Disclaimers: *Adventures of the Galaxy Rangers* is copyright 1986-present to Robert Mandell, Gaylord Productions, Transcom Media Inc., ITF Enterprises Inc., Hearst Entertainment, and KOCH Vision. The characters of Daley, Lock, Rowley, and Orr are respectfully named after some of that show's staff/cast; the first three were in "Rogue Arm" while Lieutenant Orr makes her debut in this tale. *Highlander* (the original movie) is copyright 1986-present to Gregory Widen, Highlander Productions, Davis/Panzer Productions, Thorn EMI Screen Entertainment, and Republic Pictures/Entertainment. *Highlander: The Series* is copyright 1992-present to Gregory Widen, Davis/Panzer Productions, Gaumont Television, and Rysher Entertainment. The ORIGINAL Diana Prince (Earth-1 Wonder Woman) and Helena Wayne (Earth-2 Huntress II) belong to DC Comics. The ORIGINAL Dr. Henry Jones (Jr.) belongs to George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, LucasFilm Limited, and Paramount Pictures. The author makes NO claim of ownership whatsoever to any of the characters, locations, and/or situations associated with the above programs/people/films/books. All original characters and situations plus the story itself are the author's property and CANNOT be used without permission. This is a piece of non-profit fan fiction. Please send all questions, comments, and thoughts to Jayce6@gte.net -- flames will be forwarded to the Queen of the Crown and evil Immortals.
Author's Notes: Much thanks and praise to LadyNiko, Kat, Jess, Cricket, and
Matt for their awesome character lines, encouragement, laughter, and
support; additional hugs and virtual chocolates to LN and Kat for their
tireless proofreading and wonderful suggestions! Genre: Crossover with an Action/Angst focus and some G/N UST mixed in. This
story's mostly PG, with a few PG-13 and R things. It takes place before the
Galaxy Rangers' episode "Scarecrow's Revenge," and includes references to
"Murder on the Andorian Express," "The Power Within" and "Progress." For
the purposes of Highlander, everything EXCEPT for Highlander II: The Quickening, Highlander IV: Endgame, and Highlander: The Animated Series (all of which NEVER
happened, IMNSHO) is cannon, with allowances made to fuse the different timelines
together. This story is SEPARATE from the Silver Age DC Comics' and Indiana
Jones' movie timelines -- no harm was done to the ORIGINAL characters -- but
their NAMESAKES are fair game.
*Asterisks* = Dreams, thoughts, and visions.
CAPITALS and _Underlining_ = Emphasis in dialogue and loud noises.
At the end of BETA Station's second shift, Dr. Diana Prince strode down
brightly-lit corridors towards the storage rooms. The adopted name amused
her to no end, considering it came from a fictional Amazon while she had
originally been raised by real ones. Clad in a smart military-style blue
dress and pumps, the tall woman's heels made sharp clicking sounds on the
metal-plated decks. Scanning the areas around her with piercing blue eyes,
she relaxed slightly upon sensing no threats from any of her kind. The
professional look and cool manner normally deterred small talk, but her
late afternoon lecture on the parallels between the American West and
modern society had garnered dozens of admirers. She stopped several times
to answer questions and talk to colleagues before continuing on her way.
Taking no notice of the crowded chat rooms and lounges she passed, her only
desire was to relax after a long day's work.
Sighing, she undid the tight bun and shook long raven-black hair out,
running her fingers through the full mane as it streamed down her back.
*That takes care of the headache; must be getting old,* she thought
amusedly. Rubbing her long sleeved arms, beneath which ancient
silver-colored bracers rested, the doctor resolved to make her inspection
quick and meet her close friend Helena Wayne for dinner. After all, who'd
disturb artifacts of no material value whatsoever? *Dusty scrolls and
yellowed papers, indeed! Looks like _this_ West Point scholar will have to
make a few changes considering the storage policies of these things.*
Still... something just wasn't right. A cold hand gripped her spine in a
vise of ice, sending chills all the way to her soul. Her ancient Amazon
tribe would have pronounced her "death-stalked," the modern equivalent
being "one foot in the grave." *This is ridiculous.* Most of her enemies
were dead or elsewhere, and no one had come forth to challenge her in
decades. But the sensation only increased the closer she got.
Diana had never run from a fight in her life. Bad feeling or no, she
wasn't about to start.
Unbuttoning her loose jacket, she reached in and withdrew a Greek-style
sword strapped diagonally across her back. Its gold hilt and double-edged
steel blade gleamed beneath the overhead lights, almost glowing like it was
alive. She kicked off her heels and ditched the glasses. The hammering of
her heart was the only noise she heard while creeping quietly to the door.
Pressing herself into the wall beside it, she entered the access code and
threw herself in. The Amazon's sky-colored eyes searched the place for
danger, but all she saw were crates stacked from ceiling to floor, hers
crowding the left corner. She still felt no sign of any other Immortals
nearby. The rest of the small, dimly lit chamber was empty.
She turned back, heading towards the door. and heard a whisper of cloth
sliding across the metal deck. Whipping around fast enough to make a god
proud, she found herself crossing swords with a living shadow -- or, at
least, that was how she appeared. Cold ruby eyes gleamed from an
expressionless face as a slight shine betrayed the presence of a wicked
scimitar clutched in both hands.
They jumped back from each other and stared for an eternity, the air
between them charged with tension.
Diana deliberately relaxed, waiting for the right moment. Her right hand
held the sword in a versatile grip while the left one was poised to strike.
*I take it back; THIS is ridiculous! She's no Immortal, so why in _blazes_
does she want to fight?!* "Look, whoever you are, we don't have to do this.
Surrender, and you can go free."
The night-garbed intruder remained silent, tensing her body in preparation
for battle. Suddenly, she lunged forward, her sword meeting the Amazon's in
a loud CLANG! Both opponents slashed at each other for long moments before
she broke off and leaped away, vanishing into the deep shadows.
Ears straining for telltale sounds, Diana gave chase. Slight shuffling
noises from above alerted her to movement on top of the crates. She
silently climbed up and slowly turned, sword weaving in a complicated
pattern to protect her sides and head. A faint rustling, then falling as
the perch fell to pieces beneath her, giving way before the slicing
scimitar. Twisting around to land on her feet, she glared up just in time
to sidestep the shadow's thrown pipes, which imbedded themselves like
spears into the wall inches behind her dodging back. Grunting as the
intruder tackled her and broke some ribs, the Amazon chopped her hand into
the red optics, making the dark-clad woman back off.
"No more games," Diana snarled. She was tired, ticked off, and cranky --
always a deadly combination for her. Foolish mortal or not, her supply of
patience ran out. She lunged forward, hacking furiously away at the
intruder until the force of her blows finally knocked the scimitar away. As
it flew high into the air, she let loose a bloodcurdling war cry and went
in for the kill.
The shadow fell to her knees at the last second, left hand thrusting
something red at the Amazon's chest. An unholy red aura emanated from it,
covering her form.
"_AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!_" Agony shot through her, stabbing claws tearing her
insides to shreds. Every molecule screamed in protest. Muscles jerked
reflexively. Numb fingers released the sword, letting it clatter on the
cold steel floor. The doctor's whole body was paralyzed with pain, slightly
swaying back and forth, as her neural energy flowed into the crystal. She
fell to her knees as the very life was sucked out of her. *Dying. NEVER.
felt. like. _this!_* Mercifully, the pain faded as even its power was
drained away. Before her vision faded to black for the last time, Diana saw
her own sword slicing through the air straight for her neck.
A deadly silence as her head rolled free. The universe held its breath for
one timeless instant...
WA-KA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!
...Then exploded in insane shards as the Quickening burst from the Amazon's
decapitated form.
The sheer force of it knocked both assassin and corpse to the floor, her
hand still pressing the psychocrystal into the unmoving chest. At first,
she thought that the station had exploded as loose debris smacked into her
body, thrown around by hurricane-force winds. That same force tore her
enemy's sword from her grasp, spinning it out of sight. Nearby crates blew
themselves to smithereens. Ancient scrolls burst into flame. White
lightning bolts started to stream from the body, dancing over the deck,
debris, and walls. The overhead lights died in blazes of glory. Just when
the Quickening should have reduced everything to powder, all the power
suddenly shot into the psychocrystal, appearing much like a narrow white
tornado channeling itself into the red gemstone. The jewel in question
throbbed with energy overload, shaking and rocking in the killer's grip as
she used all her strength to hold it.
Ten seconds later, it was all over. Scattered debris landed everywhere,
with her enemy's sword landing neatly next to the severed head. The surface
of the newly filled psychocrystal held the human's face in its center
(which was normal) and had tiny crackling bolts flickering over the surface
(which wasn't).
The murderer cocked her head in puzzlement, then heard pounding steps
coming her way. Slapping the scimitar on her back, where a weak magnetic
charge held it in place, she clutched the still-throbbing crystal to her
chest as she headed for her dark hiding-hole, securing herself just in time
as the doors flew open. Once there, she gently disconnected the jewel from
her left palm, which boasted a six-sided "plug." This was used to activate
the crystal by channeling power from her reserve directly into it, in turn
creating a vortex that drew out life force from sentient beings. It was
limited to touch, though, so the assassin had to slap it on her victims for
the "mini-Psychocrypt" to work at all. Placing the glowing crystal inside a
secret compartment, she fastened it securely so that it wouldn't jump
around too much.
As muttered curses and scattered screams reached her audio sensors, she
powered down for the night, savoring her first kill as her mind slipped
into a soothing darkness.
Two hours later, things were _finally_ quieting down at the scene of the crime.
"During the midmorning break, Diana and I discussed our plans for the
Conference's next stop on Granna," a shaky voice stated, tinged with tears
and grief.
Zachary Foxx sighed inwardly. All his years of experience, and he never
knew quite what to say to those who lost loved ones. He gave her a few
moments to collect herself before pressing on. "And that was the last time
you saw her alive, Ms. Wayne?"
"Yes, Captain. We were supposed to meet for dinner in the main lounge
after she checked her shipment to make sure everything was packed away --
she was due to leave tomorrow."
"Did Dr. Prince have any enemies, like colleagues who were jealous of her
work or jilted lovers?"
Wayne frowned in thought, straightening her long violet dress. "Not that
she ever said." Steel-blue eyes focused intently on Zach as her face turned
serious. "I think that whoever did this targeted her, but as to who or why.
I have no idea."
"Thank you, ma'am. If there are any more questions, we'll give you a
holler."
She nodded and quietly walked away, blue-black ponytail swinging as she
vanished behind a far corner.
Foxx turned around and headed for the crime scene. A squad of Rangers had
already placed a barricade to keep curious onlookers away. Jumping over the
shimmering blue force bars, he saw Goose emerging from the dark room.
"Status, Shane?"
"Perpetrator still unknown, Captain. Scans say nothing's been tampered
with in the surviving crates -- a bloody miracle, considering how
everything else was wasted. We've moved the lot to the auditorium 'round
the corner, where the owners are reclaiming 'em now. Looks like a bomb went
off in here, but there's no trace of an explosive device! There's no sign
of forced entry, and no clues pointing to who did it _or_ what kind of
weapon could've caused this mess."
"What DO we know, then?"
"Well," Goose began as he led Zach to the shrouded body and head, "whoever
killed her was a master swordsman; the throat slice was precise, perfect,
and quick. She tried to get in some good hits herself, judging by the blade
found right next to her head. The entire place looks like a freak storm had
a party. And the whole station bucked like a wild horse; at last count,
thirty people were injured."
The Ranger Captain looked at the physician-in-residence as she directed
two Rangers to place the still forms on a floating stretcher. That night,
she was covering for the regular coroner who had a family emergency.
"Besides the obvious cause of death, any other injuries on the body?"
"None found, sir," Dr. Shinjen replied, the Japanese woman's dark brown
eyes evenly meeting his stare. "In fact, Prince here has to be the
_healthiest_ corpse I've ever seen."
"Keep us posted."
With that, the two Series Fives headed out.
"This is weird, Zach -- even for us," Goose muttered.
"I know, Shane. I've never encountered anything like this before."
"Thought you'd seen it all, Captain," the younger Ranger smirked.
"Just about," Zach deadpanned. "Let's go over Prince's schedule: what she
did, movements, people, plans, everything. One way or another, we have to
solve this before anyone else dies."
Despite covering all the bases during the next morning, no other clues
were found. They informed the other Series Fives and Commander Walsh, who
ordered them back to their regular Conference duties while keeping a sharp
eye out.
Helena Wayne, Professor of Law at Yale, grimaced as she leaned against the
wall at 1800 hours. She had searched the place thoroughly beforehand, just
in case Diana's assailant was lying in wait. True, she sensed no other
Immortals in the vicinity, but better safe than sorry. Between giving her
last lecture, attending two seminars, _and_ answering umpteen questions,
she felt ready to collapse.
Glancing at the far right corner, she noted that the doctor's surviving
crates had been placed there safely. She had agreed to take custody of them
along with the unclaimed ones. The youthful-looking woman had gotten no
sleep that previous night, gruesome images of the corpse consuming her
mind. *I _would_ have to be the one to identify her.* The Immortal had put
off her own departure so that she could return the Amazon's extra materials
Earth-side; it was the least she could do, for one who had been both mentor
and friend.
Closing her deep blue eyes, Helena vividly remembered the first time they
had met. In the early 1980s, she was an up-and-coming attorney who gave her
all to the job. She acquitted Diana in a libel suit, and the woman had made
some cryptic remarks about "being there when your time comes."
Helena had found out what she meant the hard way three years later, when a
mobster she was putting away planted a bomb in her car. The burns and
injuries had been pretty severe, but a week later she arose as a new
Immortal. She had to leave behind her life, job, father, and fiancée. Diana
helped her through the tough months that followed, teaching her everything
from swordplay to creating new identities.
Even when Helena struck out on her own, the two remained close.
*I swear, Diana, whoever killed you will PAY. I don't know who did it, but
when I find out the Game will be short one player.*
The professor headed for the bathroom, peeling her cobalt-blue pantsuit
off once she locked the door securely. She reached into the left leg and
withdrew a sharp cutlass-type sword. The platinum-plated hilt slipped into
her grip with the ease of fifty-plus years of use. *No sense taking
chances.* Clouds of steam rolled into the room as she went through the
fastest shower of her life. Braiding her long hair loosely and changing
into indigo pajamas, she went back out. Settling down to eat while reading
the latest scholarly journals, she faced the door with her back to the
crates. The sword never left her side.
Around 2230 hours station time, she decided to call it a night. Just when
she pushed herself off the couch, a curved black blade sliced through where
her head had been resting. Helena spun around to face her assailant. She
couldn't help but snicker at the sight. "Isn't it a little late for
Halloween?"
The assassin wasn't amused; apparently, a sense of humor didn't come in
her programming. Hacking through the couch, she shot like a bullet towards
her prey.
This time, the professor was ready. *Time for the hunted to become the
huntress.* When the killer came within range, her right hand shot out and
grabbed the cloth on the chest. Shifting her weight in a split second, she
threw the shadowy form clear over to the bedroom fifteen feet away. Her
opponent skittered inside. Helena guessed from the crashing sounds that the
lights and comm had been destroyed. She briefly considered calling for
help, but no. Much like her teacher, she believed in fighting her own
battles. However, she also favored discretion. She took cover behind the
nearby crates, patiently waiting for her chance.
A black blur exploded from the darkened room. The murderer slowly turned
her head, scanning the area as her eyes filled with ruby fire. then stopped
at the Immortal's exact position.
"Great, that thing WOULD have advanced sensors," Helena muttered as she
was caught in the bulls-eye once more. Her eyes widened as she hastily
dodged the chairs and tables rocketing her way. The assassin was
relentless, grabbing every piece of furniture (bolted down or not) and
throwing them towards the professor's position. Only fast reflexes and lots
of experience kept her from getting crushed. Many of the crates were
destroyed, rare documents within them shredded in a blink. Her feet were
soon bloody from traipsing on broken shards, but Helena ignored the pain.
She rolled, jumped, and sliced through the unwieldy projectiles, doing
whatever it took to survive.
"Who sent you? Why me? Why DIANA?!" Helena snarled. "_Answer_ me!"
The killer threw over a heavy coffee table -- with her still hanging on to
it. Caught off-guard, Helena hastily raised her sword as the other jumped
off, black booted feet slamming into her chest. The cutlass stabbed deeply
into the murderer's left leg, but that wasn't enough to stop the momentum.
She completed her arc by slamming her victim into the deck, vertebrae
making sharp cracking sounds upon impact.
Although she couldn't feel anything below her waist, the Immortal knew her
fractured spine was healing rapidly. Looking up just in time to avoid
getting impaled, the scimitar imbedded itself hilt-deep through her braid
into the deck. Both hands clung to the sword with a death-grip; the hasty
swing had been interrupted when the murderer grabbed the pommel with her
right hand. The other slid out a large red crystal tucked inside her belt.
She slammed it into Helena's solar plexus. The professor grunted, then
pulled back and stabbed her cutlass through the murderer's right shoulder.
The horrible screech of metal slicing through metal confirmed her foe's
robotic origins. A tidal wave of pain then obliterated all coherent
thought. Her life drained out, piece by agonizing piece, until she felt
nothing at all. As she saw the cutlass shoot down towards her neck, Helena
closed her eyes for the final time.
The head rolled free.
The Quickening commenced, no less loudly than the last one. The main
difference now was that most everything was already trashed beforehand.
Like before, all the energy was pulled into the crystal, making the dread
stone throb with unbelievable power.
Loud alarms made the assassin take notice. Grabbing her scimitar, she
sprinted towards her secret box, the only thing to survive the battle
relatively intact. Five seconds after pressing a red button just inside the
lid, it was totally vaporized in a blaze of light. Running to a ventilation
opening whose grill had blown off during the Quickening, she fell down
seventy feet while securing the psychocrystal and sword. Then she reached
out, grabbing hold of one of the connecting shafts and crawling down the
new path at top speed. After half an hour of twists and turns, she stopped
to get her bearings.
With a mere thought, she turned her bio-energy scanner on. It had the
singular ability to detect ONLY the life force generated by sentient
beings, which showed up as different sights in her vision. Kiwis,
Andorians, and most other species appeared as psychedelic-colored smudges.
Humans looked like oddly shaped stars, glowing with steady white energy.
The strongest among them had the intensity of a supernova, and it was those
that the murderer had to find, drain, and destroy. Two such "contained
explosions" appeared fifty meters to her right.
Skittering like a spider down the dusty airshafts, her eyes glowed in
anticipation of more kills. Faint tracks of light finally appeared in front
of her, tiny squares mapping out a ventilation grill. She rushed to it,
then stopped suddenly upon hearing dozens of voices ahead. Daring to peek
through the opening, the assassin's dark form served as perfect camouflage.
She saw a large storage room, obviously used to house even more boxes for
the Convention. The workmen were finishing up the second shift, getting
some last-minute changes done before leaving for the night. Her telescopic
vision made out a rugged-looking human whispering to someone out of sight
behind a tall pile of crates; both shone like beacons on her sensory
sweeps.
"...What's your take on last night's killing, Connor?" the visible man asked
in a rough voice, pushing a battered brown fedora from his forehead.
"It might be one of us, but something doesn't feel right. Why kill her in
so obvious a place, where mortals are certain to start asking questions?"
the other responded in a cautious, slightly accented tone.
"Maybe this jerk don't know the Rules."
"Thanks, Henry; _that'll_ make me sleep better tonight."
"Shame about Diana; that lady had class."
"Not to mention a wicked right hook."
"Professor Jones! We need your signature on these forms." a BETA tech
called out from across the bay.
"In a minute, in a minute!" he shouted back. Turning back to his friend,
he went on with "Duty calls. You'll brief Duncan on our little chat?"
"Aye, and I'll also say that you've okayed him using the museum artifacts;
he'll be here around 1000 hours to pick them up from you. Care to spar with
me in the gym before then?"
"No way, MacLeod; I _still_ have scars from the last time!" Henry laughed.
"But give your victims my regards; those morning matches of yours have
become quite popular. I hear the bets are running in the thousands now!"
Connor snickered, then continued with "And you'll keep Helena informed. I
take it you two are trying to patch things up?"
"Well, _I_ am. She just doesn't know it yet!"
"An archaeologist and a lawyer. Ah, true love."
After some shared laughter, Jones shook Connor's hand. As the latter went
out the door, the rugged professor stormed over to the hapless tech,
glowering at the poor guy before signing the papers.
The killer didn't get a good glance of the one who left, but she could
always track him down later. The tanned human down below was of greater
interest at the moment; she knew his plans for coming back, and could catch
him off-guard when he least expected it. Scanning the room once more, she
found another secret hideaway, which gave her the chance to recharge before
tomorrow's showdown.
An hour later, after the rest of the humans had finally left, she dreamed
deeply of blood and triumph while sequestered deep inside her box.
The early morning chatter was shattered by the clash of metal on metal.
"En garde, you fool!"
"Have at thee, knave!"
A mixed group of BETA personnel, Rangers, and scholars swiftly gathered
around a large practice mat inside the gymnasium, watching in awe as two
white-clad men parried, thrust, and sparred with real foils. Their thin
blades flashed like quicksilver, moving almost too fast for the eye to
follow. With their expressions hidden under grill-like fencing masks, they
repeatedly fought to a standstill with no quarter asked or given. The
shorter, stockier one used unorthodox methods, dodging, and acrobatics
while the taller, thinner one fought like a master, almost seeming to read
his opponent's mind in countering the moves; irresistible force versus
immovable object. Both seemed equally matched, but one thing was certain:
this fight was to the finish.
The shorter of the two jumped back and stumbled for a fraction of a
second. That was all the time his opponent needed. Dashing forward, the
taller one swung his rapier in a sweeping, circular motion and disarmed the
other with a resounding CLANG that echoed through the suddenly silent room.
The crowd held its collective breath.
Slowly rising, the vanquished was very careful not to let the victor's
sword tip pierce his throat any more than necessary. They stared at each
other, seconds stretching into eternities, while their heavy breathing
quieted down.
The shorter one, greatly daring, took off his mask to reveal a handsome
face with large brown eyes. "Wait a minute," Doc said, eyeballing the blade
this swordsman had knocked clear across the room. "We might be on the same
side. Besides, beheading someone leaves a terrible mess on the carpet."
The other dryly chuckled in a unique, whispering accent. "Heh-heh, true
enough. So why _did_ you challenge me?" he asked as he lowered his epee to
a standby stance.
"Because she," Doc glared sideways at a grinning Niko, "claimed that you
would be happy to show me a few tips if I demanded that we do it the hard
way." Grimacing, he wiped rivers of sweat from his face. "I think my
bruises have bruises. But thanks; that was some workout!" Walking over to
pick up his foil, he saluted with it as the other did the same. Coming
back, he held out his hand. "Doc Hartford, Galaxy Ranger and
Hacker-at-Large."
The other gave a firm handshake before discarding his mask. Dark blond
hair was plastered to his head, damp with the heavy exertion, but his
green-gray eyes were bright with amusement. "Connor MacLeod, Antiquities
Professor from the University of Edinburgh. I'm with the Archaeology
Conference at BETA space station."
Doc turned to an approaching Niko, who passed through the dispersing
crowd. "Niko, Niko, Niko! Was it REALLY necessary to risk my life for the
sake of your fieldwork?" he jokingly demanded, dark eyes twinkling.
She laughed out loud. "No, but I thought Connor could give you a run for
your money."
"It went both ways, my dear." Connor smiled as he kissed Niko's hand, then
turned back to Doc. "Where did you learn to fence like that?"
"The Abercrombie Charm School, my good man."
After the men grabbed their towels and bags, the three talked as they
walked down a connecting hall towards private quarters. Along the way, they
snickered while passing by at least three groups betting on their next
match.
"Robert and Gina de Valicourt were your teachers, eh? That explains a lot;
they're experts with epees," Connor mused.
"How long have you known each other?" Doc politely inquired.
"Not me personally, but they are old friends of Duncan, my cousin who's
also teaching some seminars here. Speaking of which, have you seen him yet
today?" the professor asked, craning his head back to glance at Niko.
"No, but he did ask me to help you move some artifacts for the joint
presentation."
"Thank you -- that is most kind." Giving Doc an encouraging look, Connor
went on with "You're more than welcome to come."
"Wish I could," he sighed, "but there are some bugs in those new docking
bay sensor grids I gotta clean up before they go on-line. I'd love to fence
with you again, though; let's start a couple of hours earlier, say around 0600?"
"Perfect," the other man smiled. "Till tomorrow -- nice to meet you again."
"Same here. Oh, and no matter what Niko says, she _really_ enjoys doing
everyone's work for them!"
Niko swung at Doc just as he danced out of the way and dashed down the hall.
"Are your other friends so... unique?" Connor laughed as he opened the door
to his quarters.
"Goose and Zach? Well, yes -- in their own ways," Niko mysteriously smiled.
He got her some water and gestured towards the couch. "Let me wash the
sweat off; I'll be right back."
Niko waited patiently, getting up to walk around the room. She studied
several old artifacts on display. In particular, her attention was drawn to
a blue plaid costume on display behind a glass case; it was an actual Clan
MacLeod kilt, dated 1536.
Connor reemerged, fully dressed and toweling off his hair. "Any leads yet
on the latest killing?"
"No," she sighed, turning away from the case to face him. "It's the
strangest thing; the corpse and head were still intact, but the rest of the
room else was, well, flattened. Everything was similar to the first
killing. almost identical, in fact. Doc couldn't retrieve any data from the
computers because the circuits were fried. I got some basic impressions,
but nothing that can help us track her down or figure out her next move."
He placed a gentle hand on Niko's shoulder, squeezing it. "Hey, don't
worry. I'm sure you and your friends can solve this."
"Thanks," she smiled in return. "Remind me to get you to speak on our
behalf the next time Wheiner takes a crack at us." With that, she put her
empty glass down. Pointing towards some huge crates crammed into a spare
room, she jokingly asked "Shall we begin moving these?"
"I really _must_ budget some money for hired muscle the next time."
Amidst a lot of laughter, grunting, and Gaelic swearing, the grav-lift was
soon loaded stem to stern. With Connor pushing and Niko balancing it, they
left his quarters and slowly made their way towards the auditoriums.
TO BE CONTINUED
GO ON TO BLASTER BOLTS: CHAPTER 2
DISCLAIMERS: Adventures of the Galaxy Rangers is copyright 1986-present to Robert Mandrell, Gaylord Productions, Transcom Media Inc., ITF Enterprises Inc., Hearst Entertainment, and KOCH Vision. The creator/author of this and related websites makes NO claims of ownership to any of the artwork, characters, events, images, locations, quotes, pics, situations, stories, tales, and thumbnails associated with the following animations, audio cassettes/CDs, books, cartoons, comics, graphic novels, people, programs, movies, and videotapes. ALL original addresses, character profiles, characters, episode information/profiles/summaries, events, fan fictions, FAQ answers, gallery reviews, humor, lines, lists, locations, opinions, quotes, pages, personal biographies, sites, situations, statistics, stories, tales, and vehicle profiles are the creator's/author's property and CANNOT be used without permission. No profit is made off these fan pages. Please send all inquiries to Jayce6@gte.net.