," Duncan muttered.
"Could we just talk about something else?" Hutter asked plaintively.
"Alright, alright," Bowler conceded. "What about that Quickening thing?"
"S'easy," MacLeod said nonchalantly. "One immortal cuts off the other's head, and then lightning blows up anything nearby."
"No, no," Bowler said in frustration, shaking his head. "I mean, what IS the Quickening? What does it mean?"
"Oh, that's easy," Hutter said casually. "You remember how we hide our swords?"
"I'm still tryin' to forget."
"Right, well, it all has to do with-"
Bowler was perhaps two sentences away from having the answers to questions that would still be plaguing Watchers centuries later when Hutter abruptly broke off. He and Duncan sprang to alertness, swords out and eyes trying to look everywhere at once.
"One of 'em?" Bowler demanded, looking around himself with one hand on his gun. "Who is it?"
"How'm I supposed to know?" Hutter growled; Bowler barely recognized the voice.
"You mean you can't-" Bowler began, then broke off as a slim blond figure stepped into view. "Bly!"
Even in the light of the half-moon, he was unmistakably the Bly he and Brisco had fought. The cocky smile, arrogant set of the shoulders... No rabbit there.
The blond figure looked into the alley with a catlike smile. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," he called out casually.
Duncan stepped out, his sword waving slowly in front of him. "You must be the John Bly I've heard so much about," he said with a insincere grin. He opened his mouth to say more, then broke off with a puzzled expression.
Bly chuckled dryly, drawing a cavalry sabre from underneath a long jacket. "Confusing flashback, MacLeod?" he asked in mock sympathy. "Right now you're probably remembering our first fight, on the docks in Paris. Except," he added with a grin, "that we don't have that fight for about another hundred years."
Bowler ran that through his head as MacLeod stepped out into the street, sword spinning dangerously. Hutter strolled out casually a moment later, sword held low in front of him.
"You!" Bly snarled in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"Just relaxing with my good friend, Duncan MacLeod," Hutter said expansively. "I know you probably won't believe this," he drawled, "but MacLeod's almost as good as I am. And if you do kill him, I'll make sure that you undergo cranio-corpus separation yourself a few seconds later. Sound fair?"
"You're bending the rules, Cullen," Bly murmured, stepping back slowly as MacLeod began to advance.
"Your younger self shot me WITH MY OWN GUN," Hutter snarled. "Don't talk to me about rules."
"Hey, he and I are-"
"Funny thing, this time travel business," Hutter continued in a soft voice that was more dangerous than his snarling. "Not being much for theoretical physics, I'm not quite sure about the exact mechanics, but it seems to me that the John Bly with whom I'm so familiar would never travel through time unless he had a really good reason."
"So Brisco and Bowler told you about that?" Bly guessed, grinning and twirling his sword a little. "Well, no use for it now."
"Now, a little light robbing and thieving, that's one thing," Hutter went on, stepping past Duncan. "But disrupting the time-space continuum... I think that probably violates our little non aggression treaty. Come on, Bly. There can be only one."
Bly looked from Duncan to Hutter, grinned, and then turned and sprinted like a jackrabbit.
"Not bad, Brian," Duncan said with a grin. Bowler realized that he was actually relieved to see Hutter's cocky leer again.
The sense hit Bly in the gut and traveled through his entire body. Older me he realized excitedly, recognizing the different sense. "Bly!" he called out. "I'm back here!"
"I know where you are, you idiot!" his own voice snarled back at him a moment later. "I can sense it the same as you can, remember?" His older self burst through the door a moment later. Chagrined, Johnny stepped back and hung his head. Don't wanna make him angry, or he might leave.
"I found out who the immortals are!" he piped up a moment later, when the older Bly showed no signs of talking.
"Let me guess," John Bly drawled acidly. "Brian Cullen and Duncan MacLeod?"
"How'd you know?" Johnny asked in surprise. "Is it because you remember it, or-"
"They're outside!" Bly shouted. "Hunting me. Waiting for me."
"Are you gonna kill them?" Johnny asked excitedly. The other man glared at him, and he shrank back. After a moment, he hesitantly asked, "John?"
"What?"
"You're not... you're not afraid, are you?"
"Of them?" the other man asked with a sneer. "Course not. But there's two of 'em, and only one of me. So we have to use strategy." As if on cue, the back door knocked three times, then two more. "Ah," Bly murmured, smiling in satisfaction. "Here comes some strategy now."
The older man opened the door. Standing outside were a half-dozen of the meanest-looking men Johnny had ever seen. Immortal as he was, he shrank against the wall and did his best impersonation of someone somewhere else.
"Who's that?" one of the men asked with a grunt, gesturing toward Johnny with a jerk of his chin.
"Distant relative," Bly answered smoothly. "Am I paying you to talk, or to kill?" Abashed, the man lowered his head. "You stop anyone trying to get in through the front door. The rest of you get ready for them if they find another way in." The men hurried past the immortal pair and were gone.
"Strategy," Bly said with a wink, gesturing at the departing mortals with his thumb. "Hired 'em while I was out."
Johnny nodded, trying to ignore the both fear in his gut and the tiny but persistent voice that was wondering why his older self would have hired mercenaries before he knew about the pair of immortals.
Brisco poked his head into the alley. "Anyone home?"
"Glad you could make it," Bowler's voice floated out dourly. "Took your sweet time getting here."
"Sorry I'm late," Brisco returned, stepping into the alley where Bowler, Duncan, and Pete were crouched. "I met an old friend back at my place."
"You wouldn't be referring to one of the less mortal persuasion, now would you?" Pete asked.
"Bly," Brisco confirmed. "He ran off before I could shoot him."
"Bly turned tail and ran?" Bowler asked in disbelief. "Hunh."
"Well, wouldn't you, if I showed you this?" Brisco opened the box and removed the Professor's invention. "The Petroleum-Powered Rotating- Chain-Saw!"
Duncan's eyes widened. "I'd run from that," he said, looking closely at the device.
"Kinky," Bowler muttered, running a finger along the edge.
"What?" Brisco asked, looking at him in confusion.
"All these little kinks in the blade of the saw. It's all kinky."
"No, those are supposed to be there," Brisco clarified. "They move sawdust... or whatever... away from the incision point, so the next little blade can cut... they're like little grooves."
Bowler frowned. "So... groovy?"
Brisco held up the Chain-Saw. "Groovy," he tried. "Yeah, that sounds about right."
"If you two are done hypothesizin' on the correct adjective," Peter drawled, "we've got a warehouse to storm."
Brisco looked over at Duncan and nodded. "Let's go."
The foursome crossed the street quickly, trying to look in all directions at once. The front door was a massive affair of wood and metal; Brisco nudged Bowler and pointed.
"Looks like something your subtle skills should take care of," he suggested. The big black man chuckled and stepped forward. One blue pantleg came up, and a sizable boot crashed into the door. With an explosion of splinters and tortured metal it fell inward, revealing only darkness inside.
"Cute," Duncan muttered. "So much for subtlety."
"Hey, we're the good guys," Brisco said with a shrug. "We always use the front door..." he stepped into the doorway and casually ducked a punch aimed at his head. An uppercut sent the man hidden next to the door crashing to the ground. "... and we always get past the bad guys set there to ambush us."
Duncan stepped in with his sword held low in front of him. "Bly is in here," he said softly. "Maybe both of him, but I can't be sure."
"Do you know where?" Brisco asked, one hand on his gun. It wouldn't do much more than slow either Bly down, but it felt good nonetheless. Until he needed it, the Chain-Saw was strapped to one hip.
"Just somewhere in the warehouse," Pete answered, shaking his head. Brisco looked over at him in surprise. Hardly recognize that voice. Wonder who Hutter really is...
"There's two floors," Bowler growled, his favorite gun held ready in front of him. "Let's split up."
"Be safer to stay together," Brisco disagreed, eyeing the darkness.
"Immortals can only fight one-on-one anyways," Duncan said in the same low voice he had used before. "Even Bly wouldn't violate that rule. If we split into two groups, me in one and `Pete' in another, we should be alright."
"Fine," Brisco agreed, seeing the highlander's logic. "I'll go with you. Bowler, you go with Pete."
"Swell," his friend muttered.
"Good luck," Duncan said to Pete, raising his sword in salute. "Don't forget who you are."
"No problem, MacLeod," Hutter said in that same not-quite-Pete voice. "If you go up against the old Bly, be careful," he advised. "I didn't just let him live because I was having an identity crisis."
"Right," Duncan agreed shortly. "Brisco, let's go." He turned and stalked soundlessly off into the darkness. Moves like a cat, Brisco thought to himself as he moved to follow the man. Guess he's had lots of practice.
Behind him, he heard Bowler grumble, "Come on, Hutter. Let's take the stairs." Brisco couldn't help hoping, for both their sakes, that Bly was on the bottom floor.
Of course, that means he's with us instead, he realized with a grimace. Well, can't have it both ways.
"They're here!" the two Blys said in unison, and then turned to stare at each other in surprise. Both voices contained a trace of fear.
The older Bly recovered first. "Get upstairs!" he snarled, his sword leaping from sheath to hand without seeming to pass through the intervening space. "Stay with the strategy I hired." Can't have him getting himself killed, he thought in disgust. When did I stop being such a pathetic, sniveling worm?
Johnny, his head bobbing in agreement, practically sprinted up the stairs. Bly shook his head and moved toward the front of the warehouse. Forget about him. The past is an illusion. He glanced around. Although, in this case, it's a damn convincing one.
"Don't like the look of this room," Bowler muttered, looking around with distaste. "Reminds me of a crypt"
"Just like all the others," Hutter said with a shrug. Bowler glanced at him, not sure whether he liked the man's new personality.
"You always been Pete Hutter?" the big man asked suddenly, trying to take his mind off the room. It smelled like death, somehow, although he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.
"Been a lot of people," Hutter answered his sword spinning around him with what seemed like a life of its own. "Was the best of the immortals for two hundred years, for awhile. Been a stage robber-"
"Still are," Bowler muttered quietly.
"-a drug addict... you can't keep doing the same thing for too long," Hutter tried to explain. "People begin to expect too much of you... s'always `Well, that was good; now how about if you take on Grayson? And then Darius? And then Methos?' Thought bein' a thief'd be different, but it was just people shootin' me instead of stabbin' me."
"Tough bein' the best of anything," Bowler said, striding towards one of the doors. "You're a role model and a target at the same time."
"Never thought you as much for philosophy," Hutter said with a light grin, sticking his sword experimentally through another one of the doorways.
"Have to think about something while I'm trackin'," Bowler muttered. "Anything on your side?"
"Nothing here," Hutter answered. "How about you?"
"Noth-ooof!" A fist shot out from behind the half-open door and sent Bowler tumbling backward. He landed with a thud, put one hand to his chin and growled, "Pete, I think we found 'em."
Brisco leapt around a stack of crates, his father's gun -- his gun now -- cocked and ready.
"Nothing," he called softly. In another aisle, Duncan called back a similar lack of results.
"This is the ugly part," the highlander muttered as he rejoined the bounty hunter. "The hide and seek game."
"So, is Pete going to be alright?" Brisco asked quietly, following Duncan as he stepped forward.
"I don't know," the other man admitted. "He's always had problems with the pressure of the Game... this isn't the first time he's..."
"Flipped out?" Brisco suggested.
"Tried to hide," Duncan muttered with a hard stare. "He spent a long time as one of the best swordsmen in the world, and eventually the pressure..."
"Like being the son of a famous lawman?" Brisco asked absently, leaping around another crate gunfirst.
The highlander looked over at him. "Something like that," he conceded. "He's also taken a lot of heads... that sometimes-"
"MacLeod." Both men spun, their eyes coming to rest on a slender blond figure stepping out into the aisle ahead of them.
"Bly," the highlander said coldly. "I don't know exactly what you're trying to do..."
"But I do," Brisco added. "And you can trust my judgment."
"Then let's get on with it," Bly said with a grin. "If Mister County would be so kind as to step out of the way..."
"Alright, Brisco," Duncan said firmly, sending his sword into a slow spin. "Now he and I fight. Make sure no one helps out."
"Right." Brisco stepped to one side, freeing the Chain-Saw from his hip and holding it up before him. "And if anyone DOES try to interfere..."
A sharp crack split the air. Brisco blinked, jumped back, and watched incredulously as the greater part of the Chain-Saw's blade clattered to the ground. Bly brought his sword back to face Duncan.
"The Chain-Saw doesn't get invented for a few years yet," he explained with a lazy smile. "Can't go around polluting the time-space continuum, now, can we?" And with that, the slender blond man leapt forward.
There were five of them. "Come on, Pete!" Bowler shouted, leaping back to his feet as several guns cocked in the room beyond the doorway. "Get to cover!" His partner blinked and shook his head. "Pete!"
Hutter's hand hovered uncertainly at around waist level, somewhere between his gun and his jacket. The rangy man had a puzzled expression, mouth half open as if he was about to say something. Whatever he would have said was lost, however, as well over two-hundred pounds of bounty hunter slammed into him, knocking the smaller man to the ground and behind a convenient stack of crates.
Bowler swore, getting to one knee and cocking his favorite gun. "Five on two, and my partner has to go crazy!" he growled, firing a return shot blindly over a crate. "Hutter! A little help would be nice!"
The other man shook himself, and seemed to come awake again. "My apologies, Bowler" he drawled, whipping his gun out and firing a quick volley of shots back through the doorway. "Forgot who I was for a moment."
"Well, don't let it happen again," Bowler grumbled. "You got any ideas?"
A bullet winged past Hutter's head, making him duck involuntarily. "You know, Bowler," he said with a cagey grin, "these crates lack the structural integrity to stop bullets. Wonder if we can put them to a more constructive use..."
Bowler grunted. "Works for me... but only cause I can't come up with nothin' else. One, two, THREE!"
In his three hundred years of experience Duncan had met few immortals as talented as John Bly. The initial exchange of testing strikes and probing counterattacks had yielded no flaws in the man's form, no inbred weaknesses to exploit.
"I fought you on the docks of Paris a century from now, MacLeod," Bly yelled extravagantly, grinning as a backhand sweep forced Duncan back. "It was close then, and I've had a LONG time to polish my skills." A series of diagonal slices -- powerful but not overextended, Duncan noted with a grimace -- forced the highlander back into a stack of crates. Only dropping to the ground and rolling desperately let him avoid the thrust that went deep into one of the crates.
Find a weakness, Duncan ordered himself. Distract him. "If you meet me a century from now, doesn't that mean you can't kill me tonight?" he asked with an impudent smile, attacking with a traditional Japanese downward strike. Maybe he hasn't seen... or maybe he has, he amended with a sigh, as Bly stepped aside disdainfully.
"To be honest, MacLeod, I have no idea," the slender man admitted. "But there's one sure way to find out." He stepped in with a vast overhand strike, too close for Duncan to parry. The highlander stepped in and locked blades with his opponent, putting the faces of the two men inches apart.
"What do you wan-" Duncan began. A knee to the gut interrupted his train of thought, and the slender man hurled him backwards. That sword shouldn't have withstood that much force, Duncan thought absurdly, crashing into the crates again and springing to his feet. On the other side of the room Brisco watched with concern etched upon his features.
"I want a quickening, MacLeod, pure and simple," the blond man hissed. "And since you seemed so curious, while this looks like an ordinary cavalry sabre, it's made out of an alloy not discovered until four hundred years in the future."
Wonderful, Duncan thought darkly. Tightening his grip on his weapon, he spun it once and then darted back into battle.
The warehouse itself was not what would have been called a model structure; even before it was the focal site of a battle utilizing the various energies of the cosmos and several disruptions of the space-time continuum, it had not been a rock of structural security. While the pile of crates that crashed into the wall did not collapse it, they did weaken it enough to send several support beams crashing down in the room beyond. The sound of gunshots was momentarily replaced by shouts of surprise and, in one case, pain. "Sounds like our cue!" Bowler shouted, and leapt into the room with a grin.
One of the five men was already pinned under a beam. Bowler ignored him, and decked one of the others at random. The man hit the wall hard enough to leave a noticeable indentation -- although given the wall's general lack of quality, this didn't mean as much as it usually did. Another man lunged at the big man with a punch to the gut, and the bounty hunter utilized what Brisco called the Traditional Bowler Defense; he absorbed the punch without flinching, grinned horribly at the offender, and then backhanded him across the room.
The clash of metal on metal reached Bowler's ears from behind him, and he spun to see a the front half of a pistol drop to the ground. The man holding the remains of the gun stared in horrified fascination at the sword blade held inches from his neck, and then Hutter slugged the man with the hilt of his weapon, a vicious grin on his face. The last man turned to Pete, raising a wicked-looking throwing knife and throwing it overhand in one smooth motion. Exactly what Hutter did was too fast for even Bowler to clearly see. One moment the black-clad swordsman was standing a few yards from the knife-thrower, and the next he was a few yards past him, coming out of some sort of roll with his sword held horizontally out in front of him. The knife-thrower stood perfectly still for a moment, and then slowly crumpled to the ground. The knife, stuck in the wall at about head level, vibrated from the impact.
"Not bad for an old has-been," Bowler said with a grin. "Gotta show me that-"
"We're not alone," Hutter cut him off, looking around intently. "Someone's... there!" He pointed triumphantly at an overturned table, behind which the top of a brown hat was clearly visible.
"Come on out!" Bowler snarled, stepping forward. The form behind the table scrambled back frantically, and as it came into view the bounty hunter's eyes widened. "Bly!"
"Young Bly, unless I miss my guess," Pete drawled. "One who, as I recall, touched m'piece." The sword came up in a lazy salute, and the rangy man hopped over the collapsed table and stalked towards the blond man. "Here, Bowler, I'll save you a world of trouble. There can be only one, kid."
"But this isn't even remotely a fair fight!" the young Bly shouted angrily, stepping backward with an increasingly wild look in his eyes.
"Of course it's not a fair fight, County," Bly answered with a catlike grin. "I'm centuries older, I've got the better weapon, I already know how he moves..." Duncan leapt forward with a sharp cry, slicing a dozen times with strikes too fast for Brisco to follow, but somehow Bly wasn't touched. Metal flashed, and Duncan stumbled back, blood flowing from his shoulder. "Just one quickening to recharge the old Orb rod, and the world is mine, gentlemen. Now let's get on with- oof!"
Brisco had beaten Bly before in hand-to-hand combat, in a slightly different timeline he tried hard to forget. For that reason, when he tackled the other man from behind, sending the blond man's sword skittering across the floor, he was not entirely unhopeful. The two men grappled on the floor, rolling back and forth in the dust. Just don't let him catch his breath, Brisco thought with a grimace, wrapping one arm around Bly's throat and cocking the other for a punch.
An elbow slammed into his head. A leg somehow wrapped around his throat, forcing him back and slamming him into the ground. And as Brisco fought to get out of the chokehold, what had to have been a finger speared him in the solar plexus. He collapsed, grasping at his stomach and gasping helplessly.
"Leave him be, Bly!" he heard Duncan shout. "This is between you and me! County, stay out of it!"
Not much choice at this point, Brisco thought, trying to catch his breath as he rolled away. Just hope I've done enough.
"Fair is such a relative term, Bly..." Hutter drawled with an oily smile. He took a final step forward, and that was when Bly shot him. The small gun, probably dropped by one of the hired men, had been concealed in the slender man's hand until the last moment. "...Case in point," Hutter managed to get out, and crumpled to the ground. The sword dropped from limp fingers, clattering on the floor. Lunging forward, Bly scooped the sword up and raised it over his head.
"Bad idea," came a voice from his left, followed shortly by two- hundred some-odd pounds of bounty hunter. Bowler's desperate flying tackle had worked perfectly, sending both the young Bly and himself crashing to the floor.
*RiiiiiiiiiiiipCRACK*
And then through it.
Brisco, Bly, and Duncan looked over in shocked surprise as three figures fell through the ceiling, landing in a pile of wood splinters and plaster perhaps twenty yards away.
"Something tells me this place isn't up to code," Brisco muttered, leaning on a crate and pushing himself to his feet. Check on Bowler and Pete. And the other Bly, I suppose.
"Ready, MacLeod?" the slender swordsman called out.
"Let's finish it, Bly," Duncan replied stoically, looking for all the world as if he were unaware of the light wounds on his shoulders, chest, and arms. The two men ran forward, blades raised.
Brisco saw the highlander block high, then low, then twist his blade out into a stab. Bly's body flowed like water around the thrust, and before Duncan could turn to meet the counterattack Bly's blade ripped across the back of the highlander's leg. As Duncan dropped to one knee, he flung his blade up, instinctively protecting his head and neck.
And leaving his back completely vulnerable. Brisco would never forget the sound of the blade going in, the sight of the tip protruding from Duncan's chest. The highlander looked down at the blade that had pierced him, proudly refusing to cry out. And then Brisco saw the life leave his eyes.
"Duncan!" Brisco shouted, stepping forward with one arm raised.
"THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!" Bly shouted grandly. He ripped the sword from the highlander's body, spun, and brought the blade across in a great sweeping arc. Brisco looked away, and heard the tearing sound again, this time followed by two distinct thuds.
Now. Brisco opened his eyes and stepped forward. "You'll pay for that, Bly."
"I don't see how, County," the elder John Bly replied with a thin smile. Duncan's body began to glow, an electric grey pattern over his entire body. "Once this quickening recharges the Orb rod, I can..." Bly paused, an odd expression crossing his face. He reached under his jacket as if searching for something.
The electric grey pattern grew, coalesced into one shining white aura around the highlander's body.
"Looking for this, Bly?" Brisco asked, and held up a metallic blue rod. "Duncan and Pete showed me where they kept their swords, and I figured you'd keep this in the same place; should've paid more attention while we were grappling, huh?"
"NOOOOO!" Bly screamed in rage and terror, lunging forward at the same moment that a bolt of lightning shot from Duncan's body into the air. It danced across Bly's body, sending a shudder through his lean frame, and then arced across to the Orb rod. "YOU CAN'T-"
"I already have!" Brisco shouted back, as another arc of lightning sent Bly to his knees before being absorbed by the rod. The rod was thrumming now, the vibrations making it hard to hold, but Brisco held on for dear life.
He lost track of how many bolts of white lightning slammed into the Orb; in its peak Brisco would have sworn that the energy actually lifted the poor highlander's corpse from the ground. Bly shook senselessly on the ground, lightning playing around his body as well.
Hope this is enough, Brisco prayed. Holding the Orb rod aloft, he focused his will.
There was a brilliant flash of light, and Brisco saw Duncan impaled for the second time that night. Wincing, Brisco focused his will again. "Duncan! Brisco!" someone shouted, followed shortly by...
"I'm a friend!" Brisco answered quickly. "And you have to come back into the past with me, to help stop an immortal villain from the future!"
Duncan paused. "Did Amanda send you?" he asked after a moment. "This is the kind of thing she finds funny."
Brisco grit his teeth, then paused. "I guess it doesn't matter how much time I take to explain it to you, since we can come out anywhere I want," he reasoned. "It feels wrong dramatically," he added, then stopped as Duncan glared at him. "Okay, listen. I know that you're Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod..."
"Damn!" The highlander moved as smoothly as Hutter had, his sword flowing as he blocked Bly's attacks. But even as Bowler watched, he saw that it wasn't enough. Bly somehow got behind MacLeod, cutting him as he did, and then running the highlander through.
"Duncan!" Brisco shouted, taking a step forward. And then, as Bowler watched in shock, his friend disappeared.
"Brisco!" Bowler shouted, leaping forward towards where his friend had been. At the back of his mind, a small voice muttered that somehow this all seemed familiar.
"THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!" Bly shouted grandly. He ripped the sword from the highlander's body, spun, and brought the blade across in a great sweeping arc.
There was a brilliant flash of light.
But it wasn't a quickening.
With a metallic ring a katana blade stopped Bly's cavalry sabre inches away from Duncan MacLeod's neck.
"And it sure as hell isn't going to be you," Duncan MacLeod said with an insincere smile. With a heave he sent the slender man tumbling backwards.
"You!" Bly gasped in shock. "But how-" He broke off as a viciously grinning Brisco held up the Orb rod. "Our grappling match," he guessed, narrowing his eyes. "You'll pay for that, County."
"I don't see how, Bly," Brisco returned, still grinning. "You've got to deal with a Duncan MacLeod who already knows how you fight. Highlander," he said to Duncan, gesturing with the Orb rod, "your time is now!"
Duncan MacLeod, the new and improved version, leapt at John Bly with an almost manic laugh, and the ring of metal on metal began again.
Johnny's first waking thought was, "Where are all the people who wanted to kill me?"
Then he opened his eyes and, to his horror, got an answer. MacLeod was fighting his older self, while Brisco watched from yards away. Bowler stood nearby with a puzzled expression on his face.
Getawaygetawaygetaway, Bly thought, scrambling to his feet. Before any of them see... wait. Just a few yards away lay Pete Hutter's sword.
And a few more yards away lay Pete Hutter's body.
He was going to kill me, Johnny thought, looking at the unconscious immortal with the same calculating expression a vengeful antelope might use on a declawed and suddenly toothless cheetah. Cautiously, slowly, he picked up Pete Hutter's sword again.
"There can be only one," he whispered, looking around to make sure no one heard him. With a wild grin he brought the sword up over his head-
And Hutter came back to life, gasping and staring wildly at the ceiling. Bly froze. "You!" Hutter screamed as his eyes swam into focus and he saw the figure looming over him. With reflexes achieved only through diligent practicing with the pistol since the decade in which it was first invented, Hutter whipped out his piece and fired.
Bly cried out in pain as the shot hit his arm, nearly knocking the blade out of his hand. Before Hutter could fire again he dove backward, toward what the back of his mind screamed was the center of danger in the room.
Bly had improved, Duncan noted with a small grimace. In the centuries since they had last fought, he had obviously attempted to reconstruct every move MacLeod had used, and develop a comeback against it. How can I surprise him? He cut at Bly's lower legs, a technique that had worked on many immortals in the past; Bly simply batted the cuts away with negligent-seeming parries, daring Duncan to overcommit on a strike. Not on a bet.
Bly took advantage of Duncan's caution, seizing the offensive with a series of thrusts that Duncan was hard-pressed to stop. S'good, and he's not making mistakes. If only he'd try that ridiculous overhand strike like before.
And as if on cue, Bly did, rushing forward with sword arcing grandly over his head. Duncan moved to seize the opportunity-
-Too good an opportunity, in fact-
And dropped to one knee instead, running through Bly's leg with an awkward but vicious stab. The slender man, already moving into a crisply- executed defense against the wrong attack, stumbled past him, nearly yanking the katana out of Duncan's hand before the highlander jerked the blade out.
"That's what happens when you dwell on one fight for centuries," Duncan chided, leaping after the wounded man with a series of wide, chest- high cuts. Bly had to give ground as he knocked the attacks aside, grimacing every time he shifted the weight of his leg.
Duncan was pleased to see that the blond man's eyes had fear in them now, for the first time in the fight.
Hutter pushed himself to his knees, cursing the weakness following a death. "Touched m'piece, shot me twice, tried t'take m'head... wanna kink in the space-time continuum, I'll show you a kink the space-time continuum," he muttered darkly. The rabbity fellow was backing away frantically, waving Pete's sword; Hutter drew a bead on the man coolly, and fired.
*Click*
And scrambled backward until he hit a crate, eyes wild with terror. "Bad time to be runnin' on empty, baby," he whispered frantically to his piece, patting himself down. "Bullets, bullets, bullets..."
His pockets were empty. Pete shuddered helplessly, and began muttering the word "perforated" over and over again.
He's gonna fire again! Johnny thought in horror. The idea of being dead, even for a short period of time, was too awful to contemplate. Backbackback
He backed into something. Shouting in terror, Bly spun, striking out wildly with the sword and not particularly caring what he hit.
"What the-" Bowler's head snapped to the side sharply as the pommel cracked against his jaw. With the slow, creaking sound of an ancient sequoia being turned into furniture, Bowler crashed to the ground. Not stopping to question his good fortune, Johnny leapt over the other man.
There, in front of him, was the prone form of Duncan MacLeod. Judging by the bloody hole in his back, it was the type of unconsciousness that lasted awhile. In confusion, Johnny looked at the Duncan on the floor, then shifted his gaze to the Duncan that was fighting his future self.
Future self...
Say what you will, cowards are almost always tops when it comes to quick thinking.
"There can be only... two?" Johnny tried, and raised the sword again.
Brisco had thought the first fight between Bly and MacLeod was the perfect demonstration of a fight between masters. He had been wrong. The new Duncan and Bly danced through the warehouse, blades weaving back and forth and never striking the same area twice. There were no pauses, no breaks to stop and size up the opponent. Whoever made the first mistake would die. Bly lunged forward with his blade held high, and Duncan countered with an odd-looking low stab. Bly stumbled away, bleeding badly, and Duncan pressed the attack quickly. This is it, come on, Duncan
A shot split the air, followed shortly by, "What the-" and then a sharp crack.
Brisco turned in time to see Bowler hit the ground, and saw the younger Bly move to the prone younger Duncan, sword coming up to strike as he mumbled something under his breath. "Bly, no!" Brisco shouted, stepping forward.
The young John Bly turned to him with a frenzied look. "Take one more step and he dies!" he snarled. "I'm not afraid of you!"
Brisco stopped, not doubting the threat. "If you kill Duncan, then your older self can never fight him," he tried, speaking in a calm voice.
"SHUT UP!" Bly shouted. "If I kill him, that's one less that I have to be afraid of! I'll be a real immortal, like him!" He pointed at Hutter with his free hand.
Brisco looked at Pete, huddled against a crate with his hands around his knees. He started to say something, but was cut off by another voice.
"KILL HIM, you stupid son of a bitch! TAKE HIS HEAD!" Brisco looked up sharply to see that the fighters had shifted directions, giving John Bly a clear view of his younger self.
"Imtiredofbeingafraid," Johnny mumbled, sword hand trembling at its peak. Brisco gauged the distance between them. I'd never make it. "Imtiredofbeingafraid."
Bly spun away from one of Duncan's attacks, putting his back to the other struggle. "KILL HIM! KILL HIM NOW! NOW!" he shouted over his back.
"Listen to him," Brisco said softly. "Does he sound like he's not afraid anymore?"
"Shut up!" Johnny snarled, grabbing the sword with both hands. Behind him the fighters danced, one of them beginning to falter.
"He ran away from MacLeod and Hutter." Brisco glanced over at the speaker, and saw that Bowler was getting to his feet. From the look on his face, he saw the sensitivity of the situation.
"And now he's running from MacLeod again," Brisco added. "Look at him. Take Duncan's head, and you'll turn into that man over there."
"Imtiredofbeingafraid..." Johnny's whole body was trembling now. Brisco moved a step closer.
"TAKE IT! GODDAMMITALLTOHELL, TAKE IT!" Metal rang on metal; Brisco noted in his peripheral vision that the fighters were moving closer.
"I'm tired..."
"Take his head and you'll be runnin' your whole life!" Bowler shouted.
"...of BEING..."
"JUST LIKE HIM!"
"TAKE IT!"
"AFRAID!"
The sword flashed, faster than Brisco would have believed possible, slicing through the air, through its target, nothing more than a precise metallic blur. There was a moment of dead silence in the room.
And then John Bly's headless body crumpled to the ground.
Bowler broke the silence first.
"Everybody get down." They stared at him, at the headless body beginning to glow with eldritch light, and dove for cover.
"I... I couldn't..." Johnny began, and then screamed as the first arc of lightning slammed into him.
It had to be different than it usually was, Brisco realized. Bly had shown shock and trembling when he had first killed MacLeod, but nothing like the pain the young John Bly seemed to be feeling. Taking your own head, it's no wonder.
A stray arc hit a crate, and blew it to splinters. Bly dropped to his knees, energy playing over him like shackles. Another arc ripped a piece out of the ceiling. Brisco realized that he could see Bly's skeleton as a dark spot against the energy ripping through him. A final arc, larger than any before, slammed into the young immortal, and as he screamed every window and crate in the building exploded.
And then there was silence. Brisco realized that his eyes were closed, opened them, and saw young John Bly lying unconscious, a faint play of energy slowly fading from his body.
"I remember this," Duncan said slowly, looking around in confusion. "I met an old friend, fought an immortal, and then got stabbed through the heart... and when I woke up, there was no sign of it."
"What do you mean?" Brisco asked, studying the man. He did appear older somehow, but Brisco couldn't tell how. His eyes, maybe.
"I woke up with Brian... Pete," Duncan muttered, pointing over at Hutter, "and he said we'd just gotten drunk last night and a drunkard had knifed me. He convinced me that it was nothing but a bad dream."
"Seems like a lame story to me," Bowler grumbled.
"Maybe not, Bowler" Brisco said cautiously. "Maybe this is the Orb's way of making everything fit together... if we take your younger self back to Bowler's place before he wakes up, Pete here can convince him it was all a dream. And then..." He frowned, trying not to lose the train of thought. "And then everything that has happened will happen."
"What about Bly?" Duncan asked.
"Leave him," Bowler suggested. Brisco looked at him in surprise. "S'the first time he's done anything for himself," the big man said defensively. "He don't need to be turned into a kid again, either by bein' put in jail or turned into your protege," he said emphatically to Duncan. "Who knows... maybe this time he'll decide to go straight."
"But doesn't history have to fulfill itself?" Duncan asked sharply.
"Who knows?" Brisco answered with a shrug. "But do you have a better plan?"
Duncan sighed. "I hate temporal theory," he muttered. "Guess you better get a move on, then, and get me back home, and me..." he pointed to his younger self, "back to someone else's home."
"Alright, Duncan, take my hand and-"
"Wait," the highlander said softly. "Just a moment. I forgot something." He turned away from Brisco, and walked slowly over to where Hutter was still huddled.
"Brian," he said simply, the name choking him as it came out.
"Just Pete, MacLeod," the other immortal drawled lazily. "Pete Hutter, hired gun extraordinaire."
"Brian, I remember what happened before I came here now, and I'm proud of you," Duncan said softly, putting his hand on the man's shoulder. "For awhile there you were Brian Cullen again. You can overcome it,Brian."
The man's eyes met his, and they were rife with a terror so dark it almost frightened Duncan. "I can't, Duncan..."
"Bly did. Even though it cost him his life. Fight through it, Brian, please." Duncan wiped his eyes.
"I couldn't save you."
"You did your best, Brian. We couldn't have done it without you." Duncan paused. "Without you, Bly would be ruling the world right now."
The other man was silent. Nothing I say is going to make a difference, Duncan thought, the pain like a sword in his heart. It's history already.
"You were always the best, Brian. You can beat the fear." Duncan turned away. So softly that no one else could hear, he mouthed the word "Goodbye."
"Now?"
"Now."
There was a brilliant flash of light.
"Swear to God, MacLeod, they thought you were cheating, and they knifed you."
"But I had this dream-"
"Sure you did. Heard you muttering all night. Kept me awake, too. MacLeod you got hit on the head and then knifed, after drinking enough to pickle any mortal man. Maybe you're just... remembering someone else's dreams, if you take my meaning."
"That's a pleasant thought... Well, I've always been able to hold my spirits."
"Did a better job than usual last night."
"Aye, I s'pose."
"So where you gonna put the Orb rod, Brisco?"
"I haven't figured that part out just yet. Hopefully taking Duncan back to the future and me back drained it of most of its power."
"We can hope."
"Hey, what were you and Pete were talking about before he took Duncan back to the hotel?"
"Dunno myself. All he said was, `When it happens, look me up.' Any idea what that means?"
"Not a clue, Bowler. Not a clue."
"It was my fault, Joe."
"Duncan, we went over this last night."
"But he's dead because-"
"He died because he chose to die, MacLeod! Nobody forced him to take on Kalas for you. Nobody forced him to give up his sword to save Anne's life. He did it because he was your friend, Mac. Don't cheapen it."
"I..."
"What, MacLeod?"
"I guess you're right, Joe. To Brian Cullen."
"To Brian Cullen."
*Clink*