*** "Duncan MacLeod," Andrew murmured. He gazed at the handsome, dark-haired man who looked so vibrantly alive. "Was he born in Scotland?" "Yes." Seeming to weigh his words carefully, Adam said, "He was probably the best and noblest of all the Immortals." "So how did he die?" Andrew couldn't shake the disloyal thought, //Why were you the last survivor?// Adam looked away from the cheery tableau in the clearing. "It was over two hundred years ago. MacLeod and I were living on Grenoble, teaching at a university. "A friend had been visiting, and we saw him off at the spaceport. We could have headed straight back to the city, but we chose to have dinner in a spaceport restaurant. One of those trivial decisions that change everything... "We were still there when a starship preparing for launch burst into flames. With a hundred people aboard. We ran to try to rescue them--I don't know if I pitched in and did the right thing that time because of MacLeod's example, or because I was remembering Richie. "We were badly burned, but we knew that couldn't hurt us permanently. W-we dragged dozens of injured victims off the ship--" His voice broke. He cleared his throat and took a long swig of beer. The hands that gripped the flask were shaking. "Th-then the damn thing blew up," he continued hoarsely. "I was off it, but in so much pain that I didn't know *where* I was--or where anyone else was. "MacLeod was still on board." Another swig of beer. "I didn't know he'd been...blown to bits...till I was hit by his Quickening." Andrew could say only, *"Shit."* When they'd had more beer, he mused, "That must have been hell for you. But he died a hero, and you have his Quickening. How in God's name did you get away, after taking it in such a public place?" "Just vanished amid the confusion. I was seen, even caught on newsvids. But I'd been burned beyond recognition."