Date: Wed, 17 Aug 1994 00:20:10 -0500 Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Wayland DeGreen Subject: 1000 years Part 3 of ? ------------------------------------------------------------- 'ONE THOUSAND YEARS' A Short Story by Russ Krook III (c) 1994 Part 3 of ?? Please send comments to Wayland@vax1.bemidji.msus.edu ------------------------------------------------------------- Ramirez looked at the stain on his robes and sighed, "The hard way then," and slammed his clenched fist into the youth's jaw. The battered footsoldier collapsed in a heap and Ramirez rubbed his fist. The other minions of the Warlord looked away from the counselor as his iron gaze met theirs. "Children should be seen and not heard," he commented to no one in particular. * * * "Ramirez taught me so much; about fighting, honor, how to survive as an Immortal," The former soldier smiled in the darkness, his voice a soft whisper in the night, "and as man." Asuka glanced in the direction of the window. The early morning surf pounded on the shore and the wind sent shudders through the modest house. `When did you last see him?' Kazumi asked. "Ramirez? It's been... many years." `How long?' "Over 500 years." Kazumi noticed the trace of bitterness in his voice that betrayed her husband's feelings on the matter. "500 years and he never wrote, or visited, or even bothered to call after the telephone was invented. He was as much my father as Tamamatsu-san, and not a word." `Perhaps he's been...' "NO!" Asuka yelled at her, and immediately regretted the act, "I would have known, somehow, I would have known." BEEP, BEEP, BEEP... The digital clock chimed loudly in the room. 6:00 AM. He had just enough time to shower and dress before the breakfast meeting with the American businessman. Foreigners always seemed to enjoy making business decisions over a meal. In all of his years Asuka had never figured out why the Gaijin didn't concentrate on one task at a time, rather than mixing business with pleasure... * * * Ramirez carefully poured himself another bowl of saki with one hand and raised his sword with the other; squinting his eyes. He knew from several hundred years experience that he needed to attack at the correct angle or his weapon could become seriously damaged. `Asuka, hand me the oil.' Asuka did as he was told, handing the oil and the sharpening stone to the sword master. Ramirez sharpened his weapon with practiced ease, all the while whistling a tune that Asuka was unfamiliar with. "Why do you do so many things at once? To do more than one, is to make your work less than perfect." The grey haired swordsman looked curiously at Asuka. `Where did you hear that bit of rubbish?' Asuka stammered for a second and Ramirez silenced him with a wave of his hand. `Just because we're immortal, Asuka doesn't mean that we shouldn't make the most of every passing second. There are meals to be eaten,' he waved his hand over the low table which held the remains of the afternoon meal, `Drinks to be drunk, and life to be lived.' He turned and looked deep into Asuka's eyes, `Never waste a moment of your time; because you never know when your time will come to an end!' Asuka looked down the length of shining blade resting lightly on his shoulder and a slight shiver ran down his spine. Asuka's own sword rested in the heart shaped stand in the corner of the room, too far to reach if the elder man's sword jumped for his neck `And never forget, Asuka,' Ramirez's eyes were brigh and clear; his words dark and foreboding, and yet the ghost of a smile curved his lips, `In the end, there can be only one.' * * * Asuka walked through the grey marble floored hallways at the corporate headquarters of Tamamatsu International, dressed in a full cut Navy blue suit with a matching tie and black shoes. Kazumi agreed to meet him precisely at noon in the company dojo for their afternoon sparring session. She was meeting in an hour with a representative of the American computer company, Commodore International, to discuss a potential acquisition of the company. Kazumi was the worthy wife of a modern Samuri; keen of mind as well as body. Asuka's heels clicked loudly on the marble as he walked through the still quiet halls. ^Ohayo-Gozaimus, Tamamatsu-san.^ Asuka nodded to Yoshihiro, his secretary and headed into the spacious inner office. Yoshi was a direct descendant of his friend who'd perished all those years ago, and Asuka had taken it upon himself to protect and care for his dead friend's family, and later, their descendants. ^Tamamatsu-san,^ the round faced secretary listened intently to the wireless telephone headset, ^The receptionist reports your 8:00 appointment is here.^ Asuka glanced at his gold rimmed Rolex. 7:45. He was early, even for an American. Every other American businessman he had dealt with over the years had arrived at exactly 7:50. All of them. "We will have tea in the conference room. Show him in." ^Hai,^ Yoshi barked, bowing quickly and leaving the office to complete his assigned task, closing the large double doors behind him. This particular American was something of a mystery. They had never met, only exchanging the briefest of messages over the phone, through their respective secretaries. Flipping a hidden switch under the edge of his desk, a security monitor, resting beneath the smooth desktop, blinked to life. On the screen, Yoshihiro escorted a slender, well groomed man. He wore a dark suit, similar in style to Asuka's own, and a long khaki trenchcoat over that. The stranger was very animated with Yoshi, his friendly smile and bright eyes relaxing the usually stern secretary. Asuka didn't need a microphone to hear what they were saying, as he had learned to read lips many years ago... `Have you worked for Mr.Tamamatsu long?' ^For three years now. Tamamatsu-san is very generous to let me pay off my loan by working for him.^ `Are you finished with school?' ^Nearly. I am working on a degree in Mass Communications and Public Relations, with an emphasis on Business Management.^ The two men chatted for a moment longer before going beyond the range of the camera. Asuka shut off the monitor and opened the inner door of the office, walking into the conference room. The Conference room was like the Tamamatsu circle of power. The large oval table was circled by ten chairs, half of which usually sat empty at any given meeting. Asuka never felt the need to have all of his associates on hand for every meeting. To pull all of the leadership of the company into one place was both wasteful, and an invitation to chaos. Chaos meant a breakdown in productivity, and if there was anything that people needed, that was to be productive. As an Immortal, Asuka could afford to make mistakes, both financially and physically; while those he watched over usually couldn't recover from a serious injury of any kind. In addition to the importance of the room, it was also something of a hall of trophies. As a hunter may mount the heads of beasts on the wall, Asuka had the collected treasures of a lifetime. A Ming vase, a circular shield once used by a Mongol warrior, A curved Saracen scimitar, and a rounded Norse Spangen helm, complete with a rather nasty dent across the crown. And resting in a place of honor on the wall behind Asuka's own chair, was a sword. To call the weapon a katana would have been accurate, but only in the vaguest of senses. The weapon was a work of art. Forged in the 11th century by Asuka himself, it was a weapon patterned on a dream. The scabbard was lacquered in the style that much later came to be called "Shogun Red," as though blood filled veins were bursting through the dark indigo lacquer itself. The Tsuba was of the same pattern as the one on Asuka's own sword, that of a crane with upswept wings; except this Tsuba was a crane of shining gold. The grip of the weapon was a series of scenes of Samuri at peace and at war, carved from a single piece of ivory, down to the rearing head of a dragon at the base. If the weapon had been found by a curator of a museum, they may have dismissed the sword as a very clever forgery due to a curious design on one side of the grip. Carved into the back of the grip, facing the wall, was a rather remarkable likeness of a man, middle aged and of middle-eastern or european features. Asuka wiped his finger along the Saya. A faint coat of dust covered his fingertip and he smiled. He'd ordered no one to touch the weapon, not even to clean it, and as such he'd fallen behind in his own duties to himself and th weapon. The smile vanished from his face as he felt the familiar twist of his stomach. Someone approached. Someone old. The double doors on the far side of the conference room swung wide. Yoshi bowed as the American entered the room cautiously. ^Tamamatsu-san. I present Mr. Nash.^ Asuka nodded to Yoshi, who left the room, closing the large doors behind him. The room was silent as the two men looked each other over. The American slid his hand into his coat. "I am Tamamatsu Asuka." The words were a statement, a threat and a warning all rolled into one. In the distance, Asuka heard the boom of thunder, as though the elements themselves had chosen this moment to make themselves known. The American smiled. A knowing, familiar smile. ~I am Conner MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," again he smiled, "And I've come for you." * * * End of part 3... Please send all hate/fan mail to Wayland@vax1.bemidji.msus.edu ------------------------------------------------------------ =========================================================================