Chapter Four
Near the Colorado border:

Night was falling by the time Derrick stopped the next day. They'd risen early… eaten a fast-food breakfast and then hit the road while it had still been early. The only time they'd stopped was to pull into a gas station so that Derrick could fuel Burke's old clunker. Amber had picked up some wrapped snacks and drinks while they'd refueled.

A night in a motel room… the AC clicking on and off… the feel of clean sheets… a shower… all these things had gone a long way toward relaxing Amber. She'd decided that Derrick was just a helpful and innocent soul who wanted to help people. She knew that once he came face to face with his first challenge… things would change.

In the meanwhile, Amber decided to keep an eye on him. She found it odd that he seemed older… maybe it was just his physical age as compared to hers… she'd died at age twenty-two… or maybe it was just his calmness in situations that made him seem older. At any rate… Amber had decided to pull rank and start really trying to train him.

She'd watched him again this morning… amazed at his fluidity of motion… and the intricacy of many of his moves. His sister's husband must have been a hell of a swordsman! Amber wasn't certain where to begin critiquing his style. So she hadn't tried… instead she'd sparred with him… reaching back into some of the tricks of swordplay she'd once learned from Connor MacLeod to push the young immortal hard… to help him understand… that immortals don't just fight and back away… they fight as if nothing else matters.

He'd still beaten her. She'd found herself… pulled into his embrace… her back to him… her cutlass flipped into the air and his broadsword across her neck. For a long moment they were frozen in the moment. Derrick had blinked and freed her, mumbling an apology.

Amber had swooped down to pick up her cutlass and attacked once more. He'd blocked… shifted and then pulled the cutlass from her hands and tossed both swords on the bed. This time… he didn't let her go until he'd kissed her… long and hard.

When she'd pulled back… she'd grinned and inclined her head toward the swords. "Guess we'll have to move those if we want to use the bed again?"

He'd slipped a foot around her leg and tripped her so that she'd landed on the floor. He'd thrown himself atop her. "Who said we needed a bed!" His eyebrows had arched up and he'd begun tickling her until she screamed.

It was at that point that Burke had knocked on the door and anything else they might have done was put on hold while they packed to leave.

So here it was dark again… but there was no motel in sight. There was… however… a roadhouse up on the left. Amber could hear the honky-tonk music from here and see the blinking neon lights, which adorned the place.

Derrick parked in the outer area of the lot and waited while Burke parked the Taurus next to them. He stepped out of his car and rubbed his chest. "Ribs! Maybe they have ribs! And beer! I love beer!"

Derrick chuckled as he secured the jet cycle and waited while Amber climbed off… then he followed. "I'm certain they have the beer, Burke… but ribs? We shall have to find out." He swung one arm over Burke's shoulders and the other around Amber's waist… pulling her tightly to him… as the three of them threaded among the parked cars and entered the roadhouse.

"Maybe you two should let me do the talkin'," Amber yelled to Derrick as they entered. "I've worked in many a place like this over the years."

"You're the expert, then," Derrick laughed.

Shortly later they were seated and had ordered. Burke would get his ribs, along with a baked sweet potato and corn on the cob. Amber had settled for bar-b-cue chicken and coleslaw, while Derrick had ordered a steak and salad.

As they ate, Amber suddenly asked Derrick. "How much money do ya have?"

He looked at her with a shrug. "Enough. I'll find a job when we need more." He reached over to hand Burke his napkin. "You need to slow down a bit."

"Right!" Burke said wiping his face and beard. Then he stared at the ribs and his sauce-covered hands. He held them palm up as regarded them as if they were covered with blood… not sauce. "We kill." His terrified gaze met Derrick's.

"Only if we need to, Burke," the new immortal said. "Only if there is no other choice."

Burke nodded thoughtfully. Slowly he picked up a rib and began to gnaw.

"Can ya dance?" asked Amber. She'd finished her chicken and was tapping her toes to the beat of the live band.

Derrick pushed his plate away. He nodded. "Do you want to?"

"I thought ya'd never ask," she laughed grabbing his hand and leading him onto the dance floor. She loved dancing… maybe that was one of the reasons she kept going back to bars to work over the years. It was like attending a party that never ended. The small dance area was crowded. Amber didn't mind. It was also an excuse to be as close to Derrick as she could. Nor did he seem to mind. He smiled at her… ignoring the others about him. Amber was aware that several young ladies gave him appreciative looks.

Three dances later… the band took a break and the dance floor emptied. Upon their return to their table… they noted Burke looking around.

"What is it?" Amber asked as she re-took her seat.

"Thought I felt someone…" Burke mumbled. "Don't now." He grinned. "Other than you two."

Derrick stood with his hand on the back of Amber's chair and looked around. "Maybe we should finish up and leave." He waved at their waitress and motioned for the check. Of the three of them… he was the only one who'd not finished his meal.

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They'd returned to the outer reaches of the lot before all three felt the other immortal. Burke moaned and clapped his head with his hands. "They're here!" he shouted.

Amber slipped one hand inside her long coat… her hand already on the hilt of her cutlass, ready to pull it and make the challenge.

Derrick stood easily… making no movement. "Hello," he finally said as the dark haired, dark-eyed man with a goatee stepped into the light. It was easy to see his hand was also on the hilt of his sword… still hidden in his dark coat.

"Caspar Wingate," he said directly as his gaze traveled over all three of them. "How odd for there to be three of you in one place. We don't do well in groups… or hadn't you heard? Don't you know the rules?"

"We know the rules!" Amber snapped brushing past Derrick and pulling on her cutlass.

Wingate chuckled and moved forward. He turned away, and then turned back… lashing out with a fist that sent Amber reeling backwards. Derrick caught her and then handed her off to Burke.

"That was uncalled for," he said quietly.

"Yes it was. I think you," Wingate pointed as he moved out of the light of the floodlit parking lot, "… are the immortal I want to challenge."

"No!" yelled Amber struggling in Burke's arms. He continued to hold he tightly. "I challenge you! Mine takes precedence!"

Wingate laughed… drawing forth his broadsword. He held it up before him and regarded it as he turned it about slightly and then shrugged out of his coat as he prepared to battle.

Derrick glanced back at Burke and Amber and smiled thinly at Amber. "It'll be fine. You'll see." He shrugged out of his coat, drawing forth his own great broadsword. He tossed his coat towards Amber, who made a futile attempt to grab it as Burke pulled her further back… away from the combatants. Amber struggled again. Actual combat was different from knowing the moves and even sparring. One had to be able to kill and then face the onslaught of the quickening. Somehow… Amber feared that Derrick… even with his evident skill… was not quite ready for that.

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Wingate crouched and began to circle… making a few feints so that his blade struck Derrick's with a loud clang of steel. Derrick appeared to wait… offering little in terms of attack or his true skill. Wingate had picked him because the buzz about him was lighter in tone than that about the others. Although physically the most dangerous… he likely was the youngest in immortal years. His quickening would be light enough that Wingate could recover and then take out the woman. The other would be a basket case by that time. He was already mumbling and moaning as he held the woman back.

"I didn't catch your name," Wingate yelled as he lunged and pivoted in his feint attempting to get within the other's guard.

"Derrick!"

"No last name?" Wingate slashed left and right… again hitting only the sword. He pulled back and continued to circle.

"Derrick Foster was the name I used for most of my mortal life."

Wingate paused. Then he laughed. "Let me guess… You were adopted… No… you were a foster child… No… you were abandoned."

"Yes," replied Derrick. He pivoted the sword back and forth easily before him in an enticing pattern. Wingate was struck by his calmness.

"Yes? Which was it?"

Derrick shrugged. "All of the above."

Wingate laughed as he lunged forward suddenly and beat left and right against the young immortal's sword… feeling the quaver of the metal as it sparked with each clash. He'd had his blade reinforced recently… and knew it could break even the strongest of traditional blades… and this "boy's" blade looked old… and traditional. He continued his assault… nearly laughing as the young man backed up in the face of it.

With both hands on his hilt Wingate slammed his blade into the other's sword again and again. He could feel the sweat forming on his brow and beginning to drop from the end of his nose as he kept it up. Foster looked unemotional as he blocked one stroke after another. He was using the broadsword one-handed.

Finally Wingate paused and bent over slightly… gasping for breath. "Your turn." He readied for an assault. He'd been surprised that both the immortal and his sword had held up… and he knew that if he didn't get a second wind after that flurry of activity… he'd be sorry. He gulped in air while Derrick lay his blade on his shoulder and circled about him watching him intently.

"What are you lookin' at?" Wingate finally snapped as he recovered his breath and his strength… happy that his opponent was so new at this that he did not push his advantage.

"Nothing," Derrick answered as he held his broadsword before him with both hands. "If you're ready… we can go again." And Wingate was ready. He leaped forward and pounded his blade against the other's sword with a renewed effort. Again and again he slammed his blade in his assault. And still the other blocked every move with what appeared to be little effort.

Wingate pulled back and laughed as he breathed in and out… again watching as Derrick circled and waited. "You really are a fool… aren't you." He eyed the still struggling young woman. "Is she special to you? Should I enjoy her after you're dead… or just take her head?" His voice went from teasing to a dark threat. He laughed as he heard the woman's curses.

Derrick turned slightly to regard her, then turned back with a shrug. "Somehow I don't think she'd welcome your advances."

Wingate's eyes narrowed. He'd thought to anger the young immortal… cause him to lose his temper… lash out… make a mistake… attack and expend his energy… anything other than this calm demeanor he presented. He wiped the back of one hand across his eyes to wipe away the falling sweat. Perhaps he'd made an error… a fatal error. Perhaps this man was older and more experienced than his presence seemed to indicate.

With a roar Wingate attacked once more… turning and pivoting in an elaborate set of moves designed to confuse his opponent… at the end of which… he'd have the upper hand. He reached the end… but was still blocked.

Wingate backed up. "You've studied with him?"

"Who?"

Wingate held his broadsword before him thoughtfully. He focused on his opponent's blade… watching its movement… watching the flash of light from the nearby floodlights. He backed away another few steps. Then he smiled and dropped his sword… offering one hand. "Well met then."

Derrick shifted the great sword to his shoulder and shifted his weight thoughtfully. He smiled. And slowly reached one hand out.

"No!" screamed the woman.

Wingate grasped his opponent's hand and pulled… swinging his sword down sharply.

It should have worked. But it didn't.

Derrick lunged into Wingate… pivoted and slammed his blade against Wingate's… then pulled down and to the left so that it was ripped from Wingate's hands. The blade flew into the darkness. Then… remarkably… his opponent stepped back from him once more.

Wingate licked his lips and eyed the direction his sword had gone. He shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for trying." Again he held out a hand.

This time Derrick did not offer his… but merely waited.

Wingate laughed and stepped back… turning as he drew his small gun and fired… the bullet ricocheted off Derrick's sword and into the darkness. "Damn!" yelled Wingate and turned to flee… only to be pulled back by the neck and thrown to the ground. He rose to his knees and found the edge of his opponent's blade under his neck.

"Any more tricks up your sleeve?" asked Derrick.

"Nope!" Wingate nervously shook his head, feeling the blade slice lightly along his neck.

Derrick pulled back and regarded him. Slowly he circled around behind.

"Do it!" screamed the woman.

Wingate nodded and leaned forward on his hands. "Make it quick," he said.

Derrick raised the blade and then hesitated. "Are you certain this is what you want?" he asked thoughtfully.

Wingate looked up at him. "No… I want to live… but these are the rules. There can be only one… so get it over with." He straightened and closed his eyes… waiting. After a few moments he opened one eye and looked up.

Derrick squatted next to him. "Who says?"

"What?"

"Who says there can be only one?"

"Everyone!"

"Everyone?"

"It's tradition!"

Derrick grunted thoughtfully. "What if we agree not to kill one another? Can we not then end the fight to the death?"

"What?" Wingate sat back on his heels. "You mean you don't want my head?"

"Not if you are willing to end the fight."

"Derrick he's lying… don't trust him!" snarled the woman.

The young immortal lay the sword across his arm and raised one eyebrow. "Are you lying?"

Wingate considered his next words carefully. "Not at the moment."

"Are you willing to end the fight?"

"If it means I live to fight again."

"Agreed. But… I offer this only once… he whipped the sword around until once more it sliced lightly through the tender skin of Wingate's neck and his genial voice was tinged with a dark menace. "Come at me again… threaten me or those with me again… and you will die. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Wingate wanted to nod… but feared the blade at his throat. "Ye… yes," he finally managed to get out.

Derrick removed his sword from Wingate's throat and stood up… backing slowly away while Wingate rubbed his neck… noting it had not yet healed.

The woman broke free of the red-haired immortal and rushed… past Derrick and raised a cutlass with a yell. Derrick grabbed her back and held her. "Let me go!" she screamed. "Ya're a fool Derrick. Ya canna just let him walk away."

"Agreed," Derrick said. "Burke… collect his sword."

The other man nodded and rushed into the darkness… bent down to pick up the sword and raced back to Derrick's side. "I like this one. Much better than mine."

"Yes, Burke. It is a very nice sword. Go put it in the trunk of your car. And take that gun of his as well."

Burke picked up the gun, nodded and backed away. He laughed as he headed for his car to do as he was told.

"You can't leave me without my sword."

"I don't intend to. You are welcome to join us if you wish."

"Join… you?" Wingate chuckled and shook his head. "Why would I want to do that?"

"To recover your sword, of course. You can ride with Burke unless you have your own means of transportation." Derrick turned, the still-struggling woman snarling under her breath. He maneuvered her toward the jet cycle. Once there he lifted her onto the bike, then climbed on himself. He pulled on his helmet and swiftly drove off.

Burke's car started and pulled out after Derrick.

Wingate stared after them. Then laughing… he raced for his own car and followed them into the desert night. It was new game… and Caspar Wingate was fond of games.

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Niebos, Greece:

Grace Chandel slowly walked onto the terrace, smiling to see John playing Scrabble with Carl Robinson. Carl was John's special project. The former immortal baseball player slowly shifted some letter tiles around and formed a word. John laughed and clapped him on the back. Grace could hear the encouragement he offered the other.

She knew that John still felt guilty that Carl had been damaged mentally. At least the immortal was on his way back. Most of those they'd rescued had made no progress at all. They lay in their beds… eyes open and blank… alive… but with no thought… no cognizance of those around them.

They were likely the ones whose knowledge and memories had been drained into the mortals they'd had to kill so many years ago. Grace shivered still in the memory of that long ago day. She could still feel her sword in her hands as she'd been forced not just to kill to survive… but to behead the strange mortals who'd attacked them.

In the days and weeks following… she'd interviewed the surviving scientists and poured over the records that remained. Much of what had been on the computers was lost. Wilderman… the head of the project… had ended up taking his own life while in captivity. He'd hanged himself in his cell, using a sheet. The only other scientist who might have helped them… Claire Romney… had died of injuries evidently sustained in a severe beating at the hands of Watcher Henry Rawlins… the man who had wanted to become immortal.

Carl's partial return to cognizance might have been because his knowledge and power had been transferred into John… who yet lived… The reformed mercenary was determined to help Carl return to an independent life. His immortality meant that time was on their side.

Grace turned back to the ward and stared at the vacant eyes of the twenty immortals under her care. She feared that not all the time in the world… would ever help these immortals regain their lives… that all they had been had been lost in the deaths of the mortals who had stolen their quickening… or at least some of it. They were still immortal… they still did not age. But they might as well have been dead.

The new Watchers had offered to look after them… but those in the rescue party had declined. They could look after their own. Phillip… the Swordmaster of Alexander the Great… had humbly offered his island home and the hospital he'd built here as shelter. Grace and John had offered their time… and Grace her medical and scientific knowledge to find a cure. Duncan MacLeod had offered funds to help with whatever they needed. Most of the others had simply promised to keep the secrets of this place and had vanished, although Methos and Eleanor came occasionally to stay and help.

Grace still found the truth of Methos far more astounding than the myth she had always heard and laughed at. That her old friend Eleanor not only knew him… but was bonded to him on some very basic level still intrigued her. Grace often wondered if that sort of bonding might one day be in her future… with John.

The one Watcher allowed on the island… an attempt at communication between immortals and Watchers… was restricted from the hospital. Phillip met with him daily at his villa… and was quietly present at all interviews between the Watcher and the immortal residents of and visitors to Niebos. Grace, herself, had spoken with the Watcher on a weekly basis in the past few years. Mainly she'd answered questions about holes in her chronicle that the historians wished to fill… although occasionally… Douglas Monaghan had asked about Grace's work at the hospital… and the state of the patients.

"They sit if we place them in chairs… they lie flat if we put them in a bed. They chew food if we put it in their mouths… and swallow fluid if we offer it. But they do not think. They do not react to us. Their minds are a blank," she'd finally snapped at Monaghan. "I'm sorry. I realize this was all before your time in the organization… but please… you must understand how abhorrent I still feel about what was done to them."

Douglas, a small thin man who wore glasses in an age when surgery fixed most eye problems… had nodded meekly. "I wish there were something I could do. I wish I could make it right."

"As do I Mr. Monaghan. As do I."

Of some of the others, who had been there that day, Grace knew little. The immortals both in Switzerland… and in other parts of the world… who'd been released and freed from the drugs with their minds intact… had, for the most part, moved swiftly on, ill-at-ease to remain too long in the company of others… or the watching eyes of the mortals.

A few had become connected somehow in some dream… and they'd tended to leave in pairs or small groups. Perhaps they were still seeking to understand the events of the dream-state they'd been forced to endure… but which had finally allowed them to find a commonality of existence that most did not yet wish to speak of.

Kyra the Spartan had spoken briefly to Grace about her dreams a few years ago. "It was as if I found refuge in a world torn by storms and upheaval. Yet in that world… was a calm understanding that immortals are not just a part of the mortal world… part of their history… but that we are also part of one another. Until we understand and accept that… we will forever be apart… and hungry for that union… that bliss we feel only in the aftermath of the quickening."

Her words had not made sense at the time to Grace… but in the intervening years… she'd come to hear similar thoughts from others who'd been in the dream-state at the facility and lived to tell of it.

"Are all of you together in some blissful garden?" Grace asked the nearest one quietly. His glazed eyes gave no sense of her question. Sighing, she turned away.

Behind her… Kenny blinked. But before a thought or even a question could completely form in his blank mind… his eyes returned to their glazed state… and he was lost once more… somewhere in the mists of time.

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