New: Twentieth Century Boy Author: ZorroRojo - zorrorojo@slashcity.com Series: X-Over Voyager/X-Files/Highlander Part: 9/16 Rating: R? Codes: C/P Archive: Anywhere Disclaimer: yadda yadda yadda blah blah blah - not mine. Summary: I don't want to give one. Warnings: Non-Graphic Slash - Cussing -  a little violence (not anything worse than what you see on American TV. **********   Gerron ran to the parked motorcycle, well aware that the shadows of twilight would help him to escape. He had to find the Commanders. They would meet him at the Flyer, but when? And what would Chakotay do when he found out Gerron left Tom? Gerron jumped on the motorcycle and kicked it to life. Tom had been teaching him how to ride during the past week, but he wasn't very good yet. He roared off, avoiding any lights that would signal an approaching vehicle and made for the Flyer, but he was lost and he knew it. Going to town might be a better idea, he decided. He could see the lights from where he was and he would be able to find his way there. Going to Warren's was the best idea, he realized. But how would he tell Warren that his roommate was in an alien spacecraft with an alien embryo growing within him? And now he didn't know where that spacecraft was. And from the look of it, they planned on capturing thousands more humans to use as wombs. Even if he wanted to tell him all that, how could he? He didn't speak Standard. Gerron felt more alone than he ever had in his life as he crossed the desert in search of help. More alone than he had when Cardassians killed his parents when he was six, and forced to live in a children's refugee camp. At least there, he was among his own species, on his own planet and in his own time. He didn't turn on his headlight for fear of being pursued by government agents. What had Tom said? The government in this time had a policy of covering up any mention of aliens and killing them? And if he went to the authorities, he would be put in a mental institution just like that 29th century time officer had been. A vehicle approached from behind and Gerron skidded to a stop. He pulled off the narrow dirt road and hunkered down in the creosote, hoping whoever it was would just pass. But the vehicle stopped and he heard voices calling out. "Tom? Gerron?" Warren, Gerron knew immediately. "I know it's you, I know the bike you bought from Mark. Are you all right?" Gerron made his decision and stepped into the vehicle's headlights. "Gerron!" Warren called. Both doors opened and Warren and MacLeod stepped out. "Is this one of the men helping you search?" Mac asked. Warren nodded to Mac and went to Gerron, "Are you hurt?" he asked as he saw the blood covering the young man. But Gerron couldn't answer, couldn't even understand the question. Shock, he could pretend he was in shock. "Get him in the car," Mac ordered. As soon as Gerron was settled into the back of the jeep, Mac pulled Warren aside and whispered, "Can you feel him?" "Not anymore. Can you?" "No. Come on, your young friend's in shock, let's get him back to your place and find out what happened out here." They quickly secured the motorcycle onto the jeep's rack and hopped back in, speeding off as soon as the doors were closed. "I know I felt him, Mac." "In Gaelic," Mac ordered, in Gaelic. "Did you see the lights?" "Yes. It wasn't a Quickening though. If he died, it was temporary. I have a feeling he knows what happened." "Gerron?" Warren asked. He waited a moment and when Gerron didn't answer, he forged on anyway. "Where's Tom? Did you find Mark?" Mac, in the passenger seat, turned around and watched Gerron. The Bajoran fought tears as he whispered, "Tom." "He knows what happened." "Did you find Mark? Where is he?" Warren demanded. The tears flowed freely down Gerron's cheeks. He gave a small cry and shook his head, refusing to meet Mac's eyes any longer. "Leave him be, Warren. He's in shock. Get him home and we'll talk to him there." "Someone has my friend and we have to find him. He knows where he is Mac." "And his brother is missing as well. That blood he's wearing probably belongs to his brother. How much do you think you're going to get out of him by screaming at him?" "I know... I know... but I felt him. He's out there somewhere." "Exactly. He still has his head. Are you in love with him Warren?" "What?!" "I know how hard it was for you to lose your life. Your wife. Your home. I only want to know if you're happy. You said he's not your student and he's staying with you. Remember the night before Culloden?" "When you sent me away?" "You know you had to go. I mean what we did right before you left. It's one of my fondest memories. I'm not going to judge you Warren. I'm living with a man." "You?" "Aye. One of us." Mac was silent for a moment. No wonder Warren was so frantic. If it had been Methos, he'd be acting the same way. In fact he'd probably be shaking the young mortal until he told them where Methos was being held. Shock or no shock. "I understand, Warren." "Well, no one else around here would, so please keep it to yourself." "I'm looking forward to meeting him. We will find him, I have no doubt." Warren pulled the jeep into the long dirt road that led to his property. He would get answers tonight and find Mark in the morning. Tom too, if he were still alive. "Gerron? Are you all right? We're home." "Come on," Mac called softly as he held the door open for Gerron. The three went into the house together and Warren lit the oil lamps and started a fire in the wood stove for tea. "You live like this on purpose?" Mac asked as he looked around the small adobe house. Warren only smiled at him and led Gerron to the wooden table. When the tea was ready, he poured them each a cup and sat, facing Gerron. "Tell me what happened," Warren softly pried. "We found the aliens we were looking for and we found Mark. He's being used as alien food and then we got in a fight with it and Tom got caught in the crossfire and an FBI lady took him away in a helicopter. Chakotay and Tuvok are missing and I'm all alone." "What did he say?" Mac asked. "Gerron, speak English." Gerron could feel tears of frustration fighting their way to the surface. How could he help anyone? No one understood him. He couldn't take them to the Flyer and get a commbadge. How was he going to find out where Tom was? Or even if he was still alive. He could only shake his head. "Warren, do you have a shower? How about we let him get cleaned up and give him some food. He might be a little more coherent. "The shower's outside." Warren checked his armoire and handed Gerron a set of clothes and Mac led him out the door. As soon as he returned, Mac sat down at the table, facing Warren. "In the morning, we'll bring him back to where we found him and start looking. It's all we can do for now." "Aye, it is, isn't it." ***** Mac dropped his head to his chest in frustration as he listened to the obviously distraught young man try desperately to communicate with them. He'd thought calling Methos would help, but that had gotten them nowhere. He watched as Warren tried to calm the boy, his only and last connection to Mark. And then he turned to concentrate on what Methos was telling him over the phone. "MacLeod, that is the damnedest thing that I have ever heard," the older Immortal continued speaking to him through Mac's cell phone. "Whatever language he is speaking, I have never even heard so much as a dialect or cognate of it." "Does it even sound like anything related to a language we can trace?" Mac asked, not ready to give up. "I'm not explaining this well, so let me spell it out. Mac, languages we speak today are in some way or another related to languages of centuries ago. Languages evolve and sometimes break off into dialects. What this boy is speaking would have to be a derivative of some language or another. Except that what he is speaking has no relation to any language I have ever heard, and MacLeod, I have heard them all," Methos finished slowly. "So you think it's gibberish? Is it possible that whatever he saw shocked him terribly enough that he's just, I don't know, lost it?" Mac asked. "Hm. I don't think so. The sounds do have a structure... just not one that has a translation," Methos told him, clearly fascinated and yet perturbed that he couldn't understand the boy. "Methos, how can that be? How can it be a real language if you would be able to trace a real language?" Mac mused, knowing Methos would probably have no real answer. "That is the big question, Mac, and I just don't have the answer." "Thank you for trying, Methos. I have to get back to them, Warren is frantic," Mac told Methos as he watched the supreme self-control that Cochrane exercised with the boy who was the key to finding Mark. "Mac, I have a very bad feeling about this. Be careful, would you?" Methos asked. Mac was grateful that the older Immortal at least left out the speech about not playing the hero. But his concern touched the Highlander. "Yes, I'll be careful. And I'll be in touch when I can," Mac assured. "Right then," Methos replied, both knowing it was the best that Methos was going to get. "I love you," Mac murmured before they hung up. He turned after a moment and looked at two unnerved people, one an old friend who didn't look like he could handle any more tragedy, another a young man looking painfully lost. He sighed heavily, and readied himself to try their next plan. ********** "Do you need more water?" Chakotay asked. "No, I am sufficiently hydrated." Chakotay and Tuvok began walking minutes after the Border Patrol officer left them. They walked through the night, sticking out their thumbs whenever a car passed but they could not catch a ride. The sun was beginning its ascent as they crested the last hill before the long flat stretch of southbound road into town. Chakotay was fuming. He was a man used to respect. He earned the right to respect through long years of hard work, honesty and integrity. He wasn't used to being treated with suspicion and barely concealed contempt from people he had never met. He couldn't put into words how it made him feel. Sub-sentient was one that came to mind, but it wasn't strong enough. Tom's affinity for the twentieth century was sorely misplaced. As far as Chakotay could see it wasn't a time he would ever want to live in. In two weeks he had seen poverty on a level he never expected to experience firsthand. And all the people living in poverty looked like him. Except he was dressed nicely and carried money. And the light dawned. Brown skinned people in this time and place were expected to look like beggars and were expected to hide in the shadows, their culture hidden from the mainstream. Even though this was their land, the whites the interlopers in this area. He and Tuvok hadn't conformed to the expectations of the people they met. They dressed well, could speak unaccented English - with the help of commbadges, and carried themselves with the air of men who were used to controlling their own lives. No wonder they appeared out of place. Chakotay knew not all places in this time were like this one, but that didn't help him here and now. He missed Tom. He missed Voyager. He missed climate-controlled cabins. He missed transporting wherever he wanted to go. Tom influenced him, he knew. While he could survive in any wilderness without a worry, he had grown accustomed to technology. A thirty-mile hike, in the dark and in 105-degree heat was no longer his idea of fun, if it ever had been. Tom and Gerron procured a ride from a group of women within minutes of arriving. He and Tuvok had walked for hours without any luck. But it was night, he reminded himself. And they did get a ride the first day they were there. Chakotay vowed to stop feeling sorry for himself and trudged on. Only another eight miles or so. End Part 9