Organization: Penn State University Date: Thu, 28 Apr 1994 18:44:21 EDT From: "Lawrence E. Nagy" Message-Id: <94118.184421LEN101@psuvm.psu.edu> Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: Highleaper 3 HIGHLEAPER part 3 Al walked solemnly out of the chamber. He had just talked to Sam. To Al at least part of Sam was still alive. To the others who only knew of Sam through Al's reports Sam had just died. Al turned directly to Gushie "Do we have anything on this Ian McShane yet." Gushie stood over one of Ziggie's monitors. His hair seemed even messier than normal and his thick glasses were crooked. "I don't know," he said "something is really screwy here. "Look," Gushie said pointing to the screen "it just doesn't fit. Someone matching McShane's description and carrying his I.D. was found in a corn field out side of town, beheaded." Gushie looked up shaking his head. "McShane and his friend listed as a 'John Doe' originally died five days after the time Sam leaped in." "That's not possible." Al said "McShane was almost dead when Sam leaped in. Perhaps someone moved the body." Gushie paged through more of Ziggie's report "No, we've even accessed the coroner's report. It lists the wounds on the body, none of which match those of our friend's." Al stood back shaking his head and patting down his neon green sport coat looking for a cigar. "This just doesn't make sense, have we run a background check on McShane yet?" "Yea," Gushie managed to frown and grin at the same time. "The only record we have of Ian McShane before he bought that Trans-Am is his birth certificate," Gushie paused for proper dramatic effect "and his death certificate at the age of two days." Al threw up his hands,"and an alias to boot. How are we suppose to find out anything about this guy without any more to go on?" From their position Al and Gushie could see the body laying neatly in the waiting room. It was positioned comfortably on the couch with a sheet over it. Al thought he saw the sheet move. "Did you see that?" he asked Gushie. "See what?" "He moved." Al said nervously pointing his unlit cigar at the body of his friend. "Now, Sir, you know that's not possible." Gushie said trying to be soothing. Suddenly Sam sat up clutching his abdomen and trying to stifle a cry of pain. The blood stained sheet fell to the floor revealing the remains of the shredded and bloody jump suit Sam was still wearing. Al rushed to the aid of the man who appeared to be his best friend. With the approach of Al and the others their guest suddenly had a wild and terrified look in his eyes. He stood up holding onto the bunk for support. Doubled over clutching his stomach he was still able to look extremely menacing. Al stopped short, holding his arms out keeping everyone else away too. "Relax," he said "we won't hurt you." Sam backed away a step then doubled over a little more as another surge of pain ripped through his body. The wild look in his eyes continued to keep everyone at bay. "My name is Al." Al said soothingly "can you remember your's?" Sam suddenly forced himself straight and said proudly in a very thick Scottish brogue "I am Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod." He looked around the place then asked "What manner of magic brought me here?" "That's kind of hard to explain." Al said "But we're not here to harm you." Tina leaned over and whispered to Al "Look at his wounds, they're almost healed." Al continued to talk to Sam "Can you tell me the last thing you remember?" Duncan leaned back against the wall holding his hand to his head. He appeared to be having a blackout. He slowly slid down the wall till he was in a squatting position. He leaned forward head in hands resting his elbows on his knees. He started speaking again this time with just a hint of an accent "There was a fight." "Who was fighting?" Al asked. He had knelt down in front of their guest. "I was." "And who else?" "Lancelot." "Why?" "He had gone after my friend Richie. Lancelot has become a coward, looking for the easy heads." Duncan spoke as if he were in a dream. "So you fought him to protect your friend?" "I've lost too many friends lately." Suddenly Duncan's head cleared "Richie, were's Richie." "Richie is okay." Al said. Duncan looked around "Where am I?" he demanded "Who are you people?" "This is the waiting room." Al said simply. Knowing full well that most leapees forgot what happened here. One of the better side effects of the swiss cheese memory syndrome caused by the process. "What am I doing here, is this a hospital?" Duncan had stood up straight and proud. There was no obvious sign of the injuries of less than half an hour before. "No it's not a hospital." Al said "A lot has happened, perhaps you'd like to get cleaned up. It appears we both have a lot to talk about." As he talked Al motioned to the gore that Duncan was the center of. The black Trans-Am pulled up to an old warehouse in a dilapidated part of the city. Drawing close to a garage door, Richie pushed a button on the visor opening the door. He backed into the building all the way onto a freight elevator. Richie turned and looked at Sam. "Well?" "Well, what?" "When you drive you always make me close the elevator. I guess now its your turn." Sam was in no mood to argue anything. He sat for a second gathering his strength then got out of the car. Pulling the door shut he saw the out side door begin to close. Richie must have closed it from in the car. Sam got the door down then saw a switch marked simply 'UP' and 'DOWN'. It was already in the down position so he pulled it up hoping that this was the proper thing to do. The elevator shook slightly then started up. The room on the second floor was made into a large garage. An old black Thunderbird convertible sat near by. The car looked like it was recently parked. Other cars were pushed into corners, all covered with dirty, old tarps. From their shapes, they looked like they represented every decade of the automobile. There was the classic box of the twenties and thirties, the round fat fenders of the forties and the shoe boxes of the fifties and sixties. Richie pulled the Trans-Am into the center of the garage and parked it. He then grabbed a long cowboy duster style over coat and his sword with it's fancy gold hilt from the back seat. Sam decided he had better follow suit, so he retrieved the katana and his black trench coat. Sam followed Richie across the garage to the only obvious door. This must be the exit Sam thought, perhaps stairs down to the street. The door opened into a spacious loft apartment. Most of the room was filled with crates and boxes. At the far end was the living quarters. It was sparsely furnished with a couple of added rooms. The rooms looked like large wooden cubes set down in the middle of the warehouse. To one side of the living area was a well equipped work out area. This space included the standard mats, weight machines, punching bags and other things along those lines. There was also a large number of ancient weapons. Most notably swords. There were swords from cultures spanning the globe and history. Richie headed right to one of the bedrooms, taking off his shredded sweater as he went. "Mac," Richie said from his room. "Can I ask you a question?" "You can always ask." Sam responed as he carefully entered the other bed room. Richie entered the room and stood just inside the doorway. Sam found a clean and folded black t-shirt to replace the shredded one he was wearing. "Why don't we start looking for the others?" Richie asked. "Looking for whom?" Sam responed honestly. "You know what I mean, Mac." Richie said "You know what they say, the best defense is a good offense. Lance almost got both of us." "But he didn't get either of us." Sam interjected. "Yea but if it had been on our terms, it probably wouldn't have been so close." "I think you know how I feel about that." Sam guessed they had had this conversation before. "Listen, Mac" Richie pleaded "I know you don't beleive in being a hunter and all but I think we have to be more agressive." Richie paused a bit choosing his words. "You've seen that you can't avoid the game. We should at least do something more to protect our selves." "Such as?" Sam was totally confused what was this game the kid was suddenly talking about? "We could try to track the others. Find out whose close by. In other words, you know, be a little more agressive in our defense." "We'll talk about it in the morning." Sam said glancing at the red numbers of the room's alarm clock. "3:21am means it is time to sleep for most people." "You know I still don't feel the quikening from you anymore." Richie sounded intriged and concerned. "Perhaps you'll feel better with some rest." Sam replied. He hoped he would. Sam had been doing this a long time but it was still difficult to make himself at home in strange surroundings. After Richie retired Sam wondered around his room trying to get to know his host a little better. The room was sparse, it had few personal items such as family pictures, momentos from childhood etc. The few personal looking things like pictures and fancy toiletries, brushes, shaving accessories and so on were all antiques. This man seemed to be living in the past. Sam looked at his reflection again. He looked to be in his early thirties, extremly good shape, everything Sam always figured women would surely swoon over. Why was he living with this kid in a warehouse in what had to be one of the worst neighborhoods in the city? Something very weird was going on. Where was Al? Once again Sam was left clueless waiting for his partner. "Well" he said to himself "I might as well get some rest while I'm waiting." Sam was dead to the world as soon as his head hit the pillow. to be continued..................  ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Larry Nagy 1160 Boyer Rd Erie, PA 16511 I have no doubt at all the Devil Grins, As seas of ink I splatter. Ye gods, forgive my "literary" sins- The other kind don't matter. -- Robert W. Service