Date: Mon, 30 Oct 1995 12:39:08 EST Reply-To: Russ McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russ McMillan Subject: Adam, Part 3 [For those who haven't read my previous stories, this installment will be the most confusing. Joe's nephew Nick appeared in "Hold Fast," and in "The Dark Side of the Mirror" we heard about Cassandra, a very ancient (and recently dead) Immortal who had a lot of interesting skills.] Adam, Part 3 by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu Joe Dawson glanced over his bar. It was beginning to fill up with the kind of people who came for the music rather than the drinks. Joe would be going onstage with the band in half an hour. He was too experienced a performer to be nervous, exactly, but he felt a heightened awareness; everyone around him seemed to be moving and speaking a bit more slowly than usual. It wasn't unlike the anticipation he felt before watching a duel between two Immortals. It still wasn't enough to distract him from other worries. Three days had passed since he found out that Adam Pierson could not really be Methos, and he hadn't been able to find any hint of Adam's current whereabouts. He hadn't decided yet whether to reveal Adam's Immortality to the other Watchers; he wanted to confront the man himself, first. But if he shared the information, he could get help in finding Pierson. With a sigh, he pushed the debate from his mind. He was about to go tune his guitars and make sure his pockets were loaded with everything necessary -- picks, capo, slide -- when he saw his nephew enter the bar. Nick Mandrell's eyes slid quickly over the people in the bar and came to rest on Joe. Joe smiled as the young man came over. "Nicky!" he said warmly. "Sorry, I mean, Nick. I forgot." Nick shrugged. "How's it going these days?" "Pretty good. I can't wait to get out of school. Twelve years -- it's too long, man." Joe grinned. "And next year you're off to college. Did you get into the one you wanted?" "Yeah, Mom and Dad agreed I can start at UW. They wanted me to try for Notre Dame, but after, uh, the trouble I got into last year, they figure they need to keep an eye on me." Joe nodded understanding. He was little surprised that his nephew had mentioned the events of the previous summer, when he had gotten involved with a band of Hunters. "Actually --" Nick glanced around the room. "That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about." Joe checked the crowd density again. "Why don't you come in back while I'm getting ready, and we can talk." Nick propped up the wall of the office as Joe fiddled with the tuning of his guitars. "Alan Guise called me the other day." "What did he want?" Joe asked. Aside from Nick, Guise was the only Hunter who had escaped alive last summer, after taking on Duncan and his kinsman Connor Macleod. "Information. He asked about Macleod. And you." "Do you think that's _really_ why he called?" "No, I guess he was trying to find out if he could count on me. I told him to get lost. But I thought you should know, Uncle Joe. Alan blames you as much as Macleod for Martin Carver dying. And for Uncle Jim, too." Joe scowled over his B string. "I'll be careful," he said. "I'll tell Macleod to watch out, too." Nick was silent for several minutes, until Joe set aside the second guitar. "Uncle Joe, do you think -- you think maybe this time we could work it out with nobody getting hurt?" Joe sighed. "I hope so, Nick. I don't want any trouble, and neither will Macleod. He doesn't hold anything against Alan. But you should just stay out of the whole thing. You were right to let me know Alan's back in town, but don't try to get in the way. Okay?" Nick bit his lip. "You don't think you need somebody to watch out for you?" Joe chuckled. "I can take care of myself, Nick. Really." He glanced up at the clock. "I need to be on stage in a couple of minutes. Stick around, if you want, but I doubt anyone will come after me with a room full of people watching me." Nick smiled, but his eyes held more worry than reassurance as he left the office. Duncan locked his car and headed for Joe's bar. It must be a popular band tonight, he realized; all the close parking spaces were taken. As he approached the bar, he felt a powerful buzz that seemed to disconnect him from his feet and blur the world around him. It was not someone he had met since his recent experience in Paris taught him how to tell different Immortals apart by their quickenings, but he had a pretty good guess who it might be. He flipped the katana out of his coat and glided cautiously down the alleyway where the buzz originated. "Macleod?" said a familiar voice. "Well, speak of the devil," Duncan said pleasantly. He moved his sword out of the way, but kept it ready. "What are you doing here, Adam?" "Hunting." The form of the man Duncan had known as "Methos" became visible in the gloom as he stepped forward. "Really? Who are you after?" "I'm following a band of Hunters. Trying to learn more about them. Did Ryan ever get back to you?" Duncan went still. "Richie? I haven't heard from him in weeks." "Damn! I was sure he'd gotten away." "Away from who?" Duncan's voice was acquiring a dangerous edge. "From the Hunters. I did everything I could . . . I'm sorry, Macleod." "Are you telling me you turned Richie over to a pack of Hunters?" "No! I didn't mean it to work out the way it did. I thought I had convinced them that he was dead --" Adam Pierson broke off as Duncan's sword touched his throat. His eyes glittered whitely in the dim light. "Who are you?" Duncan growled. "What? You know who I am, Macleod!" "I know who you pretend to be. But you look nothing like the Methos that was around a few centuries ago. If you're lying about that, what else are you hiding?" "It wasn't a lie!" "That's right, you never actually said 'I'm Methos,' did you? I did all the talking. You just let me believe whatever I wanted." "That isn't the way it was, Macleod. It's complicated." Pierson's head twisted. "Look, I don't have time to explain it right now. They've started to wonder about me. I've got to get back in the bar soon or they'll come looking for me and find you." "If they want to come out and play, that's fine by me. These are the guys who killed Richie?" "I'm not sure of that. Maybe Richie got away. Don't move against the Hunters until we've had a chance to talk." "Oh, but you can't talk tonight, huh? Nice delaying tactic. What makes you think I'll believe anything you say?" "Thanks a lot," Joe murmured into the mike. "We're going to take a break now, but we'll be back in half an hour." He nodded to the other musicians and lifted the guitar strap over his head. The population shifted away from the stage and toward the bar. Joe waited for the traffic to ease a little before he left the stage. After a few minutes he threaded his way through the thinning crowd, fielding comments with a grin, and went into his office. He swiped at his damp forehead. The room temperature always seemed to go up at least ten degrees when he was on the wrong side of an audience, and tonight he was overdressed. It might be an excessive precaution, but after what Nicky had told him earlier . . . Joe heard a step behind him and turned with a smile, thinking it was one of the band members. The last thing he saw was a syringe burying itself in his neck. "Dammit, Macleod, you have to know you can trust me!" Pierson's voice was beginning to sound desperate. "I don't know any such thing. All I have is your word, and I know you lied to me before about who you are." "I didn't! Not exactly." Pierson looked anxiously up and down the alley. "Wait. Wait, I heard you carry Cassandra's quickening now." "That's right. I killed the guy who killed her." "And you can reach those memories? Cassandra knew how." "Maybe I can, maybe I can't." "Macleod, if you want me to be straight with you . . . " "All right. I can remember most of what Cassandra knew." "I met her in Rome, very briefly. No one else was there. The very first words she said to me were 'lapsum esse gladium tuum credo. . .'" ================= "I believe you've dropped your sword, sir," she said with a thin smile. The man before her stared incredulously at his short sword, lying in the road. He snatched it up and it slipped through his fingers a second time. "Why do you wish to take my head?" she asked. "I don't covet yours. And I would make better use of your power than you would of mine." He glanced back down the stony street. "I didn't come for your head. I just need to get away --" He stiffened as the chime of armor and the slap of sandals became audible. "Come, then. Into the women's baths." She picked up his sword and put a hand against his back to hurry him along. "They won't look for you there." "They will if they hear women screaming!" the man protested. "Put on my veil. Adjust your robes -- so. Walk just behind me. No one will notice." They slipped quickly through the bathhouse and out by the servants' entrance on the other side. The street here was narrow, unpaved and clogged with refuse, but there were no soldiers in sight. The man heaved a sigh of relief. "I am in your debt, madam," he said more calmly as he pulled her veil away from his face. "I must leave now, but perhaps I can return the favor some other time?" "Perhaps." She smiled. "Cassandra, of Troy." "Methos of -- Babylon, more or less. I hope I see you again in more pleasant circumstances." "I see you've taken a quickening recently. Was it Guernius?" "How did you know?" She dropped her lashes seductively. "I merely make different use of my abilities than you do. Here is your sword. Do you know a safe way out of the city? Guernius' men will be eager to avenge him." "I can take the east gate at sunset; they will be too busy at that hour to look closely." "Then I wish you the speed of Mercury and the strength of Hercules." His brows flew up. "Coming from one as fair as Venus, that is a benediction indeed." He pressed a kiss upon her hand and hurried down the twisting alley. ================= Duncan shook the memory out of his head and stared. "But that was a different man. It wasn't you!" "It was a different face, a different body, but it was me, Macleod. I really don't have time to explain now --" Pierson froze as voices sounded near the mouth of the alley. "There they go!" Duncan turned to see three men walking toward the parking lot. Two of them were carrying something -- a body, he realized. "That's Joe!" he gasped, and started toward them. Pierson grabbed his arm. "Wait!" he hissed. "There are more of them, and they're well armed. You won't help him by rushing in now." Duncan glared at his companion, quivering with the need to pursue his friend's kidnappers. "Why should I trust you?" he growled. "Look, maybe I have lied to you, but you do know that I'm Joe's friend. This is about him, now. We can argue later." Duncan took a deep breath. "Do you know where they're taking him?" "No. I can go with them, though, and you can follow." "What if I lose you? You can't take them all on. If you're right, these people already killed Richie!" Pierson's brow wrinkled. "The only other option I can think of is to take you prisoner as well." "What?" Duncan backed away, bringing his sword up. "That way there will be three of us against the six of them. I'm sorry, Macleod, you're just going to have to trust me." Pierson pulled a gun from his pocket and shot Duncan in the heart. =========================================================================