Voices
Sequel to ‘The Photograph’
Fire & Ice AU
By Gumnut
23-28 Aug 2004

There was a voice in his head and it was calling his name.

He spun around seeking out the source. Everything was dark and at the edge of his senses he could feel echoes of pain that made him flinch. Where was he?

<Nick?>

He jumped. What? Who’s there?

<Nick?>

He turned to find a black shadow haunting him. Oh god. He backed away.

<Nick?>

What? What are you?

The shadow didn’t answer, but a thin tendril suddenly spun off it and reached out to him. Curious, Nick returned the gesture, meeting the ghostly strand halfway.

They touched.

And Nicholas MacKenzie screamed.

-----------------

He fingered the gun. It was unusually warm from his own body heat, having been stuffed in his jeans for the majority of the day, and it gave the normally cold metal a benign feel it did not deserve. The sandstone of the building was rough against his cheek as he peered around the corner, assessing his chances of making it across the gap.

An idle guard wandered down the hallway. The light from the makeshift lamps shoved into the chipped out stone sconces lining the corridor was poor, but Nick could tell by his stance that he was careless and hardly worth the bullet that might be required. He watched a few seconds longer, gauging his non-lethal chances.

<They’re on the move>

<What?!> He froze.

<The children are being moved. Heading in your direction.>

<Michael?>

<No longer in a position to extract them.>

<Damn.>

He backed away from the corner as noise intruded into the quiet corridor. He palmed a dentist’s mirror, and almost squinting in the dark, reassessed the situation. Three men herded two petrified children into a room at the other end of the hallway. The young girl was crying.

<Michael is suggesting a role reversal.>

<Can he reach the power generator?>

<Unlikely. Kitt has suggested we provide the distraction while Knight sources the information we require.>

He mulled it over for a second, reluctant, but bowing to the inevitable. Down the hallway a child squealed in pain.

Nick didn’t hesitate. <It’s a go. Give me a summary of the position of the perps in the room with the children. I’ll handle the extraction. Provide distraction and meet me out back.>

<Affirmative.>

<And be careful.>

He received a grunt in reply and a wave of ironic concern in return. He almost smiled.

One guard. A closed door. Three men in the room with the children. There was another muffled scream from the other end of the corridor and the chances of the guards’ survival hit an all time low.

In the distance he heard the rev of two engines, their usual silence unmasked in a display of brutal power that was suddenly replaced by the roar of crumbling brickwork and masonite. The man at the other end of the hallway yelled out in surprise.

And Nick turned the corner.

He took the first down with a bullet to the leg, the silencer on the gun hissing in his hand. His foot came down on the man’s weapon, eliminating the threat, before stealing his consciousness with a well-aimed head injury. He palmed the Berretta, glancing at it briefly, and stashed it in his jeans.

The men in the room with the children were far less fortunate. Two fell within seconds of Nick taking out the door, their brains air-conditioned. The third attempted to put up a fight, but Nick didn’t even blink as a bullet flew past his ear. The last guard was given a third nostril and suddenly the room was quiet except for echoes of pain-filled whimpering.

Two bound and gagged children stared up at him in absolute terror, their wrists and ankles tied to the arms and legs of two wooden chairs. The little girl, not even five years old, sported a black eye, while her younger brother, barely more than a toddler, was bleeding slightly from a gash on his forehead. Another moment and they were both in tears.

There was gunfire in the distance, and the screams of confused men. More brickwork crumbled.

“Benjamin and Natalie? I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help.” He grabbed his knife and started hacking away at the twine bindings. He knew he didn’t appear the friendliest of persons, his clothes almost completely black, his face smeared with equally black camouflage paint, a knife in one hand, a gun in the other, but he was what he was, and at the moment, he was the kids’ only chance. He softened his voice slightly. “Your parents sent me.”

At the mention of their parents the crying stopped, two pairs of wide eyes stared up at him. “Mommy and Daddy?” The young girl’s lips trembled but she put on a hopeful face.

<Nick. Hurry. It appears these extremists are a little more well armed than we estimated.>

He flung the thin rope aside, refusing to acknowledge the rope burns on the children’s wrists and ankles.

<Artillery?>

<LAWs.>

<Shit.>

<That was our assessment.>

The children made no move to get out of the chairs. He reached down and picked up the young boy, grabbing the hand of his sister and dragging them from the room. An explosion echoed and the ground shook, dust and dirt drifting down from the ceiling. An engine screamed in the distance.

<Michael?>

<Pinned, but he has the information. Kitt is moving in to assist.>

<Get over here. Meet me at the rear entrance.>

<Acknowledged.>

The hallway was empty with the exception of the slumbering guard he’d left there. The children whimpered at the sight of yet another injured man, but he shushed them. He had no time for niceties, he needed silence, and fortunately their fright froze them.

They were interrupted once on their way back to his point of entry. A man and a knife jumped at Nick as they turned the last corner. Reflex kicked in, a gun in his hand before he could think. The fanatic fell mid shout, his body hitting the dust at Natalie’s feet.

He didn’t have time to assess the little girl’s terror. Outside there was the scream of tyres on stressed dirt, and, as the ex-agent kicked the door open in front of him, the black ghost of his partner tore around the corner of the building, the Stealth’s shape almost invisible in the dark except for the swirling dust reflecting in his brake lights.

He didn’t bother to introduce the children, he just bundled them into the car. “Get them to safety.”

“Nick?”

“Just do it.”

He knew the AI didn’t like it, but the Stealth slammed into gear and tore off up the drive, brake lights glaring briefly before cutting out as the AI slipped into the stealth mode the car had been built for, disappearing into the dark. A wave of severe displeasure wandered down the link. <Make sure you can pay for this later.>

Nick smiled slightly as he stepped over one of the unconscious bodies he’d created the first time he had stood here, and, jumping, caught the top lip of the exterior wall. With the aid of a window lintel, he swung himself onto the flat roof, and, crouching, made his way silently across to the front of the building.

He had expected to encounter resistance up here, despite the security net the AIs had crippled earlier, but there was no opposition in sight. Karr, although he was quickly reaching the edge of his sensor range as he sped away, scanned the building and fed Nick tactical information via the link. Once he breached his sensor capabilities, he would relay Kitt’s scan results, the AIs fully capable of multitasking. They had experimented with this technique several times in the past when Nick and Michael worked together. In the case of a possible life threatening situation, it had proved extremely useful, all four members of the team able to assist each other via the link between the two AIs.

The two agents didn’t work together very often, but in this instance both their talents had been required and Devon had thrown the case file in both their laps. A high profile businessman, his two children, and a fanatical organisation calling themselves ‘The Separatists’. The children had been kidnapped. The ransom? Weaponry manufactured by the company of which their father was president. The usual story. The government unable to help, terrorist negotiation a big negative in their books, and the FBI far too slow off the mark for the parent’s peace of mind.

So they called in the Foundation, and the Foundation called in Nick and Michael.

Ironically, the two of them had been able to find more out about the fanatics in the two days they had been working the case than the entire FBI had in the last week. Michael worked the people, Nick worked the computer networks, and the AIs both assisted in their own unique way. Karr in particular had scoured the FBI net, leaping into corners even Nick could not follow. The AI had been agitated about this assignment, a reflection, Nick suspected, of his own reaction.

He shied away from the thought, not willing to venture in that direction.

He reached the front of the building and the reason for the missing roof guards suddenly became apparent. They had no need of them. They had enough military firepower here to start a small war. Apart from the two main defence points either side of the compound, they had personnel, armed to the teeth, scattered throughout the area.

Nick planned to find the reason for Kitt and Karr’s inability to scan the weapons emplacements initially. A quick check with Karr confirmed that they had not been there before, yet were clearly seen now by both of them.

He spotted the flash of Kitt’s turbo boost rockets on the far side of the compound as the Trans Am leapt an embankment to plough into the back of a small building obviously housing at least one assailant. The structure disintegrated, its hapless inhabitant left running for his life as the car’s prow bore down on him. A small part of his mind had to admit Kitt’s ability to do that particular stunt was impressive. It had a certain thrill inherent in the action.

<We each have out talents.>

He blinked.

<That you do.>

Palming his ocular, and, with a brief relay from Karr, he located Michael’s position. The tall man was hunched behind fallen brickwork, easily visible from Nick’s location. Fire lit up his features, both from the weakly burning woodwork scattered around him, and the flash of the submachine gun he had in his hand.

A quick scan of the area proved the agent’s position to be untenable, but Nick could see no way for him to escape the hiding place. Nick watched as Kitt tore across the firing line, attempting to approach his driver, only to have his hood turned white by the flash of an exploding missile. Shit!

<He is undamaged. They seem to want them alive. Several missiles have been shot in both Knight and Kitt’s direction, yet none have caused permanent damage.> The Trans Am wheeled in the dust, darting out of range once again and circling around the compound.

<Temporary?>

<Nothing we can’t handle.> The AI refused to be more specific. <I find this situation extremely suspicious, Nicholas.>

He couldn’t help but agree. Something here was not quite right.

The desert night air wafted the fumes of burning building across his nostrils as he quickly assessed his options and chose the most likely to succeed. A brief flash of concern shot down the link as he made his decision.

<It’s nothing I can’t handle either. Get those children to safety.>

Hunching and running the length of the roof, he swung off the edge and landed on his feet silently. The compound was at the end of a small ravine, its back and sides surrounded by jagged, desert-baked hillsides. The front entrance was the only way in without climbing gear, and was easily defensible…and certainly not something you’d expect to find in the Mexican wilderness.

Getting in had been difficult.

Fortunately both Nick and Michael were experienced with climbing gear. Nick had rappelled silently down one cliff, Michael down another on the other side of the compound. The AIs had parked themselves within scanning distance on either side of the ravine out of immediate sight, relaying information to their drivers and each other.

Everything had gone a little pear shaped when it was revealed that something was interfering with that scanning capability and the information the AIs were receiving was only partially correct. Nick had been audience to a series of electronic expletives at that discovery.

And one of the little inconsistencies in that scanning capability included the two weapons emplacements built into the side of the mountain, one on each side of the only entrance and exit.

The night lit up again as the emplacement closest to him fired at Kitt again, raining shrapnel over the darting AI.

Nick swore under his breath and, ducking behind an abandoned truck, drew a length of fine rope from one of his vest pockets. He clicked the small grappling hook into shape and, with a quick survey of his surroundings, swung the rope in his hands, throwing it up at the cliff face. The clink of contact was drowned out as once again the bastards fired at Kitt. This time it was from the other side. Worry bounced down the link. <The children come first, partner. I can handle this. They will pay, I promise you that.>

He began to climb and as he gained height it did seem that the terrorists were playing with the AI. He had no doubt that they didn’t know what they were fooling with, but that was irrelevant as far as he was concerned.

The rock was cold under his hands, even through the gloves. The desert night sucked the heat out of everything, and by the time he made it to a ledge above the emplacement he felt chilled despite the exercise. Michael had shifted to a better position, but was still unable to move further without serious risk. Kitt continued to play cat and mouse with the missiles, sparks flying off his hide, no more likely to leave his driver than Karr would have been in a similar position.

<You made me leave.>

He ignored the AI’s unease. <I need the exact positions of all the adversaries in this bunker. Tell Kitt I’m going to need something spectacular to the south in about thirty seconds.>

<He says to ‘hold on to your hat’…and to hurry.> Karr added his own urging to that statement.

Nick sent a brief wave of affection that was grudgingly accepted, before walling his partner off in preparation for what he was about to do.

He fixed the retrieved grapple firmly into the rock, and, gauging his position, hands wrapped in rope…

He leapt.

From the ground below there was the sudden blast of a synthesized air horn, quickly followed by a cacophony of sounds ranging from a roaring lion to blaring trumpets. He got a brief glimpse of Kitt barrelling into the structure Nick had rescued the children from, the roar of crumbling brickwork drowning out the circus…and then his feet hit teeth.

The bunkers were simple structures. Owing to the variety of artillery this group seemed to have access to, they had been designed to handle just about every type. The multifunctional result being whittled down to simply a hole in the side of the cliff approximately the size and shape of a standard doorway spun to the horizontal. This utility may have been excellent for long range targeting of a Trans Am, but was absolutely useless up close and personal.

Bone crunched as Nick landed on Assailant Number One. Assailants Number Two and Three were too dumbstruck with surprise at his intrusion to react. Assailant Number Four was a little smarter.

His weapon came up fast, but not fast enough. Nick spun, his heel grinding fine gravel into the bare rock floor, as his other heel met cartilage, nearly wiping the man’s nose off his face, his gun clattering to the floor. A howl of bubbling pain was background music as Nick’s body followed through with the motion, his fist rotating around to find the jaw of Assailant Number Two whose brain had suddenly been inspired into action.

As Two dropped, One decided he wanted to retaliate, and wrapped a hand around Nick’s ankle, causing the agent to stumble.

Nick caught himself, a foot coming down on the prone man’s arm, and his gun appeared in his hand, aimed directly between the man’s eyes.

Number Three made a move, and Nick palmed the confiscated Berretta from his waistband, and offered the stunned man a chance at death.

He looked back and forth between the two wide-eyed men. Two and Four were out cold at the back of the makeshift bunker, Four bleeding rather badly. An array of Light Armour Weaponry (more popularly known as LAWs), grenades, and a stash of guns were arranged up against one rock wall, but other than a closed door towards the back of the cliff, the room was empty.

Number One made a move towards a discarded submachine gun. Nick kicked him in the stomach, his expression cold. The man folded into an anguished ball, the advantage of already being on the floor saving him the pain of falling to it.

Nick indicated the weaponry in his hands. “It’s your choice.”

Kitt had stopped broadcasting his distraction, but Nick could still hear his gunning engine above the spatter of gunfire. Every now and again there was the sound of an explosion. “Both of you over against the wall. Face it.” He prodded One with his toe, the man attempting to scurry weakly away. “Move.”

They complied with some haste, and Nick rewarded them with a quick club to the back of the neck with the butt of his gun. Unconscious was better than dead.

For all of them.

<The children are safe. I am on my way back.> There was a pause in Karr’s broadcast, a wave of sudden worry arcing across the link and piercing Nick to the core. <Nick! Kitt’s shell has been compromised.>

Damn! The details of the injury followed, and though while not life threatening by itself, the Trans Am was now vulnerable. <Tell him to vacate the area.>

<Knight has told him so, but he refuses to leave without his driver.> A mixture of anger, empathy, and fear echoed that statement.

Nick didn’t answer, not surprised in the least. He grabbed one of the LAW rockets determined to finish this once and for all. The launcher telescoped as he pulled it out, and, resting it on his shoulder, he aimed at the remaining bunker on the other side of the ravine.

The abrupt thunder of the rocket launching, and the explosive exhaust filling the confined area with heat, was somewhat cathartic.

The eruption, as the cliff across from him collapsed, was even more so.

Not taking the time to enjoy the satisfaction, grabbing several grenades from a half empty box of similar ordnance, he pulled out another small grapple and fixed it to the lip of the bunker opening, trailing the thin rope over the edge. With his thumb he flicked a couple of pins and a couple of well placed grenades cleared the immediate area below of adversaries, in preparation for his descent.

“Nicely done.”

Nick spun, for once in his life completely surprised. Three men stood in the now open doorway. Two armed and aiming at him, the other standing between them and exuding a confidence that required no weaponry to intimidate. A memory sparked in Nick’s mind, the face familiar.

“It’s been a long time, Nicholas, though I am surprised you don’t remember me.”

The memory slid into place. Oh god.

He didn’t hesitate, his chances slim, but worth taking considering the alternative. He fell back against the lip, the fine rope attached to his grappling hook a slight indentation in the cloth of his pants. The one remaining grenade lost its pin and was propelled into the pile of weaponry against the wall. He pushed off with his legs to the sound of gunfire, back flipping over the edge, his hands reaching for the rope.

Hot metal tore through his right calf, altering his trajectory slightly, a gasp of pain reverberating through his body, but his fingers met acrylic twine, halting his plunge, and swinging him against the cliff face, the air in his lungs forced out in an explosive whoosh.

Acutely aware of his time limit, he half slid, half fell down the vertical scale, a bullet ricocheting off the rock near his face, a shard of sharp sandstone gouging a gash in his cheek.

He was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough. Twenty metres from safety, the bunker above him exploded, the rope lost its purchase, and with a last call to his partner across the desert, Nicholas MacKenzie fell.

------------------

He ran.

It was all he could do.

He didn’t know what he was running from, or where he was running to, but anywhere would have to be better than where he was.

Unfortunately the shadow followed him.

<Nick, please.>

No, get away! He pushed himself away from the darkness, but again he encountered the black substance and pain crawled up his body, slamming into his brain.

No!

He screamed again, flinging himself away.

And he ran.

-----------------

“Kitt, damnit! Leave me!”

//No!//

//You can’t get me out of this one without getting killed yourself!//

//Then so be it.//

Michael ducked further under cover as another bullet narrowly missed taking out a chunk of his skull. He could hear the familiar whine of Kitt’s turbines somewhere off to his left, his engine revving in defiance, quickly followed by the explosive concussion of a missile strike.

“Goddamnit, Kitt! Get out of here!!”

A shudder of pain echoed down the link, and Michael’s heart froze. //Kitt?!//

//I’m fine.// There was a tremor in the transmission that belied his statement. //Nick has a plan.// The details followed.

//He’s what?!//

//No choice.//

Damn. Anger simmered inside him. He was helpless, unable to do a damn thing while his partner and best friend risked their lives to get his ass out of the fire. He attempted to peer into the dark in the direction he knew Nick was. Again he scanned the area around him, desperate to find a way out. He nearly lost an ear for the effort. What had been a simple extraction, with a side dish of espionage, had turn into a firefight they had little chance to win.

Suddenly Kitt’s engine reached a peak and his Anaharmonic synthesizer took centre stage as the black streak tore across the compound, screaming air horn. The car roared, literally, and ripped a Trans Am sized hole in the side of the main building. Trumpets echoed to the tune of crumbling brick work, quickly followed by every sound Michael had ever heard Kitt make, both in the line of duty and out of it. Strains of opera mixed with a Donald Duck impression, a foghorn, pigs squealing, a woman’s scream, and a replay of several John Wayne scenes from ‘The Alamo’. Kitt screamed at the top of his voice, “They may take away our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!”

If it had been any other situation it would have been hilarious. Kitt watched far too much television. But as it was, it did provide an excellent distraction, to the extent that some of the more superstitious members of the opposition dropped their guns and ran off.

//Oh god, Kitt, that was beautiful.//

He received a worried smile in return.

One of the bunkers stopped firing and a brief flare of hope caught in his throat. It was quickly dashed as the other bunker made up for it, bright light exploding far too close for comfort, a wash of heat singeing his hair.

Damnit, he had to get out of here!

The one gun he had was all but empty, only a few rounds left. The area around him was pockmarked with rubble and craters. Even if the air wasn’t drenched in firepower, Kitt couldn’t get within fifty feet of him. He had no idea why they kept firing yet never hitting him, it wasn’t like he wasn’t a sitting duck, for goodness sake.

Kitt on the other hand was the whirling dervish from hell, darting in and out of the buildings, sometimes taking structures with him, and the occasional enemy with their own fire. He couldn’t leave Michael and he couldn’t take a human life, but he certainly could make those lives hell.

//Karr is returning. Devon and Bonnie have the children.//

There was the thunder and rumble of another explosion, and a hot poker of pain shot down the link causing Michael to gasp before a shield was slid smoothly in place. //Oh god, Kitt, no.//

//I’m alright. I’m alright.// There was a breathlessness to his voice and they both knew he was lying, his only intentions to keep both their heads above water.

Suddenly the night lit up in orange fire as the bunker behind him exploded out of the side of the mountain in a little display of MacKenzie special effects.

Score one for the good guys.

He didn’t hesitate, taking the opportunity for what it was and dashing from cover while the enemy was distracted. The missiles had stopped, but they still had enough toys to turn him into Swiss cheese if he didn’t move his ass fast enough.

He clambered over fallen brickwork, dodging rock shrapnel, and coughing dust, making his way in the direction of his injured partner. Kitt was mobile and hurriedly making his way over, but now the ground was even more crowded with obstructions that wheels, no matter how tough, were unable to navigate. Kitt’s frustration at his inability to reach Michael dulled the pain that was now the AI’s constant companion and echoed down the link.

A shot rang out as Michael found his time was up, the distraction having run its course and the enemy far more vengeful for it. He ducked flinging himself to the ground. Damn. Kitt was so close.

As if on cue the night lit up with an explosion even larger than the one just a moment before. The remaining weapons emplacement blossomed into a huge rosette of fire, its heat washing across the ravine and lighting up the compound to almost daylight.

Michael made another move, leaping to his feet.

//Nick!//

To his horror, Kitt’s cry was accompanied by an impression of what was happening to the ex-agent. Michael shot a look in the direction he instinctively knew the man was and had the distressing experience of watching his friend fall twenty odd metres to the hard ground.

“Nick!”

His voice was drowned out by the continuing explosion above and the rock rain that threatened to injure him at any moment. The mountain was falling.

He didn’t think. He didn’t care. He just ran.

The roar of crumbling rock drowned out the sound of gunfire, and it took him a second to realise that the rock that had apparently jumped up and bit him in the side was no rock. He stumbled slightly. Kitt was yelling his name.

Nick lay prone in the path of the rockslide, miraculously untouched as yet, but as still as death. When Michael reached him, he simply grabbed him, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but at the moment it was the only thing he could do. Without a second thought he slung the lighter man over his shoulder and made a dash for Kitt and safety.

He was halfway there when fire shot through his chest and he fell on his face.

//Michael!!!//

It was his name. His name. He had to…had to…

He struggled to sit up, a weight held him down. He couldn’t catch his breath.

//Michael! Get up!//

Get up. He had to get up. Nick. The weight on his shoulder was Nick.

Rock and grit ground under his hands, and the sounds of confusion and screaming men were drowned out by the throb of blood in his ears.

Get up.

His vision sparkled at the edges. Kitt wasn’t far away. He could do it.

He could.

He forced himself to his feet, his body one mass of confused numbness and pain.

He stood, wavering, his best friend unconscious in his arms. Took that first step forward…

And Black Death entered the arena.

A shadow deeper than the darkest of the night came hurtling into the compound, the Stealth’s projectile launcher out and firing. Karr picked off the enemy one by one, wheels spinning with a roar in the dirt, small arms fire deflecting in a spray of sparks from his bodywork.

//Michael.//

Huh?

//Michael, please hurry.//

He turned his gaze from the spectacle of Karr unleashed, and faced his partner standing at the edge of the debris. The Trans Am’s black skin reflected the orange glow of the many small fires scattered around it. The light was dancing. Tantalizing. His breath caught in his throat. Kitt.

The mountain behind him had begun to settle into its new configuration, and the earth was quieting. The sound of gunfire was but a memory, the soft murmurs of the desert night slowly intruding over the crackle of small fires and whimpers of wounded men. It was over. All he had to do was get to Kitt and he could go home.

Go home.

//<Michael.>//

Kitt’s voice had an echo. His head filled with light…edged with dark.

//<Michael.>//

He lifted a foot. He had to get to Kitt. Kitt. His body moved. Something warm and wet ran down his leg.

//<You can do it, Michael.>//

Step.

Another.

Step.

He couldn’t catch his breath.

Another.

//<Nearly there.>//

Another. He stumbled on stone and fell against something warm, smooth, and familiar.

Kitt.

//<Michael.>// His mind was enveloped in white, and the pain fell away. There was dark, but the light blinded him.

He staggered the length of Kitt’s trunk, instinctively knowing where he had to go. A door opened. He almost fell into the passenger seat.

//<Let him go, Michael.>// The burden in his arms suddenly released. Something stirred inside him and his breath caught again, his head spinning. He straightened up, but fell against the bodywork again.

Trembling.

//<Nick is safe. Now you.>//

The white presence urged him backwards. He took a step, almost falling, and something hit the back of his legs. He sat.

The white flared, urging. Urging to…. He bent his body, folding up on himself protectively, and a door closed him in.

Somewhere an engine roared, and his world shook.

//Michael?//

Kitt?

//You’re safe.//

Safe. He was safe.

He was surrounded by white.

And suddenly that was all there was.

----------------------

Karr carried his precious burden as carefully as he could; his restraint system wrapped securely around the unconscious form sprawled in his cabin. He monitored the still form, counting breaths and heartbeats, despite his inability to do anything should they falter.

He knew Kitt would be doing the same for Nicholas.

<_Nick is stable, Karr. He is strong.

Kitt’s voice was trembling.

Karr wished he could give his brother equally as promising news, but he couldn’t. He didn’t need to check his vital stats readout to know that the warm liquid leaking onto his centre console and dripping to the cabin floor was anything but stable.

Michael Knight was dying in his passenger seat.

The two cars were a blur in the dark, tearing across the desert, their errand lacking none of the urgency usually accompanied by a myriad of flashing lights, yet gaining so much more ground than any vehicle accompanied by such.

Karr may not have held his partner physically, but mentally he held the dim, blue spark with a gentleness he would show no other. The moment that vibrant blue spark had suddenly shuddered and dimmed…Karr suppressed a shiver. Then to drive on to the scene to find a mortally injured Michael Knight staggering to save his life….

He should have been there.

<_He’s strong. He will survive.

But what about Michael?

The AI trained an eye on his vital signs monitor, watching his brother’s driver fighting for every heartbeat, and finding himself waiting on each one as a judgment as to whether he would lose his brother, or not.

And, he had to admit to himself, if not to anyone else - his family.

The two cars sped at high speed through the desert.

And if they had been inclined to pray, they would have.

--------------------
FIN.