� � � There aren�t many equalities between mortals and immortals. They are strong survivor types and are generally in excellent health compared to most of humanity. They are canny and watchful, with little to fear except a swordfight�and even then, fear is not allowed. How do you relate to someone that cannot be killed without a beheading and is highly trained to prevent such a thing? � � �

He liked it out in the barn. He knew the shadows, the sounds, and the smells � the patiently watching steeds that hoped he�d approach with a treat in his hands. The air was filled with a mix of sweet alfalfa, pungent manure, and dust. The sound of hooves on the wooden floor and the coo of the pigeons overhead were all familiar sounds. Home sounds, though his home had not been a barn for hundreds of years.

�Jesus was born in a barn,� he said to himself, and smiled. A striped cat rubbed against his calves and purred raggedly. He reminded himself that this feline was getting too old to be mousing for his dinner. �I have to start feeding you everyday, old timer.�

In the center of the spacious barn was the training area where they used to work the horses on the lunge line. They moved the training area two years ago because trotting the horses in the confines of the barn stirred up too much dust. Connor stood a moment looking out over the dirt floor and Duncan�s mare, Arabask, whinnied shrilly at him. �Not today, you frisky thing. I�ll send Duncan out to give you a run later,� he called soothingly

� � � Part of understanding an immortal is understanding that while they change their identity, their living spaces, virtually every aspect of their lives every twenty or thirty years�some things inside them they do not change. Call it a worship of their once mortal life. Call it a throw back. Call it a longing for something permanent. Call it a sense of �home.� But something beside their face resists the change forced upon them as immortals. And they cope and make allowances for it. You can trace the pattern through their entire life in the chronicles. � � �

The forge was outside the barn: a heavy anvil, a cold trough, and a box for the live coals. A stack of wood for leisurely days and a bin of charcoal for quick tasks were beneath an overhang of the roof. Connor had installed a permanent waterline to the site long ago, hence there were no more buckets for hauling water.

Sometimes he missed the sheer monotony and focus of the task of hauling water. Other times, when it was 102 degrees outside, he did not.

The forge was outside � but last winter Duncan and Adam had put in a second forge inside the center ring of the barn. And not just a forge, but also an acetylene torch, an arc welder, and several tables to work on. Connor groused at the equipment expense, then inspected it all and studied the layout. The two immortals left him swearing at the welding helmet when they walked away.

Fire. Heat. Metal. Hammers. Sweat. Tongs. Water. Steam. Vision. Persistence. Speed. Endurance. Power. The forging of something strong into something else that was wanted.

� � � When you watch immortals in their everyday lives, it�s easy to forget that they�re different. Especially if you�re Watching a �white� one instead of a �black� one. No, I�m not talking about skin color, here�I�m talking about whether they are considered good or bad immortals. Unless they�re fighting all the time, or raising havoc amongst the mortals, they blend splendidly with their surroundings. They are just another person on the street instead of the savage denizens that they truly are. � � �

Connor set all the stray sprigs of hay on fire the first day he started welding. They went up in little flames all around him while he focused on the welding in front of him. His pant leg caught on fire and after a moment, the heat alerted him. He patted the flames out on his jeans and then stomped on all the little fires he�d created in the shower of hot sparks.

He tore a knee open on the cart for the acetylene tank the following day. He used an entire box of welding rods figuring out what type of current to use (AC verses DC) and what amperage to use. He ruined three pieces of iron. The forth piece sported a ropy uneven weld that looked like a badly plowed field. When he attempted to straighten it out, he left three burn throughs in it instead.

Adam heard him swearing up a storm, but wisely did not investigate.

By trial and error, the elder MacLeod figured out the dials and gauges and tools. The hot metal popped in a shower of missiles and burned tiny holes in his denim right at crotch level. One sizzled clear though and he nearly dropped the clamp holding the welding rod. He forgot his welding helmet once and blinked for a half an hour before he could see straight again.

�Stupid infernal helmets! You can�t hear a thing; you can�t SEE a damn thing�� he yelled out the barn door.

�Burning your eyeballs out and being blind for close to an hour is better?� shouted back Adam. �Wear the damn helmet!�

� � � The question that remains for the Watchers is: was Horton right? Is the extermination of immortals the route to go to prevent the domination of mankind? Humankind has stopped many a megalomaniac bent on world domination before, in many countries. Is it different now, seeing that we have Watched for thousands of years, both the good and the bad, and have it well documented that one day there WILL be only one�and he will have the power to rule this planet? Are they �part of us� or merely �amongst us�? Are they human or something else? Do we, the keepers of the chronicles, only stand by while we watch the fate of our humanity be decided by the stronger, the craftier�the one who cheats? Will history record that we knew the end was coming and we did ... nothing? � � �

By week five, Connor attempted to fix the gate that was listing on a poorly fastened wheel. It fell off the first time and he welded it again. Next he reinforced the rod holding two sections of the corral taut. He had to put out two small fires with the hose near the fence after that one and the mares whinnied in alarm at the smell of burning grass. When he went back to work, his shoes were wet from dousing the fires and he gave himself a resounding shock when he picked up the arc welder.

From then on, Connor put out fires with pails of dirt.

In month two, he studied the book on oxy-acetylene welding, which reinforced his impression that the Oxygen tank was merely a loaded bomb in disguise. He toyed with the flint and steel lighter. Then he experimented with the various mixes of gas and their color until he figured out what he needed in the two flames to get what he wanted from the lighter metals.

�This is like working with hot iron,� he said, though he knew it was anything but.

Within two weeks, he had graduated from working with aluminum and tin and was working on silver and gold�creating jewelry from misshapen lumps. Some of the jewelry continued to look like lumps and Duncan said as much. Connor threw one at him for good measure.

Adam came and inspected Connor�s current preoccupation, saying nothing. But when he returned from a trip to town the next time, he brought a jewelers torch fired by a propane mix. He laid it on the workbench in the center of the barn without a word and went away.

Connor stared at it suspiciously and then picked it up. Shortly thereafter his jewelry no longer looked like lumps and he turned out a slew of silver conchas for Arabask�s bridle. The next time Duncan took her out for a ride, she gleamed from a quarter of a mile away.

Adam ended up with a key fob crafted with a host of interrelated symbols and imagery, many with several meanings. When he was drunk, the fob told him the stories. Duncan didn�t care for pretentious ornamentation, but he still took a few pieces off the workbench that caught his eye. One he sent to Amanda. One he sent to Cassandra.

At last, something a girl can use from all that training of his. Tell him I need earrings and a bracelet to match said the email from Amanda. Duncan could almost hear her voice through the computer.

There is power in this medallion� came the handwritten script from Cassandra on a leaf embossed card. Connor merely nodded and said nothing.

� � � The immortal creed is and always has been, �there can be only one.� Do we allow one person to decide the fate over all of mankind, good or bad? Should anyone be permitted to take away our rights, our choices�especially an immortal, dictating from a position of power? If not, then what is to be done about the immortal question? Do we stand by and do nothing? Evil flourishes all the time because good men do nothing. � � �

Thursday, late in the morning, a stranger approached Connor and Duncan in town. The exchange was cool and Connor attempted to walk away twice. Finally, all three men stood uneasily poised and then Connor and the newcomer walked off down the street, turned right at the intersection next to the closed packing warehouse, and ended up next to the loading platform. Here, where the crane number 7280 was posted as �out of commission,� they fought. The shadows swallowed the flash of the blades and the sounds of desperate men.

Connor won with minor difficulty. When the lightning vanished, he wrapped his trenchcoat back around his bloodied shirt and splashed water from a standing puddle over his tennis shoes.

Duncan, following at a distance, lifted the wallet and the fallen man�s sword. �Leave the body. This isn�t our territory and it�s not likely to be pinned to you,� he said.

�I agree,� murmured Connor, then he scowled. �He chose me because I looked young and easy compared to you. He didn�t even know me; he didn�t even have to do this.�

�And you couldn�t talk him out of it,� added Duncan quietly. �I know. Some of them are like that and there�s no convincing them to stop before they start.�

�Well � he�s stopped now.� Connor�s eyes were angry and dark.

� � � It all boils down in the Watcher arguments to: �Do we stand by and let the Game run its course?� or �Do we interfere and hope our interference averts a potential catastrophe?� If we wait to see what the Prize really entails, will we be too late to alter mankind�s choice in the matter? Mentally, the �talking heads� think of James Horton, who interfered and killed the white knights. If he had merely killed the black knights, would we have had �problems� with it? � � �

They drove home without incident, but when Connor went to the barn, he ignored his crafting of ornate pieces. He went outside�to the old forge, to the iron and fire and hammer. For hours, he heated and hammered and reheated the dark metal � pounding and shaping and enduring the steam of the cooling trough until his fingers ached and his muscles were in spasms in his shoulders. Then he threw the piece down and picked up another and went on.

Duncan and Adam did not approach him that afternoon and it was past nightfall when the older Scot finally covered the coals and walked back to the house. His gait was slow and he stood in the shower for an hour with the cold water running.

Duncan brought him a double with no ice to drink, but Connor left it on the nightstand untouched.

� � � �Supreme power, even in the hands of someone good, is a Bad Thing.� Thus say the group pushing for exposure, for change, for intervention�though what form that intervention should be, they cannot say. To expose the immortals means they will become prey--for registration, for study, for experiments. All I know is what I observe and record of my own immortal: a man who lives while he can and fights when he must, like a schoolyard boy in the play yard of life. And he doesn�t seem so smitten with winning the prize as much as he protects it from someone evil. In essence�he�s the honor guard. Enduring his burden because he must and because we need him. A �good man who does something.� For that, there is no fault. And besides � sometimes he�s a sexy beast.� � �

Connor strode out of the barn in his welding clothes and into the swimming heat waves of the summer sun. He had burnt his fingers touching a cooling piece that was not quite as cool as he thought it would be, and, when he saw he wasn�t alone, he shoved them into his pockets to hide the healing.