Subject: The Immortal Files 6 (6/10)

Joe's
Seattle, Washington
9:40 A.M. PDT

     The lead had been far less fruitful than either had hoped. Severe
jet lag set in the moment both Watcher and Immortal looked at the clock
in the car and saw a disturbingly early time winking up at them. It had
been Joe's idea to return to the bar. Really it was more a necessity
than an idea. These days the bar was really Joe's home and, by
necessity, his office. They would be able to finish up a report or two
and then grab a bite to eat.
     "It's a good thing we didn't waste a week on a wild goose chase,"
Joe Dawson remarked sarcastically as he pushed open the door. He
stepped back to allow the Immortal in and then followed, closing the
door behind him. He managed the maneuver with only a minor grimace. At
his age it was becoming more and more difficult to get along with his
prosthesis, especially during spring. In any case, it was Saturday and
he already had lost his weekend crowd. There would be no point in
opening the blues bar without a good band to play. He'd never find one
on such short notice. Any other day that would have pissed him off, but
today he counted it as a blessing.
     Methos began a retort as he headed toward the bar but discarded it
after a moment's thought. "You know, Joe, sometimes mistakes can be
learning experiences," he offered with a sheepish look. The expression
was unagingly endearing on his face despite the crow's feet around his
eyes. His hair was just starting to grey. Joe wondered every now and
then just how often throughout his life had Methos put so much effort
into maintaining a persona. Adam Pierson, main researcher on the Methos
chronicle, was almost in his forties. Sometimes Joe could barely wrap
his mind around the fact that his friend's true age was at least a
hundred times greater.
     "Thank you, Confucius," muttered the mortal Watcher as he headed
past the bar to the office in the back. His body ached considerably
from the trip and all the excitement; unlike Methos his age was more
than skin deep.
     "You do realize that Confucius' personal position on the didactic
nature of mistakes was actually quite-" Joe groaned very loud. "Sorry.
I was just trying to communicate to you a morsel of my many millennia
of insight."
     "Save it," replied the Watcher. He unlocked the office door and
walked inside. He tapped the play button on his answering machine as he
brought his desktop computer from standby to active.
     Neither Methos nor Joe listened to the repetitive telemarketer
messages. The latter instead devoted the bulk of his attention to
checking email.
     "You know, I was really sure the Jerusalem bureau findings were
real," Methos said.
     "Sure," said Dawson. "Actual evidence of the ancient mythological
Immortal Kapretarr. Of whom nobody can find any corroborative evidence
besides two hardly decipherable cuneiform tablets."
     "Joe, it was a legend when I was young."
     "You once told me you didn't remember anything from your youth,"
said Dawson.
     "It's *almost* all a blur," Methos said. "But I do remember this
Kapretarr fellow from some old Canaanite myths. Geographically, it was
the right place. And there was supposed to be some evidence at the
place where he died. How was I supposed to know it was a hoax? Watchers
are supposed to be devoted to the truth!"
     The hoax in question had involved a jagged flint rock embedded in
the limestone wall of a newly unearthed excavation of a cavern
settlement with a series of pictograms about what looked like
Immortals; preliminary radiocarbon dating had hinted at an age of the
rock close to ten millennia and the cave it was found in still showed
trace electrical scarring along the walls consistent with a Quickening.
Methos had dragged Dawson all the way to the site in Israel to examine
the 'weapon' first hand. By the time they'd gotten there, a mineral
expert had already shown that the rock couldn't have been more than
three thousand years old. The Watcher who'd led the excavation had
confessed to hoaxing the carbon-14 results in addition to the wall
paintings, and Dawson and Methos had been left with an expensive trip
to the Middle East and nothing to show for it.
     "At least I had a chance to get a few souvenirs," said Methos. He
showed off the two Rolex watches he wore -- one on each wrist. The one
on his right wrist partially covered the Y-shaped Watcher tattoo all
members wore. "These might be worth something someday."
     Dawson's reply was cut short at the sound of Robert Wise's frantic
voice on the answering machine. "Joe, it's Robert Wise. My assignments
are up to see Duncan MacLeod. Have them call me as soon as they can.
It's absolutely urgent."


MacLeod Dojo
10 Water Street
Seattle, Washington
9:45 A.M. PDT

     They had all awoken several hours before. Duncan wanted to start
working with Scully on some tactics for close-range unarmed combat. He
used a salad bar mix of various martial arts. Connor could identify
three with certainty, two with some confidence, but one completely
baffled him. Duncan assured him that he'd learned it in India and that
it did exist, but Connor didn't recognize the name, nor did he ever
remember encountering it in all his treks through the Far East.
     "What's most important," said Duncan, "is to maintain your
balance. Keep your center of mass low and never let your opponent get
too close. It's the easiest point about which to rotate an opponent,
and he or she will take advantage of that if you give them the chance."
     Scully nodded and Duncan took position behind her with one arm
around her neck and the other against the small of her back. "Now try
again."
     She repeated the attempt and this time Duncan landed on his back
in front of her, smiling. "She's a natural," he said to Connor.
     At that moment all three felt the 'buzz' of approaching Immortals.
A second later Connor and Scully cringed with recognition as the shrill
unidentifiable pain of Klein's presence declared its presence.
     The doors to the dojo opened and in walked Anne, Mulder, and
Klein. By then the effect had subsided and the three were standing.
     "It's a temporary side effect," explained Connor. "He's very
powerful and-"
     "I know you," said Duncan before he'd even had a look at Klein.
     "I hoped you wouldn't remember me," said Klein. "It's been many
years."
     "And you're a long way from France," replied Duncan. "You look
good out of that Nazi uniform."
     "It's a long story," said Klein to Connor, his face still
impassive.
     Duncan chuckled. "As I recall, you were impersonating a Nazi
courier." He looked to Connor. "He helped me liberate a trainload of
Jews who were being sent to a concentration camp."
     "He keeps unfolding like a flower," remarked Scully softly to
Mulder. She found the situation incredibly puzzling. From her albeit
limited knowledge of Klein, he did not strike her as the type to run
off on a moral crusade. More importantly, he struck her as one who more
often would find himself on the wrong side in such a moral struggle.
     Anne shook her head. "I don't see why he has such an effect on
you."
     "It has to do with power," said Klein. "When an Immortal has
consumed a great deal of Quickenings over the years, the total sum of
all the power he possesses can become overwhelming. In the past chance
had it that I was the recipient of a vast store of energy."
     Duncan listened to Klein's explanation to Anne but found it
unconvincing. Methos was well over 5000 years old and never had Duncan
seen any Immortal experience pain when sensing Methos. And Duncan
prided himself on being a good judge of character; Klein was lying.
     At that moment Dana Scully shared Duncan's thought. Listening to
him speak she was struck by the idea that Klein very likely was insane.
His impersonation of the old Immortal Jonathan whom he had killed had
been disturbingly believable. What if Jonathan's Quickening
destabilized him? she wondered. Maybe it was almost powerful enough to
change him, like Darius had been changed, but not enough to eliminate
his old personality. An Immortal version of schizophrenia. She would be
much happier when Klein was out of Mulder's life.
     "We were just working on a move," said Duncan. "I'm working with
Dana on close-range tactics."
     "Good idea," said Klein. "What specifically?"
     "Mostly variations of Judo. I think it's the best for this sort of
thing."
     Klein's mouth contorted into a smug smirk. "Judo variations will
only undermine the sword as a weapon in close-range. You can't
emphasize unarmed combat without de-emphasizing the armed component."
     Duncan's eyes met Connor's. His elder was amused at what was
quickly deteriorating into an Immortal pissing contest. "I don't think
that's entirely accurate," said Duncan.
     "Care to put that idea to the test?" asked Klein.
     Duncan smiled. "Right now? I'd be happy to." He retrieved his
katana from the shelf he'd laid it on and walked over to the mats he
and Dana had been using.
     "Do you think this is a good idea?" Connor asked Klein.
     "A fine idea. I won't hurt him," said Klein as he slipped out of
his trench coat. "Much."

     The fight was quite different from what Connor had suspected.
Duncan had evidently learned a great deal since he saw him last. The
two combatants were very well-matched; but if Connor had been forced to
declare one the greater, that one would be Duncan. Whether that was due
more to Klein's arrogance or to Duncan's exceptional skill was open to
debate.
     The two moved with unparalleled grace in a dance Connor had never
before seen so elegantly conducted. Their swords collided continuously
and Connor wondered if he was actually seeing a few sparks between the
blades. Both opponents attacked, defended, retreated, and countered
with precision and ferocity. But Klein was sloppy in a few areas and it
was only in his spar with Duncan that Connor could identify them. Klein
was too aggressive, too arrogant. He fought more with his gut than with
his mind or spirit and that could work with most opponents but not with
one as skilled as Duncan.
     The fact that it was a sparring match rather than a true fight
kept both combatants from giving it their total worth. But that was
changing quickly. Klein darted his weapon into Duncan's arc and sliced
open the side of the Highlander's arm. Duncan switched his style to one-
handed defensive parrying while waiting for his left arm to heal. Klein
took advantage of that by crowding Duncan, cutting the distance between
them in half. Now less than a yard away, the two opponents moved their
weapons with such speed that they could hardly be seen except for the
split second at collisions. They dodged stroke after stroke and without
warning the two collided and locked weapons together. Klein swept
Duncan's feet and the Highlander fell; however, he somersaulted around
and brought his opponent down as well. Both somehow managed to keep
hold of their swords. Now fighting on their knees at two yards
distance, the swordplay became frantic, vicious, barbaric. No more
style or finesse. It was the time in a fight when it seemed as if the
spirit of each combatant took over and the physical contact was only a
manifestation of the battle taking place in some higher dimension.
     Duncan somehow got to his feet with a quick hop and Klein was left
defending valiantly against an opponent who would not allow him up from
his knees. Klein tried a slash at Duncan's knees but the Highlander
jumped at the last moment, the blade passing a hair's breadth beneath
his feet. His own sword knocked Klein's weapon down toward the ground,
circled it, and tossed it across the dojo toward the door in a
beautiful fencing move.
     Connor watched as Duncan tapped Klein's neck with the broad edge
of his blade. The defeated Immortal was sweating, and Connor realized
this was the first time he'd ever seen Klein lose a fight, if only a
sparring match.
     "You haven't had a lot of practice lately," observed Duncan
through gulps for air.
     "No matter," said Klein. "I concede the fight. For now."
     His inflection on the last two words caused the hair on Duncan's
neck to rise. Was that a threat of some sort or only the mutterings of
wounded pride?
     Mulder looked to Scully and was about to remark on the matter when
he felt the surge of his Immortal sense. Another of their kind was
approaching. However, the feeling was amplified; it felt as if waves
were passing through his mind. It was very akin to the sense he got
from Klein but without the accompanying pain.
     The doors to the dojo opened and in walked Joe Dawson and Methos.
     Connor smiled at the Watcher. The Immortal with him had a carefree
easy-going stride about him that belied any threats. And though Connor
had never met this one before, he could sense immense power in him.
     Duncan smiled as well. "Joe, Methos, come on in."
     Methos? Connor thought. It wasn't as if he'd never run across an
Immortal that old but Methos was supposed to be a legend. A myth. Since
Jonathan's demise he'd been considered the oldest of all Immortals.
Surely-
     Connor's stomach constricted painfully. Oh hell, he thought. He
looked at Klein and saw a look of abject terror on the face of his old
friend. He looked back to Methos and realized that matters had taken a
very dramatic turn for the worse. Klein's sword was lying on the ground
halfway between Klein and Methos. Methos' eyes glanced down at it and
then at Klein. The latter was still kneeling; Duncan had lowered his
weapon.
     "You," whispered Methos. The words were cold. Gone was the
cheerful visage. His hand went into his trench coat and pulled free his
sword.
     Klein's bare right hand grabbed Duncan's wrist and he hissed, "Du-
cha!" Duncan let out something between a groan and a scream as he fell
to his knees next to Klein. Klein's gloved left hand lifted and his
fingers reached out for his sword.
     Methos looked again at the sword, and the weapon actually quivered
for a moment and then began sliding across the floor. His burning eyes
looked again at Klein and he rushed forward. For a second Connor
thought he would beat the sword, but the sword accelerated as Duncan
lost consciousness. Just as the younger Highlander fell to the ground,
the sword leapt from the dojo floor and into Klein's outstretched left
hand -- giving him just enough time to block Methos' overhand strike.
     Klein rolled to the side and hopped to his feet. "What are you
doing?" he hissed at Methos.
     Methos struck again. Klein met him blade against blade and a
silver-blue spark leapt toward the ground. Methos attacked again and
this time the sparks shone brighter than Connor had seen them in a long
time, not since his fight with the Kurgan. Methos was pure rage and
that gave him quickness, strength, and ferocity that was eating away at
the weaker Klein.
     "Did you pry that sword from his hands after you killed him?"
screamed Methos as his sword cut over Klein's head to slice through the
metal support for a shelf of weights. They came crashing down but
neither combatant took notice.
     "Methos!" yelled Duncan. "What the hell-"
     "STAY THE HELL OUT OF THIS!" Methos screamed and struck again.
This time the strike knocked Klein's sword arm to the side and Methos
made a sizable slash into Klein's torso.
     "You're making a huge mistake!" Klein roared back and went on the
offensive. His sword sliced across Methos' left thigh and the old
Immortal found himself limping as he fought.
     "The *hell* I am!" Methos replied. "You got away from me in
Canada; I thought the Hunters got you. God, when I'm through with you,
you're gonna wish you were that lucky!"
     Klein dodged Methos' careless lunge and brought his sword up into
the old Immortal's torso, twisting it free to tear apart as many
internal organs as he could. He stepped past Methos and then jammed the
weapon into the latter's back. He turned, pulled it free, and knocked
Methos to the ground. He kicked Methos' sword from his grasp and knelt
down over him as he took a ragged breath.
     "I'm giving you this one chance to stay the hell away from me,
boy," he whispered harshly, pressing his blade against Methos' throat.
"You have no idea whom you're dealing with." Methos' eyes closed and at
that sign of death, Klein stood. He looked at the shocked Watcher and
Immortals around him; his gaze finally settled on Connor. They stared
at each other for a long moment, and then Klein silently left the dojo.
Nobody stopped him. Dawson looked for a moment like he was planning to
do something but a harsh look from Duncan stopped him. Something inside
Klein had snapped and now was definitely not the time to challenge him.


Interstate 15
Northern Montana
10:55 A.M. MDT

     He had been on the road a long time. The fuel gauge on the vehicle
was low but he still estimated that he would not need to refuel for a
while. Certainly he did not dread the process; he was a stranger to
fear. Very little could disturb or dissuade him. However, the overly
complex symbolic monetary exchange the people of this world was one
thing he was not totally comfortable with. In all his time
impersonating these humans, conducting currency transactions was the
one area where his skills excelled the least. It made no inherent sense
to him. Furthermore, he had neglected to recover the currency that the
driver carried with him.
     But he didn't regret that. Regret was something his people truly
did not understand. Certainly mistakes were common. No being was
infallible. But the viewpoint of his race regarding mistakes was that
they could not be willfully unmade. One instead must work to minimize
the repercussions of the mistake. He had spent enough time among the
humans to know that often they spent great time and thought on
recalling mistakes of the past and wishing they had not been so. Such
action was nearly incomprehensible to him. Didn't they understand that
wishing could not alter reality? Nor did he or his people understand
guilt. Guilt was something which presupposed a conscience governed by a
moral code. His people understood laws and rules. Morality -- that
strange esoteric notion of "good" and "evil" that could never be truly
codified -- was an anomaly and only one of many reasons why they viewed
the humans as an inferior species.


MacLeod Dojo
10 Water Street
Seattle, Washington
10:00 A.M. PDT

     "Is this a joke?" Scully asked, although she already knew the
answer.
     "No, it isn't," Wise replied. "The Lone Gunmen say we need to move
on this now. Mike's afraid of using anyone in the FBI or going himself
because if they don't know about it yet, we can't risk giving her away.
I've already booked a flight into Salt Lake City, but I won't get there
until tonight. I also made reservations for you and Mulder on American
Airlines Flight 782 in eight hours -- you'll get there about an hour
before I do. There's a connecting flight to Cedar City on Sky West and
that leaves about thirty minutes after you get into Salt Lake. I'll
follow along behind you. The way it looks, you can be there in twelve
hours." It wasn't quick, but it would be faster than driving.
     "Rob, if there's any chance that this isn't her, I can't... I
don't see how I can raise his hopes."
     "Dana, listen to me. The Gunmen seem pretty convinced. And if it's
at all possible, then you two need to be in Cedar City as soon as
possible."
     Scully nodded. "All right, Rob. We'll be there. I'll call you back
with Duncan's fax number and you can send along all the information we
need. I really hope you're right about this."
     "So do I, Dana. Tell him for me, ok?"
     "I will. See you in Utah." She hung the phone up. Then she left
the office and examined the situation outside. Methos was still
unconscious. Dawson and Connor were debating heatedly and Duncan stood
off to the side with Anne. He looked like he was trying to both stay
out of the argument and get a hold of the larger situation. Mulder was
waiting for her outside the office.
     "What's up?" he asked. Joe Dawson, Duncan's Watcher and friend,
had given them Wise's message after Klein had left. Scully had escaped
to the office to call Wise.
     She was about to respond to Mulder when Methos awoke. The old
Immortal spasmed and sucked in a gulp of air. He groaned for a second
or two and then moved to sit up. Dawson left Connor and went to help
him up. Duncan was at his side, too. Methos got to his feet, shook his
head to clear it, and then he walked unsteadily but purposefully toward
Connor.
     "Where. Is. He. Going?" he asked slowly. The rage had returned but
this time it was tightly bottled under a veneer of calm.
     "I don't know."
     Methos took that response in, tasted it, decided he hated it. He
licked his lips quickly with a dart of his tongue. "Why. Are *you*.
Protecting him?"
     "Methos," said Duncan softly.
     The ancient Immortal grabbed Connor and pushed him back against
the dojo wall. "Tell me where he is, you son of a bitch!"
     Connor pushed him back and Methos punched the Highlander in the
gut. He then rammed him against the wall again. "Tell me!"
     Duncan ran to him and pulled him away. "What the hell is this all
about?" he hollered.
     Methos broke free of Duncan and this time there were tears in his
eyes. He pointed at the elder MacLeod. "Ask *him*, the great and
honorable Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." Then he turned and left
the dojo.
     Connor looked to Mulder and Scully for support as he straightened
his shirt. He wore a look of extreme worry, but it wasn't for himself.
Dawson walked over toward him again.
     "So what is this, MacLeod?" Dawson asked. "That bastard killed
your teacher, and here you bring him to train one of your students?"
     Connor ignored him and asked Duncan, "Remember Darius?"
     Duncan looked at his elder clansman with something approaching
painful memory and filial respect. "Yes. Yes, I do."
     "He used to be a monster. A barbarian. He butchered women and
children and made war with impunity. But then he killed a powerfully
good Immortal and he changed."
     "That *thing* is no Darius!" interjected Dawson.
     "No, he isn't," agreed Connor, "but he isn't the person he used to
be either. He killed Jonathan and that was enough to balance him out
for the most part. He may not be a peacemaker or a priest. But he's not
a murderer anymore." He looked to Dawson. "Nor a monster." He turned
his gaze toward Mulder and Scully. "You two are on your own for now. I
have some things I need to do." He left then as well.
     Duncan grabbed Dawson's shoulder to prevent him from stopping
Connor. "Let him go," said Duncan.


Joe's
Seattle, Washington
10:23 A.M. PDT

     Joe Dawson was at a loss to understand what was going on. Life as
a Watcher has always seemed so privileged, so pampered. He was a member
of an elite; the only contiguous body which possessed not only
knowledge of Immortals' existence but records of thousands of them
throughout the centuries. They knew of the secret lives, the secret
loves, the intrigues, the Immortal influences in human history. They
sometimes even fancied that they knew *everything.*
     How foolish they were.
     There were some things that he doubted they would ever figure out,
in particular this enigma of Klein. He'd appeared out of the carnage of
Jonathan's demise four hundred years before. Connor had provided them
their only account. Darrin Targiff had brought along his student Klein
to destroy his old enemy Jonathan. They both had killed Philip and
Sarah Carlington, and Klein had apparently betrayed his master Darrin
and taken his head as well. After that, he fought and defeated
Jonathan. But Connor never explained why he'd let Klein live.
     Now there was this other piece to the puzzle -- Connor's duplicity
and hypocrisy. Dawson's temper had cooled but the thought of the elder
MacLeod's utter deception was still enough to make his blood boil.
There was evidently far more going on regarding Klein than Connor had
ever let on. His assertion that this *thing* could have undergone the
transformation Darius had was appalling. The only recent Watcher to
have encountered Klein, Robert Wise, clearly believed the Immortal
insane. But that was all they knew.
     So much for being part of the elite.
     Dawson unlocked the door to the bar and stepped inside. His office
door on the far end was open and the dim light of a computer screen
illuminated the bar. He figured Methos would come back here. He
meandered across the bar to the door and pushed it open further. Methos
was sitting in front of his computer typing away on the keyboard,
making his way through the Watcher historical database.
     "Why don't you make yourself at home?" Joe remarked with a smirk.
     "Not today, Joe," said Methos in a controlled monotone. "You have
higher clearance than I do," he added.
     It was more an explanation than an excuse, but Dawson understood.
"Have you found anything interesting?"
     Methos nodded toward the laser printer where a small stack of
papers had already printed out. "I never knew you people had such an
interest in Klein."
     You people? Joe thought sadly. Back to this again. "We're human.
Humans like mysteries."
     "Apparently."
     Methos was now conducting a search through the Unidentifieds. The
Watchers kept a record of all Immortals that they were unable to
consistently track or identify; they also tracked the locations for
Immortals killed by unknowns. The idea was to try to follow the
movements of the more elusive ones by mapping all possibilities and
trying to find patterns. The method had proved remarkably effective in
locating an Immortal in Germany five years before; they'd tracked a
pattern of killings more or less along a straight path eastward from
Hamburg. Methos was coordinating the data for all unexplained Immortal
deaths in the southwestern United States. It was a good idea. Klein had
run into Kenny in California so it was a good guess that the former
kept some permanent residence somewhere in the area.
     "You're going after-"
     "I'm going to try," Methos cut him off.
     Dawson waited a moment before asking the question that was
bouncing around in his mind. "Just what happened in Canada?"
     "Don't you ever know when to shut up, Joe?" asked Methos, his eyes
not leaving the screen.
     "Hey, I'm trying to help. I don't like this guy any more than you
do." Methos didn't reply for nearly a minute and Dawson almost left him
alone to his vengeance.
     "There isn't much to tell. You know how the Hunters were in the
60s and 70s -- they were targeting only a select group of Immortals,
the ones they thought particularly deserved death. The really evil
bastards. Actually we should be grateful that they got rid of some of
the scum they did. Anyway, I had some associates who were in the wrong
crowd and they got some leads on Klein and I followed up on them. I
tracked him down in British Columbia, we had it out. He nearly killed
me. Then the Hunters showed up and I got out of there as fast as I
could; there were ten of them against Klein and I thought that would be
enough."
     "I guess not," remarked Dawson.
     Methos printed up one more file and then logged out of the
database. He grabbed the printouts and headed for the door.
     "You're just gonna get yourself killed, Methos," said Joe
suddenly.
     The Immortal stopped and listened.
     "What the hell is it with you people?" Joe continued. "You,
MacLeod, you all got something a lot of us would give anything for. And
it's like you look for reasons to throw it away."
     "Then maybe you don't know us as well as you think, Joe."

Subject: The Immortal Files 6 (7/10)

Cedar City Hospital
Cedar City, Utah
11:30 A.M. MDT

     Samantha awoke again at the sound of nurses' babbling to
themselves outside her door, but try as she might she couldn't make out
any specific words. The clock on the wall told her she'd dozed again
for nearly an hour. She was still extremely weak, and although she
could make short walks to and from the bathroom, she lacked the energy
to stand for very long. Had it not been the case she surely would have
tried to escape by now.
     Using her brother's birth date and middle name was a definite
gamble. It had been so very long since she'd seen her homeworld from
the ground, but her inexperience did not equate with stupidity. She
knew the deadly earnestness her grey abductors possessed regarding
their mission. They had shared with her the secrets of the genetic
manipulation that the "Harvesters" (the closest English equivalent to
what they called the other aliens) were conducting on humans. Her own
captors revealed that they were working to undo the harm caused by the
Harvesters. There had even been a time when the Harvesters had taken
her and some of the other human abductees and conducted experiments on
them. She didn't remember much from the experience -- only that these
aliens had been far less concerned with her own well-being than the
ones with the large eyes and misshapen heads had been. She had been
retrieved by her former captors years ago and had even come to see
their cause as her own.
     After learning more about the Harvesters firsthand, she knew that
every effort would be needed. She also knew that it was very likely
that they knew she was on the crashed vessel and that they would expend
every effort to recapture her. The Harvesters needed the information
she possessed -- genetic evidence of how the greys were attempting to
counter the Harvesters' work. However, she had been away from her home
for so long that she no longer had anyone to turn to. Certainly in the
many years since her disappearance (she herself was shocked to discover
how much time had passed), both her parents had died. All she knew was
the occasional thought that the greys let her fear, their worries for a
human named Fox Mulder who was doing so much to undermine the
Harvesters' work without knowing it. It was a faint hope that her older
brother -- a man she could only picture as a young boy -- could help
her, and so she had given her name and birth date in hopes of alerting
his attention somehow. But the chance was slim, and it would likely
turn out to be nothing more than a convenient precaution until she had
regained enough strength to escape. Her abductors -- and sometimes she
even considered them her friends -- they would return for her when they
could. They would find her and bring her back to finish their work. She
would probably even go willingly.


Interstate 90
East of Seattle, Washington
10:38 A.M. PDT

     The dark green sedan moved at a leisurely fifty-eight miles per
hour eastward on the highway as if the driver had all the time in the
world to get to his destination. In a way it was true. Klein wasn't
feeling up to a quick jaunt back to the hovel he occasionally called
home; nor did he relish the thought of overstaying his welcome in
Seattle. The former was his reasoning behind traveling eastward; the
latter was why he wasn't speeding. It wouldn't do good to attract
attention or to court local authorities. He'd operated almost on
instinct after leaving the dojo. Years of experience told him just how
quickly to walk and what modes of transportation to use and which to
avoid.
     The radio was playing an old song from the 60s and Klein tried to
listen to the words and calm his racing pulse with the slow rhythm of
the music. It wasn't helping. All he could think about was Methos'
scorching gaze and Connor's pained stare and the accusations that
filled the room. To hell with them all, he told himself. What did he
care what they thought? Connor knew the truth and that was enough.
Mulder surely thought him insane; what more could he think? And the
others? They didn't know enough. They knew nothing. They had no idea of
the personal hell he lived in. Let them blame, let them hate; it didn't
matter.
     He didn't have anything to prove. Certainly not to them.
     If that's true, he asked himself, then why does your jaw quiver
under this guilt? Why does sleep elude you every night in your quest
for redemption? Your soul is damned and you know it. There will be no
reckoning, no forgiveness, no great catharsis. Your capital payment
will be collected.
     No, he answered himself. It wasn't my fault. Things escaped my
control. I couldn't stop them.
     Couldn't stop them? What jest! Infinite delusions of your sick
mind to exonerate yourself, to wipe away the blood on your hands that
will never leave you.
     No, lies, all lies.
     //is that what you think? lies? why must I do that when you
fulfill the task so well? you deceive yourself, you snake, you devil.
you tell yourself lies and call it the truth. you whitewash your guilt
and don black garments to mourn your pitiable soul//
     "My soul is clean. I've been forgiven for my crimes. I've saved
lives. I've fought evil. I fight the greatest evil every moment of my
life."
     //so certain are you? you see yourself through a clouded lens. you
see only what you want to see; you ignore the rest. you bathe in the
blood of the innocents and you eat the flesh of the world//
     "Lies! All lies!" Klein screamed and only then did he realize he'd
been speaking out loud.
     Soft chuckling resounded in his ears.
     //then why do you still listen, my wayward child?//
     Klein shivered and gripped the steering wheel as hard as he could.
This couldn't be happening. It was just his mind playing tricks on him,
like always. The voice was his mind's voice, the thoughts his own
tortured thoughts.
     //we will meet soon enough//
     And then it was gone.


MacLeod Dojo
10 Water Street
Seattle, Washington
10:40 A.M. PDT

     Mulder stared off into space while his hands stroked the rim of
the lukewarm mug of coffee he held in his hands. He'd needed to sit
down after hearing the news and Scully had suggested to MacLeod that
something warm would calm his nerves, caffeine aside. He lifted it to
his lips and sipped from the half-empty mug. His eyes never broke from
their intense scan of the calendar on the far wall.
     "Mulder?" Scully asked. It was the first time she'd broken the
silence in the past half hour. After she had told him about Samantha,
he'd sat down in the office and struggled to control his emotions. She
could tell he was on the verge of breaking down, and she was fairly
sure she knew why. Guilt, probably. In his own mind, he'd given up on
finding her. He'd sacrificed his search for the Game and the
realization of this self-appointed sin would come to him anytime now.
Now, after giving up on her, she turned up. He probably didn't want to
believe it. In the past he'd been hurt so many times by hope that now
he viewed it as an enemy. And if this really were Samantha, he would be
caught between joy and guilt that the only reason for her return was an
accident -- he had nothing to do with it and only luck had alerted him
in time. She couldn't let him think that no matter what.
     "Yeah?" he replied. There was no outward change in his demeanor.
     "What are you feeling?"
     "Shock," he whispered. "It can't be her, Scully. It just can't."
He nodded quickly. "We'll head down to Utah, discover that it's just a
coincidence -- the birthday and the name -- and then we'll come back."
He looked up at her. "How's that sound?"
     "It's ok for you to hope, Mulder," she said softly. "I'm hoping.
The quest was as much mine as it was yours."
     "I just... if it's her, then it's just luck that we heard about
it. She could've slipped through our fingers! When I think of all the
times I-"
     "All the times you what?" Scully asked harshly. "Tried to make a
normal life for yourself? Mulder, you are my best friend but sometimes
you just completely confound me! Samantha might be back; your sister --
your goal for most of your adult life -- may have returned and just be
waiting around the corner for us to finally reach her, and all you can
do is beat yourself up for perceived faults which just don't exist! You
devoted your entire soul to her for years, and I'm not about to watch
you wallow in self-pity when you should be ecstatic." She stared at him
for a moment, almost as surprised as he was about all that she had
said. Without another word, she left Duncan's office, slamming the door
behind her.

     Duncan was standing outside the dojo, leaning against its brick
wall, when Scully stepped outside. "What was that all about?" he asked.
     Scully wasn't sure how to respond. Surely he couldn't have heard
her through the dojo wall. "How did you-"
     "I left my office window open," he said. He nodded his head toward
the far side of the building. Scully stepped to the edge of the
sidewalk and saw that a screen was in the window frame. She swallowed
involuntarily.
     "Nobody else heard, if that worries you," said Duncan with a
slight grin. "Joe left; I think he went after Methos. Anne had to get
back to work. So why did you come out here?" He gestured around to the
outside world with its roaring cars and dirty sidewalks.
     "I just needed to get away from him," she said. "He can really get
on my nerves sometimes."
     "He's been looking for her for a long time?"
     She nodded. "She disappeared almost forty years ago. She was the
entire reason he became involved with the X-Files."
     Duncan raised an eyebrow. "How is that?"
     "Mulder believes that she was abducted by extraterrestrials." Of
all the times she'd explained Mulder's belief, this was the first time
when she realized there was no skepticism in her words. Just the facts
-- it was what he believed, and after all that she had experienced, it
was her belief too. "Do you believe in that sort of thing?" she asked.
     The younger Highlander chuckled. "There are more things in heaven
and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy. A very good credo by
which to live. Anyway, I think ET is a bit more credible than men and
women who cannot die."
     "Can I ask you something?" Scully said.
     "Of course."
     "That Immortal who attacked Klein -- Methos? I take it you know
him?"
     "Yes," Duncan replied. "I know him. He's the oldest living
Immortal. Over five thousand years old."
     Scully tried to comprehend that figure. Surely she had thought
that such long-lived Immortals might still be alive. But the sheer
notion of living for such an extended period of time was awesome. To
think that he might have seen the changes in the world around him --
empires rising and falling -- was stupefying. She shook her head and
stared across the street. "It's almost fantastic to think about it."
     "Part of it is perspective I suppose," Duncan said with a chuckle.
"You're still thinking like a mortal. I'm over 400. Connor's almost
500. I suppose to us that isn't so amazing as it is to you. I'm older
than this country, you know. But Methos -- he predated the Roman
Empire. The Assyrians, the Babylonians. Even the Egyptians."
     "Does he ever talk about it?"
     Duncan burst into outright laughter. "He's not anything like you'd
expect. He certainly wasn't what I expected. No, he doesn't talk about
it much. He's more of an occasional spectator to history. He drinks
cheap beer and has less insight than many men I've met far younger than
he." He looked back at Dana. "He was a good friend of Jonathan's."
     "I surmised that much," Scully replied. She met Duncan's gaze. "No
matter what Connor says, I don't particularly trust Klein. But he's had
chances to kill Mulder and me and he hasn't. He saved our lives."
     "And you wonder how it is that Methos can't forgive him. Even if
he's changed."
     "I guess to some extent."
     "Mortals know what it's like to lose someone for whom they've
cared for years. It can rip a person up inside. Imagine how much more
difficult it would be if the person you lost was your friend and
teacher for millennia. When you lose someone like that, forgiveness
isn't an issue." He broke his gaze from Scully's and stared across the
street again at nothing. "After only a century or two, other Immortals
become parts of you. Whether they're a friend or a lover, losing them
always takes a part of you away. It's our bodies that heal, not our
hearts."
     "Words of experience?" Scully asked. She couldn't help but wonder
about Fox Mulder and what would happen to her if she lost him.
     Duncan smiled. "Always. Just never take anyone for granted.
Nothing -- not empires, not civilizations, not people, not even love --
nothing lasts forever. Cherish every moment you have." He looked at her
again. "It isn't wisdom, Dana. It's just some good advice."
     "So what good advice would a five thousand year old Immortal give
me?" she asked, not totally facetiously.
     "You'd have to ask him yourself. My guess is he'd tell you that
life is unfair. Then he'd buy you a drink and stiff you with the bill.
If you confronted him about it later, he'd tell you that it was an
object lesson in injustice." He grinned. "Either that or he'd mutter
something about naive children." When Scully remained silent for
another few seconds, he spoke again. "You're worried about him, aren't
you?"
     "Who? Mulder? No, well, yes, but I know he'll get through it. He
always does." She tilted her head slightly to the side. "And I'm always
the one to drag him back out of it," she added almost under her breath.
     "Do you resent him for that?"
     "Of course not. Somehow pulling his ass out of a ditch just never
loses its appeal for me," she said with a grin and a chuckle. "I just
hate watching him try to accept all this pain and guilt on his own."
     "It's how some people deal. It can be easier to blame yourself for
what's beyond your control. Most people -- most of us at least -- will
get over it in time. Just give him some space and help him when you
can."

     Scully found Mulder in Duncan's office paging through the
information Wise had faxed to them. "How many times are you going to
reread that?" she asked lightly.
     He didn't look up. "I thought maybe I was missing something." He
bit his upper lit for a several seconds before continuing. "Scully, I'm
sorry. You were right."
     She waited for him to continue, and when he didn't, she broke the
silence. "I hate to see you rip yourself up over this, especially when
we have good news for once in our lives. I just... damn it, Mulder, I
want you to be happy. Is that really so much to ask?"
     "I am," he whispered. "I may not show it real easily, but I am."
     "Is that it?" she asked as she approached him. "Do you feel guilty
for that happiness? You don't need to. You've devoted too much time to
her to blame yourself for not giving her your entire life." She shook
her head and turned away from him. "In any case, we should start
thinking about how we're going to get her out of the hospital, assuming
it's her. And what we'll do with her."
     "What do you mean?"
     Scully turned around. "Well we can't just take her in ourselves!
Our lives are too risky and I don't think you want to add that danger
to her life any more than I do."
     The thought of just what to do with Samantha had never occurred to
him. He'd always considered that it would work itself out -- that the
only important question was *how* to find her. But Scully had brought
up a good point. They certainly weren't the right people to take care
of her if she still possessed the faculties of a child. But the thought
he read in Scully's eyes appealed to him even less. "You don't think-"
     "Why not?" she challenged.
     "It's too risky! That would just put all of them in danger."
     "Why would they be watching my mother? What possible reason would
they have? We're gone, Mulder. They've forgotten about us. Okuda is
giving them much more to worry about than the ghosts of his
predecessors. And she might only need to become accustomed to the world
again. It would only take a few months and she probably wouldn't even
need Mom anymore."
     "Are you willing to risk it?"
     "If it's her, Mulder, then yes, I am." Scully punctuated her
affirmation with a challenging glare. "I told you. This is my quest,
too."
     "But your mother... Scully, she has to think we're dead by now. We
disappeared six years ago."
     Scully broke her gaze from his. "That's not entirely true."
     "What do you mean?"
     "I had Wise get a few letters to her through the Watchers."
     "You're joking."
     "No," she said.
     "Scully, we talked about this..."
     "And I wasn't about to let my mom think I was dead!" she
exclaimed. "I wasn't going to subject her to another loss! All I told
her was that we needed to go in hiding. Probably permanently. That I'd
contact her when I could and that she shouldn't worry."
     Mulder sighed. "I'm actually glad you did in a way," he said.
"Don't misunderstand me -- it was stupid and dangerous. But had I been
in your place, I would have done the same." He tapped the desktop with
his knuckles in a sign of affirmation. "What we've got to do now is
figure out what action to take. I think you should wait in Salt Lake
City for Wise."
     "You're ditching me?"
     "No, Dana, hear me out," Mulder urged. His rare use of her first
name got her attention. "There is no one I want with me more than you
when I reach the end of my journey. But what if this is just a trap? I
know it's unlikely -- they probably would have done something by now if
they still cared about us -- but it's a possibility. And what if we
attract undue attention? They would probably expect to see us together,
not separate. One would attract less attention than both of us. And you
know what this means to me -- I'm not going to sit back and let you go
in alone. I need you to wait for Wise and then you two can follow me
in. We may need him and the Watchers if things go badly. You'll keep
him in line and safe. Once I'm sure this is what it seems, we'll meet
up and figure out how to get her out of the hospital quietly. All I
should have to do get her to sign herself out." He stood from his chair
and walked around the desk. He placed both hands on either of Scully's
shoulders. "I wouldn't ditch you for this, Scully -- not something as
important as this. I need you there in the end. I just want to play it
safe until then. Do you trust me?"
     Scully stared into his eyes for several seconds before replying,
"Yes."


San Francisco, California
4:16 P.M. PDT

     Methos waited outside the cafe. He'd called his old friend and
given the location and time. Caleb was already inside; the Immortal had
observed him from across the street fifteen minutes earlier. His friend
was nothing if not punctual. The 5000-year-old Immortal closed the
newspaper and flicked it in the direction of a trash can as he stood.
He made his way quickly across the intersection.
     To the casual observer he was a normal even-tempered man --
youngish, almost boyishly handsome. Under the veneer he struggled to
subdue the emotional torrents in his soul. Strangely enough, anger was
not a very prominent component. His hatred of Klein would certainly
never depart but the sheer fury which had seized him at MacLeod's dojo
had slackened in the short time since. That wasn't to say he no longer
had a driving force compelling him after the dark Immortal. Self-hatred
was the greatest motivator of all.
     His memory replayed that moment in the dojo over and over again.
He entered with Dawson and stood there dumbfounded, trying to wrap his
conscious mind around Klein's presence in the room. Fear, surprise,
anger, hatred, all of it confused him and for a short eternity he was
frozen in place. All he could do was impotently look at the bloody son
of a bitch. Somehow his soul took hold of his body and propelled it
forward to strike at Klein. Every fiber in his being knew that Klein
had to die; it didn't matter if his mind was too slow or too stupid to
comprehend that as quickly as his heart could. But every moment of that
short fight, he could really only think of one thing. Himself. As sick
as it was, as crazy and as screwed up as it was, most of his
considerable anger was directed at himself. Over thirty years had
passed since he'd left Klein for dead in Canada. Thirty years that the
murderous madman prowled the streets, living on, growing stronger,
killing countless more innocents. Thirty more years than he deserved
and certainly thirty more years than Jonathan had. It wasn't only that
either. The entire manner in which he'd handled the situation; how he'd
responded with immediate but transient fury. He'd hunted Klein for ten
years before giving up. A decade. That was how much Jonathan had meant
to him. A goddamned tenth of a century. A fifth of a percent of his
life.
     Sure, he fancied every now and then that he was consumed with
vengeance. He would take a few weeks every couple years and thoroughly
search the Watcher records for any hints of Klein's whereabouts. But
all too soon he would discount the Immortal and let himself be consumed
in the petty affairs of mortals and their world, letting Jonathan's
memory rot with his corpse. And Canada. God, who the hell was he
kidding? It was a fluke really. In four centuries, he was bound to
finally run into Klein out of sheer dumb luck. An old Hunter friend had
given him a lead and he'd gone for it. No work on his part. No effort.
No redemption for abandoning Jonathan and letting his killer walk free.
What kind of friend was he? How the hell was he able to sleep at night?
     His sixth sense detected Caleb's presence and he quickly located
his friend in the corner of the cafe indulging himself in a cup of
coffee and the comics section of the newspaper. Methos paused on his
way toward Caleb to purchase a frozen coffee drink. "Is this seat
taken?" he asked when he reached the table.
     "It is now," remarked the younger Immortal as he sipped his drink.
"Please, sit."
     Methos complied and took a sip of his beverage. Quite cold. He
looked up when he heard his companion chuckle.
     "Sorry," replied Caleb. "I truly enjoy the Family Circus." He
lowered the newspaper to the table and folded it.
     Methos stared at his friend for a second before letting a wan
smile pass across his face. "It's been a while. I forgot what a
horribly evil man you were."
     "Yes, it has and I am," said Caleb. "I know why you're here."
     Straight to business as always? Methos wondered. "Really?"
     Caleb leaned forward and whispered, "I think you should get Klein
out of your mind."
     "How can you suggest that? You of all people?"
     "There are only a handful of Immortals who've ever lived that were
under an official Watcher death sentence. Right now only one is left
alive, and that's Klein. Those weren't renegades who tried to kill him
in Canada all those years ago. They were normal Watchers following
orders. And if you're not careful, they might figure out just who you
are, my old friend."
     "I've taken care of myself this long. I think I can handle some
Watchers if I have to."
     "You shouldn't be so arrogant. They're certainly not going to go
hunt you down. In fact, if you killed Klein, they'd probably give you a
medal. The point is that if the Watchers know who you are, you can be
damned sure a lot of Immortals are going to find out."
     "That doesn't matter. He killed a friend. I can't let him get away
with that."
     "Why not? I'm not singing Klein's praises, but Methos, this is
what we do. We hunt each other, we kill each other. Somebody sooner or
later would've killed Jonathan. And what about the people you've killed
over the years. I don't see you running off to lay your head on the
chopping block for their friends to have a go."
     Methos stood up. "I don't have time to listen to this. If you
won't help me, I'll find someone who will."
     "Suit yourself," Caleb replied. "But I won't be there to bail you
out if things go poorly."
     "I can take care of myself."

     After leaving the cafe, Methos paged through the little black book
he kept of Watcher contacts. Caleb was, like him, and Immortal who had
learned of the Watchers' existence long ago and had infiltrated to try
to keep one step ahead of potential opponents. But the others were
potentially useful, even if they wouldn't immediately understand
Methos' need to find Klein so quickly. In fact, there were another two
in the Bay area who might be of use to him. He was on his way to find a
phonebook when he bumped into one of them quite unexpectedly.
     "Adam! What are you doing here?" The speaker was a balding
Frenchman with a thin goatee who was lounging uncomfortably on a park
bench.
     Methos smiled and shook his friend's hand and then joined him on
the bench. "No reason, Claude. I just figured I hadn't been to the Bay
in a few years; a visit sounded nice."
     "You are a terrible liar, my friend," Claude said, chuckling.
     "I am indeed," Methos said. "What are you doing here?"
     "Smelling the air, watching all the pretty girls, keeping an eye
on someone."
     "Anyone I've heard of?" Methos asked. He tensed but didn't turn
around to look. If the other Immortal picked him up, he didn't want to
risk tipping him off as to whom he was sensing.
     "Jessica Haile." Claude said.
     "The name isn't familiar."
     "She's been around about three and a half centuries. I'm actually
kind of surprised to see her on this side of the pond. She's supposed
to be in France. I suppose everyone likes a little vacation now and
then. I worked her a few years back, but then I moved here. When she
flew in, I was asked to keep an eye on her until her regular Watcher
can get here." He smiled at Methos' evident discomfort. "You were never
one for field work, were you?"
     "I prefer a library, a dusty book, and twenty hours of quiet."
     "And are you ever going to tell me what mystic force dragged you
away from your dusty books?" He poked Methos playfully in the arm.
     "I'm working on a slim lead on Methos. Have you heard of an
Immortal by the name of Klein?"
     "He was Targiff's student, no? The one who killed Jonathan and all
the others."
     "That's him. There was a sighting here a few weeks ago from
Kenny's Watcher."
     "You're thinking if you track him down, you might find your
elusive Methos?" Claude's tone was doubtful, and Methos couldn't agree
more. He'd fashioned the excuse on the spot.
     "I know it's a slim chance, but I think it might be the best shot
I have right now. I heard you were the regional director, so I figured
if anyone knew how to find him, it would be you."
     "Adam, I truly believe that our calling is an important one. I
don't think we have any right to interfere, even to get rid of a
monster such as this one. Between you and me, I may have some
information on where he may live, but I don't look at the data too
closely; if I found something, I might have to act on it."
     "Is there any chance you could, I don't know, leave that data
lying around someplace to be carelessly picked up by a wayward
researcher?"
     "I owe you a lot, Adam, but I would really prefer you get your
information some other way."
     "I don't really have much of a choice, Claude," Methos replied.
"Klein might be my best chance to find Methos."
     The Watcher looked at him for a long moment as if he were trying
to decide on a course of action. Finally he nodded and removed a CD
from inside his coat. "Here, you'll need this then." He handed it to
Methos.
     "What is it?" Methos scrutinized the unlabeled disc before
dropping it into his coat pocket.
     "I made a copy of all the information we had on Klein. When I
heard he'd surfaced again, I expected a visit from you sooner or later.
After all, if Klein is walking around in the open, I would suspect
Methos is not far behind."
     "Thanks, Claude," Methos said. "I should get moving." He stood up
to leave.
     Claude grabbed his arm as Methos passed by him. "Adam, be
careful," he whispered. "I know you have to do this, but he's better
than you are. If you go up against him, you'll die."
     Methos wasn't sure how to interpret his friend's words. "How do
you know?" he asked, giving Claude two ways of interpreting his
question.
     Claude's eyes narrowed but there was an aspect of humor amid the
annoyance. "I didn't get this job for being an imbecile. No Watcher
could have that much insight into this subject and simultaneously be
that ineffective at finding him."
     Methos bit his lip and then asked, "Who else?"
     "I don't know. Probably no one. It's been hard quashing other
Watchers' Methos research. Some of them were getting close."
     "But why help me?"
     "Because you're my friend. And because losing you would be a
greater loss than Darius."
     Methos knelt down next to Claude. "Then help me now. Give me an
armed team. I'll stay out of range when they kill him."
     "You know I can't do that. Maybe before Horton, but not now. Klein
isn't like Kalas. He hasn't killed any of us. We can't betray our code
just for a centuries-old command. I would think you more than any of us
would understand that."
     "Sometimes those centuries-old commands are the right ones,
Claude. If you change your mind, I'll be around." Methos stood.
"Goodbye, Claude." He walked away, leaving Claude alone at the bench.
     "Goodbye, Adam Pierson."

Subject: The Immortal Files 6 (8/10)

Pentagon Building
Washington, D.C.
8:25 P.M. EDT

     "You were at the test facility this past Tuesday and witnessed the
success of the project," said General Davis as he pulled the envelope
from the desk drawer where it had laid for the past few hours.
     "Yes," Spender replied even though the question was rhetorical. He
leaned forward and crushed the tip of his cigarette in the ash tray on
the general's desk. "It was exciting," he said mildly.
     Davis ignored the sarcasm. "The retrieval team was under the
command of Colonel Chen if I recall correctly," he said, "and they
reported the recovery of several EBEs. It was a textbook maneuver."
     "Quite. The team was hardly operating at 100% efficiency but they
still handled it well."
     "Do you know that a few of our old friends were sad to see you
retire after all these years in their company? They've always felt me
to be a poor successor."
     "Well," said Spender, "what can one do to earn recognition? In my
days work was far more interesting."
     General Davis smiled again but this time there was no genuine
goodwill in his heart. "I came across a bit of information that the
team missed. Something that may be of importance to you, I might add."
He nodded at the folder.
     Spender reached for the folder and opened it slowly. His fingers
trembled from exhaustion. He would do his best to hide it but he had
been finding that any activity at night was strenuous on his body. He
was always so tired. His eyes skimmed the page and his heart promptly
skipped a beat. "This isn't possible."
     "It would be quite a coincidence, wouldn't it?" asked Davis.
"After all, Bill's been dead for years. The only explanation is that
she had to be a passenger on that ill-fated vessel."
     "Have you dispatched anyone yet?"
     "No, I decided that I would leave that task to you. The retrieval
team from Alpha site has returned to Nevada temporarily, so they would
seem to be the closest operatives. It hardly would be worth sending a
standard squad, if only for the dangers of intervention by other
concerned parties."
     Spender looked up from the page. His pallid face betrayed little
emotion. "They would view her retrieval by us as contrary to their
plans. I hope your project will provide an effective defense."
     "The project has proven its efficacy already," the general said
carefully. "It would be well-advised for you to take a personal
interest in the matter of Samantha Mulder. Our associates are not men
of compassion and mercy. They look upon the past as something to be
buried if it cannot be controlled."
     Spender stood slowly and carefully with a slight quivering in his
ancient limbs. Though his body was weak, his eyes contained power and
will, enough to make the general begin to doubt the wisdom of his
indirect threat. After a moment the smoker's eyes softened and a smile
spread across his face. "The matter will be taken care of. She will be
protected from any retrieval operations."
     Without asking for leave, he left the office and proceeded down
the dark hallway of the east side of the Pentagon. He paused halfway to
glance out the window to the lights of the District of Columbia around
him. The younger ones had no idea of the importance of their jobs. He
was the last elder left, the last of those who first chose the ends
over the means. It had never been about power or privilege or money.
They'd done what they'd did to protect their world. Every execution,
every assassination, every bribe had been finely tuned. The younger
successors like this General Davis were in it for the long haul, yes,
but they lacked the fervor for a cause. For them it was about
maintaining the status quo. And they only made the same errors over and
over again. But never mind that. He would have influence for a short
time yet until he died. Time enough to correct past mistakes.
     He removed the cell phone from the inside of his suit coat and
dialed the military switchboard in Nevada. "Get me Chen," he said
before dissolving into a series of painful coughs.


San Francisco, California
6:55 P.M. MDT

     Standing outside the decrepit building, Methos surveyed the people
walking past him, and he wondered at his chances of picking up Klein's
trail. The elusive Immortal had come and gone. The apartment was
stripped bare of any trace of occupation. Not even so much as a scrap
of paper in a wastebasket was left behind. According to the
superintendent, Klein had shoved his last month's rent under the door
and hadn't bothered leaving a forwarding address. It wasn't unusual
behavior for patrons in this neighborhood, and the super was hardly
surprised when someone showed up only hours after Klein's departure
looking for the man.
     Methos was halfway to his car when he stopped midstep. There was
the faintest brush against his sixth sense followed by the outright
'buzz' of a nearby Immortal. He slowly turned 180 degrees in place,
examining the people walking through the street for any sign of
recognition. After a moment of concentration, he discerned in which
direction the other Immortal was and began to walk briskly down the
street. He hadn't gone more than ten paces when he noticed a figure in
a black trenchcoat turn at the next corner. He caught a glimpse at the
side of the man's face and recognized Klein.
     Methos quickened his pace and then broke into a run when he felt
the other Immortal's presence dimming with distance. Dashing around the
corner he came to a dead stop. Klein was standing next to a group of
people waiting for a bus. He calmly glanced in Methos' direction.
     It wasn't him, Methos realized. The 'buzz' he'd felt had been too
mundane, not the sort that Klein put out; moreover, that sensation was
almost completely gone. Methos started to walk normally again, letting
his gaze pass over the man who looked so much like Klein and focus on
the far end of the street. As he passed the man, Methos realized he was
also too old. The hair was greying and the corners of his eyes were too
wrinkled. And there was something else that Methos couldn't put his
finger on. Something strangely familiar about the man more than his
resemblance to Methos' enemy.
     The Immortal cast that thought from his mind and continued his
brisk walk down the block. He was so busy scanning the crowds before
him that he hardly noticed the man who matched step on his left side.
When he stopped at the next corner, the man stopped next to him and
Methos finally took notice. The Klein doppelganger was standing with a
newspaper tucked under his right arm. His left sleeve was pulled up
slightly and Methos noticed a Watcher tattoo on the man's wrist.
     The Klein doppelganger met Methos' gaze, inclined his head
slightly, and stepped behind Methos to walk around the corner. Methos
waited a moment and then followed. The Watcher turned into a narrow
alley between buildings and walked into a small alcove in the wall of
one of the alley buildings. Methos joined him in the alcove. The street
was only barely visible from their position.
     "Adam Pierson," the Watcher said.
     "What do you want?" Methos asked.
     "I was sent by a mutual friend to give you some information," the
Watcher said. "And I was told if I hung around this neighborhood long
enough, you'd find me." He smiled. "I must look a lot like him."
     "Look, I've had enough useless discussions for one day. You help
me, or I walk."
     "I apologize. As a field operative it's sometimes too easy to fall
into the bad habit of treating every quiet meeting as if it were torn
from a bad spy novel. We have a man tracking Klein right now. He's gone
to Los Angeles; we think he might be keeping a residence there also."
The Watcher handed Methos a folded piece of paper. "Here's the
address."
     Methos took the slip of paper from the Watcher and pocketed it.
"Is there anything else?" he asked, annoyed at the way the Watcher was
staring at him. Claude must have sent one who knew Adam Pierson's true
identity.
     "No, nothing," the Watcher replied quickly. "Just... good luck.
And remember if you find anything interesting, it belongs to us."


Salt Lake City Airport
Salt Lake City, Utah
9:32 P.M. MDT

     The last few hours Scully and Mulder were at the dojo were mostly
spent in mental preparation for what lay ahead. Although Mulder doubted
in his heart that it was a trap, he couldn't shake the feeling that
something was amiss in the situation, that it wasn't just the happy
twist of fate it appeared to be at first glance. But if it were indeed
a trap, the very last thing he could do was in any way contact the
hospital, despite his initial inclination. To pass the time, he and
Scully had begun an extended training session with Duncan MacLeod.
     The fact of their lives was that they never seemed to get the
chance for the long term training that every Immortal needed. They'd
spent some time with Connor in 1996, but had no subsequent training
until after they'd left the FBI seven years later. And even then the
real learning was intermittent. The puzzling fact -- to Connor at least
-- was that both Mulder and Scully had fared well in their few battles.
True, Mulder would have lost to the Immortal Sundiron six years earlier
were it not for Robert Wise's timely intervention, but just about every
Immortal -- Connor included -- had been in a losing battle only to be
saved by fate. Random chance was what gave the Game its meager
excitement. Though many Immortals could count on one or two fateful
interventions, none could count on more and live for very long. But for
some reason he could not fathom but for which he was infinitely
thankful both Mulder and Scully had remained alive for thirteen years
with only a modest training in swordsmanship. It was more than many new
Immortals received, but it was hardly adequate for their long-time
survival prospects.
     Mulder pondered these things while standing just outside the
baggage claim area at Salt Lake City Airport. Scully was making a quick
phone call to the hospital just to check in. Ostensibly she was still
on unexplained, unpaid, and quite unpardoned leave, but some of her
patients still had questions and needs. They were altogether unurgent
matters -- questions about medication and fetal activity -- that any
other obstetrician would have easily answered; however, Scully found
herself uneasy to simply entrust her patients to other doctors. Mulder
admired her for this -- the ease in which she could devote herself to a
cause but not sacrifice the other important factors in her life. So
many times he had neglected his work, his friends, his family, himself,
and even Scully in pursuit of his elusive chimera because he could
never hold off his tunnel vision. For years he had lived his life for
just one purpose and only now was he finding that there really were
things and people in life that could mean as much to him. Scully meant
as much to him as finding Samantha, and, God help him, he had actually
started to appreciate having Connor MacLeod as an ally rather than a
rival.
     Almost as if in reply to his wry smile, Scully appeared at his
side. "Everything is fine. One woman went into labor but she and the
baby are ok."
     "Is the administration going to let you get away with running off
like this?"
     "You mean Jonas?" Scully asked in surprise. "He isn't too pleased,
but he's never happy about anything. As long as nothing bad happens,
he'll just have to learn to live with disappointment. And it's not like
we're going to be gone for much longer."
     Mulder nodded. What with his "teacher's" abrupt departure it
didn't seem very likely that he and Scully would be spending much more
time on developing better technique. And as long as no one in the
shadow government got word of Samantha's return (assuming all things
were as they seemed and it really was her), they would be spending very
little time in Utah. Just a quick sign-out and he could see his sister
again.
     Although he was trying desperately to combat false hope, he
couldn't help but wonder what he would say. Would she recognize him
after all this time? She had physically grown up according to the
hospital information so she presumably would have many years of
memories without him or her old family. When she saw him again, would
she want anything to do with him? Would she even need his help? But if
she had no memories of the intervening years, how would he explain the
changes in the world? That their parents were dead. That he had grown
up. That all her old friends had long forgotten her and now had
families of their own.
     "Hey, Mulder," said Scully, touching his arm lightly. "Don't
worry. It's going to be fine. We're going to get through this, ok?"
     "Yeah, I know," he replied with an attempt at a smile.


C-130 Hercules Transport
Approaching Cedar City, Utah
10:20 P.M. MDT

     The order to depart had come down from the Pentagon almost three
hours before. Preparations were made and the entire party was briefed
and outfitted in less than an hour. Now the small group of trained
soldiers examined their weapons for the seventh time. Bill Garret was
with them but he didn't waste his time field-stripping his pistol like
the others; he'd done it five times already. At that moment he was more
interested in dwelling on his team's mission. They were to walk into
Cedar City Hospital and retrieve this Samantha Williams. Then they were
to escort her back to Groom Lake. That was it. No threat of hostile
intervention and no risk. They were glorified couriers.
     True, the mission was more interesting than the boring humdrum of
modern techno-warfare. And although he controlled a far less powerful
weapon, he had the possibility of close combat and hostile fire in the
future, an opportunity of escalation that his previous occupation had
disturbingly lacked. So in light of that he admonished himself at his
ingratitude. True glory and honor come only to the patient.
     Garret glanced to his left to see Colonel Chen standing near the
entrance to the cockpit. The colonel met the gaze of every soldier
before speaking. "Gentlemen, our mission is vital to national security.
I just wish to reiterate that there must be no error in this task.
Though this may be a military operation we are again dealing with
civilians and we must remember our highest duty -- to protect them from
themselves. Under no circumstances should any of you fire a weapon, nor
should you harm any civilian unless he or she is directly opposing the
success of our mission and there exists no other avenue. The second
team under the command of Major Garret will be responsible for site
security and perimeter defense. This is a deceptively simple operation
and you must not let your guards down for an instant. I would like you
all to make me proud."


Salt Lake City Airport
Salt Lake City, Utah
10:24 P.M. MDT

     It's almost over, Robert Wise thought as he stepped out of plane
and into the badly lit corridor connecting the aircraft with the gate.
While at the FBI he had heard far too many references to Spooky Mulder
and his "abducted" sister. At first he hadn't believed very much of it,
but his abrupt reassignment to the X-Files Division had demanded that
he keep an open mind to those things. During his brief tenure his
entire world was turned on end -- his superiors were revealed to be
Immortals and an entirely new paranormal world had been cast open
before him. Surely aliens had more reasonable basis in fact than
Immortals, and if the latter existed then how could he doubt the
former?
     After several years with the Watchers and some firsthand
experience with Mulder and Scully he now had such greater regard for
them and their cause. Mulder was a passionate man and to stand on the
verge of finding his ultimate truth must be incredible. But with so
much else Wise wondered just what the hell would go wrong to screw it
all up.
     Dana Scully was waiting a few yards ahead. "Mulder wanted to go in
alone and have us follow together. He's worried this is a trap."
     "If it's a trap, then they did a good job. It's a wonder we ever
found her, you know."
     "Yes, I know," replied Scully, and Robert wondered if this
paranoia were only a way for Mulder to keep Scully out of danger.
     "We're only an hour behind," reassured the Watcher.


Cedar City Hospital
Cedar City, Utah
10:50 P.M. MDT

     Garret and the other team commanders, now wearing their ventilator
masks, followed Chen as he walked into the hospital and headed straight
for the front desk. "I need to talk to someone in charge now," he said
to the nurse. He nodded to Garret and said, "Deploy and get all exists
covered."
     "What's going on here?" the nurse asked as she fumbled for the
phone.
     "Ma'am, we have strong reason to believe that someone may have
released a biological contagion into the air supply. By order of the
Pentagon, I'm locking down this facility until the threat can be
eliminated." He took the phone from her and at her nod he began to
speak. He pointed toward the elevator and one squad left to find the
woman.

     Mulder had just made it inside the parking garage before a
military jeep pulled in after him. He'd abandoned his sword in the back
of the car for the sake of speed. The elevator had thankfully been
waiting at the parking garage level, and he took it directly to the
floor Wise had told him. He had seen only five men in the jeep;
presumably there were many more arriving at the main entrance
downstairs and guarding the parking garage entrance on the ground
floor. This was very much not how things were to have gone and Mulder
was grateful his paranoia had not yet failed him.
     The elevator opened onto the seventh floor and things were just
beginning to go crazy. One of the nurses was shouting into a phone
asking what the military was doing there. Several doctors and orderlies
were moving about trying to keep to their work but still shocked over
what they had heard only moments before. Some army colonel downstairs
had ordered a lockdown because of a worry about a biological contagion.
     There was a soldier wearing a ventilator mask at the far end of
the hallway, guarding the door to the stairs. Mulder went in the other
direction, mentally reading off room numbers as he passed. He reached
Samantha Williams' room, only to find it already empty. Glancing around
he saw a soldier drag a woman into a stairwell and he broke into a run
down the corridor toward them.
     Flinging open the door he found himself staring down a machine gun
barrel. "Stop right there!" shouted the soldier holding the weapon.
"Hands up!"
     Mulder complied and the soldier pushed him against the wall.
Mulder turned his head to look back at the soldier. "Keep those hands
up," the soldier said as he radioed in his position.
     "Get off of me!" screamed a female voice and the soldier behind
Mulder turned his head to glance up the stairwell. Mulder took his
chance and grabbed at the gun. The weapon went off with a soft crack,
blasting a hole into the wall. But the soldier wasn't expecting the
attack, and Mulder was able to wrench the gun from him and smack him
across the face with it.
     Taking the gun, Mulder ran up the last few flights until he
reached the rooftop. The door leading onto the roof was swinging shut
as he rounded the last corner, and he forced himself to move slowly
enough to avoid making any noise. Kneeling down next to the door, he
reached up to turn the door handle and slowly crack the door. He
couldn't see anything from that location, which only meant they were
off to the side and likely watching the door. He took a deep breath and
then yanked the door open and ran, intending to circle around
clockwise. He saw motion out of the corner of his left eye so he dove
for cover to his right. A bullet tore through his left calf muscle.
Mulder bit his lip to hold back the scream and pulled himself out of
the line of fire. He glanced down at his leg and saw the bullet had
missed his bone; the wound was already beginning to close.
     His side of the rooftop was empty, but they were likely guarding
both sides. Why the roof? Mulder wondered, and then he remembered the
nurse saying something about a biological toxin. If that was the
excuse, then they'd likely fly in a CDC helicopter, and then it would
be short work to get the woman without anyone seeing her leave on the
first floor. He had to get to her before that happened.
     Mulder took a deep breath and glanced around the corner he'd just
crossed. He couldn't see anyone, but the wall sloped a bit on the
farther edge. He took a breath and stepped out with the gun over his
head. "I'm coming out!" he called.
     It was his first good look at Samantha Williams, but he would have
recognized her anywhere. She looked exactly like the clones he'd
encountered on the X-Files a decade before. Her hair was greyer, her
face older and more gaunt, but he recognized her. If she recognized him
her eyes indicated nothing. There were three soldiers with her. One had
his weapon trained on her; the other two aimed at Mulder. "Put the gun
down!" one of them called.
     Mulder dropped the weapon and began to walk slowly toward them.
     "Identify yourself!" the same soldier called out.
     "Why don't you let the woman go?" Mulder called.
     "I said identify yourself!"
     "Why don't you?"
     "Hold it right there. Stop. I said stop." Mulder ignored him and
continued to approach. "I will shoot you if you don't stop." Mulder
paused and then took one more deliberate step. The bullet hit him in
the right lung, knocking him back onto the ground. "Check him out!" the
soldier ordered.
     The soldier who approached him knelt down and pulled Mulder's
jacket open. Blood was seeping out of the chest wound, soaking his
shirt. "He's hit bad, sir!" the soldier said to his commander. "He
needs a doctor."
     Mulder closed his eyes and listened as the commander radioed in
for instructions. He opened them to see the soldier above him examining
the healing wound. "What the hell?" the soldier said as he leaned in
closer.
     Mulder jumped up, grabbing the soldier by the throat and pulling
him in front of himself to use as a shield. He aimed the gun he'd
pulled from his coat at the soldier guarding Samantha and shot him
cleanly through the head. The other one, caught unawares while talking
on the radio, pulled up his gun and fired at Mulder, hitting his
comrade in the chest. Mulder finished him off with another two bullets
and then dropped the dead soldier he held to the ground.
     Samantha stood shaking between the two corpses and stared at him
as if she expected to be next. Her lower lip was quivering and Mulder
walked toward her slowly, lowering the gun.
     "Samantha, listen to me. I'm here to help you. Do you understand?"
     She nodded.
     "I know you couldn't possibly recognize me, but I'm your brother.
I'm trying to protect you from men who would harm you. You've been gone
a long time. Do you understand that?"
     "You killed those men," she whispered.
     "They would've killed you." Mulder knelt down over the nearest
corpse and removed his radio headset. He slipped it on. Over the
earpiece he heard soldiers barking orders to each other. It didn't
sound like they knew what had happened on the roof yet, but somebody
was ordering a team to go up and check. "I'm not going to let them take
you again, Samantha. But we have to leave now. If they find us, I can't
protect you. Will you trust me?"
     She nodded, but Mulder and she both knew there was little choice
in the matter. He led her back inside and they started down the stairs.
"They think you're on the roof, so they're likely not in too much of a
hurry."
     "You were shot. How did you survive?"
     "It's a kind of body armor." When he saw her doubtful look, he
pulled up his pant leg to show her the bullet wound. By then it looked
no more than a graze, but it still bled. "See? It's red, not green. I'm
human."
     He led her out onto the top floor of the hospital. The hallway was
lined with boxes on either side but empty of people. "Must be using it
for storage. Come on." He led his sister to the main elevator, but she
stopped him.
     "If this floor is like mine, then there's an elevator in the back
that they use for orderlies and nurses." Samantha grabbed his hand and
pulled him down the hallway and through the empty nurse's station to a
back room where a large door waited.
     Mulder noticed it had a card slot next to the door. "We can't use
it," he said. Over the earpiece, he heard the soldiers were coming up
the stairs. He started to pull Samantha back toward the other elevator.
     "No," Samantha said. She pulled a pass card out of her robe pocket
and swiped it through the slot. "I stole it from one of the nurses.
Just in case." She stepped into the elevator and looked back at him.
"Come on." Mulder followed her in and the elevator doors shut behind
them.
     "Where are we going?" she asked.
     "The parking garage," he said and pushed the appropriate button.
"If we're lucky, they didn't think to guard this elevator."
     There was an abrupt moment of silence after he spoke in which the
siblings regarded each other and tried to find something to say.
Samantha found words first. "Fox, I mean, is it really you?"
     "Yeah," he said with a wan smile. "It's me." Samantha stared at
him closely and Mulder felt a strange scratching at the edge of his
mind. It passed and Samantha smiled.
     "I believe you," she said.
     The elevator slid to a quiet halt and the second door opened to
reveal a tiny corridor with two doors on either side.
     "I think it's this way," Samantha said and she led her brother
down the corridor to their left. "I think this leads down all the way
to the first floor. That's where you're parked, right?"
     "How did you-?" Mulder started to ask.
     "Hold it!" someone shouted.
     Mulder pushed Samantha through the doorway into the stairwell,
slamming the door behind him. "Go! I'll catch up with you."
     The door handle twisted violently as someone tried to force his
way through. Mulder grabbed it with his right hand to hold it steady.
He braced his feet against the guardrail of the staircase and pushed
against the door. "Go, Sam!" he hissed. She nodded and hurried down the
stairs, giving him one last parting look as she passed out of his view.
     "I will open fire!" shouted a voice from the other side of the
door. Mulder let go of the door and dove to his right. A silent
staccato of gunfire blew the handle away. A man in green fatigues
forced his way through. Mulder lunged at him, throwing both himself and
the soldier against the opened door. Mulder managed to knee the man in
the groin and grab hold of his weapon before someone hit him over the
back of the head.

Subject: The Immortal Files 6 (9/10)

The first thing Mulder was aware of through the cloudy pain in his
skull was the soft murmur of voices. He swam in and out of coherent
consciousness until he began to recognize a word or two. He heard
"recovery" and "failure" repeated several times, and he slowly fought
to remember just what had happened. Eventually he managed to open his
eyes and by that time he remembered that Samantha was back and he was
in Utah and things had not at all gone according to plan.
     "Are you awake yet?" asked a softly firm voice.
     Mulder struggled to focus his gaze and after a few seconds of
effort he found himself staring at an Asian man of grey-streaked hair
and a tanned complexion. He tried to speak but only a muted grunt came
out.
     "I did hit you hard; for that, I apologize, but you were
assaulting a man under my command."
     Mulder glanced around quickly. He was lying in the back of a well-
lit van. On the inside walls hung several automatic weapons but they
were tightly secured. It looked more like the inside of a police
transport than an army vehicle.
     "But we should dispense with the pleasantries," the man continued.
"I am Colonel Chen of the United States Marine Corps. Who are you?"
Mulder knew he would have to take the man's word on that -- he was
wearing a nondescript black military jumpsuit.
     "Kris Kringle," Mulder muttered.
     Chen smiled. "Amusing, yes, but we have little time for that. You
see, someone very important to our nation's security is hiding in this
hospital. While I've got men canvassing the hospital for her, I think
you know where she is. I'd really like to find her without involving
local law enforcement or the hospital staff."
     "Forgive me for asking the obvious question," Mulder managed to
say, "but why exactly should I help you?" He had regained control of
all of his senses and quickly ascertained that his ankles and wrists
were bound. With his hands tied behind his back he had very few
options.
     "Because we will find her sooner or later. If we find her sooner,
you go free. If we find her later, well, by that time you will either
be dead or well on the way." The colonel's smile had disappeared; what
had taken its place was a look of dead earnestness, the look of a man
who could kill another man as easily as swatting a fly. "You have my
word on that." Chen stood from his sitting position on the bench
against the wall of the van and he moved to the door to knock on the
window.
     Mulder felt a faint tingle along the edge of his sixth sense --
the approach of a distant Immortal? he wondered. He hadn't felt like
he'd been unconscious that long. Could Scully and Wise have already
made it there?
     The van doors opened and another soldier -- this one in green
fatigues like the one Mulder had attacked -- stepped into the van. Chen
nodded at the soldier. "This is Major Garret, a new recruit of ours and
a very enthusiastic protector of his nation. What I said earlier, sir,
still very much stands." Chen handed a silenced pistol to Garret along
with a thin-bladed dagger. "If at any time the pain becomes too
intense, please feel free to tell us everything you know. We will
gladly spare you pain if you let us. Now, if you both will excuse me, I
have a search to conduct." Chen departed, leaving Mulder alone with
Garret.
     They stared at each other for a few seconds. From the way Garret
was looking at him, Mulder guessed that this was the soldier he'd
gotten the better of in the stairwell. "I think I liked your face
better with the mask."
     "The colonel is an honorable man," said Garret. "If you tell us
where she is, he will let you live. Personally though, I hope you
resist. There's-"
     The night's silence was broken by a thunderous roar. Garret's eyes
flashed from Mulder to the door. "Don't move," Garret said with a
smirk. "I'll be right back." He left the van, locking it behind him.
     Mulder glanced around quickly. It sounded like Scully and Wise had
come through with a diversion. Now it would be up to him to get out of
this mess. The inside of the van was sparse. The weapons were unloaded
and secured to the walls and he couldn't see any sharp edges anywhere.
The back doors were locked and a wall with a closed sliding window
separated the rear compartment from the cabin. Mulder laid on his side
and rolled over to see if there was anything sharp on the underside of
the bench. A small support strut had a narrow edge; it looked dull, but
Mulder rolled over and started rubbing the cords against it anyway.
     There was the sound of metal grinding against metal and he
realized it was coming from the back doors. He looked up to see the
lock click open. He skittered back to a sitting position just before
the doors opened.
     Scully peered in at him. "Ready to get out of here?" she asked as
she climbed in.
     "How'd you get here so quickly?" Mulder asked.
     "Luck mostly," Scully replied as she deftly cut his ankles free
with a knife. "I caused a small commotion. I figured it would catch
their attention."
     "Where's Wise?" Mulder asked.
     "Covering our asses," Scully replied. "We have to find your sister
before they get enough people to search the hospital."
     "All right," Mulder said as his hands came free. "I left my sword
in the car. I think that's where she is -- in the parking garage. I
told her to go there, at least. Do you have yours?"
     "Wise didn't think it was a good idea," she said. "But I have
something better." She reached into a pocket of her coat and handed him
a silenced Glock handgun. "Something else courtesy of the U.S.
Military. Come on."

     The garage was deserted. With soldiers at all the entrances, there
was little chance for anyone to make it out of the hospital. Mulder
guessed that the soldiers' bodies had already been found, but there
probably weren't enough men to conduct a thorough search of the
hospital and parking garage while also presenting a convincing front
for their biotoxin cover story. That would undoubtedly change very
soon, so they had to hurry.
     Mulder walked ahead of Scully, retracing his steps to where he'd
left the car. "Samantha!" he called out.
     His sister crept out from behind a van. Her face broke into a
smile. "You're all right," she said with relief. She started walking
toward him and then stopped suddenly. Her smile faded.
     Strong hands grabbed Mulder's shoulders and tossed him sideways
into a cement pillar. The blow cracked his spine and fractured his jaw,
and he found himself lying paralyzed on the cement floor. His vision
blacked out for a few seconds, but he was coherent enough to recognize
Samantha's voice screaming his voice. He tried to wrap his numbed mind
around the question of what had happened, and he slowly came to the
conclusion that Scully had thrown him with far greater strength than
he'd ever given her credit for. Thankfully, his healing vertebrae
rearranged themselves quickly, and he regained the use of his body. His
jaw was still healing as he scrambled to his feet.
     Samantha was running down the length of the parking garage with
"Scully" in pursuit. Just as "Scully" was about to reach her, Sam cut
right and slipped through a narrow gap between cars to head back in
Mulder's direction. "Scully" crossed into the next row to follow her.
Mulder ran forward, scrambling onto the roof of a red sedan just as Sam
passed in front of him. He threw himself off the car, tackling
"Scully." It felt like hitting a 300 pound defensive lineman. Mulder
made it to his feet first. "Get out of here!" he shouted at Samantha.
     "Scully" quickly stood her features morphing into those of a
blond, stone-jawed man. The bounty hunter glared at Mulder with
something only a little beyond annoyance.
     The familiar pneumatic ice pick appeared in the bounty hunter's
hand and he jammed it at Mulder. The Immortal dodged the hand, grabbed
it, and slammed it against his knee. The weapon fell to the ground. An
iron fist belted Mulder across the jaw, breaking his jaw again. Mulder
staggered back and fell to the ground. The bounty hunter advanced on
him and roughly yanked him up by his shirt to toss him against the back
door of a dark van. Mulder grunted in pain but attacked the alien
again, this time making use of some martial arts tactics Klein had
tried to show him. One foot connected with the alien's midsection, but
it didn't knock the wind out of him; the bounty hunter was able to
block Mulder's clumsy follow-through punch and break several bones in
Mulder's right hand before tossing him into the windshield of an old
Dodge Shadow. It occurred to Mulder that if not for his rapid healing
he'd be dead by now -- the thought gave him a renewed vigor. He was a
goddamned Immortal and could take down this son of a bitch once and for
all.
     His left hand connected with the advancing alien's jaw; this time
at least the bounty hunter flinched at the blow, and Mulder used his
left shoulder as a battering ram as he drove the bounty hunter into the
grill of a Ford Explorer with all his strength. This time he at least
earned a grunt from the alien. But the bounty hunter was far from
damaged. He grabbed Mulder and rammed Mulder's shoulder into the grill.
     Mulder screamed in pain and fell to the ground. The grill came
free and landed on him. The alien pulled Mulder up with one hand while
grabbing the grill with the other. Pushing the Immortal back, the alien
swung the grill into Mulder's ribs, breaking three of them. Mulder fell
backward between two dark cars. His shattered left shoulder and broken
ribs cried out in pain as they began to heal. All he could think about
was how much he missed his sword.
     The bounty hunter was on him again and this time he tossed Mulder
a good ten meters down the length of the parking garage. Mulder
scrambled to his feet and noticed a red fire axe behind a glass door in
the wall. He yanked the door open and grabbed the axe with his damaged
right hand and grimaced at how the weight twisted his broken bones
around.
     He turned and saw the bounty hunter advancing with his makeshift
weapon. The alien deflected Mulder's first blow and smacked him again
with the grill. Mulder blocked the alien's counter-blow. Mulder tried
to swing the axe with force against the alien's exposed torso, but one
of his ribs broke free and punctured his right lung. His blow was
knocked away easily. The alien shoved him to the ground again and
raised the grill up to deliver a fatal downward blow.
     "Drop it now!" came a powerful male voice from behind the bounty
hunter. Mulder watched as the bounty hunter's face changed into that of
Colonel Chen.
     "Chen" turned around to answer the approaching soldier. He lowered
the grill to the ground. "Where have you been? I had to chase him down
myself!"
     The soldier approached with his submachine gun trained on Mulder.
"Sir, we caught the girl trying to escape downstairs. Major Garret put
her in one of the vans, because we were worried about someone seeing
her if we tried." The soldier gestured at Mulder to stand up. Mulder
complied slowly, all the while watching the bounty hunter. "What should
I do with him, sir?" the soldier asked.
     "Bring him along," replied the alien. "We may need him just yet."

     Scully and Wise arrived at the hospital just as the CDC helicopter
landed on the roof. The doors were blocked by men with gas masks and
guns. "They look like military," Scully said softly and the fear in her
voice was apparent enough for even the Watcher to notice it.
     "That doesn't mean anything. Maybe-"
     A line of vans passed by on their right, heading in the opposite
direction, Scully jerked the wheel of the car around, pulling a U-turn
in the middle of the street.
     "What about Mulder?" Wise asked.
     "He's in the last van," Scully replied. "I can sense him."

     Mulder stared at the bounty hunter who sat across from him. The
alien held a submachine gun in his lap, its muzzle trained lazily on
Mulder's chest. They had maintained that position in silence for the
last half hour.
     As the van approached the onramp for the highway, the bounty
hunter said to the driver, "Switch with the prisoner. I want you freed
up in case there's trouble."
     "Sir, do you think-" the soldier begin but stopped abruptly as his
training kicked in. "Yes, sir."
     The alien gestured to Mulder to move to the driver's seat. Unlike
the other van, this one had no inside wall between the cargo/passenger
compartment and the cabin.
     The driver waited for them to stop at a traffic light and then he
moved to the passenger side.
     "If you try anything, I will shoot you," said the bounty hunter.
     Mulder didn't doubt it and decided the best plan would be to let
this play itself out. Once the military departed with Samantha, he'd
have no chance at ever finding her again. Better to let the bounty
hunter try his hand and hope to get her out in the chaos.
     They started moving again and the soldier directed Mulder to the
highway onramp. A little over ten minutes later the soldier directed
him to an exit which took them onto a rural road.
     "Why is she so important to you?" Mulder asked. He hadn't said
anything since they'd gotten in the van. "Can't you just get her go?"
     The bounty hunter shook his head. "She is vital to the success of
our project. We will not allow her to be taken from us." He glanced up
at the van in front of them. "Slow down."
     Mulder complied. After the van in front of them got further away,
the bounty hunter cracked the soldier over the head with the butt of
his weapon. He then opened the side door and let the body fall out of
the van before taking its place in the passenger seat. Mulder looked
over and saw the bounty hunter was now wearing the face of the soldier
he'd just discarded.

     "Shit!" Wise said as Scully swerved to avoid the body lying in the
road. Wise turned around in his seat to look back.
     "Was that him?" Wise asked.
     "No," Scully said. She accelerated to catch up with the van in
front of them.
     "What the hell is going on?"
     Scully shook her head. "I wish I knew."

     The trees lining the road vanished as the van entered a large
clearing. The moonlight was sufficient enough for the humans to see but
the other vans had left their lights on. The bounty hunter guessed that
this was to attract their aircraft to this location for the retrieval
of their prisoner. As he ordered Mulder out of the vehicle, he quickly
counted the humans. His objective was standing in the center of the
ring of vans, flanked by two armed guards. There were three other men
present but only two were armed with the rapid-fire weapons. One of
these was kneeling on the ground, operating a portable radio
transmitter.
     "I caught this one trying to escape," said the alien as he
followed Mulder out of the van.
     Colonel Chen stepped forward, his hand lazily caressing the pistol
at his side. "Mr. Kringle," said the colonel with a hint of irony. "So
glad you could join us. Major Garrett would like to finish his talk
with you. I think he'd like to discuss those men you killed back
there."
     "And where is the good major?" asked Mulder. "I wouldn't want him
to miss that."
     "Just finishing up the biological agent cleanup at the hospital.
He will find a small aerosol can of anthrax inside the ventilation
system. It was timed to begin spraying tomorrow. How fortunate that we
caught it in time." Chen turned to the radio operator. "Where is our
pickup?"
     "They're already in the air. ETA is fifteen minutes."
     "Good," said Chen. "Are the bodies of the dead soldiers off the
roof yet?"
     "Affirmative. The CDC chopper is taking them back to base."
     "Excellent," Chen said. He turned to give an order to the men
guarding Samantha when a bullet tore through his face.
     The bounty hunter took down the other two guards before any of
them had time to react. The radio operator and the remaining soldier
managed to shoot him in the chest before he ended their lives, too.
Then he turned and dispatched Mulder as the man lunged at him. He was
left standing alone in the clearing with his objective only a few steps
away, quivering pathetically. He morphed back to the face he preferred
and walked briskly to grab her arm. She admirably broke through the
shock and tried to run from him but he was far too quick and she too
weak. Grabbing her wrist in his vice-like grip he through her against
the side of a nearby van, estimating the force to sufficiently render
her unconscious. He was not disappointed.

     Scully brought the car to a halt and turned off the engine. They
were a good distance from where the trees gave way and from the faint
light up ahead the other vans were probably all parked there. She
glanced at Wise and gestured to the right. "Head around that way and
stay down. They're probably all armed."
     "I'll do my best," said the Watcher and headed off.
     Scully headed up the road, bearing to the left and into the trees.
She had a weapon at least, but a sword was a poor match for a machine
gun. She wished she'd had enough time to pick up something else.

     The bounty hunter examined the female. She was still alive with
only minor damage to her skull. It would heal if he let her live.
Checking his locator on his wrist, he got his bearings quickly. He
tapped it twice to engage the homing beacon. He waited a few seconds
until he was sure the signal had reached lunar orbit, a few more
seconds to account for the return signal, and whatever scant time it
took for any of his people's craft to detect the signal and
automatically reply. He waited nearly three minutes and still no signal
had come. Another minute. He was sure that his people had not sent
another ship as he'd hoped they would. They obviously had expected his
single ship to succeed. They would not learn of the humans' defensive
systems until they came to search for him. And he had no idea when that
would be. Looking down at the human female, he made his choice quickly
enough. It would be far too risky to attempt to evade the human
military. By himself he would be sure of success, but he would be too
hindered if he took the woman along. His mission parameters dictated
that her return to their control was preferable, but keeping the
survivors from finding her was more important. He reached down to grab
her throat.
     He saw the motion out of the corner of his eye and dodged with
lightning reflexes. The sharp blade-weapon barely missed his neck.
     Scully tightened her grip on her sword and attacked again. The
alien dodged the blow, grabbed her hands, and quickly disarmed her,
throwing her to the ground in the process. He dropped the sword behind
him and kicked her in the face. He was leaning down to grab her when
the force of rapid gunfire tore into his side. He fell to the ground
and rolled back to his feet. The holes in his back began to bubble with
the noxious fumes of his blood.
     Scully felt the burning sting of the alien blood-borne virus but
she was able to ignore it as she scampered to her feet. The soft patter
of the gun was barely audible over the crickets, but the alien jerked
with the force of the bullets anyway. Then the barrage halted. Mulder
pulled the trigger again but the gun only made a quiet click. It was
jammed.
     The alien grabbed Scully and tried to ram her head into the hood
of the van. She slipped out of his grasp at the last second and shoved
him into the hood hard enough to crush his rib cage if he were human.
The alien barely grunted and turned to face her. She caught the side of
his nose with the heal of her hand and felt something give; it couldn't
be bone but she was glad to see his nose crushed. The alien ignored the
sensations of soft skeletal tissue tearing into his brain; it would
heal itself in time.
     Mulder reached them and hit the alien over the side of the head
with the butt of his weapon. The bounty hunter flinched with the blow
but managed to block the next. Scully delivered a swift kick to his
side but it hardly phased him. With a grunt of strength the bounty
hunter backhanded Scully, breaking her jaw and knocking her to the
ground. He grabbed Mulder by the hair and pushed him down in front of
her, jamming his other hand into Mulder's mouth.
     "Move a muscle and I'll rip his head off," he said with all the
anger coursing through him. He saw her flinch and knew that whatever
this new breed of human was, it wasn't completely invincible.
     Scully kept perfectly still, staring at the alien. She wasn't sure
how strong he was but for all her Immortal arrogance she would not test
him.
     "Back away slowly," the alien said, following her with all his
senses. He almost dared her to try. These two were puzzling, and he was
curious about their capabilities. They were obviously more than human,
which might explain how the male had survived exposure to his blood
many cycles ago. Some new breed of human with superior healing
capabilities. Were the survivors responsible for this, too? His race
knew only of their experiments on the girl and others like her,
experiments designed to turn them into weapons against his people. Did
she have the healing that these two possessed?
     All healing abilities had their limits, he quickly reminded
himself. He gave a slight yank on Mulder's head, just enough to offset
a few vertebrae and cause the human enough pain to make him cry out.
"Back away or I kill him."
     "Let him go."
     Scully turned and saw a woman who could only have been Samantha
standing behind her. The bounty hunter tightened his grip on Mulder.
     Samantha stepped forward to stand next to Scully. "I said, let him
go."
     Scully noticed that Samantha's jaw was quivering with  effort. The
side of her head was bruised and bleeding, but she noticed an entirely
separate strand of blood start to run from Samantha's nose. The bounty
hunter began to shiver and his jaw began to shift back and forth.
     "You should have thought more quietly," Samantha said. "Now, let.
My brother. Go."
     The bounty hunter's grip slackened and Mulder pulled himself free.
He grabbed Scully's discarded sword and took off the alien's head with
a quick slice. Acidic green blood spurted from the wound and he turned
to tell his sister to back away, but she interrupted him. "I'm immune
to it."
     "How do you know?" Scully asked.
     "When he got frustrated, he started thinking about his mission
over and over again," replied Samantha. "About how the other aliens
experimented on me, changed me."
     "You could read his mind?" Mulder asked.
     Samantha nodded. "And yours. That's how I knew it was you." She
reached out and grabbed his hand. "Let's get out of here, Fox."


Somewhere in the Carpathian mountains
Sunday May 10, 2009
7:30 P.M.

     Smoke billowed up from the orange light of the campfire. It burned
his eyes horribly but he forced himself to stare into the hazy
obscurity while he waited for the servant to return from the darkness.
The young urchin from the village had already fled the mountainside,
leaving Klein alone outside the cave.
     The world was alive tonight. A flock of about fifty sparrows took
flight twenty yards away, turning southward as they gained altitude.
Flies and other insects buzzed and fluttered along the edge of the
foggy plume. A lone rat scurried past Klein's right foot; Klein fancied
he heard it hiss at the choking smog cloaking the cave entrance.
     What am I doing here? he almost asked aloud. This isn't who I am.
I'm stronger than this.
     //of course you are// came a whispered voice from behind him.
     The Immortal looked over his shoulder quickly but there was
nothing except the barren landscape of the dusty mountain path. A shaky
breath burst from his lungs. The moist air crystallized from the cold
and joined the smoke. It was a cold night. He looked down and kicked
some loose gravel into the fire. It didn't seem to mind. He ran his
hand along the front of his coat. His breath caught when he saw his
fingers quivering.
     "She'll see you," the young servant said in perfectly-accented
Arabic (why Arabic? Klein wondered) as he stepped out of the cave
mouth. They were the first words the man had spoken to Klein. But he
wasn't an Arab. His skin was the color of sun-baked pitch and his eyes
piercingly bright through the hazy smoke. His clothes were darkened
with smoke but clean of grime and dirt. As Klein passed him, the
Immortal examined the man's hands. Clean and uncalloused. A privileged
life.
     Klein suppressed his puzzled curiosity and proceeded into the
claustrophobic confines of the cave. He had only a few yards to go.
Ahead of him lay a larger chamber lit by the ethereal glow of a rusty
old lantern. Behind the lantern sat a small dark-skinned woman. Her
black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her eyes seemed to
stare right at him, as if measuring him, examining him, categorizing
him. But that was absurd. She was blind.
     "What can I do for you?" she asked softly in Ge'ez.
     A mild linguistic challenge, Klein realized. He stepped forward
and his Immortal senses triggered. He saw her cringe in pain for a
second, then lower her dead gaze to the floor.
     "I have no power to give you," she said, this time in a Cushitic
tongue Klein couldn't place. There was no fear in her voice.
     "I doubt that," Klein responded in Greek. "I doubt that very much.
But I'm here for your help, not your head." The last sentence he spoke
in the language of Castra. That got her attention. Her head jerked up
and this time Klein felt like she could see him through her perpetually-
diseased eyes.
     "Who are you?" she whispered.
     "Maybe you can tell me."
     Her jaw hardened at that and she theatrically clasped her hands
together in front of her. "I know you," she said after a long moment of
silence. "You are Figratin, the one who calls himself 'dar-rin.' Evil."
     Klein sat down slowly before the woman. "No," he replied.
     "Part of you is. The part which rules you. The servant of the
demon."
     "That's what I need your help with. I need to free myself."
     The woman cackled and the piercingly horrific sound magnified
within the confines of the cave. "You've been saved once before; have
you already forgotten that?"
     Klein stared at her in shock. "Yes, I guess I have." Long ago,
when he was consumed with evil, his father had taken him to a holy
place to be cleansed. "Does it still exist?"
     "Yes," the woman said coyly. "But you should be warned. The demon
is old and powerful. He waits for you in darkness. Abandoned. Where he
was once left. He knows your name. Your true name."
     "How do I fight him?" whispered Klein.
     "You don't. You can't. It's not your fight."
     "Then what does he want with me?" hissed Klein.
     "You belong to him. You and he are the same substance. He compels
you to return to him, to bring him back to this world, so that he might
live again."
     "Can he be stopped?"
     She looked at him (or where she knew he stood?) in wonder. "Why
would you want to stop him?" she asked.
     "Can he be stopped?" Klein repeated.
     She paused for a moment and then her body jerked violently.
"veqlargh," she hissed at Klein. "ghobchuq loDnI'pu'... ka'las --
maQmIgh!" She jumped to her feet and stared right at Klein, her eyes
meeting his and he knew that for this instant she could see him.
"rathlaHebj wa' neH," she screamed and then broke from the trance, her
body falling to the ground.
     Klein stood and moved forward to check her pulse. She was
breathing but her heart rate was extremely slow. Klein turned to leave
and found himself nose to nose with the servant. "She seems to have had
an episode," Klein said in Arabic.
     "Yes," replied the servant. "You should leave now. Do not return."
     Klein passed the mortal and headed for the mouth of the cave. "I
don't plan on it," he muttered.

Subject: The Immortal Files 6 (10/10)

Joe's
Seattle, Washington
9:40 A.M. PDT

     "I'm starting to think I should just make you a key," Joe Dawson
remarked to the man sitting on his couch. Joe was leaning on his cane
wearing nothing but boxers, a bathrobe, and bags under his eyes. His
apartment took up the second floor of the building which housed his
bar, and a locked stairway connected the two. Methos must have picked
two sets of locks to get up here. Dawson wondered why the Immortal
hadn't woken him. When Methos didn't reply to his jibe, he asked, "Did
you find him?" He walked across the room to sit down next to his
friend.
     "No," Methos shook his head. "I found this though." The Immortal
was cradling a book in his lap. He lifted it with both hands and handed
it to Dawson.
     Joe tipped the book forward so that the inscription would catch
the dim light from his bedroom. "Is this what I think it is?" He opened
the wooden cover. The first page on the inside contained several lines
of runic characters above a faded Watcher insignia. Below the symbol in
darker ink was the word "Jonathan."
     "It is," Methos replied.
     "Where did you find this?" Joe asked. He delicately turned the
ancient pages. The characters were unlike anything he'd ever seen
before. They looked vaguely Sumerian, but ancient languages were hardly
Dawson's strength. His tired mind raced with the prospect of having the
Watchers' top linguists pore over the tome.
     "Klein had it."
     "But you said you didn't find him."
     Methos finally made eye contact with Dawson. "I found it in his
home, or what I suppose was his home."
     "Is he going back there?"
     "I don't know."
     "What the hell do you mean you don't know? Methos, yesterday you
were hell bent on killing this son of a bitch."
     Methos pushed himself away from the couch and walked over to stand
by the bedroom door, where the dim light illuminated him. Dawson was
astonished to see age in his friend's face, and not the sort one could
add with makeup. "I just don't want him to have it. That's enough for
now."
     "What the hell happened to you?" Joe placed the book down next to
him and used the cane to push himself to a half-standing position. He
took a few shaky steps toward Methos as he spoke. "I mean, I'm all for
you not getting killed by this guy, but all the data we have on Klein
says the world would be a better place without him in it!" Methos
didn't reply for a long moment. Joe muttered, "The hell with all of
it," and turned to walk back toward the couch.
     "Joe," Methos said, and the tone of his voice made Dawson pause.
"Do you remember when we talked about my past?"
     Dawson turned around. "You said you couldn't remember much before
about 3000 years ago."
     "Yeah," Methos said and he smiled wryly. "Well, that book filled
in the blanks."
     "You can read it?"
     "It took me a while to remember, but yeah, I can read it."
     To hell with the Watchers, he had the world's foremost expert on
ancient languages standing right here! "Well, what's it say?"
     "A lot of things, Joe. Listen, I came by just to drop it off with
you. Give it to the Watchers. Have them keep it someplace safe."
Methos' coat was hanging over the edge of a recliner; the Immortal
grabbed it and slipped it on.
     Dawson forgot about the book for a moment and took a step toward
his friend. "You're leaving?"
     "Adam Pierson's getting too old and too popular. It's time for him
to retire. As for Methos, he needs some time to reflect." Methos kept
his back to Dawson as he spoke.
     "This is all because of something you read in that book? You're
letting Klein live and-"
     The Immortal whipped around and he jabbed his finger at Dawson.
"Klein is not off the hook with me, Joe!" Methos shouted. "I just... I
need time." His expression softened and he broke eye contact. "Listen,
tell Duncan goodbye for me and that I hope to see him again."
     "And what about me? Am I going to see you again?"
     Methos looked at Joe and shrugged. "This might help your linguists
out. The epigraph in the diary reads, 'There is no beginning without an
end, no greeting without a parting, and no past without a future. In
our memories we hold the treasure of days gone by and the promise of
days to come.'"
     "I'm going to take that as a yes," said Joe.
     Methos chuckled. "I'll be seeing you, Dawson." And then he left.


MacLeod Dojo
10 Water Street
Seattle, Washington
10:05 A.M. PDT

     Scully stood at the loft elevator, watching Samantha Mulder sleep
on MacLeod's couch. The woman had collapsed as soon as they'd returned,
and Scully found herself growing weary as the excitement of the past
day faded. They'd barely gotten half a mile away from the clearing when
they saw a helicopter circling the woods. Then their frantic flight
from Utah hadn't given them much chance to really feel anything other
than anxiety and fear. (Wise had suggested the Watchers might be able
to retrieve Mulder's sword but neither he nor Scully wore optimistic;
in any case, Scully's sword was badly damaged from the corrosive alien
blood.) But not until this moment, back at the dojo and exhausted from
a night without sleep, had Scully realized what had just happened in
the space of one day. Without any warning Mulder had found his sister.
Just like that. Only a minor scuffle (Scully wondered with a smile just
when such a grueling fight had become "minor" in her life) and they
were safe.
     She should have been used to the unexpected from her work on the X-
Files, but Samantha's telepathic manipulation of the bounty hunter had
unsettled her. This person whose disappearance had sparked Mulder's
obsession with the supernatural and the ultimate object of his life's
quest... and she was finally home. A young woman, a strong woman, one
who must have endured experiments and pains beyond comprehension and
had come out of it not only with her sanity but also skills she was
only beginning to grasp. It was amazing and so very gratifying to have
finally found her but after all their time spent on the X-Files, Scully
found herself asking something she'd never asked before: What now?
     With that thought ringing in her mind, she looked around Duncan's
old loft for Mulder. She and Sam were alone. Anne was at work and
Duncan was off having lunch with some old friends -- they were both
probably trying to do their best to give Mulder, Scully, and Samantha
time alone. Scully stepped into the loft elevator and took it down to
the dojo. It was Duncan who had suggested they stay in his old loft;
he'd kept it furnished and the refrigerator filled even though he
stayed there so seldom.
     Scully found Mulder doing a kata exercise, wearing one of Duncan's
sweat suits. She waited for him to finish.
     "I thought you were sleeping," he said without turning around. He
picked up a towel he'd lain on the mat and wiped his face off with it.
     "I tried."
     "What about Samantha?"
     "Sam's sleeping fine."
     Mulder nodded and walked over to the edge of the mat in front of
her. He sat down and finished wiping the sweat from his hair. "Thanks
for saving us back there, Scully."
     "Mulder, I think Samantha helped at least as much as I did." She
took a seat next to him. "I was just the alien's punching bag."
     Mulder chuckled. "Yeah, I know the feeling. I'm still sore. That
hasn't happened in a while." His shallow smile faded away.
     Scully touched his shoulder. "What's going on?"
     "I can't figure it out myself," he replied. "I just... I should
feel something more than this, I guess."
     "Than what?"
     He shook his head. "I don't know. This mild feeling of temporary
success. I feel like we only won some minor fight against them. But I
got her back, Scully." He turned his head to look at her, to let her
see the pain in his eyes. "I got my sister back and I don't know what
to do with her."
     "You expected a child." Someone to take care of. Not someone who
could save your ass.
     "That's what I thought at first. But I don't know if that's it. I
think... I think I always expected that exposing everything, bringing
the smoking man and the others to justice -- I thought that was what I
would need to do before I ever saw her again. I never thought that she
might be returned without me lifting a finger about it."
     "And all those men are still out there."
     "Yeah."
     She rubbed his knee with her hand. "I don't think it's our fight
anymore, Mulder."
     "I just feel like I'm not doing what I should be doing."
     Scully pondered that for a few seconds before replying. "Do you
remember what Connor told us when we became Immortal? He told us we had
to let go of our old lives and learn how to live all over again."
     "By forgetting everything that once mattered to us," Mulder
muttered bitterly.
     "By remembering that the mortal world is something mortals create
for themselves," Scully corrected. "And no matter many mistakes we
watch them make, we can't stop them because it's their world, not
ours."
     "But it is our world."
     "I didn't say I believed everything he said, Mulder. But some of
it makes sense."
     "That we're no longer human."
     "I think 'human,' the way we mean it, is not a biological
definition. We've both known far too many inhuman people to think that.
I think being 'human' is something inside here." She reached over and
touched the area over his heart. "So maybe Connor's partly wrong. Maybe
it is our world, too, because we care about what happens to it. But we
can't forget that ultimately we've got to try to let it work itself
out." She smiled. "But I didn't say it would be easy."
     He chuckled mildly. "What do you think we should do with
Samantha?"
     "I'm beginning to think Samantha really doesn't need anyone's
help. But we don't have to worry about that for a few days. Duncan said
we can stay as long as we need and I think we both can get away with a
few more days away from work."
     "Maybe-" Mulder stopped as he sensed the approach of another
Immortal. "Hey, Connor." He and Scully stood up to greet their mentor.
     The Highlander carried a long box with him as he walked across the
dojo to stand before his two former students. "I heard about your
little adventure from Duncan. I'm very happy for you, Mulder. For both
of you."
     "Did you find Klein?" asked Scully.
     "No, I didn't. I actually didn't even leave Seattle; I tried to
use my Watcher resources to track him down, but no luck. I doubt he'll
be showing his face for some time. It's his way."
     "What's that?" Mulder asked with a nod at the case.
     "Oh, this," said Connor with a smile. "Well, Duncan told me what
happened to your weapons, so I figured now would be as good a time as
any." He knelt down and placed the case before them on the mat. "I
always wanted to give these to you, but I was never sure if it was the
right time or even if you were the right people. But... I think you
are. Call it intuition." He lifted the lid on the case, exposing two
ivory-handled katanas. "They're over five hundred years old, I'm told.
They were crafted by a great Immortal swordsmith; he considered them
his life's work. He made them at the same time, the handles from the
same chunk of ivory, and the blades from the same steel. In perfect
symmetry."
     "Yin and yang," Mulder said, identifying the icons on the handles.
     "You're familiar with the philosophy?" asked MacLeod.
     "Yes. Opposites that complement. The original meaning I think had
to do with mountains -- the shaded and the sunlit slopes. The yin is
the female or shaded aspect -- earth, darkness, the moon, and
passivity. The yang is the male aspect -- sun, heaven, and the active
principle in nature."
     "Precisely. Although I wouldn't dare call Dana passive to her
face," said Connor. "Anyway, these have always meant a lot to me. And I
want you to have them." The Highlander picked one up and handed it to
Mulder. He handed the other to Scully.
     The moment Scully's fingers wrapped around the handle she felt a
powerfully cold shiver run down her spine and her sixth sense started
screaming at her, not just in the vague 'buzz' of an approaching
Immortal, but in words she could almost understand: //let it go let it
go so cold horrid evil let it go darkness great darkness swallowing
don't accept it run away terrible evil too strong//
     "Scully, are you ok?" came Mulder's voice in her ear.
     "Yes," Scully said, as the feeling drained away, leaving only a
mild sense of foreboding. "Sorry, it just felt like somebody walked
over my grave." She looked at Connor and thought she saw fear in his
eyes for just a moment -- but then it was gone and the Highlander was
genuinely smiling again. "Thank you, Connor," she said. "We'll treasure
these forever."


20 miles south of Le Havre, France
10:30 P.M. GMT

     Klein let go of the rope and dropped the last foot or so to the
stone ground beneath him. He wrapped his coat tightly around himself;
it was so very cold down here. He'd brought along his sword but it was
more out of habit than any hope of using it. It couldn't help him, not
where he had to go. He stepped forward slowly into the darkness. The
air was stuffy and freezing. Every breath he exhaled clouded the air
before him and scattered the little light entering in from above. He
couched involuntarily and the sound echoed in the darkness and a moment
later the echo seemed to change, whispering "come" to him in seven
languages. Klein tried to pray but he couldn't remember the right words
to the long-dead language and something told him any half-hearted
prayers to Yahweh, Jehovah, Allah, or any other deity would be shrugged
off with scorn if not by the receiver than by the ancient demons in
this place that had walked the Earth millennia before man.
     He walked for almost twenty paces when he first noticed the
diffuse green light coming from ahead of him. Maybe it had been a trick
of the darkness that he hadn't seen it until now. Maybe it had just
started glowing in response to his arrival. Maybe the evil here had
tried to hide it from him. No matter. His pulse and pace quickened.
     Every perfect memory of his first years returned to him. He
remembered all the pain and trauma, all the horror and confusion, all
the hate born out of love in his heart. Of how hard it had been to
conquer. How difficult it had been to vanquish if only for an instant,
if only to wrap it in chains and cast it back into the depths of his
mind. How he had ignored the calling of this place, the whisper that
freedom could be found here. Because it was a struggle and he
remembered only too well that not everyone came out of such struggles
for the better. He'd convinced himself to bear the burden as penance
for all his crimes because deep in his heart he'd feared facing it.
     "Caprilan, give me faith, wise father," he whispered to himself.
Maybe the Immortal's heretical words would come to him and whisper
sweet phrases of honeyed comfort to his parched ears. Klein rounded the
corner and gazed at the sight before him in wonder.
     The water gave off a beautiful green glow that beckoned him, that
grew brighter with each step nearer he came. Come to me, it whispered.
Let me wash the guilt and blood away.
     Klein fell to his knees, shrugged out of his coat, and tossed it
aside. The sword enfolded within made a muffled thump against the stone
as it landed. He crawled forward slowly to the water like a parched man
trembling before an oasis. "I'm here," he whispered. "I came." The
Immortal moved forward slowly, unhindered by the icy air wrapping
itself around him. He reached the edge of the pool and gazed into it at
his pale reflection. How young he looked, how rejuvenated! He reached a
curious hand out to touch the water.
     The colors shifted in reply and suddenly the darkness seemed to
crush him. No longer was the pool clean and inviting; countless damned
souls swam beneath the surface screaming in cold death, trying to
escape the grip of Thanatos. Klein gasped and yanked his hand back, and
his reflection laughed at him.
     "Welcome to my dominion, boy," chuckled his reflection, the voice
coming from all around him.
     It was then that Klein finally felt it. The entire place was no
longer the sanctuary it had once seemed. A slough of horrid evil
covered it, reinforcing the demon trapped in the pool for eternity,
feeding it, empowering it, promising it that one day it would be freed.
Someone had come here and fought evil and cast the choking shroud into
the pool. He recognized a faint imprinted memory -- it was Kol T'ek,
the foolish Immortal Hayoka who'd absorbed evil from the world! Methos
must have brought the younger Highlander here after the Dark
Quickening. But instead of dying, the Hayoka's evil had only fed the
demon.
     "I am far above any need for such meager sustenance."
     Klein whirled around and his heart lurched in his chest. A figure
in a white cloak stood but five meters away. The hood was pulled far
down so Klein couldn't see a face. But he knew who it was. He'd never
believed the ancient myths but he started praying anyway, and this time
the old language flowed off his tongue fluently.
     The figure chuckled again. "The words of that dead world won't
help you here, my young friend."
     A surge of affection welled up in Klein out of nowhere and he
almost wretched. He subjugated the absurd feeling quickly in fear. "Who
are you?"
     "Targiff, my true son, my faithful steward," taunted the figure.
"Don't you recognize me?" Its hands came up and pulled back the white
hood. "I am who I am."

     Klein screamed and yanked his hand back from the glowing water.
His whole body was convulsing and this time it had nothing to do with
the cold. He turned away from the pool and vomited; blood came up with
the bile and stomach acid and Klein forced his eyes shut at the taste.
"Caprilan, help me," he whispered but there was no response. Instead he
heard the faint chuckle in his mind again and the taunting voice
mocking him. Already the vision was escaping him; he was forgetting the
words the demon had spoken and the resonance and timber of the voice.
But in the few seconds he had before losing consciousness he could
still remember the final moment when the figure had cast back its hood.
Klein had recognized the face.
     It was the face of Dana Scully.

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

     Thanks to everyone who's sent me email inquiring about the status
of this story. The next story, TIF 7, will pick up in 2371, immediately
after the end of TIF 5.


Current Immortal Files Series Chronology

1996    TIF 1: Forever
2003    TIF 2: Partners
2008    TIF 3: Losses
2009    TIF 4: Convictions
2009    TIF 6: Reunion
2011    TIF 5: Nothing Lasts Forever

2371    TIF 1: Forever
2371    TIF 5: Nothing Lasts Forever