fic - "Prophecy like Fish" 7/?
- sorry for the wait.
it is 7, right?
"You mortal men will go far,
"Climb the moon and reach for the stars;"
-- 'Princes of the Universe' song, of the 'Highlander' fame,
by the group Queen.
Marie opened her eyes. Nobody was moving.
She hadn't had any nightmares tonight, neither from her own memories
or from anyone else residing in her mind.
The lady who was sorta like Logan, she was able to flex her arms and
legs by now, though she wasn't limber yet. But now, now she was
Colonel Stryker was still curled up on himself, having muttered
himself to sleep.
And the other man, the one who frightened Marie in a way that even
Sabertooth hadn't been able to scare, looked asleep as well.
Looked. "Are you asleep?" Marie asked, feeling kind of silly even
His eyelids didn't open. "No," he answered.
"Any idea where we should go when we leave here?" she asked. One,
two, four, everyone...she didn't care how many person/personalities
there were in their merry group.
"I've an idea or two, but nothing concrete as yet," Methos replied,
the persona of Benjamin Adams speaking at the moment, with Pierson
sitting second chair. Methos himself was warily watching the abyss,
feeling the approachingness of Methen. Death was trying to place
Lyman at the edge of the abyss, to ensnare Methen with the controller.
"You?" Adams asked. "Do you have any ideas as to where we should go?"
"No," Marie said, shaking her head emphatically. "I'm just walking
for the sake of walking."
"Never a bad habit," Methos said, speaking from experience. "I've
been known to use it myself." He opened his eyes, his chameleon-
colored eyes. "Why are you here?" he asked. Marie shrugged. "As
good a reason as any. Trust me on that."
"Okay," Marie said, smiling. He smiled too. "Why're you here?" The
"Tell her," Stryker said. Clearly, he too was awake now. "Tell her
that you asked Plato that question."
In a bored, casual voice, "Actually, I asked Socrates. If you're
going to mock me, Stryker, get your details right."
"You knew Socrates?" Marie asked, skeptical.
Methos nodded. "I did. Bit of a pessimist at times, I grant you,
but the guy drank well."
"How could you have known him? He lived - what - two thousand years
"And then some," Methos nodded. "I am...Immortal." He considered
himself fairly safe: the only ones nearby were another Immortal, a
regenerating mutant, and a ... a Marie.
He still wasn't sure exactly what she was, and he'd encountered a lot
of things over the course of his life.
Monkeys, such as humans, do not particulary worry us, any angel.
It is the mutants thereof which instill fear in us.
Consider. Angels have no industries, no technologies, no domestic
plants or animals, not even our own style of tying knots. All we
have is a form of writing. Even our trenchcoats and clothes are
simply a fascimile, an illusion designed to decieve and trick monkeys.
Our hardiness and our long lifespans are our only advantage over the
monkeys. Even those and our reflexes, are being challenged by
And so, if they arrive to challenge us, be assured that we will fight
with every trick our experiences have taught us.
AIRPORT IN MAINE:
This was one of the northernmost of the 'lower 48' states.
Joseph, Joe, and Kronos got off the airplane and headed for the
airport's indoor restaurant. Once there, they encountered two other
Immortals. "That them?" Dawson asked, seeing the look in Kronos'
eyes -- the same look as Methos, MacLeod, and every other Immortal
got when other Immortals were nearby.
"Yes," Kronos said, and led them to the Immortals.
The two Immortals were already seated, though they stood up to greet
Kronos and the others. One was a man, the other was a woman. One
was of Middle Eastern descent, the other hailed from Native Americans.
In fact, she had entered existance as a tool of the angels, a
spokeswoman and a sign, a 'go this way, Daniyel' person. But she had
grown up in the few years since then, grown and turned Immortal.
Her name was Mary.
"Nice to meet you," Joe Dawson said, shaking her hand and introducing
Joe did likewise. "I think I heard a bit about you, once."
"Yeah, same here," Mary agreed.
"Name's Hammurabi," said the other Immortal. Mary's teacher.
"'Hammurabi'?" Joseph asked.
"No relation," he was assured.
People walked right by him. They saw him, and thought nothing of a
man who was perched on a 5-foot-high wall that served as a fence.
Not a single person even suspected that this was Ilbis, the angel who
had refused to bow to humanity.
Ilbis was trying to figure out one of the monkeys' inventions.
Flattish and almost the size of a monkey's own hand, the thing could
fold and unfold. Ilbis tapped one finger against the barely-raised
buttons which had single notes of script on each of them.
Though he couldn't get it to work, Ilbis didn't throw the cell phone
down in disgust.
Jophael passed the largest concentration of God. The Almighty was
indeed everywhere, but, over the multitude of aeons that the Creator
had existed, even gravity was winning: wisps of God were accreting
together into regional concentrations.
Jophael was relieved that God was still sleeping soundly, without
even a space-time ripple of bad dreams. The last one of those had
doomed the dinosaurs.
Capable of flying into fits of rage at the slightest provocation -
real or imaginary - and when one was the Alpha & Omega both, even
imaginary could be dangerous - God spent most of eternity asleep.
Only during periods of creating intelligences did the Almighty
awaken, and then God would spoil the newborn thinkers, misguiding
them into thinking that everything had been done and made for *their*
Humans were merely the most recent, not the only.
Spoiling done, God would return to slumber.
All angels knew of God's condition. But when that deity went
millenia without even murmuring encouragement to the angels, who
could hear such things, it was then that dissent grew in the ranks -
first (Satan/Lucifer), and then, more recently, Gabriel.
Jophael continued on his way, hoping that nothing disturbed the
"Oh, and I suppose you would know just what to do."
"Oh, yeah. Standard response to unforseen dilemmas, perfected over
"You know, I think I liked the other Methos better."
-- Joe, Methos, Duncan, Methos, Joe, Methos; 'The Messenger'
episode of 'Highlander'.