Origins

by lowri

Methos and Joe Dawson travel to Egypt together. Part of a series continuing with Hidden Agenda, Reassignment and Of Biblical Proportion

Disclaimer:The Highlander universe is owned by Panzer/Davis. They are the ones that brought Joe Dawson and Methos to life, and I am eternally grateful. Much of this story takes place just after Indiscretions, which was my inspiration. There is a magic between these two characters that calls out for more to be written about them. So, I did. Also mentioned in the story are Cassandra and Kronos, although this is not about the Four Horsemen. Without giving too much away, it is about the origins of the Watcher symbol and where and how Kronos obtained the virus used in Revelations 6:8. The character of Dr. Serena Mandeville is a joint creation between myself and Debra. The virus story was intended for the Methos virtual season that never seemed to get off the ground.

Many thanks to my betas. First, Janeen Grohsmeyer. She read through this story many times, helping me tweak the plot, cut the extraneous, thus making it a much better. Thanks also to Kristine Larson, for going over my ancient Egyptian details, looking for flaws. And Elizabeth Grace, for doing the same with my scientific reasoning. And lastly Lisa Hughes who is my teacher. She gave it a final read through and told me to go ahead and post.

This story is also up on my web page at:

Comments can be sent to lwright3@rochester.rr.com Enjoy!

Origins

By Lori Wright

Prologue

Summer of 1996-Zaire, Africa

"What's that smell?" Methos muttered, his nose wrinkled in aversion. His elbow clipped the door as a particularly large hole swallowed one of the tires. The Humvee continued to bump down the pitted road. The map described it as a major thoroughfare between the town of Nimburu and the small village that Serena was supposedly staying in. However, Methos himself wouldn't have described it so. The road more resembled a narrow path. He had been driving for close to six hours; dirt caked his face, and sweat dripped from his body. Yet, despite all his discomfort, he was still totally focused on his objective--finding Serena.

His tired eyes watered as he approached his destination. The stench of burned synthetic materials and decaying flesh, overwhelmed the natural odor of the savanna. He ignored the pungency of the air around him as he began categorizing the facts. There wasn't the tell-tale presence of another immortal. Serena had told him she would be here, so he should have felt something. More importantly, he didn't see a sign of any other human inhabitants. After parking by the first small building, he got out and walked through the ghost town. Charred remains of tents, huts and a few jeeps, met his eyes. He walked around a corner and saw inside one of the burnt tents. A person, or what was left of a person, was lying on a cot. The body had burned, yet Methos could tell that it had been in the process of decomposition before the fire had done its own damage.

Fear drove him to search faster. Serena said she'd be here. The Center for Disease Control--the CDC--had set up camp in this village because the deadly disease Ebola had invaded. The entire area had been designated as a hot zone and had been quarantined. Doctor Serena Mandeville was part of the CDC's team sent in to investigate and help the survivors. Three months ago, she had gone in, but after only a month there, she had flown back to Atlanta. While there, she had left an excited message on his answering machine. She had found a new virus, something that might be connected to another deadly plague that had ravaged ancient Greece. He hadn't heard from her since. After waiting another two months, he had tried contacting her, curious about what she had found. Her office had been closed, but her answering machine had still been functioning. He left several messages, each asking her to get in touch with him. Then several weeks later, her number had been disconnected. He had tried calling some officials at the CDC and they had given him the run-around. Frustrated and now worried, he had decided to check things out for himself. And so he found himself here, in the middle of nowhere, poking around in a purposely annihilated village.

'Where is she?' he asked himself as he ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair.

Fear tickled his spine, and made his quest more urgent. He ran down the dirt roads, peering inside any buildings that were still standing. Many were empty shells that contained nothing recognizable, except for the dead bodies. He counted over twenty of them, all burned; most had been asleep in their cots. A few were in the mess hall, and their remains, couldn't even qualify as being whole when they burned. Had they been infected with the virus?

His internal radar searched for any sign that Serena was alive and possibly just waking up. It wasn't even uncommon to find her body burned. In fact, twice before he had rescued her and nursed her charred flesh back to health. Her quest for medical knowledge continually got her into trouble.

Methos squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to keep his focus and not lose sight of his current objective. Her body wasn't here. *Serena* wasn't here. It must mean that she had gotten out alive and was wandering somewhere. If she had walked out, maybe she had left some kind of note for him.

He took a long drink from his canteen of water, then he began to search within a hundred-foot radius of the camp. His exploration was rewarded when he found a tree with his name engraved in a cartouche, in ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. He laughed as he imagined what Joe or MacLeod would say if they happened upon such a sight. Taking a dagger, he eradicated the cartouche, and then began digging alongside the tree. A foot or so down, he found a nylon backpack filled with a collection of notebooks and journals, all in Serena's handwriting, and written in a mixture of ancient Greek and English. He stuffed the books back inside and jogged back to his Humvee. Serena was alive and now all he had to do was wait for her to contact him to retrieve her books. He didn't think she'd go very long without wanting them back. She never had before.

Chapter 1

The Present Summer of 1999 - Paris, France

Joe Dawson sat at his computer in stunned silence, staring. His screen featured a digital representation of a wall, found in a newly excavated tomb, located in Lower Egypt. The wall contained pictures and hieroglyphics from top to bottom. On the top line in the wall, the Watcher symbol had been engraved alongside three other glyphs, making up a cartouche. Joe ran his finger along the screen, trying to soak up the essence of what he was seeing, and thus its meaning. The letter accompanying it was short and to the point. "All Watchers with any experience in Egyptian hieroglyphics are to contact Marcos Giamos, an archeologist with the Supreme Council for Egyptian Antiquities." Joe had met Marcos once, several years ago, and liked the man.

What a find this was! Joe couldn't get over it. The tomb had to be several thousand years old. As soon as that thought occurred, another followed quickly in its wake. Methos! The old man probably read ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. All Joe had to do was get Methos to interpret it for him, assuming he could talk him into it. However, Joe knew that getting the *truth* out of Methos was easier said than done. But he couldn't leave this alone. His amazement turned into a need to be included in the discovery. Maybe the Watcher down in Egypt would accept his help. It was worth a shot. He sent the e-mail message, hoping for a reply. Later that evening he received a phone call.

"Joe, what a pleasure to hear from you."

"Yeah, you too, Marcos. Tell me more about this Watcher hieroglyphic?"

"Well, carbon dating puts the tomb at around four thousand years old. We've got experts trying to decipher the symbols, but they don't know anything about the Watchers. Unfortunately, I'm the only Egyptologist the Watcher organization has."

Actually, there had been another Egyptologist in the Watchers, Joe thought to himself -- Adam Pierson. Just because Adam had cut ties with the organization a few years ago-- well-- actually they had booted him out after the Horsemen incident. They probably wouldn't condone his participation now. The tricky part would be getting Methos to agree to translate and then let Joe inform the Watchers what it all meant. Tricky, what an understatement.

"I'd like to help. What can I do?" Joe asked, trying to think of a way to have himself included in the investigation.

"I don't know, Joe. What we need is Methos." Then Marcos laughed sarcastically.

Joe startled at hearing his thoughts echoed by Marcos. "Too bad we can't just call him up. Or put an ad in the paper."

"Like 'ancient one wanted'," suggested Marcos, laughing again.

Joe laughed in return, then said, "Keep me informed."

"I'll send you the pictures from all three of the walls," Marcos said. "Show them around up there. Maybe someone will have a clue."

"Thanks, Marcos. I'll be sure to do that."

Joe hung up still feeling disquieted by the discovery. What did it all mean?

The next day, Joe received an e-mail attachment filled with pictures from the unearthed tomb. He took the zip disc to headquarters and made large laser copies of them. He spread them on a table and shared them with the regional coordinator. Neither man could make headway.

"I'd like to know what else they found in the tomb," Louis commented.

Joe nodded absently; his gaze locked onto a particular picture.

Louis logged on and typed in a few things. "Let's see," he read aloud. "Look at this, they found a mummy inside it. You didn't tell me that."

"Marcos didn't mention it."

Louis continued reading. "Carbon dating places it at around four thousand years old. They took x-rays of the mummy. The body was male and had been decapitated."

"Decapitated?!" Joe interrupted. "Could he have been immortal? Maybe an ancient Egyptian Watcher buried him, then wrote his chronicle on the wall."

"Good possibility. Look, they've been able to translate a small portion." Louis got up from the computer and walked over to the pictures. He gazed at them for a minute and pulled out one. "Here. They said that this small portion says, 'large harvest'. This one says, 'spirits smiling' or 'the gods are happy'." Louis pointed to a third portion. "And this says, 'good flood'."

"Jeez, is there any such thing as a *good* flood?" Joe asked taken aback by the term.

"I don't know. I think I remember reading something about the Nile flooding each year. That's how the Egyptians irrigate their crops, but I'm not sure."

"Anything else?"

Louis went back to the computer. "They've brought in experts from the British Museum and from Chicago. The Egyptian Antiquities people are in charge, so far. Let's just hope it stays that way."

Joe nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we wouldn't want to lose our contact on the inside." There was a suppressed excitement building inside him. For some reason he felt that this find was going to answer a lot of questions. Maybe even tell them the origin of the Watchers. The oldest chronicle in the Watcher's possession was written thirty-two hundred years ago. This was almost a thousand years older than that.

Chapter 2

I

Methos crept into the Paris Shakespeare and Company Bookstore. His flashlight beam bounced off the old books still decorating the shelves. There was a small part of him that cringed at the abandonment of all the work that Don had put into his place. Yet, another, perhaps more selfish part was glad that his own hiding place had yet to be tampered with. He found the hidden lever that triggered door mechanism and, voila, the staircase to the basement.

After several months of hard work, he had finally set up a link to the Watcher main frame. Finding Serena had become an obsession. Having helped Dawson save his daughter, Methos had been reminded once again how important family was. His family consisted of MacLeod, Dawson, Amanda by default, and Serena. Serena had been a part of his life, since the beginning of his memories. They might go years or decades without speaking, but once together, it was as if they had never been apart. Methos had waited three years for her to contact him, and now he was tired of waiting. He wanted to know where she was, and what happened.

Hacking into Joe's personal account wouldn't work this time; the old Watcher would ask too many questions. Methos was afraid of the vulnerability he would reveal by acknowledging Serena's existence to Joe. The thought that Methos could be so attached to another ancient immortal would astound his mortal friend. Methos enjoyed being the self-absorbed man of mystery. Why spoil a good thing? Besides, he didn't want Serena to learn about the Watchers. He had worked very hard through the years keeping that information from her. At first he had been afraid that she would corrupt their purpose and make it one devoted to science. Now, it was a moot point. He wasn't altogether displeased with they way the Watchers had evolved.

He logged on and searched all African entries, only to be dismayed at the quantity of messages dealing with some old tomb that had been unearthed. "Just what the world needs," he thought sarcastically, "another mummified body to put in some museum." He skipped over those and concentrated his efforts on sightings of both unknown and known immortals. When the Ebola virus had ravaged the camp, Serena's current Watcher had perished with the others. Since then, no one had been assigned to take his place. Serena was listed as missing.

Methos spent an hour at the computer before he accepted the hopelessness of it. The Watchers didn't really know who Serena Mandeville was. They didn't place much importance on her as a real contender for the Prize and she wasn't active in the Game. As a consequence, when she had disappeared, no one was given the task to find her. When she resurfaced, that would be time enough to assign her a new Watcher. He laughed at the meager bio they had for her. First death wasn't recorded, but the first head they had her take was during the Crimean War, back in 1846. Each incarnation lasted a little over two hundred years, but now with computers, she'd have to change identities more often, as would he.

Thoroughly discouraged at his lack of success, Methos turned off the computer and sat back to think. This was getting him nowhere. He had read her journals cover to cover and they hadn't yielded any clues either. There was only one thing to do. He'd have to go back to Africa and look for her. He'd start with Egypt, since the Nile had always been her home. With the trail cold in Zaire, that was the best place to start. He packed a few clothes in a duffel bag, and was ready to go.

Or almost. Before he left, he'd have to stop by Joe's bar. Methos wasn't sure how long this quest would take him, but he was determined not to quit this time until he found her. He owed it to his friend, Joe, to tell him that he was leaving and wasn't sure when he'd be back.

Since it was late at night, the place was filled with patrons. Methos took a meandering path through the crowd, and found his way to the back office. He knocked on the door.

"Yeah, come in."

Methos laughed to himself as he heard Joe mutter some profanity under his breath. Something had the Watcher uptight, and Methos didn't want to know about it. All he wanted to do was deliver his message and be on his way. He was *not* going to be suckered into another one of Joe's adventures.

"Hello, Joe."

"Methos, am I glad to see you."

Joe's effusive hello put him on guard. "I just stopped by to say good-bye. I'm heading off to Egypt."

Joe's eyes narrowed. "You are, huh?"

Why was *he* so suspicious? "Yes, I just wanted you to know."

"Why are you going?"

Methos stiffened. He couldn't tell him the truth. "Oh, to get some sun, rest a bit, maybe see the pyramids again. I usually try to see them once every hundred years or so."

"And this seemed like the perfect time to go traipsing across the desert?"

"Yes, it did."

"You know, I've never been to see pyramids. Maybe I ought to go with you?" Joe's voice was too casual and Methos' suspicion sharpened.

Methos schooled his features not to reveal what was going through his mind. "I don't think that's a good idea. The bugs are terrible, the heat unbearable, and the beds are lumpy."

"Can't be any worse than 'Nam."

"My plane leaves in two hours."

"I can pack fast."

Methos felt himself begin to panic. Joe would weasel everything out about Serena. His eyes had that suspicious look. The man appeared determined, too. Methos' mind spun, searching for some deterrent that would work with his nosy friend.

Joe came out from around his desk, and looked pointedly at the duffel. "I see you're already packed. Let's just stop by my place and I'll throw a few things in a suitcase."

Much to his chagrin, he couldn't find an adequate excuse. "Fine," he said gruffly.

Methos caught Joe's triumphant grin before the mortal turned and quickly ambled out of his office. Methos shuffled behind, trying to figure out how he could have prevented this from happening. Had Joe really outmaneuvered him, or had he let himself be persuaded? He refused to think about either possibility; both were equally disturbing.

II

Joe settled himself into the airplane seat and waited for the flight attendant to start giving the last-minute safety instructions. The old immortal had bought both tickets, and in first class. Methos had said that he never traveled in less, and who was Joe to argue? Hopefully after a few beers, his tongue might loosen enough to reveal something of what was going on. It was extremely coincidental that both of them had interests in Egypt. Could the ancient immortal have gotten wind of the tomb? Did the find make him nervous enough that he had to check it out in person? That place was important, Joe just had to figure out how.

The engines roared, and the plane took off into the Parisian skies. Methos had his eyes closed yet Joe could detect the stress around them. Methos' hands were clenched around the armrest, and if Joe didn't know better, he'd swear the man was afraid of flying. Yet he knew that to be untrue, since they had flown together before and Methos had never shown any anxiety before.

As the plane leveled off, Joe turned to Methos. "I know we're flying into Cairo, but where are we going from there?"

Methos opened his eyes and for a flash, Joe thought he read pain. Maybe Methos had a headache. "We're going to drive down to Quenta, Methos answered. "From there, I don't really know yet."

Very close to the tomb site. "Are you going to meet someone there?"

"With luck," Methos paused and continued tiredly. "But I don't expect to."

Methos was talking in circles.

"Are we staying overnight in Cairo?" Joe persisted.

"Only if you need to. I plan on renting a car and starting immediately."

"If I hadn't come… No, never mind."

"Joe, you're here. Drop the subject. I'm going to get some sleep, since I'll be the one driving." Methos made a big production out of reclining his seat, finding the right position and then closing his eyes.

Joe fumed silently at the brush-off. Methos didn't want to talk, well fine by him. Maybe he'd catch up on his sleep too.

III

Methos and Joe crossed the Cairo terminal towards the car rental area. Methos had gotten some sleep after Joe had abandoned his twenty questions' game. He hoped that Joe had slept, too. The trip wouldn't be easy.

The girl behind the counter smiled as she filled out her portion of the forms. "Will your friend be driving also?"

"No, I-" Methos began.

"Yes, I will." Joe interrupted.

Methos shot him an irritated look.

"Hey, old man," Joe said cheerfully. "You might get yourself in trouble."

"Trouble?" Methos' eyes darkened further, radiating danger.

"The way you demolish a bar's supply of beer just might leave you in need of my services."

Methos grunted in disgust. No matter how much he tried to intimidate Joe, the man didn't cooperate. Then he smiled inwardly, careful not to let his amusement show. "All right, put his name on the form," he told the woman.

As he started thinking about it, he realized that maybe it *was* a good idea. That way, when he took off in the desert, Joe would have some form of transportation. He'd have to get something a little more sturdy anyway. He absently signed the forms and handed over his credit card. She directed him to where their car would be parked.

"Are we going all the way to Quenta, today?" Joe asked as soon as Methos had cleared the airport and found the road heading south.

"No, we'll have to break up the journey. Asyut is around 300 kilometers from here. We should spend the night there and continue the next morning. Think you can handle that long in the car?"

"I can manage."

Methos smiled at the man's determination.

"So, this person you're hoping to see, are they dead or alive?" Joe asked.

Methos stiffened, and answered without thought. "She had better be alive." Shit, a surprise attack. He had revealed more than he intended. Now Joe would never quit the interrogation.

"She?" he asked with a sly grin and his eyebrows rising and lowering with exaggerated precision.

"I don't want to talk about it, Joe. Look at the scenery. Maybe you'll see some Nile crocodiles."

"Is that a threat?"

Methos smiled maliciously.

"You're a bit sensitive about this woman," Joe continued undaunted. "Is she an *old* friend?"

"Yes, a very *old friend*. Now, let me drive in peace."

Joe was quiet for all of about five minutes. "You don't know if she's alive or dead. That must mean you're going to some old hang-out of yours and hope that she's gonna be there. Right?"

"No."

"She's leaving you a note?"

Damn, he was getting close. He refused to acknowledge Joe's questions with answers.

Another ten minutes lapsed before the next round. "When was the last time you saw her?" asked Joe.

"When they built the Aswan Dam."

"What happened?"

"Parasites. One of her specialties."

Methos thought back to that time. Serena had been so eager to go and help. Many children had died because of the shortsightedness of the engineers who had planned the construction of the dam. Lake Nasser had become a breeding ground for Schistosomes, a kind of worm that can invade right through a person's skin, and go directly into the bloodstream. Of course, they didn't know at the time what caused the disease, only that it killed.

"Methos?! You sleeping or something?"

"Or something."

Joe took the hint and was quiet for over thirty minutes. "So, it hasn't really been that long. What makes you think that's she's missing now?"

Methos didn't want to answer. He still felt too raw to even talk about the burnt camp. How could he explain to the Watcher that she had somehow disappeared and the only thing left was a torched camp, whose inhabitants had apparently died of Ebola or were burned to death? Plus, he didn't really know if the fire happened before or after Serena had disappeared. The immortal stared straight ahead, not saying a word.

The kilometers rolled by. Joe had his eyes closed, but Methos didn't think he was really sleeping. The wheels going around and around in the Watcher's mind were evident by his stiff posture and his infrequent mumblings.

It was close to dinnertime when Methos pulled into Asyut. He navigated the streets to find a hotel close to the southwest part of the city. After dinner, he planned on getting some sleep and then slipping out in the middle of the night to check out a small village about thirty kilometers due west. Serena had ancient ties to the place and if she were hiding on purpose, she might hole up there. He had to check, alone, without Joe.

IV

Joe woke suddenly the next morning. He gazed for several minutes at the clock before the disorientation left and he realized that it was past nine o'clock. Methos had made a point of impressing upon him the need to hurry. The immortal had even gone to bed before nine. Joe figured that it meant that they would have an early start. Why hadn't Methos woken him up before this? What was going on?

A premonition assailed him. Methos had skipped town. He was famous for his disappearing act. Joe called down to the front desk. Yes, there was a message for him. After showering and getting dressed, he went downstairs to retrieve the note.

The concierge handed him an envelope. Stepping back, he ripped it open and read the message.

Joe,

Left early to check out some things. I'll be back around lunchtime. Be packed and ready to go.

Ben

Joe laughed as he came to the name "Ben". When they had checked in the night before, he was surprised to find that Methos had documents that showed his identity to be Dr. Ben Adams. It was strange to think of him as Benjamin Adams. When they first met, his name was Adam Pierson. It was several years later that he discovered that his real name was Methos and that he was the world's oldest immortal. Now, Joe was beginning to learn the many aliases' Methos had used throughout the years. However, it still felt odd to see the name, Ben, written so casually.

His stomach growled, interrupting his thoughts. Breakfast was what he needed. Smiling at the concierge, he turned and made his way to the small restaurant attached to the hotel. Fortified with a large meal and coffee, he returned to his room. Digging around in his suitcase, he found the phone number of Marcos Giamos, the Watcher Egyptologist.

"Hey, Marcos. It's Joe Dawson."

"Hi Joe. Calling to see if we've made any headway?"

"Actually, I'm in Asyut."

"You can't stand not being involved, I bet," Marcos said, laughing.

"Something like that. I'm on my way towards Luxor, and I would like to see the tomb. Is it possible?" Joe asked.

"I'm sure I can manage it. Give me a day to go through some channels. Why don't you give me a call when you get in?"

"Sure. Learn anything new?"

"We're making some headway. On the wall closest to the entryway, we've been able to make out about half of the glyphs. There's a picture of a man and woman and many children. The writings detail the life of an important farmer."

"Wait, many children?" Joe asked, puzzled. "I thought the body was decapitated?"

"It was. I'm not saying that the writing on the wall is the life story of the dead person. We don't know if there's even a connection between the two. Listen, this is really hard on the phone. Why don't we wait 'til we get together and then I'll fill you in on the rest."

"Looking forward to it."

Joe hung up, wondering if he was going to have to make his own way down to Luxor. It wasn't noon, yet, but close. He started thinking about Methos and this mysterious female he was looking for. In the few years that they had been friends, he had never seen Methos worried. He wore his calm like a protective blanket, covering up all his thoughts and feelings. But, that wasn't strictly true either. When Methos had met Alexa, he wore his emotions on his sleeve. His joy and his grief were plain to see.

A knock sounded at the door. "You awake, Joe?" Methos called.

"Yeah, I'm awake," he muttered irritably, as he stood, weaving a little on unsteady feet.

Methos strode in through the partially opened door. "You packed and ready to go?"

No, "Hello." No, "How did you sleep?" In fact, as Joe took a good look at his friend, Methos looked a little haggard. "You want me to drive?"

A semblance of a smile shadowed Methos' face. "That would be nice."

"You going to tell me where you went?" Joe asked.

"No, I'm not. I will tell you that I learned nothing."

Aha, an excuse for his lousy mood. "What time did you leave?"

"About three."

Joe pointed out his cases, Methos picked them up, and they both left the room. They checked out of the hotel with little fuss, and soon were on the road. Methos pulled out a map and studied it for awhile. "We've got about two or three hundred kilometers to go 'til we hit Quenta. We'll stop there."

"What's there?" Joe asked, hoping that maybe this time he'd get a direct answer.

"Another place to check."

Methos folded his map and shoved it into the glove compartment. Folding himself into the seat, he closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep. A few more hours and then the traveling would be over. If Methos decided to go further, Joe had to decide if he was going to follow him, or stay at the tomb site. There were pros and cons to both sides. He really wanted to see the tomb, but he also wanted to be near, when Methos found this woman. He could tell by the old immortal's evasions that this woman was unknown to the Watchers.

They traveled several hours in silence. Joe concentrated on the road, while Methos slept. The old immortal started to get restless. He fidgeted in his seat, and started murmuring in an unknown language. His mumbling grew more frantic, and then he sat up straight in his seat, gasping for breath. Joe turned his eyes from the road to his travel companion, and then back to the road, repeatedly.

"You okay? Must have been some dream."

Methos muttered something incomprehensible.

"Listen, buddy. You better talk in English, or I'm lost."

The immortal gave him a weak smile. "Sorry, Joe. I guess I'm still out of it."

"You going to tell me what that was all about?" Whether the dream had knocked him off balance, or he was just in a charitable mood, Joe didn't know, nor care. All he cared about was that Methos started to talk.

"I was waiting for Rena."

"Who?" Joe interrupted.

"Serena Mandeville. Remember when I told you that I was living in the southern States during the early 1800's?"

"Yeah. That's where you met Walker."

Methos gave him a condescending smile. "That's right. Eventually Serena found me and drafted me into her cause." Methos' voice wavered and then hung at the end of the sentence, his mind lost in his memories.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Summer of 1829

Methos kneeled on the dirt floor. A black man was lying face down upon a pile of straw, exposing deep, bloody welts on his back and legs. Using a clean cloth, Methos dipped it into fresh water and gently dabbed the welts. Back and forth he went, soaking up the dried blood and dirt, 'til the water was red. The man flinched, yet made no cry. Whether it was to protect them from discovery, or the man's pride that kept him silent, Methos didn't know, but he was thankful all the same. The man's wife stood against the wall, silent tears falling from her face, as she clutched her three young children to her side.

The tingling sensation that heralded another immortal, made Methos stand up abruptly and go to the door. The wife stiffened, her knuckles white against her children's dark skin. The man's face held a grimace, no doubt worried over his own vulnerable position. Methos' sword was still in its scabbard, but he held onto the hilt in readiness.

A knock sounded, and a woman's voice followed immediately after. "Open up Benjamin, I've come with the salve."

Relaxing, he opened the door and Dr. Serena Mandeville swept in, carrying a basket covered with a dun-colored cloth.

"How is he?" she asked, bending over to look at the injured man.

"Not good," Methos replied, closing the door behind her.

Serena took a jar of ointment out of her basket. "Put this on it."

Methos looked at the concoction skeptically, "This isn't some new remedy you suddenly decided to test, is it?" She was continually finding new ways to mix her herbs and oils to fight infections. Some even worked. Others didn't.

Serena narrowed her eyes. "It's safe."

Methos shrugged and began applying it to the wound. "What took you so long anyway?" She had been gone for six hours. There had been faithful promises that she only needed two to fetch the needed remedy, yet she had been gone longer.

Serena acted like she was ignoring his question. She went over to the small wooden table and sat down her basket. Slivers of moonlight sneaked through the wall's cracks vying with the lone candle as the source of light for the occupants. Reaching into the basket, she pulled out a jar and several rolls of clean linen. The sniffles of the slave children and their mother filled the silence.

"Did you hear me?" Methos asked impatiently, looking up at her while she was concentrating on her task.

"I heard you." She opened the jar and spread some of the greasy gel onto the linen.

"This smells horrible," he said wrinkling his nose.

"But it works," she responded plainly. Abandoning the make-shift bandage for a moment, Serena reached into the basket and withdrew several pieces of hard candy and then brought them over to the children, who smiled meagerly. Then she carried the bandages over to the patient.

"You didn't answer my question," he said wiping his wet hands on his pants. "Please, don't tell me it was a man."

She grinned, "Actually it was. Jealous?"

Methos snorted. "Depends."

She turned her attention back to the man still lying on his stomach. "Sit up," she commanded. Conditioned to obeying when direct orders were given, he used his hands as leverage and pulled himself up into a kneeling position. His eyes squinted in pain, but no sound left his lips. With deft movements, Serena and Methos wrapped him up first with the coated bandages and then some dry ones. They rolled the linen back to front, working together with practiced ease. Glancing idly at Methos she continued their conversation. "I assure you that I could never bring myself to think of Mel with any degree of fondness."

Methos' eyes narrowed. "Mel?"

Serena nodded, checking her work. "You were very brave," she told the man. He lay back down and closed his eyes.

Methos was still mulling over what she had said. He knew that she liked to tease him. They hadn't been lovers in centuries, yet both took wicked enjoyment in telling the other of their liaisons. However, this wasn't the time for that kind of thing. They had slaves to heal and plantation owners to avoid.

"Melvin Koren ... I think you know him."

"I had heard something about that name being the latest in a line for…" His face paled and he stiffened as realization hit. Kronos? Oh God! "He's really here?"

"It's him. The scar across his face doesn't lie"

He unconsciously reached for the hilt of his sword. "Does he..."

"…know that you're here?" she finished for him. "No. I was making my way through town when he accosted me. With his gun to my side, he asked me to patch up one of his ruffians."

Methos crossed his arms. "Did he mention me?"

"In passing."

Methos was getting impatient. "Is he still around?" He needed to know if he should be high-tailing it out of town. It was an unlikely coincidence that Kronos just happened to be in the same town as he and Rena. Was Rena now being followed?

The slave-woman said something in a language he didn't understand. Serena answered in the woman's native tongue, making her eyes widen with surprise and happiness. Serena turned and glared at him as she took another jar out of her basket and handed it to the woman.

His nervousness was becoming apparent to the slaves. "We need to go before someone catches us here," he said referring to Kronos, not the southern aristocracy.

Serena clutched his hand, giving him a soft peck on the cheek. "Thank you."

He was perplexed. "For what?"

She rubbed his fingers. "For being here for me. I am grateful."

She spoke some last minute instructions and gathered up her things. Methos clasped her hand, led them out, looking both ways. After they were safely in the shadows, Methos whispered. "You sure he had no idea I was here?"

Serena nudged him. "Would I lie to you?"

Methos squeezed her hand, no hesitation in his answer, "No."

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The Present

"Have you spent most of your life running from Kronos?" Joe asked, maneuvering the car around some sort of amphibian crossing the road.

"Avoiding, Joe." He was scowling.

"Whatever. Sounds like your friend wasn't really too keen on Kronos either."

"That's true."

"So, she's a doctor," Joe said gently.

"Yes," he answered, then laughed. "Joe, she personifies healing. Nothing in her life exists except it."

"And you. You must be important to her, if she's this important to you."

Methos arched his back, trying to get his blood circulating again. "Only because I shared her obsession with her."

"Is that why you went to that medical school in Heidelburg?" Joe asked, taking a quick peak at him before redirecting his eyes towards the road.

"Yes. She wanted to go, but women weren't allowed. So I went, brought the books and notes home to her, and we'd both study. It was the only formal education, sort of, that she's ever had."

"Even now?"

"She's way past going to school. She has fake papers that show her Ph.D., and M.D., and has made quite a name for herself in the scientific community."

"How does she retain her anonymity?"

"She'll publish under her assistants' names, change countries, get lost in some third world country, you know, that kind of thing."

"And we don't know about her?"

Methos smiled humorously. "I'm sure you've got her in your books in several places, but don't know that all the entries are the same woman."

Joe couldn't wait to scour the database and look for her. He might even get the chance to meet her. That pleasure was one he eagerly longed for. Silence descended in the car. Joe could tell that Methos was still thinking about her. His eyes were closed, but every so often the corner of his mouth would twitch as if a smile was ready to emerge. His own thoughts kept going round and round. It only made sense that if she was a healer, and that old, then Serena might know Cassandra. Cassandra was supposed to be a healer, too. Curious to hear more, Joe brought the subject up again.

"Was this Serena part of the Horsemen?"

Methos turned incredulous eyes on him. "No! When I rode with them, Serena was … uh … Kronos … uh … they didn't get along."

Boy, did that get a reaction. "Didn't get along? Kronos didn't like her?" he asked slyly. From what Methos had told him moments before, Kronos seemed to respect her doctoring abilities enough to force her to treat a companion.

"I never really told him about her, until Cassandra left."

Joe's pulse quickened. "The two women know each other?" Aha! He was right.

Methos sighed. "I asked Rena to be Cassandra's teacher."

Joe could hardly sit still. He shifted in his seat, which caused the car to speed up. With a smile of apology, he let off the gas.

Methos shook his head and smiled. Then his face sobered and he took a deep breath "Kronos sent us all out to look for Cassandra. He was furious that she had gotten away."

"Kronos never knew that you let her?" Joe interrupted.

"No, he never knew that."

Methos was quiet. Joe waited patiently for him to continue, but he just stared straight ahead.

Joe prodded. "So, how were you able to introduce the two women? If I remember right, Cassandra wasn't your biggest fan at that point." Joe laughed inside at his understatement.

Methos took a deep breath. "I didn't exactly introduce them. To this day, Cassandra doesn't know that Rena and I are…" Methos stopped speaking again.

"Are what?"

"Family." Methos paused, and his eyes lit with pleasure. "After Cassandra left, I sent one of my slaves into Egypt to get word to Rena that I needed to see her. Rena came, the slave didn't." Methos had a far-away smile on his face.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Bronze Age-Libyan Desert

Methos didn't know exactly why he was here. When she had left him, Serena had made it quite clear that she didn't want to see him as long as he remained with Kronos. Methos knew she didn't fear Kronos, in the way someone normally would. Serena saw Kronos as more of an oddity and something that was offensive. His lack of real purpose, except to terrorize, was something she didn't understand. Everyone should have a reason for being; hers was to heal, while she believed that Methos lived to study. Kronos existed to kill and to become the most feared warrior in all the land. She scoffed at this meager ambition.

Methos had sent his slave Kyhos, east to Egypt. He knew he'd never see the slave again. But he promised to not hunt the slave down if Serena came back to meet him. It seemed a fair arrangement. Methos had seen the way that Kronos had been eyeing Cassandra, and thought that maybe Cassandra would be better off with Serena. Unfortunately things went out of his control sooner than he had imagined.

The meeting place wasn't a 'place' at all, actually. It was a small oasis near where the Horsemen were camped, but far enough away from Kronos and the others to have privacy. The water had dried up several months ago, which left little reason why anyone would want to visit it. Methos leaned against his horse, his arms crossed, looking at the sun. His message to Serena had stated that he would wait each day when the sun was halfway down the west sky. It was getting past that now. He was about to mount up and leave when he felt a presence wash over him, like fingers prickling his spine. He squinted through the sun's rays towards the horizon and saw the silhouette of a horse and rider approaching. The person was garbed in long, flowing, white linen from top to bottom, to reflect the searing sun. He pulled his sword. The horse looked familiar, but it was safer to be on guard. As they got closer, Methos recognized Serena's face, and relaxed.

She stopped short, not dismounting, her blue eyes darting around them, surveying their surroundings like the consummate warrior she was. She pulled the covering from her face and looked down on him. "Did Kronos let you out to play?" she asked disparagingly.

He ignored her remark and grabbed the halter of her horse. "I have to talk to you; it's important."

She dismounted, her feet making barely any noise in the sand below. She stretched, "What is so important that I had to ride so urgently across the desert?"

Methos crossed his arms, arrogantly. "I want to ask you a favor."

Serena snorted. "Oh, really?"

Methos sighed, "I know you aren't happy with my choice in brothers, but that doesn't change what has passed between us."

She removed a cask of water and sipped some of the precious liquid. Pulling her hood back she brushed some dust from her hair. "What is it, Methos?"

Methos restrained the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her for her impudence towards him. He had gotten used to a great deal of fear and respect with the Horsemen and he wasn't used to this kind of attitude. "There is an immortal, a woman. She needs a teacher."

Serena pulled out a rug from her pack and stretched it on the ground, taking a seat. He reluctantly joined her on the ground.

Serena looked up at him dispassionately, "A cast-off?"

Methos flexed his jaw. "Run-a-way slave." He rose, her eyes following his movements. "She escaped from us after plunging a knife into Kronos."

"That took courage." Serena smiled appreciatively.

Methos ignored her comment. "She set off across the wastes. I want you to find her."

Serena leaned forward on her hands. "You want her back?"

"No!"

"Not fond of you, is she." Serena laughed.

"You could say that."

"Does she have any idea of what she is?"

Methos shook his head, "No."

"You didn't feel it was *necessary* to inform her?"

Methos sneered slightly, "It wasn't part of my master plan, no."

Serena sighed. "Controlling people does not always bring security."

Methos deliberately misunderstood. "I was content until Kronos decided he wanted her , too." His defiance gave way as he remembered that he was asking her a favor. "Will you take her on?"

"Yes."

"Don't tell her that you know me."

"No reason to," Serena agreed.

Their horses started dancing and snorting. This was soon followed by the thunder of hoof beats in the distance, and then the tell-tale presence of another of their kind.

Serena jumped up quickly, pulling her sword. "I thought this was a private meeting!" she hissed.

Methos pulled his sword. "It was supposed to be."

Serena spun around, keeping the intruder in her sights as he circled around them. Kronos dismounted then strode forward, his eyes scanning over Serena, then darting to Methos. "What is this, Brother?"

Methos, uneasy at Kronos finding him here, moved closer to Serena. While Serena had

known of Kronos for years, Methos had kept *her* a secret from Kronos. "Nothing,

Kronos." He had no intention of sharing this woman with him.

Kronos met Serena's steady gaze and cracked an evil smile. "Secret rendezvous with unknown immortal women are far from *nothing*, Brother."

He moved towards Serena, and with catlike reflexes she moved back. Kronos fingered the hilt of his sword and Methos swallowed hard, his mind racing to think of a plausible reason for this meeting.

Kronos continued his verbal attack. "I had sent you to search for Cassandra, and then followed you at a safe distance, of course. And look what I found. Not Cassandra at all." Kronos, obviously tired of words, pulled his sword.

Methos yelled, "*No*! This is my business. Leave us!"

Kronos spun on his brother, his eyes blazing. "There is no such thing as *your* business. We share everything, or have you forgotten?"

Without losing momentum, Kronos spun again slashing his sword at Serena. His eyes widened in amazement as she stopped its chop, her strength more than her physical appearance suggested.

Kronos smiled, "Well, well Brother. Your *business* fights well."

Methos wanted to intervene, but Kronos had challenged her, and even a Horseman didn't break that rule. Methos knew that Serena could protect herself, but fighting with

Kronos was a different story. Serena was honorable; Kronos was not. Methos grabbed her horse, keeping it ready for her escape.

The fight began. Serena was holding her own, but Kronos' ire rose at her skill. Serena's proficiency was not in her strength, but in her quickness, her agility. Kronos jabbed at Serena and she moved out of the way, lowering her sword hilt on his arm, knocking him forward, off-balance. She grabbed a dagger from under her cloak, ready to plunge it into his heart. But Kronos was prepared for that move and shoved her backwards, knocking her against her horse. Serena, taking stock of her chances, dove under her horse and mounted from the other side, pulling it around. Methos backed up so he wouldn't get run over.

Kronos yelled, "Running away?"

She yelled back, already galloping, "Live, grow stronger, fight another day!"

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The Present

Joe let the conversation drift to an easy silence. He had been given a lot to think about. There were more questions; hell he always had more questions, but his companion looked wrung out. Joe had been very lucky this trip, two stories from Methos, and one of those had been about Cassandra's teacher. Joe couldn't wait to meet this Serena. The miles sped by, and soon signs of civilization became more apparent.

Methos directed him to a very posh hotel, where a valet parked their car. A bellhop took command of their luggage. Methos went over to the front desk to check-in and then the bellhop showed them up to their room. This time they had a suite, containing a kitchenette, bathroom, a common room and two bedrooms. After the bellhop had unloaded their belongings, Methos pressed some bills in his hand, which made the man smile in gratitude. Joe was very impressed with both the service and the fact that Methos was paying for it all.

"Joe, pick a room. I'm going to shower and then we have to sit and plan."

"Plan what?" he asked curiously.

"What you're going to do while I'm gone."

"Back up, buddy. You're gonna disappear on me again?"

"I have to. I need to check a place deep into the desert, and I don't want you coming with me. I'll be walking miles on foot through sand and bugs. I'm sorry, but this isn't negotiable."

Joe recognized the stubborn glint to the immortal's eyes.

Methos continued. "If I do find her, I promise to bring her back."

Joe could tell Methos was serious about this. With a resigned shrug, he asked, "How long will you be gone for?"

Methos visibly relaxed. "Three days, or maybe longer. I haven't traveled that way in several centuries. Things have a way of changing," he responded with a chagrined expression.

Joe laughed. "You mean you might get lost."

"Yes."

"Don't you worry about me. Maybe I'll do the tourist thing. I'm sure there's lots of tombs and stuff around here that'll be interesting."

"Good idea. Take one of those tours that'll show you the Valley of Kings."

"Any friends buried there?" Joe asked.

A shadow crossed his face. "A few."

"No problem. I think I will go there. You just look for your friend and I'll be waiting here for you when you get back."

"Thank you, Joe." A tired smile of appreciation fled across his features. Methos picked up his duffel and went into the bathroom.

Joe opened the door to one of the bedrooms and went about unpacking. When Methos finished cleaning up, Joe took his turn. When he came back out again, a full table of food was spread out in the common room, and Methos was busy eating.

"I wanted to wait, but the smell was driving me crazy."

Joe sat down and piled food on a plate. They ate in silence. Methos finished first and began to outline his plans for the next week.

"I registered in the Ben Adams name here too. If Serena happens to be somewhere in town, it will be name she'll recognize and she'll come here to find me."

"You don't think that'll happen though."

"No," Methos agreed. "She didn't find us in Asyut, so I don't have hopes that she'll be here. My guess is that she's buried herself in the desert waiting for me to find her."

"A regular damsel in distress."

"Or just in need of an alternate identity."

"You've brought one of those with you?"

Methos turned his inscrutable eyes on him. "Of course."

Chapter 3

I

The next morning when Joe woke up, Methos had already departed. After dinner, the night before, Methos had gone out to get supplies and Joe had taken the opportunity to call Marcos and arrange a meeting for the next day. The Egyptologist had gotten permission and all the papers in order for Joe to come to the site. Joe went to bed excited about what he would see the next day.

Joe ate some breakfast and went down to the lobby to wait for his friend to arrive. He bought a newspaper and sat in one of the chairs and alternated between reading and watching the people around him. This was one of his favorite past-times. People of all creeds and color walked through. The only common denominator was their affluence. Thirty minutes later, Marcos arrived and they left for the tomb's site.

Marcos' car came to a halt, and Joe found it difficult to move. The panoramic view spread out before him left him both motionless and speechless. Walls of naked rock rose out of the ground and towered two or three hundred feet towards the sky above the river. Marcos held the door open so Joe could leave the car and take a long look around him. Slowly, Joe maneuvered out of the car, and then stood leaning against it. They were on the east side of the Nile, on a high cliff, overlooking the valley. Marcos handed him a pair of binoculars so Joe could get a more detailed view. Much of what he saw were merely holes within the rock, evidence of long-past excavated tombs. Entrances, which led deep into the rock, were outlined in hieroglyphs and fragments of what might have been imposing statues. However, clustered periodically along the cliffs, impressive pillars demarcating more tombs were still standing proudly, unmarked by the passage of time.

"The Valley of the Kings," Marcos whispered reverently.

Joe nodded, still unable to articulate what he was feeling. His friend continued to identify some of what they were seeing.

"The largest one, over there, is the temple of Queen Hatshepsut. She died around thirty-five hundred years ago. Believe it or not, she was considered a New Kingdom queen." He was quiet for a few moments. "You can see the tomb of Nakht, and there," he turned Joe into another direction, "is the vizier Dega's."

"There are so many," Joe muttered.

"Over sixty. Kings, queens and their nobles were all entombed in this one location. What makes *our* tomb so interesting, is that we believe it is older than any of these that you see before you."

"By how much?" Joe asked.

"Maybe five hundred years? Maybe more. Would you like to see it now?"

Joe nodded, still gazing out of the binoculars.

"Over to the south, do you see that cluster of tents? That's us."

Joe handed the glasses back to Marcos and they both got back into the car. "Have you made any more progress on the translations?"

Marcos answered. "Dr. Tetrault is positive that the wall is covered with numerous biographies. What we used to think was just a story of one man's life, may turn out to be several lives. The walls are divided into about six sections. Each of these sections contains their own story."

"What about the dead man? Which story is his?"

Marcos shrugged his shoulders. "We can't even translate one complete story yet. We have a few words, and the fact that one of them, at least, is about a woman."

"Anything about freak lightning on a cloudless day?" Joe asked, tongue-in-cheek.

Marcos laughed. "No. Nothing like that."

"What does this Dr. Tetrault make of our Watcher symbol?"

"He thinks it's part of a name."

"The name of who?"

"Whoever one of the biographies is about. He thinks that each story is preceded by the person's name and then the story begins. Our symbol leads the fifth biography."

Joe felt shivers of excitement ripple up his back.

They drove to the bank of the Nile and had to take a ferry across. The trip was relatively short, but Joe felt the time drag, he was so impatient to see the tomb. The ferry was cluttered with tourists, all eager to see the ancient temples. His cane tapped rhythmically against the boat's floor.

As the ferry docked, Joe and all the tourists returned to their cars and started the slow disembarking. Marcos drove straight to the location of the tomb. They were stopped once by some guards, who waved them through. The road caused the car to lurch repeatedly, but finally Marcos parked the car. Joe popped a few Ibuprofens, because he knew walking on the uneven ground was going to cause him considerable pain. Then he exited the car, eager to see the inside of the tomb.

The place was still in the process of excavation. Mounds of dirt were piled everywhere. Stations were set up with people sifting through debris that might be of importance. Marcos bypassed them all and led Joe directly to the wall of rock. It wasn't until they rounded a corner made by a jutting boulder, that Joe was able to discern the entrance. It was camouflaged by the shadows made by jutting rocks.

Gas lanterns and battery-powered flashlights lighted the inside. The tomb consisted of one chamber, or at least that was all that had been found so far. Three of the walls were covered in hieroglyphs, just as Marcos had said. Joe couldn't determine that the words were actually divided into six separate sections, they looked like one big run-on sentence, punctuated with a few pictures. Three men were working on tables piled high with books. Marcos went over to one man, whom Joe presumed to be Dr. Tetrault, then both came over to him.

"Joe, this is Dr. Philippe Tetrault, the man in charge of this find. Phil, this is Joseph Dawson, a friend from school, who happens to be very interested in our find."

"Pleased to meet you, Dawson," he said with a very thick French accent. "American?"

"I'm living in Paris, but yes, I am from the States."

"Think of yourself as an amateur Egyptologist?"

Joe chose to ignore the condescending attitude by the professor. "Very amateur, sir."

"Proceed, Marcos," the professor said, then he walked back to one of the tables.

Joe turned once more towards the walls. He studied each hieroglyph with fascination. He wanted to memorize each one and question Methos about them later. Maybe if he left some of the laser prints that Marcos had sent lying about, he could trick the old immortal into revealing what they meant.

Then Joe saw it, the Watcher symbol. His eyes widened in shocked wonder. Hands, of their own volition, rose and caressed the symbol. Fingertips ran delicately over it, tracing the circle and the 'v' in the middle. A million thoughts ran through his head, yet they were all incoherent. It was so old. Was it possible that the Watchers were five thousand years old?

Marcos stood looking over his shoulder. "You know," he whispered in reverent undertones, "writing itself started a little over four thousand years ago. Maybe the advent of writing is what spurred our origins."

Joe nodded. "Could be." His hands ran down the length of that particular story. "Has any more been deciphered?"

"Over here." Marcos led him to a tent, set up just outside the tomb.

Several large pieces of paper were strewn over the top of a table. They contained charcoal rubbings of the hieroglyphs, with English translations written over some of the glyphs. Rectangles were drawn about groups of glyphs, so that the individual biographies could be distinguished. The words that had been translated were mostly nouns: cows, corn, papyrus, flax, and family-related words, mother and father. He had to agree with Marcos, the translated words did seem to indicate a general biography.

The first cartouche was a big hieroglyph, the symbol of the Nile was pictured along with something that looked like a plant. The translation said that it was a story of a man who lived next to the Nile. He grew flax, harvested it and traded it to the king. Joe could agree with Nile and flax, but where they got the harvesting and king from, Joe couldn't fathom. Then he laughed to himself; that's why they were the experts.

Joe sifted through the numerous sheets until he came to the one with the Watcher symbol. This one also had a few of the words translated. This man or woman was a traveler. There didn't seem to be any gender distinction in any of the words. In several places the word "scroll" was written, but no other translations flanked that word.

"Marc?" Joe turned to his friend. "Is there any evidence that this whole tomb was written by the same man, in the same time period? Or could it have taken several centuries to make, or maybe several people worked on it and finished it in, say, a year?"

"Good question. We don't know. All the symbols look the same, but I don't know if that's equal to a handwriting analysis. As for the time, geologically, it was all written at the same time."

"Meaning all in the same century," Joe muttered sarcastically.

"That's right. At thirty-six or so hundred years ago, you can't differentiate one decade from another, except by artifacts or something like that. Once we get all the hieroglyphs deciphered, we'll know more."

"What artifacts were recovered?"

"The usual. Pots of grain, jewelry, things the dead person would need in the afterlife. The jewelry isn't especially creative or expensive. I can't even say that this man was wealthy or not."

"Seems to me if he's in a tomb, he can't be the run-of-the-mill servant?"

Marcos shrugged his shoulders.

Joe had to be satisfied with that answer. They stayed for another hour and then Marcos told him that they had to leave. Joe reluctantly took a last look at the walls, and followed his friend out. They made their way to the car and got in.

"You know, I forgot to ask you about the body. Where was it?" Joe asked.

"They removed it. It's in Cairo, undergoing testing."

"Jeez, I hope it's not an immortal. Wonder how an immortal mummy differs from a mortal one, and how they'd interpret it?"

"Don't know," Marcos answered "But, the fact that it was decapitated, doesn't mean that it was an immortal corpse. I especially looked for a sword, and didn't find one. They're going to bring in one of those echo machines. By testing the walls, they're going to try to locate some new chambers by the hollow sound they make."

"Like a sonar thing they use in the oceans?" Joe asked.

"Something like that."

"You think they might find a sword if they dig through the rubble? Maybe it's just buried in the dirt and rock."

"I would think that an immortal would have a great need of a sword in the after-life. If he had been immortal, they would have buried the sword close to his hands," Marcos suggested.

"Not if he had already lost his quickening. They probably considered him mortal, at that point, and he only needed things like food and clothes," Joe insisted. "Or maybe in the after-life there was no distinction between mortal and immortal. There are only souls looking for whatever souls look for when their earthly body is dead."

Marcos waited his turn and drove onto the ferry. They suspended conversation for a bit as the fee was paid. Once they had safely parked, Marcos turned to Joe. "You know what I really think?"

Joe looked at him with anticipation.

"I think he was a Watcher, and he recorded his chronicles on those tomb walls. Paper was scarce, and everything was written in stone, so to speak."

"But, why did he lose his head?" Joe kept on. It didn't make sense that a Watcher would lose his head.

"He got too close to his assignment."

"Assignments," Joe reminded him. "There were multiple biographies."

"Or multiple life-times. What if each immortal had their own area, where successive Watchers wrote their chronicles? Then, when-"

"That's perfect," Joe interrupted. "And then when they died, they were buried in the tomb, by their current Watcher. That makes the most sense. Whoever made that tomb, did so with love and respect. What if we've stumbled on the first immortal library? Each story is about the same immortal, written by different Watchers." Joe's voice rose in his excitement. "Then, when the immortal lost his head, there was already a resting place waiting for him. I like this theory."

"So, why wasn't there any space left? Who knows when an immortal is going to die? How did the Watchers plan it so carefully that they only wrote as many chronicles as they needed? What if the immortal had lived longer? Where would the rest of the story gone?"

Joe didn't know what to say. Marcos had made a valid point.

The ferry reached the other side and soon they were zooming back to the hotel. There was so much to think about.

II

Methos stopped the Humvee near the outcrop of trees. The village of Niateth was about five miles away. Grabbing a pack, a canteen, and his robes, he closed and locked the doors. Draping the robes around him, desert style, and hiding both the canteen and pack inside the folds, he set out in the direction of the village.

He trudged for about an hour over rocky terrain, which was interspersed with sand. A particular cypress tree caught his eye. It was much larger now, he thought. Then common sense returned. There was no way one tree could have lasted four thousand years. Yet the tree looked familiar, and the memories associated with it rushed at him like a tidal wave. Leaning his back against it, he slid down, drinking thirstily from his canteen. Voices, long dead, echoed in his mind. He shook his head in vain, trying to silence them.

"Methos!" they called.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

2342 B.C.E, Egypt

Methos stepped out of the barge, glad to have his feet on solid ground. The star, Sopdet, had appeared in the heavens some days ago, which told him that it was time to return home. If he wanted to traverse the Nile, he had better do it before it began to rise, and travel became treacherous. The world had cycled three times since he had last stood on the Nile's bank, gazing at the village of Nebeseyet, his home.

His thoughts were interrupted by the awareness of another immortal close by. Methos clutched the wooden shaft of the dagger, which he carried within the folds of his calf-length linen kilt. His eyes searched with deadly calm. He was hoping to see a friend, but fully prepared to fight an enemy. A smile lit his face and his shoulders relaxed as he fastened his gaze upon a woman leaning against a cypress tree. His dagger was forgotten as he reached out to embrace the woman who had been both a lover and a sister to him.

"Rena, it is so good to see you."

"I too am pleased to see that you still have your head." She smiled fully. "Hunro arrived yesterday; Pendua the day before. Aaepehty's been here for at least three of the moon's cycles."

"And you?" Methos asked.

"Shortly after the last full moon. We were beginning to worry that you weren't going to appear."

"I was delayed in Thebes."

"What was her name?" Rena asked, as she stepped out of his arms.

Her eyes flashed, but Methos couldn't tell if she was mocking or chiding him. He replied seriously, "The Pharaoh had heard that I had just arrived from the east and demanded a meeting."

"That must have made you feel important."

He glared at her. "I do *not* like to call attention to myself. Now if only I can find the miscreant who informed on me."

Rena laughed delightedly. Methos continued to scowl.

"Have there been many changes since I was last there?" Methos asked Rena as they meandered down a dirt path towards the village's center.

"Merisu has decided to be a priestess."

"She wants to serve the gods?"

Rena shrugged her shoulders. "Merisu wants to make her own decisions, not follow the path chosen for her by her father, Hekanakht."

"He just wants what is best for her." Methos paused, "And that is?"

"Marriage, and more children to work the fields."

The two immortals drifted along the path in silence, each lost in thought. Methos knew that Merisu was a headstrong girl, and that his friend, Hekanakht, would have problems with her until she married and settled down. It would be interesting to see how this conflict resolved itself. His friend was a wise man. Of the six immortal friends, Hekanakht was the only one who preferred the domestic life. He had married Iutenheb, a woman whom had been raised as a sister to him. They had then drifted from one kind of life to another when their father had died. Unable to give his wife children, they agreed that she should go to the temple and ask the priests for help. Hekanakht knew exactly what would happen. The gods would act through the priests and answer their prayers. They both rejoiced when she was given four fine sons and a daughter, which he accepted as his own. Several cycles ago, Hekanakht had brought home a sixth son from the slave market. This one was destined to become immortal, but only the immortals knew that fact.

Hekanakht 's entire family knew about immortals. Hekanakht had not kept it hidden from his wife or his children. However, they were only aware that he couldn't die. They knew nothing of the Game, or that immortals could die if their heads were separated from their bodies. Since beheading was a common punishment by various Pharaohs and other monarchs, most immortals tried to stay out of political turmoils. Hekanakht's family were all very careful to keep it a secret from others.

Methos and Rena walked hand in hand through the village's center. Hekanakht's land lay just north of the village, and stretched from the Nile's bank all the way to the desert's sand. There was a dock south of the village where all barges tied up. Many people stopped to say hello as they passed certain shops. Methos was kind to them all, asking about their families, even though he was impatient to see his friends.

As they finally reached the group of houses that constituted Hekanakht's estate, the combined presence of so many immortals made Methos stagger. Since his last visit here, he hadn't encountered so many at one place. He blinked his eyes, trying to overcome the dizziness, when the door burst open.

"Methos!" Hunro exclaimed. His youthful expression belied his three hundred years. His stocky build seemed to be enhanced by the tunic gracing his body. "You've come. Pendua wagered us that the new Pharaoh had forcefully enlisted you in his new army. I disagreed. If he had been looking for warriors, he would have picked me first," Hunro bragged.

Pendua stood next Hunro echoing the joy at Methos' arrival. His slight build didn't seem adequate to have enabled him to survive for more than a few years, yet he was almost seven hundred. His coloring was light, a deep contrast to Hunro's, yet almost matching Methos. Two fair men in a sea of dark-skinned people.

Methos scowled. "I have just escaped an inevitable war. I am pleased to find that this part of the world is enjoying peace for a change. I have no wish to be enlisted into anyone's army."

"What war did you escape?" Hunro asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

"Sargon is ready to invade Mari. Since I've spent longer than an earth's cycle there, I know that they'd expect me to fight on their behalf."

"Methos, you hate fighting on anyone's behalf, even your own," Pedua answered knowledgeably.

The three men laughed, and Hunro dragged Methos inside. Rena took Methos' bundle for him. He turned to give her a thankful smile, as the four of them walked inside the hut.

Aaepehty was sitting upon the floor, writing upon a piece of papyrus. He looked by far the oldest of all of them present, yet he was not. His graying hair was abundant upon his ebony head. His skin color was very dark, a heritage from the deeper, southern part of the world. He looked almost as out of place as his light-skinned friends. He looked up and gave Methos a smile of welcome. "Greetings, brother. We have much to discuss of our travels. I am just writing down a little of what Pedua has been telling me."

"Can't your silly journal wait?" Hunro admonished.

Pedua thrust a jar of beer into Methos' hand. "He needs nourishment for his body, before he tells us his tales."

Methos nodded and drank fully. "No one brews beer like Hekanakht." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then held out the jar to be filled again. "I find myself overcome with thirst," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Rena nudged his arm. "I'm going to find Iutenheb and Merisu."

The men nodded absent-mindedly as she left.

"Where's Hekanakht?" Methos asked as he finished his second beer and plopped down beside Aaepehty.

"Negotiating with the high priest. Merisu wants to join the temple and become a priestess. Larose wants her for a wife."

"Who's Larose?" Methos asked.

"He's a scribe at the temple. I've met with him several times comparing some scrolls and such. Our philosophical discussions have led me to believe that he is a learned man and an excellent husband for Merisu."

"What does she want?"

Hunro interrupted. "She wants to be free of men." He nodded towards Pendua. "Especially him."

"Who, me?" Pendua asked sarcastically, sporting a grin. "It's not my fault that she can't take my teasing."

"If she hadn't been Hekanakht's daughter, you would have bedded her by now and gotten her out of your system," Aaepehty retorted.

Pendua nodded wryly.

A commotion at the door made the immortals turn their heads. Three young males, one a pre-immortal, came charging in the room. Two of the three looked similar, announcing to everyone their sibling relationship. Their ages were only a year apart, with Snefru almost ready for his manhood ceremonies.

"Is it true? Is Methos finally here?" The youngest of the three asked. His appearance spoke of Hebrew origins, yet none of the others treated him as a slave. He was their brother, just as their father, Hekanakht, considered his immortal friends with their diverse heritages brothers, also.

Methos rose to his feet, smiling indulgently at the youngest member. "Yes, I really am here, Dakrumah."

The boy went into his arms for a hug. At nine, he was allowed childlike actions. The other two held back, but they grinned widely.

Methos turned to Snefru, "Where are your parents?"

"They're arguing about Merisu. She says they're interfering old fools and they call her an ungrateful child. You could hear them all the way to the river." As the oldest son, he took great pleasure when his parents were mad at his younger sister.

Methos sighed contentedly. It felt good to belong to a family.

The next night, Iutenheb had a feast prepared in honor of her husband's friend's. For hours they all talked, ate and drank. Course after course was served, punctuated by large belches, rowdy laughter and good-natured teasing. Many of the farm workers joined the family in the festivities. Long after the sun had disappeared under the horizon, the revelries continued. One by one, the guests left, and only Hekanakht's immediate family and his friends remained. The jars of beer and chalices of wine never went unfilled, until they all fell asleep upon one another. When the sun peeked up in the eastern sky, they were all deep in slumber.

Aepehty was the first to awaken. He took the slightly smoldering embers and coaxed a blaze from them. He sat by the fire feeding it, waiting for the others to rouse themselves.

Methos opened his eyes and stayed still watching his friend. Aaepehty was the only other immortal Methos had ever met who seemed as interested in learning as he was. Many chided him, telling him that fighting was what immortals did to stay alive. Methos agreed with that theory, but knew that to really live, one had to grow intellectually. One needed to understand the world around him, so that one could foretell what might happen next. To be a master of seeing many paths of actions and consequences was his secret dream. In order do this, one had to have a varied life of experiences, and be able to read what others had done and seen.

Aaepehty's eyes collided with Methos'. "I see you're awake?"

Methos got up and went to sit next to the fire. "So, what is this journal Hunro mentioned the other day?"

"On my travels I encountered a scribe in Memphis who has been keeping a personal journal all his life. He recounts what happens in the temple, and at home. It is a rich volume that says a lot about his life. His dearest wish is to be buried with this collection so that in the afterlife he won't forget anything that's happened to him. I find this concept fascinating.

"We immortals live a very long life, and the longer we live, the more chance we have of forgetting things that we've done and experienced. I intend to start a journal of all *our* experiences. I especially would like to keep track of the immortals we see, and those that we kill and those that we befriend."

Methos grew excited at the idea. "We already meet regularly after three earth cycles. Your intention is to keep a written record of everything we see and do and every immortal we happen to meet?"

"Yes," Aaepehty answered. "I could use some help."

Methos drew his eyebrows together. "You want me to learn to write?"

"During the time before we meet again, learn to become a scribe. You already know a little how to read, so it shouldn't be too hard to learn the art of writing. You are more perceptive of things around you than any of our friends. Think of the contributions you can make."

"I like this idea. Possibly Larose can help me to gain access to the place where scribes go to learn this art."

"Larose is a good man and will make Merisu an excellent husband. Hekanakht will win this battle of wills, and Merisu will thank him eventually."

"We will have to tell him about us after they are married and settled," Methos added, not really sure if the scribe could be trusted. As Merisu's husband, it would be difficult to keep it a secret.

"Hekanakht agrees with you, as do I. As a scribe, it will become helpful to us if we could rely on Larose to keep our scrolls safe. I do not trust the temples, because gods grow in and out of favor with the wiles of the current Pharaoh."

"We need a cave in the hills over there," Methos suggested.

"Yes. We could dig out a large hole and bury the papyri in a bronze box. No one would try to find a box of writings when it's buried in a mountain of rock."

"This is an excellent plan, Aaepehty. Let us get started with my tales."

Sitting by the fire, with all their friends around them, Methos began his tale of Mari, Sargon, and his own rush to get out of the country before the Akkadian invasion.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Present Day

Methos stood up, and found his face streaked with tears. He hadn't had this particular memory in centuries, or even longer. He had forgotten about Aaepehty and Hekanakht and the rest. He looked across the Nile and wondered if the original bronze box was still there. Had the tomb been defiled yet?

He shook his head, clearing it of nostalgia. Serena should be his main concern. After he found her, they could go walking down memory lane and find the scrolls containing their early lives. For now, he would check Niateth, the newest name for the village he remembered as Nebeseyet.

III

Joe was bored. He had spent the better part of the day in his room pouring over pictures, books, and notes that Marcos had given him. He couldn't really help them in their excavations, nor in deciphering the glyphs. Feeling useless, he went down to the lobby, bought a USA Today, and settled in to people-watch. Skimming the front page, he happened to glance up as an older gentleman came in. The man was barking orders left and right in some Arabic language. The hotel personnel were tripping over each other to accommodate him.

Sliding in behind him, almost invisible to the casual observer, was a woman. She had dark hair, swept back in a scarf. She didn't carry any luggage, just a small purse. Her clothes were European, with an Indian flavor. A large silk shawl covered her neck, and a few wispy strands of her hair poked out of the scarf. Her destination was the main desk, but she seemed to walk towards it slowly, as if waiting for the belligerent gentleman to finish his business. Many of the people behind the desk were dealing with him, but somehow the woman found someone to answer a question. Joe sat up straighter, when the clerk pointed straight at *him*.

The woman strode over to him. As she got closer, Joe was able to see her features more clearly. She wasn't very tall, maybe five feet two at most. Her skin was dark, speaking of southern Europe rather than African descent. It was her eyes that caught and held his attention. They were an electric blue and seemed to penetrate deep inside whoever she was looking at.

"Pardon me, monsieur. They said at the desk that you checked in with a Dr. Ben Adams?" she asked in flawless French.

Joe struggled to a standing position. His clumsiness seemed to triple in her presence. "We got in the day before yesterday," he answered in French.

She switched to English. "You're American." She sounded surprised, yet pleased.

"How did you know? I've been living in France on and off again for years. I thought my accent was pretty good."

She smiled, but anxiety seeped through. "Is Dr. Adams here?"

"Are you Serena?"

"I am."

Joe felt the ripples of excitement start from his gut and travel to his shoulders. He suppressed the visible quiver, and held out his hand. "I'm Joe Dawson. Ben and I traveled together down from Paris. He's off in the desert somewhere looking for you. I was told to keep you here until he returns tomorrow." Joe hoped he'd be forgiven for stretching the truth. "We have a suite here, and you can move your stuff into his room if you want."

"I don't have anything, but I'd love a long soak and a large dinner."

Joe offered her his arm. "Your wish is my command."

As they got out of the elevator, Joe realized that if the only thing Serena had were the clothes on her back, what was she going to change into when she finished her bath?

He opened the door to the suite and ushered her in. "Would you like me to call downstairs and have them bring up some new clothes for you?"

"That's okay. I'm hoping Ben will have packed something that I can wear."

Joe showed her to where Methos had his stuff. She pawed through and pulled out a silk sari. "I knew he'd bring something for me." Then she went into the bathroom.

Joe went back into the common room and realized that all the tomb information was still strewn about on the coffee table. He gathered it up and took it into his room. Then a sly thought hit him. What if he could trip *her* into giving him some information on the tomb? Methos implied that they had known each other before he had become a Horseman, then possibly she would know as much as he. She might even know what the Watcher symbol meant.

He took out a close-up photo of the part of the wall that contained the Watcher symbol and several glyphs following it. He set it back down on the coffee table and prepared to wait and see if she noticed it and whether she'd comment on it. Sitting on the couch, he wished he had brought his guitar. Time dragged as the threat of a *long* soak became a reality. The growling of his stomach reminded Joe that it was getting on towards suppertime. He called down to room service and had a table of local cuisine brought up. Maybe Serena would give him a description of the food he kept seeing on the menu, but had been afraid to sample.

She eventually came out of the steamy bathroom, draped in the silk thing Methos had brought with him. The table was set with various dishes invitingly open. Without even glancing in his direction, she started loading her plate.

"Do you know," she said while chewing, "that I haven't had anything but the most basic of diets for over three years." She moaned as she took another bite. "To have real foreign food again is like Isis has come down and granted me my most secret desire."

Joe looked at the food he had taken. "I thought this was the local food."

She laughed at him. "This is a tourist hotel. They use many ingredients that aren't part of the local diet."

"Oh," he commented taking a bite. "You mean stuff us foreigners will recognize."

She nodded with a smile.

They ate in silence for awhile, but soon Joe's inquisitive nature took over. "Ben hasn't really told me much about you, except that you're a doctor who personifies medicine, or healing, or something like that."

"I suppose that is true. What he really wants to say, is, that I live for discovering how the bacteria or viruses or whatever invade and wreak such havoc on the human body. Once you learn how they work, the next step is finding a vaccine."

"Is that why you've been deep in Africa? You've been working in remote villages?"

"Something like that," she responded evasively.

"What kind of diseases?"

"The kind that lives in monkeys."

Joe's mind started whirling. In his book, monkeys in Africa equated with Ebola or HIV. Then a stray thought hit. Mac told him that Kronos had been breeding a nasty virus in monkeys. One that was even deadlier than Ebola. He looked at the woman seated across from him. She didn't look like the type to have helped Kronos and Methos had said that the two of them weren't friends.

"What else has he told you about me?" she asked interrupting his thoughts. An uneasy feeling swept over him.

"That you're a *very old* friend of his."

"So, you know about immortals?"

Joe nodded. He wasn't sure if she knew about Watchers, and he wasn't going to be the first one to mention them.

"Has he told you much about his past?"

Joe smiled inwardly. The lady was pumping him for information. What was she looking for? He had already admitted that he knew about immortals. "Yes, quite a bit." Maybe he should throw something in about the Horsemen. Or Cassandra.

"What about his name? Has he told you what he was called before Ben Adams?"

"I know in earlier times his name was Methos. But I don't know--"

"So, he told you that name," she interrupted. "Very interesting."

"What are you looking for? You want me to list every immortal friend and enemy of his that I know?"

"That would be nice."

Was she being sarcastic? Her face didn't reflect any sarcasm. "So far, I've personally met one friend, Byron, who's dead. Then there's an enemy, Cassandra, who's still alive, and-"

"You've met Cassia?" she asked sharply. "How?"

"She was with Duncan MacLeod. You know him?"

"No. Were they hunting Methos?"

"Cassandra was hunting Kronos." Joe watched the blood drain from her face.

"Did she take his head?"

"No." Joe was curious to see what her reaction to that piece of news would be. Her hand trembled slightly, but that was it.

"If Cassia is still alive, can I assume that Kronos is dead? Did MacLeod take his head?"

Joe could detect an almost desperate quality to her voice now. He relented and told her the story. The color returned to her face.

"I am amazed that Methos and Cassia came face to face and they both still live. This MacLeod must be a miracle worker. For many years I have wondered if it would be safe to bring those two together, to patch up their differences, so that two of my best friends would no longer be enemies, but I've been afraid. Maybe now, we can all meet and discuss the past."

Joe laughed. "I'd give it another thousand years. Cassandra only let Methos live because Mac asked her to."

Serena raised an eyebrow. "No. If Cassia wanted Methos dead, some youngster wouldn't be able to persuade her otherwise."

Joe didn't know the lady well enough to agree or disagree, so he said nothing. But he thought it was hilarious to hear MacLeod referred to as a youngster.

Then Serena stiffened and rose from her chair. A sword magically appeared from within her sari and she held it ready.

The door burst open and Methos stood there. At least Joe thought it was Methos. His clothes were filthy and dirt streaked down his face. The hopeful expression he wore on his face transformed into the biggest smile Joe had ever seen him wear. Both Serena and Methos started talking at once. Joe frowned, unable to understand what they were saying. Why couldn't Methos be kind enough to talk in English or French?

"Hey, guys. Forget about me?" Joe interrupted.

Methos turned to him. "Sorry, Joe. Listen, I'm filthy and need a beer. Let me get cleaned up and then we can sit and share our news."

Joe nodded and sat back down in his chair. Methos headed into the bathroom and Serena went into the bedroom. She came out with clean clothes. Opening up a small fridge, she took out a cold beer and carried it, and the clothes, into the bathroom. Joe could just imagine the old man standing under the spray, downing the entire bottle in one gulp. Several minutes passed before she came out again. She took a glass of wine and waited with him for Methos to finish. He couldn't think of anything to say to her and she seemed uninterested in small talk. So, both sat in silence.

When Methos emerged he was wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. He held a comb in one hand and the beer bottle in another.

"Feel better?" Serena asked him with a seductive smile on her face.

"Much. Now I want to hear all the details of why you've been missing for three years."

Her smile disappeared. She glanced at Joe and then back to Methos. Joe sat in anticipation, waiting to see what the old man would say.

Silent communication passed between the immortals, and then she started to talk. "How much do you already know?" she asked.

"I know you were in Africa at a hot zone. I know that something happened and everyone died."

She stiffened in her seat. "Are my notebooks here?"

"No. I left them in Paris"

Her eyes glittered in anger. Then she took a deep breath, leaned back, and closed her eyes.

"It all started in the fall of 1995 when an outbreak of Ebola occurred in Zaire. I hadn't really been focusing on Ebola but a co-worker talked me into accompanying him to the hot zone. Tom made it sound so interesting, that I couldn't resist. I made my plans and left with him and the team. They all welcomed my presence, because there weren't many doctors willing to go into such a remote area contaminated with a level four pathogen. I, of course, have never worried much about it. Although, I took every precaution as would any mortal."

"Wouldn't want to arouse suspicion," Methos said matter-of- factly.

Joe nodded in agreement.

She continued. "During that trip I became totally hooked by Ebola. The virus is fascinating. But, do you know what really caught my interest?"

The question was rhetorical.

"It was the similarity to the plague in Athens during the Peloponnesian war. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah. I fought in that war."

Her eyes lit with excitement. "I swear that this Ebola is the same thing that hit Athens during those five years. So many of the symptoms are the same. First it was high fevers, diarrhea and vomiting. Then the bodies get so tired, people don't move and then they slowly liquefy. The stench still remains with me." She shivered. "It's not something you easily forget. After we went into that hot zone in Zaire, it all came back."

"I was in Athens then, too. Why don't I remember seeing you?" Methos asked, puzzlement written all over his face.

"Cassia and I stayed in the shadows trying to figure out how to stop the disease that was ravaging both sides of that war."

"Cassandra was with you?"

"Yes. She was living in Potidaea when the plague hit Athens. Because of the war, the disease spread to both sides. The two of us worked like dogs to find what was making them all sick and die so rapidly. You know a person could be fine one day and dead in a week."

"Were you able to help any?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"How long did you stay?"

"'Til it ended. No cure was found. It just kind of… died out. I think. I don't remember. The only thing I recall is the frustration at not finding a reason for the disease. It irritated the hell out of me at the time."

"Wait! I'm beginning to remember more now. Socrates and I were part of the infantry. He was a brave soldier and I remember spending many evenings debating. I wanted to write down everything that happened and he thought writing was a waste of time." Methos smiled absently. "I loved that old man."

Joe longed for a tape recorder.

"While you were on your campaigns, I was tending to the sick," Serena said. "There were so many we just couldn't get to all of them. Cassia and I went from home to home. Nothing we did helped. They died no matter what herb we gave them, or chants that Cassia would say."

Methos was still on his own train of thought. Joe's head swiveled back and forth between the two immortals as he tried to memorize every detail.

"I remember the Potidaea battle," Methos was saying, oblivious to Serena. "Socrates and I slept very little that night because of our great 'evil soul' debate. He really believed that because I had the heart of a true scholar, that evil could not reside in my soul. I would be too enlightened for it. How could I say otherwise?"

Serena started to laugh. "Why can I just picture this? Methos, only you could have debated with Socrates about the goodness of your soul."

"I want to hear about the hot zone." Methos put them both back on track. "You went back to Atlanta and then returned to Zaire?"

She lifted her eyes to his, her eyes clearing as she came back to the present. "Right. We came home, back to the CDC to test the samples we had collected. That was when I found something different. One of the monkeys from the village was also infected with another virus. I brought it to Tom's attention and so we planned another trip back. As soon as we landed, the team that was still there informed us of another Ebola outbreak in Gabon. Tom decided to go directly there and left me in Zaire to look for my mysterious contaminant. At that point we didn't even know if it was pathogenic."

"You were working alone?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course not. I had two experienced technicians and several Red Cross personnel at my…my disposal." Her voice cracked as she said the last word. She cleared her throat and continued "We set up camp…."

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Remote village southwest of initial hot zone, under observation-Jan 1996

Serena entered her tent and collapsed on her cot. Although she was exhausted, she knew that sleep wouldn't come easily. Wild animal sounds echoed in the night air. A hyena here, the lowing of a wildebeest there, joined with the sounds of night birds and insects to present almost a din of sound. Not to mention, the biting of the insects themselves. Quickly, she spread the mosquito netting around her, then lay back on her pillow. The heat was stifling, and even at this late hour, the sweat poured off her, making her sheets uncomfortably damp. Even if she had had air conditioning and a fluffy bed, she would have been unable to sleep. Disbelief warred with excitement. Finally, after two months of effort, she had isolated the contaminant to one monkey who had not previously been infected with Ebola. When they had begun purifying Ebola from the infected green monkeys, occasionally another virus popped up, contaminating their experiments. Her team had then captured over two hundred additional monkeys. The data suggested that in order for the monkeys to have the contaminant virus, they also had to have Ebola. Was the new virus a mutation of Ebola, or vice versa? Why were they always together? This question had stumped her, but now she had proof that they were in fact two distinct infections. The big question now was whether the new virus was pathogenic; could it cause disease? The monkey she had found didn't act sick, but many diseases that were benign in primates were lethal in humans. This could be one of them. She drifted into slumber, questions still whirling in her head.

She woke to the smell of burning flesh and hair. The Ebola-infected monkeys had been killed and now their remains were being incinerated to prevent the spread of the deadly virus. Serena dressed quickly and joined one of the technicians in the make-shift lab. Paul was bending over a microscope, peering into a tissue culture flask, filled with monkey cells and virus. He and Holly were the two technicians she had brought with her. His scientific skills were excellent and he didn't mind the rough conditions. He had a single-minded devotion in discovering everything he could that almost rivaled her own. It was what had drawn them together in the first place.

Paul didn't look up as she went to stand beside him, but continued to peer into the scope. "Didn't expect to see you this early. What time did you get to bed?" he asked.

"It was a little after two in the morning, but I had to run a few tests and write down the data I had accumulated yesterday while it was still fresh in my mind. How's the monkey?"

Paul grimaced. He picked up a pencil and jotted something in a notebook. The high pitched screeching of the animal pierced the air. "He's been pretty upset. The smell must be getting to him."

"We're burning his brothers and sisters. That's bound to make any animal upset," she said with clinical coldness. "Does he act sick?"

"Nope. He ate his breakfast and hammered on the cage when he was done." He withdrew the one flask from under the microscope and replaced it with another.

"Any other news to brighten my morning?" Serena asked sarcastically, looking over his shoulder at the flask.

"A call came in from Gabon. It's really bad there. Two villages are quarantined and the death rate has exceeded fifty per day, with a total of a thousand at least."

Serena shook her head. Things there had really gotten out of hand. "Do they know if it's the same strain that hit in Zaire?"

"No. The first samples were sent to NIV in South Africa. They say that they are the same subtype, but that their GP genes are different." He looked up from the scope and jotted some more things down. Serena absently read his notes as he wrote them.

"Hmmm." Serena murmured to herself.

"Oh, by the way." Paul set down his pen. "That Medline search you asked for is complete. They came up with something and faxed us an article."

"Really?" The announcement grabbed her interest. "From how long ago?"

Paul rummaged around on his desk. "Aha! Here it is." He pulled out several sheets of paper. "1988," he read aloud.

She grabbed it out of his hand, laughing in her excitement. She looked at the title. *The Athenian Plague: A Possible Diagnosis.* Her hands started shaking. This was it. Excusing herself, she went to another tent, where she had set up a level four bio-hazard lab. This was an expensive proposition, and she had dipped into her personal accounts to afford the necessary equipment. When working with highly contagious organisms, researchers use a sealed box or chamber, with air circulating and blowing through filters. Serena had improved upon this, and made one large enough to house incubators, a freezer a fridge. The front and sides of the box had openings that a pair of gloves fit into, so that a person could reach things inside the box, without actually entering. She had one of these boxes set up on a table about the size of four picnic tables pushed together in a square.

Three days ago, she had set up a series of cell cultures that they used to grow Ebola. She pulled four culture flasks from the incubator. Adding the new virus to one, Ebola to another, and two controls to the remaining flasks, she methodically set up her pilot experiment. After returning the flasks back into the incubator, she took her notebook and wrote everything down.

Now for the article about the plague. After laying it out and smoothing the creases, she began reading. Every word confirmed what she now believed. The article described the plague and historical facts, then concluded that the Athenian plague had indeed been Ebola. Even though the author hadn't been alive at the time, her data were concise and accurate.

Serena ought to know, she *had* been alive at the time. It was utterly fascinating that this virus that everyone was heralding as one of the most dangerous of all the new emerging pathogens, was in fact an ancient one.

She sat back in her chair and squeezed her eyes shut. She was tired. Her lack of sleep was finally catching up with her. She could feel every grain of sand scraping her eyeballs. What she needed was a nap. Sleep had been hard for her last night. Maybe while the experiment incubated she should rest.

After a couple hours, she woke feeling refreshed. The sleep had been like a tonic. She grabbed an apple and munched on it while watching the monkey safe inside his P-4 habitat. He was hopping around, looking very healthy. When her apple was gone, she went back into her lab. The first thing she did was check the flasks. Realistically, she didn't expect to see anything. But for her notes' sake, she wanted a reading at three hours.

She opened the incubator door and pulled out a tray containing the four flasks. She blinked. Then she blinked again. The test virus had *decimated* the cultured human endothelial cells. In the flask containing the Ebola virus, half of the endothelial cells were still alive. That meant that her new virus was at least twice as deadly as Ebola. The two controls were fine. The endothelial cells looked healthy and were multiplying. Her hands started to tremble. What had she stumbled on?

The sound of a pair of Jeeps coming into their camp brought her out of her reverie. Their engines roared, then coughed as the drivers turned off the ignition. She walked out to greet the newcomers.

"Dr. Mandeville. We've got some more monkeys for you."

Serena looked at the two cages, twelve new monkeys. She motioned for the handlers to help the villagers unload their cargo and she went to her personal safe to retrieve their money. The fact that she had to pay out of her own pocket for these animals didn't bother her a bit. Money hadn't been a problem since, well since the last millennia, was her best estimate.

She stood beside Paul gazing at their new acquisitions. "They look relatively healthy," she stated.

"Yeah, they look like a good bunch," he agreed.

Several of the handlers were loading the monkeys into their new homes. When they were finished Paul asked, "You want me to take their blood samples, now?"

"Good as time as any. Try to get at least fifty cc's. I'll meet you in the lab."

Paul nodded. She left the monkey enclosure and went to the lab. Holly was there setting up the next round of experiments. Her movements were stiff, mechanical. Serena couldn't detect anything amiss in her method, but something wasn't right.

"Paul will be in here shortly with the blood samples from the new batch of Green Monkeys. Do we have cells ready to set up a pilot experiment with them?"

"We should have enough for six." Her voice was flat.

Serena gave an internal sigh. "What's the matter, Holly?"

The woman looked up, her eyes frightened. "This is even deadlier than Ebola." Her voice had a slight quaver to it.

"But, we've *found* it," Serena stressed. "Before it hit the human population. Maybe our work will eventually prevent an outbreak."

Serena didn't know what else to say. Any germ, this lethal, would die out rapidly, anyway. There was also a better than fifty-fifty chance that it would never even reach the human population. Paul came in with the blood and the two of them set up the pilot experiment with the six samples, while she set up the initial test for Ebola. The other six blood samples they stored for the next day when they would have more human endothelial cells ready. By the late afternoon, Paul had caught Holly's blues and both wore frightened faces. Serena could hardly stand being in the same tent as them. Why couldn't they see how exciting this all was?

She went to bed feeling very alone. As much as the discovery thrilled her, the fact that no one could truly understand its significance, depressed her. Mortals had such short life spans, that the big picture was always lost to them. This irritated her to no end. She had no great love for mortals, this was true. But what did bother her, was that the morality of their race might keep her from a great discovery. The thought plagued her as she drifted into sleep.

The next day Paul came in with the results of the monkeys' blood tests. Three were positive for Ebola. One of them also had her virus and the others were negative for both. She told Paul to separate the one with the new virus. She needed to consider was how her virus was transmitted. Could it travel in the air? Did it need skin to skin contact? Exchange of body fluids? How she ached to find this out. What she needed were test subjects. The monkeys didn't seem to get sick from it. They were carriers only. Yet, this same virus decimated human endothelial cells in just a few hours.

What she needed were *human* test subjects. The unbidden thought came that there were twenty of them in her camp. Ten Red Cross workers, five handlers, and five technicians. Her mind spun out of control as she planned the experiment. If she carefully brought each worker in contact to either the monkey or the blood, she *could* determine the mode of transmission. It would probably mean all of their deaths. She could handle that, but how would she explain it to Paul and Holly? They had been her personal technicians for over seven years. They trusted her. Plus she needed them alive to help her with the experiments. That would leave eighteen. How could she explain the others' deaths without arousing their suspicions? Was there anyway she could do it alone? Without technical assistance? The amount of things she would have to do was daunting.

Around and around it went in her head. How could she make it work? She stared at the flasks waiting for inspiration.

The problem bothered her all day. She didn't worry about doing the deed, only the execution of it. She stretched back on her cot, playing scenarios in her head when the familiar prickle of another immortal came over her. Believing it was finally Methos, she half-heartedly grabbed her sword from its hiding place under her cot and rose slowly. A shadowed figure walked past her tent and threw back the flap. Her heart momentarily stopped beating at the sight of his face leering at her. "Kronos," she gasped, under her breath.

He looked different from the last time that she had seen him, which had to be a little over a century ago. His hair was shorter, his clothes had changed with the times, but the evil gleam of malice was still in his eyes. That hadn't changed at all. She tightly gripped the hilt of her sword, wary.

"Come now, doctor. Is that any way to treat an old friend?" He walked into her tent and looked casually around.

She remained still; feeling his attention still fixed on her, although his eyes wandered. "What do you want?" she asked.

He sat down on her cot, now focusing totally on her. "And I have been accused of living in the past. *You* still live in a tent."

Serena was not in the mood. "Either draw your sword or get out," she threatened.

"Bravado. I do enjoy it. But I am not here to fight you. Though it would be...entertaining."

She eyed him suspiciously. It was true; he had not drawn his sword.

He fingered her notebook, which was still lying on her cot. What did he want? She lowered the blade's point to his chest, "Leave it alone."

He smiled, "My dear Dr. Mandeville. I think we can help one another."

Serena was unmoved. "Oh really?"

He nodded. "You have something I want, and I can help you achieve what you want."

"And that is?"

"Help with your experiments."

She snorted in disbelief.

"Your problem is that you still think of me as a barbarian, Serena." He seemed to be totally serious. "But, I too am a scientist. I have been following this wonderful little virus called Ebola for some time. It plays well into my plans, but … it's not quite what I've been looking for."

She was genuinely interested in what he was saying, but kept her sword ready. "Go on."

He sat back down. "I have been eavesdropping on your staff. It seems you may have isolated a lovely new virus. Something quite deadly in humans, but benign in monkeys. Now, being the scientist that I am, I know that you must be thinking. Hmm. How does this little gem get from host to host? Have you discovered that yet?"

"No," she said hesitantly, not quite buying his genial attitude. "So?"

He grinned maliciously. "You need to test it on humans, don't you? Knowing you as I think I do, I see this as your next step. Now," he said, his eyes widening suggestively, "how are you going to accomplish this on your own?"

She looked at him with skepticism. "You're offering me your services? For what purpose? What do you get from this?"

He smiled, "I suppose you wouldn't believe--edification?"

Serena smirked. "No."

Kronos rose. "I want the virus when you've found out how it works. I need it for ...personal plans. Nothing to concern you--being of such a strong immortal constitution."

Serena knew this was a mistake, but the thought of getting her tests run on these human subjects was too tantalizing to let go of. Was he really knowledgeable enough to assist her?

She wouldn't let him leave with the virus, once they discovered the mode of transmission. She was fully confident that she could prevent that from happening. He was just a thug. In the old days, it had been Methos who made all the intricate plans, not Kronos. Kronos had been the leader, but only because he had malicious charisma. No, she didn't fear him. If she planned this right, she would get her answers and escape before he realized what happened, and she would leave nothing behind. She stood, "Let's do it."

"Now that we're partners, mind lowering your sword?" Kronos asked, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

Once the decision was made, Serena immediately informed the rest.

"This is Doctor Melvin Koren, he's with the Department of Tropical Hygiene, at Oxford." Kronos flashed her an irritated look. She returned his look with a false smile. It was as good a name as any. She continued. "I had sent his department a memo detailing the specifics of the virus we found and he's come to assist me with some experiments. I want you all to accord him the same respect you do me and give him all the help he needs. For now, he's going to work closely with me on some technically difficult approaches to finding out the nature of this pathogen we just isolated. We don't know how contagious it is, so I want everyone to be careful. That's it, you can all go back to work. Thank you."

Serena watched her team get off their chairs and start murmuring among themselves. The talk had gone well; she was satisfied with the results. Kronos came up to her and pulled her over to a corner. "How are we supposed to infect them if they are all careful?" he hissed in her ear.

She turned to him with glacial eyes and whispered back, "I need them to be careful. If I'm ever to find out the real mode of transmission and the lowest amount needed to infect, I don't want them getting exposed randomly. It has to be structured. I thought you said you knew something about science?"

"Fine," he clipped. "When do we start?"

"I have to design a plan first. I'll have Paul find you a place to sleep--"

"I'm staying in your tent," Kronos interrupted.

"Over my dead body."

"Eventually," he said with a grin. "But for now, I need to keep an eye on you. We wouldn't want you to," and he paused deliberately, "run away from me, now would we?"

She gritted her teeth and turned to one of the Red Cross workers. "Hal, help Dr. Koren drag a cot into my tent. I'll be in my lab."

Then she just walked away. She couldn't deal with *him* anymore. He was so exasperating. How had Methos lived with Kronos for so long? One hour, and she was ready to kill him. She smiled to herself--that was a good idea. Maybe she could throw him in when they incinerated the infected monkeys, and then take his head after the flames died down.

Then her good sense returned. He would be hard to kill. Methos couldn't, and she had doubts that she could overpower Kronos, either. But she was smarter. Kronos was all action with little thought. The only thing she had to accomplish was to get out of this situation alive--with her notebooks and the virus. It was standard procedure to keep your notes in the lab, but she wanted to keep a set for herself, so she had always made copies. She could hide one set, and then come back later to retrieve them. Mentally fortified by her plan, she quickly pulled out an old canvas backpack. Stuffing her notebooks in a series of large Ziplock bags, she then slid the bags into the backpack. Taking a small shovel from under her bed, she placed that in the pack also.

Slinging the pack over her shoulders, she slipped out of her tent, followed the edge of the camp out into the savanna and ran, low to the ground, for a few minutes, until she could no longer see the camp. Selecting a tree, she took out a jack knife and carved out the name Methos using ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. Then taking the shovel from inside the backpack, she dug a hole at the base of the tree. Putting the pack into the hole, she covered it back up with dirt, and placed the square of sod over the top, hopefully hiding the loose dirt from unwanted searchers. With a self-satisfied smile, she returned to camp. Now she could work on her science with some peace of mind.

She went into her lab tent to set up the *big* experiment. Would heat kill the virus? She should try adding the virus to a cup of tea. Inhalation? One of the suits could have the virus added to the oxygen tank. Absorption through the skin? She could coat some on a hairbrush or towel. What else? How fast does it spread? Maybe she should target one tent first and then see how rapidly it jumped from person to person. The next big question was quarantine. Once a person got sick, they would have to separate him from the healthy ones. But not all of them. She sifted through options all afternoon. Finally, she came up with a workable plan. She took the virus and removed four measured doses.

Kronos burst into the tent. "Have you finished?"

She looked at him coldly. "I have. Do you know anything about oxygen tanks?"

"I've used them before."

"Here is a syringe with 2cc's of virus. Inject it into the tank marked 'Doran.'"

"Who else?" he asked, taking the syringe from her.

"Just that one."

"You're going to take years if we're to go that slow."

"Just do it." She threw every ounce of mental power she had into that command.

He nodded and turned to comply.

For the rest of the afternoon, she carefully followed her plan. At each designated place, she added a dose of the virus. Half of a cc went onto a hairbrush, two cc's were injected into a toothpaste tube, she even spread some on the mirror, to see if one could just breath it in. She was almost caught by Holly, but she brazened her way out, with a smile and a non-committal shrug.

Later that evening, she sat at a table with Kronos. Shivers of excitement cascaded up her spine. Kronos put his arm around her back.

"Cold?" he asked as he caressed her shoulders.

She tried to rid herself of the offending touch, but he wouldn't let her go. "No, I'm not cold. Let go of me," she hissed through clenched teeth.

He leaned over and whispered into her ear. "Careful, we don't want your good friends to get the wrong impression of you, do we?"

She clenched her teeth in frustration; trying to keep herself from losing her temper. She stood up, making excuses to her team for leaving. As she exited, she heard Kronos tell them that he was going to go to bed too, that *she* didn't like to be kept waiting.

She ran to her tent and took out the dagger she kept handy. She poised herself beside the door. When he burst in, she rammed the dagger into his chest. He laughed at her and pulled it out.

"Better women than you have tried that. It didn't work then, and it won't work now."

Still bleeding from his wound, he threw her to the cot and pinned her arms. He held her, not molesting her, but firmly keeping her prisoner. She stopped struggling, and started thinking. Why was he doing this? She turned her gaze to him and saw that he was laughing inside. His eyes were dancing, he was so happy.

"I demand to know what is going on." She glared up at him from her vulnerable position.

"I infected the whole camp. While you were tip-toeing around with tea bags and hairbrushes, I put virus into the pot of stew. Everyone in camp is now infected." Then he

gave her a calculated smile, "Aren't you pleased that I saved us several days?"

She gave a huge heave and threw him off her. He fell onto the ground. She took her knife and came at him again.

He rolled to one side and grabbed her arm.

"When it comes to strength, I'm superior. Don't forget that." His eyes held warning. "I wasn't planning to stick around here for days waiting for you do the research, I want the virus now. However, I will help you keep your notes on who gets sick, and things like that. So, stop acting the child and get some sleep. We'll be very busy tomorrow."

She abruptly turned around as soon as he loosened her arm and stalked to her cot. After turning off the oil lamp, she sat upon her bed and fumed silently. How dare he come into her camp and take over. These were her people and he had no right taking their lives so needlessly. He had ruined her experiment. They would all die and she wouldn't even get any useful data. Serena closed her eyes, trying to gain control over her temper. She knew that outright defiance wouldn't get her anywhere. What could she do to stop him? The team was already infected; they were as good as dead. But, the virus was still here. She had to prevent him from taking it with him. As soon as the data was collected, she'd destroy the camp. It might take a few days, but she was confident that she could pull everything off. With that all resolved in her mind, she drifted into sleep.

The next morning, when she woke up, the place was too quiet. Kronos was still sleeping; at least he appeared to be. She slipped out of her tent and first went to Holly's tent. She was in bed, dead. Serena made the rounds throughout the camp; everyone had died during the night. Everyone. There were no notes to take. Shock held her immobile. Flies and other bugs coated the bodies, or rather the remains of her team. A squawking of vultures overhead grew louder. They were all dead, she wailed inside. Absolutely no data!

She had to leave, now. Running was not cowardice; it sometimes was the only way to survive. Kronos had the CDC's copies of her precious notebooks. It would be easy for him to get a vial of the virus. All he needed was a blood sample from the monkey or from any of the dead mortals. She had better start burning the place down. Kronos would spend time trying to get some virus before the fire destroyed it all, thus allowing her to escape.

She poured a generous amount of lamp-oil over the floor in the monkey house. Throwing a lit match to the floor, she rushed out to gather a canteen and some food. As she came out of the mess tent, the presence of an immortal slammed into her. She spun around brandishing her sword. The monkeys' screams filled the air.

"I can't let you find a vaccine, my dear," Kronos told her. There was no laughing mockery now. "I need the virus. And if there is a vaccine, what good of a threat is it? You are too good of a scientist not to have thought this through. If you let me take the monkeys and your notes, I will let you live. If you try to stop me, you die."

"I can't let you leave with *my* work." Then it hit her that he was serious about infecting the world. With a deep breath, she began to fight.

Kronos had his sword and it rose to meet hers. Desperation drove her every move. She had to keep him occupied while the fire raged on, burning everything in its path. The smell of smoke began to filter in the air. The monkeys banged and rattled their cages, while their terrified screams continued. She backed up, leading him away from the monkey tent, towards her lab. Because her lab tent was on the edge of the camp, a quick exit would be easier. There were also things in her lab that she could use. Step by step, she backed up, past the technicians' tents.

She bit out between clashes. "Are you insane?" Thrust, parry. "If you let that loose, there won't be any mortals left to dominate! They'll all be dead!" Duck. Twist. Another step back.

Kronos grinned. "Morals now? From you? Tsk, tsk!" He lunged and hit her arm, first blood.

She could see the fire as it raged past the monkey tent and on to a wooden storage shed. The only sounds were the clashing of swords and the roaring of the fire. She felt canvas on her back, so she twisted and slid into her lab tent. The flap fell down blocking Kronos' view of her for a second. Her eyes skipped around locating what she needed.

"It's no use, Serena, your skills are weak," he said as he followed her in. "Locked up in a lab for years doesn't make for good sword skills."

Serena maneuvered herself near a particular cabinet, then smiled, "Oh, I have a few tricks up my sleeve." With a quick duck, she flung the door open and grabbed a bottle of hydrochloric acid. One hand brought her sword towards his neck, which he easily deflected. At the same time, her other hand shook the bottle and the acid flew into his face. Kronos screamed in agony.

She wasted little time on him. After dropping the bottle on the floor, she ran as fast as she could out of the tent, and onto the savannas. The smell of burning bodies and canvas filled the air. The oxygen tanks blew, sounding like canon-fire. Her back was engulfed by heat from the massive fire. Tears of frustration ran unheeded down her face. She stumbled over rocks and roots, but her pace never slowed. Would anything of the camp survive? Would Kronos be able to get a live sample of her virus? She'd have to work night and day to find a vaccine before his plague threatened mankind. She would not let Kronos or the disease beat her.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The Present

Joe sat there in stunned silence. He looked over at Methos, who was also speechless. This woman had helped slaughter her own team for a piece of knowledge. Wasn't it a doctor's code to "do no harm"? She sure went to the opposite extreme. Not only did she do harm, she exterminated everyone in the name of science.

"How could you Rena?" Methos railed at her, his hands griping the arms the chair, his eyes blazing. "You first used Kronos to gain your own ends and then thought that you could outsmart him and keep him from gaining the virus?" Methos sounded astonished at her arrogance. "Not only foolhardy, but dumb."

"How was I supposed to know that he intended to infect the whole world? That seemed too insane, even for him."

"He wasn't going to infect the world, just a small corner of it, to prove that he *could*."

"Well, sorry. I couldn't think of everything. I did the best I could, under the circumstances."

"You couldn't think of everything?" Joe exploded, unable to keep still any longer. "You wanted to infect your own team! They trusted you."

She raised an eyebrow. "I was after important medical information. I needed every scrap of data I could get to find a vaccine or maybe even a cure."

"You helped to kill your friends!" Joe couldn't let this go. He had to make her understand that what she did was wrong.

"Are you in favor of using animals for research?" she demanded. "Are mice okay to test hair dyes on? How about dogs? Is it okay to try out new cardiac medicines on canines even though half of them will die?" She stood up and leaned into Joe's personal space. "Is it okay to infect monkeys with AIDS and test prospective vaccines on them? Well, to me, if it will help thousand or millions of humans in the long run, it's okay for a few people to die, if I can learn valuable information from them."

She took a deep breath and sat back down again.

"Monkeys and dogs and mice aren't the same as human beings," Joe told her. "It's wrong to kill people in the name of science."

"I don't see the difference," she responded defiantly.

How could she not get it? Joe looked over at Methos, helplessly. The immortal was just sitting there, staring at Serena. Serena turned to meet Methos' eyes. Silent communication passed between them, which Joe couldn't interpret.

"It *was* wrong," Methos told her quietly, "and you know it. You succumbed to temptation and…"

"You weren't there," She interrupted Methos, her voice demanding that he agree with her. "You don't know. I couldn't have defeated him. If it came to a battle, between me and Kronos, I would have lost."

"It *did* come to a battle and you threw acid on him and escaped. That was very well done. If you had fought him in the beginning then your team would still be alive."

"I did the best I could. If we had battled, I would have died. He would have gotten the virus anyway, and then I wouldn't have learned important information that'll enable me to find a cure."

Methos looked at her steadily. "Your team might still be alive."

"But I would have been dead!"

Joe could see that they weren't making a dent in her opinion. She believed she had done right and the morality of the issue didn't matter to her. He felt disgusted with Methos' "old friend." He wasn't sure what he was going to write about her in his journals, but he knew now that he didn't trust her. He found it hard to believe that Methos did. In fact, Joe had begun to doubt her sanity. When people were obsessed, as she obviously was, their grasp of the real world wasn't usually all that tight.

"So, where've you been since you left the camp?" Methos demanded.

Joe raised his eyebrows at Methos' change of topic.

"I went down to South Africa and took a tech job in NIV. I had sent an aliquot of my virus there and I secretly worked on it for a year. I think I'm close to finding a vaccine, but some people started asking questions about me and I had to leave in a hurry."

"And then?"

"I slowly made my way back home, to Egypt. I wanted-- no needed--to ponder things. I figured that living by the Nile would inspire me and I'd think of something I forgot."

"And have you?"

Her eyes gleamed. "I think so. But I need my notes. I also need a new identity so I can get another job."

"You were too high-profile. You can't go back to working on this virus," Methos told her sternly.

"I have to! I'm so close to a vaccine--I can't stop working on it now."

Joe couldn't believe it. Listening to her, she almost made you believe that she really cared about saving lives. But she didn't. It was the thrill of beating a disease; she was addicted to the adrenaline rush of outsmarting germs. He gave up trying to reason with her. She made him so mad, he could hardly think.

Serena rose from her chair and started pacing around the living room. Her face wore a frustrated look, probably because of their inability to understand her. Joe amended himself, it was Methos' opinion she cared about, not his. Her path led her towards the coffee table where Joe had purposely left a few notes about the tomb. He had forgotten all about them.

Methos was still sitting on a chair, lost in his own thoughts.

There was a slight pause in Serena's step as she glanced down at the pictures on the table, then she meandered her way back to her chair. Joe braced himself for some kind of comment or accusation, but nothing came. She gave him an innocent smile as she sat back down and took a sip of her wine. Innocent, my ass, Joe thought to himself. That woman was as devious as Methos, but without any moral fiber. Three thousand years ago, they had probably been two peas in a pod. At least Methos had developed some morality; why hadn't she?

Chapter 4

I

With a few exaggerated yawns, Methos was finally able to convince Joe that it was time to go to bed. He was afraid that Joe would keep trying to convince Rena that she was an immoral killer, and Rena would start expounding on the necessity of her work. It was enough to give him a headache. He desperately wanted to talk to Rena alone, without mortal ears cataloguing everything said. So much had happened since they had last seen each other.

With a sigh or relief, Methos closed the door to the room he was sharing with Rena, leaving Joe looking at them with speculation.

"How soon can we go to Paris so I can get my books?" Rena stood with an expectant look on her face.

"I haven't really thought about it. I'm still reeling over seeing you again and finding out that you're responsible for giving Kronos the virus. I risked my own life preventing him from spreading it."

"So your friend said."

"Is that all you have to say? The four Horsemen were assembled, ready to take over the world. Kronos had a virus that could wipe out the human population--"

"I know the virus is a danger, that's why I need to find a vaccine for it."

Methos shook his head in disgust. "When did you get so difficult to talk to? I had to kill Silas. MacLeod took Caspian's and Kronos' head."

Her eyes softened. She walked over and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so sorry, Methos."

His head dropped, until it rested on her shoulder. Silent tears fell from his eyes as he grieved for his brothers with the only one in the world who would understand his loss. Several minutes passed with them locked in the embrace. As Methos felt the world surround him again, he could hear Joe getting ready for bed. Methos stepped away from Serena and gave her a small kiss on her forehead in thanks. She smiled, her eyes still soft with compassion.

Methos walked over to the bed and sat down.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Serena turned. "I happened to notice a few pictures on the coffee table out there."

"Pictures of what?"

"Glyphs. In fact they're glyphs from the tomb that Sihathor made."

"What?!"

"There is a picture from one of the outer walls, where we entombed Dakrumah. The wall that's in the picture is the one that features you."

A faint memory of a Watcher note about finding a new tomb hit him. Could it be? It would be mind-blowing to the Watchers to see that particular symbol in such an old tomb. He spared a faint smile, thinking that Joe must be thoroughly tantalized with the find. Then he felt the sting of defilement. His tomb, the oldest library of writings that describe immortals and what they did, was ready to be plundered by the ignorant.

"I wonder how much they've found?"

"I don't know, but don't you think it's an odd coincidence that the picture your friend has, deals with *your* biography?" she asked with a peculiar smile on her face.

"He has no idea it's about me," Methos said with utter confidence. "I think we need to go take a look at what they've done."

"With your friend?" Rena asked, her voice dripping sarcasm.

"No--alone. We'll get a little sleep, then maybe leave around three."

They climbed into bed, but Methos found it difficult to fall asleep. His mind zigzagged between his disbelief at Rena's callous treatment of her team and the unearthing of Sihathor's memorial to them all. It would take a delicate plan to stop the archeologists and their Watcher members from discovering the other tombs, yet at the same time keep Rena in the dark about what and who the Watchers were. Sihathor had hidden the entrances to the other tombs with infinite care. Methos had to trust that they stayed hidden for at least another four thousand years.

Methos internal alarm woke him. The two of them dressed and slipped out of the hotel by three. He was undecided whether to leave a note or not. In the end, there wasn't time, he rationalized.

In some ways, Methos was disappointed that Joe hadn't told him. But he *had* been totally preoccupied with finding Serena and probably would have cut Joe off anyway. Then there was the side that was raging in anger at the violation of it all. Aaepehty and he had scoured the mountain for several months before finding the right place to bury their scrolls. He was damned if he'd let some busy-body snoops into it now. It was *his* family and they deserved their privacy.

Serena interrupted his thoughts. "Do you think they've found the other chambers?"

"I hope not. Sihathor did an excellent job of melding the new chambers into the one I helped make so that if one was found the others wouldn't be. When the archeologists don't find any hidden doors or passageways, they'll believe they found the only chamber," he said with more confidence than he felt. "The walls are very thick and seamless, and the only way they'd ever know about the other chambers is if they use sonar. Hopefully they won't think there's a need for it."

"Which chamber has the journals?"

"Aaepehty's. After all, it was his idea. Sihathor thought he deserved to be buried with them."

"It was a good idea at the time," Serena commented. " It's just too bad we never kept that up."

His breath constricted. "We had other things on our mind." Who would have believed that one idea by one immortal could have taken root in a group of mortals and lasted this long? Methos laughed at the irony.

"You had to have your revenge against the Pharaoh's army," Serena reminded him.

"You were too busy studying medicine at the House of Life."

"And you were busy being a Horseman," she shot back

Methos' heart constricted as he felt the dagger go home. They were silent as they walked down the steep slope to the roped off area below. There were no guards, although several tents were pitched, and Methos assumed they were filled with slumbering Egyptologists.

They turned on their flashlights as they entered the darkened cavity. With feelings of reverence, they gazed at glyphs that they hadn't seen in four thousand years. Tears welled in his eyes as the memories took him back.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

2322 B.C.E.

Methos walked along the banks of the Nile. He made it a habit to travel light, but since he had become a scribe, he carried his tools everywhere. A small sack contained his reed brushes, two small slates and a smoothing stone. Papyrus and ink cakes were readily available in whatever town he was in. He found it convenient to hire himself out for a short time, to earn enough for food or lodging in a particular town, then move on. Many rich merchants liked the idea of temporary scribes who would help with accounts and orders and then move on. It was fortunate for him, and it saved them money. As a consequence, he had learned many new languages, gathered many friends and made some dangerous enemies. He was looking forward to sharing what he had learned with his family.

Twenty earth cycles had passed since Aaepehty had initiated the idea of a written record of their life experiences. Instead of traveling as he used to, Aaepehty had stayed at the farm to write and teach the younger generation. Every child and grandchild of Iutenheb was taught to read and write, so that they could help with the journals. Aaepehty also took them on trips to see things for themselves.

The last time Methos had been home, he had been recruited to accompany the group to Nubia. Aaepehty had pointed out immortals to them, and then the young scribes followed the immortals, writing down where they lived, their occupation, and details about their family. Then Aaepehty would introduce himself to the immortal and question him or her on his own. They would part ways and Aaepehty would tell his apprentices what he had learned and they would add it to their accounts. Methos was secretly appalled. No heads were taken. No challenges were even made. Aaepehty did it only for knowledge. Their journal was turning into a story of all immortals, not just their family's life experiences.

Of all the children and grandchildren of Hekanakht, only three of them, Merisu, her son Sihathor and her niece Bardi-- took to the scribe's life. Merisu became too busy as she got older, but Sihathor and Bardi were anxious to take her place. Dakrumah, anxious to be with Bardi, also began to play a large part in the excursions.

Sihathor found he had a talent for carving the glyphs into rock. One of his projects when he had been a boy was to make a tomb in the hills, near where they buried the bronze box of papyri. He spent many moons carving a life story for each of the immortals in the family on the walls. He was very proud of his accomplishment. Methos remembered the awe he had felt the first time he had seen it. It humbled him that Sihathor thought so much of him, to write such glowing things.

Methos walked, contemplating what adventure he'd get drawn into during this visit. Sihathor might be ready to take a wife; maybe there'd be a wedding? Methos knew that Aaepehty longed for Sihathor to have sons to carry on in his footsteps. Like Larose and Merisu, Sihathor would grow too old to travel such large distances.

Methos came upon the Cyprus tree and wondered if Rena had come home this cycle. She had been spending a lot of time at the House of Life, learning the healing arts and teaching them to new students. He had visited her there once, but was glad to leave. She had spent all of her time with other healers and with the patients, which left little time for him.

The sun was setting, drawing Methos back to the present. In his absentmindedness, he had failed to notice how deserted the small port was. A few barges were tied, but there were no people milling about. The air around him was free of any sound of human habitation. No odors of wood or peat smoke from the village greeted his nose. Methos broke into a slow jog, down the dirt road and into the village. A shadow here and a banging of tin pots there were all he could discern of the hidden inhabitants. What had happened? He went into a full run, down the main street, and onto the path that led to Hekanakht's farm. At the gate, he was stopped by a guard armed with an ax.

"Stop, stranger," he was told menacingly.

"I am no stranger," he replied. "I am Methos. And I've--." His voice broke and he forced himself to continue. "I've come home."

The guard looked at him for a moment. "There is not much here. The soldiers took or destroyed anything of value."

"Where is Hekanakht?"

"Dead."

But, Hekanakht was immortal. It was possible that he had sustained a mortal injury and was hiding somewhere. Methos chose not to panic, yet. "Aaepehty and Dakrumah?"

"Dead. All dead. The Pharaoh's army came with axes and spears to rid Egypt of beasts who think they are gods. The soldiers cut off their heads and fire sprang from the sky to their exposed necks and then lit the fields with God's cleansing flames."

"God?"

"The god, Re. This is what the warriors said as they destroyed our homes, killed our families and looted our granaries."

"Who is left?"

"Sihathor is the new patriarch. At least until our king decides differently. Bardi and her young brother Tiy are here."

The guard stopped speaking. Methos waited for any others, but nothing more was added.

"What of Hunro?"

"Dead."

"Pendua?"

"Dead."

Methos voice rose an octave. "Merisu? Larose? Snefru?"

"Dead. I had heard that only Methos and Rena survived the slaughter, because they were not at home."

The guard looked at Methos with suspicion, but Methos was beyond seeing anything but his own grief. Methos started to walk on, when the guard spoke once more.

"The pharaoh is a jealous man. He doesn't like to believe that there are men on this earth who have the blessings of the gods to live and never age. Take great care Methos that you do not stay in this place."

"Do you work for the pharaoh?"

"I was born in this village and prayed at this temple with Sihathor. But, the Pharaoh is Egypt's king."

Methos nodded in understanding. "How long ago did this happen?"

"Six moons."

Methos turned once more to go on, his body rigid in pain. This time the guard did nothing to stop him. They had become lax, his soul screamed at him. For two generations they had come and gone from this single piece of land. Someone was bound to notice. It was a miracle that it had taken this long. He thought of his brothers, dead because of jealousy, or mistrust, or maybe plain greed. Methos thanked all the deities in the world that Rena had been spared. He had spent his whole life with the attitude that mortals should be left to live their own lives, no matter how they chose to do so. But these same mortals had come and destroyed his home, his family. They did not deserve his consideration any longer. Somehow he'd make the pharaoh pay for this. He'd think of something, tomorrow. Right now, he had to find Sihathor.

Without even thinking about it, Methos knew where the young man would be. Sihathor would be in the valley of the rocks, building a temple to house the dead. From this magnificent place, their souls would find peace before their journey to the afterlife. It took him another half a day to make it to the place where Aaepehty and he had chosen as the place to store the bronze box of papyri that contained the immortal stories. Now he could pay his respects to his dead friends before seeking revenge.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The Present

Methos found his fists balled and blood seeping out of his hand. Rena patted his shoulder, and he could see tears falling from her eyes.

"This was the tomb Sihathor carved," she said softly.

"Yes," Methos choked out. He was finding it difficult to separate himself from the pain. Despite the four thousand years, it felt like it had happened but days ago. "See here, this is the story he wrote about you."

Serena nodded and pointed to the glyphs then paraphrased aloud what they said. "He believed I would become a great healer. He prophesized that I would dedicate my life to learning how to repair the body because I cared about people." Her voice broke. "He calls me the goddess of potions and incantations." She looked at Methos, her face pale. "When did I become short-sighted? When did I lose sight of humanity's importance?"

"It was gradual. You are capable of great caring. You took in Cassandra. Think of the great strides you made with her."

"But, that's really not the same," she remarked.

"Your problem is that as medical knowledge improved, the quest became more important than the cure."

"How come you can see these things so clearly."

"Rena, I know you too well, as you know me. We are both products of our times. We're capable of great evil and great good. Sometimes, we just become short-sighted."

"Not you?" she joked, but it sounded flat.

"Learn from your mistakes and don't repeat them." Methos spread his arms, encompassing the whole room. "We learned from this mistake. Never again did we stay in one place for too long."

Methos couldn't think of what else to say. His emotions were wrung out. He had been through so much, in the past few months. The truth of the matter was, he just plain wasn't used to feeling anything so deeply. After living through Bordeaux, and then dealing with Serena's disappearance, he was exhausted. Coasting through life was by far the easiest course of action, and ensured both his mental and physical survival. Only two immortals could tax him so completely, Rena and Kronos. Well, possibly three. MacLeod.

She moved to the next panel and she laughed sadly as she read it. "Hunro's love for warfare is etched for eternity. It's too bad he never got to read this."

Rena was obviously trying to lighten the heavy mood. "He was too busy to bother to come and see it," Methos replied as he walked to his own little bio. "Sihathor says here that I was an eternal student, always looking for something new to learn."

"He wanted to be just like you. Aaepehty wanted written proof of everything. He was afraid we'd all kill ourselves off and leave nothing of our lives behind. That's why he was so insistent to leave his writings. You wanted to learn. He wanted to remember, in this life and in the next."

"No, he didn't want to leave his writings, but take them with him to the after-life," Methos stated.

They both walked over to Hekanakht's. It showed a man and woman, looking at each other, with many children at their feet. Rena reached up to touch the painted drawing. "Iutenheb thought of us all as her children. Sihathor only knew her for a short time before her death. It's amazing that he picked up on that trait of hers."

They stepped back and looked at all the glyphs as a whole.

"This civilization will never understand what we were," Methos thought out loud.

"Maybe, but it's hard to stop progress as it marches steadily forward. I don't think we should try."

Methos wasn't willing to accept that rationale. "We could cause a landslide and cover up this chamber."

"And if we inadvertently expose the other tombs?"

He grunted in frustration.

"We can only sit back and wait. Your friend Joe can keep you informed."

"As he tries to weasel all sorts of details out of me. He has a talent for it."

"He is your friend. You trust him. That's why you tell him things."

"You think I should tell Joe about the bronze box," Methos asked aghast. "For who's benefit?"

"The Watchers?"

Methos gasped. How did she know? He had taken great pains in the past to keep this information from her. He had been afraid that she'd use the organization for her personal crusade. He had been wrong. She'd known about it and never used it. He felt slightly shamed at his assumption. After all, he used the group quite frequently for his own purpose.

"You must think I lived in an ivory tower all these years," Rena said. "I knew exactly what Aaepehty was up to. I helped Bardi for awhile, since Dakrumah was dead and there was no one to tell her who was immortal and who was not. I'm the one who suggested the talisman to begin each scroll, to denote it was a Watcher text."

Methos couldn't speak. After all these years, she had played as big a part in the origin of the Watchers as Aaepehty. Methos shook his head. "When I saw the first glyph of my name heading a scroll some three hundred years later, I thought the gods were laughing at me. Why not Aaepehty's name? Why mine?"

"Because you were the one who'd outlive us all. You can see patterns in people's actions that no one but a god can see. You can recognize danger and flee before it even comes close to you."

"Thanks for the compliment, but I think you flatter me too much."

"I just call them as I see them." She gave him a smile.

"So, what happened to those texts that Bardi wrote with your help?"

"I assume they're part of the Watcher's earliest records."

That silenced Methos.

"But, this doesn't solve your problem," she reminded him.

"No, it doesn't."

"I can't tell you what to do. There is no easy answer. You have to follow your heart. If it tells you to confide in Joe, do so."

"It doesn't. My heart tells me to keep our family buried for another four thousand years."

She nodded. "So stop the excavation. Think up a curse. Cause your landslide. Bury everything once more."

Methos nodded.

"But then you might destroy everything inside forever. Think carefully. Is that really what you want?"

Methos wasn't sure.

"Why don't I go back to Paris, get my stuff. You decide what to do."

"Thanks a lot, Rena." Methos sighed. She was right. He had told Joe so much about his past, and the man was still his friend. But the whole enterprise was dangerous. He trusted Joe, but he didn't trust the other mortals. The best idea would be to come back and remove the bronze chest and hide it with the rest of his belongings. When the interest in this area died down, he could always put it back. Aepehty deserved to be able to read his journals in the after-life.

The sun was casting shadows outside the walls. Rena grabbed his arm. "We should make ourselves scarce, before the diggers come."

II

Joe woke up again to a deserted suite. If it weren't for the fact that he knew the reason for the sudden absence of the two immortals, he thought he might get a complex. He was a little disappointed that they hadn't taken him, but he knew that this was only a reconnaissance mission. They would need info that only he could give. He took some comfort in the thought and went about getting showered and dressed. Room service brought up a large breakfast, which he knew his friends would be in need of, after their midnight trek into the Valley of the Kings.

It was close to nine o'clock, before Methos walked into the room. Joe had been getting worried. Maybe they had been caught snooping.

"Hi, Joe."

"You look like hell."

"It's been a long night." Methos went over and grabbed a cup of coffee.

"Where did your Serena go?"

"Paris. I gave her the key to my flat and told her where to find her notebooks."

"So, you took her to the airport?" Joe asked sarcastically.

"Not exactly, but we did say our good-byes." Methos looked sad, almost forlorn.

"You're going to miss her." Joe, however, was glad she was gone. He didn't like her, and he believed that her obsessive behavior was too dangerous to be around. He hoped that Methos would stay clear of her. Looking on the bright side, maybe they could get to the bottom of what the glyphs meant. Methos would be much more forthcoming without her around.

Joe watched Methos drink his coffee and nibble on the toast. He was obviously very tired, but Joe wanted to know what had happened that night.

"Did you go to the tomb?"

Methos turned tired eyes to him "Yes, we went there."

"And?" Joe asked impatiently.

"What do you want me to say? That I knew the guy?"

"That's a good start." Joe waited. Methos said nothing. "Did you know him?"

"The mummy that those thieves stole and ... yes, I knew him." His voice cracked.

"They're not thieves, they're historians," corrected Joe

"Is Dakrumah where we placed him? No, he's lying in some basement lab in Cairo." His voice resonated with anger.

Joe felt it prudent to try another track. "And the writings? What are they about?"

Methos gave an exaggerated yawn. "I think I need to get some sleep."

"Methos!" Joe bellowed in frustration. "Please tell me something." Joe held himself still.

At last the old immortal spoke. "Okay, Joe. I'll answer one question. Just one, and then we drop the whole subject. Deal?"

"Fine." Joe thought. Just one question. There was so much he wanted to know, but the main thing was the Watcher symbol. He went over to the pictures and pointed to the cartouche. "What does this mean?"

"You really want to know?"

"Yes!"

Methos took a pen and outlined the cartouche. "It's my name. These four symbols, taken together, say Methos in ancient Egyptian."

Then he got up and walked into his bedroom. "Joe, I really don't want to talk about this anymore. Let it rest." Then he closed the door.

Joe was struck dumb. His name. The Watcher symbol was part of Methos' name? He started to laugh. It was the hard, uncontrollable, hysterical, laugh of a man totally overwhelmed by circumstances. The cosmic irony of it all, he thought wildly.

He went back to sit on the couch. He picked up the pictures and gazed at them. The researchers weren't going to discover anything. It was obvious that Methos didn't want anything uncovered. He knew exactly what they had found and didn't want to make it public. Had Dakrumah been a brother? A son? Maybe with time, he'd get Methos to come clean. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday, when the old man was sitting in his bar, mellow from too many beers and feeling nostalgic about the old days, he'd bring it up. Joe ran his fingers along the picture, eagerly anticipating the real story.

THE END

Author's Notes

1. Debra wrote two flashback scenes. The first is the one where Methos asks Serena to be Cassandra's teacher, and the second is the flashback in the American South. She also wrote part of the scene between Kronos and Serena at the hot zone.

2. Gabon, Africa, had three outbreaks of Ebola during the years of 1994-1996. The first started in December, 1994,- in gold-panner encampments of far northeastern Gabon, in the Minouka area. The second began early in February, 1996, in Mayibout village on he Ivindo River. The third outbreak started in July, 1996, in the village of Booue. While there had been outbreaks in Zaire, the one mentioned in my story is fictitious, as is the village of Nimburu.

3. The Libyan desert was named as the location for the flashback between Methos and Serena when he asked her to be Cassandra's teacher. I have no idea where it really was, so I picked a place near the Nile, but still desert.

4. In late June the star Sopdet appeared right before dawn. This always coincided with the annual swelling of the Nile. This was a time for great rejoicing. The flooding Nile fertilized the land and made it rich for planting and harvesting crops.

5. The village of Nebeseyet was real, located 10 miles south-west of Thebes. It was the home of a rich farmer Hekanakht and his wife Iutenheb. Merisu was his oldest son, which I thought sounded more like a girl's name, so I changed the gender. Two of his other son's were Sihathor and Snefru. These people are nothing like the fictitious ones that appear in my story, except for the fact that they are rich farmers.

6. The kilt worn by Egyptians around 2000 BCE were a rectangular piece of linen that was wrapped around the hips and tucked under a belt. It generally reached the mid-calves and left the upper torso uncovered.

7. Egyptians really did brew beer. A brewer strains a thick liquid from a fermented loaf of barley through a sieve into a holding vessel. It was a staple drink in Egyptian diets.

8. Healers studied at a cult temple called the House of Life. The practitioner was called a swnw (soo-noo). They learned many important things: that the pulse was associated with the heart, and that blood, breath, tears, mucus, urine, and semen circulated through the body in a network of interconnected channels.

9. Socrates was an infantryman in the battles of Potidaea, Delium and Amphipolis.

10. I don't have any historical documentation that state that the Athenian plague traveled to Pontidaea. It just sounds plausible.

11. I am not a virologist. The description of the experiments that Serena did may not be scientifically correct. I know that Green Monkeys are used in Ebola research, but whether it infects human endothelial cells is unknown to me, but it sounded reasonable.

12. The Athenian Plague (430-427/425) was best described by Thucydides. Many have taken what he said and hypothesized that the disease was anything from typhus to the plague or even small pox. Recently there have been two articles suggesting that the Ebola virus could have caused it.

a. CDC-Emerging Infectious Diseases 1996;2:155-6 "The Thucydides Syndrome: Ebola Déjà vu? (or Ebola Reemergent?) www.cdc.gov/ncidod/eid/vol2no2/olson.htm

b. Gayle D. Scarrow "The Athenian Plague: A Possible Diagnosis" in The Ancient History Bulletin 2.1 (1988)