Disclaimer: The characters from "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World" are owned by Telescene, NewLine Television, The Over the Hill Gang, Coote/Hayes, etc. No profit is being made from this story. No infringement upon copyrighted material is intended.

Author's Note: Many thanks to Ariadne for her patience on this much delayed present. And I even made her work for it!

Thanks: To my betas for all their work and patience. Kudos to Ariadne, CMS, and Santa Crux for their encouragement and eagle eyes. Thanks to Lisa Paris for her insight into what a good Englishman would know!

Setting: Virtual Season Four, Summerlee has returned to the treehouse, Finn has gone back to the future.

Spoilers: All of the episodes in the three seasons are game. And a subtle reference to my fan fics Trading and Tying off the Threads.

Description: An enigmatic stranger, mysterious hunting parties, a near fatal disease. Just another day in the Lost World.

The Guest
by rann

Prologue

"You want to pick up the pace? Challenger is already out of sight," Roxton nagged as he trailed behind the beautiful linguist. The narrow jungle path and the dense vegetation made for short sight lines.

"You didn't have to come along," Marguerite pointed out in slightly acidic tones, looking back over her shoulder, eyebrows raised.

"What and miss spending the day with you?" His words were light and teasing.

Marguerite face drew into a moue not at all impressed with the blatant flattery. "You really are a silver tongued devil, Lord Roxton. However is London surviving without you?" But she did walk a little faster though, despite her mocking words.

Roxton's eyes crinkled in enjoyment at the repartee, but his ready reply was forestalled by the third member of their party.

"Marguerite, come here and tell me what you think," Challenger's voice demanded from a distance.

Marguerite sighed as she hurried along, closely followed by the protective hunter.
The red headed scientist stood in a clearing in the jungle. "There is no discernable reason for the larger vegetation to stop where it does, unless something beneath the surface is preventing those plants from taking root. Summerlee was quite definite on that point."

"And you think that it's the remains of some lost civilization?" The dubious note in Marguerite's voice was unmistakable.

"Look at the irregular formation of the ground." Challenger handed Marguerite the end of a roll of twine. "We'll section off this area into grids and use that pit over there for dumping."

Marguerite looked at the distance to the designated pit and raised her eyebrows.

"All right, we'll use this other one closer by." Challenger knew when to concede a point.

"Thank you." Marguerite was mildly sarcastic, because even with the nearby pit she knew she was in for a hard day of digging.

The corners of Roxton's mouth turned up in private amusement. He had no doubt despite her initial reluctance that she'd get as nearly involved in the discovery process as Challenger and forget her complaints. Until, of course, it was time to go home. "I'll circle the perimeter and keep an eye out for any interlopers," he informed his companions.

"Um –hmm" and "That's fine, Roxton." were the abstracted responses he received as the amateur archeologists sectioned off the site.

"I'm going to find some fruit to have with our lunch," Roxton announced some hours later to the two excavators. Eyeing the pair skeptically, he cautioned firmly, "Keep an eye out while I'm gone."

Wiping her brow with her forearm, Marguerite dismissed his concerns. "We'll be fine, Roxton."

"Don't worry about us." Challenger pulled his canteen out and took a deep swallow of water. "I have my gun….." he looked about and spied it six or seven yards away. Crossing over and picking it up, he said, "right here."

Roxton sighed and vowed to himself he'd only be a few minutes. A quick glance showed that at least Marguerite's pistol was still in the holster at her side. Although when she was absorbed in a project even her much vaunted sense of self-preservation was less than reliable.

Roxton returned shortly with the fruit and was unsurprised to see that Challenger had moved off to dig in a new section, his rifle once again left behind a short distance away. His mouth tightened as he noticed Marguerite's belt and holster were now lying near the edge of one of the trenches that she had excavated, already a couple of feet deep. She was barely visible from where she knelt within the hole, intent on her work as she carefully brushed some dirt from a partially buried object.

The hunter shook his head resignedly. "Well, that's why I'm here. Both of them are too apt to get focused on their work and lose track of what's going on around them." Out loud he said, "Why don't you take a break and have some lunch." The sun was directly overhead and an hour out of the hot sun would do them all good. Roxton walked over and reached down to give Marguerite a hand out of the trench. She smiled her thanks.

Frowning, Roxton pointedly dropped her belt and holster in her still outstretched hand and with a sigh she put them back on. She knew he was exasperated with her carelessness, but the bulky flap holster was hampering her efforts to clear the artifacts in the dig. Still she understood his concern was justified and she gave him a rueful smile that deflected the imminent lecture. The hunter contented himself with another resigned shake of the head.

Challenger and Marguerite had been working for a couple of hours after lunch when Marguerite called excitedly. "George, look at this!"

Roxton wandered over as George joined the linguist to inspect her discovery.

"It's some sort of urn. Roxton, give me a hand." The hunter obligingly helped the scientist lift the large, heavy clay pot to the side of the excavated area. The dirt in the trench had been cleared away to reveal a rocky underlayment some three feet below and several other similar urns lay on their sides awaiting inspection. All were intact.

"There's a set of grooves around the top rim." Marguerite knelt at the edge of her excavation and inspected the vessel. "Why does that sound familiar?" Puzzled, she sat back on her heels and looked at Challenger.

"That's characteristic of the Grooved Ware People. Of course, it's unusual that we should find something like that here. They were a Neolithic culture in Britain. Evidence of them has been found at the Henges."

"Why wouldn't they be here, everyone else is," Marguerite remarked dryly. She focused on the lid covering the urn. "It's sealed."

"I might have a solvent that can open it. Or perhaps we can pry it open." Challenger ardently regarded this new find.

"We're not going to open this, George!" Marguerite was adamant.

"It's probably just an ordinary burial urn." The scientist's tone was placating.

"Exactly, and you remember what happened the last time someone opened one of those?" Marguerite pinned the scientist with a glare, reminding Challenger of the demon who had taken him over.

Roxton caught Marguerite's eye and nodded so she'd know she'd have his backing on this argument. The hunter began patrolling the perimeter of the dig, as he listened with half an ear to the pair wrangling, somewhat amused. The rest of his attention was on the thick growth that bordered the clearing. Intangible menaces might be found in an uncovered clay jar, but very real dangers were still more likely to lurk in the surrounding jungle.

"You know some cultures buried jewelry with their dead." Challenger held out the lure knowing how drawn she was to gems.

"But not this one," Marguerite made her case firmly. "Look at the plainness of the urn. No designs, no engravings aside from the rudimentary grooves. A simple fired pot."

Challenger decided to retreat on that front for the moment. Later he'd get Summerlee back here and the two of them would investigate. "Is there anything else there, besides burial urns?"

Marguerite lightly dropped back into the trench. "I found a couple of glazed clay cups and plates. Or parts of them." She picked up some of the colorful fragments that shimmered in the bright sunlight.

"Oh, Summerlee will want to see these." Challenger took one of the pieces of clay. "These hues are amazing examples of …."

"Quiet!" Roxton spoke firmly from across the clearing.

A rustle in the bushes tensed all three explorers. Challenger turned to retrieve his rifle, as Marguerite pulled her pistol from the holster.

Roxton's rifle barked. A raptor fell back even as it broke through the brush.

A second raptor leapt over the shrubbery towards Challenger. Roxton's aim was true again.

This raptor fell forward hitting the burial urn, knocking it into the trench.

It shattered. A cloud of dust rose.

Marguerite, still in the trench, turned away coughing. The dust cloud caught Challenger as well, who had just turned back, rifle in hand. Taking the scientist's hand, barely able to see, Marguerite climbed out of the trench. Both she and Challenger brushed away the fine dry matter, gasping for air as they cleared their throats.

Seeing that his companions were apparently safe for the moment, Roxton took a few moments and expertly scanned bushes on the perimeter to ensure that a third raptor wasn't lurking in the undergrowth. The normal sounds of the jungle returned gradually. Satisfied that they were secure for the present, he joined his friends. Marguerite was recapping a canteen. Using a handkerchief she had managed to wash away most of the dust. Apparently Challenger had escaped the worst of it.

"Are you okay?" Roxton's question was addressed to both but his eyes were focused on Marguerite.

"A little out of breath but otherwise fine. I think we were demon free this time," Marguerite quipped. Roxton studied her eyes, then inclined his head, assured that no supernatural encounter had occurred, that the woman behind the eyes was the one he knew.

Challenger nodded. "We seem relatively unscathed."

"We've had enough excitement for the day. Let's get started back to the treehouse while there's still plenty of daylight." Roxton worded it mildly but he was ready to argue the point if Challenger didn't go along with the plan.

He needn't have worried. Marguerite rolled her shoulders as she became aware of how tired she was. "Fine with me." She looked at the piles of dirt she and Challenger had excavated. "I must have carted half the jungle away." The realization of the amount of work she had done, the soreness of her muscles, and how grimy she was made her irritable. "I'm ready for a shower."

"Just don't use up all the hot water," Roxton warned lightly. As Challenger turned to gather his pack, the hunter leaned toward the dark-haired beauty to whisper in her ear. "Otherwise, I might have to join you." He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

Marguerite swatted him lightly across the chest as she unsuccessfully tried to pull a disapproving frown for his flirting. They both ended up laughing lightly as they turned to follow the scientist.

They were about an hour from the treehouse. Challenger was again leading the way with Marguerite behind him and Roxton acting as rearguard. Marguerite's steps were slowing.

"Hey, I thought you were so anxious for that shower," Roxton remarked. Marguerite didn't say anything but her steps quickened just a bit.

A few moments later her steps slowed again.

"Really Marguerite, we're never going to get home at this rate," the hunter complained impatiently.

Marguerite turned back towards him. In front of his horrified eyes, the color drained from her face and her knees buckled.

"Marguerite!" He dashed forward and caught her before she hit the ground.

At Roxton's shout, Challenger doubled back to find the hunter kneeling on the ground cradling Marguerite. One arm supported her back as he held her against his chest, the other hand felt her forehead. He looked up, worried, at Challenger. "She's burning up." Bright splotches of color appeared on her cheeks, a sharp contrast to her pallor. She shivered.

"Let's get her back to the treehouse."

Roxton nodded his agreement. Carefully supporting his unconscious lover, the hunter's pace was rapid as he led the way. They weren't far from the perimeter fence when Roxton realized Challenger was stumbling in his wake.

"Go on, Roxton. Get her home. I'll be fine." The scientist tried to reassure his friend as the hunter turned to check on him.

"Put your hand on my shoulder, George. We're almost there." Roxton was not about to lose either the woman he loved or his closest friend. The English nobleman kept the pace as fast as he dared, but as he supported more and more of Challenger's weight, their progress was increasingly slowed.

At the gate, the scientist managed to unlatch it with his free hand before falling through the opening and landing on the ground.

"Summerlee! Veronica! Malone!" Roxton's alarmed shout had Summerlee at the balcony in a heartbeat.

"Good heavens!" The elderly botanist saw Challenger lying on the ground and Marguerite held tightly in Roxton's arms.

In a few moments the elevator was down with Summerlee, Veronica and Malone.

"Take her up to her room, John." Summerlee had placed a hand briefly on her forehead, frowning at the severity of her temperature. "I'll prepare something for the fever." He touched Challenger's head as well and nodded at Malone and Veronica.

"You go up with Roxton and Marguerite, Professor," Malone told him as he and Veronica reached down to pull up the scientist.

"We'll take care of getting Challenger up to the treehouse," Veronica assured him as she draped one of the scientist's arms over her shoulder.

Summerlee nodded his agreement and hurried after the hunter, anxious to begin preparing draughts for his patients.

It was several hours later and the fevers had only slightly abated. Summerlee had tried several remedies with only minor success. Both Challenger and Marguerite were restless, sometimes delirious, requiring nearly constant care.

"What caused this?" Roxton demanded as Summerlee took a recuperative cup of tea. The elderly botanist was exhausted and worried. The hunter was frantic. He'd barely left Marguerite's side since carrying her up to the treehouse.

"You say they inadvertently were exposed to the contents of a burial urn?" the white haired scientist verified. At Roxton's nod he continued. "I suspect it's a mold that was dormant. You didn't inhale any?"

"No, I wasn't that close when it broke."

"You should be fine, but we'll watch you for a day or two anyway."

"Why was Marguerite affected so much sooner than Challenger?" The hunter paced the great room restlessly.

Summerlee sipped a bit more of the tea as he mentally reviewed what Roxton had told him about the incident, how the cloud of dust had enveloped the ailing pair. "I suspect she had an initially stronger dose than Challenger since she was next to the urn when it broke."

"I'll get you a sample of the mold." Roxton latched onto the idea as a way to do something for his companions.

"No, John. No one's going back there. It's too dangerous until we can devise a way to safely collect the sample." Summerlee recognized the stubborn look and spoke as rationally as he could. "Besides, we need you here. It's going to take all of us to take care of them. Challenger needs you." He added what he knew would be the clinching argument. "Marguerite needs you."

Roxton nodded reluctantly as he recognized the gravity in the botanist's voice.

Summerlee watched the hunter return to his vigil by Marguerite's side and kept to himself the thought that similar diseases he had read about had proved fatal in the past.

continued