"Connor, I think she's coming round," Edith heard an unfamiliar male voice say. Opening her eyes, she quickly discerned that she was again stretched out on her back, only this time the surface beneath her was softer, and her head was supported by a pillow. Leaning over her was a man with dark, slicked-back hair. "Take it easy now, Edith," he said.

She tried to speak, but gasped as she felt as though tiny electric shocks were going off all over her body. Seeing her shiver, the man said "I know. We all feel it when we're close to another of our kind. It'll pass."

Even as he spoke, the queer sensation dwindled and was gone. "Our...kind?" she whispered, her head still fuzzy. Before the stranger could answer, another figure appeared from behind him and the sight of his face brought back the rest of her memory...along with fear and anger. "You...!" Edith hissed and, faster than either man could stop her,she bolted up and slammed her clenched fist into the face of the man called either Nicholson or Macleod, sending him reeling back with a grunt of pain she found satisfying. His accomplice tried to place his hands on her shoulders to restrain her but, suddenly filled with strength, she fought him off and stood glaring at them both. "Neither of you touch me!" she spat. Looking carefully around, she saw she was in a spacious apartment, comfortably furnished. She dashed to a table and seized a small but heavy statue, brandishing it as a weapon as she demanded "Where am I?"

"My home on Hudson Street," Nicholson replied, gingerly rubbing his cheek where she had struck him.

"Edith, please put that down," the other man said. "No one here's going to hurt you."

She looked at him. "I do not believe we have been properly introduced."

"I'm Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod," he replied.

"Another Macleod, eh?" she said. She looked at the other. ""What did you say your name was...Connor Macleod? Even though your hospital nametag said Nicholson? Well, whoever you both are, I insist you let me go immediately."

"I told you," Nicholson...or Connor...said. "Earlier tonight you died and came back to life in the morgue. I saw you brought in. I was passing in the corridor when I felt you start to revive. You're Immortal now, like us."

"He's telling you the truth," Duncan said. "I was born in 1594, and experienced my first death in 1622. Think about it, Edith. The road accident, waking up in the morgue. You know it's true." Edith shivered, shook her head. She wanted to scream, tell them they were lying, that they were insane; she wanted to run. She couldn't believe it...but it made sense.

After a moment she swallowed. "I...can never truly die?"

Connor spoke. "No...unless you loose your head."

"There's a lot you'll have to learn," said Duncan. "This is the start of a whole new existence."

OOOOOOOO

Galen IV, 2269

"Of course, it didn't long for someone to notice the disappearance of my body," Edith said to Kirk as they sat together in the church. "But the assumption was it had been stolen. It wasn't all that uncommon back then."

"And Connor and Duncan...they explained why this had happened to you?" Kirk asked.

Edith sighed. "Why, how...No Immortal knows those answers, where we truly come from. All we know is the Game. You see, many Immortals, when they meet, fight until one is...decapitated, the only way we can be killed. When that happens, the winner experiences what we call the Quickening, an absorbing of the energy of the slain Immortal. For thousands of years this has been the way, and will be until only a single Immortal survives and they win the Prize, whatever that may be. 'There can be only one,' as they say."

"A cruel, dangerous existence," Kirk commented.

Edith gave a small smile. "It isn't all bad. Not all Immortals prey on others; some form friendships lasting centuries, only fighting when they have no choice. Like Connor and Duncan. After they told me what I was, I left with Duncan for another part of the country - I couldn't stay in New York so soon after my 'death' - and he spent the next year training me in the use of the sword, the weapon we all use. I abhorred violence, but he insisted I learn how to defend myself. When we parted company I went back to England and entered a convent. No Immortal can fight another on holy ground, that is an ancient law we all abide by, so that way I delayed any confrontations...though I kept the sword Duncan gave me close at hand. For years I lived a sequestered life, not getting involved with the affairs of the world. Then, in September of 1939, as once again total war engulfed humanity and the death and destruction mounted, I decided I couldn't just hide anymore...I had to do something."